mackensie 🦊

The venue is glamorous. A large chandelier hangs from the ceiling, and the staff carry around trays of alcohol and expensive-looking appetizers. You decline a glass of champagne but accept a small savory bite with loads of caviar on top of it (you don’t want to guess how much was spent on this dish alone). Sunghoon, on the other hand, grabs two champagne flutes and holds one out to you just as you shove your food into your mouth. 

“I’m good,” you say through a mouthful. Sunghoon chuckles.

“Let loose. You’re gonna be gone in two months. You might as well enjoy the perks while you can.”

“Are you accepting that I want to quit?” 

“Absolutely not.” He pushes the glass towards you until your fingers curl around the long stem. “But I am trying to get you to have fun.” 

“I know how to have fun.”

“You’re always on work mode when we come to these things. You could learn to relax your shoulders and not talk business all the time.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s my job, Sir.”

“Sunghoon.”

“That’s my job, Sunghoon.” 

“Not tonight. Don’t think about work. Matter of fact, if anybody talks about anything work-related, direct them to me or give them my email.” 

You look at him curiously. “Since when do you care about how much fun I’m having to the point of burdening yourself with extra work?”

“Since my favorite assistant decided she wanted to quit.” 

You don’t respond. He’s naturally a forward person, but he’s never commented on the nature of your working relationship beyond praising you on a job well done when you’ve clearly earned it. Sunghoon believes in proving oneself without any handouts, especially since his nepotism granted him the work he does now. You know it was significantly easier for Sunghoon to work his way from an intern to managing partner because his family legacy is Park Inc., but all of his accomplishments are on him. It’s why he believes in giving everybody a fair shot and kicking those who don’t perform well to the curb, even if their family is considered “well known.” 

When it comes to your job and the work you’ve done for him, Sunghoon keeps his praise to a minimum. He is polite and doesn’t forget to thank you if you’ve completed a task for him, but he keeps his praise to himself until you do something that truly amazes him. You could probably count all of these stellar moments on one hand, and it took you years of working alongside Sunghoon to stop seeking his validation so much. When you focus on your work and not his praise, you seem to get more tasks done efficiently. But all you’ll ever be to Sunghoon is his assistant. Despite all of the work and knowledge you’ve acquired through your years of working at Park Inc., you doubt you’ll work your way up to become a managing partner like him. 

Lee Heeseung and Park Jongseong, two of Sunghoon’s business partners and closest friends, provide a welcomed distraction when they approach the two of you with champagne flutes of their own. They both look just as prim and polished as Sunghoon in their tailored suits and reflective black shoes. You wonder if their assistants are here tonight.

“Always good to see you,” Jongseong says with a quick hug when he sees you before greeting Sunghoon. 

“Didn’t realize you were coming.” Heeseung looks at your boss. “I thought Hana was accompanying you tonight?”

Sunghoon waves them off. “Nah. Asked my trusty assistant to come with me instead.” Heeseung looks at your hands.

“And you’re…drinking?”

“He told me it was fine,” you said, gesturing at Sunghoon. Heeseung smiles and steps forward to pull you into a short embrace as well, hands kept as a respectable distance while balancing his own drink. “Where’s Jake?” 

“Business trip to Brisbane. It’s doubling as a family vacation since he hasn’t been back to Australia since he started his career,” Jongseong explains. “He’ll be back in a week.” 

“I’m sorry,” Heeseung interrupts. “I’m stuck on the fact that you’re actually drinking and not pretending to so people don’t give you a hard time about it.”  

“I told her to let loose and not think about work too much.”

“If she doesn’t, who will?” Jongseong snorts. He turns at you. “Are you going to grace us with your presence on the dance floor, or is Sunghoon making you butter everyone up until they inevitably do what you say?” 

“She’s here because I needed a plus one and she’s here to have fun,” Sunghoon responds for you. Jongseong chuckles and stuffs his hands in his pocket.

“Well, God knows she needs a night off. You make her work too hard.” 

Sunghoon tuts. “I do no such thing.”

“He can’t be worse than Daon. No could ever be,” says Heeseung.

“I guess you’re right.” Heeseung glances between you and Sunghoon before speaking again.

“If she’s here to have a bit of fun, you won’t mind if I took her to the face floor, would you?” Something unreadable flashes across Sunghoon’s face. 

“No,” he says with his jaw fixed. Heeseung grins.

“Perfect. Shall we?” 

You give Sunghoon your champagne flute and don’t look back, enjoying the idea of entertaining your awful dance skills with somebody you’ve known for nearly as long as you’ve known Sunghoon. Heeseung is charming in all of the right ways and you can see why most of your colleagues harbor small crushes on him. He’s extremely charismatic and good at getting what he wants. It’s a quality you wished you could possess. 

Heeseung’s hand rests on the small of your back while the other gently holds your hand as he sways the two of you to the rhythm of the music. You’re not one for the theatrics of dancing the night away like Heeseung is, but it’s nice to forego your professional duties and scuff up your heels for a change. 

“You’re thinking too hard,” Heeseung says, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry. I guess I’ve made a habit of being on the go when I come to these things.” 

Heeseung tuts. “Sunghoon’s pushing you to your limits, but I can see why you’re the only person he trusts to get things done.”

“I remember the days when he barely trusted me to get his coffee order right.”

“Well, you’ve come a long way since then.” 

Heeseung winks and places one hand on the middle of your back before you find him hovering above you. He doesn’t let you linger for much longer and pulls you back into his chest. The two of you have always had a friendly-yet-playful friendship, but something about him spontaneously asking you to dance and making you break your normal, party-going habits has you blushing. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“Sunghoon told me you’re quitting.” Your hand on his shoulder tightens for a moment. 

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to be thinking.” 

“You’re not the type of person who can just let things go.” 

“I hate that you know me well.” 

Heeseung winks again. “My assistants and I have learned to count on you more than we can count on Sunghoon. I’d like to believe I know you better than you think I do.” 

“Well…I’ve worked alongside him for so long that it’s making me wonder what else is out there for me, you know? Don’t get me wrong, I am so lucky to have been able to travel and learn alongside him, but it’s never because I want to. I don’t want to be a career assistant.” 

“What do you want to do instead?”

“I don’t know,” you frown. “I’ve spent so long cleaning up after him and catering to his needs that I’ve never spent enough time thinking about what I want to do with my life.”

“He seems choked up about it.” 

You scoff. “I handed him my resignation letter and he barely acknowledged it.”

“Jongseong told me he picked you up from your apartment.” 

“He accompanied his driver.”

Heeseung waves you off. “Same difference.” 

“And, well…he told me to stop calling him by his title and to start calling him by his name.” 

“Oh?”

“I know. It’s weird, isn’t it? I don’t think I could ever address him by ‘Sunghoon.’”

“You call me Heeseung, though.”

You swat his chest. “Yah. That’s because I don’t work for you and you threatened to get me fired if I treated you like a stuffy higher-up.” He grins at that.

“You’ll be missed, you know. I can tell Sunghoon’s starting to spiral about it. He doesn’t call me often to talk about himself, but he spent our entire meeting discussing his weekend golfing plans.” 

“He’ll function without me.”

“I don’t know if he can.” 

As it stands currently, your personal life barely exists. It’s hard to find time to do things by yourself when you’re constantly on call. Sunghoon is respectful of your personal time as much as any high power venture capitalist can be, but you often find yourself sitting with him during late night working hours and in the early morning when he asks for your presence. It’s not a terrible job, certainly not for the pay and how it used to give you a sense of purpose in life, but it’s starting to feel like the days and months are blurring together. You don’t think you could recall what day it is without looking at your calendar. 

Your working relationship with Sunghoon is near perfect. He can be a bit of a charmer when he wants to be and knows all the right ways to get you to say yes, but you can’t say you’ve had a horrible time working under him. Sunghoon is a fair boss who trusts you far more than you trust yourself. He’s given you incredible opportunities to learn and grow as a businessperson, and it’s far more than you can say for anybody else in that office. Sunghoon values his personal time, which leads him to valuing when you take time off (and, to be honest, is rarely ever). That is something you know you’ll struggle to find elsewhere. 

But this job has seen you work over the typical forty hours to the point where you lose yourself in it. You try to balance your time in and out of the office, but it’s hard to keep up a personal life when you care so deeply about your job. The projects you work on are important to you, as is contributing to businesses that have since become successful thanks to you and Sunghoon. It gives you a sense of fulfillment to know you can be part of the reason why a local eatery becomes a celebrated chain restaurant, or why a crowdfunded product becomes internet famous for all the right reasons. It’s your job and it’s your life, but that’s what you’re afraid of.

Sunghoon will never have to wonder what it’s like to worry about paying rent or utilities because his family comes from a long line of extremely successful venture capitalists. He could try his best to blow his fortune and wouldn’t come close to spending a fraction of it. You, on the other hand, budget wisely on your salary in order to be able to afford and maintain the lifestyle you have. Every cent is accounted for and splurging on things is a treat every once in a while, aside from the budget Sunghoon gives you when you travel with him. But even then, you’d consider yourself someone who doesn’t overdo it for the principle of it all.

Aside from having little to no hobbies that require stepping out of your apartment, you don’t meet people. You don’t hang out with anybody regularly enough to build connections or to explore romantic relationships. The people you see on a weekly basis are your elderly neighbors who praise you for being quiet during the nighttime, your colleagues at Park Inc., and Sunghoon. There is no time to settle down. While Sunghoon gets his fair share of taking women home and indulging in sex and dating, you find that you’re the one who he calls when he can’t seem to get rid of people who refuse to leave. The thought of explaining this situation to your date, and having them be okay with being a glorified babysitter, seems a bit far fetched.

You tell yourself that dating shouldn’t be a big deal. It isn’t, right? Not when you’ve learned to become independent and confident in the face of venture capitalist sharks that will eat you for breakfast should you falter. The thick skin you’ve managed to build feels more like protective armor than anything else. People who know you would say they’ve seen an immense amount of growth in how you carry yourself, and while you credit it to working in the environment you do, most of it is because you refuse to let yourself falter, even if for a moment. 

Dating hasn't been on your mind for the past few years. You were young, and you still are, but the years after graduating university were dedicated to figuring out where you belonged. This job at Park Inc. was a great blessing. Having to focus on getting your job done and learning about the business took up more time than you anticipated, so there was no time to think about relationships. You were very much in the mindset of pursuing a career before indulging in boys. Perhaps it’s your hyper independence that led you to push any yearning for romance aside. But it’s bubbling to the surface like a vengeance in the present day. 

And if you’re being honest, you feel incredibly silly. It feels stupid to watch movies or read books and wish you could experience the kind of love that leaves you breathless. You’ve never been one for the theatrics, but what if you were? What if you were the type to meet a guy and fall for him instantly? What would you be like if you were the type of person people naturally gravitated towards? If you were any different, would guys come up to you out of the blue and entertain you until one of you ultimately decided it isn’t worth it? 

You don’t have the time to consider these things beyond daydreams. Your days are filled with project meetings, phone calls, scheduling, and anything else Sunghoon requires of you. It’s gotten to the point where you’re considering asking him to get a second assistant to help you with the tasks you’re drowning in. 

You don’t have the luxury of meeting incredibly handsome men who want everything to do with you as Sunghoon does. People fall at his feet when he looks at them. With his warm brown eyes and devilish smile, he barely has to lift a finger to get people to fall to their knees. You’ve seen it one too many times, whether it be women who lunge at the chance to go home with him or potential clients who want his money for their business. Sunghoon knows how to sweet talk and he knows how to get what he wants without making the other person realize they’re submitting to his will. His charisma is admirable. You wish you could be a little more like that. 

Thinking about how little action you get compared to Sunghoon feels like you’re losing your mind, too. You’ve had shitty dates and failed hookups in the past that leave you wondering if trying is worth it. It doesn’t seem like that’s the type of lifestyle for you, and while you’re not necessarily looking to settle down with the next person you meet, you desperately wish you could meet somebody who doesn’t disappoint you by the time the check arrives. It’s almost aggravating when Sunghoon walks into the office with a post-sex glow to him. It’s irritating when he calls you to take women out of his house and see him in all of his glory (shirtless only—you’re crossing so many boundaries just by helping Sunghoon in this matter but damn, his abs are chiseled by the gods). 

You’d have to be completely blind to think Sunghoon isn’t attractive. Meeting him for the first time felt like you were meeting the child of Aphrodite. His hair naturally fell into all the right places and his suit was tailored to the nines. He was commanding yet soft, and his baritone voice felt like pure velvet the first time you heard him speak. Your knees nearly buckled when he looked at you and you imagine that’s what every woman must feel like when he gives them his attention. You know far too well just how charming and handsome Sunghoon is, and you’ve learned to push these thoughts and feelings to the very back corner of your mind. 

Sunghoon always is, and always will be, off limits. He’s your boss, for starters. In the early days of your career, you’d find yourself fantasizing about him and his otherworldly looks when desperate times called and when bad dates left you wondering what life would be like if you weren’t Sunghoon’s assistant, but someone he took home. It always made you feel guilty and shameful, especially when you’d walk into his office the next day and make any sort of eye contact with him. That feeling ate at you alive to the point where you had to force yourself to view this as a professional, working relationship only. Besides, there was no chance Sunghoon would ever jeopardize himself like that. He takes work too seriously to ever mix it in with his private life. 

Eventually, you learned to tune those feelings out and view him like your superior. Sunghoon’s always been a bit friendly with you, especially as your years of working together grew. You know so much about his family, where he lives, his goals and aspirations, to the point where you think you know more about him than you know about yourself. You’ve seen him stress over big projects and celebrate incredible milestones. You’ve been with him every step of the way for the past six years, and leaving his side is the scariest thing you’ve done in your life thus far. 

You know he’ll be just fine. Sunghoon might have to get to know somebody all over again and get used to working a different dynamic, but it’s not as if you’re irreplaceable. That thought tends to keep you up at night every once in a while. Not a single person has ever made you feel like you’re worth fighting for and nobody has ever gone out of their way to show you how much they value you. It comes easily to Sunghoon to the point where you’d be surprised if people didn’t want anything to do with him. 

Those kinds of things don’t happen for you very easily. Men don’t fall to their knees when they see you and they certainly don’t strike up a conversation with the hopes of scoring your number. You can count on your hand the number of times people have hit on you, and while it’s not a measure of who you are as a person, it does make you feel shitty about yourself when you start to compare your love life with your boss’s. 

So you find yourself here, standing in between Heeseung’s arm, feeling like a shy school girl who got asked to prom for the first time. It’s ridiculous. You’ve known him for nearly as long as you’ve known Sunghoon, and Heeseung has always been friendly in a way a colleague should. He never oversteps nor makes you uncomfortable, but the feeling of his hand on your back makes your mind drift to a scenario in which you’re dancing with the love of your life. It makes you feel small. 

“Mind if I cut in?” 

As if on cue, Sunghoon’s voice pierces through your wandering thoughts. 

“After this song, Hoon. I’m having quality time with your assistant.”

The song ends just as Heeseung is done speaking. It feels like the universe might as well be laughing at you.

“Would you look at that? The song just ended.” Heeseung steps away and winks at you before looking at Sunghoon.

“She’s all yours.” 

Sunghoon resumes Heeseung’s position and every fantasy you’ve had of him from the early days of your career suddenly makes their way to the forefront of your mind. No matter how much you try to push them back in their place, these desires keep coming up like a canon of confetti at the end of a concert. Your heart rate picks up slightly and you hope your hands don’t feel as clammy as you think they are.

“Having fun?” 

“I’d hardly count coming to a stuffy event as fun, but I’m not miserable.” 

Sunghoon tilts his head. “You don’t like schmoozing with men who only care about money?” The two of you share a laugh. It’s so easy to let your guard down with him.

“Ha-ha. No, Sunghoon, I don’t typically imagine this as my ideal way of having fun.”

“No?” He pulls you closer to his chest as he brings the two of you deeper into the dance floor. It makes you help in surprise and Sunghoon doesn’t bother hiding his pleasure when he grins. “What do you like to do for fun, hm?”

“I…I don’t know.” 

Sunghoon clicks his tongue. “It can’t be all work and no play, you know. That makes Jack a dull boy, or however the saying goes.” You roll your eyes.

“I’m too busy taking care of you, remember?” 

“Ah, yes, and what a wonderful job you’ve done. Come on. Tell me something you like to do when you’re not with me.”

“I like to read, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I like to read. Better?” 

“Much. What kind of books?”

“Depends on my mood. Sometimes I like reading fiction, sometimes nonfiction. I like thrillers a lot.”

“You’re one of those types who likes to see if you can unravel the plot before you get to the end, aren’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Knew it.” He squeezes your hand placed in his. “Anything else besides reading?”

“I like traveling. I don’t do it much unless you request I go somewhere with you. But I like exploring places by myself without the pretense of work.” 

Sunghoon frowns. “You don’t travel much?” 

“No, not with the work I have to do.” You let out a small laugh. “I try not to be too jealous when you take time off work to go to Europe or America.” 

Sunghoon nods once and spins the both of you as the song’s tempo picks up. “You’ll have more time to travel when you leave me, no?” 

“Mhm.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Osaka sounds nice. I’ve only ever been to Tokyo for a few business meetings, but we’ve never had time to go elsewhere. New York sounds like a dream. Maybe I’ll visit São Paulo or Rome if I’m lucky.” 

“That’s quite the bucket list.” 

“I’m an ambitious woman.” He squeezes your waist. 

“Don’t I know it.” 

“You know, this is probably the longest I’ve talked about myself with you.” 

“Is it?”

“Yeah, I think so. It’s usually business talk first thing in the morning, and then whatever you’ve been up to.”

“I don’t ask you what you do on the weekends?”

“Sometimes. Mondays are usually our busiest days, though.” 

He frowns. “I should’ve paid more attention. Maybe that’ll convince you to stay.” 

“You’re funny.” 

The song ends and Sunghoon doesn’t pull away like you think he will. He’s not somebody who generally enjoys spending time with his colleagues more than he has to, and that includes you. Part of you wonders if some innate guilt keeps him dancing with you, but you try not to think about the negative possibilities when you’re with him. 

“What are you going to do when you’re free?” Sunghoon asks as the next song begins. “Are you booking a plane ticket to New York or Osaka?” 

“I don’t know, honestly, but maybe I should. Who knows, I could find the love of my life on vacation and move to a brand new city if it works out.”

“Love of your life, huh?”

You shrug. “Dunno. I’ve been thinking about, err, my love life, or lack thereof, for the past few weeks. I don’t have time to date around when I’m at your beck and call. God, this is weird, isn’t it?”

“What is? Talking about your love life? Or, how did you say it, ‘lack thereof’?” 

“If I’m being honest? Yeah. I’ve seen you hook up with so many women in the years I’ve known you but that’s what assistants are for, right? Helping you out of situations without asking any questions?” 

“I suppose you’re right. You don’t keep to shy away from things all the time with me, though,” he reassures. “We’ve known each other for half a decade. I think that earns you the right to talk about yourself whenever you feel like it.” 

“Seems like I'm crossing a boundary.” 

“I’m telling you tonight that you aren’t. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about a boyfriend before.” 

“Nope.” You tilt your head and keep your lips in a thin line when you smile. “Got my hands full with you.” 

“Some would say you’re in a lucky position.” 

He laughs when you roll your eyes. When you try to step away and take yourself out of Sunghoon’s grasp, he immediately pulls you back into him. It catches you off guard and you’re suddenly aware that he’s looking at you with those commanding brown eyes peeking through his bangs. It makes your breath falter for a moment. 

“I appreciate you more than you know. I hope you know that.” His baritone voice nearly makes you knees buckle.

“Thank you for saying that.” 

“I mean it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

You look away. “I’m sure you could find someone else who’d be a better fit than me.” 

“Don’t downplay yourself. You’re a fantastic assistant who’s kept my head on my shoulders for the past six years.” 

“Sunghoon…” 

“Say it. Say ‘I’m a great assistant.’” 

“I’m a great assistant.” He grins. 

“Good girl.” 

Yeah. You must be losing it if hearing your boss say that makes you feel a little worked up. Those feelings from when you first met rise to the surface and you struggle to push them down. It doesn’t help that Sunghoon looks like a Greek God among mortals with his chiseled jawline and impeccable skin. You stare at him far too long to realize how long his eyelashes are and how he looks quite handsome when he’s looking at you like he’d do anything to make you change your mind about quitting your job.

Goodness, you think. I’m screwed.    

***

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Biting your lip, you stare at the screen of your phone. The email you’re currently trying to draft has been completely blank for the last eight minutes. Other than the addressee line, that is. 

Despite the elapsing time, Professor Kim’s email address is the only field you’ve been able to fill out. 

Not without good reason, of course. It’s a delicate balance you’re trying to strike. After all, the last time you saw him, he was covered in blood. Fully deranged. Convinced of whatever motive spurred his actions enough to throw a dart at you. Inject vampire poison directly into your veins. 

Fleeing from the scene of his supposed crime with a strange look in his bloodshot eyes. 

Beyond that, there are other obstacles to consider. The only contact information you have for your professor is his official university email address. You doubt it’s monitored regularly, but you’d rather not have a paper trail of damning accusations in your wake stored forever on a public server. 

Sighing, you let your phone fall to your lap for a moment. You’ve been awake for nearly an hour now, and you haven’t quite worked up the courage to leave the confines of Heeseung’s bedroom. 

It could be beneficial, you suppose, to ask him for help. He’s more than proven his discerning eye for matters like this. But that would involve leaving the safety of your current location, even if it is illusory at best. And it’s not like Heeseung has shown any support for your plan to contact your professor. 

Besides, if you can’t handle something as simple as a well-crafted email, how are you ever going to manage profiling an unusually cognizant vampire without raising suspicion? No, this is something you need to do on your own. Even if only to reassure yourself that you can.

Bringing your phone back to eye level, you type:

Dear Professor Kim, 

 It’s cordial. A standard greeting from a student to their professor. Nothing that would raise a red flag, warrant further investigation. 

I apologize for not being able to attend our scheduled draft meeting on Wednesday afternoon. There have been quite a few unexpected events in the last few days…

You frown, backspacing through that last sentence. 

Something unavoidable came up, and I was not able to provide prior notice. 

You don’t love it, but it will have to work. 

If possible, I would love to reschedule our meeting. I am still thrilled about the opportunity to discuss my draft with you in person. I took the liberty of previewing several of New Haven’s recently published works, and I believe that my work will make a fitting contribution to the existing canon. For your convenience, I have attached a copy of my current draft for your review.

Regarding the internship, I am still highly interested in pursuing that opportunity as well. I believe that my personal interests are well-suited to New Haven’s core beliefs and values. I would love to find another time to formally tour the New Haven Publishing facilities. I believe that you have a great capacity for mentorship and would be honored to work alongside you in the coming months. 

You read over your message once. Twice. Deciding that it will only sound worse the more it lingers in your mind, you add your signature to the end. Then you close your eyes, take a deep, steadying inhale, and press send before you can change your mind. 

The small whoosh sound as the message leaves your inbox and slides into his feel almost anticlimactic. You’re dealing with vampires and careful allusions in subtext. Things that seem more suited to a quill and parchment than an email typed on a smartphone. 

With the message sent, your mind is suddenly free to wander to other things. Despite the strange, frantic jumble of events that have occurred in the past handful of days, you’re still tethered to your mortality. Now, that manifests as a grumble in your stomach. 

Although you’re sure the bag next to the nightstand truly is the result of Jake’s best efforts, the rather lacking grocery run he did hasn’t been doing you many favors nutritionally. 

For a fleeting moment, the idea of only needing to feed once a year is almost something that inspires envy. It would certainly make things simpler. 

While you’re contemplating the merits of peeling yet another clementine, a knock rings out against the door. Three firm raps that have you nearly jumping out of your skin. 

It’s another unfortunate side effect of humanity, your infallible skittishness. Distantly, you wonder when that will start to fade. If it will. Fear these days has a way of feeling etched to your bones, painted against the backs of your eyelids. A shadow that never strays far from your footsteps, no matter how quiet they are. 

It’s not unexpected, given the things your mind has been subjected to as of late, but it is starting to wear on you. 

Most of all, you miss feeling safe. Not so constantly, painfully aware of your own mortality, your capacity for injury. For death. 

For now, you force yourself to breathe. One deep inhale followed by a long exhale. It’s just one of the boys, you’re sure. 

But you can’t even linger on that too long. If you do, they stop being boys in your mind and start becoming five-hundred-year-old immortal, blood drinking beings with supernatural powers. It’s a lot to handle, especially at nine in the morning. 

Shoving your fear to the side the best that you can, you force your voice into something steady. “Come in.”

It’s Heeseung that enters. Tentatively, on slow footsteps, as if this space doesn't belong to him. It’s strange, you think, how out of place a person can look in their own room. And it’s not that he doesn’t fit in with his surroundings as much as it is that he appears to be brimming with unease. A tension that sits just below his skin and won’t let him relax. 

Eyes that can’t decide where to land, that flit around the room as if he’s seeing it for the first time. Hands that war between resting at his sides versus making themselves busy. Pushing at his hair, tugging at his shirt. 

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was nervous. 

Finally, after a moment of stilted silence, his gaze lands on you. 

And it’s all too much like time you spent in an empty classroom at adjacent desks, reading each other’s words. The moments you stole under moonlight after he insisted on walking you home. It’s not that the discomfort fades. But when he looks at you like that, it has a way of becoming irrelevant. An afterthought. 

Eyes meeting across the room, the only thing that exists between the two of you is the gentle fragility of the moment. A blip in time that extends until it’s stretched too thin. Until it snaps, forcing you back to reality. 

“I came to check on you,” he finally says. “To see how you’re feeling.”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, averting your eyes. It’s a cop out, yes, but it’s also the truth. You are fine. Even if it sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself of it as much as you are him. 

Heeseung worries at his bottom lip with his teeth. Smooth, flat, even teeth. You wonder if he has control of it, when his fangs come out. If there are moments when he doesn’t, when control passes from his careful grip to the whims of his fading inhibitions. 

But for now, at least, he’s as guarded as ever. 

It doesn’t detract from his consideration. “I thought you might want to go to your apartment,” he offers. “Get some of your own clothes. Spend a little time in a familiar place.”

Sensing an opportune moment, your stomach grumbles audibly. 

Heeseung suppresses a grin. As if he’s charmed by it, you and your undeniable humanity. “Get some real food in you.”

It’s hard, at first, not to feel like he’s trying to kick you out. And it’s stupid, probably, to be in a vampire’s house feeling insecure about the space you take up, the effects of your presence. The fragile hope that something in him wants you there. 

But you’ve gotten better at reading his intentions, even when he does his best to keep them under lock and key. You’ve traded too many secrets to feel shunned. It’s concern that he wraps his offer in, not contempt. 

And you really are hungry. “I could go for some food.”

It’s sweet, the way he asks if you have a favorite restaurant. A spot for take-out that you frequent on busy nights when you’re too tired to cook anything. 

And it gives you a good excuse to drag him along to your favorite coffee shop. You’re the one that’s stunned into silence, though, when he tells the barista that you’ll take the food to go. And when he hands her a small wad of cash before you can get a protest in edgewise. 

You don’t press him on it, but the look you give him is question enough. 

“There’s something I want to show you,” he explains as you wait for your food. “We, well, you can eat there.”

It hits you then, in the middle of a cafe you frequent, that you don’t even have to think about it. You’re nodding before his words have time to fully process. For some reason, placing  small bits of trust in him feels like second nature. 

But now, a handful of minutes later, staring up at a very tall ladder with your takeout bag in hand, you’re having second thoughts. 

It’s not that you’re afraid of heights particularly, but…

“I don’t know…” you trail off, gaze still fixated on the top of the ladder. The longer you look, the further away it seems. When Heeseung said he wanted to show you something, you didn’t think the local water tower would be involved in any capacity. “Is this even allowed?”

Next to you, Heeseung just shrugs. “I’ve never gotten in trouble.”

“You know,” you glance at him sideways, “that’s really not all that reassuring.”

“C’mon,” he urges, and he has that glint in his eye. The one that would probably have you following him off a cliff if he asked nicely enough. “The view is worth it. I promise.”

Eyes squinting against the glint of winter sunlight and the prospect of scaling a water tower, you swallow audibly. “It better be,” you grumble. 

Heeseung, like you, has gotten better at picking up on the little details. He doesn’t need to hear you say it to know that he’s won. 

“You go first.” He nods towards the ladder. 

That you are about to argue against when he adds, “I’ll catch you if you fall.”

So with one final exhale and hands that tremble slightly, you walk until you reach the first rung of the ladder. 

“Wait,” Heeseung calls from behind. You turn to find him walking towards you, hand outstretched. “I’ll carry the bag.”

Wordlessly, you slide the takeout bag off of your wrist, handing it to him. At this point, you don’t care if it's chivalry or concern for your ability to scale a ladder that motivates his offer. You’re reeling either way. Despite his promise to catch you, you can’t shake the feeling that the odds of you plummeting straight to the ground from some awful height are greater than zero. You’ll minimize all the risks that you can. 

So, with a steady breath and a racing heartbeat you’re sure he can hear, you start your shaky ascent. 

Only once, during the entire climb, do you glance down. 

It’s not like you ever suspected Heeseung of breaking a promise prematurely, but the sight of him a few rungs beneath you is reassuring all the same. Even if the distance between you and the ground as your gaze shifts over his shoulder is decidedly not. 

And a few, hard earned minutes later, you have to give it to him. You hate to admit that he was right, but the view is absolutely breathtaking. 

The golden glow of late morning winter sunlight cascades over the city that raised you, now just a tangle of lights and roads and tiny buildings in the vast expanse far beneath you. It’s an entirely new perspective on the place where all of your first dreams were realized, where the plans for your future have started coming to fruition. 

In the distance, traces of snow dust the tops of the mountains. You’re nearly eye level with them now, those peaks that have always seemed so unreachable. It’s a vantage point that has you tilting your head, wishing you could capture it forever. 

Beneath you, the city teems with life. The hustle and bustle you’re usually caught up in suddenly feels far away, removed from you. Signs of life feel like something you observe, admire with curiosity but don’t belong to yourself. 

Fleetingly, you wonder if all of Heeseung’s years have passed in a similar fashion. If the sight of a million headlights in the distance makes him feel closer to his humanity or further from it than ever. 

You exhale, breath visible in the frigid air. 

Next to you, Heeseung remains silent. Lets you take it all in without so much as a word. But his presence is something your attention never strays far from. The sound of his breath, the space he takes up in your periphery and in your mind. 

Once you start looking, it’s hard to tear your gaze away. But after another moment, you turn to face him. The winter wind plays with your hair, skims across your cheekbones. The distance between you and him feels almost as much like a ravine as it does nonexistent. 

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him. But your eyes are dancing in dangerous territory. The curve of his jaw. The bridge of his nose. The deep hues of his eyes. The sudden memory of what it was like to be inside his mind, to occupy a space so intrinsically him it felt like an invasion of privacy. 

For a moment, you don’t think he’ll respond at all. But your predictions have never been solid where he’s concerned. 

“I thought you might like it.” Reaching out, he offers you your food again. “Here. I also thought it might be nice to eat with a view. Some fresh air.”

You move to take a seat where you stand, but Heeseung isn’t satisfied yet. He’s braver than you. It may be an unfair assessment, given the nature of his established perpetuity. 

Still, your heart seizes a bit in your chest as you watch him inch closer to the edge of the water tower, slide down into a seated position with his legs dangling off of the side. 

Deciding that you’ve had enough reminders of your mortality this morning, you slide down where you are. Setting the takeout bag down beside you, you pull your bagel out. Grateful that it’s held onto its warmth, you unwrap it, taking a bite. 

It’s almost good enough to have you groaning out loud. Thankfully, you’re able to tamp that urge down before it comes to fruition. 

After another handful of equally delicious bites, your eyes land on Heeseung’s back. Frowning, you remember the first essay from that strange book you found in the library nearly two weeks ago. 

Sacred Monsters, it was called. The Taste of Blood. 

A sudden question pulls at your lips. You’re not sure what the proper etiquette is, of asking vampires about their personal cuisine preferences. Swallowing, you decide far more invasive truths have already passed between the two of you. 

He’s still looking out over the city, still a few feet in front of you. But you keep your voice quiet, as if he were seated at your side. You know he’ll hear it all the same. 

“Can you eat?” you ask the silhouette of his back. “Human food, I mean.”

Turning to look at you over his shoulder, Heeseung pauses for a moment. He must decide that standing is preferable to responding, because with the grace of a trained dancer, he rises to his full height. Takes a few even steps before he’s right next to you.

Then, he slides back down into a seated position at your side, this time separated from you by only scant inches. 

“I don’t know,” he finally answers. “I’ve never tried. But everything about it,” he glances at your bagel, “the smell, the texture, the look, is very… unappetizing.”

You wonder if that’s why he chose to sit away from you, if it’s causing him any grief to be so close now. But he doesn’t seem all that perturbed. 

“That’s too bad.” A tone of light teasing playing at the edges of your voice, you nod toward what’s left of your bagel. “I was going to offer you a bite.”

You don’t miss it, the way his eyes fall to the side of your neck, just under your jaw. The place where your wound is still healing. The bite mark he left there. It’s covered by a bangade now. The thought of walking in public with such an obvious injury felt reckless, like an invitation for unwanted attention. But you’re still painfully aware of its presence. As is he, it would seem. 

“Hm,” he muses, gaze sliding back to your eyes lazily. “Tempting.”

You know he can hear it, the way your heart skips a beat at the implication. The undeniable hint of something that clouds his words. You’re not sure how to identify it, the emotion that has heat flaring beneath your cheekbones. Thrill, maybe. The kind you get in your stomach just before the roller coaster drops. 

But there’s a sensation that pools deeper, tugs at you from just below your naval. Something lost in translation as your struggle to sort the feelings memories of that night inspire. 

Whatever it is, your body betrays you all the same. There’s a flush in your heat and a thrum in your chest and something else entirely gathering at the base of your spine. You decide that taking another bite is the best method of defusal. It takes a concentrated effort not to choke on it.

“Did you have one before?” You’re suddenly desperate to shift the direction of the conversation. “A favorite food, I mean.”

For a moment, Heeseung is quiet. You’re suddenly worried that you’ve overstepped, landed on a sore subject. 

But then he reaches out his hand, letting it hover right above your wrist. “Can I?”

He’s asking for permission, you realize, to paint more images for you with his mind. 

Tamping down on the flicker of surprise that rises, you nod. And then his fingers, gentle as the fleeting kiss of a butterfly’s wings, are once again encircling the curve of your wrist. 

You’re more prepared for it this time, the way the city, nestled in the valley of snow-topped mountains, begins to disappear. As it does, a decidedly warmer image takes its place.

You’re in a kitchen, one lost to the centuries. A woman in a long, plain dress and an apron tied around her waist leans over the fire fueled oven, pulls out a tray of delicious looking pastries. 

Her careful actions are infused with love as she sprinkles a fresh coat of sugar on top of the baking tray, as she meticulously places a handful of fresh raspberries in the center of each perfect pastry. 

In the vision, a boy appears. You feel your heart melt a bit at the sight of him, at this version of Heeseung that can’t be older than twelve. He’s brimming with boyish energy, laughing as he’s admonished for taking a bite before the pastries have properly cooled. Fanning his burnt tongue with a frantic hand. 

Grinning ear to ear when he sneaks another as soon as the woman’s back is turned.  His emotions are as plain as day, in the way children’s always are. The honesty of his joy is painfully apparent in the way his eyes crinkle in amusement, the way they hold no traces of melancholy, no weight from the world. 

And then, just as surely as it came to you, the scene begins to dissolve. As it fades, you turn to Heeseung. His eyes are the same, as that boy from his vision’s, but there’s more depth to them now. The end result of a gaze that bears the brunt force of five hundred years of weight.

“Fresh raspberry cakes,” he tells you, some kind of distant sorrow for a long lost memory outlining his words. “Those were my favorite.”

Hoping to ease some of the heaviness, you offer him a small smile. “You have a good memory. I can barely remember what I ate for breakfast last week.”

But your words don’t have their intended effect. His focus is on the mountains in the distance when he tells you, “We remember everything. In excruciating detail. It’s different from humans, I suppose. Our minds don’t shift to make room for new memories. They just… expand. Hold more.” He sighs, and it’s lost somewhere in the wind. “Things from the past, no matter how distant, never blur. They never fade.”

He can paint hallucinations with his mind. He drinks blood. And still, as you gaze at his profile, you think this might be the most horrifying thing he’s told you yet. 

You can’t imagine it, having all of your past stored so fully in your mind. All the ebbs and flows, the pain, joy, sorrow from your life. 

And he has five hundred years of it. 

It strikes you then, at the top of a water tower, at the precipice of a debilitating revelation, just how insignificant this will all be for him. Your lifetime that will be nothing but a blip on a radar. A moment, never forgotten perhaps, but lost to time all the same. 

You’ll grow, age, change. You’ll graduate university and find a way to support yourself into early adulthood. You might move to a new city, learn a new language, pick up a new hobby. All of the ways people find to fill the limited time that they have, to make the most of the finite days they’re blessed with. 

You might even fall in love. Start a family. Sit on a porch one day, surrounded by grandchildren. Smiling as they laugh at your inability to understand the ways the world is changing, grinning at their disbelief as you explain how different things were in your childhood. 

And then, inevitably, it will end. The community you’ve found, the family you’ve built, will mourn you. Your life, like so many that came before yours, will fade into the background of the cosmos, surviving only in the memory of those that knew you. 

And for him, nothing will change. He’ll look the same, sound the same, be the same. Constant. Unwavering. Immune to the whims of time and the insignificance of something as fragile as humanity. 

You wonder, for a fleeting moment, how you’ll be committed to his everlasting memory. What shape the imprint of you will take. 

When he looks back, five hundred years from now, and can still recall this moment in excruciating detail, what will he think? What will he feel?

Heeseung must sense your sudden melancholy. The temperature hasn’t dropped. In fact, it’s only gotten warmer as the sun continues its steady trek across the late morning sky. 

Still, he turns to look at you. “It’s getting cold up here.” Jerking his head back in the direction of the ladder, he adds, “Why don’t we head to your apartment?”

For now, it’s enough to bring you out of your swirling thoughts. Right back to the current moment. Oh right. You may have gotten up here without much of a hitch, but you still have to get yourself down. 

Luckily, Heeseung offers to go first. And he only laughs once, a bright, airy sound you wish you heard more of, when you threaten to kill him if he lets you fall. 

…..

The lock on your apartment door has always been finicky. It takes a few frustrating tries for you to find the right angle. Finally, you hear the telltale click of the lock giving in. Sighing in relief, you push the door open. 

As you step inside and flick on the light, everything looks just as you left it. Mostly organized, save for the throw blanket you forgot to fold and the coffee mug you left next to the sink. But now, overly aware of the presence just over your shoulder, you’re suddenly looking at your space through discerning eyes. 

It’s not that you feel some immense need to impress him. It’s just that you’re suddenly very aware of everything, all the little pieces of yourself scattered across your apartment. 

You don’t know why, but you realize that it matters to you, what Heeseung thinks of your space.

As you turn to gauge his reaction, you find him still standing just outside your doorway, hands shoved in his coat pockets. A polite gesture maybe, but it feels out of place among the moments that have passed between you. The intimacy garnered over the last few days. 

“What are you doing?” You eye him warily. “Are you going to come in?”

“I’d love to,” he says evenly. His feet don’t budge an inch. “But I… I can’t.”

What? Your brow creases in confusion. What does he mean he can’t—

Oh. 

Oh. 

You figured there was no awkwardness left between the two of you in this regard. After all,  you’ve slept in his bedroom, in his bed, for the last handful of nights. You’ve been inside of his mind. But you suppose this is different. 

Besides, he’s from another time. Another century Despite the fact that he seems to be quite well adjusted to modern life, maybe he still holds some age-old reservations about entering a woman’s home. About being alone with you behind closed doors without six other people with supernatural hearing lingering nearby. 

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you suddenly find it a bit difficult to match his eye. 

Where has his mind spun to, exactly, as he grapples with the thought of entering your apartment? After all, immortal or not, he is still a guy. And university aged one, at that. Well, kind of. 

“It really is okay,” you tell him once you find your voice again. “I mean, if you think about it, I was in your house for the last few days. I know it’s different, since you have roommates, but it really is fine. And my couch is actually pretty comfortable, so—”

“___.” He interrupts you with the sound of your name, intonation flat. “I’m not worried about how comfortable your couch is.” You do glance at him then, and a patient sort of exasperation is written across his features. “Jay was right. You really do need to brush up on your facts.”

Your eyes pull down in confusion. 

Heeseung sighs. 

“I — We — can’t enter into places we haven’t been formally invited into.”

“Oh.” The realization settles, and this time brings with it a white hot flash of embarrassment. You find yourself more grateful than ever that he projects thoughts instead of reading them. What a nightmare that would be. “Well, I officially invite you into my apartment.”

“Thanks,” he says dryly, crossing over your doorstep. “I thought you were gonna make me wait out there forever.”

For a moment, it’s all you can do to watch, still basking in mortification, as he enters into your apartment. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t give any indication as to whether he likes it or hates it or doesn’t think much of it at all. 

And then he takes a few more steps, settling down on the couch you’d mentioned earlier with an appreciative nod. You weren’t lying about it being comfortable. 

You track his movement with evasive eyes. As he gets comfortable, a realization occurs. “Wait.” You freeze, suddenly feeling self-conscious again. “You have to be invited in. So the vampires that have been attacking people…”

Heeseung shakes his head. “They wouldn’t be able to get in here either.”

“Oh.” The single syllable is all you can manage. All you can think about is the fact that you insisted on sleeping an extra night at their house, in Heeseung’s room. Practically speaking, you would have been just as untouchable here. 

You sneak another glance at Heeseung. 

For some reason, though, you don’t think you would have felt quite as safe. 

“There are still risks, though.” Heeseung’s looking at you like he understands where your mind has gone, like he wants to put it at ease. “The second you leave, you’re entirely unprotected.”

Until recently, vampires haven’t made an appearance in your city for nearly two hundred years. Only the overtly superstitious bother with any sort of precautions. Now, they seem like the logical ones, everyone else foolish.  “Garlic charms and things like that,” you wonder. “Do those actually work?”

“No.” Heeseung shakes his head. “The only real substance I know of that’s detrimental to vampires is moonflower. The dose has to be quite high, though. And there are certain forms of distilling it that make it more potent. Otherwise, it mostly just has a strong sedative effect.” 

You frown, his explanation spurring another question. “Why do you think Professor Kim shot me, then? Wouldn’t it have made more sense to inject you directly?”

Heeseung explains, “Moonflower is most effective on vampires when it’s consumed. Only the really strong stuff, specially distilled like I mentioned earlier, would be effective by injection. I don’t know how Professor Kim prepared the thing he shot you with, but it’s unlikely he knows how to properly distill moonflower to make it potent enough to hurt me directly.” 

“So he injected me…” you trail off. 

Heeseung fills in the blanks. “It’s likely that he was hoping it would be a strong enough deterrent for me not to bite you altogether,” he meets your eye, “or that it would kill me if I couldn’t find it in myself to resist.”

You’re finding it difficult to look away from him now. “How did you know? That it wouldn’t kill you?”

His silence is answer enough. 

Part of you wants to curse him for being so careless, so reckless with his own life. Another part of you is afraid that your pile of growing gratitude towards him will soon be too tall, too heavy to bear. 

Another part, small but insistent, wants you to thank him. To get on your knees and beg for forgiveness, for absolution of crimes you never meant to commit. 

“It was a calculated risk,” he tells you, as if he can see the gears whirring in your mind. As if he’s just as afraid of them as you are. “Which reminds me, I have something for you.”

You arch an eyebrow, not sure you can take any more of what he offers. 

But he stands from the couch anyway, walks towards you on steady feet. “I thought about giving it to you on the water tower, but I didn't want to take any chances.” His eyes sparkle with something that looks almost mischievous. “Just in case you got to the top and decided the view wasn’t worth it.”

That piques your curiosity enough to abate any lingering guilt at the thought of him giving you anything more than he already has. “Don’t tell me it’s distilled moonflower.”

It’s meant to land as a joke, but the look he gives you is entirely serious. 

“Close enough.” Reaching into his bag, he pulls out a small, rectangular box. It’s wooden, you think. And it’s beautiful. Ornate in a subtle way, the dark wood is inlaid with hints of a pattern, soft edges that turn and wind and curl in on themselves. 

Like many things he’s shown you, it feels like a relic of the past, a gift from another century. Something that belongs in a museum, not the worn but undoubtedly modern expanse of your apartment. 

“What is it?” you breathe, the air suddenly fraught with something delicate. 

Heeseung reaches for your wrist, opens your palm and places the box in your outstretched hand. “Open it.”

You’re not sure what to expect. The last few days have been anything but predictable, and the box between your fingers is no exception. Despite its solid weight, it suddenly seems fragile in your grip. As breakable as the moment between you. 

It’s with a silver of hesitation that you remove the lid, revealing—

“A knife?” The look you give him is incredulous. 

Because that’s what it is. At first glance, you can tell that it’s not a weapon built for brute force. It’s small, delicate, even. It feels strange to describe a blade as such, but it’s also undoubtedly beautiful. 

You look down at it, each time discovering another detail. A striking silver blade meets a handle even more ornate than the box that houses it. A series of intricate vines wrap around each other, come to full bloom just where the blade kisses the hilt. 

“A dagger, actually,” he corrects. Heeseung just watches as you examine his gift. He must decide that an explanation is necessary. And not just for the weapon between your fingers. 

“I know I wasn’t exactly… enthusiastic about you wanting to continue working with Professor Kim,” he starts. There’s a hint of strain in his voice. It’s not an apology, but you hear the tinge of regret all the same. “It’s not that I don’t trust you or that I don’t think you’re competent. It’s just that—I mean, he’s a…” Across from you, he can’t quite bring himself to say it. 

“A vampire,” you finish the sentiment for him. His expression is unreadable when you match his gaze. But you think there’s something there, something in his eyes that begs for forgiveness you’re in no position to give. Acquittal from crimes you never bore witness to. Difficult decisions lost to the passage of time, their lingering effects reverberating around the two of you now, holding you in their unyielding grip. 

“I understand,” you tell him, because you do. Because you know that his reluctance was never commentary on his faith in you. Because even when he told you, on a night that feels lost to some distant past, that your writing was awful, it was only because he knew you were capable of better. Of more. “And I’m not angry with you. So much has happened these past few days.”

Nestled in your grip, the wooden box and the dagger within feel more like an apology than something with any practical use for you. You’re not woefully unathletic, but the only knives you’ve ever held have been in the kitchen. 

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him. “Although I do have to say, I’m not sure how much good a dagger will do me. Especially since Professor Kim is, y’know, a vampire.”

“You’d be surprised,” he counters. “A potent dose of moonflower is one way of killing a vampire, but this is far simpler.” He matches your gaze. “You just need to aim for the heart.”

Nodding towards the weapon in your hands, he encourages, “Try it out.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You want me to stab you?”

“Not particularly.” That same glint is back in his eye. The one that spells trouble, but not for any of the reasons you would have predicted when dealing with an immortal creature of the night. “But it’s a calculated risk. And we’ve become rather used to those, have we not?”

He’s taunting you, you realize. Still, your uncertain gaze flickers between him and the object in your hands a few more times. Relenting, you set the box down on the counter behind you, pulling the dagger out with no confidence left to your name. 

It’s terrible, but the thing you’re most concerned about now is just how embarrassing this is about to be for you. 

Against your fingertips, the cool kiss of metal feels foreign, invasive. Warily, you test its weight within your grip. And then you turn around to face him again. 

Heeseung wastes no time, pulls back no punches. “You’re holding it wrong.”

“Sorry,” you retort drily. “I must have slept through the day in class where we learned about proper dagger grips.”

He sighs, but there’s a trace of amusement in his eyes. “Here,” he beckons you closer. 

Reluctantly, you close the distance between you. As soon as you stand directly in front of him, you stretch out your arm, offering him the dagger. You expect him to take it from you, to demonstrate a proper grip. 

There’s a comment brewing on your lips, one about how if you had five hundred years of life under your belt, you’d probably be an expert in hand-to-hand combat too, when he catches you off guard. 

Because he doesn’t take the dagger from your outstretched hand. No, instead you feel the warmth of his fingers as they wrap around your own. Gently maneuvering your grip, arranging it into one he finds acceptable. 

Hand still covering yours, he squeezes. It’s light in pressure, but insistent in nature. 

“You have to keep a strong grip,” he whispers. You feel his breath dance across your cheekbone. “Or your hand could slip. You’d only injure yourself.”

Close. When did he get so close? 

Before you can make sense of it, his hand is sliding from your fingers to the skin of your wrist. It’s instinct, at this point to brace for another vision. Maybe he’ll show you, you think. A memory of him learning, an image of proper technique. 

But the mirage never comes. Your apartment stays firmly in view as he catches you by surprise for the thousandth time within the span of days. 

With the practiced agility of a supernatural being, he spins you. Flips your wrist in his grip so that the rest of your body is forced to follow. 

Suddenly, you’re no longer facing him. Instead, you see the counter where you left the old, wooden box. Your front door just beyond it. 

And somehow, at this new angle, the space between you has only grown smaller. Your back, each and every notch of your vertebrae, lies scant inches from the expanse of his chest. You can practically feel the steady rise and fall of his breath. 

It makes yours seem all the more frantic in comparison. 

Your legs feel like jello beneath you, wobbly to the point you’re afraid they might buckle. You try to regain your sense, to get a solid grip on something, anything that will tether you to reality. 

But you’re too aware, so painfully aware of him behind you, wrapped around your wrist, tangled in your thoughts. It’s all too much. 

He doesn’t relent. “Your stance is crucial.” His whisper floats like a caress down the shell of your ear, has you suppressing a shiver in his grip. One that starts at the base of your spine and ends somewhere beyond your body, outside this plane of existence. 

Your body feels molten, less than solid. Something devoid of bones and marrow and muscled. Composed of nerves and flutters and a submission to sensation in their wake. 

The hand that comes to your hip does little to steady you. Again, his pressure is light. But there’s no question that it’s a demand just the same. “Avoid letting your weight sink here.”

Is it? You don’t know. You can’t tell. You can’t think. 

All you can do is feel as his open palm traces a steady line from the curve of your hip to the expanse of your stomach, settling in the space just above your navel. “Brace here,” he breathes against your ear. 

It dawns on you, after a handful of shallow breaths, that this is an instruction. That he won’t let up until you follow it. 

Your stomach tightens in response, just below his hand. 

“Good,” he praises, but his touch doesn’t subside. “Better.”

His other hand, the one still wrapped around your wrist, begins to adjust your grip again. Angles it so that the dagger points away from you, towards an unseen target. “And this,” he moves the dagger slightly, “think of it as an extension of your arm.” Drawing a small circle with the tip, your entire body shifts in response. The palm splayed across your stomach moves with you. “Your body is one moving piece. It’s all connected.”

You suddenly find breathing something you need to focus on. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. 

“When you shift to the left,” he adds lowly. The hand against your stomach guides your movement to mirror his words. “What happens to the dagger?”

You hope his question is rhetorical. Even if you had an answer for him, you doubt your voice would be willing to cooperate. 

“It follows,” he answers a moment later, and you’ve never been more grateful. “Just like the rest of your body.”

The hand on your stomach begins to slide towards your hip again. It follows an agonizingly slow path, pauses for a moment, before he removes it completely. The hand around your wrist falls to his side again. 

“A good weapon,” he says from behind, heat lingering, burning against your skin in all the places he touched you, “is one you can control. It doesn’t need to be flashy. It doesn’t have to look impressive. It just needs to be yours. Completely under your command.”

This time, it’s him that moves. You’re grateful. You still feel frozen in place. 

He walks, circling your immobile figure, until he’s in front of you again. “If worst comes to worst and you do need to defend yourself, don’t lead with the dagger. Lead with your back foot. Let that be what generates momentum through your hip. Brace through your core again, and let your power, your control, come from there. It’s all connected,” he reiterates. “It all moves together.”

He’s not touching you, not anymore, but the sight of him, the memory of it, makes you feel unsteady all over again. 

“Root through your feet,” he instructs. You’re not sure how well you obey the instruction. It feels like all of your energy is dedicated to not collapsing to the ground in a puddle, a horribly undignified heap. 

“Okay,” he continues, “Adjust your grip again, but this time—”

The sound of an incoming notification rings out from your phone, discarded on the counter along with the box the dagger came in. 

You could almost cry with relief at the opportunity to diffuse some of the mounting tension, to have his gaze anywhere but on you, even if just for a moment. 

Relaxing your stance, you do your best to hide the tremble in your legs as you walk to retrieve it. Reading the notification once, you turn back to where Heeseung is still rooted to the spot. 

You suddenly feel unsteady again, but for a completely different reason this time. 

“Professor Kim read my draft.” You hold your phone up, facing the screen towards him even though he’s too far to read the reply you’ve just received. Voice slightly wobbly, you add, “He wants to meet with me.”

…..

The coffee shop you arrive at twenty minutes later is nondescript. Full of office workers on a late lunch, families on a winter outing, and couples enjoying a quiet moment together. It strikes you as odd, almost, how normal it all seems. Despite the way your world has shifted on its axis completely, despite the city’s recent uptick in death toll, people are just… living. Going about their day as usual. 

You find your professor waiting for you at a table in the far corner. He hasn’t ordered anything for himself, and for a moment, you wonder how long it’s been for him. How many years he, like Heeseung, has found human food rather repulsive. 

Regardless of what you now know, Professor Kim looks every bit the well-organized, put together version of himself you saw during morning lectures this past semester. Gone is the crazed, ravaging, consumed by bloodlust being whose path you crossed three nights ago. 

“I appreciate you meeting me here,” you tell him as you slide down into the seat across from him, voice guarded, expression carefully neutral. 

“I’m glad you were able to find it,” Professor Kim agrees. You don’t know why you expected him to sound different. More monstrous, somehow. He doesn’t. It’s the same even, slightly gravely tone he’s always had. “You’ll have to forgive me for not inviting you back to the publishing house. I thought a more public location might serve both of our interests better.”

Witnesses, he means. Whether they’re for your comfort or his, you’re not entirely sure. 

You didn’t come here to beat around the bush. And Heeseung, four blocks away where you forced him to wait for you, is surely anxious to hear the end result of this conversation. “Did you have the chance to read my draft?”

Professor Kim’s expression betrays nothing. “I did.” 

“What did you think?”

He waits for a moment, weighing his words. “I agree with your email. It seems that your interests are… aligned with New Haven’s mission. As you may already know, it’s a rather small publishing house with quite a niche audience. Our tastes are more specific than most.” There’s a hint of distrust when he adds, “It’s rare to find a young person these days who has the experience necessary to publish something that will entice our readers.”

And this is where you have to tread lightly. Make your story believable. Subtle, but foolproof. “I’ll admit,” you start, “my interest in your subject matter has been a fairly recent development.” Slowly, intentionally, you brush hair from the side of your neck. The bandage still covers the worst of the damage, but the fading bruises are still visible. As are the implications of your wound. “But believe me when I say that I am fully committed.”

Professor Kim appraises the side of your neck, eyes widening for a fraction of a second. 

“The woman in my story,” you continue, “the one whose dreams are stolen. I believe I’ve thought of a better idea for the ending.”

He pauses, leans forward in his chair. “Which is?”

“Originally, I thought it would be most fitting for her to die. After all, she was powerless against her enemy.” You meet his eye. “Had no way of defeating him as he grew stronger the weaker she got.”

Professor Kim nods. “A reasonable expectation. But you said your ending has changed.”

Nodding, you continue, “I think I’d like to incorporate a new plot element. A special plant, maybe. Something that makes her dreams toxic to her husband. Something that makes him ill every time he tries to steal them from her.”

Your professor’s gaze is still tight, but his eyes are beginning to relax. Glossing over with the realization of your implication. 

“In my story, the person who introduces her to this plant is a mentor of hers, and ultimately, someone she decides to work with. Someone whose mission she strives to fulfill. To protect her dreams and everyone else’s.”

“An interesting thought.” Your professor leans back in his chair. You can tell that he’s still not fully convinced. “But what if this mentor of hers turns out to be a dream stealer himself. Wouldn’t it be only natural for your heroine to be wary of him, to fear him?”

“She does,” you admit. “But fear won’t save her from her husband. And between the two of them, her mentor is not the one that has ever attempted to harm her. To steal her dreams. Between the two of them, she has no confusion about where to place her trust. Even if it is hesitant.”

Your professor considers for a moment. Then, after a second that seems to stretch infinitely, he nods. “I’d like to hear more about this story of yours. At the publishing house, if you’re able to meet me there.”

Your heart gives a traitorous lurch, but your voice is steady when you affirm, “I am.”

“Can you be there in an hour?” He’s already standing, as if this was a business meeting, a simple transaction, and he’s back to the office now. 

You confirm that you can, and he offers you one last nod.

Then, with little in the way of fanfare, he buttons his long coat closed, retreating through the front door of the coffee shop without so much as a backward glance. 

…..

The metal is cold against the skin of your leg. Biting, it demands all of your attention, even as Heeseung pleads for it where he kneels in front of you. 

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, not for the first time. “Because you don’t have to—”

“Heeseung,” you interrupt, and he looks up, his hands pausing in their ministrations. Beneath you, he’s adjusting the second part of his gift. Because not only did he give you a dagger in a wooden box pulled from a lost century, but also a holster. One that wraps around your thigh. One that he’s currently securing into place as he tries to convince you not to meet your murderous professor at New Haven.

But that’s the least of your worries at the moment. Right now, you thank whatever cosmic forces must be on your side that you wore loose fitting pants today. First because they will help to conceal the shape of your hidden weapon. And second because they’re roomy enough to pull up over your knee, so that you’re still clothed while Heeseung helps you adjust the dagger and holster into place. 

The mere thought of the alternative is too mortifying to consider, has another spark of heat gathering on your cheeks. 

Then again, it’s not like this is much better. Just as you were in your apartment, you’re painfully aware of each brush of his fingers against the skin of your thigh. You have to suppress the urge to sigh, and not in exasperation, every time he opens his mouth to tell you how bad of an idea this is. Mostly because it sends soft whispers of breath over your flesh, goosebumps following in their stead. 

“Heeseung,” you try again. The sound of his name makes him look up at you through long lashes. In front of you, on his knees, his attention has never belonged to you more. 

“We’ve been over this.” He’s had his chance to share his woes, voice his worries. You’ll never make any progress if he pitches this much of a fight every time a new opportunity comes about. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a meeting.”

Heesung frowns. “I don’t like that he wants you to meet him all alone. Why couldn’t you have your meeting at the coffee shop?”

“Right, because I’m sure you’d want to tell me all about your vampire history while a group of twelve-year-olds down caramel frappes a few seats over.”

Heeseung’s lips flatten. “Don’t compare me to him.”

“I’m not.” It’s the truth. Similarities between the two of them have yet to cross your mind. Despite the obvious similarity, your professor and Heeseung exist in entirely different planes as far as you’re concerned. On opposite sides of a vast spectrum. “I’m just saying, it makes sense that he would want to meet somewhere with a little more privacy.”

Heeseung slides the last strap into place, giving it an experimental tug. The holster and the dagger within it hold strong. Wordlessly, he rises back to full height. You release your pant leg, skin and weapon disappearing in one fell swoop. 

“At least let me come with you,” he pleads. “I’ll stay out of sight.”

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish the request. “You and I both know that’s a terrible idea. If he could detect you before, he can do it again. Let’s just consider ourselves lucky that he can’t tell we’ve been together.”

Because what a disastrous nightmare that would be. 

“I can barely do that,” Heeseung counters. “We don’t have to worry about that.” The concern in his gaze doesn’t ease, though. 

You get it, you really do. And you empathize with it. It’s only natural, you suppose, that he would feel some sort of responsibility for you. Even though it was your own volition, your own actions that led you here, he was a part of the catalyst. 

But you don’t want him to feel any guilt where you’re concerned. 

“I’ll be fine,” you reiterate, trying to placate him. “He’s convinced that I’m convinced that he saved me that night.” Looking for Heeseung, begging for a bit of his permission, you add, “This is the first step in getting the answers we need. Besides,” you lift your leg slightly. “he won’t be able to hurt me even if he wants to. I’ve got a secret weapon.”

Heeseung’s lips only thin further. “And no idea how to use it,” he retorts under his breath.

“Hey!” you protest. “I have some idea how to use it.” You’re lying through your teeth. You don’t think you retained a single thing from Heeseung’s rather unorthodox lesson in your apartment.  But in your mind, any fight that comes down to physical strength was always doomed to be a losing battle. “And you said it yourself, I don’t have to be perfect. I just have to wait until he’s distracted. Catch him off guard.” You point right at Heeseung’s chest, finger hovering a few inches away from his skin. “And aim right for the heart.” 

But now you’re thinking of your apartment again. Of hands on your hips, covering the expanse of your stomach. Warm, steady, grounding. And so goddamn distracting. 

“I can tell that you’re nervous,” Heeseung says, voice tangled with worry. “Your heartbeat just jumped.”

You’re too mortified to correct him. 

“Of course I’m nervous. But I’ll be careful.” You meet his eye, hoping your false confidence will reassure him. For the third time, you promise, “And I’ll be fine.”

Heeseung just looks at you for a moment. Inhales. Exhales. 

And then he says, “Keep your phone on you the whole time. Leave it open to my contact so that you can message or call me faster if you need to. And if something, anything feels off, get out of there.” He glances toward your thigh, where your concealed weapon rests. “That dagger is a last resort, but don’t be afraid to use it.”

You nod. After opening your phone to his contact, you check the clock. See that it’s time. 

It feels wrong to leave without any parting words, but you’re not sure what you would say. If there’s anything left to be said. 

You turn on your heel, surprised when Heeseung falls into step beside you. Again, the two of you agreed he would wait a considerable distance away to avoid detection. “What are you doing?”

“I can walk with you a little further,” he insists, stubborn.

“No, you can’t,” you argue. “We’re only a few blocks away, and you don’t know for sure how far his senses extend.” 

“I wouldn’t even be able to—”

“Heeseung.” You stop in your tracks, turning to face him. “Remember how you told me that you trust me, just a few hours ago?”

You need him to dig deep, find some of that faith again. Or else this is just going to be miserable for the both of you.

“You’re not the untrustworthy variable in this situation.”

You sigh. “Then just…” you trail off, not sure how to put him at ease. “Just trust me to be okay. Wait here, and I’ll be back,” you plead. “Soon. I promise.”

Heeseung is nothing but serious when he tells you, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I’m not planning on it.”

A moment passes. Another. Then—

“Fine.” But his shoulders don’t release their tension. 

Again, you turn to walk away. To leave him behind. You feel his eyes on your back, and you’ve barely made it a few feet before he says your name again.

“What—”

“Be careful,” he whispers, so low it’s almost lost to the breeze. “Please.”

Something in you softens at the tenderness in his voice, the worry in his eyes. But you don’t have time to linger on it now. You nod, only once, before turning away from him again. 

The distance between you and New Haven feels short fades quickly. As anticipation begins to settle uncomfortably in your stomach, you replay your fabricated story in your mind, the one you’re about to feed Professor Kim. The one you hope is convincing enough to earn a bit of his trust. Tight enough that he won’t be able to poke any holes in it. 

You’re at the door of the publishing house before you know it, before you have the chance to fully collect yourself. Pausing on the porch, you look around for a moment. It’s just as deserted as it was last week, just as eerily quiet. But this time, at least, you think you see a light in the window. 

Knocking with a hand that’s steadier than you feel, you will your heartbeat to maintain an even rhythm. 

It takes Professor Kim less than ten seconds to open the door. He glances over your shoulder, surveying the area with no small amount of suspicion, before he ushers you inside. 

The layout is just as strange as you remember it, but the hallway doesn’t feel so ominous now that the lights are on, the faint hum of electricity buzzing in the background. Then again, standing face to face with a vampire has a way of being unnerving all on its own. 

Beckoning you forward, you follow your professor past the same closed, unmarked doors before arriving in the open space at the end of the hall. Again, like the rest of New Haven, it looks different in the light. Warmer, more welcoming. Even if it still doesn’t look like much of a publishing house. Even if it still carries with it a distinct sense of unease.

This time, at least, Professor Kim has pulled out two chairs and a small side table,so the room isn’t completely barren. Sitting in the first chair, he gestures for you to join him. You do, eyes only darting towards the door marked with his name once. 

The blood is gone, you realize. 

“Thank you for meeting me here.” Professor Kim is all cordiality where he sits across from you. Again, you struggle to reconcile this version of him with the vampire who shot you full of poison just a few nights ago. “I trust you understand that this conversation is too delicate to have in a more public space.”

“Of course,” you nod. 

“Since we’re here,” he continues, “let’s not speak in riddles any longer. I’m sure you have questions about the last night you were here.” He pauses, passing you a meaningful look. “As do I.”

You inhale, reminding yourself that as far as he’s concerned, you don’t know anything about vampires other than the usual, superstitious lore. “The last time I was here, there was blood on your clothes. Your mouth.” The shiver that traces your spine is not forced. Even now, you think it’s one of the most chilling scenes you’ve ever witnessed. Finally, in a small voice, you breath, “You’re a vampire.”

Professor Kim doesn’t try to hide it. “I am.”

You force confusion into your eyes. “But you didn’t try to drink my blood. You’re not trying to now.”

He nods at your observation. “I have ways of managing my hunger,” he explains, frustratingly vague. “You do not need to fear me.” You hadn’t expected him to spill all of his secrets within the first minute of your conversation, but that only leaves you with more questions than answers. And it certainly won’t give Heeseung or the rest of the boys much to work with. 

“But you… you threw something at me.” Again, you don’t have to try hard to put fear in your gaze. “Something that stuck in my neck.”

“Yes,” he nods again. “That was an injection of moonflower. It’s a substance known to be poisonous to vampires. I believed that injecting it into your blood would prevent you from being preyed upon.” It takes a concentrated effort for you not to show any smugness. Your hypothesis had been right. He was trying to protect you. “I’m pleased to see that it seems to have worked, although I do apologize for the bruising.” 

You realize then that the bandage on your neck covers the bite mark, the place Heeseung left a scar of his own making just next to Professor Kim’s. 

Your professor, you realize, doesn’t know that you were bitten. Doesn’t know that the moonflower was beginning to have an adverse effect. That Heeseung took it right back out of you. 

Internally, you debate. You don’t want to reveal any more cards than you need to, but you don’t know how long the scars will last. Don’t know how much longer you can wear the bandage without raising suspicion. And if he discovers later that you lied to him, it could be disastrous. 

Slowly, you reach for the bandaid on your neck. Removing it, you explain, “What you did that night saved me. I was—”

Professor Kim cuts you off. Leaning forward in his seat, his attention is honed on the twin puncture wounds on your neck. “You were bitten.” Something flashes through his eyes. Confusion. Suspicion. He looks you over again. “But you haven't changed.”

Too late, you realize your mistake. Heeseung’s words come back to you. 

“No, that’s another difference. The seven of us can’t create new vampires.”

Shit. Shit. 

Scrambling, you try to come up with some sort of explanation. 

“Barely,” you correct, doing your best to maintain an even tone. “I was barely bitten. I don’t think he consumed any of my blood.” Trying to create a sense of false wonderment, you ask with wide eyes, “Do you think that’s what prevented me from transforming?”

“Perhaps,” your professor muses, but doubt lingers in his gaze. He appears more guarded when he conjectures, “Or perhaps moonflower has more qualities that even I didn’t know about.”

You’re curious about it, the way he makes it seem as if he’s quite familiar with the substance. Based on what you’ve learned from Heeseung, it’s rare. Difficult to come by. 

But with that suspicion still in his eyes at the potential hole in your story, you’re desperate to change the course of the conversation. Pushing forward, you poke at another one of the boys’ questions. “Did you know that… that he was a vampire?” Your struggle to say Heeseung’s name out loud is not entirely fabricated. It’s to your advantage that it makes sense now. What university student wouldn’t be horrified at the prospect of a classmate being a monster? 

“I had my suspicions,” your professor confirms. “But I wasn’t certain. Not until that night. I apologize for leaving you there with him.” There is sorrow in his eyes. He seems genuinely regretful. “But I was afraid that he would follow me after he realized I’d poisoned your blood. That he would seek his revenge on me.” Looking at you with a newfound curiosity, eyes honed in on the mark on your neck, he levels your with a question of his own. “If I might ask, what happened?”

The best lies are always wrapped in truth, and this is one you were prepared for. You start, “He bit me. But he stopped immediately, before drinking anything. I think he was confused for a moment. He couldn't tell what was wrong with me, with my blood. To be honest, I was quite disoriented as well. I remember him leaving, although I couldn’t say for sure how long he stayed.”

You also have no way of knowing if Professor Kim returned to New Haven. You can’t tell him that you spent the night there, not if he came back at any point and found you gone. 

Instead, you tell him, “I was weak, confused. But I think I remember getting into a taxi, going back to my apartment. I slept for over a day. When I woke up, I couldn’t remember anything. My entire body was exhausted, sore. But after a while, my memories started to come back. That’s when I reached out to you.”

He frowns. “So you don’t know then, if Lee Heeseung is alive or dead?”

You meet his eye. Shake your head. Do your best not to think of the boy waiting for you a few blocks away, sick with anxiety. “I don’t.”

Professor Kim considers for a moment, lets your words settle into the air. Eventually, slowly, he nods, accepting your warped version of events. “If he really didn’t consume any of your tainted blood, it’s likely that he’s still alive. But it’s no matter now.” He shakes his head. “I’m glad that you reached out to me when you did. And I’m glad you survived, that the moonflower had its intended effect. I do apologize for the memory loss you experienced,” he adds. “That is an effect moonflower has on humans.”

You display your palms in a sign of gratitude. “There’s no need to apologize.” You try to mean it, at least a little bit, when you say, “You saved my life. I’d rather lose my memories a thousand times over than succumb to a vampire.”

Professor Kim nods. “You said earlier that you were interested in working here, in aligning with New Haven’s cause.”

This is it, you think. This is your way in. This is how you play your part in preventing any morme unnecessary bloodshed. “I am.”

Professor Kim doesn’t smile, but he seems pleased with your answer. “I know that this was originally meant to be an opportunity to look at how a publishing house functions, but in light of recent events, I have another task in mind.”

It shouldn’t catch you off guard as much as it does. You try not to let any traces of dread imbue your tone when you ask, “What kind of task?”

“We would still publish your original fiction, of course,” he assures you, “but with the recent attacks occurring, this city needs someone willing to report on them.” He speaks with the fervor of a madman when he continues, “To share the truth that other news outlets are afraid to publish. To remind the public how evil vampires truly are. To encourage their support and convince them to join in the fight against these monsters and all of the suffering they bring.” 

You’re silent for a moment, his vitriol settling with a chill into your bones. “You want me to work here as a journalist?”

“If you’re willing to,” he nods. “I know that your background is not in journalism, but your words hold power. The ability to convince people, to hold the truth in front of their eyes and force them to see it, to understand it. I won’t pretend that there are no risks involved. Although blood is their ultimate priority, vampires do have a sense of self-preservation. Those that are sentient enough may be angered by what you write. If you accept, I will offer you as much protection as I can. Including, of course, a steady supply of moonflower.”

Moonflower. You can’t help the shudder this time. Memories come back to you unbidden. You, suspended in a terrible place between consciousness and unconscious. You, waking up in an unfamiliar room, afraid and without any recollection of how you got there. 

You could go your entire life without seeing that damn plant ever again. 

“It would be difficult to write,” you point out, trying to tamp down on the panic, “without my memories, even if they’re only lost temporarily.”

Professor Kim nods. “I believe that was due to the potency of the moonflower you were given, along with the fact that it was injected directly into your bloodstream. But there are other ways of consuming it. The petals of the flower itself can be made into a tea. I have other ideas, too. I’ve been wanting to create a salve out of it. Something applied topically to the skin.”

That you do find interesting. Again, Heeseung made it sound as if moonflower is quite rare. Hard to come by, difficult to obtain information about. He did also mention that it is sometimes consumed as a tea. You make a mental note to tell him about the professor’s seemingly extensive knowledge of it later. 

You might be pushing your luck, but you have one more question. If you leave here without at least trying to get an answer, you know you’ll regret it. “Forgive me, Professor, if this is untoward, but why did you help me that night? Clearly you’re different from other vampires, but…”

“But why do I hate them so much?” he finishes for you. 

You nod. “I’m sorry if it’s not something you’d like to share. But I’ve been having a hard time wrapping my head around it since my memories started to return.”

At your explanation, he says nothing. For a moment, you don’t think he’ll give you any sort of answer at all. 

But then, he begins, “It’s not a very happy story. I was turned just over twenty years ago. It was around this time of year, actually. I was visiting my family for the holidays. My parents had an old cabin, way out in the countryside. Far from the city.”

A flash of sorrow crosses his eyes, as if it causes him pain to remember it. 

“By then, vampire attacks were as rare as they are today, but we both know by now that doesn’t mean much. It must have been a group of nomadic monsters that came across our cabin that night.” 

He looks at his hands, gaze full of agony. “They massacred my family, every last one of them. My parents, siblings, cousins. My wife and daughter.” 

The small gasp of horror you let out is genuine. 

“It was an accident, I’m sure, that my blood wasn’t completely drained. That I was left alive, even if just barely. Alone, in a cabin that was meant to be a place for celebration, I spent long, agonizing days turning into a monster.”

“And then,” he concludes, looking at you, “I vowed to spend the rest of my immortality hunting down every last one of those wretched creatures that took everything from me. That stole my life and everything I love and made me into a demon.” Determination is etched into his features when he tells you, “Lee Heeseung isn’t the first vampire I’ve come across, and my only regret from that night is that he left it alive. I plan to remedy that failure. Especially now that he’s leaving bodies in his wake.”

“You think that it’s him, then?” you breathe. “The one that killed the humans at the river? All the other deaths?”

“Of course it is.” There’s no question, no room for argument in your professor’s assertion. “There hasn’t been any vampire activity in this city for two hundred years. And then, suddenly, I find him trying to drink your blood the very same day the first attacks occur. It’s not a coincidence.”

“But you’re able to see past your desire for blood. What if—”

“I am the exception to the rule.” He strikes your argument down before you can finish it. “Not once, in the last twenty years, have I ever seen a vampire that’s capable of empathy. As I warned you before, the only emotions they have are driven by instinct. Self-preservation on occasion, but above all, vampires are consumed by hunger. The constant need for blood.”

It’s similar to what Heeseung told you. Variations on the same theme, the same devastating truth. But you still don’t feel any closer to discovering what it is that makes Professor Kim different from the other descendants of the eighth lord’s son. And you can hardly reveal to him the truth of Heeseung’s nature. 

Instead, you ask him, “How many people have died? Since the first attack.” You want to know how current his information is, if it differs from what the boys told you. 

“Eleven,” your professor confirms. “Eleven too many. Which is why I need you. The city needs you. Your words could save lives, prevent tragedies before they occur.”

You’re silent for a moment, pretending to be lost in thought, to be considering his offer. Weighing the pros of his words over the cons of your potential endangerment. After a quiet minute, you inhale, as if steeling your resolve, finding your courage. Against the skin of your thigh, you feel the cool kiss of the metal dagger Heeseung gave you. “I’ll do it.”

His face remains stoic, the gravity of the situation far too heavy for him to be truly excited at the prospect. But you can tell that he’s pleased. “Good.” He nods to himself. “Good. This could change things. You could change things.” 

He looks around the space, as if realizing for the first time just how strangely empty it is. “I know that there’s not much here. I prefer to do my work in other places, but if you’d like for me to set up an office for you here—”

“That’s okay.” You shake your head. “Thank you, but I have places I like to write, too.” The thought of working here, of spending more time in this odd, dilapidated building, in the immediate vicinity of Professor Kim is reason enough to decline. Never mind the protest Heeseung would surely wage.

“Very well,” he nods. “I’m sure you understand the gravity of the situation. Typically, I wouldn't put a student on such a difficult schedule, but the truth is not something that can be delayed. I’d like you to have your first article prepared by tomorrow afternoon.” 

It’s a tight turnaround, but you’ve done more with less. For his class, even. Your ability to write in a short amount of time, at least, is something you’re truly confident in. “I can do that.”

“Good,” he says again. “Send me your piece by three p.m., and I will have my edits back to you within the hour. I want it published as soon as possible. The following morning would be ideal.”

“Are there limitations?” you ask. “Things I shouldn’t share or write about?”

Your professor considers for a moment, then he shakes his head. “The only thing I care about is that people understand why they need to be afraid of these attacks. Why they need to join the fight against them. Obviously your reporting needs to be factual, but do what it takes to get that message across, loud and clear.”

“I will,” you assure him, trying to be as much the frightened, determined girl he thinks you are. 

“I’m going to start reaching out to some of my connections,” he tells you. “Finding ways to promote this as much as we can, to get as many people reading as possible. But for now, I’ll get you some moonflower to take with you.”

Standing, he motions for you to follow him towards the door marked with his name. His office. The same place you heard strange noises emanating from the last time you were here. 

It’s confirmed as you approach. The bloodstains are gone. 

He opens the door, ushering you inside, and still, none of your questions are answered. It’s a normal office, nothing out of the ordinary. Similar to his office back at the university, in fact. Clean, orderly, meticulously organized. 

The sounds you heard that night… you swear they had seemed distant, far away. But this office is as cramped and impersonal as any other. 

In fact, the only touch of personality you can find is the large painting that hangs on the far wall, opposite from the door you entered through. Glancing at the scenery it encapsulates, you pause. There’s something strangely familiar about it. Like it’s something you’ve seen before.

It does strike you as almost comical, too, that the balance of it is off. It hangs slightly too far to the left, one side dipping lower than the other. 

You spent a semester reading Professor Kim’s lecture presentations that all had the same uniform Times New Roman 12-point font. You watched as he publicly criticized students for turning in work with nonstandard margins. And yet, it appears that he couldn’t be bothered to make sure the one painting in his entire office is level. 

It’s odd. Entirely out of character.

But you don’t have long to dwell on it before he reaches for a small bag on his desk. 

“Here.” He hands it to you. “These are moonflower petals, crushed into small pieces. You can brew a pinch at a time with boiling water. Don’t let them seep longer than five minutes, and there should be no negative effects on your memory.”

“Thank you.” You take the bag from him, doing your best to appear grateful even if your hand shakes slightly as you receive it. “I’ll use it well.”

“I’ll look forward to reading your article, then,” he tells you. “Three p.m. tomorrow.” The two of you leave his office, walking back into the large, empty, open room. You sneak one last glance at the painting before he closes the door. Frowning, you shake your head. In the grand scheme of the day’s revelations, it’s certainly not something worth fixating on. “Do you need any help getting home?”

“No.” You shake your head, already turning towards the hallway. “I’ll be fine.”

So with your bag of moonflower in hand and unused weapon still cold against your thigh, you bid your professor farewell. 

Heeseung is pacing when you find him. Wearing down a path in the grass next to the abandoned building you left him at just over an hour ago. 

He hears you before he sees you. Detects the sound of your heartbeat or your footsteps or maybe even the smell of your shampoo. Whatever it is, it has him stopping in his tracks, turning towards you with something desperate in his eyes. 

He makes quick work of scanning you head to toe, and you watch as tension drains from him visibly. 

“You’re okay,” he breathes as soon as you’re close enough for conversation. “You’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine,” you confirm, suppressing the urge to run a hand through his hair. Just to soothe him a little. But you don’t know if it would calm him down or make things so, so much worse. You offer him a small smile instead. “Just like I promised I would be.”

Heeseung spots the small bag you’re carrying, the gift from your professor. “What’s that?”

“Moonflower.” You hold it up to the light. “He gave me some. I was right. He shot me with it that night to try to protect me. He…” You trail off, remembering his story. The blame he is now mistakenly laying on Heeseung’s shoulders. “He has a reason for hating vampires.” 

As you recount the details of your conversation, it’s hard not to feel a distinct stab of sympathy for your professor. He’s honing in on the wrong target, yes, but his life has been informed by a deep, profound tragedy. He lost his family. A wife. A daughter. 

When you finish, Heeseung frowns. “He wants you to write articles about the attacks?”

You nod. “He thinks it will be a way to rally people together, to generate enough momentum to stop the attacks and drive out the vampires. Similar to what happened two hundred years ago.”

Heeseung is already resigned to your commitment to seeing this through. No matter how resistant he is to the fact that you’ll be spending more time with your professor, there’s no fight in his voice when he asserts, “And you’re going to do it.”

Again, you nod. “It’s a way for me to keep getting close to him. Maybe I’ll learn how he’s able to keep his bloodlust under control. And I know it’s more complicated than good and evil, but these attacks are horrific. If this helps to stop them, or at least to make people more aware of them, that could help save lives.”

That, at least, Heeseung understands. “The others are out right now,” he tells you. “Spread throughout the city near the places where the attacks occurred. We’re trying to stop what we can, too. And maybe get an idea of what’s going on. Where this vampire came from. Stop them before more are made.”

You think of Heeseung’s story, the painstaking steps they’ve all taken to allow themselves to get involved in matters like this. The sacrifices they’ve made. The dreams of a normal life they’ve all had to grieve, to give up entirely. “Have they found anything?”

Heeseung shakes his head. “Not yet. But we’ll keep looking. Vampires aren’t known for being careful. They can’t be, not with their head so full of bloodlust. They’ll make a mistake eventually, and then we’ll find them. I’m surprised they haven’t already.”

For the sake of your city, you can’t help but agree. Your only wish is that no one else will have to get hurt to finish this for good. “I hope so.”

Heeseung turns to you again. The bag of moonflower is still in his hands. It strikes you, just how close he can be to poison without feeling any of the fear that seems to find you so easily these days. “Are you sure there wasn’t anything that seemed… I don’t know… strange about him? About New Haven?”

You shake your head. “I mean, the building itself is still really odd, but it seemed less sinister with the lights on and the blood cleaned up.” Remembering that Heeseung sat through his lectures too, that he’ll understand just how odd it is for Professor Kim to have a painting hanging askew, you add, “Honestly, the only weird thing was this painting in his office. You know how meticulous he is, but it was super tilted to the—”

Your words die on your lips. It hadn’t clicked, then, what was so familiar about that painting. But here, now, in the aftermath, you put two and two together. 

Heeseung’s eyes flick to yours, finding them wide. “What?” he questions, suddenly urgent as he takes note of the odd expression on your face. 

“The painting.” Your mind is racing, willing things to make sense. “There was a painting in his office. I thought it looked familiar, but I couldn’t figure out why.”

Heeseung’s brow draws together. “What was it?”

“The field.” You match his gaze, eyes brimming with a million unanswered questions. There’s nothing believable about it. It sounds ridiculous, an absurd lie, even to your own ears. “The painting in his office was of the field from the vision you showed me.”

…..

Jungwon isn’t answering his phone. 

“C’mon…” Instead of sitting on the navy couch in his living room like Jake was when you found him here, Heeseung paces in front of it. A few feet away, you stand, still reeling at your realization. 

Finally, on the fifth ring, Jungwon picks up. 

“Jungwon,” Heeseung breathes. “How close are you to the professor’s house? Could you get eyes on him?”

You hear the muffled sound of Jungwon’s indecipherable response from the other side of the line. 

After a moment, Heeseung says, “Okay, that’s fine. Just have him text me.” 

Ending the call, he turns to look at you, phone falling limply to his side. 

“Niki’s closer,” he explains. “Jungwon will check with him and have him message me when Professor Kim is confirmed to be back at his house.”

Because now that you’ve connected the dots, Heeseung insists that he needs to see this painting for himself. Which means the two of you need to wait until you’re certain Professor Kim is nowhere near New Haven. 

“I mean,” you try, grasping at straws to find a way for all of this to make sense, “is it possible that he’s been to that field too? Or knows someone that has?”

“You don’t understand.” Heeseung shakes his head. “That field is—was—in Celedis. It hasn’t existed for four hundred years.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean, it hasn’t existed? I know you said that people forgot about Celedis, but—”

“They didn’t just forget.” Heeseung sighs. After a moment, he stops his pacing to take a seat on the couch. He looks at you from where he sits. “The blood moon I told you about, the one that comes every hundred years.”

You nod, remembering that piece of his story, of his visions. 

“It has certain powers,” Heeseung explains. “It’s a night when old magic is the strongest. And four hundred years ago, one hundred years after the seven of us stopped aging, the eighth son went back to Celedis. It was mostly empty by then. Had been so ravaged by vampires that everyone was either dead or had fled to other kingdoms.”

He doesn’t accompany this story with narration, but you see it all the same. The devastation. The vast emptiness. The tragedy of a kingdom lost to destruction of its own making.

“But he went back, and he found the oak tree where the seven lords, the seer, and his father had all cast their wishes. He didn’t understand old magic, but he was so consumed by his own bloodlust, his thirst for more, that it didn’t matter.”

Heeseung looks at his hands, turns his fingers over in the light as if the lines in his palms contain unknown answers. Explanations for sins past.

“Fueled by his selfishness, he wished for ultimate control over everything, to be the most powerful being in the world. Old magic took his wish and interpreted it as old magic does. It is said that moments after his wish was cast, the kingdom of Celedis collapsed in on itself, destroying hundreds of years of architecture, history, culture. All gone in a single second. And it took the eighth son with it. Returned his body to the land. After all, what could be more powerful than the earth itself? The very source of the kingdom’s magic.”

Heeseung looks at you with something fierce in his eyes. “No one alive today should know what that field looks like.” 

His assuredness sends a chill into your bones. How could it be true? You know what you saw, or at least you think you do, but how on earth would Professor Kim have any connection to a kingdom lost centuries before his birth?

Heeseung pauses for a moment, something suddenly occurring to him, the same idea crossing his mind. “You’re sure that Professor Kim said he was turned only twenty years ago?”

“Yes,” you nod. “And I think that makes sense, actually. New Haven was founded shortly after.” The publishing house he created to spark a literary revolution against the monsters that consumed his world, ruined his life. It follows logic that he would establish it in the wake of his tragic changing. 

Heeseung accepts this, prodding at the other variable instead. “And you’re sure it’s the same field that you saw?”

The more he tells you, the more you doubt your own eyes, your own fallible memory. But— “I mean, my memory isn’t perfect, but I recognized it instantly. I just couldn’t remember where I had seen it until I was outside again, with you.”

Heeseung is quiet for a moment, contemplating. An incoming message from Niki sounds out with a quiet ping, breaking the silence.

Glancing down at his phone, Heeseung’s lips tighten. He looks back to you. “The professor is home.”

A handful of minutes later, you’re back at the publishing house, this time with Heeseung at your side. 

The two of you stand on the front porch, trying to shroud yourselves in the shadows as much as possible. The whole area still seems uncannily deserted, but erring on the side of caution has never hurt. Heeseung reaches for the door handle with a firm grip, but despite his efforts, it doesn't turn.

“It’s locked,” he whispers to you. “Do you have a bobby pin or anything similar?”

“No.” You shake your head. Did the two of you seriously get this far to be thwarted by something as simple as a locked door? After a moment of contemplation, you realize that you do still have something narrow and sharp holstered to your thigh. For a handful of seconds, it seems almost too ridiculous to consider. But your pride is not the most pressing issue at the moment. Slowly, you ask, “Do you think the dagger might work?”

Heeseung pauses, turns to look at you over his shoulder. “Maybe, actually.”

Again, you pull up the fabric from your left pant leg, retrieving the weapon in question. Sliding it out of the holster, you hand it to him wordlessly. 

You watch as Heeseung struggles with the lock, letting out quiet curses every time the knife slips. And then, after a few frustrating attempts, a quiet click signals his success. 

Who would have thought? The dagger did actually come in handy at New Haven. 

Despite Niki’s confirmation that the professor is far away in his home, the two of you enter quietly, carefully. The hallway remains dark as you forgo turning on any of the lights. Instead, you let the dim light of the dying day outside guard your path. You’re not even sure you would need that. At this point, this place is starting to become familiar.  

Plunged in darkness, the publishing house is nearly as eerie as it was the first time you visited, but with Heeseung at your side, at least some of your nerves are abated. 

In the open room at the end of the hall, your two chairs from earlier still sit, now empty. 

Moving past them, the two of you approach your professor’s office. As you get closer to the door, you wonder if Heeseung will have to pick the lock again. But when he reaches forward this time, the knob twists without a hint of resistance. 

Heeseung waits until you’re in the office next to him, shutting the door behind the both of you before flicking on the light. It’s another precaution. Just in case a passerby were to look in through the window from the open room, they wouldn’t notice any usual movement or light. 

But the world outside now feels like a distant concern. 

Because the painting, illuminated by artificial light, hangs in front of you just as surely as it had an hour ago.

For a moment, Heeseung says nothing, just frowning at the scenery. 

“Well?” you prompt, desperate to hear his appraisal, “what do you think?”

“It’s similar,” Heeseung admits, eyes narrowing. He exhales, and you can’t tell if it’s in disbelief or acute relief. “Really similar, but it’s not exactly right. Those flowers there,” he points to a small cluster of bright red tulips at the edge of the painting, “there were never any like that.” 

The most prominent of your emotions is relief. At least you won’t have to add this to the growing list of mysteries surrounding your professor. 

But then, another thought creeps in. Again, you wonder what life must be like with a perfect recollection. Glancing sidelong at Heeseung, you suppose it certainly comes in handy at moments like this. Although you’re not sure the price he pays for eternal memory is worth it.

“It must just be a place that looks similar,” Heeseung concludes, as eager as you to leave New Haven far behind. “Let’s—”

“Wait.” Frowning, you take a step forward, closer to the painting. “Earlier today, the reason I thought it seemed so out of place, it was hanging off center.” But the painting in front of you is perfectly level. “He fixed it.”

Heeseung follows your gaze. “Do you think it got knocked around that night we found him here? Maybe he didn’t have a chance to fix it until today.”

“Maybe,” you agree, “but the rest of his office was perfect.” Nothing else was out of place. 

Taking a few more steps forward, you stand directly in front of the painting. It’s beautiful, but the closer you look, the odder it gets. Looking at the brush strokes, it seems almost… amateur. The scene is strikingly realistic in the way only a practiced artist could manage, but the individual lines are messier the closer you get. As if unrefined hands put it together. 

An idea comes to you, along with a sinking suspicion that settles heavily in the pit of your stomach. Looking at the painting again, your eyes are assessing now.

It’s large. Heavy, probably. You’ll need his help. 

Turning to face Heeseung, you request, “Help me move it.”

Heeseung frowns at you. “Why?”

You shrug, but the last thing you feel is nonchalance. You’re thinking of voices behind this door. Too far away to possibly be coming from an office this small. “Just a hunch. If I’m wrong, we’ll put it right back.”

Heeseung still wears an odd look on his face, but he does as you ask. On the count of three, the two of you lift the painting off of its mount. Set it down. 

And reveal a small, circular opening in the wall, just large enough for a person of Professor Kim’s size to squeeze through. 

A glance passes between the two of you, composed equally of shock and dread. 

Still, you force yourself to get closer. Despite the light from the office, it’s dark when you peer in. The only thing you can tell for sure is that it goes down. Which is confirmed by the ladder that’s attached to the side of the wall. 

God, you’ve had enough of goddamn ladders today to last you a lifetime. 

Heeseung sends another message to Niki, once again confirming that Professor Kim is still far, far away. And then he hoists himself up through the opening. 

Or at least, he tries to. 

Feet back on the ground, very much still on your side of the wall, he shakes his head. “I can’t go in.”

You balk. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark.”

The look he gives you is withering. “No, I physically cannot go in. Vampires can’t enter into places they haven’t been invited to, remember?”

“What?” It’s not new information, and with moonflower out of your system, you have all the ability to retain it. But suddenly you’re confused. That particular restriction seems like something that should have been causing him a lot more strife. “How did you get through the front door then? Or into this office?” Another realization dawns. “How did you get into class?”

“The rules are a little blurry,” Heeseung explains. “Public spaces like businesses and universities that don’t really belong to someone are usually fine. Even offices, since they still lack that true sense of personal belonging.”

You arch an eyebrow. “That is ridiculously convoluted.”

“I told you, old magic is finicky.” Looking back at the opening in the wall, he adds, “Either our dear professor feels a particularly strong attachment to the secret chamber attached to his office, or that hunch of yours must have been right. This is more than just a publishing house.”

The admittance does make you a little smug, even if you’d never tell him that. Turning towards the opening, you move past him. With a large inhale, you start to hoist yourself up. A hand around your wrist keeps you firmly planted on the ground. 

You turn to look at Heeseung over your shoulder, brow pulling in confusion. 

“This was a good plan,” he tells you, “and a good idea. We’ll just have to figure out another way to come back and—”

“Wait, what?” You frown. “Why would we go back? We’re right here.”

Heeseung looks at you like you’re missing something blatant. “Yeah, with one small problem.” After a moment of extended silence, he gestures to himself and says, “I can’t go in.”

You return his gaze, equally incredulous. He’s the one that’s missing the obvious here. “But I can.”

“No.” His lips flatten, reminiscent of when you told him you’d be seeing your professor again. “Absolutely not.”

But you don’t have the time to waste on his misplaced sense of guilt-ridden protection over you right now. “This might be the only chance we get!” you insist. “You’re willing to waste that?”

Heeseung doubles down, equally stubborn. “I’m willing to wait for another option that doesn’t include you disappearing down a ladder into a dark room alone. We have no idea where it leads. Or what could possibly be waiting down there.”

“Fine,” you concede, shoulders slumping. “I guess you’re right. Maybe Jungwon will have an idea how we can—”

Cutting off mid-sentence, you turn again, trying to squeeze yourself through the opening before he has the chance to realize what’s happening and put a stop to it. 

This time, your wrist is untouched. Instead, it’s an arm around your waist, just under your ribs, that pulls you back. 

Heeseung’s chest pressed along the curve of your spine, he whispers against the shell of your ear, “Did you really think that was going to work?” His voice is low, dangerous as his irritation makes itself apparent. “I can tell when you’re lying, you know.” With the hand not currently wrapped around you, he taps the base of your neck, right on your pulse point. “Right here.” He presses down, pressure light but insistent. “Your heartbeat. It races like crazy when you lie.”

You feel it in your throat now. 

“Heeseung,” you whisper, not trusting your voice to remain steady if you speak any louder. 

“Mm?” His breath ghosts along the sensitive skin of your ear. You suppress a shudder. The ghost of it traces your spine anyway.

“Let me go. I’ll be careful—”

“I’m starting to think you don’t know the meaning of that word.” But his grip relaxes anyway. Loosens until his arm is back at his side. 

Slowly, you turn to face him. He’s still close to you. 

So close. Too close. Not nearly close enough. 

Angling forward, he places the palm of his hand on the wall behind you next to your head, just below the opening. Effectively caging you in. 

“What could go wrong?” You’re breathless and you hate it. “I have a dagger.”

“Actually,” he corrects you, “I have the dagger.”

“Well,” you argue, “if you give it back, we won’t have a problem.”

He still doesn’t look convinced. “Do you even have a light?”

Shit. You don’t. Well, except for—

“I have the flashlight on my phone.”

Disapproval makes itself the most prominent expression on his features. 

Slowly, he lets his arm fall back to his side. Then, before you have a chance to make sense of his action, he sinks to his knees before you. With steady hands, he starts to lift the bottom of your left pant leg. 

Your first instinct is to relax into his touch. Your second, not trailing far behind, is to kick him in the jaw. You doubt either of those would serve you well.

Instead, you remain motionless, prone to whatever whim spurs him on as he continues his steady path upward.

The skin of your calf is revealed, inch by agonizing inch, until he reaches the juncture of your knee. Until he stops just above it. 

You understand, now, what he’s doing. Every inch of you hones in on the sensation of gentle fingers sliding the dagger back into place. The holster on your thigh gets a little heavier. You feel his exhale against your skin. 

Slowly, he guides the fabric back of your pant leg into place, weapon now secured. From beneath you, his gaze finds yours. He maintains eye contact while he rises to his full height. 

“Don’t do anything stupid.” It sounds like a prayer, and you have no idea what to do with that.

“When have I ever—”

“Please.”

It’s so damn vulnerable, the sound of him begging. Pleading with you to treat your life with care. As if it’s something precious to him, something he can’t stand the thought of losing. 

You breathe, your chest rising and falling, separated from him by only a handful of inches. Resistance feels futile. So, you muster all of your sincerity, and you mean it when you assure him, “I won’t.”

This time, he helps hoist you up. Makes sure you have solid footing on the ladder on the other side of the wall before letting you go with a reluctant grip that lingers a little too long.

“Be safe,” he whispers. One last request between the two of you. “I’ll be here.”

You nod once, committing the strange look on his features to memory, and then you’re descending. You do your best not to think about how tall the ladder might be, how far you might have to drop should you lose your footing. You couldn't see the bottom from the office, and you’re not about to risk taking a hand off of the ladder to activate your phone’s flashlight. 

Ultimately, it’s not as great a distance as you feared. You can’t have been going down for more than a minute when your feet hit solid ground. 

Still shaky from residual adrenaline and the lingering remnants of whatever just passed between you and Heeseung, you reach for your phone, turning the flashlight on. 

It’s not a very powerful light, and it only illuminates small sections of the darkened room at a time. Turning side to side, you get the impression that it’s a fairly large space. Crouching down, you place a palm against the floor beneath you. Stone, you think. The limited light of your flashlight helps to confirm this.

There’s a distinct sort of permeating cold down here, so far from the sun, so deep beneath the earth. You can sense large amounts of moisture in the air, too. It clings to your skin, making you feel more clammy than you already were.

It’s quiet. Eerily so. The only sounds you hear are the rhythmic drip of water somewhere in the distance and the furious thrumming of your own heart in your ears. 

Immediately, you think of the night you heard strange noises that sounded like they were coming from Professor Kim’s office. He must have been down here, you realize. Maybe with someone else. 

Or something else. 

That thought sends your skin crawling with a deep sense of unease. You don’t know the extent of Heeseung’s heightened senses, but you’re sure he’d be able to tell if there was another living thing down here. Or, at least, you try to convince yourself that’s the case in order to ease some of your rising nerves. 

Turning to your right, you can barely make out the shadowy shape of some kind of structure a few feet away. Again, Heeseung was right. A stronger flashlight really would have been better. But you’re here now, and you’ll have to make use of what you have. 

Slowly, you begin to walk towards it. But after a few steady steps, you’re nearly sent sprawling over the stone floor as your foot makes contact with a hard, heavy object in your path. Letting out a hushed curse, you shine your light down at the ground once again. This time, stone floor isn’t the only thing you see. 

Frowning, you bend to take a closer look. Shackles. You’ve stumbled across an old, rusted pair of iron shackles. 

The discovery sends a fresh chill down your spine. What on earth is this place?

You don’t have long to linger on it. Niki is keeping an eye on Professor Kim, but even that will only give you so much warning if he should decide to come to New Haven for any reason. And you have your promise to Heeseung to consider. Nothing stupid. 

Taking care to step around the shackles, you shine your light towards the ground this time as you continue pressing forward. 

As you get closer, the structure you could barely make out comes into clearer view. But with every inch that’s revealed, your horror only grows. It isn’t much of a structure at all, you realize, stomach dropping. It’s a cell. Thick, heavy metal bars that appear to be carved into the earth itself. 

You can’t quite bring yourself to step inside, but you do get as close as you can. It’s empty, but evidence of terror remains. There are more shackles. These ones are attached to the stone that forms the back wall of the enclosure. 

And that’s not all you see. There are other strange objects in the cell. Long, long metal instruments that you don’t want to imagine uses for. Old, faded blood stains that cover the stone floor. 

Forcing your breathing to even out, you angle your phone towards the enclosure, ensuring that your camera’s flash is on before taking a photo. If Heeseung can’t come down here, you’ll bring as much of it as you can to him. 

Turning away from the cell, you start moving in the adjacent direction, the one that will take you further and further from the ladder with every slow step. In the silence, the sound of your feet against wet stone rings out like gunshots. 

You suddenly feel vulnerable. A sitting duck, an easy target. Shaking the thought away, you force yourself forward. 

Continuing to walk, more horror lines your periphery. There must be a dozen of them, at least. These strange, terrible cells that line either side of the long room. After the first one, you don’t stop for long to examine the others. 

Instead, you continue until you reach the end of the room. Similar to the publishing house above you, it’s essentially a long hall that opens into a wider room. Your eyes have adjusted slightly to the dark, but you still squint to make out anything other than the solid expanse of stone. 

Shining your flashlight to the left, you can just make out the shape of two large objects. As you walk closer, they become more clear. 

The first is a desk. A simple wooden surface to sit and do some writing, perhaps. Nothing particularly strange or out of the ordinary, other than its location. 

It’s the object next to it that gives you pause, has you leaning closer with furrowed eyebrows. 

As you shine your light at it directly, it appears to be a large chest. The kind you would find at an antique store or see in a museum. Something people from past times would use to store clothes or books or other household essentials. 

There’s a lock on the front of this one, however, Complete with a large, heavy chain that makes you think its contents are less than ordinary. 

Crouching slightly, you reach down. Your fingers shake slightly as you tug at the lid. It doesn’t budge, the lock holding firm. You suspected as much, but the result is still frustrating. 

Setting your phone down for a moment, you reach for the dagger strapped to your thigh. You aren’t as well versed in the art of lock-picking as Heeseung seems to be, but you know you’d regret not at least giving it a try. 

It’s no use, you realize after only a few seconds. This lock is different from the one on the front door. It’s large, looks as if it can only be opened by an equally ancient key. One forged by a blacksmith in a lost century. The dagger slips in through the opening, but the shape is too different to gain any purchase. Your dagger can’t find anything to maneuver. 

So you settle with the next best option. As you did with the first cell, you angle your camera towards the chest, taking a photo of ir and its impenetrable lock. 

Frowning at the dead end, you stand back to your full height. You replace the dagger in its holster, reaching for your phone. It might be wise to message Heeseung for a quick status update, to ensure that you have time to keep looking around. In fact, you’re surprised he hasn’t been blowing you up since the second your feet hit solid ground. 

But as soon as your phone screen lights up, you check the top corner and find the reason for his radio silence. 

No signal. Your heart gives a sudden lurch. It makes sense, in hindsight. You have to be at least several feet underground, and cell service providers probably didn’t have secret underground prisons with strange locked chests in mind when they planned their coverage maps. 

But it also means that Heeseung has no way of communicating with you. That you have no way of receiving any messages he may have been trying to send. 

You’re sure you would hear him, if he yelled loudly enough from the opening in the office. 

But if there were any reason he couldn’t speak loudly, any reason he didn’t want to draw attention to himself…

Scenarios suddenly spinning through your mind, you turn back, retracing your steps. The hallway seems even longer now that you’re trying to move through it quickly. The cells seem even more ominous, shadowy silhouettes in your periphery. 

You give a slight start when you almost collide with the ladder, so consumed with hurrying that you almost missed the wall in front of you entirely. 

Grateful that you didn’t just break your nose from a collision with a stone wall, you shut off your phone flashlight. You slide it back into your pocket, and then you begin to ascend back up the ladder you came down. It’s a precarious balance, trying to be both swift and sure footed. 

After what feels like hours but is surely less than two minutes, you’re back at the opening. 

Heeseung, just like he promised he would be, is already there, waiting. 

“Oh, thank the skies,” he breathes as soon as you come into view. If the situation were any different, you might laugh at the turn of phrase. Another relic of his unnaturally long past, you suppose. “I’ve been trying to message you this whole time, but—”

“No signal,” you explain. Your words are slightly stilted as you ease yourself down from the opening, less gracefully than you hoped. “I didn’t realize it until I turned back.” You nod at his phone. “Does Niki still have eyes on him?”

“Yeah,” Heeseung nods. “The professor is still in his house.”

Tension drains from your shoulders. But as you begin to tell Heeseung what you saw, show him the photos you took as evidence, it slowly starts to creep back in. 

“Jail cells?” He frowns, echos of your own questions repeated back to you. “For what? For who?”

“I have no idea.” You shake your head. “But there was also a box, a chest of sorts.” You show him the photo. “It was locked. I tried to get in with the dagger, but it was no use. The key hole was too big for it to move anything around.”

“Can I?” Heeseung asks, gesturing towards your phone. You hand over the device in question. 

Eyes narrowing in concentration, he zooms in on the photo. 

“I can’t remember the last time I saw a lock like that.” It’s hard not to feel defeated, to feel like everytime you’re on the brink of a discovery, some new obstacle blocks your path. After a moment, you add, “I don’t even know if I ever have seen a lock like that. Other than in movies or museums.” 

Heeseung could get into it, maybe. Either by picking it or with brunt force alone. But he can’t get to the chest. And it’s far too big for you to carry back to him. Besides, you’re hesitant to move anything, even if Professor Kim is back at him home for the evening. You doubt you could get the chest back to its exact location without shifting something around. And if anyone were to notice something out of place, it would be him. 

Even if it was just a chest in a dark, cave-like room, shifted a few inches in the wrong direction. 

“I think…” Heeseung looks up, directly at you, interrupting your train of thought. “I think I may have seen this key before.”

“What?” you ask. “Where?”

Heeseung still sounds unsure, but the more he reveals, the more you start to wonder if he’s right. “I can’t be certain, but towards the beginning of the semester, I remember seeing Professor Kim carrying an old fashioned key in his briefcase. I’d been following him all morning, and I saw him take it out once he got to the university. He put it in his office. I think he might have left it there.”

You frown. “That makes no sense. Why would he leave a key to a locked chest in his secret evil cave prison at his very public university office?””

“I don’t know.” Heeseung looks equally as confused. “And like I said, I’m not completely certain.  He might not have left it there, but… it could be worth a shot.”

You want to say that it feels impossible, but the events of the past week have made that word hold very little weight in your mind. 

“That seems…” you trail off, searching for a semantic replacement, “improbable.”

“I know,” Heeseung agrees, “but it’s all we’ve got.”

“It’s still winter break,” you point out, moving past probabilities to logistics. Glancing at the time on your phone, you add, “And it’s almost sunset. How would we even get into the university?”

Heeseung just smiles. There’s no humor in it, but there is an air of self-assuredness. “Leave that to me.”

Half an hour later, you find yourself standing at the top of a third unnaturally tall height of the day. 

“You know,” you cross your arms, “when you said you had a way of getting into the university, I didn’t think it would involve breaking in through a window on the fourth floor. You may be invincible but a fall from this height could actually take me out, you know? And aren’t there cameras?” 

Heeseung wiggles the window frame for another handful of seconds, a self-satisfied smile crossing his features when he hears a telltale pop. “This is the liberal arts building at a public university. The only security cameras that have been updated since 2005 are by the stadium and the school of business.” He pauses his ministrations, suddenly serious when he turns to look at you. “And I wouldn’t let you fall.”

You’re not reassured. “Still,” you hiss, “we’re breaking in through a window. What if someone sees—”

“Like you said,” Heeseung interrupts, sliding the window open, giving the two of you just enough space to slide through, “it’s winter break and after dark. No one is around.” He nods his head toward the open window. “After you.”

Tossing him one more glare, you maneuver your body through the open window. Heesueng follows you, sliding into the fourth floor hallway of the liberal arts building with more poise than you could ever hope to embody. 

He pulls the window shut behind you, slides it back into place with a firm tug. Brushing his hands on his pants, he turns to face you, expression light as if the two of you have just walked through the front door of a bowling alley, not committed a federal crime by breaking and entering through a fourth floor window. 

It’s all you can do to stare at him blankly. What has your life turned into?

“His office is on the third floor,” is all Heeseung says, “at the end of the hallway.”

“I know where his office is.” You sound petulant even to your own ears. But the location of your professor’s office is not the problem. The fact that you’re breaking and entering into a public university to try and locate a key to unlock an ancient looking chest in the prison-esque secret basement of your vampire professor’s publishing house, however, is. 

Still, you match Heeseung’s pace as he begins to walk, following a steady path to the third floor offices. After descending the staircase, the two of you round a corner, turning down the long, narrow hallway that leads to your desired destination. 

“How likely do you think it is that he even keeps the key here?” You’re whispering. The two of you are alone, so it’s probably not necessary. But speaking at full volume in a situation like this would just feel… wrong.     

Heeseung shrugs as your footsteps erase the last of the distance between you and Professor Kim’s office. “Only one way to find out.”

“Wait.” You stop, now directly in front of the door as another thought occurs to you. A particularly annoying limitation of those afflicted with vampirism. “Are you even going to be able to get in?”

“His office at New Haven wasn’t the problem,” Heeseung points out. “Besides, I actually have been invited into this one.”

You arch an eyebrow. 

“What?” Heeseung shrugs. “I went to office hours once.” 

Office hours. You’d been a regular at those too. It suddenly feels like a lifetime ago. 

Reaching forward, you try the door handle. It’s locked. 

“I think we might need the dagger again.” You reach to retrieve it, a memory flashing through your mind. The last time you were here, you were armed with a first draft of a homework assignment and enough anxiety to make you nauseous. Now, with a dagger in your hand and a vampire at your side, the contrast is stark. 

Handing the knife to Heeseung, you watch as he methodically jiggles it for less than thirty seconds before you hear a soft click. 

“Thanks.” He hands the dagger back to you, waiting for you to secure it back into place. Then, he opens the door, and the two of you enter. 

It feels illicit. It is illicit, but the first thing that strikes you is just how similar this office is to the one at New Haven. Meticulously organized. Not a file out of place. The only thing missing is a painting that looks eerily similar to visions of Heeseung’s childhood. Oh, and the secret basement hiding behind it, of course.    

Here, however, there would be nothing to hide it behind. And no matter where your eyes wander, you can’t seem to find anywhere worth hiding a secret key, either. No glaringly obvious evil drawer of a file cabinet or particularly sinister potted plant. 

But Heeseung must see something you don’t. He approaches your professor’s desk slowly, a frown tugging at his lips. His gaze is fixated on the far corner of it, where the only indications of personality in the entire room are arranged in a neat row. 

Three small figurines. At first glance, they appear wooden, hand-carved. The first is a tree. The second is a rose. And the third is a startlingly lifelike human heart. 

They’re all relatively small, about the size of your closed fist. The closer you look, the more intricate they become. Details are carved with phenomenal precision. From leaves to petals to veins, the craftsmanship is remarkable. 

Heeseung is staring at them with a distinct intensity. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

“I’m not sure,” he admits, still fixated on the carvings. “I just feel strangely… drawn to them. The heart in particular.” But he still doesn’t do anything about it. 

Spurred by his inaction, you reach for the figurine, lifting it to eye level. It’s smooth to the touch, nothing particularly noteworthy about it other than the intricacy of the carving. 

But then you give it a slight shake. The two of you lock eyes when something rattles inside. 

“Do you think…” you breathe, sentence trailing into oblivion. 

Heeseung’s eyes flicker from you to the heart. “Does it open?”

From your current vantage point, there’s nothing obvious. But then you turn the heart upside down. Whatever’s contained inside follows the flow of gravity, settling heavily inside the upturned figurine with a small thump. 

And on the bottom of the heart, there’s a latch. Tiny, but unmistakable. Your hands are shaking, almost too hard for you to get a proper grip. But once you do, the latch clicks open without a hint of resistance. 

Turning the heart upright again, all you can do is gasp as a large, ornate, metal key falls into your open palm. 

Your gaze locks on Heeseung’s, jaw open in disbelief. “How did you know?”

He shakes his head, just as dumbfounded as you. “I have no idea.”

But now you have another dilemma. Do you take it with you? Go back to New Haven now? If Professor Kim were to make a stop by his office or the publishing house for any reason, the two of you could be in deep, deep trouble. For something far worse than breaking and entering. 

But you can’t just leave it here. Not when you’re nearly one-hundred percent certain you know exactly what it opens. Not when you’re dying to know what’s worth guarding with that much effort.  

You’re about to voice your concern to Heeseung when he beats you to it. Eyes flicking to yours, imbued with a sudden intensity, he whispers, “Someone’s coming.”

“What?” you whisper back. “Who?”

“I don’t know.” He listens for a second longer. “It’s not Professor Kim. I can tell by the footsteps. But whoever it is, they’re headed in this direction.”

“Do we stay in here?” It’s unlikely that whoever it is will check your professor’s office, but if discovery is inevitable, it would be better for the two of you not to be found not inside a university employee’s locked office.

Again, you glance around the room, this time frantically searching for somewhere, anywhere to serve as a hiding space for the two of you. You come up empty handed. 

Then, to your relief, Heeseung says, “They turned down a different hall,” It’s short lived when he adds, “Let’s go. I think we can make it back to the fourth floor.”

Making a run for it feels like the worst possible option. “Are you serious?”

“Do you want to be found in here?”

You don’t, but the sound of footsteps in an otherwise empty building will surely alert whoever it is to your presence. Staying put feels like a far better choice. “Can’t we just wait for them to leave?”

“We don’t know when they will,” Heeseung argues. “Or if they’ll come this way before they do.”

He’s right, you realize, something sinking in your stomach. You know he’s right, but staying in place feels safer to you somehow. Making a mad dash back to the fourth floor feels like a suicide mission. 

“Okay,” you agree, breath suddenly rapid as you slide the key into your pocket. “Okay.”

“Give me the dagger.” Heeseung holds out his hand. 

“You’re not going to stab—”

“Of course not! We need to relock the door.”

Mollified, you retrieve the dagger before handing it to him. 

As quickly and quietly as possible, the two of you tiptoe out of your professor’s office, key heavy in your pocket. Heeseung slides the door shut behind you, slides the dagger into the lock and maneuvers it back into place. 

As soon as it clicks, his hand freezes. 

When he turns to you, it’s with panic in his eyes. “The footsteps,” he whispers. “They changed again. They’re headed in this direction.”

Shit. 

Shit. 

Maybe making a break for the fourth floor is still an option. 

“Do we still have time to—”

Heeseung shakes his head. You know he’s telling the truth. Because now you, even with your mediocre human senses, can hear the footsteps too. The way that they’re getting louder. Getting closer. 

You’re frantic now. “Don’t you have super speed or something?”

“The only exit is down the hall,” Heeseung returns. “We’d just be running at above average speed towards the person.”

“Well, can you make yourself invisible?”

“I’m not a wizard!”

“Oh, well forgive me for assuming the immortal supernatural being who can project visions from their mind through physical touch might be able to do something useful in this situation.”

Arguing will do little to save you now. The footsteps are only getting louder. Even if you wanted to, there’s no way you’d have time to get back into Professor Kim’s office before you’re discovered. 

Heeseung confirms this. “We have approximately three seconds.”

You look up at him, his features soft in the low light of a nearly abandoned building. Panic etched across his face, eyes locked on yours. 

Panic still outlining your words, you whisper, “Do you trust me?”

He recoils an inch, obvious distrust written in his expression. “Why?”

You roll your eyes. You should have expected as much. “Never mind.”

But you reach for him anyway, before he has time to register what’s happening. His supernatural senses will do him little good here. They warn him when your heart starts racing, yes, but they don’t make your actions predictable. Especially not the ones you don’t feel entirely in control of yourself. 

And of all the improbable, impossible things to happen today, this just might be the most unexpected. 

He’s surprisingly easy to maneuver, you realize, when he’s caught entirely off guard. There’s no resistance when your hand wraps around the nape of his neck. Nothing but acceptance in the way his muscles give as you pull him down to your height. 

There’s a second, a fragmented splinter of time, in which his lips hover just above yours. A millimeter of distance. A chance to retract regret borrowed from the future. 

But like every moment you’ve stolen with him, it slips from your fingers just as surely. 

And then, with the steadiness of a sure thing, his lips are on yours. 

You won’t pretend to be privy to the extent of his knowledge, the experience the past five hundred years have afforded him, but all you can think is that it feels a little bit like a kiss you would steal behind the bleachers in eighth grade. 

Hesitation renders him all but immobile. It’s written into the way his eyes are still open in shock, mouth screwed shut, hands anywhere but on you. 

Despite his obvious reluctance, despite everything in you screaming that this was a bad idea, your mouth parts against his, a breath escaping between your lips. 

He swallows it, and for a moment, everything is still. Until it’s not. 

Hands on your waist are the first thing you feel. The first initiation in this dance between you that’s of his doing. The second is pressure returned against your lips, firm, insistent. 

A line is being crossed; a barrier is being broken. Desire that he keeps tethered on a firm leash is slipping through his fingers as they land on the base of your spine. 

This was always going to be something forged between the two of you. In response, you bring your second hand to join your first at the base of his neck, tangling in the hair you find there. 

He pushes forward, and you’re left with nowhere to go but the expanse of the wall behind you. Back flush against it, you can’t help the small noise of surprise that escapes. Somewhere between a sigh and a hum. 

Whatever it is, it has Heeseung doubling down. As if he wants to swallow every sound you make. As if he wants to earn them first. 

His mouth opens against yours, and suddenly, his hands are everywhere. Your spine, your hips, the hem of your shirt. He pushes further, crowding you against the wall. Until it feels like your desire, the feverish heat brewing beneath your skin, doesn’t belong to you anymore. 

Sensation is suddenly a shared thing, and you’re both chasing fleeting glimpses at a future neither of you thought you would ever have. 

Fingers tangling further in his hair, you can’t help the small, pitiful noises that escape now. Crawl up your throat and drip from your tongue with every give and take, every push and pull. 

Heesung is anything but immobile now. And he’ll give as good as he gets. 

It’s on an unsteady exhale that you feel it, a quick, sharp pain on your bottom lip. Hissing in pain, it’s nothing but a knee jerk reaction when you pull away slightly. 

Heeseung doesn’t let you get far. Mouth chasing yours, he hovers just a fragment of an inch above you. Whatever remains of his inhibition keeps him there, a hair's breadth away from you. 

Slowly, you raise a finger to your bottom lip. To the source of your gasp, the site of the small flicker of pain. When you pull it back to eye level, your fingertip comes away red. 

You’ve never seen his fangs before, as your eyes drop to his mouth, you realize that they’ve made an appearance. Sharp, predatory, destructive. All the things you’ve been told to fear, raised to run from.

His eyes, however, hold nothing but apologies. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. He’s still just as close, but you can feel the way he’s pulling away, retracting into himself even as he remains tangled in your embrace. “I didn’t realize I had—”

You don’t hear the end of it. It doesn’t take much to erase the space between you again. 

And where you expect to find that same resistance from before, where you expect to have to fight his hesitation, convince him to give into the sensations building between you, you find only a feverish desire. 

If you thought you were falling into him before, you’re surely drowning in him now. Consumed in your entirety. 

There’s no space for you to breathe, to think, against the sudden insistence of his mouth, the fervent exploration of his hands. Pretenses between you have been vitiated, and the only thing you crave now is the feeling of reciprocation, some kind of indication that he’s fallen victim to it, too. 

You don’t miss it, either. The particular attention he pays to your bottom lip. The way he bites at it, pulls at it. Careful of your injury and meticulous about using only the teeth of his that don’t double as weapons, yes, but it’s desperate all the same. 

“Fuck, ___,” he whispers, the taste of you on his tongue, sliding down his throat. You feel his words reverberate down the length of your spine, settle heavily in that space just behind your navel. It’s sharper this time, more poignant. You want to follow it, trace all the lines between you until you’re not sure where he ends and you begin. “Fuck.”

It’s slipping from him, that facade of aloofness, that pretense of detachment. It belongs to you now, all of it. His attention. His desire. His feverish lust for everything his inhibitions have always kept him away from. 

His tongue presses against the sensitive skin of your broken bottom lip just as his hand slides under the barrier of your shirt, traces a steady path up your spine until it finds a place to settle, just beneath your rib cage.

“I’m sorry,” he’s still whispering, because he hates himself for wanting this, loathes the way it feels like he’s stealing something from you. Your blood is on his tongue and your trust in his hands. He’s never felt more like a monster, never had such selfish prayers. 

But this was never transactional in your mind, and you feel the furthest from fear that you have since you woke up with his wound etched in the skin of your neck. 

You pull away, only slightly, breath forgotten as you look at him. Your chest heaves with it now. His eyes are cast downwards, as if he can avoid the reality of what’s passed between you by averting his gaze, by looking away. As if his hands aren’t still sitting on your skin. As if he can pretend nothing has happened between you.

It’s not a particular peace you’re willing to give him. And an apology was never what you wanted.

Sliding your hand to his jaw, you turn his chin upward, forcing him to look at you. Your touch, like his, is gentle but firm. Insistent. Again, despite the obvious mismatch in your strength, he lets you adjust him to your will. Allows himself to be manipulated. 

You don’t want his apologies. You don’t want his regret. You hate every unearned sorry he lays at your feet. “Don’t be.” 

Slowly, you bring your other hand, the one not tangled in his hair, up until it’s at eye level. Without breaking eye contact, you press the pad of your fingertip, still stained with a drop of your blood, against his mouth. He opens it under your insistence, maintains eye contact as his lips part, wrap around the tip of your finger. 

When you retract it, the night air feels cold against the wetted skin of your finger. 

It’s only then, when his lips descend on yours again, imbued with a sense of desperate urgency, that you realize you were never disturbed. That the footsteps have faded, lost somewhere that your mind has no use for now. 

The only thing you hear now is the mingling of sighs and the fervent thrumming of your own heartbeat. 

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

TO BE CONTINUED...

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

smut warnings: lots of heavy petting, unprotected sex (wrap it up), fingering (f receiving), size kink, praise kink, use of pet names (baby, angel, kitten, etc), choking kink (f receiving), daddy kink, dirty talk, soft dom!Yunho, sub!Reader, Yunho is smitten, like head over heels for MC and she is too. They’re just obsessed with each other. If I missed anything please let me know!

═══════════════════════════════════════════

For most people, the one constant in their lives is their best friend and for you, it was no different. Meeting Yumi on the playground in elementary school would bring with it not only a friendship that would last but it would also bring with it your first love.

Yumi was the middle of three children. She had a younger brother, Gunho, who always annoyed her whenever you came over, wanting to join in on whatever the two of you were doing. Typical kid brother stuff she told you. Gunho wasn’t as insufferable as Yumi made him out to be and he was nice enough so you weren’t really that bothered by his presence.

Yumi also had an older brother, Yunho. He was in middle school the first time you met him, though you and Yumi weren’t that far behind him. Yunho was polite and friendly towards you while simultaneously teasing and taunting Yumi, something she said was also typical brother behavior.

You first realized you had a crush on Yunho when you started middle school and saw him in the hallways between classes. You could feel it whenever he smiled or laughed at something his friends said, or the way he went out of his way to make sure you made it home safe before walking Yumi home.

Your crush on him blossomed and grew even into high school. Even when it became clear that he didn’t see you that way, you still hoped in the back of your mind that Yunho might notice you or that he felt the same way but then he graduated and was off to college.

You hoped that with him gone, you might finally be able to move on and for a bit, you did.

Until he came back from college for winter break. 

Seeing Yunho even more grown up stirred up all the old feelings you thought you’d buried, and you were reduced to a bumbling mess when you walked in on him, shirtless, in the kitchen in the middle of the night when you were looking to get a bottle of water.

As quickly as he came back, Yunho was gone again, off to college. When you graduated, you and Yumi chose to attend the same college, one Yunho didn’t go to. Another year and another winter break, Yunho returned once again bringing with him a girlfriend this time.

Seeing Yunho with someone who wasn’t you gave you the final push you needed to move on.

Or so you thought.

When Yumi asked you a week ago to join her family on a trip to the Swiss Alps as your family decided to spend the winter in the heat of Australia, it didn’t dawn on you that a family trip meant Yunho would be there too. You were mad at the way your body betrayed your years of repression, heart skipping a beat upon seeing him now, years later.

He’d matured into a very handsome man, taller than you remembered with broad shoulders. His hair had finally returned to its natural color after he experimented in college with bleach and bright colors. You fondly remembered the time he came home during break with bright blue hair and nearly gave his mother a heart attack. While you thought he looked good in any color, you’d always had a soft spot for his natural hair.

As you approached the group, you saw Yunho wasn’t alone.

He’d brought a new girlfriend who you learned was named Seomi.

You smiled politely when you greeted the pair and had you been paying attention at all, you would have noticed the way Yunho’s eyes lingered a little longer on you as you turned to greet your best friend’s parents. It had been some time since you’d seen the brothers and even Gunho had grown up and was starting to look a lot like Yunho, tall but not as tall as the giant of the family.

The flight to Zurich was a long one and thankfully, you had one layover in Istanbul which was an experience in itself but after a few hours, you were back on a plane bound for Switzerland. The first flight, you sat between Yumi and Gunho but the second flight had you seated next to Yunho by the window while Seomi had the aisle seat.

To say it was awkward was the understatement of the century. You spent most of that leg of the flight trying to sleep or listening to music downloaded to your phone. Whatever you could do to avoid speaking to or looking at Yunho.

Arriving in Zurich made you feel like you were part of a traveling circus; Yumi lost her luggage, Gunho left his carry-on in the overhead compartment and had to go back for it, Seomi misplaced her passport but found it in Yunho’s bag. It felt like you and your best friend’s parents were the only ones who had it together.

From Zurich, you were to take a bus to the village of Siebnen. The bus ride was mostly quiet, the sun coming up as you drove through the empty streets and slowly made your way out of the city. The village was at the base of the Alps and you’d never seen such tall mountains before.

The sight of the perpetually snow capped mountains looming over the city as the bus headed closer and closer to the next stop had you more and more excited for the trip. You were practically bouncing in your seat next to Yumi who was taken aback by your sudden enthusiasm.

Once you reached the village, your travel group disembarked from the bus and made your way to a car rental place to pick up a van to take up the mountain roads. You were in the very back with Yumi and Gunho with Yunho and Seomi in the middle seats.

The ride up the mountain was just as exciting for you as the bus ride had been and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring out the window, taking in the grandeur of it all. The rolling farmland was interspersed with forests as the road wound up the side of the mountain, climbing higher and higher as the road got steeper.

As you passed a small farm, you were whisper-shouting to your best friend about the cute sheep when the van turned onto a road that led into a vast forest. The forest grew more and more dense as you climbed even higher still. There were remnants of snow from the most recent winter storm and before you could ask how much longer, the van turned onto a dirt road, driving a little slower.

You twisted in your seat, trying to catch a glimpse of the lodge where you were to be staying. Yumi’s family had rented a massive lodge for ten days and you’d only learned during the layover that Yumi’s extended family would be there as well. 

It dawned on you that this would be your first time meeting her cousins, aunts, and uncles.

As the van rolled to a stop, you were far beyond the reaches of your normal excitement as Yunho and Seomi first climbed out, followed by Gunho, Yumi, and finally you were the last to be let out, stumbling as your foot caught on one of the seatbelts. Yunho managed to catch you before you went down.

“Whoa,” he said, chuckling. “Someone is excited.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, making him chuckle again. “Don’t apologize for almost falling,” he replied. “Just be careful,” he added with a wink. You thanked him again and awkwardly scurried away to join the others at the back of the van to collect your luggage.

The lodge was mostly empty, save for a few family members. You followed Yumi to the room you would be sharing for the next ten days which happened to be next to the room Yunho and Seomi were sharing. On the other side of their room was the room where one of Yumi’s aunt and uncle were staying.

Once you had dropped off your luggage, Yumi dragged you down to the main living area to meet the rest of her family. Her aunt and uncle were on her maternal side and they had three kids as well. 

The eldest was a girl with waist length hair named Haneul. Yumi had told you she was in college. The middle child was a boy named Jun-seo who was in high school, wore glasses and carried his Nintendo switch everywhere. The youngest was in his last year of elementary school and his name was Ju-won.

You greeted them politely but the moment Yunho introduced Seomi, all attention was on her and you were able to breathe easily. You hated attention more than anything and now that the attention was on someone else, you felt a lot better. At least until dinner.

Attention was divided with some focusing on Seomi and wanting to know every little detail about her and Yunho’s relationship while a few were more interested in Yumi’s best friend from childhood. You answered all the questions thrown at you despite feeling like a blinding spotlight was on you.

The next day brought with it more snow and more family.

This time from Yumi’s father’s side. His sister and her husband and their two kids. Twin boys named Kang-min and Jang-min. You learned they were around your age and while being nearly identical, they had vastly different views, opinions, and interests. Kang-min was more the quiet type. He loved sports and academics and was a model student in college. After graduation, he found work as a nutritionist.

Jang-min on the other hand was much louder, more boisterous, and loved a good party. He landed a job as a journalist, writing for an advice column. His interests were more in the home. He loved to cook and bake, and you learned when he had a little too much wine, he got overly friendly.

You found him to be very funny and found his shameless flirting harmless.

Everyone else thought it was kind of funny, too. Well, almost everyone.

Yunho made his distaste of Jang-min’s actions known pretty quickly when he noticed Jang-min’s hand lingering on your knee a little too long. He didn’t even hide it, instead calling his cousin out in front of the whole family.

“Is it really appropriate for you to be touching her like that?” he asked his cousin as the latter leaned against you, his hand perched on your knee as he laughed at a joke you made. The laughter subsided almost instantly and Jang-min looked at his cousin with wide eyes.

“What?” he asked. Yunho glared at the younger man. “Just keep your hands to yourself,” he retorted. “She’s not your family. You can’t just touch people like that.” You felt your heart sink, not for yourself but for Jang-min who recoiled, crossing his arms over his chest immediately.

“Yunho,” his mother chastised. “Jang-min didn’t do anything wrong,” she continued. “And Y/N didn’t say anything about it bothering her,” Yumi added, turning to look at you. “Was it bothering you or making you uncomfortable?” she asked softly. You shook your head. “No,” you replied.

“Jang-min’s just a touchy person. I get like that sometimes when I drink,” you added.

Yunho said nothing, instead excused himself and got up from the circle, heading upstairs, Seomi on his heels.

That wasn’t the first time Yunho had told off one of his cousins for getting too close to you. He did the same thing a couple days later. The parents had all gone to bed as had the young ones leaving you, Yumi, Yunho, Seomi, the twins, Haneul, and Gunho sitting around the fire pit outside on the patio.

Instead of wine, Yumi and Haneul had gotten into the liquor stash and made drinks while the others had opted to drink beer. After Jang-min had gotten another scolding from Yunho for his behavior, the younger man had picked a spot furthest from where you sat, putting you between Gunho and Yumi. You were nursing your drink when Haneul spoke up.

“Why don’t we play a game,” Haneul said, looking around the circle. You glanced at Yumi who nodded. “What did you have in mind?” she asked excitedly. “I swear if you say Truth or Dare, I’m out of here,” Yunho grumbled, Seomi flashing him a smile.

“Truth or Dare is so juvenile,” she added with a nod. You looked away from them to Haneul who seemed to be deep in thought. “What about Paranoia?” you offered, regretting it the moment seven pairs of eyes landed on you. “What’s that?” Kang-min asked, leaning forward to see you better around his twin.

“It’s a party game,” Jang-min answered quickly. “You sit in a circle and one person whispers a question into another person’s ear and then that person has to answer the question out loud for everyone to hear. It has to be a question about someone in the group like ‘who do you think gives the best hugs’ or something similar. And then if you want to find out the answer, you have to drink and then ask. If the person doesn’t want to tell you the question, they also have to drink,” he explained.

“Sounds complicated,” Kang-min murmured. You wracked your brain for another game. “Oh!” Yumi said quickly. “What about Ring of Fire?” You let out a laugh. You knew all too well what Ring of Fire was as you had both played it a lot back in college. “If we want to play that, we’re gonna need to go inside,” you reminded her. “We have to sit at the table.”

Yunho glanced up at you and then to his sister. “I’m down,” he replied, looking at Seomi. “You want to go in? It is kinda getting cold out here.” Seomi nodded. “Yeah,” she answered. “Let’s go in.”

Once the fire had been dealt with, the group moved inside, sitting around the table while you and Yumi worked to set up the game. You found a pack of cards in one of the end tables in the living room while Yumi hunted for a large cup. Once you had your supplies, you started setting up.

“Has anyone played this before?” Yumi asked as she set the cup in the center. You noticed everyone shaking their heads as you cut the deck and set the cards in piles face down around the cup in the center. “Everyone is going to need full drinks,” you explained.

There was a brief pause as everyone grabbed refills. Once they were all sitting back down, you and Yumi took turns explaining the rules of the game.

“If you draw an Ace, that’s ‘waterfall.’ Going around the circle clockwise,” Yumi explained, drawing a circle in the air with her finger. “Each player starts drinking their drink consecutively and you have to keep going until the player before you stops.”

“If you draw a two of any suit, that’s the ‘you’ card. You point at someone else to take a drink. Likewise, if you draw the three of any suit, that’s the ‘me’ card and you have to take a drink,” you continued. Yumi nodded and continued the explanation. “If someone draws a four, that’s the ‘girls’ card and all girls have to take a drink.”

“That’s kind of sexist,” Haneul complained but Seomi waved her off. “It’s just a game,” she replied. “Five is the ‘thumb master.’ Whoever draws this card has to discreetly put their thumb up which everyone has to copy. The last person with their thumb up has to take a drink,” Yumi continued.

“How many rules are there?” Kang-min asked. “As many types of cards there are,” Yumi said with a shrug. “Six is the ‘boys’ card and all boys have to take a drink. Seven is the ‘heaven’ card, which is similar to thumb master only you have to point up to the sky. Last one to do it has to drink,” you continued.

“What’s eight?” Seomi asked. “Eight is ‘mate,’” Yumi answered. “What’s that?” Seomi asked, tilting her head to the side like a curious puppy. “You pick someone to be your ‘mate,’” you answered. “If you have to drink, so do they for the rest of the game.”

You didn’t miss the way Seomi flashed Yunho a mischievous grin.

“Nine is the ‘rhyme’ card: if you draw this card, you have to pick a word and then we go around the table and everyone has to come up with a word that rhymes with that word. Ten is the ‘category’ card. You pick a category and everyone has to name something in that category, anyone who can’t come up with something for either nine or ten has to drink,” you added.

“Okay, so what is Jack?” Yunho asked, looking up at you. “Make a rule,” Yumi answered. “You get to make up a rule or forfeit that has to be obeyed throughout the game. It’s sort of a power card,” she explained. “And Queen?” Yunho asked again, his eyes still on you. “Question Master,” Yumi answered quickly. “You have to ask the others questions and they have to answer with a question. Whoever doesn’t answer with a question has to drink.”

Yunho nodded, eyes still on you. “And what about King?” he asked. “Fill up the cup,” you answered, nodding at the cup in the middle. “Pour some of your drink into the glass and whoever draws the fourth king has to chug the entire contents.”

Yunho’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Okay,” he said, sitting up and looking down at the cards in front of him.

“Let’s play.”

The first round was a mess, trying to re-explain the rules of the game each time a card was drawn that you resorted to writing the rules down for each person who asked for clarification. The second round was a lot better. You drew a six and laughed, pointing at Jang-min who playfully glared at you as he took a drink.

When it got to Yunho, he pulled the 8 of diamonds. Seomi glanced up at him, expecting him to pick her but was surprised when Yunho instead picked you. “Now you have to drink every time Yunho does,” Yumi said as Seomi picked up a card. She drew a two of Hearts and immediately pointed at you.

You raised your glass and took a drink without complaint. Yumi had mixed something together and it tasted amazing. It was so good you weren’t sure if there was even any alcohol in it. “Your turn Kang-min!” Seomi said, positively beaming as she smiled at him.

Kang-min drew the first King of the night, grimacing as he reached over to pour some of his beer into the glass. “Ugh, this is gonna be so gross,” Gunho said when he pulled a king from a different pile and poured some of his drink into the cup.

Haneul drew a ten of Clubs and pondered for a moment before calling out her category. “Christmas movies!” she said excitedly, turning to look at Yumi. “Elf,” Yumi answered, turning to you. “Jingle All the Way,” you said softly. Gunho said Miracle on 34th Street and it continued back around to you.

“Die Hard,” you blurted out. Seomi pointed at you. “Drink! That’s not a Christmas movie!” she said excitedly. “Yes it is,” you replied. Seomi shook her head. “No it’s not! It’s an action movie,” she argued. “That takes place during Christmas,” you added. “It’s a Christmas movie.”

Seomi turned to Yunho for help but he merely shrugged. “She’s got a point,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s also listed as a Christmas movie on Hulu,” Jang-min offered. “It’s your turn Gunho,” Yunho said, looking at his younger brother. “Home Alone,” he said without hesitation. “Nightmare Before Christmas,” Yunho said, turning to Seomi who hesitated.

She took too long because Yumi, Jang-min and Haneul all pointed at her. “Drink!” they said in unison. Seomi begrudgingly took a drink and glared at Yumi who shrugged. “Them’s the rules,” she said, unphased. “It’s just a game, babe,” Yunho said softly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

The next couple rounds had Gunho pulling thumb master, Yunho drawing the Me card which you had to drink with him. Yumi drew the third king and poured half of what remained in her cup into the center cup. You held your breath as you drew a card and sighed with relief at the little nine looking back at you.

“Nine,” you announced, flashing the card. You pondered for a moment, trying to come up with a good word to make everyone rhyme with. “Dime,” you said, looking at Gunho who stared at you. “Like, the currency?” he asked, making sure he heard you right. You nodded. “Lime,” he continued, turning to Yunho. “Crime,” he stated, turning to Seomi. “Grime,” she said, looking you directly in the eye.

“Chime,” Jang-min chirped, turning to his twin. “I’m,” he said, looking proud of himself. “Mime,” Haneul said excitedly, turning to Yumi. “Prime!” Yumi shouted, apologizing when several shushed her. “Climb,” you said, turning to Gunho. “Rhyme,” he said smugly. Yunho chuckled and shook his head. “Sublime,” he continued. “Time,” Seomi said quickly.

It continued back around to you. “Thyme,” you said softly. “The herb,” you added. “Lyme,” Gunho said. “Like the disease,” he clarified, making you and Yumi burst into laughter. Yunho fought the urge to laugh as he stammered out “slime.” It fell to Seomi again who froze. “Oh shit,” she cursed softly, lifting her glass to take a drink. “We kind of exhausted all the options,” Jang-min said with a laugh.

Gunho pulled the eight of clubs and pointed at Yunho. “Doesn’t that mean whenever I drink, Yunho and Y/N have to drink?” he asked, looking past you at Yumi. “Like a chain reaction or something?” Yumi nodded. “It does!” she answered. “Sorry Y/N,” she added with a smirk.

When it came around to you again, you luckily pulled the eight of Hearts and smirked at your best friend. “Alright, mate,” you said with an evil grin. Yumi groaned loudly. “I knew you’d do that,” she grumbled as Gunho pulled the three of Diamonds. “Alright drinking buddies, let’s go,” he said, taking a drink. Yunho followed, as did you, then Yumi.

Yunho pulled the four of Spades and laughed maniacally. “You have to drink twice, Yumi,” he said, sticking his tongue out at his sister. She glared at him but did as he said. Seomi pulled her card and stared at it for a solid six seconds before Yunho glanced at it and gasped.

“She pulled the last king,” he said softly. “Oh… looks like you gotta chug the drink in the middle!” Jang-min said excitedly while Kang-min looked on with mild curiosity and disgust. Seomi took a deep breath but as she reached for the cup, Yunho took it instead. “I’ll drink it for her,” he said, lifting the glass. “She’s got a weak stomach. I don’t want you getting sick,” he added in a soft tone, looking at her.

Yunho downed the contents quickly, grimacing as he set the glass down. “Alright,” he said, coughing. “Is that game?” he asked, looking around. You glanced at Yumi who looked back and shrugged. “We could keep going,” she suggested. “Until all the cards are gone.”

You shook your head. “Let’s just call it there,” you suggested. “The King’s cup is gone,” you added. “We could always shuffle the king cards back in,” Jang-min suggested but you shook your head. “It’s okay,” you said as Seomi started to get up. “Let’s call it a night. We have plans tomorrow anyway,” Yumi said.

The group split up, heading to their respective rooms to get ready for bed.

The next morning, Yumi woke you up early so you could shower before the trip into the nearby town. According to her, it was a small picturesque town, already decorated for the holidays. You both dressed in silence, heading down to the dining room for breakfast.

Yunho was already sitting at the table, Seomi sitting next to him with her arms crossed over her chest, a slight pout on her face. “Morning,” Yumi said as she took a seat, leaving an open seat next to Yunho. Rather than taking it, you sat on the other side of your best friend.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the family to join you, Haneul sitting beside you while Gunho took the seat between his sister and brother. Breakfast went by in mostly silence as everyone was still waking up and eating. After eating, you followed Yumi back up to the room to finish getting ready for the day.

Once everyone was ready, you all piled into the vans outside and headed for the village. The drive down didn’t take that long and soon, you were looking out the windows, catching glimpses of the architecture, roofs blanketed in snow, and holiday decorations everywhere.

You were in the very back again, this time with Yunho and Seomi while Gunho and Yumi sat in the middle seats. Yunho sat in the middle, you on his left, and Seomi to his right. You opted to stare out the window the whole time as to not stare at Yunho or make eye contact.

Last night, the way he stared at you while you explained the rules of the game stirred something inside you and you didn’t really want to revisit whatever it was that was coming back to life inside. Not to mention the way your heart jumped into your throat every time his thigh brushed against yours on the bumpy mountain road.

Once you were in town, vans parked, You scrambled out with the others and gathered around so the older adults could explain the rules. You were allowed to go off on your own and explore but everyone was to meet up for lunch at a specific location. Once this was explained, you were free to go off on your own. You took off with Yumi, Haneul tagging along so she didn’t have to go with her brothers or with the twins and Gunho. Yunho and Seomi obviously went off on their own and you were able to breathe easily.

Yumi ended up dragging you and Haneul to a little boutique that caught her eye and although there was nothing you were interested in, it was still fun to watch Yumi and Haneul shop and try things on. After the boutique, you wanted to step into a shop full of crystals and glass to check it out. There was even a demonstration of glass blowing near the back that you couldn’t seem to pull yourself from.

Eventually Yumi and Haneul dragged you away and the next shop you stumbled into was a jewelry shop. You were looking at the necklaces with Haneul when you heard her gasp slightly. You looked up and followed her line of sight, spotting what she saw.

Yunho and Seomi.

The latter was looking at rings and you felt your heart stop, bile in your stomach rising as you tasted something sour in the back of your throat. You looked away, not wanting to witness whatever was going on over there as Haneul waved frantically at Yumi, drawing her over so she could point.

Yumi stared in awe before grabbing both you and Haneul and dragged you out of the shop onto the sidewalk to peer through the window. “Is Yunho going to propose?” Haneul asked softly as she stared into the shop. Yumi shook her head. “I have no idea. I don’t even know how long they’ve been dating,” she answered. “It can’t have been long because I’ve never heard about her before.”

You tore your gaze from the couple inside the shop, your eyes landing on a bookstore nearby. “Hey,” you said softly, tapping your best friend on the shoulder. “Isn’t the twins’ birthday coming up soon?” you asked. Yumi turned to look at you. “Yeah. Which reminds me, I need to get them gifts.”

You pointed at the bookstore. “Kang-min likes books, right?” you asked. Yumi nodded. “Yeah, mainly manga but he also likes horror books,” she answered. “Let’s go in there. Let Yunho and Seomi have their privacy,” you suggested. The other two thankfully listened and the three of you headed across the busy street to the bookstore.

After the bookstore, the three of you stopped by a small courtyard with all kinds of statues. Yumi wanted to take some pictures and you obliged as the three of you squeezed together to fit in the camera’s view. As the day wore on, your stomach started to rumble and Haneul complained of being hungry. Checking her watch, Yumi saw that it was almost 1 pm and looked at her phone.

“We should probably head for the restaurant,” she said softly. The three of you headed back, walking down the busy sidewalk, chatting. It was mostly Haneul and Yumi chatting as you couldn’t get the image of Yunho and Seomi in the jewelry shop out of your head.

You thought you were past this. The fluttering of your heart when he was around was one thing, but getting so jealous it made you nauseous was another thing entirely. You’d never once felt that way before. It made you wonder what was wrong with you. Yunho wasn’t yours and he never would be but you still couldn’t let go of these feelings.

“Y/N?” you heard Yumi’s voice pull you from your thoughts. “You alright?” she asked. The two of them had stopped and were looking at you with concern. “I’m okay,” you murmured. “Just feeling a little nauseous,” you added. “You want to go back to the lodge?” Yumi asked. You shook your head.

“I’m sure it’ll go away when I eat.”

You didn’t want to ruin the trip because of your unbridled jealousy so for the sake of your best friend, you’d swallow it and suck it up. You’d have to at some point.

The restaurant was a cozy place with a lot of nordic patterns. The three of you were shown to a backroom where the rest of the family was already gathered. The only three seats left were between Yunho and Jang-min. Before you could ask Haneul to switch you, she sat down next to her cousin while Yumi took the seat next to her.

‘Fuck.’

You moved and sat between your best friend and her brother, trying not to look at him.

Immediately, you picked up your menu and looked over the options. “What’re you gonna get?” you heard a voice ask. Looking up, you met Yunho’s gaze. “I’m not sure yet,” you replied softly, turning your gaze back to the menu. “Maybe the chicken.”

“Chicken is always a good choice,” Yunho murmured with a nod as he looked over his own menu. I might get that too,” he added. You said nothing, instead looking at the menu as if you hadn’t decided yet. You were just trying to avoid conversation or eye contact with the man next to you.

When the server arrived, you took turns ordering your food and drinks. Once the menus were taken away, everyone fell into comfortable conversation. Everyone except you.

“So Y/N,” a voice said, snapping you from your thoughts.

You looked up to see half the table’s eyes were on you. The speaker was Haneul, Jun-seo, and Juwons mother. “How long have you known Yumi?” she asked. You turned to your best friend before looking back. “Since we were in elementary school,” you answered. “We’ve been friends for years.”

“What do you do for work?”

You sat there, answering mundane questions about your life, letting the family get to know you a little more. Most of the questions were tame, consisting of inquiries about your work, your life growing up, your friendship with Yumi. Until someone brought up a question that made you want to sink into the floor.

“And you aren’t seeing anyone?”

You thought you felt Yunho tense up beside you but it had to have been your imagination. You shook your head. “She’s been on a few dates here and there since college,” Yumi offered, trying to take the attention off you. “But she hasn’t met the right person yet.”

You were thankful when the conversation shifted to talk about Yumi’s love life, or lack thereof. You had settled back down in your seat and were patiently waiting for your food to arrive so you had an excuse to not answer anymore questions.

“Are you okay?” you heard Yunho ask softly. Looking up, you met his gaze and nodded wordlessly, looking away from him. “I’m fine,” you lied with a forced smile. Whether or not Yunho bought your act you wouldn’t know because before he could respond, the server returned with a few others, bringing your plates out.

The arrival of the food meant most of the party was eating rather than talking. It was a nice reprieve and you hoped soon that you could return to the lodge and call it a day. Seomi and Yunho were speaking in hushed tones before Yunho shook his head and Seomi got up, excusing herself to go to the bathroom. Yunho excused himself and got up to follow.

You exchanged glances with Yumi who shrugged and went back to her food, you following her lead not long after. Yunho returned moments later and sat back down, looking mildly annoyed at something. You took it upon yourself to check on him this time.

“Everything alright?” you asked softly, making sure not to draw any attention. Yunho gave you a smile and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he said just as softly. “It’s nothing,” he added. You chose not to push it and resumed picking at your food, most of your appetite having left soon after your food arrived.

“You want to get it to go?” Yumi asked as the server eventually returned with the check and to go boxes. You nodded and thanked her as she handed you a box. You said nothing as you scooped your mostly uneaten chicken pasta into the box and closed the lid, setting the plate aside and waiting for the group to start making its way to the exit.

Seomi finally returned and declined to take her leftovers, leaving her meal mostly uneaten at the table.

Once the bill was settled, you followed the group out the door, Yumi at your side and slowly made your way back to the parking lot where the vans were sitting. The ride back out of town and to the lodge was quiet and you chose to sit in the middle seat with Yumi while Yunho, Seomi, and Gunho sat in the back.

Upon arriving back at the lodge, you followed Yumi inside, putting your food in the fridge and headed upstairs to shed your layers and put on some more comfortable clothes. Once you were done, you joined the group downstairs as they sat near the fireplace while Mr. Jeong got a fire going.

You watched the younger boys play before Mrs. Jeong and Haneul’s mother called out that the hot chocolate was ready. Yumi offered to get you a mug but you declined before telling your best friend you had to use the bathroom. On your way to the room, you passed Yunho and Seomi’s room and heard them arguing in hushed tones. You weren’t sure what was being said but you didn’t stick around, walking to the bathroom and shutting the door quickly.

After finishing your business, you opened the door and bumped into Seomi who glared at you. “Watch where you’re going,” she snapped. Before she could push past you into the bathroom you stopped her. “Then don’t stand in the middle of the door when I open it like some sort of creep,” you snapped back and walked past her, passing Yunho who stared at you as you walked by.

You didn’t see the way he looked after you as you reached the top of the stairs before you headed back down, nor did you see the way he glared at Seomi. Back downstairs, you took up your previous spot beside Yumi. “Everything okay?” Yumi murmured as you grabbed the blanket on her lap and pulled some of it over you while nodding.

Soon, the parents were rounding everyone up to play charades. You were put on a team with Yumi, Yunho, Seomi, Gunho, and Mr. and Mrs. Jeong. You weren’t entirely in the game and after the first round, you excused yourself, getting up and heading upstairs with the excuse that you had a headache.

Only a few minutes later, Yumi joined you, asking once again if you were okay. You lied and said you were and that you just wanted to rest and get some shut eye because of your headache. She offered to get you some water and aspirin which you thanked her for.

Once you took the medicine and drank some of the water, you settled down in your bed and closed your eyes, drowning out the sound of excited yelling downstairs.

At some point, you passed out and when you awoke, your phone told you it was nearly midnight. You heard Yumi groan as she rolled over. “Really? This is a family vacation,” you heard her grumble in the dark. It was then you were made aware of the squeaking sounds and slight knocking that you assumed was from a bedframe hitting the wall and you felt your stomach churn.

It sounded like it was coming from the next room over which was… Yunho and Seomi’s room.

“Gross,” Yumi grumbled. You pulled back the covers and got up slowly. Yumi turned over and looked at you from the moonlight filtering between the curtains. “Where are you going?” she asked suspiciously. “Water,” you croaked, grabbing your empty glass and got up, pushing open the door and shutting it behind you out of respect.

In the hall the sounds were a little louder and you hurried down to the first floor, trying not to imagine what exactly was happening in the room next to yours only to freeze upon seeing Yunho standing in the kitchen, light from the fridge illuminating his figure. He turned and noticed you standing in the darkness.

“Hey,” he said softly. You forced yourself to move, walking around him to the sink. “I thought you were…” you trailed off as he grabbed the milk out of the fridge and moved to pour some over his cereal sitting on the counter. He put the carton back and shut the door before moving to turn on the light over the sink. “Thought I was what?” he asked, grabbing a spoon and sitting at the counter.

You shook your head and moved to get some ice from the fridge. “I heard noises,” you admitted. Yunho snorted and you turned to face him. “That’s coming from my aunt and uncle’s room,” he admitted. It woke me up and so I thought I’d come down here and have some cereal,” he added.

“Hoped they might be done by the time I finish and head back.”

You nodded and turned away to get some water. Silence fell over the two of you as you sipped on your water and Yunho ate his cereal. Finally he spoke, breaking the tension. “You’ve really grown up,” he muttered and you looked up to find him staring down at his bowl.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” he added with a chuckle. “I was going to say your boyfriend is a lucky guy until it was revealed earlier that you don’t have one,” he continued. You said nothing instead holding your glass firmly as he continued to eat his cereal.

The only sounds that could be heard were the heater working to keep the house warm, the crunch of Yunho’s cereal and the slight squeaking and knocking coming from upstairs. “You really don’t have a boyfriend?” he asked finally, looking up. You shook your head.

“No,” you replied.

More silence followed your admission. You fought the urge to add that no man ever compared to him but you knew that would be crossing a line and you could never come back from that. Better to just let it go and move on. Let him propose to Seomi in peace and move on with his life and be happy.

He deserved that.

“What about a girlfriend?” he asked, throwing you completely off guard. He looked up to meet your gaze. You stared back at him in stunned silence. ‘Girlfriend? Did he think you were…?’ You shook your head. “N-no,” you replied. Yunho shrugged. “I wouldn’t judge you if you did,” he added.

You shook your head more firmly. “No,” you replied. “It’s not like that,” you continued. “I’m just not interested in anyone right now.”

‘Anyone who isn’t you.’

“Oh.” Yunho said, getting up from his seat. He’d finished his cereal and the sounds upstairs had finally subsided. How long had you been standing there in silence? How much time had passed since you came downstairs?

Yunho stopped in front of you, reaching around to place his bowl in the sink. “So there’s really no one?” he asked softly. You shook your head, looking up at him. He smiled softly. “Good,” he said firmly, making you tilt your head slightly.

“Boys suck,” he added and you couldn’t help but laugh at this. It was a sound Yunho hadn’t heard in a long time. A sound that he didn’t realize he missed dearly. How much of a fool he’d been for trying to stay away from you these last few years.

“We saw you today,” you blurted out suddenly, taking both yourself and Yunho by surprise.

“Saw me?” he asked. “Where?”

You’d already blurted it out, you might as well be honest.

“In a jewelry shop,” you answered. “Yumi wanted to look at something in there and we saw you and Seomi. She was looking at rings…” your voice trailed off. Yunho stared at you, unable to read your expression. “I was looking for a gift for my mother for Christmas,” he admitted.

You suddenly felt very small and stupid for saying anything. “Of course,” you answered. “Sorry for assuming,” you said softly before downing your water and turning away. Yunho grabbed your arm gently. “Seomi assumed as much, too,” he admitted. “She thought we were there for that as well.”

You looked down at his hand gently but firmly holding your arm. “That’s why she was looking at rings but I told her I wasn’t planning on proposing any time soon and that I was there to buy a gift for my mother, and that’s when she got upset. That’s why she was so distant at lunch,” he added.

You nodded silently. He didn’t need to tell you any of this. Why was he telling you this? Yunho let go of your arm. “Sorry,” he apologized suddenly. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” he added. “Maybe it’s because I’ve always felt comfortable with you.”

You glanced up at him, finding him already staring down at you, the dim light over the sink casting him in a low glow. “I’ve always found it easy to talk to you,” he added, stepping closer and closing the distance between you, trapping you against the counter.

“I’ve always felt like I could tell you anything and you wouldn’t judge me,” he explained softly, resting his hands against the edge of the counter on either side of your waist. “Like I could be myself and you’d accept me.” Your heart was hammering in your chest, blood pounding in your ears and almost drowning out his words.

Your breath caught in your throat as he leaned closer, his lips inches from yours.

A door opening upstairs broke the silence and Yunho took a step back immediately. “I should probably get back to bed,” he said as he turned away from you. “We have a busy day tomorrow,” he added. You watched as he turned to glance back at you before turning away and heading for the stairs, leaving you in the kitchen clutching your water glass as you stared after him.

‘What the fuck just happened?’

——————————————————————————————————————————

The following morning was the ski trip and you were dreading going to begin with. You weren’t the best with athletic activities, especially in the snow but Yumi had begged and begged the night before while you lay in your beds until you finally caved.

Now as you were in the back of the van with Yumi and Haneul, you were regretting your decision and would have rather stayed at the lodge and done nothing. The ride to the ski lodge wasn’t far thankfully for those that wanted to go skiing but unfortunately for you.

You chose to try skiing with Yumi, Haneul, Yumi’s mother, and Haneul’s mother. Kang-min chose to ski instead of snowboarding with his brother and the others. As you strapped in, you glanced up to where Yunho was helping Seomi into her snowboard boots, making sure they fit.

You were finishing strapping your ski boots on when Yumi sat next to you. “Are you sure you wanna do this?” she asked, a little louder than you would have liked. Yunho and Kang-min both looked up. “You begged me to do this,” you hissed back. Yumi nodded thoughtfully. “And I’ve thought about it but I remembered you aren’t the most coordinated on snow or ice.”

You glared at her, cheeks burning. “It’s fine,” you hissed. “You begged me to come and now we’re here. I’m not backing down now and ruining the mood.”

You got up and walked over to the instructor to get your skis. You weren’t sure why all of the sudden Yumi was asking if you wanted to do this when she was begging you the night before.

Once everyone had the correct gear and was ready, you headed outside and over to the lift that would take you to the top of the slopes. There was an orange partition between the two sides. One side was where the skiers were, to the right the more advanced skiers were flying down the hill whereas to the left, closest to the orange fencing, was where the beginners were.

On the snowboarding side it was almost the same set up but mirrored. You rode the lift up with Yumi and Haneul, holding onto your ski poles nervously as the lift climbed higher and higher. Behind you sat Yunho and Seomi with Gunho and in front of you was the twins and Haneul’s mother. 

Your best friend’s mother chose to stay at the lodge for the time being.

Once at the top, you scooted off the lift and awkwardly shambled over to the side to wait for the instructor. Kang-min skied over and stopped beside you. “You okay?” he asked softly. You nodded, staring at the slope. “Just take it little by little,” he offered.

“You will fall,” he added. “But it doesn’t hurt. The snow is really soft.” You watched as he patted the snow with his ski. “Very powdery. Good skiing conditions.” You smiled at him as the instructor finally arrived. You watched as he explained the basics and let Yumi and Kang-min go first.

“Go slowly,” the instructor said as you moved to the edge of the summit. “Take your time.” You finally took the plunge, pushing yourself over the edge and started sliding down the slope to the first stop. The instructor joined you, commending your form but telling you to uncross your skis.

You tried again, heading down to the next part, cursing as your skis crossed again.

This continued until you reached the bottom.

“You’re doing really well,” the instructor said. “But you keep crossing your skis,” he added with a chuckle. “It’s so weird to try and hold them straight,” you admitted. He nodded as he started towards the lift. “You wanna go again?” he asked.

You weren’t looking at him. Instead you were watching Jang-min slide down the slope next to the one you’d just skied down on his snowboard. “Could I switch?” you asked, turning your head. “Maybe snowboarding might be better for me.” The instructor nodded and beckoned you to follow him back to the lodge and inside where you removed your skis and boots. He brought over a pair of snow boots to check the fit before helping you lace them up and make sure they were snug.

Afterwards, he grabbed the snowboard and handed it to you. “You can put it on at the top,” he said before grabbing his own board, having also switched the skis out. The ride up was silent as you looked around. Yunho and Seomi were at the top, off to the side chatting. When you reached the top, you hopped off the lift and walked over to Jang-min who smiled at you.

“Changed your mind, eh?” he asked as you set the board down and stepped on, watching the instructor make sure your boots were secure. “I couldn’t keep my skis straight,” you admitted with a grimace. “You joined us?” Yunho asked, scooting up to the other side. You nodded as Seomi also joined. “Alright, you three go ahead. I’m sure she doesn’t want you watching her as she goes down,” the instructor said, waving them on.

You watched as they took turns. Jang-min went first and you could see he’d done this plenty of times before. Seomi went next, looking every bit as graceful as Yumi did on skis. Yunho went next, stopping at the peak to look back at you. He gave you a salute. “See you at the bottom!”

You watched as he went next and you were in awe. You had no idea Yunho was so skilled at snowboarding, pulling tricks you’d only ever seen on TV. You were suddenly very aware that it was your turn next. The instructor had you go first and you half expected to lose your balance and tumble but you were surprised how much easier this was than skiing.

It didn’t take you long to get the hang of it and soon you were zooming past the instructor as he laughed. “You’re a natural at this!” Jang-min complimented as you joined him at the base of the slope. He held up his hand for a high five and you reciprocated as the instructor checked his watch. “I have a class soon,” he announced, looking up at you. “Will you be alright on your own now?” he asked.

“Yeah, she’s got us,” Jang-min said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. 

“We’ll keep an eye on her!”

And just like that, you were no longer in need of an instructor. You spent most of the time with Jang-min who was content to join you on the beginner slopes while Yunho and Seomi continued down the intermediate side. Kang-min eventually swapped his skis for a snowboard as well and joined the two of you, taking turns between you and Jang-min

Half the morning had gone by and you were really getting the hang of snowboarding. Yunho called break time and the group headed into the lodge for lunch, shedding your gear by the door. You ordered half a sandwich and a cup of soup, sitting next to Jang-min and Yumi as you excitedly told your success story to your best friend. “Maybe I’ll switch too,” she said with a smile.

“You’ve never even stepped foot on a snowboard,” Gunho said with a snort. Yumi glowered at him. “Neither had Y/N before today,” she snapped back. You nodded. “There’s no way I believe that,” Yunho said suddenly from the other side of the twins. “You’re a natural at this.”

Your cheeks grew warm at his compliments and you busied yourself with your soup. “She really is,” Kang-min chimed in, looking at you with a smile. “Skiing didn’t seem to be your strong suit but snowboarding definitely is.”

Heat spread from your cheeks to your ears at the sudden increase of praise thrown your way. Although you typically hated attention, you had to admit that it felt nice to be praised like this from time to time.

After eating, you sat by one of the fires, warming up while letting your food settle.

“I think Kang-min likes you,” Yumi said softly as she sat next to you. Glancing up at your best friend you knitted your brows together. “What?” you asked incredulously. She smirked at you, settling back in the seat beside you. “Kang-min. He’s been all over you today,” she said softly. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.” You shook your head slowly.

“Not really,” you admitted. You glanced over where Kang-min sat with his twin, playing a card game with Gunho and Yunho. You looked away quickly and turned back to your friend. “I’m sure he doesn’t,” you replied finally. Yumi shook her head. “He’s totally into you,” she whispered as Haneul walked over and sat on the ottoman in front of your chair.

“Who’s into who?” she whispered, looking between the two of you. Shaking your head, you tried to play it off but Yumi jumped at the chance to get a second opinion. “Kang-min,” she said flatly under her breath. “I’m pretty sure he’s into Y/N.” Haneul’s brows rose and she looked at you quickly.

“He is?” she asked, more to you than to your best friend. You shook your head. “I think Yumi is imagining things,” you replied. Your best friend groaned softly and turned to face you. “You want me to go ask him?” she asked and you slapped her leg. “No,” you hissed. “I don’t want you to ask your cousin if he’s into me. That’s so weird!” you hissed.

Yumi shrugged and looked at Haneul. “I don’t think it’s that weird but okay,” she replied.

After warming up for a bit, the group decided to head back out again. You pulled your gear back on, slipping into your feet into your boots. As you were lacing them up, Yunho knelt down by your feet. “Make this a little tighter,” he murmured, undoing your work and redoing the laces. “You want it to be completely tight and snug. Otherwise you could twist your ankle, get blisters, or even break your ankle” he explained.

“Th-thanks,” you murmured as he looked up at you with a smile. “No problem,” he said, getting up and heading outside. You stood up, following him with Jang-min and Kang-min behind you. You decided to ride up with the twins while Yumi and Haneul rode up behind you with Haneul’s mother.

At the top, you waited for Jang-min to go first before following him. You wanted to ease back into it so you went a little slower. Kang-min flew past you laughing as he made a beeline for his brother, making you chuckle as you finally reached the bottom. 

You headed back up, this time letting both Kang-min and Jang-min go first before you started down the hill with Yunho waiting at the top. You decided to go down the big slope like before and were gaining momentum when your eyes caught sight of something sticking out of the snow. Before you could evade, your board struck whatever it was and you went tumbling down with a yelp.

“Y/N!” you heard Kang-min yell. Your ankle was throbbing as you tried to roll over. “Y/N!” said a panicked voice. “Are you hurt?” You groaned in pain as they grabbed your arm and pulled you up into a sitting position. “My ankle,” you groaned, the pain shooting up your leg from your ankle.

You felt someone fumbling with your helmet before pulling it off. You looked up, squinting in the bright light at Yunho as he set your helmet aside and looked you over. “You didn’t hit your head did you?” he asked. You shook your head. His hands moved down to unclasp your boots from the snowboard.

“Where does it hurt?” he asked as Seomi came to a stop nearby. “Is she alright?” she asked. Yunho waved her to go on. “I got this, babe!” he called as he looked up at you. “Which ankle hurts?” You pointed to your right foot. Yunho was quick, calling for Kang-min and Jang-min to get your gear on their second pass down before unlatching his own snowboard.

“I’m gonna carry you down to the lodge,” he announced. “Come on.”

He knelt down, back facing you so you could climb on. You were hesitant but in the end, you leaned against his back, allowing him to pick you up and carry you on his back down the mountain. You heard Yumi call your name from the base of the ski slope and looked over.

“What happened?” she called as she made her way over. “She took a tumble,” Yunho called back. “I’m taking her inside.” Your cheeks burned as Yunho carried you into the lodge. You were carried inside and taken to the side where Yunho gently set you down and guided you to sit on one of the stools against the side wall. You did as he instructed, watching as he unlaced and carefully pulled your boot off.

Yumi had removed her gear and was moving to sit beside you as Yunho pulled your sock off. “Don’t you think a medic should look at her?” Kang-min asked, peering over his cousin’s shoulder at your ankle. “What do you think I went to school for?” Yunho huffed as he carefully rolled your ankle.

Seomi was standing nearby, arms crossed over her chest. She didn’t look happy.

“Without x-rays,” Yunho started as you winced. “I can’t say for certain but it seems to be sprained,” he said softly. He rolled your ankle in the opposite direction and you let out a whimper. “Sorry,” he said softly. “But it’s definitely sprained at the very least.

You watched as he pressed against the joint gingerly. “I don’t feel any popping,” he murmured. “Can you move it yourself?” he asked, smiling slightly when you were able to roll your ankle yourself. “It’s definitely not broken,” he finally said. “We’re gonna need to stabilize it,” he added. 

Jang-min hurried off to find an employee and ask for the first-aid kit. They returned and Yunho looked through it. “There’s nothing in here to stabilize it,” he murmured as he sifted through the contents. “Does it need to be stabilized?” Yumi asked as her brother looked around. He nodded.

“It really should be so she doesn’t hurt it any further,” he answered. “Will this work?” you heard Yumi’s mother ask and looked up as she pulled out a wooden stick from her purse. “It’s a back scratcher,” she explained. Yunho smiled up at his mother. “This is perfect,” he said. “Thanks, mom.”

You watched as Yunho worked, using the scratcher to stabilize your ankle, wrapping the joint with as much gauze as he could before taping it off and covering the whole thing with your sock. “She should probably go back to the lodge,” he added as he cleaned up his mess. “I can take her back,” he offered, looking up at Yumi who shook her head. “I’ll do it,” she replied.

“You should stay,” you interjected. “I don’t want you to miss out because of me,” you replied softly. Yumi waved her hand. “Nonsense,” she replied. “I don’t care. You’re my best friend. I’d be a horrible friend if I stayed while you went back to the lodge alone. Besides, I’m done skiing anyway,” she added.

Yumi turned to her mother who offered to drive back anyone who was done for the day. Haneul agreed to finish for the day as did her mother. The twins, Gunho, Seomi, and Yunho agreed to stay and Yunho would drive back when they were done.

Yunho helped you out to the van and to get in with Yumi’s help. “Don’t put any pressure on it until I can properly wrap it. Make sure to ice it for twenty minutes. Then put heat on it for twenty. Back and forth with the temperatures,” he instructed before closing the door and backing up to watch the van reverse.

You watched him until the van turned and he disappeared from your view. “Are you feeling okay?” Yumi’s voice asked softly from beside you. You turned to look at her and nodded. “Yeah,” you admitted. “It doesn’t hurt that much now.”

The ride back was silent as you stared out the window of the van, watching the scenery change and pass by. It felt like no time at all had passed when you were pulling up to the lodge. Yumi and Haneul very carefully helped you out of the van, helping you up the steps into the lodge and Yumi made sure you got upstairs to your shared room. Yumi took a shower first, cleaning off before coming out.

“The others are back so you might want to take your shower now before they do and all the hot water is gone,” she announced. You got up and limped over to the door with your toiletry bag, towels, and clean clothes. As you limped towards the bathroom door, the bedroom to Yunho and Seomi’s room opened and Seomi exited, glaring at you as she exited and walked down the hall with an annoyed huff, entering the bathroom and slamming the door.

You let out a sigh and started to turn back to the bedroom when Yunho appeared. “Oh, Seomi just went in there,” he said, noticing your toiletry bag and towels. You nodded. “I know,” you replied. “She rushed past me to get there,” you admitted. Yunho frowned at your words. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “You can go before me,” he offered. “Thanks,” you murmured and started to make your way back.

“How’s your ankle?” he asked, looking down. “S’okay,” you shrugged. “The gauze seems to be coming loose.” Yunho nodded silently, looking back up. “After your shower, I’ll wrap it again. We stopped on the way back to get some stuff from a pharmacy,” he explained. “Thanks,” you mumbled and limped back to your shared room with Yumi who frowned as you entered the room.

“I thought you were going to shower,” she said as you hobbled over to your bed and collapsed onto it. “Seomi beat me to it,” you muttered, rolling onto your side, facing the wall. “That bitch,” you heard your best friend grumble and rolled back to look at her. “I thought you liked her,” you said.

Yumi shrugged. “I did but when I saw the way she glared at you when Yunho was carrying you into the lodge, it just rubbed me the wrong way. And when I was walking back here, I could hear them arguing. It wasn’t very loud but I could still hear it,” she explained.

“Then you were in the hall, holding your bathroom stuff and she just walks in there cause she’s not slowed down by an injury. That makes her a bitch.” You snorted and rolled back to face the wall, closing your eyes. Maybe you would just wait until everyone else had gone so you wouldn’t be in the way.

You weren’t sure how much time passed before Yumi was gently shaking you awake. “Seomi is done in the shower,” she said softly. “And I think they’re fighting again so hurry up and get to the bathroom before someone else does.”

You scrambled to get up and hurried out of the room as fast as your ankle would let you, passing the door to Yunho and Seomi’s room which was ajar and like Yumi had said, you could hear them bickering back and forth. Seomi definitely sounded angry but Yunho was surprisingly calm.

You dared not stay and eavesdrop and instead hobbled down to the bathroom. You closed the door behind you and turned the lock before moving to start the shower and undress, unwrapping your ankle and setting the gauze and backscratcher aside before stepping into the scalding water with a sigh.

You went about your business, washing off the events of the day and allowing the hot water to soothe any aches and tense muscles in your body. After you were finished washing and you had rinsed the last of the conditioner from your hair, you stepped out of the shower, wrapped yourself in a towel and started to dry off.

You sat on the toilet, lid down, so you could dry off without putting unnecessary pressure on your swollen ankle. Once your body was dry, you pulled on your clean clothes, snatching up the dirty ones and carefully started to hobble back to your room.

Once inside, you tossed your dirty clothes in the hamper in the room and sat on the bed, starting to dry your hair with the extra towel. Yumi had disappeared, no doubt downstairs. You wondered if you should make the journey downstairs for dinner but one look at your ankle told you that was a bad idea.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a soft knocking at the door. You turned as the door cracked open and Yunho peered in. “Is it okay to come in?” he asked and you nodded, watching as he pushed the door open further and came in, holding in his hand an ankle brace.

“I got this at the pharmacy,” he said as he moved to kneel in front of you. “You already got your socks on, good,” he noted as he carefully took your foot and inspected it. “Does it still hurt?” he asked, looking up at you. Shaking your head you looked down at his hands.

“Just when you put weight on it?” he asked. You nodded wordlessly. “Good,” he noted with a nod. “Means it’s not as severe as I initially thought.” You said nothing as he put the brace around your ankle, making sure to strap it tightly. “There,” he said softly. “You should have no problems walking,” he added as he looked up at you. “But just be careful. You should rest before dinner,” he continued.

You nodded silently as he got up and moved towards the door. “And sorry again about Seomi,” he added quietly. “Sometimes she’s… a little tough,” he said, hesitating for a moment. “Get some rest,” he repeated. “See you at dinner.”

You watched as he exited, pulling the door shut behind him.

You were left alone for only a moment when the door opened and Yumi entered, Haneul and Kang-min on her heels. “Are you okay?” Kang-min asked, sitting beside you on your bed. You nodded. “I’m fine,” you replied. “It’s just a little sore at this point.”

The four of you froze as you heard a slam next door followed by muffled shouting. Haneul moved to close the door, drowning out some of the noise. “I don’t think they’re gonna last,” Haneul murmured, moving to sit on Yumi’s bed. “And good riddance if they don’t,” Yumi muttered, drawing Haneul and Kang-min’s attention.

“I thought you liked her,” Haneul whispered, looking shocked. “I did until she cut Y/N in line for the shower,” Yumi grumbled. “She’s also weirdly overly possessive of Yunho. She got mad at Y/N because Yunho was carrying her after she got hurt,” Yumi explained. “Like, what did she want her to do? It’s not like Y/N could walk.” Their words fell to the back of your mind as you zoned out.

You were feeling tired from the events of the day and yawned. “Are you tired?” Haneul asked, noticing. “Do you want to nap?” Kang-min added. You nodded. “Yeah, sorry guys. I’m just really worn out.” Kang-min immediately got up as did Haneul and Yumi. “We’ll go talk outside. You get some rest. I’ll wake you up when dinner is ready,” she said softly as the other opened the door and exited.

You thanked Yumi and laid back down as she shut the light off and closed the door with a soft click. Not long after, you were out like the light.

Yunho closed the door and started for the stairs. He was getting sick of this. He was tired of the fighting and the arguments. And over what? Seomi wouldn’t even tell him why she was upset, only that she was and that it was his fault. How could he apologize for something if he didn’t even know what he did?

At first, he gave in and apologized the other night after the drinking game just to keep the peace but this time around, he wasn’t going to apologize until she told him why he was apologizing. He reached the bottom of the stairs and noticed Yumi, Haneul, the twins, and Gunho sitting outside around the firepit.

He walked over, pulling open the door and stepped out. Whatever conversation they were having died the moment he stepped outside. “I think I’m gonna help mom with dinner,” Haneul muttered, getting up and walking past Yunho and back inside. The twins exchanged looks and got up. “I think dad said something about needing help with firewood,” Kang-min said to Jang-min who nodded.

They disappeared inside the house and Yunho was left with his siblings sitting quietly as they avoided eye contact with him. Yunho looked between them before moving to sit down. He glanced back at the door first before speaking. “Alright,” he started.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “Why are they avoiding me?”

Yumi glanced at Gunho who looked back at her and shrugged. Yumi narrowed her eyes at her younger brother before sighing. “It’s because of your girlfriend,” she replied. “Because of Seomi?” Yunho asked. “What? Why?” Yumi sighed again, looking towards Gunho for help but the younger merely shrugged again. “You’re no help,” she snapped.

“Seomi is kind of…” Yumi trailed off. “A bitch,” Gunho mumbled, earning a smack from Yumi. “She’s kind of a lot to handle. She’s been pretty nasty to Y/N for no reason,” Yumi clarified. Yunho looked between his siblings. “What are you talking about?” he asked. Yumi sighed heavily.

“First time I noticed it was during the drinking game. I think when you chose Y/N as your mate, Seomi got mad which I don’t know why. If you had picked her, she was gonna have to drink every time you did,” Gunho mumbled, picking at his sleeve. Yunho snorted.

“That’s exactly why I didn’t pick her. I didn’t want her to have to drink every time I did.” Yumi nodded, shifting in her seat. “And we get that. Hell, even Y/N gets that but Seomi must have thought you were picking Y/N because you like her or something which is, again, dumb. Y/N is my best friend and you’re my brother. If it hasn’t happened already, it’s probably never going to happen,” Yumi said softly.

Yunho forced a smile. 

It’s not like he hadn’t thought about it before; being with you. There was something different about you. Something Yumi’s other friends lacked. You were funny, intelligent, confident, and you didn’t really seem to take shit from anyone. You had your head on your shoulders which was more than Yunho could have said for some of Yumi’s other friends at the time.

Yunho was also well aware of the fact that he was your first crush, possibly even your first love, though he never actually heard it from you directly. He had only heard it second hand from a friend of his who claims to have somehow overheard you telling someone else. Someone who wasn’t Yumi.

When he initially heard it, he wasn’t sure what to make of it. You had never made it obvious that you liked him so he thought maybe his friend was pranking him. After all, he was in high school and you were still in middle school at the time, but he would be lying if it didn’t cross his mind again when you finally started high school. Or when you came back from your first year of college. He never wanted to cross that line, in case you had moved on and gotten over your crush.

If it was even true to begin with.

Despite whether or not your feelings for him were real, his for you were definitely real. So he forced himself to move on, forced himself to date people who weren’t you and hoped that by doing so, he might actually get over the silly feelings that lingered in the back of his mind. Only it didn’t actually work. 

When he brought his first college girlfriend home for winter break, he was certain he’d managed to move on but when he saw you coming out of Yumi’s room, all grown up yourself, his confidence that he’d finally managed to move on soared out the window.

He was back to square one.

It was after this that he stopped coming home during breaks as often and focused more on spending time with his friends. He and his girlfriend at the time had broken up after that trip, and it wasn’t until Yunho met Seomi that things seemed to start getting easier.

Whether that was because you weren’t around or because of Seomi herself, he couldn’t say for sure.

His relationship was far from perfect but he really did like Seomi. He thought he might even love her but when he saw you show up at the airport for the trip, he knew he was screwed. He couldn’t tell if your indifference towards him was because you’d truly moved on or if it was you trying to avoid him.

He just didn’t know. And how could he when the two of you barely spoke this trip. You had seemed uninterested in him, in what he’d become and done with his life. He thought if you were really past it, then maybe he could actually move on with Seomi but his resolve was further put to the test when you injured yourself. He was down the slope before you even fully came to a stop.

He had been mid conversation with Seomi one second and the next he was rushing down the slope to get to you. To make sure you were okay. He could chalk it up to being a concerned physician but he couldn’t lie to himself anymore. It was clear from the moment you showed up at the airport that he wasn’t truly over you and he might never be.

“She also got too excited when she thought Y/N had fucked up on the Christmas movies and then again when you took Y/N’s side,” Gunho continued, pulling Yunho out of his thoughts in time to see Yumi nodding. Yunho laughed this time, surprising both his siblings. 

“Because Y/N was right. Die Hard is a Christmas movie. Just because it’s not some cheesy Hallmark movie doesn’t mean it doesn’t count,” he explained.

“And then again today,” Gunho continued, ignoring his brother. “When Y/N got hurt and you carried her into the lodge, Seomi looked pissed,” he added, looking at Yumi who nodded again. “I saw that firsthand. It’s stupid. It’s not like Y/N could walk. She just twisted her ankle. She was injured.”

Yunho shook his head. “Why would she be mad at that?” Yunho asked. “I’m a physician. I help injured people at work all the time!” Yumi and Gunho shrugged simultaneously. “Does she ever get really upset when you’re around other women who aren’t family?” Yumi asked.

Yunho wracked his brain. “Now that you mention it…” he trailed off, noticing the way Yumi and Gunho exchanged glances. “And she’s been upset most of this trip because you’ve been around a girl who isn’t family. Picking her in a drinking game, helping her when she got injured, picking her side when she was right about something,” Gunho listed. “She’s clearly jealous of Y/N,” he added.

“Why would she need to be jealous?” Yunho asked, looking at his younger brother. “She’s not jealous,” Yumi said, shaking her head. “She’s insecure. She thinks that Y/N could pull you and she feels threatened by her.” Yunho stared incredulously at his sister.

“Seomi is my girlfriend. Not Y/N,” he retorted. “She has no reason to be insecure. I’m with her.” Yumi shrugged. “In her mind, that doesn’t matter,” Yumi replied. “In her mind, you’re going to leave her for someone better. Someone like Y/N.”

Yunho’s heart skipped a beat but he played it off with a scoff, leaning back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s just dumb,” he muttered. “Has Seomi said anything?” Yumi asked, Gunho turning to look at his older brother with mild interest. Yunho shook his head. “No,” he answered. “She’s upset, I know that, but when I ask why, she refuses to tell me. She just wants me to apologize. I did the first time, but I’m not apologizing again until she tells me why.”

Yunho watched Yumi shake her head. “She’s expecting you to read her mind which is never going to happen. She…” Yumi trailed off, averting her eyes to the firepit. “She what?” Yunho asked. Yumi looked back up. “She sounds exhausting and to be honest, I think you deserve better. You deserve someone who isn’t going to treat you like this.”

Yunho’s brow rose at Yumi’s admission. He looked to Gunho who said nothing, instead staring blankly into the fire. “You think Seomi and I should break up?” Yunho asked. Yumi nodded. “As your sister, yes. I think you two aren’t good for one another. But in the end, what I think doesn’t matter. What matters is what you think. It’s your relationship after all,” she replied.

Yunho watched as Yumi got up and walked around the firepit towards the door. “You have to think about what makes you happy though, Yunho. Not what makes other people happy.”

Without another word, Yumi opened the door and entered the house, leaving Yunho and Gunho by the fire. Yunho turned to the younger who sighed and got to his feet as well. “I’m getting a little chilly out here,” he announced. “See you inside,” he added walking past Yunho, leaving the eldest sitting there, stunned into silence.

Was this really how his family perceived his relationship? Was this how you perceived his relationship? Did everyone think he was some sort of idiot, dating Seomi without realizing the kind of person she was? Yunho sat for a moment longer outside before getting up and heading inside.

He and Seomi had some talking to do.

You woke up to total darkness, groaning softly as you rolled over.

“Morning sunshine~!” you heard your best friend say in an amused tone. You looked over to her side of the room to see she was sitting up in bed, a small light clipped to her book. “What time is it?” you grumbled, voice cracking. “Like eight,” Yumi answered, checking her watch for verification. “Did I miss dinner?” you asked looking back at her. She nodded, turning on her bedside lamp, casting a dim yellow light around the room.

“But I brought you food~!” Yumi said in a sing-song voice, getting up as she set her book aside. On your bedside table was a plate covered with another plate. “We just finished so it should still be kinda warm,” Yumi said as she got up and walked over. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted so I brought a bit of everything.”

You looked up at your best friend with sparkling eyes. “Thank you,” you whispered as she uncovered the plate and handed it to you. “It looks so good,” you said, holding back the urge to groan. Yumi snickered at your reaction, picking up the utensils and handing them to you.

“Just eat, you weirdo,” she mumbled, patting the top of your head and moving back to grab her book. Instead of getting back in her bed, she moved over to climb into yours, snuggling up next to you as you ate. “You want me to read to you?” she asked, looking up. You nodded as you took a bite.

You ate in silence as Yumi read aloud from her book.

As you were finishing your food, you could hear hushed voices on the other side of the wall. They grew in intensity and you could tell it was Yunho and Seomi. You glanced at your best friend who had stopped reading to listen, her eyes meeting yours.

“Wonder what they’re fighting about,” you murmured, turning back to your food. “Probably because Yunho offered to bring you dinner earlier,” Yumi muttered nonchalantly. You turned to look at her. “What?” you asked. Yumi looked up at you. “Yeah. You were sleeping so I didn’t wake you and then the twins asked where you were so I said you were asleep and I didn’t want to bother you ‘cause of your ankle. So Yunho offered to bring your food to you, like I’m not sharing a room with you,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Seomi’s been mad at him for other things too but I think this just kind of set her off.”

As soon as Yumi said that, you both jumped as you heard a door slam shut and someone stomping down the stairs. You looked at Yumi who looked back just as wide-eyed. “What was that?” you wondered out loud. Yumi shrugged and got up as the door to Yunho and Seomi’s room opened and more footsteps were heard running down the stairs before the front door opened.

Yumi rushed over to the window to see what the commotion was. “It’s Seomi and Yunho!” she whisper-shouted at you. “What are they doing?” you asked. “I think they’re yelling,” she replied. “Standby.” She set her book aside and carefully unlocked and opened the window a crack.

The distant voices of Yunho and Seomi could be heard arguing but you couldn’t discern what they were saying. “You’re being unreasonable,” Yumi whispered to you. “That was Yunho.”

“I’m not being unreasonable. You’re the one that’s in love with someone else,” Yumi continued to whisper the entire conversation to you. “I wonder who she’s talking about.”

“I’m not in love with her! How many times do I have to say it?”

“It’s written all over your face. You’re bad at hiding it. You’ve probably been cheating on me with her--”

Yumi frowned. “Oh hell no,” she hissed, pushing the window open some more. “Yumi!” you hissed, throwing a pillow towards her but falling short. “Hey!” Yumi yelled out the window. “People are trying to sleep here! Take your lover’s quarrel somewhere else!” Yumi shouted.

“Stay out of this, Yumi!” you heard Yunho’s voice shout.

“I’m trying to sleep!” another voice shouted out the window and you recognized it as Gunho.

“Stop shouting! People are sleeping!” yet another voice shouted.

“They’re getting in the car,” Yumi whispered to you, watching the van no doubt drive off into the forest before she turned to look at you, shutting the window. “I wonder where they’re going,” Yumi continued as she moved back to your bed. “Who knows,” you muttered, resuming picking at your food. Yumi noticed and sat up. “Are you done eating?” she asked softly. You nodded and thanked her as she took the plate.

“What are friends for if not to bring you food and take the plate away when your leg is all gimpy?” she asked, chuckling as you cursed at her. Yumi returned and grabbed her book, moving back to her bed. “I’ll let you go back to sleep,” she said as she climbed back into bed. “Thanks, Yumi,” you said again and she smiled up at you. “Any time,” she replied, turning the light off and plunging the room back into darkness.

——————————————————————————————————————————

The next morning, you woke to a light knocking on your door. Yumi was still in bed so you weren’t sure who it could be. The door cracked open and Haneul peered in, smiling at you. “Breakfast is ready,” she announced. “Do you want to come down or if your ankle still hurts, I could bring something up?”

You shook your head. “I’ll come down,” you replied, pulling back the covers as you sat up. “Thank you, Haneul,” you added. She shut the door and you grabbed a pillow, flinging it at Yumi who whined in protest. “Breakfast is ready, dork,” you called, pushing yourself up.

Your ankle wasn’t as painful today but you still couldn’t put all your weight on it.

You pulled on a pair of sweats and walked over to Yumi’s bed, grabbing your pillow and hitting her twice with it. “Come on,” you mumbled. “If I’m up, you need to be,” you said but she refused. “Get up or I’ll eat all the bacon,” you grumbled and she sat up quickly. “Don’t you dare,” she growled.

Once Yumi was dressed, you headed downstairs. Yumi waited while you took it easy, one step at a time. The rest of the family was already sitting around the table, save for Yunho. You wondered where he was and hoped he was okay.

Luckily, you didn’t have to wonder for long because Yumi asked for you.

“Where’s Yunho?”

“He’s in his room,” you heard Mrs. Jeong answer. “He had a hard time last night,” she added. You glanced over at your best friend who stared blankly at her mother. “So he made it back?” Yumi asked, drawing Mrs. Jeong’s attention. “He did,” she replied plainly.

“Alone?”

“Yumi,” Mr. Jeong said suddenly. “Knock it off. Your brother doesn’t need this right now.”

“It’s fine,” another voice said and everyone looked up to see Yunho had joined the group and was moving to sit between Gunho and his father. You looked away, busying yourself with your breakfast. It was a simple congee but you added a fried egg and some bacon to yours.

“Seomi left,” Yunho continued, addressing not only his sister but the entire table. “We broke up,” he added. “I’m sorry dear,” Mrs. Jeong said softly. Yunho forced a smile. “Why?” Jun-seo asked, looking up from his game. “It wasn’t working out anymore,” Yunho answered.

You glanced up in time to see his gaze pass over you and linger before he looked away. “Well, maybe some time in town will help,” Mr. Jeong said as he continued to eat. “We’re all going,” he added. “Dad,” Yumi said suddenly. “Y/N can’t walk. She twisted her ankle yesterday, remember?”

Mrs. Jeong nodded. “Oh, that’s right,” she said softly, looking at her husband. “I can stay here,” you said quickly. “You all go. Don’t stay back on my account. I’ll just stay in our room or something.”

Mrs. Jeong looked worriedly from you to your best friend. “Alone?” she asked. Yumi shook her head, opening her mouth to speak but Yunho beat her to it.

“I’ll stay behind,” he announced. “I’m not really feeling a trip to town. I’d actually rather stay here.” Yunho looked down at his plate while his parents exchanged glances. “Are you sure?” his mother asked. Yunho nodded, forcing another smile. “Of course,” he replied. “And who better to stay here with her than a physician?” Haneul’s father chimed in.

It was settled and after breakfast, you leaned against one of the wooden posts by the front door as the rest of the family headed out, Yumi stopping to make sure you were sure you wanted to be alone with Yunho. You nodded and told her to go have fun. Once they all piled into the vans and drove off, Yunho shut the door and turned to you. “So,” he said softly. “What do you want to do?” he asked.

You shrugged. “I’m not sure,” you replied. “But I think I want to rest upstairs.” Yunho nodded wordlessly, moving over to  where you stood. “You want me to carry you or you want me to just spot you as you climb the stairs?” he asked. Your cheeks burned and you looked away from his face.

“I’ll climb the stairs,” you murmured and moved to the base. Yunho followed, making sure you got to the top safely. Once you were back in your room, he waited by the door. “If you need to go downstairs for anything,” he said, hand on the doorknob. “Just call out. I’ll get you whatever you need,” he added before leaving.

You tossed and turned in your bed, trying to will yourself to go back to sleep but you struggled. As you lay there, you could hear the wind outside pick up, howling and rattling the windows in their frames. You carefully climbed out of bed and limped over to the window, pulling back the curtain to peer out and find that snow was blowing around. ‘A snow storm?’ you wondered silently.

You headed back to your bed, grabbing your earbuds from your bag and lay back down, plugging your ears and starting some music. Closing your eyes, you let the music lull you back to sleep, thankful the music was able to drown out the whipping wind.

When you woke up again, it was darker. You checked the time and saw that it was almost 5 pm. It got dark a lot faster than it did back home and you weren’t used to it yet. You sat up, reaching up to rub your eyes before swinging your legs over the side of the bed and getting up carefully.

You limped over to the door, pulling it open to peer out into the hall. “Yunho?” you called out. You were met with silence and decided not to bother him. You decided you could make it down the steps. You’d just have to be careful. You exited the room and made your way down to the main floor, taking it one step at a time and hobbled into the kitchen to get some water.

As you were opening the cabinet, you heard the back door open and turned to find Yunho carrying an armful of firewood. “You’re up!” he said as he moved to set the firewood by the fireplace and hurried over. “Here, let me,” he said softly as he stopped behind you, easily reaching the glasses and picking one out for you. “Why didn’t you call me for help?” he asked with a chuckle.

You moved to get some water from the fridge. “I called out but you were outside so I figured I’d just be careful coming down the stairs,” you explained. Yunho removed his coat and moved to hang it up along with his scarf and hat. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Yunho asked as he moved back to where you stood.

You took a sip of water and nodded, setting the glass on the counter. Yunho stared at you, eyes searching your face. “Is it still snowing?” you asked suddenly. Yunho nodded wordlessly. “Yeah,” he finally said. “My dad called,” he added. “Said if the snow doesn’t stop soon, they might have to stay in town.” Your heart jumped at the thought of having the entire place alone with Yunho.

“So we’ll be here,” you said plainly. Yunho nodded, looking at you but not quite seeing you. “Alone,” you added to which he continued to nod. Silence fell over the two of you but it wasn’t awkward. It was full of tension though. After a few moments, you finally broke the quiet.

“Sorry about Seomi,” you whispered. Yunho’s snapped up to meet yours. “What?” he asked softly. You cleared your throat before speaking again. “I’m sorry about Seomi.” Once you clarified what you said, Yunho’s expression softened. “It’s alright,” he replied. “It was never going to work out anyway,” he added.

“Why do you say that?” you asked curiously. Yunho smiled more to himself than to you.

“I think deep down, she was just a replacement for something,” he explained. “Or rather for someone.”

You watched him carefully as he no doubt was thinking to himself. “What do you mean?” Yunho looked up at you, lips parted but before he could say anything, your phone rang in your pocket. You sighed, pulling the device out. The screen read Yumi’s name and you held up a finger. “Hold that thought.”

You swiped the answer button and held the phone to your ear. “Hello?” you asked.

“Y/N, it’s Yumi,” you heard your best friend say. “Yeah, what’s up?” you asked, glancing up at Yunho who was leaning against the counter across from you, a small distance between you as he watched you carefully. “The locals said the storm isn’t stopping any time soon,” Yumi started.

“We’re gonna have to stay in the town tonight,” she continued. Your heart started to hammer in your chest. You were going to be all alone tonight. Alone with him. With Yunho. You glanced up at him, his expression growing more and more concerned. “Okay,” you managed to squeak out.

“Be safe. And hopefully we’ll see you in the morning,” you added. “Oh,” Yumi said suddenly. “Dad said to tell Yunho to bring in more firewood in case the power goes out up there. The stoves are gas so you should be fine on that.”

You nodded though your best friend couldn’t see you. “Got it,” you answered. “Be safe,” you repeated. Yumi repeated the sentiment and hung up and you set your phone down on the counter. “That was Yumi,” you started to explain. “She said the storm isn’t going to let up until tomorrow,” you continued.

Yunho nodded, waiting for you to go on. “She said they’re staying in town so we’re on our own tonight.” Yunho seemed to relax visibly. “And she said your dad said to bring more firewood in the house, just in case the power goes out.” Yunho nodded towards the fireplace. “I brought in three armfuls,” he explained. “That should be enough,” he added.

You nodded slowly as the conversation with Yumi started to fade away. “So,” you said softly. “What were you going to say before Yumi called?” You swore you saw a mild panic flash over Yunho’s face before he laughed it off. “Oh that? It’s nothing,” he murmured. “Just me rambling.”

“Forget I said anything.”

You reached forward, grabbing his wrist. “No,” you replied. He turned to look at you. “No?” he asked. You shook your head. “No, I’m not going to forget it. So just tell me.” Yunho hesitated before swallowing thickly. “Deep down, I think she was a replacement for someone,” he finally said softly.

“For who?” you asked, looking up at his eyes staring back at yours. ‘For you,’ you imagined him saying. Yunho hesitated a moment longer before speaking. “For someone I can’t have,” he finally said, your heart sinking into your stomach. You let go of him quickly and pulled back. “Oh,” you said shortly.

“I see,” you added, turning away from him. “I thought…” you trailed off. ‘Don’t,’ you told yourself. ‘Don’t do that. Don’t tell him that.’ It was Yunho’s turn to speak. “You thought what?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you said quickly. Much too quickly. You hoped that like your childhood crush on him, he wouldn’t notice but you should have known better. Yunho noticed almost everything about you, even if you didn’t know it.

“Tell me,” he said softly. His voice was somewhat closer as he spoke. “What did you think?”

You shook your head. “It doesn’t matter,” you said, choking back a sob that threatened to escape.

“It does to me.”

The dam holding back your tears broke and you let out the smallest whimper, ducking your head. “Y/N?” Yunho whispered. You felt his hand on your arm as he turned you slowly. “Talk to me,” he said as you fought to not face him. “It’s n-nothing!” you stammered.

Before you could move away, Yunho turned you to face him, taking your face in his hands and making you look up, meeting his gaze. “Why are you crying?” he asked, thumbs brushing your tears away. “It’s stupid,” you sobbed. “Don’t ask me.”

Yunho leaned closer, pressing his lips against your forehead.

The action was so intimate and unexpected that it caused your brain to short circuit. “If it’s upsetting you, it’s not stupid,” Yunho whispered, lips brushing against your skin. “So, tell me.” You shook your head rather than answer.

“Is it because you thought I was talking about you?” he asked.

You froze again. ‘Did he know this whole time?’

You slowly raised your eyes to meet his brown ones. “Is that it?” he asked softly.

Without a word, you nodded, maintaining eye contact. Yunho hummed, caressing your cheek slowly.

“You idiot,” he said softly with a smile. “I was talking about you.” Your eyes widened. “You were?” you squeaked. Yunho nodded. “Of course I was. I thought I had been obvious before but I’ve been in love with you for a long time, Y/N,” he murmured.

“Y-you have?!” you squeaked again. Yunho nodded. “I tried to move on, date other people but none of them lasted because they weren’t you. God, this whole time, I wanted you. I didn’t want anyone else but I thought you’d never go for it. Yumi is your best friend and she’s my sister. Dating your best friend’s brother? She’d never allow that. She’d hate me forever if I ever hurt you. So I stayed away. I tried to forget about the way I felt about you but each time when I thought I’d made progress I would come home and see you and everything would fall back to square one.”

You stared up at him as he rambled. 

“I tried so hard not to love you. To let you go and move on. I tried so fucking hard,” he said, his voice breaking as he held back tears. “But I just can’t do it anymore. I can’t go on pretending I don’t want this,” he said, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs again. “Pretending that I don’t want you,” he added.

“Pretending like I’m not completely in love with you.”

Your hands reached up to grab his shirt, pulling him down and crashing your lips against his, catching him off guard. His brief pause passed and he melted into the kiss, one hand moving to the small of your back and pulling you against him as he kissed you deeper.

You let out a quiet moan as his lips parted yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth and finding yours. Your fingers loosened their grip on his shirt as he pressed further against you. Without a word, he scooped you up, setting you on the counter before his lips were back on yours, hands wandering as he slotted himself between your thighs.

You moaned as his lips moved down the side of your neck, hands gripping your waist tightly. “God, you sound so pretty,” he murmured against your ear. “I’ve thought about what you sound like,” he continued. “Wondered what you taste like, what you feel like.”

You felt a chill run up your spine. “I’ve wanted you so bad,” Yunho continued, lips brushing against your pulse point. “So many times, I wanted to take you to my room when you were spending the night and drown in you. Pin you to the bed and make you beg for release,” he continued, groaning when you whimpered in his ear.

“What’s stopping you now?” you whispered. Yunho groaned, pulling back to take your face in his hands firmly. “Tell me you want this,” he said urgently. “Tell me you want me. I need to hear you say it.” You looked up at him, searching his face before finally answering him. “I want you,” you managed to say in a shaky voice.

Yunho let out a growl, pulling you into another kiss, parting your lips, his tongue meeting yours in a frantic dance for dominance. You started to pull at Yunho’s shirt, pulling it out of the way so you could fumble with the ties of his pants. “Wait, wait,” Yunho mumbled, grabbing your hands and halting your movement. You looked up to meet his gaze.

“What?” you asked, worried you might have done something wrong. He shook his head. “Not here,” he mumbled. “You deserve better than to be fucked in the kitchen like some cheesy porno,” he continued. You opened your mouth to protest but Yunho was gone before you could stop him.

He disappeared up the steps leaving you alone in the kitchen. You heard him rushing around on the floor above, his footsteps echoing through the floor before he started to descend the steps. You turned to look over your shoulder as he came into view, carrying an armful of blankets and pillows.

“What the--” you trailed off as he tossed the linens down in front of the fireplace before moving around behind the sofa. You watched as he pulled the sofa back, the wooden legs making a slight screech as they dragged against the wooden floor.

Next to move was the coffee table before Yunho started fumbling with the blankets and pillows. You started to move over to where he was kneeling to get a better look. As he came full into view, you could see he had created a sort of bed on the floor in front of the fireplace. You stared incredulously at him as he worked quickly before he looked up and met your gaze.

“Hey,” he pouted. “Back in the kitchen,” he ordered. You chuckled as you hobbled back over to wait for him. Once he was satisfied that the nest was comfortable enough, he was back by your side in the kitchen, guiding you back onto the counter. “Where were we?” he murmured, leaning in.

“Before you so rudely ran away?” you whispered as his lips brushed against yours. “Hey,” he whined. “I had to improvise. I didn’t want to try to force you to climb the stairs and besides,” he added, pulling back to look at you. “And if the power goes out in the middle, at least we’ll still have the fire for warmth and light,” he continued. Your hands moved up his chest to rest on his shoulders.

“Hmm,” you hummed. “We’ll have more than the fire for warmth,” you retorted. Yunho leaned in closer. “Only if you want to,” he answered. “I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t-” you cut him off, pulling him into a kiss, smirking internally as he groaned against your lips.

And just like that, the brief pause so he could set the mood in front of the fireplace was forgotten as you felt his hands wander, one moving to the small of your back and pulling you against him as his tongue explored your mouth again. “Fuck,” you heard him groan as he pulled back, lips trailing down the side of your neck. “Can I mark you?” he groaned, pulling away to look at you.

You nodded silently, chest heaving. “Just not my neck,” you admitted. “Yumi might see,” you added. Yunho’s fingers toyed with the hem of your tee shirt, eyes searching yours for permission to remove the article. You nodded and allowed him to pull it off you with ease. His eyes scanned your frame, taking in parts of you he’d never seen before, only imagined.

You resisted the urge to cover yourself even if you were wearing a bralette. Yunho said nothing, instead bringing a hand up, hesitating as he looked up at you through his lashes. “May I?” he asked, waiting for your consent. You nodded wordlessly, wanting to feel his hands all over. You want to feel him everywhere.

“Please,” you finally croaked out. “Please touch me.”

Yunho’s hands were on you in an instant, one cupping over your chest as the other moved to the back of your neck, pulling you into a heated kiss, one that took your breath away as he guided your movements. “Come here, angel,” he murmured, sliding his hands under your ass as he stepped away from the counter, carrying you from the kitchen to the living room.

He carefully set you on the couch before kneeling in front of you. “Tell me if anything makes you uncomfortable,” he started, looking up at you, the light from the fire dancing over the both of you. Slowly, you cupped his cheek, almost melting when he leaned into your touch.

“Don’t stop,” you simply said. “I want this. I want you,” you reminded him. “I’ve always wanted you.”

Yunho gently pulled you from the couch, sliding you under him on your back against the blankets. “God, I don’t even know where to start,” he murmured, his hips slotting between your thighs as his hands held him up. “I want to touch you everywhere, kiss you everywhere.” Your fingers fumbled with the hem of his shirt. “We have all night,” you reminded him.

“Take your time.”

Yunho did just that, kissing you slowly as one of his hands moved along your side, squeezing your hip and moving down to your thigh, pulling it against his hip and grinding against your core. You could feel the weight of his cock in his pants press against you, almost throbbing with the need to release.

“Yunho,” you moaned as he kissed down your neck to your collar. “Hmm?” he hummed against your skin. “Please touch me,” you whined. He chuckled lightly, his breath hot against your skin. “I am touching you, baby,” he replied. Your heart skipped a beat at the nickname.

Hearing it come from him was something you’d always wanted but never expected. He wasn’t holding back anymore. “Please, Yunho, please,” you begged, trying to wiggle your hips but his weight held them down. “Shush,” he mumbled, planting soft kisses against your collar. “Be patient, baby.”

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth as you felt Yunho’s lips move over your chest, feeling his breath through the thin material of your lacy bralette. “This is in the way,” he grumbled, pulling back and slipping his fingers under the fabric. “It needs to come off,” he added.

You allowed him to pull you up to pull the offending article off and toss it aside.

You laid back slowly, cheeks burning under his gaze as he took in even more of your form. It wasn’t an entirely new experience for you, being topless but being topless in front of your best friend’s brother who you happen to be in love with was certainly a unique experience.

“God,” he murmured, tearing his gaze from your exposed skin to look up at your face. “I’ve never told you how fucking beautiful you are, have I?” he asked, leaning down to press a kiss against your cheek. “I’ve thought about this moment a hundred different ways,” he continued, whispering into your ear.

“About what it would be like to have you underneath me like this. To have you laid bare for me,” he continued, kissing back down to your chest. “To be able to take my time and kiss your body over and over. To taste every inch of you.” You let out a gasp as you felt his tongue against your nipple, taking it into his mouth with a gentle suck. Your fingers combed through his hair as he teased the sensitive nub, his hand moving to cup your breast and knead it softly.

“Y-Yunho,” you whimpered as he pulled back, his mouth moving to the other side and repeated the same actions, taking your pert nipple in his mouth and teasing it with his tongue. Each flick had your back arching, quiet moans slipping past your lips and your panties starting to stick to you.

Yunho started to kiss down your stomach, stopping to nip at your hips. You moaned louder as he sank his teeth into your skin. “Shit, Yunho,” you gasped as he pulled back and continued kissing down to the waistband of your leggings. “May I?” he asked again and this time you nodded fervently. “Yes,” you answered quickly. “Please.”

Yunho moved slowly, pulling your leggings down past your hips before sliding them down your thighs and pulling them off completely, leaving you in your panties. Your cheeks burned as he took in the sight before him, his hands moving to your knees to hold your legs apart.

“Yunho,” you whined, closing your eyes. “Don’t stare,” you continued. You heard him chuckle softly. “This is the first time I’m seeing you like this,” he replied. “Let me savor it, baby.”

Your cheeks continued to burn under his gaze as he studied your body. Finally, his hands moved up your thighs, stopping at your hips. “Look at me,” he said softly. You did, eyes snapping open to meet his gaze. “There you are,” he added, making you whine and try to cover your face with your hands.

“Don’t,” Yunho warned, taking your wrists and pulling your hands from your face, leaning over to pin your wrists against the blankets as he hovered over you. “Don’t hide from me. Let me see all of you,” he continued, one hand moving down to your cheek before sliding over your neck, marveling at the size difference between the two of you.

“Fuck, you’re so tiny,” he murmured, fingers lightly closing around your throat. You let out a whimper and Yunho’s brows rose up quickly. “Oh?” he asked softly, squeezing just a little more, making you choke on your own words. “Really?” he asked, mildly amused. “Choking, huh? I never would have guessed.”

You tried to glare back at him but couldn’t hold the seriousness in your gaze as he squeezed gently again, your lips parting as a shameless moan slipped out, making his lips twitch as he fought against a smirk that threatened to spread across his face.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, pulling his hand from your neck. “For later,” he added as he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours. You moaned as you felt him grind against you again, the gusset of your panties covered in your own arousal and sticking to you uncomfortably.

Yunho noticed you shifting under him and looked down at you. “Is it uncomfortable?” he asked, lifting his weight off you. Shaking your head, you grabbed him but the hips and pulled him back down, resting the weight of his cock against your core. “My panties are just…” you trailed off.

Yunho cocked his head to the side curiously. “They’re just what?” he asked almost innocently. Your cheeks and ears burned in embarrassment. “Sticky,” you finally managed to get out. Yunho said nothing, instead keeping his eyes trained on your face as he rolled his hips, grinding against you.

“Would you like me to change that?” he asked softly, maintaining eye contact. You hesitated. Did you want him to remove your panties just yet? Were you ready to be that exposed to him? You were almost entirely naked under him yet he was still clothed. You shook your head. “It’s not fair for me to be the only one exposed here,” you said.

Wordlessly, Yunho sat back, reaching behind and grabbing the neck of his shirt before pulling it off over his head and setting it aside, leaving him in just his sweats. You allowed your eyes to sweep his frame, taking in the sight. You’d seen him shirtless before, spending many nights over at Yumi’s when you were younger but you never allowed yourself to really look, always averting your eyes in the past.

He was muscular but in a lean way. His shoulders were broad as you remembered and he’d filled out even more since the last time you’d seen him without his shirt. Your eyes continued to travel further and further, catching sight of a light trail of hair that started under his navel and disappeared into the waistband of his sweats.

“Better?” he asked, his tone amused as he watched you stare at him. You reached up, grabbing his shoulder and pulled him down to meet your lips in a rushed kiss. He’d spent so long working you up slowly and now you were more than desperate to have him.

“I know I said we have all night,” you murmured between kisses. “But I really need you right now.” Yunho chuckled against your lips, hands sliding down to your hips. “You’ve been very patient,” he agreed. “I think you deserve a reward for that.” Without another word, he dragged your panties down, discarding them rather quickly.

You waited with baited breath as his eyes wandered, taking in the sight of you completely naked under him. His eyes stopped briefly at the spot between your thighs before he looked back up to meet your gaze. You kept your eyes trained on his face as he leaned over you, his hand moving between your legs and groaning as he collected your wetness. “I’ve barely done anything,” he noted as he looked down, seeing his fingers already coated.

“S’because it’s you,” you murmured. Yunho looked back up, pressing his fingers further between your lips and easily finding your clit. You let out a gasp as he slowly started to draw light circles, watching your face as he explored. He was clearly experienced but it was still a new experience; a new lover.

He moved faster, still keeping the same pressure. It was teasing. It was enough friction to keep you on the edge but not push you further. “Yunho please,” you begged. It only took one plea for his fingers to move down and sink two into your entrance, making you moan loudly.

“Like that?” he asked softly, curling his fingers against the spongy spot inside you, making you gasp and your thighs try to close around his arm. Yunho pushed your thighs apart, leaning against one to keep you spread open for him. As he continued to pump his fingers in and out of you slowly, he inspected you, keeping his eyes on the place where his fingers disappeared.

Your thigh tried to close and Yunho grumbled, moving his free hand and taking yours, moving it to your thigh. “Hold your legs open before I tie you down,” he growled. Your walls clenched around his fingers as you did what he instructed. “Good girl,” he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your stomach before scooting further down.

Before you could ask what he was doing, you felt his tongue against your clit. It was slow, deliberate, and hot. “I’ve wondered what you tasted like for years,” he murmured. “It’s better than I imagined.” With renewed vigor, Yunho’s tongue lapped at your sex, flicking against your clit as his fingers continued to move inside you. The stimulation started to build tension and you felt your orgasm approaching.

Yunho must have felt it too because he pulled away, his fingers slowing to a stop. You whined, feeling defeated as your climax ebbed away. “Shush,” you heard him whisper. “It’s okay, baby,” he continued. “I just need you to hold off a little longer for me.”

Yunho gave your sex a light lick before he pulled away, fingers continuing to move and curl, scissoring you open slowly. “Yunho, please,” you pleaded, unshed tears filling your eyes. “Just a little more, kitten,” he murmured, kissing the inside of your thigh.

“Just a little more,” he repeated. Your thighs shook, your impending orgasm slipping away once again when he stopped. You were about to protest when you felt him add a third finger, groaning as you felt the stretch against your walls. “You’re just so tight,” Yunho groaned as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of you. “I have to take it slow or I might hurt you.”

Despite your begging and pleading, Yunho took his time, opening you up until he was satisfied. You were an incoherent mess as he finally removed his pants and underwear, moving between your thighs and groaning as the underside of his cock rubbed against your wet folds.

“Look, angel,” he instructed. You opened your eyes and pushed yourself up onto your elbows to look down between your thighs. Yunho had rested his cock on you and you felt your stomach churn slightly at the sight. You knew Yunho was a big guy in general but the sheer size of his cock had you already seeing stars. The tip reached just under your navel and you were certain there was no way he’d fit all of it in you.

“So big,” you commented. Yunho chuckled slightly, carefully pushing you back onto the blanket. “I’ll go slow,” he reassured you, pulling back and taking himself in his hand. “Just tell me to stop if it hurts,” he added. You nodded as you felt him press the tip against your slit.

“Deep breath,” he added. You inhaled slowly and as you exhaled, you felt him push the head of his cock past your folds. You groaned as you felt it start to fill you. Yunho took his time, massaging your hips as he slid in slowly, inch by inch.

You winced slightly, prompting him to stop and whisper words of praise as you tried to relax. “That’s it baby,” he murmured. “Just relax. I’ve got you,” he added. You willed your body to relax, sighing as he continued. It felt like ages before he stopped.

Your body has seized up again and Yunho was coaxing you through it. “It’s okay angel,” he whispered, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against your hips. “Relax, baby,” he added. “Relax and let me in.”

You groaned as he slid further and further, his size filling and stretching your walls. You tried not to clench but subconsciously, your cunt fluttered and constricted around him, making him groan as he tried to bottom out. You were certain he’d never fit it all in but to your absolute surprise, he did.

His hips met yours and he stilled, groaning as he dropped his head into your chest. “Fuck,” you heard him curse, his voice muffled. “You’re so fucking tight, Y/N,” he groaned. You felt him give a tentative thrust, as if to make sure his cock was fully buried in your pussy.

“So f-full,” you stammered, the tears flowing freely now. “So big,” you added. Yunho lifted his head and cupped your cheek tenderly, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “Feels good?” he asked and you nodded quickly. “Feels s-so good,” you moaned.

“So fucking good.”

Yunho chuckled, his breath fanning over your skin as you felt him start to retract slowly before snapping his hips forward and filling you in one thrust. You gasped out at the feeling. “Does it hurt?” he asked suddenly, stopping. You shook your head. “N-no. Feels so good,” you answered. “Keep going, please.”

Yunho pulled back and thrust into you again, setting a slow, heavy rhythm. Your walls constricted, trying to keep him from pulling out and sucking him back in with ease. Moans and mumbles slipped from your lips as he moved. You looked up, meeting his intense gaze.

“God,” he groaned as his hips stuttered for a moment before he was pounding into you, one hand holding your thigh open, the other keeping him from collapsing onto you. “Fuck!” he swore, eyes fluttering shut as he continued to thrust, his hips meeting yours.

You could feel him deeper than anyone had ever been, moaning with each thrust.

“So small and yet you take me so well,” Yunho groaned. “Like you were made for me.” You whimpered in response, unable to form a coherent sentence. “Does it feel good, baby?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly. “Do you like how good my cock feels inside you?”

You nodded wordlessly, moans slipping out instead of words. “Oh shit, do you see that, little one?” he asked, his eyes now glancing down at your stomach. You raised your head to see what he was looking at. You could see a slight bulge every time he thrust into you. “It almost doesn’t fit,” Yunho said with a smug tone.

“My cock is almost too big for you, kitten.”

You moaned as he took your hand, placing it over the spot halfway between your navel and sex. You moaned, feeling the tip nudge against your hand. Yunho groaned, pushing your palm down as he thrusted into you. You moaned loudly.

“Fuck, you sound so good, baby,” he murmured, hips slowing as he pushed himself up. You groaned as he grabbed your waist, pulling you up so your ass was resting on his thighs as he thrust further into you. “Hng! Yunho!” you gasped as the tip of his cock hit your cervix.

“Oh shit,” he cursed. You felt him pull out entirely, making you whine at the empty feeling. Yunho rolled you onto your stomach, grabbing one of the pillows to put under your hips, propping you up for him as he re-entered you from behind. You moaned into the blankets as he bottomed out, the tip of his cock pressing against your cervix.

“That’s it, baby,” Yunho groaned, holding your hips in place as he pulled out, snapping forward and filling you with one stroke. He set a much faster, more unrelenting pace, thrusting into you to a beat only he knew. You grabbed onto the blankets, trying to ground yourself against the power of his movements as he pounded into you, the sound of skin against skin drowning out the crackling of the fire and your whimpers.

“Yuh-Yu-Yunho,” you moaned, walls clenching repeatedly around his cock and pushing both of you closer and closer to the edge. “Gonna fuck you so good you forget anyone else ever existed,” you heard him growl. “So you know you’re mine and mine alone.”

“M’gonna make you scream my name, baby,” he added, leaning over your back, one hand moving around to grab your throat firmly. You moaned, walls squeezing around him as your orgasm washed over you without warning. “Fuck, fuck, that’s it kitten. Cum on this cock like a good girl.”

Yunho continued to fuck you through your orgasm, enjoying the way you whimpered and whined as he continued to thrust into you, keeping a firm grip on your throat. “You gonna cum again?” he murmured in your ear. “Y-yes,” you whimpered, walls already fluttering around Yunho’s cock, gripping him tightly.

“Gonna let me fill this sweet little cunt?” he asked in your ear, giving you a hard thrust. “Y-yes, daddy,” you whined. Yunho let out a growl. “Daddy, huh?” he asked, rolling his hips and making your eyes roll back. “That’s a new one,” he continued. “Alright, baby. We can go with that.” 

“You like it when daddy fucks you from behind?”

You nodded vigorously. “Yes daddy,” you repeated. “Say it,” Yunho growled, pounding into you, burying himself to the hilt and making you squeal. “I like it!” you cried out. “Say it. All of it,” Yunho repeated, pounding into you once more. “Yes, I like it!” you almost screamed. “I like it when you fuck me from behind, daddy!”

You felt him sink his teeth into your shoulder, making you whimper as his cock pistoned in and out of you, making your eyes roll back again, stars filling your vision. “That’s right, baby,” he growled against your skin. “This pussy is mine. You’re mine.” You nodded wordlessly but that wasn’t enough for Yunho.

“Say it.” he ordered. “I’m yours, daddy,” you answered.

“And who does this pussy belong to?”

“It’s y-yours, daddy,” you choked out, tears flowing freely and streaming down your cheeks.

“Good girl,” Yunho groaned. “Oh fuck, you’re such a good girl. You’re my good little girl, aren’t you?” he moaned. Your second orgasm was approaching, your cunt convulsing around Yunho’s cock as his thrusts grew more erratic and sloppy. The sound of his cock thrusting into you was audible over the crackling of the fire.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you heard him curse. “M’gonna cum,” he warned you. “Where you want it, angel?” he whispered. “I-inside me, daddy, please,” you moaned. “Please cum inside me!” Yunho let out a low growl, hips slapping against your ass with renewed eagerness, groaning into your ear as he came, filling your cunt with his release.

You felt more and more of it pump into you, filling you almost to the brim as he continued to fuck his cum into you. “Oh fuck,” he groaned. “Oh, god, I love you,” he whispered as he continued to thrust, his movements slowing. “I love you so much,” he continued. “Tell me you love me, too, please,” he murmured against your shoulder.

“I love you, too,” you moaned as he finally stilled, burying his cock deep inside your walls with a huff.

The only sound other than your ragged breathing was the crackling of the fire as you both came down from your respective highs. You didn’t dare move until Yunho did and for a while, you were certain he’d fallen asleep on top of you until he finally shifted.

He pushed himself up and slowly pulled out of you, grimacing as some of his release spilled out of you, running down the insides of your thighs. “Don’t move,” he instructed and got up, grabbing his underwear and pulling it on before walking over to the kitchen and grabbing a towel.

You heard the water run briefly before he returned, wiping the insides of your thighs and carefully wiping your skin clean of his cum. “Are you okay?” he asked as he helped you roll over onto your back. “I’m great,” you said, your voice almost far off, a dazed expression on your face.

Yunho chuckled as he continued to wipe you down before grabbing your shirt and helping you into it.

Once he was certain you were clean, he tossed the used towel onto the coffee table and laid down next to you. “Did you mean it?” you asked finally as he pulled a blanket over the two of you and pulled you into his arms. “Mean what?” he asked, watching as you turned in his hold to look at him.

“When you said you love me?”

Yunho’s expression softened and he pressed his lips against yours tenderly. “Of course,” he answered. “I do love you. It’s always been you, Y/N. I only want you,” he continued. You snuggled against him, listening to his heart beating in his chest. “Did you mean it?” he asked after a moment and you nodded immediately. “Mhm, I’ve loved you for a long time, Yunho,” you replied.

“For me, you’ve always been it.”

You pulled back to look up at him. Yunho’s lips spread into a grin before kissing you again, a bit more passionately. “Yumi isn’t going to like this,” he added softly. You shrugged, no longer caring now that you knew your feelings were reciprocated. “I think she’d rather us be happy,” you said softly.

“We’ll just have to break it to her easily. We were both stupid and in love,” Yunho replied. Your eyes fluttered shut as you started to drift off.

When you awoke it was to the slam of a distant door. You opened your eyes slowly, bright light pouring into the room. You were still lying in Yunho’s arms on the floor in front of the fireplace. You relaxed as Yunho snored softly. The next moment the front door opened and your eyes snapped open.

Before you could scramble away from Yunho who was starting to stir, you heard an all too familiar voice.

“What the hell is all this?” Yumi shouted. You sat up quickly, rubbing your eyes as you looked up at your best friend who was glaring down at the two of you. Yunho pushed himself up. “We can explain,” he said quickly. Yumi narrowed her eyes before her expression softened.

“Oh you don’t need to explain,” she said, chuckling. 

“I’ve known for years that the two of you were hot for each other. Just waited for it to come out.”

You turned to look at Yunho who looked just as stunned as you.

“Just do me a favor,” Yumi added, making the two of you look at her.

“Keep the fucking to a minimum, or just keep it down,” she asked.

“I forgot to buy earbuds.”

Jihoon yawns. He’s surprised at how calm the bus trip has been so far. They’re approaching hour two and so far there has only been a couple rounds of I Spy and Rock Paper Scissors that have passed down the rows, with some of the group opting to sleep for the beginning of the journey as best as they can. Ji-ah is one of those said few, her head nestled tiredly on her Not-Soulmate’s shoulder, guilt bubbling inside Jihoon’s stomach. He doesn’t have a reason to feel guilty, of course. You and him were never a thing and never have been, but he can’t shake the feeling of hurting you by flaunting the reason for your heartbreak right in front of your face.

He’s watched you for most of the drive, out of Ji-ah’s sight as she rests. You’re listening in on a conversation Soonyoung and Seokmin are having, your free hand stretched over and stroking the fur of the little white fluff ball on the seat beside you. Kkuma is happily chewing on her bone with a yellow sunflower clip holding a small tuft of her fur away from her eyes that matches your dress. You have a small unreadable smile on your face and Jihoon can’t get a read on if you’re upset or just tired. Your emotions have been sturdy almost constantly as of late, and your soulmate worries if everything is getting bottled up or if you’ve truly lost hope.

Your brother stays by his soulmate’s side as he drives, smiling and speaking to each other in hushed tones. Seungcheol’s hand rests on Jeonghan’s leg, rubbing delicate circles against his thigh absentmindedly as they talk and Jihoon can’t help but be endeared to such a simple but romantic gesture between soulmates.

“I’m just saying,” Soonyoung’s voice carries through the bus. “You have two butts. Not one.”

“And I’m just saying, you’re wrong.” Seokmin rebuts. “You don’t have two. It’s only one.”

“Stand up right now and hold your left butt in one hand and right butt in the other. TWO. TWO BUTTS.”

“Incorrect!” He barks back. “You have two butt cheeks! You have one butt hole.”

“You’re a butt hole!”

“Dear god.” You groan, leaning your head back as Seungkwan, seated directly behind you, laughs. “How much longer?”

“Y/N~,” Soonyoung sings sweetly as he peers over the back of his seat.

“Do not drag me into this, Kwon.” You shoot him a playful glare. “Last time I joined in a soulmates argument between you both, you didn’t talk to me for a week.”

“You’re still not over that?” He gasps, hand on his chest. “That was like, nearly two years ago.”

“Yeah, but you made her cry after two days of your silent treatment.” Seungcheol turns around to shoot Soonyoung a not-so-playful glare. “Watch it.”

“Oh come on,” he whined playfully, paying Seungcheol no mind as he reaches over to take your hand in his. You wince as your cheeks immediately flush, trying to ignore the feeling of longing building up inside you. “That was when I was young and stupid.” He pouts, batting his eyelashes at you as his thumbs stroke your hand.

Jihoon’s eyes focus on the delicate way Soonyoung is holding your hand and frowns. An unknown feeling settles uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach, but he refuses to acknowledge what the feeling actually could mean.

“Yah, leave her be, babe!” Seokmin swats his arm. “She is trying to sleep, and she knows the right answer is one butt - she isn’t answering because she doesn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“That isn’t true!” Soonyoung insists, turning to you after you don’t answer him. “Is it?”

“What would you do if I say yes?” You ask, raising your eyebrow.

“I…” he pauses as he turns his head slowly, meeting the steady glare of your brother staring into his soul. He pauses for a moment before turning back to you. “I would very humbly respect your opinion and thank you for being honest with your closest, longest friend.”

Just for good measure, he leans down and presses a kiss to the top of your hand. He smiles when you let out a giggle, nodding slightly and turning back to see a nod of approval from your brother. Jihoon admires how protective Seungcheol can be over you. If he had siblings, he’d do the same thing.

“Now, will you let the girl sleep? Look at her, she’s been drifting off for the last ten minutes.” Seokmin scolds Soonyoung who concedes with a sigh, your giggles filling the bus.

Jihoon feels his tummy explode with butterflies at the sound of your laugh, the only outer thing indicating him having a reaction at all being the tips of his ears turning red.

“Get some rest, Ladybug.” Jeonghan calls out as you settle down comfortably in your seat, eyes beginning to flutter. “There’s a surprise waiting at the campsite, you’ll need your energy.”

“Mhm~.” You hum sweetly as you already feel yourself beginning to drift off, your head gently lulling to the side.

Your soulmate observes you as your arms gently wrap around yourself, curling up as comfortably as you can with the limited space you have. It only takes a few minutes for your breaths to even out, sleep taking over you. Seokmin reaches over and places a fluffy blanket that was draped over him and Soonyoung now onto you, a fond smile growing on both of their faces as you immediately snuggle into the soft material to seek out the warmth enveloping you. Jihoon is even sure he hears Soonyoung mutter a soft ‘cute’ under his breath, which sets off the new uncomfortable feeling inside him again, but just like before, he chooses to ignore it.

“They really care about her, don’t they?” Minghao whispers to Junhui, who simply nods with a smile as Jihoon watches your two closest friends taking Seungcheol’s phone to quickly take a quick photo of you sleeping soundly.

The remaining two hours of the drive were pretty uneventful in Jihoon’s eyes, maybe because he kept an eye on you resting out of the corner of his eye. He observes Seokmin reaching over to carefully take your glasses off the bridge of your nose and place them on his lap. The bus stayed hushed minus the few small conversations between soulmates. Jihoon tried not to listen out of respect for their privacy, but he couldn’t help but pick up excited whispers from Jeonghan to Seungcheol about how both he and you will love the surprise that is planned. He wouldn’t lie, he was intrigued.

As the bus pulls up on a small campground next to a large, scenic forest, Jihoon can’t help but be in awe at the view of endless trees and greenery in front of them. He tilts his head at the sight of a car already pulled up at their campsite, to which Jeonghan doesn’t seem phased about. Ji-ah yawns beside him, having been awake for roughly half an hour before the bus finally came to a stop, staying sleepily perched against her boyfriend’s shoulder and watching the scenery out the window.

Jihoon glances at you, watching as Soonyoung stands and makes his way around to where you’re sleeping, crouching and slipping the blanket off you. You immediately shiver, scrunching up your nose in discomfort before letting your eyes flutter open with a tired whine that he and the others can’t help but find adorable.

“Soonie…” you frown, sitting up and rubbing your eye with a closed fist.

“We’re here, Bug.” He smiles, taking your hand and helping you up. “Jeonghannie Hyungie wants you and Cheollie Hyungie to get off first. Come on.”

You grumble sleepily, fixing your dress with a yawn before making your way to the front of the bus with Jeonghan and Seungcheol.

“You ready for your surprise?” Jeonghan smiles brightly at you both as you nod in unison.

“Should I be scared?” Seungcheol laughs.

“I don’t think so.”

“You have that smirk on your face, Oppa.”

“What smirk?” Jeonghan tries to make his face neutral.

“The smirk you pull whenever you plan to cheat when we play board games.” You squint, trying to see through him. “I swear if you plan to leave us here for dead…”

Your comment garners some giggles and laughs from the others and a smile from your soulmate.

“Oh hush!” He laughs, reaching down and tickling your side, making you flinch with a grin. “Just step outside and look.”

“Fine, fine.” Seungcheol chuckles, turning around and opening the doors to the bus.

Your brother is the first one to step off the bus and you follow close behind him, glancing from left to right curiously.

“Wow, this place is stunning.” You grin as you take in a deep breath, letting the air of nature fill your lungs as the others all trail out of the bus, looking around at the campsite with approval.

Jihoon stands by Mingyu’s side with Ji-ah towards the front of the ground, directly behind you and Seungcheol as Wonwoo starts calculating where to place tents and where to set up the campfire.

“Woah!” A new voice cuts into the group, startling everyone. “You’re blonde!”

Everyone turns to the newcomer standing by the car at the other end of the site. He stands tall with long light brown hair, his smile bright. He almost looks like a picture perched up against his car, looking at you and your brother expectantly.

“What the fuck?” Seungcheol whispers, eyes wide as he stands dumbfoundedly glued to his spot. “Is that really you?”

“I sure hope so.” The stranger smiles back, opening up his arms wide.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Your squeal echoes through the forest as you break into a sprint. “JISOO-OPPA!”

“Language!” Your brother yells, reaching out to swat you, only to be a second too late as you ran.

“Woah there!” Jisoo laughs, bracing himself. “Who is this stunning young lady, and what happened to my little Goober?!”

“Oppa!” You’re sobbing now as you leap into his arms. You immediately bury your face into his shoulder as your cries muffle into the fabric of his shirt. Jisoo simply smiles, his hand reaching up to cradle the back of your head, his other arm wrapped around your waist gently.

Jihoon looks to your family. Soonyoung has a large grin on his face as Seokmin is wiping at his eyes, letting out small sniffles here and there. Seungcheol is still glued to his spot before he looks to his soulmate.

“How did you find him? It’s been years.”

“You would be surprised at how easy it is to find someone these days using modern technology, my love.” He smiles, kissing his cheek sweetly.

“I love you so much.” Seungcheol smiles, pulling his soulmate in for a sweet kiss that makes the others coo at the sight.

“Hyung?” Seungkwan asks no one in particular. “Sorry, but who is that?”

“Jisoo, or Joshua, is Cheol-hyung’s childhood friend.” Soonyoung turns to the younger man. “When their mother passed and had to move in with us, they didn’t get the chance to keep in contact. Y/N tried to look for years for Jisoo for Cheol-hyung. I can’t believe Jeonghannie-hyung found him.”

Jisoo keeps his grip tight on you, his own tears glistening delicately in his eyes as he finally glances at his childhood best friend. He opens his arm out, which triggers Seungcheol to finally rush forward, trapping you between both men in a tight hug. Your sobs have grown quieter now as you squeeze him tight, your soulmate doing the best he can to keep his own emotions intact as yours threaten to overtake his own.

It’s weird, Jihoon thinks. It's weird feeling you cry from a positive emotion rather than a negative one. He thinks he could get used to that feeling.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice is small and almost shy as you lift your head from Jisoo’s shoulder. He lets out a laugh at the sight of your blotchy cheeks and now puffy red eyes, reaching out and wiping the leftover tears.

“A few weeks ago I got contacted by Jeonghan to ask if I remember two siblings who I grew up with and if I wanted to help him surprise you both.” He smiles down at you, still keeping his arm around your waist.

“It was you?” You turn to Jeonghan, who just smirks proudly. You rush forward to him, wrapping your arms tightly around his middle. “Thank you, Oppa.”

“I know how hard you looked for him, Ladybug.” He pats your head sweetly. “Now go and catch up. We will get everything set up here.”

“Are you sure, babe?” Cheol bites his lip.

“It’s your birthday, darling. It’s fine.” He insists, smiling as he pushes you towards your brother and his friend. You give him one last smile before happily running and tucking yourself under Jisoo’s waiting arm, hugging his waist as he leads you both to a picnic table under one of the many trees.

“Wow, Hyung,” Mingyu smiles. “You’re amazing for finding him for them.”

“Nah,” Jeonghan smiles as he watches the three of you talk, Jihoon keeping his eyes on you as you talk animatedly to Jisoo. “I just love them. You would do the same thing for the ones you love, wouldn’t you?” He glances to Mingyu with a small smile of adoration. It makes Jihoon think. “Now, let’s go grab these tents and set up.”

The sun has just passed the highest peak in the sky when Jeonghan and the others have finished setting up all the sleeping arrangements for everyone, tents scattered about in the secluded camping space. Soonyoung and Seokmin have surprised everyone and brought a large blow up pool that can fit up to five people inside filled with the fluffiest pillows and blankets, planning to camp under the stars with you joining them too. Jeonghan was prepared to scold the couple for their outrageous choice of camping style and even dragging you into their shenanigans, but when he found out it was your idea he begrudgingly accepted, muttering something along the lines of the little trio of misfits being crazy.

Everyone is sitting around where the campfire will be held later in the evening, Mingyu and Junhui cooking lunch on the built-in barbecue at the site while the others relaxed. You and your brother are still close by at the picnic table with Jisoo, the conversation still not having died down since it has begun. Jihoon is sitting closest to the table with Ji-ah by his side in their camping chairs with Mingyu and Wonwoo perched on the other side, keeping the table within the circle of conversation.

You have been overcome with happiness ever since you’ve arrived and Jihoon is content. He doesn’t get many happy feelings from you, and he chooses to relish in it and enjoy the warm fuzzy feeling inside him as he hears you speak with excitement and enthusiasm.

“I still can’t believe how much you’ve grown.” Jisoo smiles, patting your head delicately.

“Well it has been nearly ten years since we’ve last seen each other.” You laugh, shrugging.

“You’re just gorgeous, I can’t believe my little Goober is all grown up!” He wails, throwing his arms around you as your loud laugh hits everyone’s ears. It’s almost a blend of Soonyoung and Seungcheol’s signature laughs that are both equally contagious.

Okay, yeah. Jihoon could get used to that.

“Yep! And I even have tattoos now, Oppa.” You smirk proudly, showing him the little Lovebug on your wrist. “I’m practically a rebel.”

“My little Y/N? A rebel? I simply won’t believe it.” He smiles. “All I remember is the sweet little girl who I used to patch up whenever she fell off her bike while her brother went to go get Eomoni, and would only smile afterwards if we sang our Eodonggie song.”

“Oh dear god.” You whine, slinking down in an attempt to hide, wincing at a nearby voice.

“Eodonggie song, you say?” Jeonghan has made his way to sit next to his soulmate, his mischievous grin returning. “I do say, Shua, please elaborate.”

“Please do not elaborate, Oppa.” You’re desperate now. “Please, I have a reputation to uphold.”

“What reputation?” Soonyoung calls out. “Just last week you and Seokmin made a skit for Theatre about a hungry villain who could only be calmed down by a hero who fed him rice.”

“Shush, you!” You point aggressively at your best friend, making Seungkwan and Hansol laugh.

“That was you?!” Minghao chimes in. “I heard from Haechan that you both really made fools of yourselves.”

“Anything for the ‘gram.” Seokmin slips on a pair of sunglasses, leaning back in his chair.

“But you didn’t even film it, Hyung…” Chan mumbles, the joke going directly over his head.

“I can’t stand you.” You deadpan to Seokmin, who only shrugs.

“It’s a good thing you’re sitting, babe.” Seokmin retorts, only making Wonwoo and the others start giggling when you mouth what Seokmin says as he says it. “Yah you little..” he hisses playfully as you smirk. Jihoon smiles a little.

“There is a reason why these three get along a little too well,” Seungcheol laughs. “They’re all practically the same person.”

“We’re getting off track here,” Jeonghan nudges his soulmate again. “Eodonggie?”

“Ah!” Jisoo smiles. “Y/N used to have this little toy when we were little. It was a yellow bunny that wore a cute little outfit with green pants and a blue plaid shirt. He was pretty ugly, to be honest.”

“Hey!” You smack his arm. “Don’t be mean about my boy!”

“I’m sorry, Goob.” He grins down at you. “The main striking point of this bunny was his cheeks. They were big and round and Y/N used to think it looked like a bum. So, Cheol and I named him Eodonggie and created a little song and made him dance. Whenever she was sad, we would make Eodonggie dance. Would work like a charm every time.”

“That is so sweet!” Ji-ah coos, smiling sweetly as you nod your head enthusiastically at her.

“When we moved in with Soonyoungie’s family, we lost him.” Seungcheol frowns. “Y/N was crushed.”

“Yah, I was not.” You jutt your bottom lip out, cheeks heating up. “I was eleven by then, I had better coping skills by then.”

“Sure you did, Bug.” Your brother smiles, but you keep pouting.

“Oh,” Jisoo looks disappointed. “Did you want me to keep this then, if you’ve grown out of it?”

He pulls the small plush toy from his bag. It looked tatted and worn, but the bum on his face was noticeable.

“EODONGGIE?!” Your eyes widened as you looked up at the man. “Y-you found him?!”

“It was the last thing I had of you both, I couldn’t just throw him away. But if you don’t want-”

Before he can finish his sentence, you’re making grabby hands at the toy, the others laughing heartily as he places it in your hands. You excitedly hug the toy to your chest, cheek resting lovingly on the top of his yellow head. Seungkwan coos sweetly with Mingyu as they watch on with the others.

Jihoon keeps his eyes on you as he watches how delicately and lovingly you hold the little bunny, holding it in front of you as you examine it closely.

“You gave him brain surgery.” Your voice is soft as your finger runs over the top of his head which sported a different coloured thread haphazardly stitched in to keep the fabric intact.

“I had to.” Jisoo nudges your side. “Had to make sure that his brain was full of his memories of you.”

“Oh dear god you’re so corny.” You let out a watery laugh, hugging his side. “Thank you, Oppa. Really.”

“You’re welcome, Goober.” He ruffles your hair with an adoring smile as you quickly climb off the bench, turning around and running towards your two best friends to show them the toy. A few of the others come up to you as you start explaining Eodonggie’s, as you call it, origin story to them. Jihoon stays back with Wonwoo, Junhui and Minghao as you explain to the quote unquote ‘maknae’s’ of the group. He glances over to where your brother still sits with his soulmate and childhood best friend, watching you surrounded by your friends.

“She really has grown up so well.” Jisoo’s voice is quiet.

“She has.” Jeonghan agrees.

“Why am I emotional?” Jisoo laughs.

“Don’t worry, I get that way sometimes too.” Seungcheol is smiling.

“I’m so proud of her. She’s been through way too much.”

“She is incredible.” Seungcheol agrees as they watch you, not knowing that your soulmate was watching too.

He watches your smile the most as you make the toy dance, seemingly recreating the famous Eodonggie dance that Jisoo and Seungcheol made for you. There’s a small smile growing on his face, your happiness literally contagious as it runs through him. Jeonghan watches Jihoon curiously, a focussed frown on his face.

“Are we there yet?” Seokmin whines, leaning against your back as you walk steadily uphill, following your brother and your friends.

“If you were going to complain the whole time, I would’ve made you stay back at the campsite and have the tea ceremony with Minghao, Junhui and Ji-ah.” You grumble, pushing the sweaty man off you.

The sun is beginning to set in the sky, the bright blue of the sky darkening ever-so slightly as you and a few select friends who decided to join you hike up to the top of the nearby mountain to watch it set. You were near the back of the group, holding the leash of Kkuma as she happily climbed up the mountain with you. Jihoon stays at the back with Wonwoo, both men keeping an eye on everyone and making sure nobody gets left behind.

“But I have severe FOMO.” Seokmin drawls.

“FOMO?” Jisoo turns his head to look back at you.

“Fear Of Missing Out.” Seungcheol and Jeonghan sigh at the same time.

“He learnt this word last week and won’t stop bringing it up.” Seungkwan groans, rubbing at his temple.

“You’re just not cool and swaggy like me.” He sticks his tongue out at the younger boy.

“You can stop complaining, babe!” Soonyoung yells from the front of the group, happily jumping from side to side. “We made it!”

Jihoon is the last one to make it to the top, standing at the back of the viewing deck at the top of the mountain, watching you as your eyes wide and sparkling as you take in the breathtaking view.

For as far as the eye can see, the eternal sky doesn’t have a single cloud littering the view. Leading down from the observation deck is a sea of green, the trees from the forest making the sky pop. In the far distance, you can see a cable car leading down into the large city of Busan, and Jihoon smiles as he sees his home town.

“Wow.” You breathe out, staring at the sky as the colours begin to change right in front of your eyes.

“This is incredible!” Chan yells happily, taking out his phone to snap photos with the others.

The other men are taking photos of each other, some making silly poses for their camera rolls, others taking cute couple photos with cheek kisses and hugs galore. Jihoon simply stands to the side, looking at the orangey pink sky with a smile before he spots you moving.

You make your way over to your brother, hugging around his middle as you both look out to the setting sun, head leaning against his shoulder. Jisoo and Jeonghan stand behind you both, giving you the space you need. Jeonghan pulls out your Polaroid camera, snapping a quick photo of you and your brother embracing in front of the sunset, a smile content on his face.

“Hi, Eomma.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but Jihoon winces as he hears it clear as day.

“She looks good tonight, doesn’t she?” Seungcheol rubs your shoulder as he glances down at you with a gentle smile.

“She’s only putting it on for you, Oppa.” You bump your hip against his. “You were always the golden child, of course she’d show off when you were looking.”

“Yah!” He barks as you laugh heartily, raising both of your hands in defense.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” You giggle as Soonyoung and Seokmin make their way over to you.

“Wonwoo-yah,” Soonyoung smiles sweetly to him. “Could you pretty please take a quick family photo of us?”

“Mhm~.” Wonwoo hums, smiling as Jeonghan makes his way to your brother’s side. You scoop up Kkuma in your arms, holding her close as your best friend and his soulmate shuffle in close.

“Say kimchi!” Seungkwan shouts as you all smile, Wonwoo snapping the picture as Jisoo takes a photo from the Polaroid camera Jeonghan had passed to him.

“Beautiful!” Mingyu grins before placing his phone down on a rock. “Quick, everyone in for the next one!”

“What?” Jihoon’s eyes widen as his wrist gets grabbed by Seungkwan, dragging him into the group, Hansol doing the same to Wonwoo and Chan grabbing Jisoo.

“Smile!” Mingyu coos sweetly as you all pose.

Jihoon simply smiles and throws up a peace sign out of pure habit, being used to Soonyoung’s random photo shoots he used to make him do in middle school, cheeks bright red. Luckily for him, the focal point was not the people posing but the sunset behind them, and Jihoon felt relieved for that fact.

“You guys go on back down whenever you’re ready.” You speak quietly after fifteen minutes of watching the sky. “I want to stay here a bit longer and take a few more pictures.”

“We can stay here too, Bug.” Seungcheol insists, Soonyoung nodding aggressively beside him.

“Junhui would have dinner being made by now, Oppa,” you hum, looking up at him. “The hike is only nearly half an hour, I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not gonna leave my little sister up here on her own.”

“You go down, Cheollie.” Jisoo smiles, hand on his shoulder. “I can walk her back down. You go down and we’ll be down once the sun is nearly gone.”

“Are you sure?” He asks nervously.

“Positive. Don’t worry, she’ll be fine.” He pats him on the back.

“I’d like to stay up here for a bit too.” Wonwoo smiles. “Take a couple more photos and that. We’ll go back together.”

“I’ll stay too.” Jihoon speaks up, and he blushes when you look at him in surprise. He doesn’t look your way, though. “Home looks good from here. Want to look at it a bit more.”

“See?” Jisoo grins. “She has a whole protection squad to bring her back down. You guys go ahead and we’ll be back soon.”

After a beat of silence, he sighs. “Fine. But if you’re not back by dark, I’m calling a search party.”

“Okay, Dad.” You roll your eyes playfully as he kisses your forehead.

“See you soon.” He hugs you quickly before everyone turns and starts making their way down the mountain.

Once they’re out of sight, you sigh slightly and sit down on the park bench by the viewing deck, taking a few photos on your Polaroid camera as Jisoo sits beside you, Wonwoo and Jihoon standing a few meters away as they both lean on the rails.

“Penny for your thoughts, Goober?” Jihoon hears Jisoo speak. “You seem pretty glum over here.”

“I’m fine.” You frown slightly. “Everything is fine and perfect. I have you back, my brother is having a great birthday trip so far, my family and friends are happy. Why wouldn’t I be happy?” You don’t look up at him.

“Hmm..” he hums slowly. “That’s true, but you didn’t mention yourself in that sentence.”

“I’m all good.”

“If that’s true, then why do you look so broken?”

You pause. Jihoon feels the pain in your stomach begin to rise as you continue to speak to your long lost friend.

“I have no reason to be broken.” You insist, eyebrows furrowing. “I am living a good life. I have a job I love, friends and family who care about me, I can see colour…” your voice teeters off. “I’d be selfish if I was sad, Oppa.”

Jihoon can feel the tears brimming in his eyes at how quiet and tired you sound, teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

“Y/N…” Jisoo sighs. “You lost your parents in one fell swoop, you and your brother had to be raised by your best friend’s parents while your trash ass father left without a care in the world. And on top of that, Cheol told me that you found the one person who was made for you in this fucked up world and they didn’t want you back.” You wince, a tear rolling down your cheek. Jisoo reaches forward to gently wipe it away. “You have had way too much heartbreak for a girl your age. You’re allowed to be selfish for a little while.”

“I can’t.” You hiccup, shaking your head. “Not now, at least. Not when this weekend is all for Cheol.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t be upset if you needed a bit more time to heal.” He reaches over and hugs you to his side, rubbing your back.

“Not right now.” You sniffle, quickly reaching up and wiping at your eyes. “Plus, my soulmate is happy. That’s all I care about, Oppa.”

“What about your happiness?” He frowns.

“They’re happy, I’m happy. That’s kinda Soulmate 101. I can feel what he’s feeling, remember?”

“If you’re sure…”

“I am. Trust me.”

You think you’re being quiet. And to your credit, you are. Jihoon is purposely straining his ears to be able to hear what you’re saying to Jisoo, and with every new thing you say, the more Jihoon knows that he doesn’t deserve you - as a soulmate or as a friend.

“Come on.” Jisoo takes a deep breath, rising from his spot. “It’s getting darker. We better go or else Cheol will have my head.”

“Yeah..” you sigh softly before grabbing your things. “Wonwoo-Oppa?” You call out, snapping Jihoon out of his thoughts as he and his housemate both look over to you. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yep, give me a minute.” He smiles at you, Jisoo taking your hand and leading you to the entry of the observation deck. Once you’re a safe distance away, Wonwoo turns to your soulmate. “You okay, Jihoon-ah?”

“Hm? Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” He responds a little too quickly. Wonwoo just stares at his housemate for a moment before nodding.

“Okay. But if there’s something going on, you know you can tell me, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” He hums. “Let’s go, we better catch up.”

Before Wonwoo can answer, Jihoon rushes to catch up with you and Jisoo, Wonwoo sighing and following a beat behind.

“What made you so late?!” A strained voice bellows as you make your way back to the campsite. You pause in your steps, which makes the trio behind you stop as well.

“What the..” you mumble, stepping closer.

“You didn’t pay~” another strained voice responds.

“Oh no.” You groan, reaching up and covering your face.

“What is it?” Jisoo asks quietly, Wonwoo and Jihoon stifling giggles.

“It’s the chaotic duo.” Wonwoo smiles.

“Who?”

“You‘ll see.”

You all round the corner to see Seokmin and Soonyoung standing in front of the table, hunched over and squinting their eyes. The others are seated in a semi-circle around them, either keeping their heads down or burying their faces into their hands.

“Halmo, can I get some doenjjang-jiggae please!” Seokmin says to Soonyoung.

“They’re playing the Don’t Laugh game.” You shake your head as Jisoo stared blankly at the scene unfolding.

“Hey.. you should pay.”

“Excuse me halmo! Can I please get doenjjang-jiggae!”

“He’s crying.” Mingyu can barely breathe as he looks at Hansol, staring pointedly at the ground.

“Vernonnie???” Soonyoung struts over and bends all the way down to look directly at Hansol. “You should pay!”

Jihoon glances to you as he sees your shoulders shaking, small giggles leaving your lips as no one spots you just yet.

“HEY HALMO!” Seokmin makes his way over to Soonyoung.

Seungkwan is holding his breath as he watches the soulmates. “Someone is going to laugh here…”

“Watch this.” You mumble to Jisoo before turning around.

“Aigoo, grannies, please stop!” You muster your best old man voice as you make your way to your friends.

Almost immediately the whole group bursts out laughing, Seokmin and Seungkwan falling to the ground and Soonyoung throwing his head back with laughter.

Jihoon feels himself start to grin along with the others, feeling your giggles rise within him.

“You made it back safe, I see!” Seungcheol breaks the giggle fest, smiling as he hugs you.

“Yep, and in one piece, would you believe?” You raised your eyebrow with a smile.

“I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t see it myself.” He ruffled your hair, making you whine and shove him. “Go and get a plate, Junhui’s just finished cooking.

“I will in a sec, I need to go to the bathrooms.”

“Y/N?” Jihoon’s girlfriend stood near you as you spoke. “Sorry… I don’t want to be a bother but can I come with you to the bathrooms?”

“Hm?” You turn to Ji-ah, Jihoon’s eyes wide as he watches you both speak. “Yeah, that’s fine.” You smile at her.

There’s no point being rude to her, you think. She didn’t do anything wrong. And you don’t think you could purposely be mean if you tried. Seungcheol says it’s one of your worst faults.

“Oh, thank you!” She smiles as she steps to you, and you offer to link arms with her. Your smile is soft and genuine, and Jihoon hates himself even more at your pure kindness. Ji-ah links her arm with yours as you walk together to the bathrooms.

“Go fix up a plate, guys.” Seungcheol smiles at Jihoon, Wonwoo and Jisoo. “There’s plenty to go around!” He pats Jisoo on the back as they walk to the table together, Jihoon watching his soulmate and his girlfriend walk away together.

“Thank you again for inviting me on this trip, Y/N,” Ji-ah smiles at you.

“Really, it’s no problem at all.” You smile back as you walk to the building a small distance away.

“Are you sure? I mean, your brother barely knows me and I feel bad sort of… hijacking?”

“Oh please,” you giggle. “It’s so fine. Oppa knows Jihoon-ssi through Soonie, snd by default, soulmates are invited.” The last part slips past your lips before your brain and comprehend what just came out of your mouth.

“Oh,” she laughs, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “Hoon-ah isn’t actually my soulmate.”

You act surprised. “What?” You gasp. Thank god for your acting skills. “Really?”

“Yeah..” she laughs awkwardly. “I mean, he’s a great guy and all which is obviously why we are dating… but yeah.. I already have a soulmate. He moved away when I was still in middle school and haven’t seen him again since.”

“Oh…” you trail off slowly.

“Oh god.” Ji-ah’s eyes widen. “I-I’m so sorry!” She looks at you worriedly. “I didn’t want to bring up bad memories of your parents because I’m doing the same thing your fathe-”

“Oh, no,” you pat her arm. “Really, don’t stress.” You smile reassuringly. “I won’t judge. Honest.”

“And it’s not forever with Jihoon anyway,” she keeps babbling like word vomit. “We both made a pact that as soon as my soulmate comes back or if he finds his, we’d break this whole thing off!”

“Ji-ah,” you assure her. “It’s…” your brain catches up with her words and you feel the pit in your stomach begin to form. “A pact?”

Ji-ah’s words start running through your head as the realization sets in. Her words begin to drown out as you realize what she’s saying. They were never a forever thing. As soon as her soulmate found her again, or if Jihoon were to find his soulmate, they’d be with their person.

But Jihoon knew who his soulmate was. He know who it was and he still chose to break the pact to keep Ji-ah.

Fuck. That stung.

You weren’t even good enough to have even after Jihoon went through his whole relationship with Ji-ah with the sole end game being to be with his soulmate.

You blink after your eyes focus once again to a frantic Ji-ah.

“Hey,” you take her arm. “It’s alright, really. You’re your own person that makes your own choices. I’m not going to treat you like crap just because it’s something my father did.” You force a smile now. Every word you spoke felt like your throat was being stabbed.

It hurt to lie.

“Are you sure?” She asks nervously and you nod with a little smile.

“Positive.”

Jihoon lifts his head from his lap as he spots you and Ji-ah walking back to the site. He had felt a sharp pain in his chest five minutes ago, and he hasn’t been able to sit still since. When he sees you and his girlfriend walking back towards them, he keeps a close eye on you. Your eyes stay focused on your feet as you march your way to your brother.

“I made you a plate, Bug!” Cheol smiles, patting the spot between him and Jisoo for you.

“Not hungry.” You mumble, your hair shielding your face as you reach for a bottle of soju in the middle of the table.

Jihoon watches your brother, his soulmate, and your best friend all look between each other with wide eyes. You twist the top of the bottle open, taking a swift swig of the alcoholic drink before leaning against your brother's side in silence.

He feels nothing. He hasn’t felt anything from you since the sharp pain in his chest moments ago, and now he’s worried. You refuse to make eye contact with anyone at the table around you, taking another sip of your soju as Jisoo’s hand rubs at your back absentmindedly, looking at Seungcheol for an explanation.

Jihoon rises from his seat as Ji-ah has stopped to talk to Mingyu about something, turning around and walking to a small clearing in the forest to clear his head. It almost feels clogged, riddled with hundreds of questions and endless scenarios playing all at once. He winces and rubs at his temples before jumping at the sound of a twig snapping behind him, not realizing he had been followed.

His eyes widen in surprise as he sees Jeonghan standing in front of him, a deep frown on his face and arms crossed. He is glaring at your soulmate with a scowl.

“It’s you, isn’t it?”

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wc: 16.2k

extra chapter warnings: themes of self-hatred, brief mention of suicide. heed the violence warning for this one.

chapter summary:

“I don’t know what happened at the lake,” Seonghwa starts, tentative and unsure. Clearly cautious to continue forward. “But do you think you guys will be able to work things out?”

“I don’t know,” San breathes, and it’s true. “I really don’t know, Hwa.”

Seonghwa nods, taking this in. He begins to chew on the corner of his cheek, nervous. “I need to tell you something.”

a/n: me apologizing for taking eons to write is getting a bit old, so imma stop LMAO. life is just busy but what’s new. anyway, to be frank i adore this chapter. it's a wild ride. i hope you all enjoy. mwah.

“Wooyoung!”

Wooyoung hears someone call out to him, but he isn’t sure from where. Their voice appears close, yet far off all at once. As if they are speaking from beside him, and at the same time miles away.

His senses feel muddled. Eye-sight a bit faded, it’s as if he’s looking through a window in the winter season. Fogged and clammy with precipitation, almost translucent. His hearing is muffled, his footsteps creating a dull-echo through him, as if they’re coming from within his mind rather than heard through his ears.

Wooyoung ignores this, instead choosing to follow the voice, although really, he’s walking aimlessly more than he is following. He can’t tell where the voice is coming from, and the darkness that surrounds him is disorientating. When he looks down, he can see his own eyes staring back at him, the ground polished and reflective. However, when he looks forward it all meshes into a thick blackness, like a mirror facing the night sky. 

“Wooyoung!”

He hears the voice again, and it sounds like it’s coming from behind him, but when he turns there is nobody there. Just more of the same darkness.

Wooyoung scowls. Something is wrong, although he can’t place what. An inkling of worry rests on his shoulders nagging at him to listen, but everytime he tries to grasp it, it slips between his fingers. Sliding like water over rock.

His frown deepens. Yes, something is very wrong. He should know what it is, and yet he doesn’t.

Wooyoung turns back around, walking back in the same direction from which he came, this time with more fervour, his cluelessness leaving him agitated. 

However, as he turns it is not only blackness ahead of him, but a boy.

He faces away from Wooyoung so that the elemental cannot see his face, although based on his narrow stature and height, he’s no older than his early teens. Wooyoung, struck by a sense of familiarity, heads towards him. 

Upon reaching him, Wooyoung reaches out to grab the boy's shoulder, turning him around to face him. However, just as the boy’s face is almost visible, he vanishes. Wooyoung blinks. Darkness sits before him, empty, his hand outstretched into the blackness.

“Wooyoung.”

He whirls around, finding himself face to face with the boy.

Wooyoung gasps.

The boy’s light eyes meet his, a rich grey colour that has always reminded him of a coming storm. His black hair has grown longer, shaggy as it curls around the boy’s ears. Although Wooyoung has grown quite a bit since he last saw him, the boy is still taller, even if only by an inch or so.

“Yeonjun,” he whispers, and then his arms are wrapped around him, pulling the boy close. Wooyoung presses one of his hands along Yeonjun's back, feeling his skin and the muscles along his shoulders, trying to make sure that he’s real as he remembers each of his skin’s crevices. Ensuring that he is not a trick of the mind, an illusion within the warped darkness. 

But he is real. Completely solid, his skin as warm and soft as so many years ago. Wooyoung places a hand onto the back of his head, cradling it as he pulls Yeonjun close. 

Yeonjun does not move to hug him back. He stands still, stiff. Arms planted at his sides.

“You’re dead,” Wooyoung whispers, because he doesn’t understand how this is possible. He tucks his chin over the boy’s shoulder, overwhelmed by the familiarity of it, even after all these years. There’s a rightness to it, like his shoulder was meant for Wooyoung’s chin to rest there.

Yeonjun doesn’t reply right away, and Wooyoung finally pulls away from him. Yeonjun’s deep grey eyes meet his, although there is a certain absence to them. Not of life, but compassion. His lips are pulled into a thin line, his jaw clenched tight. 

It’s not until now Wooyoung realizes that Yeonjun is not happy to see him. 

“You don’t have to remind me that I’m dead, Wooyoung,” Yeonjun says, and his voice is not how Wooyoung remembers it. Not in its actual sound, but in its tone. Wooyoung remembers Yeonjun’s voice within night’s spent up in the watchtower, huddled close together. He remembers it in whispers around the lunch table, jovial and bright amidst the darkness. 

He does not remember Yeonjun’s voice being so cold, nor so pointed. So hateful. 

“It’s not the kind of thing I would forget,” Yeonjun spits, releasing himself from Wooyoung’s grip. Wooyoung flinches, caught off guard by this ferocity of his words. 

“I didn’t mean-” Wooyoung starts, reaching out to place a comforting hand atop the boy’s shoulder. Yeonjun slaps it away. Hard. 

“Don’t touch me,” Yeonjun scowls. He takes a step forward, and Wooyoung finds himself stepping back. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me!”

“I-I’m sorry,”  Wooyoung says, and his voice is small as he takes another step back, pulling his hand away completely. 

“Don’t tell me that you’re sorry,” Yeonjun says, and then Wooyoung is flying backwards. Blown by a sharp gust of wind, he hits his back against the ground. It sends a sharp spark of pain along his spine, and he winces as he continues to roll, using his elbows to protect his face as he tumbles backwards. 

When he finally comes to a stop, he looks up, watching as Yeonjun storms towards him. “You think that you being sorry is going to change anything? That it’s going to fix what you did?”

“No,” Wooyoung whispers, because it’s true. He has hated himself for what he did to Yeonjun. Dragging him into his plan to escape, the plan that ultimately got the boy killed. However, even with all of his guilt, regret, and self-hatred, he never once thought that he’d have to face Yeonjun again. That he would have to own up to his failure. His unforgivable mistake.

He deserves this.

“You’re right, I am dead,” Yeonjun says, no longer shouting, but the ice within his voice is just as powerful. “I’m dead and it’s because of you.”

A ball of fire ignites in Yeonjun’s hand that the younger boy pulls it back, before letting it fly towards Wooyoung. The fire hurtles towards him, its orange and yellow flames twisting and turning, growing in size with each passing second.

Wooyoung would never hurt Yeonjun. Not intentionally, not with his own hand or flame. So instead of firing back with his own, Wooyoung redirects the flame away from him, sending it sideways.

Except that he doesn’t, because the redirection doesn’t work. 

Yeonjun’s aim lands true as the flames engulf him.

Wooyoung thinks that he is screaming, but he can’t tell, his ears having gone deaf amongst the pain that radiates throughout his entire body. The burning sensation starts at his skin, thousands of little needles stabbing him everywhere from his face down to his feet. He can’t think beyond the burning, the heat intolerable as it consumes him. He begins to roll around on the ground, wailing in agony as he desperately tries to put the fire out. 

When the flames subside, Wooyoung can’t rise to his feet. He drags his hand along the ground, weak and shaking as he pulls it to his side, and he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirrored floor beneath him.

His skin bubbles and blisters, it’s once deep bronze having shifted to an angry and repulsive bright red. His hand twitches, shaking as he attempts to move it. He lets out a low whine of pain, tears glistening in his eyes.

He hears Yeonjun’s footsteps approach him. When the boy crouches down in front of Wooyoung, his eyes are full of malice. He does not smile, even as Wooyoung looks up at him through bleary eyes, weak and pathetic.

Yeonjun’s hand fills with fire, and instead of throwing it at him, he simply places it onto Wooyoung’s arm. Wooyoung watches in horror as his skin catches light, the needles returning as sharp pain cascades over his flesh. He lets out a broken cry, trying to move his other hand to put it out, but he’s too weak. His other hand merely shakes, awkwardly patting at the fire in a way that does nothing to put it out, but rather makes his other hand hurt even more.

“Use your gift, Wooyoung,” Yeonjun chides, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Or maybe you really are as useless as he claims.”

“He” meaning Warden. The only man Wooyoung has ever been genuinely afraid of. The only man who convinced Wooyoung that he was nothing. Has always been nothing. 

Is nothing, even now.

Yeonjun leans in closer, and when he speaks, his voice is a low whisper. “You deserve all that’s coming to you, Wooyoung. Remember that.”

The fire spreads up his arm and onto his shoulder, and Wooyoung closes his eyes, losing himself in the pain. It continues through him, the fire eating away at his flesh and burning its way into his mind. He can smell the smoke around him, and it's reminiscent of his skin. Rotten and vile, he breathes it again, mouth agape as he wails in agony. 

The fire consumes him until there is nothing left. His body gone, mind lost to the flames.

“Woo, get off of the floor,” a voice says from above him. 

Wooyoung blinks. His cheek is cool against the ground beneath him, as is the rest of his body that is sprawled out above it. He glances forward at his hand that sits out in front of him.

It looks normal, the burns completely vanished.

He narrows his eyes, glancing at his reflection in the mirror below him. All he sees is himself staring back, disbelieving. Wooyoung’s skin has returned to its normal, deep bronze rather than bright red, the blisters having disappeared entirely. His reflection blinks back at him. It’s as if nothing happened.

“Did you hit your head or something?” The voice says again, and Wooyoung glances up. Seonghwa stands above him,  looking down with a puzzled look on his face. 

Wooyoung frowns, a burst of both excitement and shame igniting within him, although he doesn’t know where it comes from. Did something happen between him and Seonghwa lately? He can’t seem to remember. 

“No, sorry,” Wooyoung replies, and Seonghwa extends a hand out. Wooyoung takes it, letting the blonde lift him back up to his feet. 

Wooyoung glances down at himself, at his once burnt clothing now perfectly in-tact. His frown deepens. “Do you know-” He begins, but whatever he was going to say dies on his lips, as when he glances up Seonghwa’s eyes are already staring into his own. 

Seonghwa is close, a little too close. His hand continues to hold Wooyoung’s, resting against Seonghwa’s own chest. His face is closer than Wooyoung thinks it’s ever been, mere inches apart, and Wooyoung can feel the heat that rises to his cheeks.

“I… I, um,” Wooyoung says stupidly.

“Hm?” Seonghwa hums, and a small smile grazes his lips. It’s coy, almost knowing, and if Wooyoung could feel the heat in his cheeks before then they’re practically burning now. “Were you saying something?”

Wooyoung swallows hard, and when he speaks again his voice is a whisper. “No.”

Seonghwa’s smile grows a little wider. “Good.”

Then Seonghwa kisses him.

It’s familiar in a way he can’t understand, almost as if he’s been here before, but also nowhere close. Seonghwa’s lips are soft, tender as they meet Wooyoung’s own. The empath’s hand is gentle as it reaches up to rest on the back of Wooyoung’s neck, whose mind melts. 

Seonghwa clearly feels the elemental stiffen in surprise, smiling against Wooyoung’s lips. He lets out a breathy chuckle that is oh-so-familiar, and Wooyoung lets the sound flow through his ears and fill the rest of him. His mind, his heart, his body. He lets himself become wrapped in the comfortability that is one of his closest friends, his mind’s long-harboured desire.

Seonghwa’s hand drifts from the back of the elemental’s neck to the front, fingers dancing along his Adam’s apple, which bobs as Wooyoung swallows in anticipation.

Then Seonghwa begins to squeeze.

His grip is not gentle, nor is it suggestive. Instead it is tight, increasingly uncomfortable, and Wooyoung tries to pull his lips away. “Hwa,” he murmurs, although it’s difficult to get out through the way Seonghwa’s hand squeezes around his airway. “Hwa, you’re hurting me.”

“Am I?” Seonghwa speaks against his lips, his tone shifting from fond to something that resembles seductive, but not quite. Mischievous, or even dangerous. “Awe.”

Seonghwa's grip shifts from uncomfortable to painful as he deepens the kiss, nails digging into Wooyoung’s skin as he presses harder on his airway. Wooyoung tried to pull away, to protest, but Seonghwa forcefully keeps his lips on Wooyoung’s own. 

Wooyoung places his hands on Seonghwa’s wrist, trying to pull his grip away. However, it’s as if Seonghwa has gained impenetrable strength, as his arm will not budge no matter how hard Wooyoung tries. Seonghwa finally pulls his lips away, looking down at Wooyoung, eyes full of a mocking pity.

“What’s wrong, Woo? Isn’t this what you’ve been imagining?” Seonghwa asks, and while Wooyoung opens his mouth to deny him, his squeezed airway prevents him from speaking. Seonghwa grins, squeezing tighter as he moves his face closer, his breath hot on Wooyoung’s skin. “Isn’t this what you’ve been dreaming about in that sick head of yours?”

Wooyoung tries to cry out but all that comes out is a choked, pathetic sound that makes Seonghwa snicker. Blackness creeping into the corners of his vision, Wooyoung’s head begins to become foggy, everything fuzzy but the pain and image of Seonghwa before him.

He can feel his eyelids drooping, his effort to pull Seonghwa’s hand away diminishing with each passing second. Seonghwa notices it too, as he coos in disapproval. 

“You really thought I could love you, didn’t you?” Seonghwa says softly, grip tightening to keep Wooyoung awake. Tears begin to fill the elemental’s eyes as his chest aches, desperate for air. For release, one way or another. “That if anyone were able to love something as fucked up as you, maybe it would be me.”

Seonghwa leans in, and Wooyoung feels his eyes roll into the back of his head, nothingness beginning to replace the space his thoughts once resided.

“I could never love you, Woo. Nobody could. It’s time that you stop pretending otherwise.”

Wooyoung awakens to his cheek pressed against the cold mirrored floor. Again. 

Taking a deep, gasping breath, he feels his lungs fill with air. Hand drifting to his neck, he searches for the pain of bruising, only to find that there is nothing there. His neck feels fine, his breathing having returned to normal, and he curses beneath his breath.

“What the fuck is happening to me?” He thinks, staring up at the never-ending darkness above him. He searches his mind for the memory of where he is, how he got to this strange place, but can’t seem to find anything. The answer sits on the tip of his tongue, but he cannot speak it, the words just out of his reach.

Anxiety pulses within his head, hands shaky as he pulls them down to his side. He feels as if he’s going crazy. Maybe he is. Maybe he already has. 

Wooyoung rolls over, prepared to rise to his feet, only to be stopped by the sight of a man lying next to him. He faces away from Wooyoung, but from the outline of the muscles of his back that poke through his shirt and the strap of the eye-patch that wraps around the back of his head, Wooyoung knows that it’s San.

Wooyoung lets out a sigh of relief, comforted by the fact that San is with him. San always knows what’s going on, what to do when nothing seems to make sense. San will be able to put together what Wooyoung cannot.

He extends out a hand, letting it fall onto San’s shoulder, giving the swordsman a gentle shake. San’s skin is cool to his touch, smooth, and Wooyoung smiles at the comfortable familiarity of it.

“San,” he says, giving the swordsman a gentle shake. When San does not reply, Wooyoung shakes him a little harder. “San.”

When San still does not move, Wooyoung assumes that he is sleeping. It’s not surprising, as even for a man so keen and alert at all waking hours, he sleeps like the dead. Sitting up on his elbow, Wooyoung tugs on San’s shoulder, rolling him over.

Except that when Wooyoung’s gaze meets man’s face, San’s eye is not closed in peaceful slumber. It is wide-open, glazed, and worst of all, vacant.

Wooyoung knows that he is dead.

Time appears to stop for a moment, although it feels more like an eternity. Wooyoung stares down into San’s blank stare, the coolness of his skin suddenly making far too much sense. 

San is dead. 

San is dead.

“No,” Wooyoung murmurs, hand drifting from San’s shoulder to his chest, feeling for a heart-beat and finding nothing. Wooyoung pulls himself up onto his knees, leaning down to press his ear to San’s parted lips, listening for a breath. There is none to be found.

“No,” Wooyoung whispers, turning his head to press a kiss to the swordsman’s lips, one that goes unreciprocated. “No, no, no,” he protests, hands shaking as he grabs San’s jaw, pulling his mouth to his own.

San’s lips are cold, unmoving, and when Wooyoung pulls away from him his eyes are stained with tears. His throat swells, chest aching, and he lets out an open sob. It echoes throughout the empty darkness around them, over and over again, like a lament of agony.

“This is your fault.”

Wooyoung’s gaze shoots up. In front of him sits a young girl, no older than thirteen, her long black hair tangled and pale face stained with tears. 

“Winter,” Wooyoung whispers.

“You couldn’t just let him leave,” she says, voice shaking as her hands clutch onto San’s tunic. They tremble around the light fabric, in desperation, in anger, in devastation. “He knew what you would do to him, but you couldn’t let him go, could you?”

“I…” Wooyoung starts, tongue feeling too big for his mouth, mind fuzzy. “I did this?”

He looks down at his hands. They’re coated in blood, as is San’s shirt. He doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it before.

“He loved you,” Winter says, eyes finally looking up to meet Wooyoung’s. The redness of her crying face and the gloss of her tears bring out the blue in them. “We both did. And this is what we get for it?”

“I’m sorry,” Wooyoung says, his voice barely above a whisper. Winter says nothing, her sobs merely grow louder, and Wooyoung looks down at San. The man he ruined. The man he destroyed. “I’m so sorry.”

When San makes no reply, as he no longer can, Wooyoung’s tears transform into loud, broken sobs. His own hand grabs onto San’s bloodied tunic, needing to hold a part of him but not daring to let himself touch the man’s skin. Tarnish him any more than he already has.

“I hate you,” Winter whispers, and it takes Wooyoung a minute to realize that although he’s heard her say those words before, it isn’t Winter speaking.

Wooyoung looks up to meet your gaze.

Your jaw is tightly clenched, your lip quivering. Although, what affects him the most is your eyes and the deep emotion they hold. A fiery blaze of distaste, of fury, wrath, and pure and unadulterated hatred.

“I hate you,” you say again, face contorting inward on itself as you look at him. “For everything you’ve done to me. For everything you’ve done to them. For everything you are.”

“I know,” he answers, and when he speaks his voice is barely above a whisper, as he lets out an admission. “I do too.”

He doesn’t notice the knife in your hand until it is buried in his chest.

Wooyoung stares down at the knife protruding out from him, your hand wrapped around its delicately engraved handle. It’s the one they gave to you, the one he took from you that first night.

He doesn’t fight it, doesn’t attempt to pull it out or shove you away. He deserves it.

Blood pools around the wound in his chest, leaking down. He opens his mouth to speak, but instead coughs, blood splattering from his mouth onto your face. You don’t seem to care.

You lean forward over San’s body, pressing your lips against his ear. However, when you speak, your voice is not your own. It’s deeper, more masculine. Familiar, although from where Wooyoung cannot place.

“Tell me where she is, Wooyoung. Tell me where she is and I’ll make it stop.”

“The refuge,” the answer comes immediately to his mind, dancing on his tongue, although he doesn’t know where it comes from or what it means. “She’s with the refugees. Sharing a tent with a young red-haired girl. It’s just three turns from the entrance.”

But he doesn’t say these words, even as the pain within his chest deepens, even as he wants everything to disappear. Even as he craves for the darkness to consume him, to rid him of this terrible mess. The horrors of everything he’s done. 

He doesn’t say these words because something in his mind screams that he can’t, something deep within him that pounds at the walls of his subconscious, that something is deeply, horrifically wrong. 

“Fine,” you say in that same voice that is not your own, leaning back from his ear to face him, the anger in your eyes having faded to a cold disinterest. “Have it your way.”

You twist the knife deeper and Wooyoung dies, this time in even more agony than the last.

This sword is nicer than San’s old one.

His old sword had been gifted to him from Gloria's blacksmith when he was thirteen. A kind old-man who knew the trouble that had entangled San, and wished to give the young boy a chance in a life where his fortune had run dry.

The sword was nothing special, hilt not quite heavy enough and wrapped in a cheap leather that had become worn over the years. It was not as flexible as to be expected of a good sword, and even with the trips he’d taken to sharpen the blade, the metal was becoming dull and had lost much of its durability. San was also thirteen upon receiving it, so of course, the blade was not long. Even for a short-sword, it had become too small with San’s growing height.

This sword doesn’t have those problems, with its thick hilt coated in fine leather. It clearly holds a stronger durability than the last, almost nimble with its flexibility. It’s even a little longer, allowing him to reach an opponent from a few inches further back, granting him better protection. 

The new sword is objectively better than his last in just about every way possible.

San hates it.

He hates the way the new sword glides through the air effortlessly, how the sharpness of the blade cuts deep against the wooden pole he strikes with a terrifying ease. He hates how it fits his hand so well, how the length suits him perfectly. It was made for him, fashioned for his grip..

There is no life to this sword. Not yet. It wasn’t given to him in a time of desperate need like his last, something to hold onto when everything else was falling apart. He has this sword because he simply needed a new one.

San misses his old sword. It’s heavy hilt and the roughness of the cheap leather against his palm. He misses how it wasn’t long enough, how he’d have to dance closer to danger within every battle. He misses the wrongness of it, and how right that wrongness felt. He misses the imperfection. The faults. The years spent getting used to those faults, of learning to navigate them. 

San wants his sword back.

San also knows that he isn’t thinking about weapons anymore.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, San takes a breath before attacking the pole before him once more. In a flurry of motion, he hacks at the pole’s cheap wood, landing blow after blow. There is no grace, no tactical finesse, just violence. The excuse of training having faded a long time ago, San simply seeks to cause damage.

Then he growls, a low noise of annoyance in the back of his throat, before throwing the sword to the ground. It clatters against a couple rocks, before settling itself in the grass, almost invisible within the night's shadow. Good, he doesn’t want to look at it anymore.

San leans against the pole, feeling the many indents he’s created against the bare skin of his back. His tunic sits discarded on the ground next to him, having been soaked through with sweat. He’s been at this for hours.

“Are you okay?” A voice asks from over his shoulder. San turns to see Seonghwa standing by their tent, a sad expression on his face. He asks more out of courtesy than anything else. San knows that the answer is obvious.

“No,” San says softly, and the honesty surprises him, but after a moment it doesn’t. San is tired of hiding how he feels about things. Of pretending things are fine when they so obviously aren’t. If he still had the energy for it after the last couple weeks — although more like years, really — then it left alongside Woo.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Seonghwa asks.

“Not really,” San answers honestly. He’s been thinking about it for hours, the last thing he wants is to continue doing so. 

“Alright, we don’t have to, ” Seonghwa says gently. San peers back over at him. Seonghwa’s arms sit folded over his chest, eyes big and full of concern. His hair is tousled, patches of blonde sticking out in opposite directions, as if he were trying to sleep but couldn’t. He likely has been. San wonders how late it is, how long he’s been out here for. 

“Do you want to just come inside then?” Seonghwa offers instead, tilting his head towards the tent entrance. San considers this for a moment before deciding he would rather be anywhere other than beside this pole, and nods in affirmation.

Following Seonghwa inside the tent, San takes note of Seonghwa’s crumpled sheets, evidence of San’s assumption that the man has spent the last few hours tossing and turning rather than in rest. 

“Do you want some tea?” Seonghwa asks. 

“I’m alright.”

“Good. Whiskey then?”

San can’t help the chuckle he lets out at that. “Please.”

Seonghwa reaches into the basket Yeji had gifted them, filled to the brim with different delectables. San knew that it was nice of her to do, a kind gesture, but the cynical part of him saw the silliness of it. Here, your friend just got kidnapped for ransom, but maybe these scones will make you feel better about it.

However, maybe she also saw the futility of it, having added a rather hefty bottle of whiskey to the mix of sweets.

Seonghwa pours the whiskey into two ceramic cups before handing one over to San, who sits down on his own bed of blankets across from Seonghwa’s own. Woo’s remains between them, untouched. 

Seonghwa extends his cup forward to meet San’s own in a form of cheers, although to what exactly San doesn’t think Seonghwa knows the answer either. They both take a sip, and the liquid burns slightly as it trickles down San’s throat. He makes sure to drink a bit more than he normally would.

Swallowing his own whiskey before San does, Seonghwa looks down at Woo’s bed between them, gaze contemplative.

“Have you ever told me how you and Woo met?” Seonghwa asks.

San quirks a brow at this, a bit amused but at the same time confused. “Many times, Hwa.”

Seonghwa nods at this, cheeks dusted with a faint shade of pink, as if he’s well aware of this fact and embarrassed to have been caught.

However, when the empath says nothing, San sighs. He knows that Seonghwa simply wants to talk about Woo, even if not about the situation at hand. The dire, horrible situation that plagues both of their minds with worry. The situation that San cannot bare to talk about, so lest he tear up this tent with his sword before heading up the mountain to kill the entire Dark Army himself

But how they met… he supposes he can talk about that. If it will bring Seonghwa some peace of mind, of course.

“We were both fourteen,” San begins, watching as an appreciative smile spreads over Seonghwa’s lips. “I’d been working a job for Jay, spying on an investor he suspected of embezzling The Cradle’s Funds. But I was still new to working for him, and hadn’t quite found my knack for stealth yet.”

Seonghwa closes his eyes as San speaks, as if what he’s saying is some sort of lullaby, a piece of comfort.

“He caught me hiding in the shrub garden of his courtyard and dragged me out by my hair onto the city street. He started screaming at me, before pulling out a knife from his back pocket," San says, and he can still remember that moment as clear as day. The terror that consumed him, that kept him frozen in place as the man advanced towards him.

San does not tell Seonghwa this, but what he remembers most is how in that moment he thought about how nobody would care if the man killed him. His father had left him, his mother and sister were both dead, and his expendability in Jay’s eyes was made blatantly clear by the fact that he sent San to deal with this man in the first place.

If the man killed San right then and there, nobody would have batted an eye. He would just become another one of the many nameless, faceless victims of Gloria’s streets.

“The man came towards me, and I remember closing my eye as he lifted the blade in the air. I didn’t want to see it enter me, I knew I couldn’t handle that.”

“But then Woo showed up,” Seonghwa says softly.

“Yeah,” San breathes, unable to help the smile that curves across his lips. “But then Woo showed up.”

San takes a deep breath, before letting his own eye close, reliving it. “Across the darkness I saw a bright flash of light, and could feel a sudden rush of heat across my face. I opened my eye in a panic. I thought that maybe I’d died, that he stabbed and killed me instantaneously, that the light had meant I’d ascended or that the heat was the fires of Hell.”

“But when I opened my eyes I saw the man standing before me, except that now his arm that was holding the knife was completely engulfed in flame. The look on his face when he saw it was priceless, completely in shock as he ran back into his house screaming for help, the poor boy in front of him that he was about to murder completely forgotten.”

“Then Woo walked up to me, standing up with his arms crossed. The light of the sun shone out behind him, and I remember at the time thinking he must have been the god of fire himself. Or maybe an angel that came to save me. It’s ridiculous knowing him now, but at the time I really believed it.”

“What was the first thing Woo said to you again?” Seonghwa asks, and San chuckles.

“He asked me ‘Were you really just going to sit there and let him kill you?’ I shakily replied yes, and then he said ‘That’s kind of pathetic, don’t you think?’”

Seonghwa laughs at this, shaking his head to himself. San gets it. Even now, so many years later, it’s a very Woo sort of thing to say.

“I thought about it, and then agreed that yeah, it was pretty pathetic. He laughed, and then somehow I found myself laughing too. He helped me up, and then that was it.”

“That was it?” Seonghwa asks, inquiring what he means by that.

“That was it. He never left my side after that. I joined him in his camp outside of the town. He helped me train with my sword even if his own knowledge on the subject was next to none. He never wanted to see me so helpless again. He joined me on countless missions that Jay sent me on, even the nasty ones, the ones that still keep me up some nights.”

San takes in a deep breath. “He was just… there. When I had no-one, he was there. I don’t know what I would have done without him.”

San looks down at Woo’s sleeping mat between them. Pristine. Untouched. A testament to his absence.

Things between him and Woo have been horrible lately. It’s been years of build up, of the little issues growing larger, of San’s discontentment boiling beneath the surface. He knows that things with Woo will never change. He knows the elemental will never give San all of himself. 

But it’s in these little moments, when he thinks about their past and everything that has happened between them, that he wants nothing more than to have Woo with him. In any form. In a blistering argument, in the cold quiet following, in his bed even when he knows the elemental will be gone come morning.

He simply needs Woo there. Even when it’s wrong, even when he knows it’s an awful, gut-wrenching codependence at times. He needs him. 

And with Woo gone, taken from him, it’s now that he knows this more than ever.

But then he remembers the jealous spats over the last few weeks. The many morning’s waking up alone. The way that Woo jumped after him over that cliff…

“I don’t know what happened at the lake,” Seonghwa starts, tentative and unsure. Clearly cautious to continue forward. “But do you think you guys will be able to work things out?”

“I don’t know,” San breathes, and it’s true. “I really don’t know, Hwa.”

Seonghwa nods, taking this in. He begins to chew on the corner of his cheek, nervous. “I need to tell you something.”

“Go ahead,” San says, taking a sip of his drink as Seonghwa takes a deep breath.

“Woo kissed me.”

San chokes on his whiskey.

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa says as San sputters and uses a fist to pound at his chest, forcing himself to cough. “I should have waited until you swallowed first, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” San says through coughs, and while he tries to keep the blatant shock out of his tone, he fails miserably. “Woo kissed you?”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa answers, voice breathy and small.

“When?” San asks, bewildered.

“Before they captured him.”

“Before they captured him,” San repeats, more to himself than Seonghwa. He runs the idea of it through his head, although it doesn’t make much more sense to him. 

Woo kissed Seonghwa. He actually did it. Recently. Just the night before.

“Are you mad?” Seonghwa asks.

“No,” San says absently, before really registering the question. He looks over at Seonghwa, who looks at him, knees drawn up to his chest. His fingers tap against the cup in his hands as he chews on the corner of his cheek, both nervous habits of his.

San realizes that Seonghwa is genuinely scared that he’ll be upset with him, and even amidst the shock, San’s heart softens.

“No. I’m not mad, Hwa,” he says gently, running a hand through his hair to pull it out of his face as he takes another small sip of his drink. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around this.”

San knew Woo had feelings for Seonghwa, he has for years. He could tell by the way Woo looked at the empath in absent moments, when he thought nobody was looking. That undeniable fondness in his gaze that told San everything he needed to know. He noticed as Woo stiffened at Seonghwa’s touch, the way his breath would catch in his throat, just as San’s own did. 

Yes, San knew that Woo had feelings for Seonghwa. San just didn’t know that Woo knew that Woo had feelings for Seonghwa.

“I know, it was a lot for me to take in too,” Seonghwa says, before letting out a small laugh that doesn’t hold much humour. “Still is.”

“How did it happen?” San asks.

“We were arguing…about her, amongst other things,” Seonghwa says with a shrug. “And it quickly escalated to fighting. I asked— well, I yelled at him asking why he cared so much about what I do, and then he grabbed me and kissed me.”

It makes sense. If there is any scenario San could imagine Woo confronting his feelings, it’s in a fit of rage. 

“After he kissed you, then what did he do?” San asks.

Seonghwa sighs, and when he speaks his tone is bashful, cheeks flushed as if he’s embarrassed to say it aloud. “He ran away.”

“For fuck’s sake, Woo,” San thinks, giving him a mental slap that he hopes the elemental can feel from miles away. 

But San isn’t going to complain about Woo right now, because that’s not why Seonghwa brought this up, it’s not what the empath really needs. He just needs someone to listen.

“Do you know how you feel about it?” San asks, tone gentle.

“No,” Seonghwa says quietly. San catches a glimpse of annoyance in his eyes, as Seonghwa’s expression shifts from bashful to frustrated, lips drawing themselves into a tight line.

“No, I don’t. How am I supposed to know how I felt about it? If I liked it?” Seonghwa says, standing up from his sleeping mat and beginning to pace around the tent. However, given its small size he doesn’t have much room to actually pace, instead walking a mere few steps forward and back.

“There was no tenderness to it. It was nothing like a real kiss should be. He just grabbed my face and shoved it into his and then said ‘Sorry Seonghwa, you’re going to have to figure that one out on your own, I'm off to get kidnapped!’” Seonghwa says the last part in a high pitched sing-song sort of way, one that doesn’t really sound like Woo, but at the same time a lot like him in spirit.

Seonghwa sighs, taking a sip of his drink before pinching the bridge of his nose, as if he has a headache. When he speaks again, his voice becomes quiet. “That's not fair. I know it’s not fair. But neither is what he did.”

San looks up at the empath, contemplative. “Any ideas as to what it means to you yet?” 

“No,” Seonghwa answers immediately, before appearing to think better of it. “That's a lie. So many. Too many. I don't know, it’s just…”

He trails off, giving San a nervous glance that tells the swordsman that Seonghwa is worried of making him uncomfortable. San gives him a gentle smile, a signal to keep going despite it.

Seonghwa takes a deep breath. “It’s always been you and him. Always, from the moment I met you both. There was never another option, so I never considered another option. It would have been unfair. To you, to him, to myself… So I don't know. I honestly don’t know if I think of him that way. I don’t know if I think of guys that way. But now he’s gone and that’s like, the least of our problems to be worried about right now, but I just…”

“I know. I get it,” San says, because he does. He’s been there. San hadn’t loved a man until he met Woo, and falling for the elemental certainly wasn’t easy. Figuring out Woo had always been like deciphering a puzzle, or even navigating a ship out on a foggy day at sea. Disorientating, frustrating, and requiring a strong will and patient temper. 

Seonghwa sighs. “I don't know what to do.”

San see’s Seonghwa standing there, dejected and confused and what he’d dare to call a little heartsick, and the words come out of his mouth before he even registers that he’s thought of them.

“You could kiss me.”

Seonghwa’s gaze shoots back at him, and when he speaks his tone is hesitant, maybe even a little pointed as his lips hover above the rim of his glass. “That's not funny.”

San looks up at him, expecting to feel caught, or to begin back-tracking. Play it off as a joke and cover up his feelings as he’s so often done in the past, let them exist to him and nobody else.

Instead he says:  “I wasn't joking.”

And he isn’t.

He isn’t because San realizes that Seonghwa is not repulsed by the idea of Woo kissing him, or of even Woo loving him. He’s upset that Woo didn’t do it more cautiously, that he didn’t let Seonghwa give any input on his own thoughts or feelings. He’s upset that Woo did all of this in a moment of anger and aggression, without asking, and without apparent thought or care.

Seonghwa is not upset that Woo confessed to loving him, he’s upset that he didn’t do so tenderly.

“San,” Seonghwa says, and his tone is difficult to read. He says it like a warning, telling San to think about what he’s saying, what he’s really offering here. But San is thinking about, a small part of him always has been.

“I’m serious, Hwa. Think about it,” San starts, and he tries to keep his demeanour nonchalant, even as his heart begins to rapidly pick up pace in his chest. “You said you aren’t sure if you’re into guys. Well, I’m a guy. I’m not horrible to look at. You’re comfortable around me. It might help you sort some things out.”

“But…” Seonghwa trails off, and his complexion has gone a bit pale, clearly taken aback by the proposition. “But it’s you. It’s us.”

“Look, if you don’t feel anything or don’t like it I’m not going to take it personally,” San says, and maybe that’s not completely true, but what he says next is. “I’m not going to let it ruin our friendship. I promise.”

Seonghwa stares at him for a moment, large brown eyes scanning the swordsman’s face, as if searching for something. Eventually he speaks, and his voice is barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

“Really?” San asks despite himself, unable to contain his surprise.

“Yeah, whatever, okay,” Seonghwa says, his voice breathy, small, and all-around nervous. He walks over to sit down in front of San, this time on Woo’s unused sleeping mat rather than his own. Seonghwa does so with such a quickness that San is pretty sure the empath is trying to commit to this before he can talk himself out of it. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Seonghwa asks, gaze meeting San’s own. When he speaks his tone is embarrassed, maybe even a little self-conscious. “I mean, it’s me.”

Seonghwa says “me” as if that’s something that would deter him. As if there’s no possible way that San would want to kiss him, of all people. As if that were something San should be repulsed by.

San decides that with this kiss, he’ll prove to Seonghwa just how wrong he is about that.

Reaching forward to take hold of the empath’s jaw, San’s grip is gentle as his fingers dust along Seonghwa’s cheek. Seonghwa’s skin is warm, a beautiful kind of soft, and San takes a moment to run his thumb along Seonghwa’s cheekbone, his own heart fluttering at the way the empath’s skin floods with a light shade of pink.

Seonghwa’s eyes flutter shut, lips parted open slightly, waiting for San to accept them. San waits for a moment, taking in the sight before him, registering that this is actually happening. That Seonghwa - the man he’s only let himself love in seclusion, in weakness, in devastating secret - waits for San’s lips to meet his own.

Closing his good eye, San takes Seonghwa’s face in his hand, fingers grazing the conjunction between his neck and jaw. The empath’s skin is warm and San wonders if he’s blushing.

Seonghwa’s lips are soft. Softer than San imagined them to be, admittedly watching the empath’s mouth at times rather than his eyes. Embarrassing. Foolish. Pitiful. 

But perhaps not anymore. Not right now. Right now is anything but such cruel negativity.

San makes sure that the kiss is good. That it holds a sense of passion, by no means chaste or hesitant, but also is not aggressive or to the point of formidability. He grips Seonghwa’s jaw a little tighter, pulling him in deeper.

More than anything, San makes sure that the kiss is tender. 

Seonghwa sucks in a tight breath, and for a moment San fears that he’s uncomfortable, repulsed by it. That this was a mistake. That the rejection he’s been terrified of for so long is just a moment away. Maybe Seonghwa won’t even be able to look at him after, he’ll be too disgusted. 

But then Seonghwa’s hand finds itself on San’s arm. It rests there, Seonghwa’s fingers gently gripping San’s tunic. In that moment, the swordsman can almost feel as the fear and anxiety leaves his mind, draining from his body like a fruit squeezed of its juice. 

Not rejection. Maybe not acceptance, maybe not a confession or admission on Seonghwa’s behalf. But not rejection.

And with no rejection to be found, San knows what he must do.

He pulls away from Seonghwa’s lips, albeit not far, as he rests his forehead against the empath’s own. He can’t look Seonghwa in the eye for this, he knows it will make him too much of a coward to get the words out.

“I need to tell you something now,” San says.

Seonghwa’s voice is shaky as he speaks, quiet as his breath grazes San’s lips. “Okay.”

San holds his breath, as if he is about to dive underwater.

“I love you.”

There is a pause, and while San knows that realistically it is no more than a few seconds, it feels far more like an eternity as they pass by. He imagines all of the things Seonghwa could say. All the many variations of rejection or denial he could utter, ranging from a simple “no” to an entire memoir on why Seonghwa would never feel the same.

Seonghwa says none of these things. Instead he asks: “As in how?”

It takes San a moment to register what Seonghwa is asking. “As in I’m in love with you,” San clarifies.

“But…” Seonghwa starts, and in the moment’s pause he finally draws away from San’s face. When he looks at San, his face gives nothing away, a surprise given the empath’s often animated nature. Perhaps it is because he also does not know how he feels, how to respond to such a confession. Seonghwa does not smile, nor does he frown. His eyes do not light up with joy, nor do they swim with despair. 

In fact, the only emotion San can read is the wariness within Seonghwa’s gaze. A deep sense of caution. “What about Woo?” Seonghwa asks.

“I also love Woo.” San says, because it is true. Even after everything. Even after what happened at the beach the other night. Even with the line dug in the sand between them, a line that San himself has drawn, he knows that he will always love Woo. Always. 

Seonghwa frowns, eyebrows furrowing together into a puzzled look, as if the possibility of loving two people in such a way had never occurred to him before. As if the possibility of San loving two people in such a way were impossible. 

“I love him differently,” San admits, before thinking about it for a moment. “But at the same time, maybe not so differently either.”

“I don’t get it,” Seonghwa says, and for a moment San believes that he is talking about how San could love them both, but then Seonghwa clarifies: “How can you love me? For the last year you’ve kept me at such a distance. You’ve barely been able to touch me, let alone anything more than that.”

The words settle like a stone in San’s gut, and he thinks of their conversation at the fire after their run-in at The Desert Lotus. How Seonghwa had believed that he made San uncomfortable.

It was true. Touching Seonghwa did make San uncomfortable. Uncomfortable with how with each touch filled him with the desire to touch him more.

San’s voice is quiet as he speaks. “And why do you think that is, Hwa?”

“I don’t know,” Seonghwa answers, an immediate response, dejected as his gaze drifts away from San to look downwards. To Woo’s bed beneath them.

A flash of realization dawns on Seonghwa’s features, lighting up within the empath’s eyes. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” San says, unable to hide the amused smile that grazes his lips. “Oh.”

Seonghwa seems to consider this for a moment, before looking back up at San. “You know I love you too, right?

San’s eyebrows shoot up at this, and Seonghwa rushes to clarify. “Maybe not in the same way. Or maybe I do. I honestly don’t know. This is all new. I need some time to think about it.”

San nods. That’s fair. He hadn’t expected Seonghwa to immediately reciprocate his feelings. Although, maybe a little part of him deep down had foolishly hoped that he would.

Seonghwa seems to take note of the slight solemnity to San’s smile, and places his hand over the swordsman’s own. “But either way, I love you. And I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”                                             

“You won’t” San replies, and it is instant. It is instinct. It is the truth. “Take all of the time you need.”

“Thank you,” Seonghwa says, giving San’s hand a soft squeeze.

A moment of silence passes between them, and despite its slight awkwardness, San finds it the least tense he’s felt around Seonghwa in a very long time. It’s as if a weight has been taken off of his shoulders, finally free of the deep sense of guilt in the quiet moment’s between them. When San’s mind would wander, and he’d hate himself for thinking such things about his closest friend, and then hate himself even more for being too much of a coward to tell his closest friend what he was thinking.

But now Seonghwa knows. He knows. And no matter the outcome, no matter what he feels towards San in return, San no longer has to hide or wallow in his own guilt.

It is freeing.

Seonghwa takes a sip of his drink. “That was a good kiss though,” he mumbles over the rim of his glass, and San laughs. A real laugh, bubbling up from his chest. It’s been too long since he laughed like that.

Then, as if a reminder of how not all good things can last, Yeji bursts in through the tent flap.

“She’s gone,” Yeji says, voice cracking with shock and worry. She’s wrapped in her blanket to cover her nightgown, her hair falling in tangled red curtains over her shoulders, clearly having just woken up. “She’s gone and a horse is missing.”

San’s heart drops down into his stomach.

He doesn’t need to ask who the “she” is that Yeji refers to, nor does he need to question where you went.

You’ve gone to find Woo. Alone.

You've gone to find Woo, alone, amongst men who are willing to pay a fortune to see you dead.

“Fuck,” Seonghwa breathes, voicing San’s own thoughts.

“Do you know when she left?” San asks, as it couldn't have been long ago. It had to be some time after San came inside the tent, otherwise he would have noticed you sneak out.

“Her bed is still warm. So recently,” Yeji answers, confirming San’s suspicions. 

“Alright,” San breathes, before turning to Seonghwa. “Let’s go.”

Seonghwa nods in agreement, and without another word, they’re on their feet and heading out through the tent flap. Annoyance bubbles within San’s gut. He told you not to go. He told you to wait until he came up with a plan. A plan that meant getting both you and Woo to safety, not forcing you all to pick between one or the other. He is not one of the gods and has no interest in playing one.

You seem to have made the decision yourself, and while San resents you for not telling him or Seonghwa what you were planning, he understands why you did it.

Because San was never going to come up with a better plan. Time has been ticking since the moment he found the message scrawled in the alley, and his ideas have run dry. There is no better way, it was always going to end in you heading up the mountain to Woo’s aid. You wouldn’t have had it any other way, and deep down San knows he would have had it the same.

He just wishes that they were there with you. There to help you. To protect you. To kill these men with far too much power, who took everything from you.

Who took everything from him when they kidnapped Woo.

The sun has begun to set over the horizon as you ride along the Concorsus Mountain Pass.

An entire day having come and gone, your pace relentless as you rode in a restless pursuit, your body now aches in protest. Your thighs burn from their friction against the horse’s back, the muscles in your arms throbbing from maintaining your grip on the reins. Your stomach rumbles and groans, gnawing at your insides in hunger, head-pounding in demand of water.

But there is no time to eat or drink, not when only the god’s know what the black-clad men are doing to Woo.

You’ve had an awful lot of time spent in silence to consider the many possibilities of how they could be torturing him, all too gut-wrenching and grotesque to even think about. You try to push away the images of Woo bathed in blood, his face swollen with bruises and infected wounds. You hope that they have him in a room somewhere, untouched, awaiting your inevitable arrival.

You also recognize this as wishful thinking.

Pushing the thoughts from your mind, you focus on the trail ahead of you. The Concorsus Mountain Pass is not an easy ride, the ground full of jagged rocks and rolling hills that have put your elementary equestrian skills to the test. Looming cliffs rest on each side of you, the black-colour of the rock like two blankets of darkness threatening to crush you between them.

The black-clad men did not specify where along the pass you were to meet them, but as you continue to ascend higher and higher, the increase in altitude making you feel both dizzy and nauseous, you imagine that they are stationed at the mountain’s summit.

As far away from Bebbanburg and any chance at aid you could possibly be.

You swallow hard, riding onwards. You have no help here, no protection. Having abandoned the safety net that San and Seonghwa created, you are truly alone in this. Your only protection is the sword attached to your waist, as well as Minho’s elixir residing in your pocket— if you could even consider that protection. It’s old magic, not even the god’s know what it will do. You aren’t particularly keen on ingesting it.

But if it comes down to a choice between life and death, a matter of saving Woo, you will.

With this in mind, you approach a rock wall. It’s not particularly large, five-feet tall at most, but your horse whinnies in protest as it comes to a stop before it. You try to give it a bit of encouragement, but the animal does not budge, clomping its hooves in irritation.

You sigh. This is not a horse from the kingdom stables, bred to ride and trained to jump, you have to leave it behind. Letting yourself down from its back, you grab the cliff’s edge, pulling yourself up and over the wall. Crawling up off your knees, you cast the animal a glance backwards, to which it meets with its black marble eyes.

The horse continues to huff, neighing in frustration. You frown as the animal grows louder, squealing as it lifts up onto its back legs, crying out.

“What the…” you mutter to yourself.

“It’s trying to warn you,” a voice says from behind.

You twist around, hand reaching for the sword at your waist, but you are not fast enough. The stranger grabs your wrist as you turn around, his other hand digging into your scalp. He pulls your hair back, forcing you to look up at him.

He’s young, maybe only a couple years older than yourself, with dark eyes and pale skin. His light hair is made brighter through its contrast with the black armour he wears.

“Hey, Princess,” the man says, grinning. You spit in his face, but he simply laughs, giving your hair a sharp tug backward. His laughter is quickly accompanied by others, as more black-clad men appear from behind different dark rocks along the mountain walls. You count what appears to be a half-dozen of them, all different ages and sizes, appearances united only through the black armour they wear. 

Giving your body a sharp twist, you catch the man off guard, before giving him a swift knee to the groin. He lets out a groan, his grasp on your hair relinquishing itself as he stumbles backward.

You’re prepared to run, to jump down from the cliff and back to your horse in hopes of finding more allusive passage, when you feel the coolness of metal along your throat.

“You’ve gained some spunk since we last saw you,” the man holding the knife whispers, seizing your wrist as he tugs your arm behind your back. You wonder if he was one of the men that chased you down the corridors following the besiegement, that hunted you in your father’s library. That killed Mingi in the stable.

“Good,” another adds, although which of the men is speaking you cannot tell. “It’ll make this all the more enjoyable.”

You were correct about their base being set at the mountain’s summit.

The men have been dragging you with them for what you assume has been roughly an hour, the setting sun having finally fallen victim to the night’s darkness. Stars glitter in the sky above you, and they are the only light present besides the singular torch one of the men carries, alighting the mountain pass in an ominous, orange hue.

They’ve remained silent since your capture, although the glances and cunning grins they’ve exchanged between one another have spoken loud enough. You don’t know what exactly is waiting for you at the summit, but you know it isn’t pretty.

The cave you approach at the top of the mountain seems fitting, as it's possibly the most unwelcoming entry-way you’ve ever seen. Sharp rocks align its entrance, each of them bleached white from sun exposure, creating the illusion of a monster’s gaping mouth.

You swallow hard, fear curdling within your stomach. It’s fitting, as entering a beast's mouth seems an awful lot like what you are doing. 

Upon entering the cave, the initial darkness does not last long, as you spot light further up ahead of the winding tunnel. As you draw closer, you recognize the light to be lanterns, strown up and around the cave. The bustle of people fills your ears, their chatter growing louder with each passing step. When you finally leave the tunnel and enter the cave’s main area, you blink in surprise.

You aren’t sure what you were expecting. Solemnity, perhaps. A dark cave with minimal light, nobody talking. A monster’s domain.

Instead, it reminds you an awful lot of the refuge, albeit smaller. There are plenty of tents set up, people sharing in conversation between them. Others spend their time chopping firewood, or brushing dirt and gravel away from their own tent’s entrance. To the left of the camp-site is a massive ravine, haphazardly blocked off by wooden pegs stringed together with rope. You are not close enough to the edge to tell, but you imagine the fall to be  hundreds of feet down. Deadly.

You glance around, watching the many men bustling about, as if this were merely a war-camp and not the station of murderess assailants.

Then you see him.

Woo resides on a makeshift parapet in the center of the camp, chains clamped around his wrists that are attached to large stone pillars on both sides of him. He sits on his knees, head hanging out in front of him, his hair falling in a dark mop that hides face. It appears that if it weren’t for the chains holding his arms up, he’d have already crumpled over.

Your blood runs cold.

The talking comes to a quiet as you enter, the dozens of black-clad soldiers all turning away from their conversations or menial tasks to face you. “Look who we found wandering,” the man holding you says, bringing his knife up from your throat to your cheek. He presses the blade against your jaw, forcing you to look up, displaying your face to the many men watching you.

Some of the men begin to snicker, a few even cheer as the man pushes the blade a little harder, piercing your skin. You can feel the blood trickle down your neck, although the sensation feels more like a dream than reality, as you catch sight of a man walking towards you.

Not just any man, but the one that chased you through the library. The one that cornered you in the stables.

The man responsible for Mingi’s death.

He walks slowly, almost a saunter as he appears to be in no rush. His posture holds a sense of confident ease, of power, and you’re certain that he is the commander of this army. His narrow, wrinkled face adorns a thick black beard. His eyes are dark, sharp as they scan you up and down, a satisfied smile plastered across his lips.

“Well,” the commander says, his voice not particularly deep, but intimidating nonetheless. “We were beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”

You say nothing, merely stare back at him, venom in your gaze.

“I’m assuming you’re here to save your friend then,” he says, continuing despite your silence. “How very noble.”

You do not give him the satisfaction of a retort.

“You’ve become rather stoic since I last saw you,” the commander says, eyes flashing with something awful. Something cruel. “Before you wouldn’t stop screaming. Begging your other friend not to sacrifice himself— the tall silver-haired boy, wasn’t it?”

“Shut up,” you whisper, tears stinging in the backs of your eyes. They are born of rage, not sadness. You do not let them fall.

“I suppose this is some sort of retribution for that, isn’t it?” The man continues, tone calm, almost light. “He gave his life for you, so now you’ll give yours for another.”

“Shut up,” you repeat, this time louder and with far more bite.

“You should have heard him scream. You should have heard the sound it made when my sword entered him again and again-”

You’ve had enough of this. Tears sting your eyes, fists trembling at your sides. You don’t have to listen to this man, give in to his taunts. He simply wants to have some enjoyment before he kills you, some sick sort of pleasure. Your father always said it was impolite to play with your food, and for once you’d have to agree with him.

“Woo!” You shout, turning your attention away from the man in front of you, from his barbed provocation. When Woo does not look at you, nor move his head from its slumped position, you try again. “Woo, can you hear me?”

“Unfortunately, Wooyoung isn’t quite with us anymore,” the commander answers with a sigh, tone sympathetic, although the smile he wears is anything but. “Not mentally, anyway.”

You frown at the use of Woo’s full name. How does he know that? Did Woo tell him?

“What are you talking about?” You ask, your voice low as fury rises hot in your throat, pulsing within your mind.

The man grins. A mischievous, dangerous, evil grin. “Would you like to come and see?”

The commander nods towards the man holding you, giving a look that says— no, orders: “Let her go.” The man’s knife falls away from your throat as he reliquishes his grip on your arm. You can still feel the spot where his fingers were, aching where bruises will surely soon appear.

Nobody moves to grab you, and it strikes you that in this moment, you could try to flee. Bolt back down the tunnel, dozens of men sure to take after you and grab you once more. You’re certain they would be far less liberal on your second capture.

You could try and fight. Relinquish your sword from its sheath and take out as many as possible. It would likely be only one or two, considering they’d all be on you and you don’t have San here to coach you through it. By the god’s you wish that San were here.

But he is not, and thus instead of fleeing or fighting you follow the man, obeying as his hand beckons you forward. “Good girl,” he says, and your gut clenches in disgust, face twisting with repulsion.

If the commander is offended by the expression, he doesn’t show it. Instead he continues walking, the two of you winding past different groups of the black-clad men, each of their gazes falling over you. You feel like a gazelle in a den of lions, their stares hungry for your blood.

When you reach Woo, you take a step forward, unsure of what exactly you plan to do. Perhaps move the thick mess of tangled hair from his face, or give the chains some slack to loosen the pull on his wrists. You just need to do something.

The commander places an arm out, stopping you. “I wouldn’t get too close if I were you.”

“Well, good thing you’re not me,” you cut back through gritted teeth, moving towards Woo. You crouch down, reaching for the chain on his right wrist.

“Woo, I’m here,” you say, trying to keep your voice level, even as it shakes. The commander had suggested that Woo wasn’t mentally here, and while you aren’t sure exactly what that may mean, you know you should navigate this with caution. 

When your hand touches the chain around his wrist, Woo lets out an awful, blood-curdling noise. You’d describe it as a scream, but that would make it too human. It is nothing less than animalistic.

Flames emerge from the elemental’s palms, scorching your arm. You yank your hand away, wincing as pain bubbles within your fingers. Despite yourself, you step back, clutching your burnt hand.

Woo looks at you, except that he doesn’t really. Instead his eyes almost look through you, unfocused and distant, although that’s the least of what worries you about his appearance. 

Apart from the unsettling and distant look to his eyes, the whites of them have shifted to a strange and unnatural purple colour, like blooming lilacs during the spring season. It contrasts greatly against the many thick red veins expanding out from his pupils, which have spread across his iris’ in a way that reminds you of black marbles.

His wrists are laced with wounds, the metal of his bonds having heated up due to the fire he unleashed from his palms. The burns are clearly infected as they beam a revolting yellow, puss forming within their deep gashes. Those will scar, you have no doubt.

Sweat beads along Woo’s temple, trailing down his face and onto his neck. You hadn’t noticed it before, but his entire body is drenched, all of his clothes soaked through. He trembles, tremors seizing his body as he breathes heavily, chest heaving as he appears to not be able to get enough air.

“What did you do to him?” You whisper. The man chuckles.

“We gave him an elixir of sorts,” he answers, and your stomach twists at the thought. Old magic. The weight of your own potion grows heavy in your pocket.

Woo continues to shake, arms trembling as he continues to look through you. Tears form in his eyes as he begins to murmur beneath his breath, although what exactly you cannot make out. You didn’t know what the men would do to him, what state he would be in, but you never could have imagined this. Fury twists in your gut like a cheap ale, making you feel sick with ferocity.

“Why would you do this?” You ask, and it’s the question that has been pressing down on your shoulders ever since you watched the dagger enter your father's stomach. You twist towards the commander, and despite how he stands taller than you, you do not let yourself appear weak. Chin held up high, you meet his gaze.

“Why would you destroy my kingdom? Why would you spend so much time and effort hunting me across Burovia? Why would you place such an utter fortune of a bounty on my head?” You look him up and down. “Who are you?”

The man grins. “Me? I am nobody.”

“Enough games-” You snarl, but he merely shakes his head, giving you a dismissive wave.

“You think I care about a pampered royal brat bred by a kingdom of snakes?” The commander asks, his dark eyes glimmering in the many lantern’s light. “I couldn't care less about your disaster of a court, although I must say I enjoyed burning it to the ground.”

You frown. “Then why would you-”

“Because my employer cares,” he cuts you off, tone final. He folds his arms behind his back, a clicking noise filling the air as he taps his fingers along his black armor. 

“Who is your employer?” You press further, ignoring how the noise matches the beat of your racing heart, that’s pace only increases with each passing second.

“I am not to say,” he answers with a shrug.

You grit your teeth, frustration building in your chest. “If you plan to kill me then what does it matter?”

The man hums, grin growing wider with satisfaction. “Does it scare you, the possibility of never knowing?” He takes a step forward. “Does it terrify you to never know why your kingdom burned to ash, to never know why your father was murdered?”

The man is close now, peering down at you, the crow’s feet along the edges of his ageing eyes more prominent as he stands before you. He reaches forward, running two of his fingers along your bare cheek.

“Does it frighten you that you’ll never know why you died?” He asks.

You do not flinch, even as he touches you, even as your body demands it. “You do not scare me,” you lie.

He chuckles at this, his hand still placed on your cheek, his calloused fingertips rough against your skin. “Your eyes say otherwise.”

The commander reaches to his side, pulling out a knife. Its long blade is serrated, details of stars carved into its wooden hilt. It reminds you a bit of the one Seonghwa gave you, the one Woo took on that first night you met them.

He extends the blade out towards you, hilt settled neatly in his open palm. “Would you like to do the honours? Or should I?”

You stare at the knife out before you, its blade a cool white, almost glowing within the cave’s dim lighting. He’s offering you a choice. Not of whether or not you will die, but how. Or better, by whom.

To do the deed yourself, or have it done by his own hand. 

Your hand hovers out in front of you, fingertips a mere inch away from the hilt. You stare at the knife, at its cool iron, at its spotless white blade. Soon to be tainted. Your hand shakes despite your attempt to steady it.

It’s a horrible, horrible decision to make.

Fortunately, the arrow that embeds itself in the commander’s arm liberates you from making it.

Sticking out from the crook of his elbow, nestled within a small gap in armor that was designed for amplified movement, the man lets out a shocked groan of pain. The knife clatters on the cave’s rocky floor as he brings his hand to the wound, the blood emerging from the black fabric not noticeable until it coats his pale fingers.

In unison, both you and the commander twist in the direction from which the arrow flew.

Seonghwa stands atop a rock in the far corner of the cavern, bow drawn up, still in the position from which he let the arrow fly. You nearly let out a cry of relief. Joyous, unadulterated relief.

A scream cuts through the air, followed by the thud of a body hitting the floor.

There’s another noise, a gargled and choked sort of cry, and you hear the sharp sound of the many black-clad men unsheathing their swords before you actually see them do it.

This is because your focus is not on them. It’s on San, as he holds a body out before him. It’s one of the men that captured you on the mountain pass, the young blonde. San’s sword sticks out through the man’s chest, blood pooling out from his mouth as his eyes grow dim.

It’s immediate, how the cavern erupts into chaos.

“Seize them!” The commander orders his battalion, before ripping the arrow from his arm. Despite the blood leaking from the now open wound, his movements are agile as he removes the sword from his own sheath. The blade is as black as night, matching its shadowy hilt.

You stare him down, relinquishing your own sword, your mother’s sapphire glittering.

You prepare to take a step forward, however, something presses up behind your back. You prepare to twist around, strike the oncoming threat. However, San’s voice fills your ear, quiet as he speaks over his shoulder. “We move together.”

“Alright,” you breathe, lifting your long-sword out before you as San’s back presses into your own. “Together.”

The black-clad men attack.

They move at you from all directions. San places his free-hand along your waist, guiding you with him. The two of you move with the grace of one being, fending off the dark wave of men that surround you like a swarm of hornets defending their hive.

You swing at one of the men, catching his shoulder as San pushes on your left hip. You move with it, narrowly dodging the strike of a different enemy blade, the breeze of his swing cool against your cheek. The failed strike catches the owner of the blade off-balance, allowing you to seize the opportunity to stab your sword into the soft spot of his breastplate, straight through the opening just below the pit of his arm. The man cries out, face knotting together in agony as he falls to the ground.

You do not allow yourself the time to dwell on how you’ve likely just taken that man’s life, how there are even more to come, as you slice your sword along another soldier’s neck. Save yourself, save Woo, save your kingdom. You can mourn the horrors of your deeds later, for now that is all that matters.

You catch a glimpse of a man in the corner of your vision, hair the colour of flame as he sneaks in behind the soldier whose chest you currently run-through with your blade. You won’t reach him in time, his sword is raised high in the air, another second and he’ll bring it down on your neck-

An arrow shoots right through his skull, entering near his ear as the point sticks out the other side of his head. Blood sprays out from the wound, splattering onto your tunic. The man crumples to the ground, falling in the direction of the arrow’s path. Dead.

Your gaze shoots to Seonghwa. He stands atop the rock, eyes wide as his gaze falls to the man on the ground. The man he killed. Horror is plastered across his own expression, as if realizing what he has done. Woo had once told you that Seonghwa has only ever wounded with his arrows. He’s never killed, not even beasts.

You worry he will crumble, just as you did after the mimic, just as you had the first time you’d taken the life of something. Instead Seonghwa swallows hard, a glazed look to his eyes as he gives you a nod, before removing another arrow from his quiver. You have a sense he’s also saving his pain for later.

San tugs you to the left, and your gaze is pulled away from Seonghwa and back to the battle before you. A man swings at you, and you push backwards against San to avoid the swipe. You worry it will cause San to tumble, but instead he sinks lower on knees, flattening his back. Using it for support, you fall back and into the air, giving the man in front of you a firm kick to the chest that sends him backwards, crashing into a few of the men behind him.

You grin. It’s satisfying, watching the men who took everything from you struggle.

And struggle they do indeed. You and San work as a tight-knit unit as Seonghwa picks off the stranglers with his arrows, as well as those attempting to crawl atop his residing stone. 

“By the gods,” you think. “We’re winning.”

However, if you are aware of this, so is the man leading the operation. 

You search for the commander amidst the swarm of black armour surrounding you, trying to pin-point his dark beard and aging face. He doesn’t appear to be a part of the mob. 

“Do you know where he went? The commander?” You ask San, yelling over the sound of battle cries and the screams of the wounded. San does not respond immediately, likely searching for him amidst the crowd. 

San lets out a sudden growl of annoyance. “He’s with Woo.”

You glance over your shoulder, seeing the commander next to the elemental. He stands behind Woo, lips drawn close to his ear, hand placed on the elemental’s shoulder. You cannot hear what the commander is saying to him, but you know that it is nothing good. 

Woo’s eyes are wide, the purple where the white’s of his eyes should be growing darker. Tears stream down his face and they are a matching colour, like drops of ink. You can see Woo whispering something, and while you cannot make out the words, the desperation on his face makes you believe that he is begging. Although what he is pleading for you do not know.

Fire surrounds them, leaking from Woo’s fingertips and onto the cavern floor. The flames run thick, the consistency of molten lava. You’ve never seen that from an elemental before, didn’t even know it was possible..

“We need to make our way over there,” you say while stabbing your sword into the arm of a black-clad soldier. You can feel San nod his head in affirmation.

Wrapping his free hand tighter around your waist, San pulls you with him, the two of you spinning through an opening within the mob. You nearly trip over something, and upon looking down you see that it is a body. His dead eyes look up at you. They are a light hazel.

You would vomit if there was anything solid in your stomach.

San pulls you past the man before you can stare at him for too long, before you can memorize the features of his face, before you can wonder if it was he or you who killed him.

So much death. So much needless death. You close your eyes, only for the briefest of moments, for the split of a second. You imagine you are the person you had been a mere month ago. The girl who let her baths be drawn from her, her clothes picked out and placed on her body by others. The girl who sulked when Mingi left for battle training, who’d never held a sword in her hands, let alone ran someone through with it.

You open your eyes and know that you will never be her again. 

San continues to pull you with him through the opening within the dark swarm, letting go of your waist as the two of you break through and sprint towards Woo.

The commander continues to whisper into the elemental’s ear, more molten lava dripping from Woo’s hands. It forms in pools on the cavern floor, slowly trailing down the parapet in a way that reminds you of the baby basilisks, like long thin glowing snakes.

It’s not until now that you realize what the commander is doing, as Woo grows more and more affected by his words, blood-vessel’s bursting in his eyes as red mixes itself into the purple. A mosaic of burning hues.

The commander knows that he is losing, which means he’s pulling out a last resort, willing to play his wild-card. He plans to use Woo as a weapon. He’ll do whatever it takes to take you out, even if that means his battalion goes down with you. Bastard.

The commander steps back from Woo, walking over to the top of the chain tied to one of the stone pillars. He will set Woo free, grant him full range of motion with his gift. After all, an elemental can only summon flame with movement, with the dancing of their fingers or full swing of their arms.

Only Woo is not your average elemental.

Before the commander can finish untying the first chain, Woo screams. It’s not as animalistic as his last, but far, far more broken. Fire flares out from around him, a massive wave of curling flames that tumbles in all directions, standing over ten feet tall.

You grab San’s wrist, yanking him with you as you dive behind the nearest rock. Face pressed to the ground, you do not see the fire as it stretches over top of you, but you can feel its heat along your back even through your tunic. Screams echo from all around, bouncing off of the cavern's walls, and you know that not everyone was so lucky.

Once the heat disappears, both you and San are quick to settle onto your knees, peering up over the rock. Woo’s head has fallen back down, shrouded in tangled black hair, chest heaving as he catches his breath. The commander, who had fallen to the ground behind him, rises to his feet.

You gasp.

While it appears he managed to find shelter before the flames completely engulfed him, he also did not make it out unscathed. The left half of his face burns a bright red colour, the skin bubbling with boils in a way resembles lumps of flour in unkneaded dough. His dark hair is gone on the affected side, both on his face and the top of his head, smoke billowing out from his disintegrated scalp.

With so much of his skin burned off, his eye nearly pops from his head, stark against his bright red skin. He looks undead, like a walking skeleton, the teeth on the left side of his mouth permanently visible due to his upper lip having been incinerated. His gums bleed, the red almost glowing against the whiteness of his teeth.

Your gut twists at the sight of him, and you have to look away.

Black-clad soldiers sit slumped around the cavern, broken moans leaving their lips as the fire was not enough to kill them all. The agony of their cries fills your ears, and although you fight against it tears sting your eyes. You know that these are bad men, men who killed your father and countless innocents in the castle, who ruined your life and want nothing more than to see your end.

But right now they are just men. They are just human, each one with their own life and story, and they are dying a slow and horrible death.

The blow to the back of your head stops you from becoming too absorbed in remorse.

It comes sharp and quick, carrying the heaviness of what you assume is a rock, and your vision momentarily sways. It doesn’t knock you out, but it does throw you off balance, giving the attacker enough time to seize your wrist. They give it a sharp twist, causing you to let out a whine of pain as your sword clatters to the ground.

The culprit drags you from behind, and you fight to remain on your feet. You shout to San, and while he twists to face you he is moment too late, as the person from behind shoves you away from them.

And into the arms of the commander.

The commander grins, his smile even more unsettling with his missing lip as he casts an appreciative nod to the young, brunette soldier who had grabbed you. He wraps his hand around the back of your neck, uncomfortably tight as he turns you to face away from him, chest pressed against your back.

With his spare hand he holds a knife to your throat.

“Enough of this,” the commander says. “Put your weapons down.”

The world around you stills as San comes to a halt, gaze sharp as his good eye flickers between you and the commander, analyzing the situation. He appears to come to no solution as he slowly retracts his sword back into its sheath.

However, not everyone follows his orders.

“Let her go.”

Seonghwa no longer resides atop the rock, likely having dived behind it to avoid the flames. Now on the ground, he stands roughly twenty feet ahead of you, his bow up and arrow drawn.

“What an awful accent,” the man laughs, and his voice sounds more manic now that he is on the verge of defeat. Of death. His cheek presses to yours, and you can feel his spittle against your skin, smell the rotten tang of his breath. “Like a Mainlander that swallowed his tongue.”

Seonghwa’s frown deepens, eyebrows furrowing together as he pulls the bow taught.

“You let that arrow fly and we both go down with it, boy,” the commander warns, and you can hear the smile in his voice. Such an awful smile. “Choose wisely.”

For a moment you don’t understand what he means, but realization sinks like a stone in your gut. The ravine resides behind you, hundreds of feet deep, the belly of a monster whose darkness would swallow you whole. 

“Take your mutt and leave,” the man says to San, nodding towards Woo, who has returned to his slumped position, skin glistening with sweat as his arms tremble.

“So you can kill her as soon as we’re gone?” San bites back, tone venomous. “I don’t think so.”

“I promise to make it quick and painless,” the man says softly, before pressing the knife into your neck. Not deep, but enough to make you gasp in pain. “Otherwise I can make it very, very slow.”

Seonghwa’s hands grip tighter around the bow, San’s expression settling into a snarl of fury. However, neither of them move. If San moves to attack him, he’ll simply slice your throat. If Seonghwa fires the arrow, you’ll plummet with him. You try to reach Minho’s elixir in your pocket, but cannot manage it. Besides, even if you did manage to grasp it, there’s no way the commander would let you go long enough to down the liquid.

He has you cornered, and you all know it. 

Well, that is except for one of you. You turn to Woo.

The elemental does not look at you as you speak. “Woo,” you call, the knife sharp against your throat as it bobs. “Can you hear me?”

“No, he can’t hear you.” The commander whispers into your ear, and you can feel the hollowness of his cheek as he speaks, the rough and ruined texture of his skin.  “Or maybe he can, but who knows how much of him is even left in there.”

“Woo,” you call again, ignoring him, even as his words send a shiver down your spine. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but it’s me. It’s us, we’re all here. San, Seonghwa and I. We’re all here.”

Woo twitches at this, although he still does not lift his head. You hear him murmuring something beneath his breath, and it’s a moment until you can register what he is saying.

“You’re not real,” he whispers, voice shaky and blubbered. “You’re not real.”

You swallow hard. “I don’t know what he did to you, and I don’t know what you’re seeing or hearing or what’s going on, but I need you to lift your head.”

He doesn’t respond and you try again. “Please, Woo. Please, just lift your head for me.”

It takes a moment, but shakily, he does. His hair falls in dark matted clumps over his blood-shot, purple-stained eyes. His pupils still do not focus on you, a distant vacantness to the broken expression across his tear-stained face.

“Leave me alone,” he says, and it is a hoarse, beaten plea. “Please, please just stop. Let me die. Don’t bring me back. Please. I deserve it.”

Your heart twists at hearing Woo - confident, self-assured, unbreakable Woo - say something so self-demoralizing.

However, it’s with these words, these broken claims that he deserves it, that you have an idea of what horrors he may be seeing before him.

“Wooyoung,” you say, and you notice as Seonghwa’s brows furrow in confusion at the name, San raising an eyebrow. Perhaps it's the first time they’ve heard it. “Wooyoung do you remember our conversation by the fire?”

“Please just stop,” he whispers, shaking his head as more of the molten lava begins to leak from his hands.You don’t even know if he’s still listening, but this is your last shot, so you push on.

“You told me that you knew you should regret what you did to the wardens, that it should eat you up inside. But it didn’t, because they deserved it.”

Tears continue to stream down Woo’s face, which is contorted in a pained, agonizing expression. However, as he does not deny your words or continue his broken mumbling, you take his silence as a sign to continue.

“I haven’t been able to forgive myself for what I’ve done, and I don’t think I ever will,” you continue, and you know both San and Seonghwa are watching you as you can feel the heaviness of their gazes. The confused curiosity mixed with desperation that swirls within them, staring intently. Yet, you ignore them. You ignore the commander and the knife at your throat, the wails of agony in the air and the thick stench of burnt flesh.

Right now it is just you and the broken elemental before you. You and Woo.

“But that’s the difference between us,” you say, swallowing hard. “I chose to harm people that never deserved it.”

“Enough of this,” the commander says through gritted teeth, pressing the knife harder against your neck. Choking down the increasing pain, you ignore him.

“And you never deserved it Woo, any of it. Any of what Warden did to you, any of my father’s cruelty, any of my lies. None of it was ever deserved.”

Woo’s breathing begins to escalate, but this time it is not as if he’s having trouble taking in air, it’s as if he has realized that he finally can.

“Enough,” the commander says again, with more anger in his voice as he appears to come to the same realization about Woo as you do.

“You’re there,” Woo whispers. His gaze is still lost and distant, his limbs still trembling and words blubbered with misery and fear. But there is also something more. Something powerful.

“We’re here,” you say back, relief blossoming in your chest. Even as the commander twists the back of your wrist and you let out a cry of pain, you’re filled with an undeniable, unbridled sense of hope.

“We need your help, Wooyoung,” you say, and the elemental swallows hard in response.

“I can’t,” he says, voice a quiet breath as he shakes his head in denial.

“You can,” you say, tone firm. You have him, even if only for a moment, and you will not let yourself lose him again. “You’ve done it before.”

Wooyoung stops shaking his head as he realizes what you are suggesting.

“Stop this!” the commander says, and now he’s shouting. He means it as a demand, as a threat, but it sounds instead an awful lot like a plea.

“You can do it, Wooyoung,” you say, the softness leaving your voice and replacing itself with a hardened encouragement. You will not yield.

“How do you know?” He asks, and even though his voice shakes, its weakness has fallen away.

A grin spreads across your lips. Even with the knife to your throat, the burnt bodies around, and the commander rotting breath hot against your skin, you smile.

You smile because you know you’ve won.

“Because, Wooyoung,” you say. “He deserves it.”

You can feel the commander’s grip around the knife clench, his elbow brought higher as he prepares himself to slice it clean across your throat.

“I said enough-” 

A blast of heat ignites from behind you, burning hot along your back, and you instinctively push forward. The commander's grip loosens without protest, the knife within his hand falling to the ground, clattering against the cavern’s rocky floor. A strong stench floods your senses, the same horrid and sickening scent that had previously hung around the cavern, only now increased ten-fold.

You twist around, putting yourself face-to-face with the commander, who’s entire body is engulfed in flame.

His screams leave him like waves crashing along the shoreline, powerful and ominous amidst their build-up but shattered and broken upon their downfall. The fire spreads across his body in a way that is almost unnatural, hugging close to his flesh as it eats away at his skin, a vicious parasite devouring him whole. He stumbles, and you cannot make out his expression, his face covered in the burning orange glow. Perhaps it is better that way.

He reaches forward blindly, his flame-covered hands extended outwards as he searches for your body. Even in death, he seeks to take you with him. Find his glory, his vengeance, even if it’s accompanied by his final breath.

And yet, even with all he has done to you, Woo, and your family, you grant the commander one final mercy. 

A quick death.

Reaching forward, you place your palms flat against his chest, giving him a firm push. It burns your hands, although only for a moment, as he stumbles backwards. His foot catches on one of the pegs tied together with rope before the cliff, sending him tumbling backwards. Time appears to stand still for a moment, an eternity slipping by as he hangs in the air, a ball of glowing flame suspended above the ravine’s gaping mouth.

He falls, the glow like a spark slowly diminishing, until it disappears entirely. You do not hear him crash against what lays beyond the darkness.

There’s a moment of silence that follows as you stare over the ravine’s edge. You half-expect the commander to fly back upwards, to catch you in a moment of weakness, suddenly equipped with new fire abilities of his own.

He does not. There is only darkness.

You turn back around. Both San and Seonghwa stare at you, both of their expressions difficult to place. Mouths parted slightly and eyes wide, they appear to be in disbelief. Awe, even. You imagine your face looks the same.

Woo sits with head hung over, eyes closed. For a moment you fear he is dead, but from the shaky rise and fall of his chest, you know that he is merely unconscious. 

There is the sound of footsteps as the few black-clad men left unscathed flee down the cave’s passage-way, leaving you behind. 

“Well,” San whispers, his good eye drifting from you, to Seonghwa, to the scattered bodies around you, before finally settling on Woo. He laughs, shaky and unsure, but at the same time so, so sincere. “Fuck.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

next chapter coming soon.

Another hour more, and you were going to scream. Hunched over your drawing tablet with bloodshot eyes and a cramping hand, you had been drawing and redrawing what seemed to be the same thing over and over again. But nothing gave you that magical feeling of completion and rightness when the abstract lines and shapes and shadows and doodles all came together on a page to form one whole. What you were experiencing was, in fact, very much the opposite. All because of these damn dumb brown doe eyes that you had decided to give to the character. Of course. What other eyes could the golden retriever type have, right? What other kinds of eyes would your boss approve of for the established archetype, the persona that you had ideated, storyboarded and proposed not only in front of your immediate team but also to senior management? That was right. None. No other. Only these doe eyes that you had been staring at and cursing profusely for the last four hours after having promised yourself that you would try to get to bed at ten in the evening instead of the less-than encouraging past midnight madness. But who were you kidding? 

Setting down the pen, you leaned back to stretch, hearing random joints crack and echo around your body, making you wonder if you have even been moving at all for the past few weeks. Having the opportunity to work from home during fast-paced sprints was, of course, a big benefit, but all too often for you, it also meant only ever walking from your home office to your kitchen and back, with the occasional bathroom break and a flop onto the armchair you had dragged into your office for designated social media scrolling time. Gone from the world, with your friends having nicknamed you an e-hermit in not one, but two separate chats. Zoned out and barely hanging onto the words spewed by your superiors, much like the rest of your fellow designers working on this same project, be it other characters, setting, clothing customisation options, accessories, or special items… as the main project lead, boss of the bosses had said: ‘whatever the user wishes for, should be there’. Who knew that a dating simulator could be that intense and demanding? 

Your drawing tablet was glaring at you, and so were the eyes on its screen, doubled onto your monitor watching your every movement like a painting at a museum would. They were meant to be kind and loving, crafted to complete the sunshine that this character was supposed to be, but the slightest misses in the lines were throwing the image off-kilter, and you could not pinpoint what was wrong. Reaching out for the now lukewarm cup of coffee off to the side of your desk, narrowly avoiding the clutter of sketches and notes you had made, you heaved a sigh, pondering if it would be the wisest to simply resign yourself to abandoning the task for today, and pick it up at work tomorrow. It was not like you would be punished for having the eyes be slightly off during an update meeting, after all, this was an ongoing process. But the perfectionist part of you was not letting go. You had managed to ideally depict everything else - the toned, tall physique with the stunning waist, torso and broad shoulders, the cheeks that made you feel a strong cute aggression, the tousled locks that could then be customised by a player’s colour preference, every other feature of the face that screamed ‘handsome’ and ‘appealing’... you did it all, and you would not be yourself if you could not overcome this little blip.

“One more try…” you whispered to yourself and searched for the file on your computer that contained a user story and profile of the character you had been agonising over. 

One click, another, and the document was up on the screen, revealing an initial concept sketch that you had made when you first proposed the man as a possible love interest for the main character in the simulator, as well as any facts about him, now being even further developed by the story-writers. Page after page, update after update the character in some ways felt more real than you, especially in your current deflated state. A gentleman, a sentimental soul, with what your colleague had called ‘four-dimensional’ traits and overall a funny, adorable sweetheart who at the click of a finger can turn into the sexiest man alive. There was nothing you did not like - aside from some details here and there that you were not sure who added but they had been approved so you had to deal with it, and that was problematic for your work since it meant that you were in the permanent state of wanting to do the character justice. You scrolled back up, starting at the brief, staring at the name as if it wasn’t already imprinted in your mind. Jeong Yunho. 

The dance instructor and choreographer. The talented and hardworking man who the main character would meet third, on her eighth day in Seoul. Born on the twenty-third of March nineteen ninety-nine in the city of Gwangju, moving to Seoul to chase his dreams and fight for them. Special talents… skills… favourite phrases… preferences… key memories… you read on, re-absorbing the details and rearranging them on imaginary shelves, trying to make sense of the information in the context of character design. How were you going to depict all of this in a pair of eyes? A part of you was confident that you were overthinking - actually, you definitely were. Not a single other designer was on Yunho's creation, and developers were going to look at him not as a persona, as a representation of a being that had become real in your mind, but as a task to execute, lines of code to make him move in predetermined ways, make him talks in predetermined ways, smile… yes, you were excited to see him be just that bit more alive, but at the same time, you were afraid of that moment - it would be right then that the world you had subconsciously built for you and him alone would be shattered, and your daydreams dispelled, maybe even crushed. So, getting the eyes perfect right now was the least you could do. At least your Yunho would be perfect.

Swearing under your breath, you picked up the pen once more and twirled it once around your fingers. His personality was fresh on your mind, heart racing, you could almost imagine him in front of you. With a final nod of encouragement, you dived back in, with more vigour and motivation than before, determined to get Yunho right, and to depict him how he truly was, how you knew he should be. The time ticked past, and so did the layers of doubt. Erasing themselves along with strokes of the digital brushes that dissatisfied you, you were unveiling the true character, and with a light heart, a smile on your face and a saved file, leaned onto your desk and rested your head on your crossed arms, just for a quick break to relish in the fact that you finally achieved the look that you had been searching for…

“Hey, good morning you worker bee, what did I tell you about sleeping at your desk?”

You never thought you could yell, right after waking up, as loud as you did at that moment. Jolting up from your seat, forgetting all the papers, equipment and stationery that was strewn about on the table on which you had been dozing, you bolted away from the source of the voice. It had resounded far too close to you for comfort, belonged to no one whom you knew, and was dangerously sweet and slightly lower-set. Pleasant. But who the hell was in your apartment and how did they break in when you almost always double-locked your door? After building up a bit of distance, you finally looked up and rubbed the last bits of sleep from your eyes. The figure was lean, toned, considerably tall, perhaps even very tall, definitely a man, with dark hair and a face that was a bit too similar to-

Jeong Yunho. Jaw-dropping, you darted back to your tablet and computer, practically shaking the mouse, forcing the entire digital system to begrudgingly awaken at your command. You searched everywhere. The open file, others, older versions… nothing. No luck in finding what you had been working on. It was as if the Yunho you had been spending weeks developing had never existed, and all that you were left with and were staring at was a blank page, and the character, no, a whole man, right in front of you, supposedly living, breathing and in your room. You stood up straight, giving the not-quite-a-stranger but still a stranger a once over, while he, confused, had an eyebrow raised and a sheepish smile on his face. He looked adorable that way. Abashed to the point of cuteness - you recalled a game developer on your team describing the planned emotional response functionality in that way; it had been a hit, and now you were seeing, in person, why. 

“Y-Yunho?” you whispered in disbelief, a hand hovering over your mouth while you were wondering whether you should officially report yourself to your boss for having succumbed to the delusions. Relief flashed over the beautiful man’s features when you mentioned his name, timidly, yes, but still, it was his name that you uttered.

“Yes, Y/N, that’s me, hey, don’t worry.”

“Y/N?” He knew your name. This was too real - a shriek erupted from what felt like the depths of your soul, and you shut your eyes, only to open them again and to see the same picture, but a little more zoomed in. He was approaching you. Code red, alert, alert, hot man of your dreams who you had been drawing all the time and were effectively being paid to thirst over was approaching you.

“Do you not remember me or something, are you okay? See I keep telling you to not sleep so late, it’s bad for you-”

“Look who’s talking, mister ‘time to text at two in the morning’,” It was a shot in the dark, a random recollection of facts that had been noted about Yunho, but that was true, since he stopped immediately, a dazzling smile on his face.

“Alright, alright, you got me. But hey, you answer me so we are in this together, right?” he countered, and winked. 

“Yeah… and I should stop drinking coffee that late, it gives me some cursed… abilities…” you concluded cryptically, though Yunho did not seem to care much about the wording, taking it as your account of how easily you had been spooked by him.

After the initial wave of ‘stranger danger’ had subsided, instead being replaced by the odd conviction that the man before you truly was just the representation of the character for the simulator, you crossed your arms and regarded him more slowly, calmly while he approached the book cabinet that was filled to the brim with manga, manhwa, figurines, dolls, action figures… effectively the best representation of what had inspired you and continued to drive you to do what you were doing in your life now. He was dressed casually, in a zip-up grey hoodie and dark grey jeans. He had taken off his shoes and was in black socks that he stuffed into a pair of slippers - so in this reality, Yunho clearly was a regular guest. Scratching the back of your head, you wondered if this was a storyline that had been updated and you were unknowingly hallucinating.

“Well, uh, if you… if you want me to come by another time I don’t mind. Whatever works best for you…”

Oh. It finally clicked in your head, and your heart fluttered. The moment was stark and aching in your mind, and you were barely able to contain yourself, the subconscious fangirl in you fully awakening. The light flush of pink on his cheeks, those damn doe eyes that were so perfect, and were now looking right at you as if you were Yunho’s entire world, it was all a telltale sign for what was to happen later, and the past disappointment at having been woken up and having no more documents to present evaporated. This was another life, it had to be. One where you did not have to worry about the endless story points, bi-weekly sprints and one deliverable after another. Only a very precious Yunho who, while toying with the sleeve of his hoodie was pondering if he was even welcome.

“Hey! No, we were planning to hang out and we are going to. Sorry, you know how work is and it got to me this time. What shall we do then? Go out, stay in?” you amplified your sociability, putting the fantastical aspect of the circumstances on the back burner for future pondering.

Laying down the pen that you had absent-mindedly grabbed for self-defence, you stepped around the desk and towards Yunho, never once breaking the visual exchange, except when his gaze darted to the floor under your intensity. You had the advantage after all, of knowledge. You could sense, and could confirm by your universe, what exactly was going to happen. He was pretending to not be affected by your closeness, looking at the cabinet again, though the tone in which he spoke was vulnerable, every bit the dream guy you were imagining all this time. You could barely resist the urge to pinch his cheek - in fact, you made a mental note to yourself to check if that was a playable option in the game or not.

“Can we… stay in?”

“Take out?” if there was something you would not quite let him do, it would be to give him full power over the kitchen. Perhaps another time, but not when the dream was so magnificent.

“You bet! I’m buying this time-”

“Yun, c’mon.”

“Technically I am still the guest.”

“You are much more than a guest-” a pause, a blur within which Yunho was attempting to pick out the meaning behind the words which you had purposefully left to be ambiguous, just to mess with him a little bit. It was too sweet, “I mean, you practically live here at this point,” he groaned and playfully rolled his eyes while continuing to tap in the order to what was for sure meant to be your favourite restaurant in the neighbourhood.

You followed him into your living room. Everything was just as you had left it. Even Yunho’s presence was beginning to feel natural, probably because it had already been pretty much just as constant as him now physically falling onto the couch and leaning back to stretch an arm out over the back of it. Hell, you had even spent some evenings sketching him in this same room. As you settled beside him, while still keeping a little bit of distance - just as friends who were feeling not quite platonic would do, you realised that indeed, you were that close. You did know him ‘since forever’, and whatever this fever dream was, you had every right to enjoy it. So upon pulling your legs onto the couch and under you, you settled in and with a soft sigh began to set up the movie you were going to watch. Just like you and Yunho would do had he been an actual interest of yours.

As the food arrived and was promptly devoured, and you were midway through the film, you found Yunho slowly but surely gravitating towards you. First, it was with an outstretched hand when he was trying to imitate a character on the screen, then with him sitting ever so slightly closer when there was supposedly a ‘spooky moment’ even though you knew full well that out of the two of you, you were the one who would not dare enter a haunted house again, and finally, under the pretence of ‘wanting to show you a funny meme on his phone’ he sat right next to you, thighs flush against each other, arm resting on the sofa right behind your head. You could not help but lean into the warmth, attracted to it, comforted. You knew Yunho inside and out, and if there was anyone who you would trust like this, it would be him. He had seen you at your worst - crying in the office bathrooms when during your early days at the company you had been humiliated by your old boss (who, thankfully, had been promptly fired), and had seen you at your best - your award-winning presentation and proof of concept for an innovative life simulation game, selected as a showpiece for the company at a major global conference. He was always there. Be it on your phone, in a sketchbook, or on your laptop - he was always there, cheering you on. There was no difference between then and now, except that now you could allow your head to rest against his broad chest, hearing the soothing beating of his heart behind the cotton fabrics, feeling how his hand dropped to trace random, intricate shapes on your shoulder while his eyes stayed glued to the television screen. 

You could sense that he was afraid to look at you, or at least of what he would think or do if he were to do so. He was warm. Very warm. Maybe too warm. You looked up, noting the adorable redness of his ears that appeared only in particular instances: either he just woke up from deep sleep which was not the case, or he had violently shaken his head and rubbed his ears - another no, or he was embarrassed and shy. Bingo. There it was. You nuzzled against him and swore you could feel his entire body stiffen. Just like when a cat makes a person ‘ the chosen one’ by lying on their lap and said person almost forgets to breathe, you nearly knocked consciousness out of Yunho, it seemed.

“What’s up?” you mumbled, noting that Yunho straightened his back, sitting in an unnatural position.

“I, uh, nothing, it’s nothing,” he responded, clearing his throat, still not daring to look to the side to face you. 

A pause. That was his character - you nodded to yourself. He had always been like this. Sympathy through the roof but when it came to his openness - he far from often strayed into that field. It would take quite a bit of coaxing, or, somehow easier, waiting for the right moment. So wait you did, comfortably resting against Yunho, insistent that he return to his previously unwinded state. Before you could snake your hand around him to pull his hood up, your friend suddenly shot up, mumbling something about it being too stuffy, or too hot, and tugged the article of clothing off.

All would be fine and dandy if he was not built how he was - and you knew it better than anyone, however strange it was to admit. After all, you had been the one to pick and sketch out his physique, knowing every muscle, curve and edge. As he fumbled with the sleeves, you took in his form, mouth agape as you saw what you had only perceived two-dimensionally, now in live action, and somehow being the one case of where the transition was impeccable if not better. If he were to turn at any moment, he would bear witness to your disturbingly dedicated scrutiny. But at the same time, what could a digital artist and designer do when a handsome man was right before them? Exactly. It was practically a duty to perceive; if not for personal interests (which you would be a liar if you were to say you did not have them), then at least for science. He looked too good in the dark grey graphic t-shirt, which, despite it being slightly oversize, did its beautiful work by revealing his perfectly toned arms. When you noticed him being in the process of turning back, you peeled your gaze away and back to the movie, not sure where in the storyline you even were, nor what the actors were saying. Patting the space next to you, you beckoned Yunho back. This time, he was calmer in his demeanour, falling back and letting you fall into him, with him, for him - and he was right there to catch you. 

Action scene after action scene turned into a blur, dialogue was static that you were not bothered to discern while you focused on Yunho’s breathing. Shallower than before, but still comforting. Who would have thought that you would be cuddling with your dream man when a mere few hours ago you were holed up behind your desk, with a cramped and stiff neck, an exhausted hand and equally tired eyes? Eyelids grew heavier, and you wondered if it would be long before you would fall asleep again, and wake up alone, as usual; a bitter smile settled on your lips when the realisation hit you, earning you a perplexed glance from Yunho and a poke in your side.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Definitely something, he turned to you, studying your every movement. The action led him to detangle himself from you, leading you to shiver a little from the lack of his body heat, “ah wait are you cold now? I- wait, here, hoodie?”

“Thanks.”

Him. In every thread. The scent of clean laundry, cotton, and fabric softener. There was something so magical in it, soothing. You wanted to float in the aroma and this moment forever. Pulling the hoodie tighter around you, you pretended to not notice the adoration that was blatantly obvious in Yunho’s expression. He watched as you pushed up the sleeves a little bit, crossed your legs and looked back at him.  Your friend, your muse and subject was nervous, and it did not need a trained professional to figure it out. The tale was climbing to a peak, and the main characters had to face it together. You waited for him, mellowness across your features as you played with one of the hoodie’s drawstrings.

Yunho looked at you, and something about the purity, and hopefulness within him made you think of the very first drawings you had made on post-its in the middle of a conference. Bored out of your mind, your mind wandered back to pondering the new project you had been assigned - the dating simulator. Idea after idea had been proposed for the characters, but not a single one stuck. Everyone was at a standstill until he came along. A breathtaking blessing, just like he was now. Silence settled like snow, only to be broken by a short hum, and Yunho taking the risk you had been wishing for.

“I… I know it has only been a few months but… I really don’t think I can be friends with you anymore, Y/N,” you tilted your head as he put his hands on his lap, fingers repeatedly messing with the material of his sweatpants - his attempt to soothe himself. You, on the other hand, were oddly calm. Simply waiting for the events to unfold and for you to embrace them with the fullest heart. While he was searching for the right words to say, you placed a hand over his, waking him from rumination. A weak smile was replaced by determination, truth spilling from his soul.

“I like you too much. Really. I would not be able to keep my distance even if I tried.”

“Well I think you are a bit too far away right now, Yun,” with a wave of boldness having washed over you, you acted on instinct, leaning towards the beautiful, infinitely precious man until he could not look away, captivated by your proximity, your glimmering eyes, your acceptance.

“Huh?” the sound was barely audible, an echo lost to the tension. You ran a finger over his jawline, instantly seeing his expression darken with another reverberating, deep sensation.

“We should seal the deal, shouldn’t we?” remaining cryptic, you inched closer and closer until you could pick apart the flicks of lighter mahogany in those stunning irises - you wanted to shake your hand for having persevered to finish them in the drawing. Truly, one of a kind.

“What-”

“Oh just kiss me already-”

That phrase you did not need to tell Yunho twice. Finally catching on, he was the first to destroy the distance between you, capturing your lips with his and letting his hand find purchase in your hair, digits running through it, caressing you, guiding you into a shared rhythm. He was as sweet as vanilla with a hint of cinnamon. An intoxicating, ecstatically overwhelming daze that consumed you whole. You saw the sketches flash before you, burning one by one to fuel the desire building for Yunho, for you, for the two of you together. It felt right, it felt real. Arms over his shoulders, you allowed him to pull you into his lap, embrace you and pepper the softest kisses on your cheeks, and your neck, finding the path back to your lips. You felt more alive than ever with the electricity coursing through your newfound intimacy. Nothing existed. This universe was Yunho, and you could not be happier. Better than in any story that you or your co-workers could develop, better than in any fairytale, the oddity transformed into eternity. This was a dream you wanted to remain in for as long as you-

Saying it was hard to wake up was an understatement. Your entire body had been aching from having fallen asleep in an awkward position over your drawing tablet, you had slept past your alarms and as such had only fifteen minutes to cram getting ready and leaving for the office, and upon checking your schedule you had the ‘pleasure’ of having three more meetings being crammed into it, reducing your lunch break to what was a near null. With a sigh, you moved away from your space, dragging your tired body to your first official interaction of the day after having sat at your desk for a couple of hours, already dreading it. The new CEO - whoever they were, was the ‘I want to know all the details and be one with the teams’ type, how joyful, you wondered how long that would last. 

It was hard to find the motivation, especially after a dream such as yours. It kept on revolving in your head, pressing down on you, making you reminisce the gentle caresses, the sweet words and actions, the delightful kiss that you had managed to just have the time to experience with Yunho. You were seeing your character in an entirely new light, already having reworked some ideas for the possible special event outfits and spammed your close colleagues who were working on the storyline with some ideas about how Yunho could have even better depth and as such, engagement from prospective users. Perhaps for this meeting with authority you just needed to tap into your delusions and it would be good enough - at least they were productive for once. 

While you were setting up the presentation, the rest of your immediate team began to file in, giving you excited waves that you returned with an unprecedented warmth. Pleasant chatter, discussion of possibility, mention of just how special it was that this dating simulator game project was the one the CEO had chosen to see today… you were feeling confident. Whoever this person was going to be, you were going to give your best and-

The door opened. Heads turned. Greetings, bows - all forms of politeness that could be expressed being delivered. People standing up, while you stood up taller by the board, the title slide behind you. You raised your head, only for time to slow down and freeze entirely. Your hold on the clicker tightened, and the only person aside from you who existed at that moment was the newcomer. The CEO. Greeting others with a smile and with equally as elegant bows. Every bit the gentleman in his tailored suit, hair swept back and impeccably styled. Jeong Yunho.

This had to be some kind of joke, right? Was this a dream? The stinging remaining after you pinched your arm slapped you back into reality. No. This Yunho was definitely real. But who was the one you-... the one you started dating? The one who you were way more than colleagues or friends with? Before your mind could accelerate into panicked rumination, his gaze stopped at you, and you could sense everyone else’s attention drift to you too. You were under his spotlight. Melting under what was nothing but kindness in his eyes.

“L/N Y/N, right? I heard a lot about you,” his grin was making you dizzy, memories of his taste resurfacing and sending heat to your cheeks, giving them a light dusting of pink.

“Good things, I hope?” you managed, he chuckled, and sent you a wink before sitting down on his chair.

“The best. I am really looking forward to this,” a playful tease.

“Glad to know this.”

“I heard you made quite a few new developments, how did that happen?” you knew what he was getting at, and that made you feel secure. So it was the same Yunho. That precious Yunho who had confessed to you, the one who had come to life and was now part of yours, by some odd twist of fate had appeared in your company, and was now right in front of you, eager and in love. You smirked while twisting to check the slide one last time, well aware that his only focus ever would be you.

“Came to me in a dream.”

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