SVT Fanfics

You laughed despite the absurdity of the situation.

He apologized approximately forty-three times, bought you another drink, and insisted on paying for your dry cleaning.

You assumed you'd never see him again, but fate had other plans as you ran into him again in the bookstore three days later.

You reached for the same novel on the top shelf.

Someone else reached too.

Your fingers brushed against each other with a feathery touch.

You both stretched.

He lost balance.

The stack of books tumbled down like dominoes, and the other person shielded you with his arm.

You looked up.

"Coffee Guy?"

His eyes comically doubled up.

"Cardigan Girl?"

Neither of you had coffee this time.

Progress.

But that progress didn't last long, as only a week later, you stood under the weeping clouds on the crosswalk, opening your umbrella.

Someone sprinted towards you across the street.

"MOVE—"

It was too late.

Mingyu's ankle twisted on the slippery pavement as he lost his balance. Your hand instinctively grabbed him.

Both of you spun dramatically before landing on a nearby bench.

But his iced coffee held some grudge against you as it flew directly towards your white blouse.

"Seriously?" You deadpanned.

"I don't know how physics works anymore!"

By the fourth accident, your coworkers had begun asking if you secretly dated him.

"We don't!"

"You've mentioned him five times this week."

"Because he keeps attacking me with beverages!"

"That's flirting," they teased.

"It's an assault!"

And your laundry basket agreed in tears, because now half of your wardrobe smelled faintly of espresso.

By the seventh accident, you were turning a corner in a mart when a shopping cart rammed into yours.

"I swear this isn't on purpose," he cringed.

You look up to find Mingyu, of course.

His cart is filled with his weapons, which are also known the bags of coffee beans.

"Why do you always have coffee?" You queried.

"I like coffee," he replied, scratching his nape.

"You weaponize coffee."

"I don't mean to," he let a nervous laugh.

"You absolutely do," you refute.

He looked so genuinely distressed that your annoyance melted into laughter.

His shoulders slop down at witnessing your relaxed demeanor.

"There it is," he pointed out with a soft smile adorning his lips.

"What?"

"That laugh."

"… What about it?"

"I was hoping you'd laugh instead of reporting me."

And that intelligent attack succeeds in painting your cheeks red.

The tension between you both began to dissipate after the eighth collision and the eleventh apology for your wet laundry, making you expect to see him more.

The expection wasn't conscious, but it popped up whenever you entered a café, bookstore or a convenience store.

A part of your brain always wondered—

Is he here?

And he usually was, sometimes carrying coffee (unfortunately).

Your patience finally gave out one afternoon, not with a shout but with a sigh.

You stood in front of him after he'd accidentally splashed cold brew across your jeans.

Again.

You sighed toward the heavens.

"I think the universe wants us to fight," you heaved out for the third time, patting your poor, drenched jeans.

Mingyu rubbed the back of his neck, looking like a scolded puppy himself.

"I think the universe hates your laundry."

"My laundry basket has developed trust issues."

"I'll buy you a new one."

"You've already paid for dry cleaning six times."

"Seven," he mumbled under his breath.

"You keep count?"

"I have spreadsheets," he affirmed.

"You have spreadsheets?" You gawked.

He pulled out his phone and opened his very informative sheet, turning it towards you to witness his meticulous work.

There really was a spreadsheet.

Date.

Location.

Type of coffee.

Estimated stain severity.

Laundry reimbursement.

You stared.

"... You're insane."

"A little," he agreed with a lopsided grin.

"You categorized espresso separately," you call out with an arched brow.

"It stains differently," he clarified.

Doubling over with laughter, you clutched a nearby shelf for support.

A smile bloomed on his face as if he'd won the lottery.

"So..." he prompted carefully after a few minutes.

"What?"

"I've been thinking," he continued.

"Dangerous," you squinted your eyes playfully.

"Should I just... pay your monthly laundry bill?"

You crossed your arms.

"You know what?"

"What?"

"I have a better idea."

His eyebrows lifted.

"If you're going to keep ruining my clothes..." you dragged on deliberately.

"..."

"... you owe me one date," you highlight your term of bargain with remarkable sangfroid, although your heart threatens to hammer your ribcage.

He froze completely.

The supermarket music continued to flow in the background while his brain visibly rebooted.

"... A date?"

"Yes."

"With you?" He inquired again, still not believing his ears.

"No, with the cashier," you deadpanned.

"Very funny."

"Oh, please, I'm hilarious," you sassed.

His ears turned pink.

"Is this pity?" He asked again for his thrumming heart.

"No," you demurred.

"Revenge?"

"Maybe a little," you admitted, flashing a grin.

"You know what?"

"What?"

"I'll take revenge," he squared his shoulders with such confidence that it made you burst into laughter all over again.

The following Saturday rolled in with him arriving fifteen minutes early.

Of course he had arrived early; he had spent thirty minutes prior changing shirts more than models do for a high-end runway.

He'd double-checked weather forecasts and researched cafés with lids designed to prevent spills. And he didn't forget to stuff his bag with protective measures such as packed tissues, napkins, wet wipes, a spare shirt, and a stain remover pen.

And—

He didn't walk in chugging down coffee—not a single cup.

When you arrived, you immediately noticed the rare sight.

"You're empty-handed," you pointed out as you sat down.

"I quit coffee," he declared.

"You what?" You gaped.

"For today," he added.

"I don't believe you," you laughed and shook your head.

He pulled down the zipper of his bag slowly for extra dramatic effect and showed you his safety items.

Inside sat bottled water and a bundle of sanitary items, with no instant coffee packets in sight as he had proclaimed.

You chortle at the ridiculous amount of cleaning stuff.

"I refuse to become a public safety hazard," he announced with rosy cheeks.

The date followed wonderfully by visiting an art museum, browsing vintage shops and sharing ridiculous sunglasses.

Even arguing over whether dinosaurs would enjoy bubble tea.

"You can't prove they wouldn't," you refute.

"They're extinct," he objected.

"Exactly. No evidence," you concluded, slamming the table.

In the four straight hours... nothing spilled.

You actually began believing the curse had broken until the server approached during lunch.

"What would you like to drink?" The server asked.

"Water," Mingyu answered without a thought.

You stared.

"You're traumatized," you opined, trying not to laugh.

"A little," he admitted as he rubbed his nape.

You ordered lemonade—a harmless choice.

The server arrived back after a few minutes, placing water in front of Mingyu and your glass before you.

Mingyu let out a sigh of relief. "We made it," he cheered.

The restaurant door suddenly swung open by a mischievous child, who ran in laughing with a blaring red balloon in his hand.

The balloon's string got wrapped around another server's wrist, who also had a glass of lemonade on his tray.

The tray tilted and everything rolled in slow motion in Mingyu's eyes.

"No!" he whispered and shook his head.

The lemonade performed an elegant aerial flip before landing—

Directly onto his own white shirt.

Silence.

You stared.

He stared.

The server began apologizing profusely.

Mingyu looked down at himself.

Then at you.

"I think karma finally found me," Mingyu commented, looking dejected.

You burst into uncontrollable laughter with actual tears.

You laughed so hard that nearby diners smiled.

He watched you for a second before letting a laugh escape of his own.

"You know," he paused.

"What?"

"I think this is the first time you've laughed because coffee didn't hit you," he stated the fact as he flashed a grin.

"Lemonade counts," you grumbled.

"I'll update the spreadsheet."

"You still have it?" You snickered, taking a sip of your own lemonade.

"It has sentimental value now," he smiled, dabbing his shirt with a fistful of tissues.

After lunch, you two wandered through a nearby park as the golden afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees.

The air felt lighter and comfortable as you two synced in footsteps.

"So..." you prompted.

"Mm?"

"Can I ask something?"

"Anything."

"Why did you keep trying so hard?"

He blinked.

"Trying?"

"You apologized every single time."

"Because I kept ruining your day."

"You didn't know me."

"I wanted to."

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

His eyes widened.

"... Well."

"... Well?"

"I guess I accidentally confessed."

You smiled.

"You kind of did."

"Should I pretend I didn't?"

"You could."

"I don't want to."

He scratched his neck nervously.

"I know meeting someone through repeated beverage crimes isn't exactly romantic."

"It is memorable."

"I genuinely started hoping I'd run into you."

"You manifested it."

"I might've visited that café more often."

"I knew it."

"... Maybe the bookstore too."

"I knew it."

"I didn't bump into you on purpose!"

"I believe... eighty percent of that sentence."

After a brief chuckle, his expression turned earnest, his eyes locking onto yours with a more serious mien.

"I really like you," he confessed with his heart running a mile.

You tilted your head.

"I know."

"... You do?" He gaped.

"You made a spreadsheet," you pointed out.

"Fair."

"And you gave up coffee."

"That one hurt."

"It was very brave."

"So..."

"So… would you maybe want a second date?"

You pretended to think. "Hmm," you drawled, making him wait and hold his breath.

"I suppose," you grinned and shrugged.

His grin arrived slowly before exploding across his face.

"Really?!" he asked with pure glee sparkling on his face.

"On one condition," you pointed out.

"Anything," he concurred.

"You are permanently banned from carrying coffee."

He placed a hand dramatically over his heart. " I solemnly swear."

"Good," you grinned.

"Although..."

"What?"

"If I accidentally spill tea—"

"Mingyu!"

"I'll run," he mirrored your grin from earlier.

"You should," you warned, making him laugh as you lightly nudged his shoulder.

This time, neither of you stumbled nor spilled anything. Instead, your fingers brushed together naturally and then intertwined.

Your laundry basket, for the first time in months, finally got a well-deserved break.

Mingyu's spreadsheet, however, received one final update.

Accident #12: No beverages spilled. Unexpected outcome: Got the date anyway. ❤️

Note:

Mingyu (and me) if given an opportunity:

                            ⌝

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Present

Now, if someone had told you this was going to be the plot twist of your life, you would've either flipped them off or respectfully told them to fuck off. But how exactly are you supposed to say those things to yourself when you're watching everything unfold right in front of your eyes?

What do you mean the man you've been crushing on for the past few months is a fucking devil?

Not just a devil. The Lucifer.

6 Months Back

Your life is great. You really can't complain. You own an amazing café, have the most supportive parents anyone could ask for, and the cutest pet in existence. Life has been nothing but rainbows and sunshine for you lately.

Well... not always.

You've struggled a lot. From earning your degree to finally getting away from that bitch of an ex-boyfriend. Let's not even get started on the financial condition your family was in before your café finally started doing well.

You wouldn't trade your life for anything.

Well... almost.

The only thing that stings every now and then is how lonely you feel without a partner. All your friends are either engaged or in long-term relationships, which means every hangout somehow turns into a third-wheel convention. Your last relationship was so horrible that you genuinely started wondering if you'd ever be able to date someone again.

Turns out, that thought wasn't entirely wrong.

You reject almost every man who approaches you. The moment someone shows interest, you're immediately hit with flashbacks of that motherf—

Calm down.

But then again, how long can a person go without developing a crush on someone? It definitely doesn't help when Instagram decides that 3 a.m. is the perfect time to flood your feed with adorable couple reels.

Seriously.

At three in the morning?

Nighttime is when the loneliness hits the hardest.

Still… You're doing fine.

It was just another day at the café. Customers came and went, grabbing their coffee and treats to go while others stayed back to enjoy them there. It wasn't as busy as usual, which gave you enough time to breathe and walk around, checking in on the customers to see if they needed anything. Yes, you were extremely extroverted. You were never afraid to strike up a conversation.

As you mindlessly scrolled through Instagram because there was nothing else to do, the bell above the door chimed, signaling that someone had walked in. You immediately locked your phone and looked up to greet the customer.

That's when you were blinded by how ridiculously handsome he was.

Wow.

Who is he?

You shamelessly stared at him until he was standing right in front of the counter. He snapped his fingers in front of your face before smirking.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer."

Heat instantly crept up your neck. Great. You got caught.

You quickly took a deep breath, forcing yourself to regain your composure before putting on the most professional smile you could manage.

"So sorry about that, sir. What would you like to have?"

"No need to apologize for something like that. I liked it anyway." He leaned against the counter with the same stupidly attractive smile. "One vanilla latte and... that chocolate pretzel."

You were genuinely amazed by how effortlessly he flirted. You wanted to say something back. Anything. Instead, your brain completely betrayed you.

"Sure." Wow. What a flirt.

Mentally cursing yourself, you simply nodded and walked away to prepare his order.

When you came back with his latte and pretzel, you were determined. If he flirted with you again, you were flirting back. No hesitation this time.

You placed his order in front of him and waited.

He thanked you politely before taking a bite of his pretzel. Nothing. Then he suddenly looked up, catching you staring. His expression immediately turned cold.

Weird...

Why is he looking at me like I personally offended him?

"Are you a creep?.”

"Excuse me?" Now that was new. People had called you slow. People had called you weird. But never, ever a creep. And you were definitely not about to let this random handsome man think you were one.

"What made you think I'm a creep?"

He leaned back in his chair, looking far too amused by your reaction.

"The way you've been staring at me? Kind of gives off creep vibes."

And then he laughed. Just like that. The same warm smile he walked into the café with was suddenly back on his face, as if he hadn't just accused you of being a creep two seconds ago.

This man is either joking with you, or is just plain weird.

You had never met a customer like him.

"First of all, I am not a creep. I was just waiting to ask whether you'd be paying now or after you finished your order."

Lie. A huge, fat lie.

You were waiting for him to flirt again so you could finally flirt back.

"And second of all, you're weird. I don't even know you, but I've already witnessed at least five different personalities in the fifteen minutes we've known each other."

All he did was chuckle. Then he looked you dead in the eyes. "Call me weird one more time and you'll find out who I really am."

Was he seriously threatening you? In your own café?

"A face as handsome as yours really doesn't deserve that personality, you know."

"You think I'm handsome?"

Did you seriously just say that? Your eyes widened as you immediately slapped a hand over your mouth. There was absolutely no way you had just called the man threatening you handsome.

Your face burned.

The corner of his lips curled into another smirk. "That's good to know." He casually took another sip of his latte, looking far too pleased with himself.

Without another word, you turned around and practically speed-walked behind the counter to hide.

What were you even thinking? What if he actually filed a complaint? What if calling a customer handsome somehow counted as harassment? What if the café got into trouble? What would happen to the café? What would happen to Cheonsa? What would happen to your parents?

No.

No, you had to fix this before he left.

As the ridiculously handsome customer finished his meal and walked over to the counter to pay, you immediately stopped him. "It's on the house." "...Huh?" He looked at you, genuinely confused. "Why?" You flashed him the most awkward smile imaginable. "Think of it as a bribe." "A bribe?"

"I don't want you filing a complaint against me for calling you handsome. I know it wasn't professional, and I'm willing to learn from my mistakes. So... please? Just this once?"

You put your hands together and gave him the biggest puppy eyes you could muster, while internally cringing so hard you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

For a second, he simply stared at you. Then he burst out laughing.

"So, let me get this straight." He tried to hold back another laugh. "You seriously think I'd file a complaint because you called me handsome?"

By now, your face was so red that anyone walking in would've assumed you had a fever.

Thank God the café wasn't crowded today.

You would've had to shut the business down out of embarrassment.

"Whatever." You waved him off, refusing to look him in the eye. "Just leave already, and don't you dare tell anyone about this."

"Oh, I wasn't planning to."

He reached for his coffee again before grinning.

"But if free coffee is what I get in exchange for keeping my mouth shut, I might have to become a regular."

He pretended to zip his lips, lock them, and dramatically toss the imaginary key over his shoulder.

"There. My lips are sealed."

You still refused to look at him. Silence settled between the two of you for a moment.

"By the way..."

Then—

Your eyes reluctantly met his. "I never introduced myself." He held out a hand. "I'm Seungcheol." A tiny pause. "Choi Seungcheol. And you are..." Before you could answer, his gaze dropped to the name tag pinned to your apron. He softly read your name aloud.

Somehow, hearing your name in his voice made it sound prettier than it ever had before.

"Hm." He smiled to himself. "Pretty name."

Your heart, completely ignoring your brain's desperate attempts to shut it up, decided to do a whole gymnastics routine inside your chest.

"I'll see you around?"

And just like that, he turned around and walked out of the café before you could even think of a response.

Once again…

You didn't get to flirt back. Not even once. But at least now, that ridiculously handsome face finally had a name attached to it.

"Seungcheol..." You quietly repeated to yourself. Damn.

That's a really nice name.

🐈‍⬛

“Wonu?” you called, blinking the sleep from your eyes. The glow of his computer screen filled the dark room, uncanny and wrong for how late it was. “Wonu, are you still playing?”

His silhouette nudged one headphone off his furry ear. “I just need to beat this boss. I’ll be done soon. Go back to sleep.”

But you sat up, pushing the blankets down around your waist. “You said you’d be done soon, like, hours ago. It’s…” You squinted at the LED clock next to the bed and nearly gagged. “Wonwoo! It’s almost four!”

That got him to look away from the computer, albeit only for a moment as the very distant sounds of digital warfare echoed from his headphones. “I’ll be done soon,” he said again, fingers flying over the keyboard. “For real this time. Oh, wait, no – !”

He groaned as the ‘restart’ screen flashed at him. Then two clicks later, it was gone, and he was tapping away again, racing his little character across the map. You frowned.

“Wonwoo.”

“Soon, I swear, just go back to bed,” he said, eyes glued to the screen.

You narrowed your eyes.

Shoving the covers away, you swung your legs off the edge of the bed, walking over to Wonwoo’s desk. He didn’t look up. His tail brushed the floor, fluffier than normal, twitching once as you approached. He was hunched forward more than usual, betraying his frustration and exhaustion, however much he might try to deny it.

“Wonu,” you said softly, gently cupping his shoulders, and he jumped, clearly not having noticed you approaching. Cute. But his eyes still stayed on the dang screen. You slid your hands along the line of his shoulders and gently massaged the base of his neck, then curled your fingers up towards the backs of his ears, fingertips scratching gently at his scalp.

“Stop,” he grunted, tail flicking against your bare feet. He still tapped away at his keyboard, although a little slower than before, you thought. “I’m almost there.”

“The game can wait for the morning, Wonu.”

“No –”

You slipped one hand along his jaw to cup his chin from behind, thumb gently rubbing at his cheek, and he faltered. His hands stopped moving. Then an explosion nearly took out his character, and he scrambled to move, shaking his head in your palm.

“Stop,” he said again, but this time it was more pleading. Almost petulant. “Just let me win.”

“Come to bed with me and win in the morning,” you coaxed, slipping around to the side of his chair and nudging just barely between it and the desk. Wonwoo’s eyes, pupils round and wide, flicked to you for just a moment before locking back on his game. “Nonu, baby.” Gently you reached up and eased his headphones down around his neck. He started to protest, but you scratched behind his ears, and they stood up immediately.

“Come cuddle with me?” you asked, pouting just a little as you squished his cheeks, and he blinked. One eye opened before the other, but both eyelids drooped over his suddenly sleepy irises.

“Mmmkay,” he mumbled, nuzzling into your palms, and you smiled, bending to drop a little kiss on his head.

“Alright. Let’s get you ready for bed, and then we can cuddle, okay?”

His ears twitched at that, and you giggled.

“That sound good? Yeah?” you said as he nodded slowly. You patted his cheek and stepped aside, gesturing to his computer. “Alright, power down, okay? I’ll grab your pjs.”

“Okay,” he murmured, and you kissed the top of his head one more time.

It didn’t take very long to get Wonwoo ready for bed – he was sleepy, the late night catching up to him, and let you do his skincare routine for him with only a little whine of protest. The way he pressed into your hands as you rubbed the moisturizer in had your heart almost screaming in adoration.

By the time you finally crawled into bed, Wonwoo was having trouble keeping his eyes open. He yawned wide as you pulled the covers up, tongue poking out over his bottom teeth, and you cooed, ruffling the hair between his ears. He blinked, staring at you as if through a haze.

“Sleepy time,” you told him with a tap on the nose. “C’mere, you big kitten.”

You opened your arms, and he nuzzled right in, curling up against your chest with his knees pressing into your stomach and his face tucked into the crook of your neck. You hugged him even closer. A little uncomfortable, maybe, but he’d spread out overnight anyway, splaying his limbs across you like he always did.

“Night,” he mumbled against your skin, voice low and drowsy. You smiled against his hair.

“Night, kitty,” you echoed with a gentle stroke of his hair. “Sleep well.”

“Mmn.”

You closed your eyes, but after a quiet moment, Wonwoo started to squirm. Glancing down, you frowned, finding his droopy eyes on yours.

He craned his neck up and captured your lips in a kiss.

Oh. You smiled against him, kissing back gently. The taste of minty toothpaste still lingered, usually unpleasant but more than okay right now. Wonwoo was as soft and warm as ever, the picture of perfection with his tail curling against your thigh and his hands pawing gently at your shirt.

He broke away only to yawn again, and you giggled.

“Alright, kitty. Bedtime for real now.”

“Bedtime,” he agreed as he nuzzled back into your neck. You rested your chin on the top of his head, smiling to yourself as you closed your eyes and petted absently at the back of his head.

Wonwoo’s soft breathing settled beside you, slowly evening out. He really was cute like this, all cuddled up against you, nudging against your ribs and –

He moved suddenly, rolling onto his back, and you loosened your grip to let him flop against the mattress. His hands splayed up against the pillows, and his legs stretched beneath the covers, pulling them down and presenting the sweetest little peek of his tummy under the hem of his shirt.

Oh.

A smile crept over your face as you reached out and rubbed gently at his stomach.

Wonwoo purred.

Eventually, he loosens his grip but doesn’t let go completely; instead tilting his head to press soft kisses along your jawline.

A quiet reunion in their empty apartment after Japan’s whirlwind.

The rain taps gently against the windows.

Joshua’s kisses grow slower, more tender—each one a silent I missed you. His hands slide up to cradle your face as he finally captures your lips in a proper kiss.

It starts soft but deepens naturally—hungry from days apart. One hand tangles gently in your hair while the other rests on your lower back, pulling you closer.

The apartment is still and quiet around them; only the sound of their breathing and that light rain outside.

A kiss that says everything words can't.

The kiss lingers—sweet but heated, a perfect blend of love and longing. Joshua doesn’t rush—he savors it.

His lips move against yours with gentle pressure, the kind that makes your knees weak. Every so often, he nips lightly at your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue.

One of his hands slips under your shirt slightly—fingertips brushing warm skin near your waist—a quiet request for more closeness.

A slow burn building between them.

Joshua slowly walks you backward toward the bedroom—never breaking the kiss. His touch is careful, almost reverent.

The edge of the bed hits your legs and he guides you down gently onto it. Still kissing you, he hovers over you as his body follows yours.

One arm supports his weight while the other traces your side—exploring softly like rediscovering every inch of you after time apart.

A quiet intimacy fills their space—the rain outside a soothing background to this moment.

Their lips finally part only when you both need air—his chest rising as he breathes deeply. But he doesn’t go far, pressing his forehead to yours.

His eyes are sparkling with affection, searching your face in the dim bedroom light.

Without speaking, he leans down again—this time kissing along your jawline and then your neck. Each press of his lips is feather-light but intentional.

A silent question lingers: 'Can I?'

He waits for any sign from you.

You moan.

The sound of your moan sends a thrill through Joshua—his pulse quickening. It’s all the confirmation he needs.

His lips find yours again, more urgent this time. The kiss turns heated, hungry; years of practiced restraint dissolving in one moment.

One hand slides up to cup your cheek while the other travels down—exploring with soft touches over fabric first (your shirt).

A quiet whimper escapes him when you respond—they’ve missed each other too much.

Joshua’s hands grow bolder—lifting the hem of your shirt to peel it off slowly. His lips never leave yours, breaking away only when absolutely necessary.

Once your shirt is discarded, his mouth finds the newly exposed skin of your collarbone and shoulder—kissing a trail downward with lingering warmth.

Every touch is deliberate; every kiss loaded with all the affection he’d been holding back during their separation.

The apartment feels smaller suddenly—just them and this intimacy.

Joshua’s breathing grows heavier as he continues exploring your skin with his lips—each kiss a brand, a silent you're mine.

His hands slide up to unhook your bra with practiced ease, fingers brushing against sensitive skin.

The room is warm now—pitter-patter of rain outside provides a solacing background noise to their quiet breaths and the occasional soft gasp or sigh.

A slow burn turning into something deeper.

His digits travel down your torso with a feather touch, stopping to hook into the waistband of your shorts and panties. He pulls them down together gently and discards them without sparing a glance. His eyes locks on yours, brimming with love and desire at you being spread bare and wide for him. His breath fans against your neck, making you tremble.

He bows his head, his lips meeting the lips of your neither region. He kisses them like he would kiss you.

"Fuck," you pant out, your legs buckle to give away at the sheer sight of it but his hold is firm on you—spreading you apart further.

His tongue swipes in with a slow deliberate lick, sending a current up your spine.

Your back arches off the bed as his tongue explores your most intimate area. Your fingers tangle in his hair, gripping tightly as waves of pleasure course through your body.

"Oh fuck, Joshua!" you moan, your voice breathy and filled with need. "Don't stop."

Emboldened by your response, Joshua redoubles his efforts. His tongue delves deeper, stroking along your folds and circling your clit with practiced precision. He savors your taste, the way you writhe beneath him, desperate for more.

One hand slides up your thigh to your hip, holding you steady as he pleasures you. The other teases along your inner thigh, fingertips grazing your sensitive skin but not quite touching where you crave it most.

Your hips buck against his face, seeking more friction.

Joshua groans against your core, the vibrations adding an extra layer of sensation. He loves how responsive you are, how your body moves instinctively towards his touch.

He increases the pressure of his tongue, alternating between broad strokes and targeted flicks against your clit. His hand on your hip grips tighter, holding you in place as he feasts on you.

"Mmm, you taste so good, baby," he murmurs, the hot puff of his breath ghosting over your slick flesh. "I've missed this... missed you."

His fingers finally make contact, two slipping inside your tight heat. They curl upward, seeking that special spot as his thumb rubs circles around your clit.

Joshua sets a steady rhythm—thrusting his fingers in tandem with the movements of his tongue.

"Ah! Joshua!" you cry out, your back arching sharply off the bed as his fingers and tongue work in tandem to bring you to new heights of pleasure. Your thighs quiver and clench around his head, holding him close as if afraid he might stop.

"Yes, right there! Don't you dare stop," you pant, your nails raking down his scalp. Electric shocks of ecstasy shoot through your core with each thrust of his fingers and flick of his tongue.

You can feel the coil of tension winding tighter and tighter low in your belly, your release rapidly approaching. Your hips undulate shamelessly against his face, chasing your impending climax.

"Fuck, I'm gonna... I'm gonna come," you warn breathlessly, your voice high and strained with barely restrained pleasure. "Please, Joshua, make me come!"

Joshua doubles down on his efforts, driven wild by your desperate pleas and the way your body responds to his touch. He wants nothing more than to push you over the edge, to feel you fall apart for him.

He sucks your clit hard into his mouth, flicking the tip of his tongue rapidly over the sensitive bud. At the same time, he curls his fingers inside you, rubbing firmly against your G-spot.

"That's it, baby. Come for me," he growls against your flesh, the vibrations intensifying the sensation. "Let go. I've got you."

His free hand moves to your stomach, feeling it flutter and tense as your orgasm builds. He massages the taut muscle, encouraging you to relax and surrender to the pleasure.

Joshua can feel your walls starting to flutter around his fingers, signaling your imminent release.

Your entire body goes rigid as your climax crashes over you like a tidal wave. You scream his name, your voice echoing off the bedroom walls. Your back bows almost painfully, pushing your hips flush against his face as you ride out the intense waves of pleasure.

Your inner walls clamp down rhythmically around his fingers, pulsing and squeezing as your release gushes out. Tremors wrack your frame, starting from your core and radiating outward to your extremities.

Through the haze of ecstasy, you dimly register Joshua continuing to lap at your sensitive flesh, prolonging your orgasm. His fingers pump steadily, drawing out every last shudder and gasp until you collapse bonelessly back onto the mattress.

"Holy shit," you pant, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

Joshua gentles his ministrations as he feels you start to come down from your high, placing soft kisses along your inner thighs. He slowly withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his lips to suck them clean with a satisfied hum.

"I missed that sound," he murmurs, crawling up your body to hover over you. His eyes glint with lust and adoration as he takes in your flushed, sated expression. "Watching you fall apart like that... there's nothing better."

He cups your face tenderly, thumbs stroking your cheekbones as he presses his forehead against yours. "I love you so much. Being apart from you is pure torture."

Joshua captures your lips in a deep, sensual kiss—pouring all his pent-up emotion and desire into it. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, sharing your own taste with you.

You melt into the kiss, your arms coming up to wrap around Joshua's neck. You pour all your love and longing into returning it, your tongue dancing with his. The taste of yourself on his lips only serves to reignite the embers of desire in your core.

When you both finally break apart, panting softly, you gaze up at him with hooded eyes. Your fingers play with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. "I love you too, Joshua. So damn much. These separations are killing me too."

You roll him over so you're straddling his hips, your naked breasts pressed against his chest. You grind down slowly, feeling his hardness through his pants—he grunts, his hips bucking upwards to your touch. "I need you," you breathe against his lips. "Let me help you wind down too… please."

Your hands slide under his shirt, mapping the planes of his hard skin and slide down to fiddle with his belt, waiting for his answer.

Joshua's breath hitches as you take control, his hands settling on your hips. He looks up at you with smoldering eyes, drinking in the sight of your naked form above him. When your fingers brush against his belt, his hips twitch involuntarily, seeking more friction.

"Yes," he groans, his voice rough with want. "Please, love. I need to feel you."

He sits up slightly, allowing you to remove his shirt. Once it's gone, he pulls you flush against him, skin to skin. The contrast of your soft curves against his toned muscles sends sparks of electricity through him.

Joshua's hands roam your back, tracing the dip of your spine before cupping your ass. He kneads the supple flesh, encouraging your grinding motions.

You moan softly as you both press bare chests together, your nipples hardening at the contact. Your fingers deftly undo his belt and fly, freeing his straining erection. You wrap your hand around him, giving a few slow pumps.

"You're so hard for me already," you purr, marveling at the silky steel in your palm. You position yourself over him, the head of his cock nudging against your slick entrance.

With a roll of your hips, you sink down onto him, taking him to the hilt in one smooth motion. "Oh fuck, Joshua," you gasp, relishing the stretch and fullness. "You feel amazing inside me."

You begin to move, rolling your hips in a slow, sensual rhythm. Your inner walls flutter and clench around him, drawing him deeper with each descent.

"Dove," Joshua moans brokenly as you envelop him fully, your tight heat engulfing him like a glove. His hands grip your hips bruisingly, fighting the urge to thrust up and bury himself even deeper.

"So good, baby. You feel incredible," he pants, watching in awe as you ride him. The sight of your breasts bouncing with each movement is mesmerizing.

Unable to resist, Joshua leans up to capture one peak in his mouth. He laves it with his tongue before sucking gently, grazing the sensitive bud with his teeth. His hand snakes between your bodies to find your clit, rubbing tight circles around the swollen nub.

"That's it, sweetheart. Take what you need," he encourages huskily, his hips starting to meet your downward thrusts. "Ride me just like that. Fuck, you're perfect."

Your head falls back in ecstasy as Joshua lavishes attention on your breast, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. The dual stimulation of his mouth on your nipple and fingers on your clit has you seeing stars.

"Yes, oh fuck yes!" you keen, picking up the pace of your movements. Your hips undulate faster, taking him deeper with each bounce. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing with your increasingly loud moans.

Sweat beads on your brow as you chase your pleasure, using Joshua's body for your own gratification. Your walls start to flutter around him again, another orgasm building quickly.

"I'm getting close again," you pant, locking eyes with him. "Don't stop, Joshua. Please don't ever stop touching me like this. B-but you need to cum too!"

Joshua groans deeply as your walls start to ripple around him, the added stimulation pushing him closer to the edge. He redoubles his efforts, pinching and rolling your clit between his fingers while his tongue swirls around your nipple.

"Come on, baby. Let go for me," he urges, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. "I want to feel you come undone on my cock."

He shifts the angle of his hips, ensuring he hits that special spot inside you with every thrust. The headboard slams against the wall as he meets your movements with increasing urgency.

"I'm not going to last much longer," Joshua grits out, sweat dripping down his temples. "You feel too fucking good. I can feel you're close. C'mon baby, cum with me. Now!"

Your world shatters as Joshua's words and actions send you hurtling over the cliff into oblivion. You scream his name, your voice raw with passion as your second climax crashes through you. Your inner muscles clamp down on him like a vice, rippling and squeezing his length.

The intensity of your orgasm triggers his own release. With a guttural groan, Joshua buries himself to the hilt inside you and stills, his cock pulsing as he empties himself deep within your spasming channel.

"Fuck, baby! Yes, take it all!" he grunts, his hips jerking erratically as he rides out the waves of his climax.

You collapse against his chest, both of you panting heavily as aftershocks continue to course through your joined bodies.

Joshua wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you both float down from your high. He peppers your face with soft kisses—your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose, your lips.

"That was... amazing," he murmurs, his voice hoarse from exertion and emotion. "Being with you like this, it's everything. You're everything to me, love."

He rolls you both onto your sides, keeping you tucked against his chest. One hand draws lazy patterns on your back while the other cradles your head, fingers combing through your damp hair.

"I know these separations are hard," Joshua continues softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. "But I promise, no matter where I am, my heart is always here with you. You're my home, love."

Tears of joy and overwhelming emotion prick at the corners of your eyes at Joshua's heartfelt words. You snuggle closer, relishing the warmth and security of his embrace. Your fingers trace idle patterns on his chest as you listen to the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

"I feel the same way, Joshua," you whisper, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. Your eyes shine with adoration and unshed tears. "You're my soulmate, my partner in every sense of the word. These moments we have together, they sustain me through the long days apart."

You press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, pouring all your love and devotion into the gentle caress. When you pull back, a small smile plays at the corners of your mouth.

Joshua returns your kiss with equal tenderness, savoring the sweet taste of your lips. As you pull away, he smiles back at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine happiness.

"I'm so grateful for you. For your love, your understanding, your unwavering support," he says softly, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that escapes down your cheek. "I know my job keeps me away sometimes, but please never doubt how much you mean to me."

He shifts slightly, reaching for your hand and intertwining your fingers. He brings your joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

"We'll get through this together, like we always do. And when I'm home, I'll show you just how much I appreciate you every single day," Joshua promises, his voice low and sincere.

"You better," you warn with a playful glare, making him let out a hearty laugh.

Watching happiness bloom on his face makes you realize that you both are really each other's home.

⚚ Masterlist

”You know he’s always willing to help you.”

”Yeah, I know I just feel like I’m annoying him…” She grabbed her toothbrush.

”He’s the son of Apollo, any chance he gets to sing. He’ll take it,” She leaned against the bathroom door. 

”I guess you’re right.”  

“I’m always right, especially when it comes to the children of Apollo.”

Jihye rolled her eyes and shook her head. Of course, most children of Artemis like to claim that they know their cousins very well. And half the time, the children of these twin gods are often closer to each other than other demigods. With San and Seulgi, they are even closer because they came to the academy at the same time. 

When Jihye began to brush her teeth, Seulgi made her way back to her room to change. Looking at her reflection, then back at Seulgi’s door, she tilted her head to the side in confusion. She knew Seulgi’s schedule, she normally doesn’t have classes today and if she did, she mainly did her classes late in the afternoon.  After waking up, she wouldn’t have gone to her room. She would have started making her breakfast.  

The raven haired demigod spat out the toothpaste and trailed after her roommate. “Wait, I thought you don’t have class on Mondays?”

”Oh! I have to meet up with my group for our final project. Rather get started now than scrambling towards the end of the semester.”

The roommates both shuddered, they remembered last semester. It was the general classes that they had together. The both of them were assigned to a group and of course, they all procrastinated until the last two weeks. Two long weeks of two hours of sleep,  endless visits to the local coffee shop and long nights at the library. 

“So, you’re not going to the cafe alone. I’ll be here to protect you from any weirdos.” The huntress slung her arm over her shoulder.

“But no weirdos try to talk—“

”Men, babe. Remember that one dude when we were at the supermarket?  I know you think your ghostly aura is enough to keep men away but it’s not. “

Jihye frowned at that memory. The both of them were grocery shopping, and the moment that Jihye went off to the meat selection. As she was browsing, this man walked up to her and tried asking for recommendations for a dish. Not being used to people talking to her, she gave him some recommendations, he kept getting closer to her. Thankfully, Seulgi saw what was going on and immediately wrapped her arms around her waist; then told the man to leave her girlfriend alone.

“So, don’t worry my little poltergeist. I’ll be here.” Seulgi grinned. 

She just rolled her eyes at the nickname. Both San and Seulgi loved giving her ghost related nicknames, due to her mother. After all, she is the goddess of ghosts. Unlike San and Seugli, other people and demigods often avoided her due to her ghostly aura. So, Jihye was thankful that both San and Seugli forced her to be their friend. They didn’t care about her mother or the ghostly aura and her academy days were less lonely. 

Once they both got ready, they made their way towards the local coffee shop.  Since their apartment building was near the Aurora Academy, they often saw other demigods going to the coffee shop. A few of them even went to the same college as Jihye and Seulgi. It was nice to see familiar faces on campus even if they didn’t really talk to Jihye. She knows there are a few of them in her classes but unless they talk to her first, she wouldn’t talk to them.

As they waited in line, Jihye fought back a yawn. I think I need like 4 shots of espresso. She squinted at the menu, deciding which drink she wanted. 

“Do you know what drink you want?”

”I’m not sure, I know I want at least four shots of espresso.”

”Jihye?’ A male’s voice called out.

She tilted her head in confusion, looking for whoever was calling her. She looked behind her, and saw some daughters of Iris, who gave her a look of disdain. The ghostly demigod then looked  in front of her and saw a familiar face. She knew that they were in one of her classes, she just didn’t know the name. 

“….Yes?” She said in confusion, not really sure why he called out her name or why he wanted to talk to her. They barely talked in class.

”Joshua. I’m in your Art Studio class.”

“Oh. That’s your name!” She exclaimed. 

Seulgi just shook her head and laughed softly. 

Joshua let out a soft chuckle and the male standing next to him was biting back a smile. 

“This is the first time someone didn’t actually know your name.” The male chuckled.

“Shut up Vernon.” He elbowed Vernon in the stomach. 

As Jihye watched the two male demigods interact. It finally clicked in her head. She knew who they were. Almost everyone knew who they were, especially during their academy days.

Hong Joshua, the son of Aphrodite. And being the son of Aphrodite, he is as beautiful and handsome as his mother. Just looking at him, people already knew who his godly parent was. During the academy days, she never really talked to him but he seemed okay with her. He never really looked scared or cautious around her. Or well, that’s what Jihye was hoping for. And right now, Joshua is looking at her in both awe and amusement. Because how can Jihye forget his name, almost half of the art classes they need to take, they’re taking together!

And of course, there was his best friend standing next to him. Chwe Vernon, the son of Dionysus. Charming, charismatic and laid-back. He would often host parties, especially after exams to help everyone just destress. Jihye knew that he was also friends with San because they were on the same hockey team. And there was something about him, Jihye couldn’t put her finger on it, something about him was familiar. She would often see him helping out both demigods and mortals around campus. When she made eye contact with him, he gave her a small smile and she immediately turned her attention back to Joshua; not used to someone that isn’t Seulgi or San smiling at her.   

“But yes, I’m in your painting class with Professor Shim. Did you know what traditional media you wanted to work with for the final project?” 

“I’m going to —-“ Just as she was going to tell him her answer, the barista called Joshua and Vernon next.

Once they were done, both Seulgi and Jihye placed their order next. As they waited for their drinks, Jihye saw Seulgi make her way to a table towards the back. Must be her groupmates. She stifled back a yawn.

“What were you going to use?” Joshua asked, trying to go back to their previous conversation. 

“Oh, gouache.”

”Wow, you’re brave. I don’t think I’ll be able to handle that.”

“Yeah, I'm going to regret it by the end of this semester. What about you?”

“I’m going to play it safe and use oil paints.”

When the barista set out all four of their drinks, Jihye made her way towards the counter but just as she was about to grab the drinks; she felt someone shove her from behind, causing her to almost knock over the drinks. A soft but firm grip on her elbow prevented the barista from remaking the drinks. It also prevented her from crying as well, after all she needs at least four shots of espresso. She looked up at surprise, seeing the person that saved the barista and herself from a disaster. Vernon? 

“You okay, Jihye?” Vernon asked, looking at her concern before glancing at Joshua.

Following Vernon’s gaze, she saw the girls that were behind her. The daughters of Iris, trying to grab the attention of Joshua. It seemed like they were sharing a look because Jihye could have sworn she saw a flicker of annoyance in both of their eyes. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

He flashed her a small smile before grabbing the two drinks that had her name on it, holding it out to her. “Four shots of espresso?” 

“What? Don’t judge me for that!” She grabbed the drinks

“I wasn’t judging you. It was just surprising. You seemed more like a tea drinker.”

“Oh, I thought the heavy bags under my eyes was a telling sign that I drank coffee.” She deadpanned. “Or did you think that was a sign that I was the daughter of Melione. “

Wait! Check your tone! Jihye had to remind herself that she isn’t talking to San or Seulgi, so Vernon probably doesn’t know that she was trying to make a joke. 

“You have bags under your eyes? I didn’t notice. I was distracted by your expressions. “ 

”My expressions?!”

”Yeah, you always look like you’re glaring at everyone.” He said, fighting back a grin.

”No, I don’t! Seulgi!!” She whined loudly, causing a couple of people to look over at them, including Joshua and the other demigods.

“What?” The huntress grabbed the drink from her hand, looking at the both of them in amusement. It was usually Jihye messing with other people, now the tables have turned.

“He said that I always look like I’m glaring at everyone! Tell him, I don’t!!”

“No, I agree with him. You do have a resting bitch face.” Seulgi nodded in agreement, taking a sip of her drink.

“I do not!” 

“Actually, yeah. You do. That’s why everyone in our class doesn’t want to sit next to you.” Joshua agreed, grabbing his own cup of coffee.

”I hate all of you.” She pouted.

“Aww, you look so cute.” Seulgi cooed, pinching her cheeks. 

Jihye hissed at her and attempted to bite at her hand. Since Seulgi was used to this reaction, she had the quick reflex to move her hand and place it on the top of her head. “Alright, my little ghost cat. I’ll see you later. Don’t be a menace.” 

The ghostly demigod just rolled her eyes and swatted the other’s hand. “Shut up. Bye.”

Just as she watched Seulgi walk back to her group mates, she looked over to the two male demigods. “Uh. I guess I’ll see you guys around campus?” 

“Are you going to campus now?” Joshua asked.

”Yeah, I have a class before Professor Shim’s class. I’m just going to catch the bus”

“A bus? Why don’t you just ride with us! Vernon would love to driv—- OW!”

Jihye tilted her head in confusion at the sudden outburst from the love demigod. 

Joshua was currently rubbing his arm, while glaring at Vernon. And Vernon looked like he was about to murder his best friend before flashing her a sheepish smile. “He means, did you just want to ride with us? Save some money and you don’t have to deal with a crowded bus. My car isn’t that far from the apartment building.”

“Uh… are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother...” She said hesitantly.

“It’s no bother. Plus.” The wine demigod’s eyes flickered to the window. “The bus looks pretty full.”

Jihye quietly watched her father walk into the train station, her legs swinging. She looked back at the school gates behind her and couldn’t shake off a feeling something was watching her. She puffed her cheeks out, looking at the train station, waiting for her father’s turn.

What’s taking him so long?? She frowned as she saw the sun setting. 

After a couple of minutes, Jihye hopped off the bench and made her way to the train station. She wandered around the train station, weaving through passengers' legs in hopes that she would find her father. 

“Dad??” She called out.  She couldn’t see him anywhere.  Not at the counter, not sitting on the benches. No where to be seen.

“DAD!??!!”

A sense of fear stirred in her chest. The last time she felt like this was when she was locked in a mausoleum.  She frantically ran around the train station again, hoping that her father was in the bathroom and he would appear. But nothing, he didn’t come out of the bathroom or any of the doors in the station.  

She thought her father might have walked back to where he left here. She quickly made her way back to the bench. Again, nowhere to be seen. Tears welled up in her eyes. It didn’t help that it was dark out but still felt like someone watching her every move and it wasn’t her father. 

“Silly little girl. Did you really think that your father was coming back?” A voice behind her said mockingly.

Jihye slowly turned around and her eyes widened. It was a monster that looked like a half woman and half bird. The monster had sharp teeth; she was pretty sure that one bite, she would bleed to death. She let out a loud scream and began to run in the other direction. As she made her way down the street, she could hear the wings flapping. She was yelling for help but the people that were walking down the street just ignored her.  Coming into her view, she sees a graveyard. Now, most children her age wouldn’t step foot into it. But for some reason, Jihye’s gut told her to do it. As she tried to open the gates, she heard a loud screech and suddenly her feet were off the ground. A sharp pain shot through her shoulders, and something warm trickling down her arms. Is it blood?

She thrashed around, hoping that this creature would let her go. Hearing fabric ripping, Jihye looked down at her jacket and unzipped it.  She closed her eyes, waiting to be dropped on the ground but instead, she felt vines? She looked down, and it was indeed vines.

“KRYSTAL, SHE’S SAFE!”

“Got it! Now grab her and go! I’ll distract the harpy and I’ll catch up!”

Jihye looked around in confusion, trying to find the source of the voices. All she wanted to do was find her father. Did he really leave her like that monster said? What was that thing? And where did these vines come from? She knew they weren’t there before.

Hearing the rustling of the leaves, Jihye panicked, trying to jump off the vine bed. If there was a bird monster, what other monsters could be there? The rustling got louder and she quickly shut her eyes and covered her ears. 

“LEAVE ME ALONE!!”

”Hey, hey, It's okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

”How do I know that? What if you’re a monster like that thing!” She kept her eyes shut.

”If you open your eyes, I’ll show you.”

Jihye slowly opened her eyes and saw a boy, who was maybe a year or two older than her.  She watched him walk slowly towards her and she instantly closed her eyes again.

“You closed your eyes again…”

”Because!! How do I know if you have scary teeth like that monster!”

”I’ll show you that I don’t have scary teeth!! Please open your eyes. I promise I’m not a monster. And if you don’t open your eyes now, I’m just going to let that monster eat you.”

Her eyes shot open and the boy that was standing in front of her, showed her his teeth. Her eyes squinted at his teeth, they looked like normal human teeth. Or at least what human teeth are supposed to look like, “See, I’m not a monster. “

Jihye felt at ease and lowered her hands from her ears. As she attempted to jump off the vine bed, the boy held out his hand to her. She hesitantly grabbed it. The boy's hand felt warm. She rarely held her father’s hand and if she did, it didn’t feel as safe as the boy’s hand. 

“Oh no, your jacket…” The boy looked at her from head to toe.  

Ahh yes, her jacket got ruined by the monster and now she is shivering in the winter’s cruel night. A small pout formed on her lips, it was a really nice puffy jacket. It was her favorite color, a shade of light green.. Apparently it was a gift from her mother. Well, that’s what her father told her. 

She felt the warmth from her hand disappear and weight on her shoulders. Jihye looked down and saw that the boy had placed his coat over her shoulders. Then he took off his light blue scarf and wrapped it around her neck.

“But you’re going to get cold…”

“Yeah but your hands feel like ice! You need it more than me.” He held out the sleeves to help her put it on. “When I count to three, we run!”

“One…”

She held his hand. Safe. Warm. Home?

“...Two…”

They heard a loud screech behind them.

“VERNON, YOU DUMMY RUN!”  A voice yelled at them. “IT SMELLS HER BLOOD!”

“THREE!!”

Jihye tried her best to keep up with the boy in front of her and it was more so her just getting dragged. Wherever keeps them safe from the monster right? But at the same time, Jihye couldn’t help but feel lightheaded and dizzy. 

As they ran farther, the view of school gates started to slowly appear. Was he going to take her to this school?! With the scary trees and gates?! She started to drag her feet and the boy looked over his shoulder in concern.

“W-where are you taking me?! I don’t want to go to that school! It’s creepy!” 

“It’s not scary! I promise, you’ll be safer…” He stopped and his eyes darted towards her shoulders then his hands. “Hey….are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay..” Jihye wasn’t sure why he was looking at her with such concern, especially at her shoulders. But all she knew was that she felt dizzy and lightheaded, when she looked at both of their hands. It was red? Was that why it felt warm when she was holding his hand?

“Uh… so “ He looked over her shoulder. It looked like he was trying to plan something because the screeching was getting closer. He bent down with his back facing Jihye. “Just get on my back.”

“Huh??”

“I promise you will be safe here.” The boy grabbed Jihye’s hand and pulled her onto his back. 

As they ran, Jihye found herself nodding off and the boy looked at her once again. “Hey, hey. Stay with me! We’re almost there!”

“Where are you taking me…?” She wrapped her arms loosely around his shoulders.

“I told you! A safe place!”

Jihye didn’t respond.

“HEY YOU!

“Stop yelling at me! And my name isn’t Hey you! It’s Park Jihye.” 

“Okay, Jihye. I’m taking you to a safe place. Trust me.”

“Okay…”

The view of the school’s gate came closer, but Jihye’s vision became blurry. She could faintly hear footsteps behind them. She didn’t know who it was but she could see that the boy looked over the shoulder and sighed in relief.

“Vernon! Is she okay?” A voice called out.

“No, I don’t think so. She’s bleeding. I need to bring her to my dad.”

As they got closer to the gate the screeching was closer, a girl ran from behind them and quickly opened the gate for them. Once they all got in, the girl slammed the gate shut and the monster ran into the gate. But as soon as it touched the gate, it screeched in pain.

“Dad! DAD!” The boy called out. 

They ran towards a stone brick building in front of them. It looked like this building had been here for years. Did these two kids also go to this school? Why did the boy say this place was safe?

“This girl needs help!”

“Vernon? Krystal? What’s going on?!” An older man emerged from the door, he looked at them and his eyes fell on Jihye. He quickly ran down the stairs to help the three children.

“Jihye needs help! She got attacked by a harpy!”

“What?!” The older man exclaimed. He quickly motioned them to the door. 

“Jihye, my dad is here to help you.”

There was no response from her. 

“Jihye?”

Her vision started to turn dark, she could barely make out where they were going.  

“Jihye?!

“JIHYE!”

Your hips buck slightly, seeking friction against the growing ache between your thighs. The admission slips out before you can stop yourself, a mix of vulnerability and desperation in your tone. "Fuck me!"

Jeonghan's grin widens, revealing his pearly whites as he leans in, capturing your lips once more in a passionate, dominating kiss. His tongue explores your mouth, claiming every inch as his.

Breaking away, he gazes at you with a predatory glint in his eye. "Oh, I plan to fuck your brain out, baby girl. Gonna make you scream my name until you're hoarse."

He sits up and shreds his own pajamas before pulling you onto his lap, making you straddle his waist. His large hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your flesh possessively. "But first, let's get these pesky clothes out of the way."

With deft movements, Jeonghan begins to strip you bare, tossing aside your pajamas carelessly. His heated gaze roams over your exposed skin, drinking in every curve and valley.

Jeonghan's hungry gaze rakes over your naked form, his eyes glistening with lust. "Fucking perfect," he growls appreciatively, reaching out to cup your breasts in his large palms. He thumbs your nipples, watching them peak beneath his touch.

Leaning forward, he takes one hardened nub into his mouth, suckling greedily while his hand plunders the other breast. His tongue swirls around the sensitive bud, coaxing out moans from your throat.

As he lavishes attention on your chest, his other hand slides down your stomach, teasing the edges of your folds. "So wet already," he murmurs against your skin, "just for me."

Without warning, he plunges two long fingers into your heat, pumping them in and out at a relentless pace.

Moans spill from your lips uncontrollably as Jeonghan's skilled fingers delve into your soaked folds, stroking your inner walls with expert precision. Your head falls back, exposing the column of your throat, as waves of pleasure crash over you.

"Oh fuck, yes! Ah! Just like that!" you cry out, grinding your hips against his hand desperately. The dual sensations of his sucking mouth and thrusting fingers push you closer to the edge, your climax building rapidly.

Your nails dig into his shoulders as you ride his hand, chasing the intense bliss threatening to consume you. When his thumb finds your clit, rubbing firm circles around the sensitive nub, you see stars.

"I'm gonna... Ahh! I'm gonna cum!" you wail, your voice raw with need. Your body tenses, muscles clenching as the orgasm rips through you.

Jeonghan continues to work your clit with his thumb, prolonging your climax as he feels your walls clenching tightly around his fingers. "That's it, baby, come all over my hand," he encourages, his voice low and husky with desire.

As your orgasm subsides, he slowly withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his lips to taste your essence. "Mmm, delicious," he purrs, his eyes locked onto yours with a wicked glint.

Without giving you time to recover, Jeonghan flips you onto your back and positions himself between your spread legs. He grips his thick shaft, stroking it a few times as he gazes down at you with a smoldering intensity.

"You ready for this, sweetheart?" he asks, his tip nudging your entrance. "Once I'm inside you, there's no going back."

Panting heavily, you nod eagerly, your body trembling with anticipation. Your hands reach out to grasp Jeonghan's broad shoulders, pulling him closer as you whine softly, desperate for him to fill the aching void within.

"Yes, please! I need you so bad," you beg, tilting your hips upwards in invitation. The head of his cock brushes against your slick folds, sending jolts of electricity through your core.

When Jeonghan's thick length finally sinks into you, stretching your walls deliciously, you let out a guttural moan. Your nails rake down his back as he bottoms out, burying himself to the hilt.

"Fuuuck, you feel incredible," he groans, his hips stilling for a moment as he savors the tight heat enveloping him. "So fucking tight and wet for me."

With a slow, deliberate thrust, Jeonghan begins to move, setting a deep, rhythmic pace that has you meeting each stroke with eager rolls of your hips. "That's right, take it all," he encourages, his voice strained with pleasure.

He reaches down to grasp your thighs, spreading them wider as he drives into you harder—faster. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by your high-pitched cries and his grunts of effort.

Jeonghan leans down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss as he fucks you mercilessly. His tongue dances with yours, mirroring the intense rhythm of his thrusts.

Breaking the kiss, he rests his forehead against yours, his hot breath mingling with yours. "Look at me, baby," he demands, his eyes blazing with primal hunger.

Your vision blurs as tears of pleasure stream down your cheeks, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of Jeonghan's possession. You cling to him desperately, your nails leaving crescent marks on his back as he pounds into you relentlessly.

"Yes, yes, oh fuck yes!" you chant, your voice a broken melody of ecstasy. The coil of tension in your belly winds tighter with each powerful thrust, drawing you closer to the brink of oblivion.

When Jeonghan commands you to meet his gaze, you force your eyes open, locking them with his as he ravages your body. The raw, animalistic desire etched on his features only fuels the inferno raging within you.

"I'm so close... Don't stop, please don't stop!" you plead, your words dissolving into incoherent moans as the pressure builds to a crescendo.

Jeonghan's grip on your thighs tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh as he drives into you with reckless abandon. "Cum for me, baby," he growls, his voice rough with lust. "Let go, I won't stop until we both reach the edge."

He shifts his angle slightly, hitting that sweet spot deep inside you with every thrust. The sensation sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins, pushing you precariously close to the precipice.

With a final, brutal plunge, Jeonghan buries himself to the hilt, holding you impaled on his throbbing cock as his own release overtakes him. "Fuck, I'm coming!" he roars, his seed flooding your spasming channel in hot, pulsing spurts.

The moment Jeonghan's thick cock erupts inside you, triggering your own explosive climax, you scream his name to the sky. Your entire being convulses as wave after wave of euphoria crashes over you, your pussy milking his shaft for every last drop of his release.

"Jeonghan! Oh fuck!" you wail, your voice hoarse from screaming. Your body shakes violently, overwhelmed by the intensity of your orgasm, as Jeonghan's hot cum paints your insides.

As the aftershocks slowly subside, you collapse back onto the bed, utterly spent and sated. Jeonghan's weight presses you into the mattress, his softening member still buried within your quivering depths. You can feel his heart pounding against your chest, synchronizing with your own racing heartbeat.

"Good morning, babe," you grin, pecking the crown of his head.

"I think good moaning would be more accurate," Jeonghan snickers.

⚚ Masterlist

𖠿 Roommate!Jeonghan who knows your dirty secret and is listening to your moans through the thin walls even when you're trying to be quiet. He loves listening to your muffled noises behind your hand, hearing you let out a whimper with the squish-squash sound of a dildo thrusting in and out of you. It's background music to his ears as his hand fists his length in his pajama trousers—moving with your sounds.

𖠿 Roommate!Jeonghan once came home early, and you didn't know as you were too busy riding your pillow. "Fuck," Jeonghan curses under his breath as he watches you through the creak of the door. He can't help diving his hand in his slacks again, stroking his cock to the rhythm of your bounces. You angle the cotton pillowcase in such a way that it makes you see stars. You throw your head back as you stain your pillow with your cum. Heaving out, your ears catch a small moan, but when you look out through only an inch-open door, you only find a questionable puddle on the floor.

𖠿 Roommate!Jeonghan steals your panties (and sometimes even your pillowcase after watching you get off it) from the laundry and acts clueless when you question where they go.

𖠿 Roommate!Jeonghan sniffs and uses your panties to fist his cock when you're using the dildo on yourself again in the other room.

𖠿 Roommate!Jeonghan who gets tired of dancing around each other and confesses to you eventually. You, on the other hand, had been known of his heart and knew his dirty secret of knowing your dirty secret (since you saw the puddle and noted your missing laundry). Regardless of such filthy activities, you find yourself warming up to him too, so you accept his confession.

𖠿 Roommate!Jeonghan takes you out on a cozy date, filled with laughter and fluttering hearts.

𖠿 Roommate!Jeonghan loves cooking for you as you sit behind the counter, watching him do so, filling the air with gossip and giggles.

𖠿 Roommate!Jeonghan only expects praises and kisses for serving such a scrumptious meal, so you'll pepper his face with them.

𖠿 Roommate!Jeonghan who slowly by slowly keeps scooting closer to you on the couch as some mindless rom-com plays on the screen.

𖠿 Roommate!Jeonghan whose hand resting on your thigh keeps rising higher and higher until it disappears into your folds. He lazily traces an eight on your swollen nub, pinching it but never fully giving you the satisfaction of getting any release as his lips nip between your neck and shoulder, followed by a nuzzle of his nose.

𖠿 Roommate!Jeonghan threatens to stop if your eyes dart away from the screen or you stop moaning for him. He loves driving you on the edge, watching you tremble and crave his touch more.

𖠿 Roommate!Jeonghan lazily smirks when you finally break, straddling him as you swiftly try to get his clothes out of the way.

𖠿 Roommate!Jeonghan watches you in fascination as you bounce on his cock. He lets you chase your release, and when you come undone, he grips your hips tightly as he flips your back on the couch and rails you into its cushions all night as you scream, mewl, and moan with your nails scratching his back.

𖠿 Roommate!Jeonghan who is a king of aftercare, making you feel loved and truly cherished.

𖠿 Roommate!Jeonghan who has a bucket list of fucking you all around the house.

𖠿 Roommate!Jeonghan who fucks you on the counter, couch, washing machine, bathtub, bed and every place imaginable in the house.

𖠿 Roommate!Jeonghan is the most tentative boyfriend and makes sure you can always rely on him. If you get laid off or are struggling financially, he will pay rent for the both of you. If you're feeling unwell, then he'll do chores even when it's your turn that day.

𖠿 Roommate!Jeonghan who always makes sure you feel loved, cherished, and comforted.

𖠿 Roommate!Jeonghan who plans to marry you one day and buy this house, where you both would make so many memories and watch your little ones run around and grow old together.

⚚ Masterlist

The restaurant he chooses is quiet in a way that costs money—muted lights blending with soft voices, a view that looks curated rather than natural. You tell yourself it’s just a dinner. One meal, one hour, and then he’ll vanish.

That’s the story you stick to.

Joshua pulls your chair out for you. You don’t thank him. He doesn’t seem to mind. He watches you the way investors watch graphs—patient, certain that eventually the line will move in his favor.

You order first.

“The grilled fish,” you say, then pause, tilting your head as if reconsidering. “Whole.”

Joshua smiles faintly. “Bold choice.”

“They say the eyes are the window to the soul,” you reply lightly.

The food arrives. The fish is pristine—untouched, staring upward at you with one cloudy eye. You don’t hesitate. You cut cleanly, precisely, lifting the eye out with your fork.

Joshua’s glass stills halfway to his lips.

“They say the eyes are the window to the soul,” you repeat, softer now, like a still oasis. You place it in your mouth. Chew. Consider.

“Mmhmm,” you hum. “I like them. Makes me wonder how souls taste.”

A soft smile curves up your lips.

He lets out a sharp laugh. “You’re trying to scare me.”

“Am I?” you ask with airy curiosity.

The server refills the drink without asking. Joshua thanks him by reading his nameplate. You notice that—how carefully he keeps track of small dominions.

“You don't flinch around me,” he says at last, nodding towards the plate. His voice has settled back into a calm ocean wave. “Most people do.”

“Most people perform,” you counter back, setting down your fork neatly. “I get bored with that.”

Joshua surveys you like a puzzle, as if its few pieces are missing on purpose. “You think I’m performing?”

“I think you’re rehearsed,” you claim. “There’s a difference.”

That earns a genuine stretch across his lips—slower and considered. “Rehearsal is just respect for the audience,” he debates.

“And yet,” you pause, glancing around the dining room, “you chose somewhere where no one’s really watching.”

“Privacy has its own kind of audience.” He leans back with a pleased nod. “Tell me—why did you agree to this dinner?”

You let the silence engulf the table, opting to take a sip of water. It doesn’t bother him. That bothers you.

“Curiosity,” you say finally. “People like you always want something they can't have. I wanted to see if you are after me to just bandage your bruised ego or something else.”

Joshua nods, as if you’ve confirmed a hypothesis, but you don't miss the derision twinkling in his eyes. “Fair. And?”

“And I wanted to see if you’d be disappointed when I didn’t give it to you.”

His shoulders shake with a chuckle. “You assume I know what I want.”

“You assume you don’t?”

Touché hangs between you with a bead of a shared joke neither of you will admit to enjoying it.

He gestures toward your plate. “You talked about souls earlier. Do you believe in them?”

“I believe in leverage,” you say. “People call it different things depending on what comforts them.”

“Interesting,” he mutters, tapping his glass lightly. “I believe in inevitability. Systems move in predictable ways. People too, if you give them enough time.”

“Time,” you echo. “That’s generous of you.”

“I am generous,” he says easily. “With the right investments.”

You laugh, quiet and unamused. “You talk about people like assets.”

“Everyone does,” he replies. “I just don’t pretend otherwise.”

The server returns with his dish—something minimalist and expensive-looking. Joshua doesn’t rush to eat. He stays still—watching you, an unattainable woman grown up with a silver spoon and charm.

“Families,” he continues, picking up the thread you left dangling earlier. “They’re the worst-run organizations in existence. No bylaws. No exit clauses. Just obligation and decay.”

“And yet,” you pause, “people cling to them harder than anything else.”

“Fear of starting from zero,” he says. “Sunk cost fallacy. Sentimentality.”

“Or love,” you offer, flatly.

He tilts his head, dripping with mockery. “You think love is exempt from economics?”

“No,” you answer. “I think it’s often used as a cover charge.”

That earns a fogged silence. Joshua finally takes a bite of his food.

“You’re not wrong,” he says after a moment. “But you’re not entirely right either.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Do explain.”

“Control,” he says in a lower octave, “is easier when people think they’re choosing it.”

The words land with soft steps—careful and deliberate.

Your eyes lock with his—unblinking. “And you invited me here because…?”

“Because,” Joshua pauses, “you don’t think you’re choosing anything. Which makes you interesting.”

You smile again—small and sharp as if carved with a blade. “Careful. Curiosity is expensive.”

“So is boredom,” he replies with a twinning smile. “And I can afford both.”

The check arrives, discreet as everything else. Joshua reaches for it. You let him.

As you stand, he says almost casually, “Same time next week?”

You want to scoff at his audacity, but somehow you consider him—the curated view, the muted lights, the way the evening has been shaped without ever feeling rushed, and everything was molded with his hands—dancing to the beat of his fingertips.

“We’ll see,” you chew over. “I don’t like inevitability.”

Joshua smiles like someone who’s already accounted for that.

“Neither do I,” he agrees with an amiable smile once more.

You leave first.

But at the door, your steps halt, patting your pockets with polished exasperation. “Damn. I think I dropped something.”

Joshua is already moving. “I’ll find it,” he offers.

You wave him off. “It’s nothing important.”

You walk out.

The next sunrise you splash your face with frigid water, its chill biting into your skin, but you don't mind it. Your eyes stare at your own through your reflection—staring. Your fingertip traces them in the mirror, its cool surface matching your pupils.

You wonder what your soul looks like—and his too.

Your phone vibrates on the marble surface. Call of the devil, indeed.

“I think you left behind your keychain…uhh of an eye,” he says. “How about I hand it over with another dinner?”

"You don't have to. Just send—"

"No, let's meet up, or else I'm going to keep it as a gift from you."

You let out a heavy sigh. "Fine, but this time I'll pick the place."

He lets out a small cheer, contented that you caved in with little struggle. "Okay, send me the address!" he beams, and you hang up.

Neon lights flicker with the bass; bodies sway on the dance floor, pulsing with energy in the nightclub. The music vibrates too loudly; the crowd breathes too close to each other, but it feels like the perfect place to hide, like a fish in the sea of people. And yet, here he is—Joshua Hong, right in front of you, as if fate had conspired to force you into this moment yet again.

You spot him before he spots you, his back turned as he scans the crowd, probably looking for your head. When his eyes pin on yours, they emit that familiar flicker—hope. But today, the air shifts differently for them. There’s no softness in your expression.

He approaches with soft steps as his voice cuts through the noise.

“So, this is capable of dragging you out of your hermit but not me, huh?” he asks with a light huff, swinging your keychain—a little eye-shaped charm that’s been with you for years. The metal gleams in the flashing lights, a constant reminder of something you’ve left behind.

You let it swing in front of your face like a trinket for a cat, not moving to claw it away. Instead, you narrow your eyes, lips curling into something that’s not quite a smile, but almost one.

“That's funny,” you reply with a curved edge in your words. “You are the one who found it, huh? What a coincidence.”

He laughs; the dripping suspicion is not lost on him. His fingers secured around its chain. “Maybe we are meant to be together. Fate has made us meet again.”

Your eyes roll back as you lean against the bar, assessing the crowd. This isn't the place for a private conversation. The lights are too bright, the space too full of people; eager ears can easily blend in to eavesdrop.

“You wish," you huff. "Spout your nonsense, I’m listening,” you order disdainfully. Your tone is stitched with taunts, meant to discourage him, but he has the gall to still shamelessly open his mouth to utter another thread of nonsense. A wave of exasperation floods over you, making you curse under your breath, already preparing yourself to snatch the keychain and leave. You don’t need this.

“About us,” he continues, his words soft and clear as conjunctiva, but the underlying urgency doesn't escape your keen eye. He steps a foot closer into your bubble, just a hairsbreadth away. “I know you didn't mean to turn me down, and I think I—”

You cut him off, folding your arms. “This isn't the time or place. And honestly? I don’t think I need to hear it at all.”

He blinks, then stands still like a statue, then the corners of his mouth pull down in a way that makes your stomach coil for a moment. But you know his sadness is plastic.

Joshua reaches into his pocket, and you know exactly what he is about to fish out next. The ring. That damn ring. You’d seen it before—more than you would like to—the one he’s been holding onto for far too long, the one he keeps pulling out, hoping for a different answer every single time. This time—it's a desperate, final plea.

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” his words quiver with such downy thoughtfulness that if you were naïve enough, you would have thrown yourself in his arms out of sheer pity. "I love you. And I know you don’t feel the same, but I—I can’t keep waiting for you to change your mind." He stammers, looking down at the ring, his hand quaking as he holds it out to you. "Please... will you marry me?"

The words hang in the air.

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it—quicker, cutting, and punitive than you meant it to be. Your gaze flickers around the room, the noise growing more distant as the entire club seems to slow down, like time itself is holding its breath.

And when you speak, your voice cuts through the volatile silence between the two of you. “I told you already,” you remind him firmly, the words thick with disinterest, like a sentence you’ve repeated so many times like a mindless recording that it has lost its meaning. “I’m not marrying you.”

His face falters—so subtly it’s easy to miss. A flicker of pain slips through, breaking past the desperate mask he’s struggling to hold together. His eyes drift, unfocused, as if he’s trying to make sense of something he can no longer quite grasp.

You step back, your gaze freezing cold as you notice the crowd gape at his humiliation—rejection delivered like a guillotine. The club thumps not only with music but countless eyes on both of you and a chain of whispers being spread among the people. Someone laughs—a sharp, ugly one that bounces off the walls like the snort of a pig. Your rejection is echoing, sinking into the air with its anchor, its weight heaving up on Joshua's shoulders. You let it linger, savoring the moment, watching his embarrassment bloom in front of everyone.

Another laugh echoes. Someone snickers behind you, a little too loud to ignore. You can feel the eyes of the club on you now, the murmur of voices spreading like wildfire.

"Wow," someone lets out a derisive snort. “She just shut him down in front of everyone.”

The whispers sting him. It's satisfying to see him shrink, his shoulders folding inward as if he's trying to make himself smaller. The guy who used to stand tall, full of confidence, now seems like a child pleading for validation (unfortunately with no tears glinting in his eyes yet).

For the first time, you see it—genuine hurt. Not the forced kind he tried to sell you over the months, but raw, real vulnerability. The people surrounding you don’t seem to notice it. They just keep talking, their attention already shifting elsewhere; the whole world keeps rotating while he stands still—stuck in this moment.

“Good,” you say, almost too softly for anyone but him to hear. “It was never going to happen.”

Joshua stands there, arm still outstretched, the ring caught between you like a mistake he made too fast to take back. His fingers twitch, grip tightening, loosening—like he’s resisting the urge to snatch it away or force the moment forward. Silence presses in.

His jaw flexes. He swallows whatever he almost says.

For a flicker of a second, something reckless sparks through him—his gaze snapping to the bottle on the table behind you, his fingers curling around its neck, smashing it against the corner of the table. And then he swings it at your head—

No, he doesn’t.

The cloud dissipates as he stays frozen instead, breathing unevenly, the impulse passing through him without landing, leaving only the weight of the moment hanging in the air.

“I told you already,” you remind him. “I’m not marrying you.”

Something fractures behind his eyes.

That’s when he hears it.

Two men sitting a few tables away. One voice low, crude, and careless. Complaining about women. About stubborn ones. Laughing about how they need to be taught lessons. Suggesting things that make Joshua’s jaw tick.

You notice his attention swaying towards those men.

Joshua leans in closer to you. “You hear that?”

You shrug. “Men talk.”

His face contorts, not in reaction to them, but to the universe and the possibility of anything encroaching on his perceived possessions.

You watch the realization bloom in his mind, its branches stretching out with leaves engraved with threat, protection, and possession.

You take advantage of his astonishment, fishing your keychain from his other hand, and by the time he realizes it, you're already blended into the crowd, slipping out of his reach.

Later, when you’re alone, your fingertip traces the eye of your keychain as you swim in your thoughts.

You had punctured his pride through and through.

You let out a heavy sigh, shaking your head to disperse your thoughts, and began a long trudge to the bathroom.

Frigid water splashes your face and drips down your hands slowly like a draining waterfall. You straighten up, staring at your reflection. Eyes look back—whole and intact.

A small smile curves up your lips.

You wonder what your soul looks like—

And his too.

A stack of papers snaps your face to the other side. Your cheek burns; you press your tongue against it, steadying yourself. After a moment, you lift your gaze again, smoothing your hair back into place.

"What did you say? No?!" your father screams in your face."You think I'll forget about it if you avoid me for days? How dare you humiliate me in front of him?" He shrills, his fingers digging into your hair and yanking your head back with all his might.

You choke back a whimper, but still maintain your glare.

He scoffs and spits in your face at your audacity. With a forceful push, he sends you reeling, your back colliding with the wall in a deafening thud.

A sharp pain shoots up your lower back; you bite down your boiling scream by digging your nails into your palms. Everything throbs, but you won't hand him the satisfaction of witnessing your misery.

"Get out of my face. Scram!" he yells, and you do, limping your way out.

You step outside, inhaling a sharp breath of the city. Sunlight reflects off the gray concrete sidewalk, which is lined with green bushes. You walk towards the cacophony of the main road, leaving a trail of dripping humiliation. At the intersection, the air grows thicker, carrying the sharp scent of gasoline and hot rubber. The muted, sleepy environment of the street abruptly met the frantic buzz of life—cars rushing past, music thumping from a passing vehicle, and the scattered conversations of people walking by. You don't pay mind to the bustling city as your mind occupies itself by flipping through today's events.

An abrupt vibration travels from the soles of your feet up to your chest, followed by a guttural, tearing roar that rips through the quiet afternoon.

You look up just in time to see a bright streak of neon cutting through the traffic flow, weaving erratically in your direction; the rider hunched low over the tank like a jockey in a race. You freeze, your breath hitching.

It all happens too fast.

A splatter of sizzling liquid rises high like tsunami waves onto your face—slopping into your eye.

A bloodcurdling scream erupts from your lungs as you instantly shield your left eye.

You watch a blurry figure rushing in your direction from the other side of the road. You blink—Joshua Hong.

He ran towards you, his saucer eyes puffed up with flaming rage and concern. He gently but firmly moves your hand away from your eye to inspect the damage.

"Are you okay?!"

He clumsily fishes out his phone, swiftly pressing it to his ear. His words are stern and curt as he speaks to someone on his phone. "Get security here, now!"

A blend of your blood with bubbling acid stains your palm. He cautiously pulls your hand away from your eye once again. He watches you, his gaze locked on your face. Your left eye remains squeezed shut so tightly that it sends a tremor through your cheek, while a steady, silent stream of tears leaks out, mapping down the path of your immense pain. He hears you hiss softly under your breath, trying to hide your pain. He scrutinizes the crowd that is beginning to encircle around you both, everyone whispering and covering their mouths in shock.

Without hesitation, he scoops you up into his arms, cradling you against his chest. Keeping you steady with one arm, he begins striding towards the waiting car, barking orders into the phone with deadly calmness. "I want that acid analyzed immediately. Find out who did this."

Joshua carefully places you down in the backseat of the car, climbing in after you. He is quick to grab a handful of tissues, gently pressing them against your eye, applying enough pressure to stop the bleeding. You grunt in protest, your eye still throbbing endlessly. The driver speeds off towards the hospital, leaving the chaotic scene behind. "Stay still," he says, squeezing your shoulder in solace.

At the hospital, his hand remains steadfast in your hold as Joshua accompanies you throughout the entire examination. Refusing to step outside, his hand holds yours more firmly as the doctor examines your eye, his thumb gently caressing your knuckles. (The security gave up trying to take the man outside when he answered with a grim scowl; no one wants to offend this man with tremendous influence after all.)

When they finally gave the news that you had lost vision in your left eye because of the acid attack, his face ashes up and a winter chill settles in his eyes.

He listens meticulously as the doctor explains that the acid had burned through your retina, causing permanent blindness in your left eye. He saw your porcelain pale face remain gray—sheeted with an uneasy layer of placidity. He hears the doctor mention that he spotted a small sign of infection, which might likely spread more.

"Can she still keep her eye, or does it need to be removed?"

The doctor hesitates before answering Joshua's knotty question. "The eye is severely damaged and infected. Removing it would prevent further infection and pain for the patient," he explains while keeping his eyes downcast. Joshua's jaw clenches, his knuckles turn pale merely from his tight hold on your hand. "We recommend removal within the next forty eight hours."

He takes in a deep breath, trying his best to bottle in his swirling rage and grief. His gaze flickers down at you, looking for the shock and pain in your remaining eye. He sets the decision in stone. “Do it.” The words were thin—arctic and absolute. The doctor froze, then nodded. "Remove it."

They don’t let him stay long.

You’re still holding his hand when they start moving you, the bed rolling too smoothly, just like this decision which was made swiftly. The lights above smear together in a static lane of white. You try to sit up, to ask him not to let go.

“Wait,” you screech, or your voice only echoes in your head.

The needle slides into your arm. Cold spreads fast—chasing your thoughts. His grip tightens, desperate, as if he holds hard enough he can keep you here.

Your fingers betray you. They loosen. Your body follows.

“No,” he pleads, but the nurse peels your hand away from his as if it no longer belongs to either of you.

The doors close.

Inside, everything is too bright. They move quickly now in a careful motion blur of efficiency as if the gentleness will soften the inevitable outcome.

They drape a blue sheet over your face, leaving only your left eye exposed. The light still reaches only one place. Only one thing left to take.

You’re not asleep. You’re not awake. Your mind floats somewhere above your body, watching it lie there in obedience. Sounds echo strangely—metal clicking, voices murmuring like they’re in another room.

“Breathe,” someone says.

You do. Once. Twice. The air smells sharp—wrong. Your thoughts begin to slip like water through your fingers. You try to hold on to something—his face, his voice—but it all stretches and thins out into nothingness.

You’re not asleep yet.

But you’re already leaving.

The room pulls away from you in pieces. Sound warps—metal clicking too loudly, voices melting into each other. Your body grows distant, heavy, obedient in a way that suddenly feels appalling.

Something is happening.

Panic sparks bright and instinctive just as your chest forgets how to answer it. You try to inhale deeper. Try to move. Nothing listens. The fear blooms anyway, trapped inside a body that’s already going still.

Then—

Nothing.

The surgeon places the removed eye in a container and hands it to a nurse. His experienced hands began to stitch up the empty socket with clinical precision.

Joshua's restless feet echoes around the hallway, getting jittery as the clock ticks minute by minute. Finally, the doctor comes out. "She's bandaged and all well. We placed in a conformer for now. Let it heal, and then she can get a prosthetic eye."

His shoulders slope down with relief at hearing the surgery went well.

The doctor gives a nod and walks off to his other duties. The nurse leads Joshua to your room. He finds you asleep as a tranquil sleeping beauty. The mattress dips as he sits beside you, lightly tracing the edge of the bandage. He sighs, planting a soft peck on its fabric.

He clasps your hand firmly, afraid that you will slip through his fingers.

You are given the green light to discharge after a few follow-ups on the same evening. Your exhaustion drags you back into a world of dreams every few hours; you barely gave nods to countless questions from the doctor during the check-ups. He gently lifts your unconscious body into his arms, holding you close to his chest. He felt like a monster for causing you to lose your sight.

Joshua takes you back to his mansion, his men following behind with your medical supplies and medications. He carefully laid you down in his own bedroom, removing your clothes and replacing them with one of his oversized shirts that fell down to your thighs. He sat beside you for hours, watching over you as you slept.

As you stir awake, he notices your bandage has bled through and needs re-dressing. He gulps down a lump in his throat, the gravity of the situation pressing down on him once more. You reach up to touch your face, only to find an unfamiliar void. He quickly grabs your hand, stopping you from touching the bandage.

You wince as you attempt to open your left eye again, forgetting that it was gone. He watches your brow furrow in confusion as you try to touch your bandage this time. A soft whimper escapes from your lips as your brain finally registers that something was wrong—missing. He keeps his gaze steady as memories of recent tragedy run behind your remaining eye. Your hands fall onto your lap as the reality brushes its harsh strokes into your brain.

Your body stills, mirroring an aloof statue. Your right eye blinks rapidly, trying to adjust to seeing the world with only your sliced vision. He peers at your steady sangfroid attitude, knowing that you were comprehending the permanent loss of your left eye.

You lift your hand to the bandage again, pressing to feel the empty socket behind the closed eyelid. You go rigid, slowly lowering your hand back into your lap. He waits for your reaction.

"It's gone," you say, your words flowing lightly with the breeze.

Joshua’s hand lingers near your cheek, hovering as if you will blow away like ashes into the wind.

An eccentric silence engulfs the room—just the faint hum of the flowing curtains and the distant murmur of voices down the hall. Gentle sunlight filters weakly through them, not too bright nor sharp enough. You turn your head slightly away from it, your right eye struggling to judge the depth of the light.

You swallow.

“It doesn’t… hurt,” you comment after a moment, almost clinically. “It just feels…” Your fingers twitched in your lap. “Wrong.”

He exhales shakily, tucking his hands back into his lap. “The doctors said that might happen. Phantom sensations. Your brain’s still catching up.”

You nod faintly, absorbing the information the way you always do—carefully, methodically. Your gaze drifts back towards him, though it takes a second to align properly. You miscalculate the distance at first, focusing slightly past his shoulder before correcting it.

He notices it, and that almost shatters him into countless shards.

“I should’ve—” his words ruptured into a quake. He clears his parched throat as his jaw tightens. “I should’ve gotten to you sooner.”

Your brow furrows faintly. “No.”

“It was my fault,” he insists, leaning forward with elbows on his knees. “If I had just—”

“Joshua.”

The way you say his name renders him completely—steady, grounded and certain.

“You didn’t take it,” you breathe. “You didn’t make the call. You didn’t arrange it. You didn’t cause the attack.” A slight pause. “You took me to the hospital right away.”

His eyes glisten with a fresh wave. “Too late.”

You study him—really scrutinize every edge and contour of him—with your only visible eye left in your socket. It feels different now—narrower field with harder edges, but it works nevertheless. You can still see him.

“I’m alive,” you state simply.

A lone tear trails down his cheek before he could stop it. He looks away, ashamed of it, but you reach out this time—slowly, carefully—until your hand finds his wrist. Your depth perception is off, causing you to brush the air first. He immediately moves closer so you wouldn’t have to search.

Your fingers wrap around him.

“It’s gone,” you repeat, your words subdued softly now. Not in shock nor in disbelief—just crude acknowledgment.

Joshua covers your hand with his other one, holding it as if it's something fragile and sacred.

“I’m so sorry,” his apology quivers.

You let the silence linger a moment longer. The weight of everything gravities between you both, pressing down on your hearts. The future has shifted—permanently.

“I’ll have to relearn things,” you murmur. “Walking. Driving. Pouring coffee without missing the cup.” A faint, almost humorless breath leaves you. “Stairs are going to be annoying.”

Despite himself, Joshua lets out a weak, watery laugh.

You tilt your head slightly, testing your vision in a landslide view. “But I’m still me,” you softly hum.

He scrutinizes you—really looks at you. The same stubborn set of your jaw. The same quiet steel in your voice. The same mind is already adapting instead of collapsing.

“You are,” he says, his face twitching with fierce determination.

Your grip clenches just a fraction. “Then don’t look at me like I’m broken.”

Your words drills in his chest. His spine straightens as he wipes his face quickly. He nods, swallowing his guilt down as best he could.

“Okay,” he admits. “You’re not broken.”

You lean back against the bed as the exhaustion starts seeping into your bones. Losing an eye was one thing. Accepting it was another. And you had done both within minutes.

But as your fingers drift once more toward the edge of the eye patch—hesitant this time—your composure wavers for a moment.

“I’m going to look different,” you mutter, much quieter now, not out of fear—just… awareness.

Joshua leans over carefully, pressing his forehead gently to yours, mindful of the bandages.

“You’re going to look like someone who survived,” he reassures you. “Like someone who fought and lived.”

Your breath hitches—just once.

And for the first time since you woke up, your calm demeanor cracks—not into sobbing, not into screaming—but it morphs into a single tear slipping from your right eye, trailing down toward the pillow.

Joshua stays by your side, cradling your hand, letting you swim in your emotions.

Letting you feel all of it.

But not leaving you to face it all alone.

"It's gone," you repeat calmly despite your glassy eye.

He hears his heart crack at the calmness still blanketing your voice. You state it as a fact, not questioning it or showing any emotion. He reaches out slowly, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "Yes... it's gone," he whispers with guilt clogging his throat and tears drenching his eyelashes.

That night, when he thinks you are asleep, you quietly slip out of the bed.

Darkness shrouds the bedroom, making it difficult to navigate and not bump into things. Your depth perception falters; you misjudge the distance and clip your shoulder against the wall. You don’t react—just let your remaining eye adjust to the dead of the night.

You manage to find the attached bathroom.

The light inside illuminates too brightly when you flick it on.

For a moment, you just stand there, gripping the sink.

Then you look up.

The woman in the mirror stares back with one uncovered eye and a stark white patch (re-dressed a few hours ago) cutting across her face. Bruising yellows the skin beneath it. The bandage bulges slightly where the socket was still healing.

You don’t blink.

You study the angles. The asymmetry. The way your expression looks… distant—the sea in your remaining eye feels shores away, the waves ripple faintly through the murky night as the fog engulfs the view.

A bloodied figure reflects behind you in the doorway. Joshua's shirt wrinkles with stains of crimson. You are not surprised to find him looming behind you; you knew he was out somewhere and you were not curious enough to figure out where. Neither does the blood astonish you.

He mirrors your silence.

You reach up slowly and peel the edge of the patch back just a fraction—not enough to damage anything, just enough to see the hollow contour beneath the protective dressing.

Joshua jolts forward. “Don’t.”

“It’s fine,” you breathe with firmness.

Your gaze never leaves the mirror, now tracing his eyes through it with your own remaining one.

There is no horror on your face—not even tears.

Blankness smogs onto your face and morphs into acceptance.

He takes a faint step closer but holds himself back from grabbing you. His hands flex ineptly at his sides.

After a long moment, you let the patch fall back into place.

“I look like a stranger,” you assist.

Joshua grits roughly, yet a twitch of solace lingers in his words. “You look like you.”

You turn off the bathroom light without responding and walk back to the bedroom.

After a few weeks of your surgery, your empty socket spurts out a pink discharge and swells with a hue of bruise around it. You constantly want to dip your finger into the socket to explore it and scratch away the itch but the annoying Joshua always holds your wrist hostage if you get even an inch closer to your patch, which makes you roll your eyes (oh, your bad, you meant to say eye now.)

The day began to blur as you were swamped with post-recovery care and follow-up appointments.

Joshua starts to orbit in your circle, from working often from home to bringing you all your three meals on a tray to adjusting your pillows. He religiously times your medication and tends to you like a stern nurse. When you stand—he stands. When you move, he hovers.

If you drift too close to the bedroom door, he suddenly materializes there.

“Where are you going?”

“Kitchen.”

“I’ll get it.”

“I can get it.”

“I know. I’ll get it.”

It becomes a pattern—an intricate web on which you are stuck like a dying fly.

On the fourth day of the same week, you manage to reach for the doorknob with pin drop silence.

His hand abruptly slams against the door before you could turn it.

“Don’t,” he grits curtly.

You stare at his hand, then crane your neck up at him.

“I need air.”

“You can open the window.”

“I need to go outside.”

His jaw tightens. “Not yet.”

Your right eye twitches slightly. “Why?”

Because I almost lost you.

Because if you fall—

Because if someone looks at you wrong—

Because I can’t watch you break.

Instead, he offers a flat explanation: “You’re still healing.”

You step back, studying him the same way you had in the hospital.

“You’re keeping me in here.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Silence stretches taut between the pair.

Joshua cards through his hair; frustration begins to seep through the cracks of his careful composure. “You walked into a doorframe yesterday.”

“I’m adjusting.”

“You almost fell on the stairs.”

“I caught myself.”

“You don’t see things coming on your left!”

“And I will learn.”

Your voice doesn't climb octaves, and that makes him feel worse.

He paralyzes with terror—his jaw ticking and his brow furrows a deep valley.

Your edges soften a quarter. “Joshua,” you breathe his name velvety.

He swallows a lump.

“I lost an eye,” you point out. “Not my legs. Not my mind.”

His shoulders slops down with guilt burdening across his face.

“I can’t lose you too,” he confesses with barely audible words.

Something flickers across your face. You take a faint step closer with slow deliberation, navigating the space. You stop a few inches away from him.

“You saved me,” you acknowledge. “I won't turn my back on you anymore.”

He hesitates for a moment, unable to bear the thought of losing you; he pulls you into a careful embrace, his arms holding you as if you were delicate glass.

You stand rigid like a statue for a moment, your mind's wheel gets stuck at his action, but gradually your hands come up to claw his shirt.

Although over his shoulder, your open eye remains fixed on the bedroom doorway—

On the hall beyond it.

On the rest of the house.

And the world waiting outside.

Joshua didn’t mean to make it a prison.

It just… became one.

The curtains began to stay drawn.

At first, it was because the light gave you headaches. Then, because the neighbors might see and 'misunderstand' their relationship. Later came the excuse that your eye needed ‘consistent lighting.’ The room settles into a dim, gray half-world where time blurs and shadows stretch long across the walls.

He moves your things in piece by piece.

Your clothes.

Your make-up and jewelry.

Your books and necessities.

Still, there’s no trace of your any devices. When you ask for your phone, he smiles the way salespeople do before denying a refund. The excuse arrives polished to perfection: "Your eye needs rest; screens would only make it worse, and maybe it’s healthier this way anyway—using your recovery to take a break from the world outside.”

"You won’t need to go downstairs," he says lightly after checking all your belongings are in place. “It’s easier this way.”

Easier.

You stop arguing after a few futile attempts.

One afternoon you notice a white sheet draped over the mirror, tucked neatly at the corners.

You didn't ask him to cover it.

“Why did you do that?” You ask.

“So you don’t have to look at it,” he replies evenly without meeting your eye.

You don't mention that it won't stop you from standing in front of the bathroom mirror, fixedly gazing at it at two in the morning.

You don't tell him when you mourn your missing window to your soul—you wonder what his looks like too.

A few nights later, you often wake to the faint sound of movement.

Floorboards creak beneath slow, restless footsteps.

The sound dies from the outside.

The noise drifts in from somewhere beyond the bedroom door. Then comes the soft click of the handle. The door eases open. Closes again.

You keep your breathing slow and steady, watching through barely parted lashes as he trudges to your bedside and looms over you.

He doesn’t touch you.

He only watches your chest rise and fall.

Counting.

Joshua whispers something under his breath.

“Still here.”

The world beyond the room began to feel theoretical.

You could hear it sometimes—dishes clinking in the kitchen, the indistinct murmur of the television, the distant rumble of a car passing outside.

But you don’t see it.

Every time you reach for the door, Joshua seems to materialize.

“I’ve got it.”

“Do you need something?”

“Tell me what you want.”

One afternoon, you decide to test him.

“I want to sit on the porch.”

He freezes.

The silence stretches taut a bit too long.

“It’s windy,” he says finally.

You tilt your head slightly. “The windows are closed.”

He doesn’t smile.

The eeriest part is not his hovering.

It is his calm.

He never raises his voice—never snapping and doesn't even let anger crease his expression.

He is just watchful.

And measured.

Like he is guarding something fragile.

Like you are not a person anymore.

Like you were an artifact salvaged from rubble.

Your depth perception begins to improve slowly. You practice it when he isn’t looking—tossing a pen from one hand to the other. Reaching for the glass of water without spilling it. Walking the perimeter of the room in the dark.

You stop bumping into things.

But he doesn’t seem to notice.

Or maybe he didn’t want to.

Another night, a metallic click pulls you from sleep.

A soft, deliberate click.

You stay still.

A second click follows a moment later.

Your right eye strains against the dark until the shape near the door slowly becomes Joshua.

His fingers slips away from the doorknob. Something small disappears into his pocket with practiced ease.

Then he turns toward you.

Unaware that you’re awake.

He walks back to the chair beside your bed and sinks into it heavily, elbows braced against his knees, eyes fixed on you in the darkness.

Watching the rise and fall of your chest.

Counting again.

The next night, he didn’t come.

No creaking footsteps outside your bedroom door. No soft click of the handle turning at late hours. No looming figure sitting in the chair beside your bed, counting your breaths in the dark.

The silence feels unnatural after days of constant observation, and eventually the restlessness gnawing beneath your skin becomes unbearable enough for you to slip out from beneath the sheets and tiptoe downstairs.

The house is steeped in darkness. Moonlight spills through the tall windows in pale silver stripes, illuminating just enough of the floor for you to navigate without crashing into furniture. A gentle late-April breeze drifted by, fluttering the curtains in its wake.

Every step makes the old wood sigh beneath your weight, and you pause after each creak, listening carefully for movement somewhere upstairs.

Nothing.

You didn’t come downstairs to escape. You already know the front door will be locked, the windows probably sealed shut in some discreet way Joshua had taken care of long before you ever woke up here. Running would be pointless in your condition anyway.

You are simply bored out of your mind.

There are only so many hours a person can spend staring at closed curtains and counting cracks in the ceiling before the walls begin pressing inward.

So you wander.

The rooms all feel unmistakably Joshua. Carefully arranged. Controlled. The living room is decorated in muted colors and sharp lines, all expensive furniture that looks barely touched, as though it exists more for appearance than comfort. Neatly stacked books line dark wooden shelves, every spine aligned with obsessive precision. A chessboard rests atop a side table midway through a match, black pieces cornering white in a slow, merciless defeat.

The dining room is equally pristine, with polished silverware laid out inside a glass cabinet and long curtains drawn tightly over the windows despite the hour. Not a single object seems misplaced. Not a single sign suggests another person has ever lived here besides him.

Even the kitchen carries the same unsettling orderliness. Every knife hangs in perfect alignment. Every surface gleams spotless beneath the moonlight. The refrigerator hums softly in the silence, sounding strangely loud in the empty house.

Your gaze eventually lands on a door left slightly ajar at the end of the corridor.

Your steps move faintly.

For the first time since arriving here, something has been left open.

You plod toward it cautiously before nudging the door wider with your fingertips and peering inside.

A grand piano sits in the center of the room, bathed entirely in moonlight.

For a moment, you simply stare. Then a quiet clap of excitement escapes you before you can stop it.

The sight of it feels absurdly personal, like stumbling across an old friend in unfamiliar territory.

You drift toward the piano almost instinctively and lower yourself onto the cushioned bench, your fingers hovering over the keys for only a second before muscle memory takes over.

The first notes ring softly through the room, delicate enough to blend with the sleeping house. Gradually, the melody unfurls into Clair de Lune, smooth and aching and familiar beneath your fingertips.

If there is another thing capable of exposing the soul as nakedly as eyes do, it is music.

The piano had been your best friend since you were seven years old, the only thing that understood how to translate feelings too tangled to speak aloud into something beautiful. Your fingers know the language instinctively now, moving across the keys with effortless intimacy as the melody swells quietly through the dark.

For the first time in days, you almost forget where you are.

A sharp clap suddenly echoes behind you.

You jolt violently, your hands slipping from the keys as you whirl around to find Joshua leaning against the wall.

But you are not surprised.

The moment you found the door left ajar, you already knew tonight was intentional.

A test.

A reward.

Maybe simply another one of his experiments.

That is why you never bothered trying to stay quiet. Why you had allowed yourself to sink fully into the music instead of holding back.

Joshua’s expression is unreadable in the dim light, but there is something disturbingly intent in the way he watches you now.

Like he had been listening long before you ever touched the first key.

He pushes himself away from the wall slowly, the sharp sound of his applause fading back into silence as he walks further into the room.

The moonlight catches briefly against his watch, against the faint crease of his rolled sleeves, before he stops beside the piano. Close enough now that you can smell cedarwood and the lingering trace of frosty night air clinging to his clothes.

“You play beautifully,” he praises.

The compliment should sound ordinary. Instead, it settles strangely beneath your skin, coming from him, spoken with that same unnerving attentiveness he uses when watching you sleep.

You let out a small breath and turn slightly back toward the keys, your fingers resting against polished ivory. “You left the door open on purpose.”

A pause stretches behind you.

Then, softly, almost amused, “And you still walked in.”

Your hands resume moving before you consciously decide to play again. The melody returns quieter this time, slower; the notes flowing softly into the dark while Joshua remains standing beside you in silence.

You can feel him watching your hands.

Not your face.

Not your injury.

Just your hands gliding across the piano keys as if he is trying to understand something through them.

After a while, the bench dips slightly beneath the added weight.

Joshua sits beside you without asking.

The warmth radiating from his shoulder feels startling after so many cold, lonely nights upstairs, and suddenly you become acutely aware of every tiny movement—the brush of fabric when he shifts, the slow sound of his breathing beneath the music, the way his knee nearly touches yours without quite doing it.

Neither of you speaks for several moments.

The room fills instead with piano notes and moonlight and something heavier threading silently between the pauses.

Then he reaches forward unexpectedly, his hand sliding over yours atop the keys.

Not forceful.

Not restraining.

Just enough pressure to still your fingers mid-note.

The unfinished chord lingers softly in the air as your breath catches.

“You hide inside music,” he murmurs, eyes lowered toward your joined hands. “It’s the only time you stop looking dead.”

His thumb shifts slightly against your knuckles before he finally lifts his gaze to yours.

And for the first time since arriving here, the silence between you no longer feels entirely stagnant.

The silence stretches after that, neither comfortable nor tense, but something suspends carefully between the two.

Joshua’s hand remains loosely over yours for another moment before he finally withdraws it, though not completely. His fingers linger near the edge of your wrist, close enough that you still feel their warmth against your skin.

“You stopped playing,” he observes quietly.

You glance down at the keys. “You interrupted me.”

A faint smile ghosts across his face at that, small enough to vanish almost immediately. He leans back slightly on the bench, one arm resting along the edge behind you while the other taps absentmindedly against his knee in time with some rhythm only he can hear.

“You knew I was listening,” he says after a while.

It isn’t phrased like a question.

You hesitate before answering. “I figured the open door was too convenient.”

Joshua hums softly in acknowledgment, his gaze drifting toward the piano again. “Most people would’ve been trying to escape.”

“But you made sure I couldn’t.”

The words leave your mouth more lightly than intended, though the meaning beneath them remains sharp enough to settle heavily between you.

For a second, neither of you moves.

Then he exhales through his nose, almost thoughtfully, and tilts his head slightly toward you. “You could’ve screamed while you were down here.”

“You would’ve heard me.”

“I hear everything in this house.”

The statement should feel threatening. Somehow, spoken in his low, even voice beside the soft moonlit piano, it lands differently. More intimate than dangerous.

Your fingers drift unconsciously across a few keys again, producing a quiet string of absent notes. Joshua watches the movement with that same unwavering focus that always makes you feel pinned beneath his attention.

“You watch me a lot,” you murmur before you can stop yourself.

Something unreadable flickers across his expression.

“I like knowing you’re still here.”

The room falls quiet again after that.

Outside, the wind brushes softly against the windows, stirring the curtains just enough for the moonlight to shift across the floorboards. He remains beside you, close enough that your shoulders nearly touch now, his presence no longer looming but surrounding.

Slowly, almost cautiously, he reaches up and brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers pausing briefly near your temple as though resisting the urge to linger longer.

The gesture is so unexpectedly gentle that it unsettles you far more than his watching ever did.

His gaze lowers afterward—not to your injury this time, but to your mouth for the briefest second before returning to your eyes.

Then, very quietly, Joshua says, “Play something else for me.”

“Should I play you instead?” you murmur with a mocking little scoff, expecting at least some reaction from him.

But Joshua only looks at you.

Unblinking.

Waiting.

The silence stretches long enough to turn the joke into something else entirely.

You let out another breath of disbelief in your smile. “God, you’re impossible.”

Yet he still says nothing.

Well, he asked for it—a part of you wants to see if he’ll finally crack—you shift sideways and climb into his lap.

For the first time all night, he goes completely still beneath you.

The piano falls silent behind you as your fingers curl loosely against his shoulders, and suddenly the room feels far more smaller than before.

His gaze searches your face carefully, intensely, as if he’s trying to memorize every flicker of expression you make.

“Well?” you whisper teasingly. “What song do you think I sound like?”

His hands settle carefully at your waist, not pulling you closer yet, simply holding you there as though testing whether you’ll change your mind and move away.

But you don’t.

The moonlight spills across the piano keys behind you, pale ivory glowing softly in the dark while the unfinished melody still hangs faintly in the room like the last breath of a performance.

“Something dangerous,” Joshua says at last, his voice low enough that you feel it more than hear it.

Your lips curve slightly. “That’s not a song.”

“No,” he murmurs, eyes lowering briefly to your mouth again. “But it sounds like one.”

The air between you thickens after that.

Joshua’s restraint had always felt frightening before—his stillness, the way he watched instead of touched—but now, sitting in his lap with his hands warm against your waist, it feels like standing too close to a thunderstorm waiting to break.

You become painfully aware of every tiny movement. The slow drag of his thumb against your side. The measured rise and fall of his breathing beneath yours. The way his gaze lingers on you with terrifying concentration, as though nothing else in the world exists beyond this room.

Your fingers drift unconsciously toward the collar of his shirt, grazing the fabric there.

He exhales softly at the contact.

Such a small sound.

Yet it alters the atmosphere instantly, like the first piano key pressed before a symphony begins.

Then his hand slides upward along your spine, slow enough to make your pulse stumble, and suddenly the distance between you disappears altogether.

The kiss feels less like affection and more like surrendering to something inevitable. Slow at first—hesitant and careful. Then deeper when your hands tighten against him and his composure finally fractures beneath your mouth.

Somewhere in the haze of tangled breaths and moonlight, your back brushes the piano keys accidentally.

A soft discordant note rings through the room.

Neither of you pulls away.

Another note follows when Joshua’s hand slips lower against you, deeper and richer this time, blending quietly with the unsteady sound escaping your throat.

The piano begins answering every movement in scattered murmurs of music—low trembling chords, broken half-notes, sharp gasps of sound whenever your bodies shift against the keys.

And eventually even your moans seem to melt into it, threading together with the instrument until the entire room sounds like one long aching composition played entirely out of breath.

The next morning, when he leaves briefly to shower, you plod quietly to the bedroom door.

Your fingers curl around the knob and turn it carefully, expecting the familiar resistance of a lock, but the handle gives way easily beneath your hand. The door opens barely an inch before stopping abruptly against something solid.

You pause.

It's not locked.

Just… restrained.

Frowning faintly, you try again with more force this time, but the result is the same. The handle turns completely, yet the door refuses to open wider than that narrow sliver.

A strange calm settles over you despite the warning bells beginning to ring somewhere deep in your mind. Crouching down, you try to peer through the narrow gap.

A chair sits wedged beneath the handle from the outside.

It's placed not out of caution but strategically. The door has shut on the canary bird's face, leaving it only to flutter and chirp around in its cage.

You straightened up tardily.

The room cages in, feeling smaller and the air grows thinner against your lungs, but the panic never arrives.

You simply step back and return to the edge of the bed, lowering yourself onto it with eerie composure, your hands folding neatly together in your lap as though preparing for a conversation already rehearsed in your mind.

By the time Joshua returns, damp hair clinging slightly to his forehead while he absently dries it with a towel, your expression has smoothed itself into something unreadable.

He smiles softly the moment he sees you.

“Morning.”

You hold his gaze without acknowledging his greeting.

“How long?” You ask quietly.

His movements falter almost imperceptibly, fingers stilling against the towel. “How long what?”

“How long have you been blocking the door?”

For the briefest fraction of a second, his smile slips.

“I’m not blocking it.”

“There’s a chair under the handle.”

Joshua hesitates before speaking again. “That’s only so it doesn’t swing open.”

Your eyes remain fixed on him.

“It opens inward.”

Silence floods the room.

Something shifts visibly in his expression then, though it is not anger and not irritation either. It resembles fear too closely for comfort—raw, trembling fear struggling beneath all that careful composure.

“I can’t let anything happen to you,” he says at last, the words escaping more like confession than explanation.

You study him with the same detached concentration you once used on your own reflection after the accident. Blankly. Clinically.

“You think the world is what took my eye.”

His breathing turns uneven almost immediately. You struck the center of it too easily.

“It did,” he insists.

“No,” you reply softly. “A moment did.”

Joshua takes a step toward you, fingers tightening unconsciously around the damp towel in his hands. “You don’t understand,” he says, voice beginning to crack beneath the strain. “I saw you clutch your bleeding eye, screaming in pain. I saw—” He swallows hard. “I won’t survive that twice.”

The room becomes unbearably still after that. Every object remains perfectly arranged around you, every curtain neatly drawn, every corner controlled with suffocating precision, yet Joshua himself suddenly looks like the only unstable thing inside it.

Slowly, you rise from the bed.

You move around it carefully, deliberately, until only a foot of space remains between you.

“I survived,” you say firmly.

He shakes his head immediately, as though survival itself had never been the point.

Your gaze drifts briefly toward the restrained door before returning to him again.

“You’re afraid I’ll break,” you murmur.

His eyes glisten faintly in the dim morning light.

You tilt your head slightly.

“But Joshua…”

Your voice remains unnervingly calm—gentle, even.

“I’m not the one who’s breaking.”

The words linger heavily between you.

And for the first time since the hospital, his expression shifts into something uncertain, as though he no longer knows whether he is protecting you from the world outside the room—or from himself.

"You are afraid," you point out.

The atmosphere shifts almost imperceptibly after that. Joshua had been standing close enough for you to feel the lingering warmth from the shower still clinging to his skin, his hands half-raised like he might reach for you if you sway even slightly, but now you straighten fully beneath his gaze, posture smoothing into something composed and deliberate.

Your visible eye fixes on his.

“And you’re hiding something from me.”

He stills.

There is no accusation in your voice, no sharpness meant to provoke him. The certainty alone is enough.

For a moment he simply watches you, jaw tightening faintly before his expression smooths itself back into careful control. “I’m protecting you,” he says again, quieter this time, as though repeating it enough might make it true.

“You say my father is still angry. That he’ll harm me if I go out.” Your voice is steady, almost detached. “But you won’t let me go speak to him. You won’t let me make it right.”

His jaw tightens and something flickers behind his eyes, brief enough that most people would miss it entirely.

You don’t.

“It was me who rejected your marriage proposal,” you continue softly. “If there are consequences, I’ll deal with them myself.”

The words land heavier than any shouting ever could, followed by a silence that stretches thin between you.

Joshua’s grip tightens unconsciously around the damp towel in his hands before he finally exhales through his nose and looks away for the first time since entering the room. “You don’t understand the situation.”

“And Mr. Hong,” you add curtly, with deliberation, “you still haven’t caught the man who threw acid in my face.”

That makes him look back immediately.

You haven’t called him Mr. Hong in days.

You used to reserve it for moments when distance was intentional. Joshua notices the shift instantly. You can tell by the way his expression hardens for only a second before softening again into something almost pleading.

He inhales slowly. “The investigation is ongoing.”

“That’s what you’ve said for weeks.”

“You were unconscious.”

“And before that?”

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out immediately. His gaze flickers briefly toward the covered mirror near the corner of the room before returning to you again, and the movement is subtle enough that he probably thinks you won’t notice.

You do.

“You tell me my father is furious,” you went on. “That he’s unstable. That he’ll hurt me if I leave this house.” A faint tilt of your head. “But you don’t let me see him. You don’t let me call him. You don’t even let me step outside.”

Joshua takes a slow breath with a step back, though it does little to steady him. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“From him?”

“Yes.”

Your gaze remains fixed on his face. “Or from the truth?”

The room feels strangely smaller after that question; the silence pressing inward from every direction. He drags a hand down his face slowly, composure beginning to fray around the edges in a way you’ve never seen before. He heaves out as he throws the damp towel carelessly on the bed.

“You don’t understand how dangerous this is,” he says.

“Then explain it to me.”

His breathing grows uneven. Not dramatically. Just enough for you to hear it in the quiet room.

When he doesn’t answer, you do it for him instead.

“My father opposed your expansion deal, didn't he?” you murmur a guess. “He probably rejected your terms publicly.” Your gaze never leaves his. “I rejected you with much less crowd.”

Joshua’s eyes sharpen immediately. “You think I would hurt you because of that?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore.”

The honesty in your voice lands heavier than anger would have.

A tense silence blankets the room.

“You were there that evening,” you continued after a moment. “You were the first one to reach me. You were the one who pulled me away.”

His throat moves as he swallows.

“You told me it was some hired criminal. Some disgruntled competitor.”

“It was.”

“Then why haven’t you found him?”

His mouth opens and closes like a dying fish.

For the first time since you woke up in the hospital, he looks genuinely cornered by you, and the realization settles strangely in your chest. You had grown so used to his control that seeing cracks appear beneath it feels almost surreal.

“If my father truly wanted to punish me, he would confront me. He wouldn’t hide.” You tilt your head slightly. “And he certainly wouldn’t miss the opportunity to tell me, ‘I told you so.’”

Joshua’s lips part, but no words crawl out.

“You kept me in this room,” you continue. “You covered every mirror. You blocked the door with a chair.” Your voice remains calm enough to be unsettling. “You speak to me as if I’m something fragile enough to break apart if handled incorrectly.”

His jaw tightens. “Because you’ve been through something traumatic.”

“But you never let me see the reports. Or the footage. Or anything that actually happened.”

His voice drops a few octaves. “Because you don’t need to relive it.”

“Or because you don’t want me seeing something.”

That finally breaks something in him.

Not loudly. Not violently. Just a small, unmistakable fracture in the careful composure he has been maintaining since the hospital.

“You think I did this?” Joshua asks evenly.

You hold his gaze without flinching.

“I think,” you say after a moment, “that you’re terrified of losing control.”

The words hit him harder than an accusation ever could. You see it immediately in the way he recoils slightly as if it had struck him somewhere tender.

"I would never hurt you," he says, and this time the words sound bruised rather than defensive.

“I know."

That answer somehow makes his expression worse.

“You wouldn’t throw acid at me yourself,” you continue softly. “But you would decide what I’m allowed to know. Where I’m allowed to go. Who I’m allowed to speak to.” Your eye sharpens faintly. “You would decide which version of the truth I’m permitted to live with.”

Joshua’s hands begin trembling almost imperceptibly at his sides.

“Your father threatened me,” he blurts out. “After you rejected me. He said I would regret involving you in my world.”

“And you believed he would scar his own daughter to make a point?”

Joshua hesitates.

Only briefly, but long enough.

Understanding doesn’t hit you like a wave. It settles slowly inside you after that, cold and heavy rather than sudden.

“Who benefits?” You ask.

His breathing becomes uneven.

“You moved me into your house,” you murmur. “You isolated me from everyone else. You became my only source of information.” Your gaze drifts briefly toward the blocked door before returning to him again. “My only protection.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“You became indispensable.”

The room falls silent again. Outside the windows, wind brushes softly against the curtains, stirring them just enough for the shadows to shift faintly across the floorboards.

You take one slow step toward him.

“I rejected you,” you carry on. “Not because I doubted your power."

Your expression barely changes.

“Because I was afraid of this.”

“Afraid of what?”

A quiet breath leaves you.

“Of loving someone who only knows how to love himself.”

The words linger heavily between you.

Joshua looks at you differently after that—not like something fragile anymore, nor like someone he needs to be carefully preserved. He looks at you like someone steadily slipping beyond his control, and the fear in his expression deepens in a way that feels far more honest than anything else he has said tonight.

Outside the room, the house remains unnervingly quiet.

And for the first time since the accident, you begin wondering whether the danger you had been warned about had ever truly been outside this house at all.

The frightening part is that even now, standing right in front of him, you still cannot tell how much of Joshua is performing and how much of him is real. You had always been good at recognizing others' acts but you never have been good at putting one on your own.

His performance could really rival the stars of the theater, you think.

You walk closer.

"Let me ask you again, Mr. Hong, did you catch the hitman?"

His face ashes at your question. He looks away briefly before meeting your gaze again; his jaw clenching taut. "Yes. He's been dealt with," he says coldly, not elaborating on what exactly he had done to the person responsible for taking your eye.

The answer didn’t surprise you. You had known ever since he appeared behind you in the bathroom mirror—his clothes stained with blood. In that moment, you understood he had been dealt with that very night.

"How so?"

Joshua hesitates before answering honestly, "I had him brought to my warehouse. My men... they broke every bone in his body. Then I personally shot him in the head seven times." His voice was crisp and detached, revealing how ruthless he truly was.

"Oh, so you silenced him. Not a bad strategy," you opine.

His eyes expand an inch at your nonchalant response. He expected shock, maybe even disgust. Instead, you simply accept his brutal methods with a calm nod. He feels a strange sense of respect for your understanding of his world. "You're not... disgusted?" he asks curiously, tilting his head.

"Mr. Hong, it's you who arranged everything. Why act so shocked now?"

He throws his head back and laughs his head off. You have a point. He should stop treating you like a fragile woman. You have the capability of being his equal, understanding his world better than most. He replies to your previous question instead, "Yes, I silenced him. No loose ends. No information at risk of getting out."

You stare at him for a good minute, seeing his mask echo off with his laughter lifts a rock off your chest.

"Did you take my eye because I rejected you?" You inquire out of the blue.

His laughter fades as he takes a step back, his gaze settling on your face with quiet vehement. The calm acceptance of your injury, the understanding of his methods... and now this direct question. He realizes you are not just beautiful, but intelligent and unfiltered. "Yes," he admits curtly.

You scoff, "What a fragile ego you've got."

He freezes.

For a fleeting moment, an unsettling silence descends upon the room.

No woman has ever dared to speak to him like this. People fear Joshua Hong too much to challenge him, too much to even breathe wrong around him. Yet you stand across from him with one ruined eye and the audacity to mock the very ego that destroyed it.

You look at him with sharp amusement, as though his violence is nothing more than an inconvenient character flaw.

And God—he finds it intoxicating.

Something vile and rancid flickers behind his eyes.

“Watch your mouth,” he breathes, the faint warning far more alarming than any shouting ever could be.

You stare at him in silence—not a trace of fear creases your expression.

Joshua scrutinizes your face, waiting for the flinch that never comes. Refusing to look away, your one eye remains fixed on him with a steadiness sharp enough to challenge him outright.

His hand reaches out to clip your chin firmly without his conscious thought, tilting your face up more. "You know what your problem is?" He growls, his words grating like gravel. "No filter. No fear." His thumb drags brusquely across your bottom lip. "And one less eye to roll at me."

His lips mashed against yours in an animalistic claim. It's a hungry attempt meant to consume you whole—a war of colliding teeth and tongue invading your mouth. He sucks up all your breath as his heat steams you up. The calm gentleman act is peeling off him as his grip slides from your chin to the back of your neck, holding you exactly where he wants you while his mouth devours yours, swallowing every smart remark before it can leave your tongue. The heat from him is overwhelming—anger, tension, want—all tangled together.

When he finally pulls back, barely an inch, his breath ghosts against your lips.

“Marry me,” he proposes while still panting.

"No."

Joshua leans back more, his eyes brewing with rage and desire. No one ever says no to him. Especially not after a kiss like that. His hand clenches on your nape with untamed possessiveness. "Yes," he corrects, his face only a few inches from yours with his hot breath fanning over your mouth. "You will marry me and wear my ring. My last name. My everything."

"Why do you want to marry me so badly?" You blurt out with a huff.

He searches your face, seeing the confusion and stubbornness in your one good eye. He wanted to marry you because you rejected him. Because you stood up to him. Because you were beautiful, intelligent, and fearless. But he admits to none of that. "Because I want what I can't have," he says simply.

"You will never have it."

An ominous smile curves up his lips at your defiance.

He likes this part of you—the refusal to bend, the fact that you don’t throw yourself at his feet the way everyone else seems to. Your resistance only sharpens his interest, it feeds something possessive and relentless in him.

"We'll see about that," he murmurs, his thumb pressing coarsely against your bottom lip again, firm enough to demand your attention as his gaze locks onto yours.

“I always get what I want,” he whispers softly, the promise in his voice far more menacing than if he’d raised it.

“Eventually.”

Joshua leans in closer, his words soaking in a perilous intent. "You think I'm joking? I took your eye because I was angry. I'm offering marriage because I'm intrigued. What do you think I'll do when I'm tired of waiting?"

"Explode with anger?" You snigger.

A deep, stormy hue whirls in his eyes.

You had no idea how dangerous he was.

He watches you in silence for a moment—your calm expression, your single beautiful eye studying him without a trace of fear. Most people broke beneath his stare. You only looked back harder every single time.

“Yes,” he agrees with his words kneaded with deceptive softness. “Angry.” His jaw clicks. “You rejected me. You called me an animal. You slapped me.” A deliberate icy pause blows by. “So I took an eye.”

Your expression doesn’t change.

“You can’t change your nature,” you reply evenly. “A pig stays a pig its entire life.”

Something boils in him with raucous gurgling, bubbles forming then popping again and again.

His hand slides from the back of your neck to your throat, fingers wrapping around it with controlled pressure—not enough to truly hurt, just enough to steal the air from your lungs. He pulls you closer until his face hovers inches from yours again, eyes blazing with fury and something else—

Excitement.

"Careful with your words," he growls. "This pig will eat you alive."

You struggle against his grip, but your attitude remains flippant with another smile curving up your lips.

"You can't reverse the food chain either," you taunt.

The silence stretches taut between you, then he throws his head back and lets out a loud guffaw. God, you are smart, sharp-tongued, and incredibly foolish. Although he admits that it's refreshing to see someone not scared of him.

When his gaze settles on you again, it's heavier, with edges curved with obsession. His voice drops an octave when he speaks again. "You know what your problem is?" He didn't give you a chance to answer, snapping his fingers instead. "No filter. No fear. One eye."

Joshua releases your throat instead of squeezing tighter; his fingers trail down your neck with ghost touches as they tickle like a feather. Your lack of fear keeps fascinating him more and more. The most fearless man would at least be terrified of him by now, but not you. "You'll really call me every animal imaginable, huh?" he ponders. "Dog, pig, beast..."

His lips twitched at witnessing your quiet expression. No smart remarks. No insults. Just one beautiful eye staring blankly, giving nothing away. He realizes something—"You're like a snake,"he mutters faintly, almost to himself. "No reaction. No sound. One sudden bite..." he chortles.

"Snakes are two-faced—I'm not," you point out with no shame.

His eyes enlarge an inch at your curt response, then he laughs again. You are right. You aren't sneaky or two-faced like a snake. In fact, you are direct and honest, even when insulting him. "You know what?" he asks out of the blue.

"I'm going to marry you whether you like it or not. You can keep your sharp tongue and your one eye. Maybe I'll even let you keep calling me names." His touch ceases on your neck as he steps back abruptly, making you inhale big gulps of air. "Consider it your engagement gift."

Joshua watches you regain your composure with no fluctuation of anger or fear, not even helplessness in it. He was used to women fainting at his feet, crying happy tears at his proposals. You just sat there like a statue with your one good eye staring blankly at him like you couldn't care less. "You haven't screamed or slapped me for so long," he grumbles.

You stay silent, pondering over your available cards as you calculate your best feasible option. "You want to marry me? Then you must give me in dowry what I ask for," you challenge, setting up a condition.

His eyebrows shot up at your sudden demand. No woman would dare to ask for a dowry from him. They would be too busy thanking their lucky stars for marrying a powerful man like him. "Oh?" He takes a step closer to you again. "And what exactly do you want?"

"I want your eye," your lips curve up.

His expression freezes. He thought you'd ask for money, cars, houses... but an eye? His hand automatically touches his good eye. "My eye?" He repeats dubiously.

No, you don't resemble a snake but an orca—it is known for waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

An involuntary chill travels up his spine.

"An eye for an eye, fair enough, isn't it?" You arch a brow, lolling your head—daring him to reject your bold demand.

Joshua stares at you for a long moment, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn't catch up to. He had expected many things from this woman, but not this. Not such cold, calculated revenge. He let out a low laugh, shaking his head. "Fair enough," he agrees with no hesitation.

A haughty smile blooms on your face.

He really isn't joking or bluffing anymore. You want his eye? Fine. He respects the hell out of that ruthless demand, although he doubts you have the guts to carry it out. Most women want jewelry or cars, but you want him to experience the same blindness he'd given you. "You know what?" he asks suddenly.

"No wonder they say don't get into arguments with intelligent women. You're dangerous. One eye. No filter. No mercy," he snorts, finding this whole situation whimsical and clearly still doubting your ability to carry through it. He heaves out, carding his digits through his strands messily.

"You realize if I give you my eye, I'll be half blind?" He coos as if giving a toddler with explosive tantrums a last chance before they fuck things up.

"Serves you right. You must first blind yourself like you did me," you scoff and roll your eye.

An amused smile spreads across his lips at your bitter response. He finds himself strangely attracted to this woman's brutal honesty and justice more and more. "Fucking perfect," he snickers, echoing a sharp clap and leaves the bedroom to fetch his favorite dagger. After a couple of minutes he comes back with it and sits down on the bed in front of you.

"Do it," he says as he drops the dagger into your hand with glee and ridicule sparkling in his eyes.

"I'll take my sweet time," you pass a half-smile as you slide off its sheath.

Joshua lets out a chortle even though he doubts you meant every word—you'd make him suffer slowly with sheer anticipation of it, then will chicken out like he expects you to.

He spreads his legs further, getting comfortable as if preparing himself for a long torture session. His good eye keeps an eye on you. "Take your time," he glib with a challenge.

He watches you straighten your back and study the dagger. He feels a strange mix of fear and... exhilaration. You trudge off to lock the door, and when you return, he realizes this is actually happening. You are really going to blind him like he blinded you.

His breath hitches as you reach out and grab his wrist, forcing his hand flat on the silk sheet. Your grip is surprisingly strong. He feels the cold metal of the dagger press against his palm, then it ghosts against his knuckles, making him bite his lip as he hisses. Your legs bracket his own as you straddle him, pushing his back to the silk sheet. The icy blade travels up to his face, pressing lightly under his right eye.

Joshua breaks into a cold sweat, his heart hammering fiercely against his ribcage as the dagger now hovers mere millimeters away from his eyeball. He watches the cold steel display a trembling mess—a reflection of his own trembling self. Abruptly, he grabs your wrist with his free hand, stopping the blade.

"Wait," he hoarsely pants.

His grip on your wrist is a constraint, but not a painful one. His good eye locks onto your single eye; a concoction of fear, arousal, and something else stirs in his gaze. He is giving you a chance to stop, but also testing your resolve.

"Scared?" You arch your brow tauntingly.

He let out a titter, his thumb rubbing against your wrist. "Terrified." He admits softly. He is terrified of the pain, yes. But also terrified of the raw power you hold over him in this moment.

"Good," you grin. Joshua almost scoffs at how grinning you have gotten. He hasn't seen you so jolly before, but he also never expected that he would one day end up under today's dooming circumstances.

His right eye flickers down to the blade pressing under it, then back up to your single, merciless eye. He'd never felt so helpless, so completely at someone else's mercy. And he finds it strangely... arousing. "You're actually going to do it," he acknowledges the elephant in the room.

Your lack of response—no smirk, no sigh, no hesitation—sends a shiver down his spine. You are serious. Deadly serious. He takes a deep breath as he steadies himself. He is about to experience the same darkness he'd forced upon you.

"Do it!"

Joshua watches your jaw tick, your knuckles turning white as you grip the dagger handle tighter. He sees your single eye concentrate back on his right eye, realizing you are not going to give him mercy like he'd given you—none at all. He hisses as the blade abruptly presses into his pupil, blooming a dull ache.

He closes his good eye, bracing himself for more pain. He feels the cold metal press in harder, then suddenly—

"Ahhh!"

He cries out as you plunge the dagger straight into his eye socket. Blood splatters across your face like a fountain. He screams his lungs out, trying to hold onto your wrist as he drags his nails across your skin in a futile attempt. His bloody crescent moons travel up to your face, making you screech.

His digits claw at your eye patch, punching into it, which echoes by a loud crack of the conformer breaking with it. A gush of blood pours down your eye patch, his knuckles are now pressing much closer to your hollow socket behind the patch.

He screams—you scream.

"AHHH!"

"AHHH!"

Despite the excruciating pain throbbing behind your eye patch, you fight against his grip, trying to press the dagger more into his eye socket.

"Sir? Ma'am? Is everything okay?" One of his men starts banging on the door, and it only gets more insistent and louder as they receive only screams in reply.

"Hello? Please open the door!" The doorknob twists but refuses to budge open, as you had locked it earlier.

The intolerable pain paralyzes him, making it easier for you to hold him down—the world almost blacks out on his end.

You laugh manically, thrusting it in and out over and over again.

After you had your fun—roughly seventeen stabs into his eye—you do take your sweet time cutting the attached substances to his eyeball and scooping it out while ignoring the obnoxious banging on the door.

Joshua hisses sharply, his body going rigid as the pain shoots through his skull.

He'd given you one eye—now you have returned the favor. He felt hot blood trickle down his cheek, and he bit back another cry as an agonizing pain threatened to overtake his consciousness.

He is officially half-blind like you.

He opens his remaining good eye to look at you. His injured eye is weeping bloody tears, and you are more than happy to wipe them away; in fact, you even coo at him as you wipe them off.

He stares at you, his remaining good eye brewing with a mix of pain, shock, and something else—respect. You have done exactly what he had done to you. He reaches up and touches his injured eye socket gently, wincing at the pain.

You get off him with his eyeball in your hand. Crossing the room, you put his eyeball on an unused ashtray, which was resting on the nightstand.

Your feet amble to the door before they tear it down.

You hand over the ashtray with instructions to store it away. Joshua's right hand-man boils red as you nonchalantly instruct the maid standing beside him, whose face is draining fast of all the colors at the unhinged sight of an eyeball on the ashtray.

The right hand-man looks over your shoulder to find Joshua still bleeding on the bed. He wants to scream at you, but he thinks better of it and gives a curt nod, and shouts at the poor maid to hurry up and bring in the first aid box.

His right-hand man knows Joshua is an unhinged man himself, and he was fully capable of avoiding this catastrophe. He gulps down his questions and scrams off.

By the time the maid returns with the first aid box, he genuinely feels nauseous and lightheaded.

He put a hand over his injured eye socket, still processing the fact that you had actually gone through with it. He had expected guilt, hesitation, mercy—but you gave him none of those things. You gave him exactly what he'd given you. "You're insane," he mutters flatly.

You laugh at his comment, licking his blood off the dagger.

The maid flinches at the odd, suffocating atmosphere and swiftly starts to bandage his eye while he sits there stunned and bleeding. Luckily for him, the maid is a drop-out med student, so she can deal with this deranged injury and situation. Although he will still have to pay a proper visit to the doctor later.

Joshua watches as you lick the blood off the blade insouciantly, as if nothing crazy happened. His good eye expands in shock and revulsion. That laugh—that cold, insane laugh—echoing in his mind. "Fucking psychopath," he scowls.

A boiling rage rises up in his chest.

He is half-blind now. One eye is gone. Replaced with darkness. Just like you. He suddenly realizes how fucking dangerous you are. How quickly you went from a calm woman with soulless eye to laughing your head off while stabbing into his eye. The maid finishes bandaging his eye fast and leaves silently with hurried steps.

You just smile.

He gulps, realizing he has invited a psychopath into a marriage proposal.

Joshua stands up slowly, testing his balance with one less eye. He feels off—disoriented. He looks at you with his remaining good eye. Your single eye sparkles with pure joy. He suddenly had the urge to run—to get as far away from you as possible.

He backs away step by step as his heart races almost out of his chest. He is scared—scared of you, scared of the marriage proposal he'd just made to a literal psychopath. He trips over his own feet and falls back onto the bed with a winch, clutching his bandaged eye.

"Stay away from me!"

"C'mon, Hong. Your pretty eye might taste just as good as you look." You lick your lips, standing up and strolling towards him with a half-smile.

Joshua stumbles back, suddenly reminded of how you liked eating fish eyes in the restaurant that day. He lets out a choked scoff in disbelief—he fell for your game—hook, line, and sinker with your eye as bait.

He scrambles back further on the bed as you approach him with that half-smile—a smile that now sends shivers down his spine instead of butterflies in his stomach. His good eye widens in horror as memories flood back—you complimenting his eyes during that date—dropping your keychain.

"Stop!" he blurts out in desperation.

"Why? We are going to get married just like you wanted," you say, leaning down to his eye level.

Joshua flinches back as you lean in closer, his heart pounding in his chest. He is trapped—trapped by his own stupid marriage proposal to a woman who seems to take the phrase 'having an eye on each other' way too literally.

He could see your single eye up close—cold—insane.

"Don't forget to join our celebration dinner tonight," you beam, kissing his forehead, your lips rather feeling cold.

Joshua gulps.

He knows what's going to be served on the table tonight.

He nods numbly, his body shaking slightly as you kiss his forehead. He knew what was coming tonight—a celebration dinner where he would be the main course. His good eye wells up with tears as he grasps the horror of his situation—he had proposed to a monster who literally wanted to eat his eyes.

Joshua sits there frozen on the bed as you leave the room. He buries his face in his hands as sobs wrack his body.

He has fallen in love with a beautiful, cold monster who loves to eat fish eyes. He still can't believe he is going to marry a psychopathic eye-eating monster. "Why did I propose to her?" He cries into his hands.

Later that night, you hum in satisfaction, finding it delicious as you munch on his well cooked eye.

Joshua doesn't know when he fell asleep but he does know the ringing question in his head when he wakes up with the throbbing pain in his empty socket.

How did you know he was behind the acid attack and took your eye?

His brain files through countless theories as he washes up. He walks downstairs absentmindedly and almost bumps into the dining table.

You chuckle at his clumsiness, making him finally look up at you sitting across the mahogany table. The table is adorned with various dishes but that one dish sitting in front of you makes him gag.

It's his mangled eyeball soaked in sauce and surrounded by a lush lattice.

He watches in horror from the other side of the table as you happily cut his cooked eye and eat it, savoring every bite. Tears start to stream down his face as he realizes the truth—you loved eating eyes so much that you were willing to marry just to get more eye meat. He feels sick and violated.

A bile crawls up his throat, making him bend over and cover his mouth.

His stomach churns as he watches you chomp down his eye like it was some kind of delicacy. He had always been attracted to your unhinged cold look, he was always curious to discover you more... but now he sees the devil behind those lies. He stands up abruptly, trying to inhale some air and avoid looking at the table and you.

You look up from your plate, your mouth slightly stained with the juices of his cooked eye. You smile coyly like you had just eaten a gourmet meal instead of someone's bodily organ. He feels physically ill at the sight of it all over again. "Mmm...so delicious~" You hum happily, munching on it more.

Joshua takes a step back, looking for his moment to escape from this hell.

"Sit," you order curtly.

He sits down feebly with his trembling legs. He feels like he is in a nightmare—one where the woman he loved turns out to be a cannibalistic monster who had just eaten his eye for dinner—unfortunately for him he doesn't wake up from it. You commanded him to sit, and he obeyed like a scared puppy, his good eye filled with terror.

Right now, he is nothing like the arrogant and proud self-made millionaire, who tried to put you in a cage but now, he ended up locking himself in it.

His mind wanders off to the question he woke up with and the events of all the time he spent with you start playing in his head. An odd feeling blooms in his chest: everything went too smoothly in your favor as if… it was all calculated.

He rubs his clammy hands against his thighs and asks the question that has been weighing on his mind. "Did you arrange that hitman to approach me with this crazy acid attack idea?"

Your knife stills on cutting his eyeball.

Joshua looks at you with a mixture of fear and realization. Then all the pieces click together in his head.

You dropping the keychain—the men talking about teaching women a lesson at the back of the club—you humiliating him publicly by rejecting his proposal and then the hitman attacking you with an acid—it all seems too convenient, too perfectly timed. He had never considered it before, but now it seems obvious.

You have orchestrated this entire thing just to get him and his eyeball.

"You... you arranged the acid attack?"

"All is well now," you reassure him, attempting a coy smile but it rather reminds him of a Cheshire cat, who's toying with him and always had been although he realized it too late.

He feels like a fool. Not only are you a cold monster, you had managed to be a master manipulator, who had planned every step of their relationship with chilling precision. He scoffs, wondering if even that night you played the piano was planned—everything was a lie designed to trap him.

"You..." he trails off.

Your expression remains blank as you study his reaction. Your mouth opens and closes just for a moment. "The hitman just made you a suggestion. It's you who choose to take my eye in the first place," you explain coldly. "Actions have consequences, Joshua Hong."

Joshua feels a chill run down his spine at the cold, calculating way you spoke. The hitman was just a pawn in your game, and he was too—the fool who had agreed to take your 'eye'—is a sacrifice at the end.

He feels violated, manipulated, and utterly stupid for falling for your charms.

He sits in stunned silence, his mind racing with the realization that he had been played like a violin from the very beginning. He takes in a shaky breath, steeling himself for what's to come next.

"Now," you pick up your glass, expecting him to follow you.

Joshua picks up his glass mechanically.

"Congratulations to us getting engaged," you cheer, clinking their glasses in celebration.

He numbly clinks his glass against yours, his hand still shaking to no end. He feels like a zombie going through the motions as you celebrate your engagement—an engagement built on lies, manipulation, and the literal loss of his eye. The irony is bitter as he toasts to their 'happily ever after'.

"We're matching like a couple too," you laugh, pointing to your re-dressed eye patch and his lost bandaged one.

"Couple goals," you crowed, clinking your glass against his again, making the red wine swirl and almost spill over.

Joshua forces a weak smile, his heavy heart already weighing with dread and despair. The sight of your finger pointing at your own eye patch and at his bandaged socket was like a punch to his gut—a constant reminder of the horror he had willingly walked into. Your laughter echoes off like mocking jeers in his ears as he realizes just how perfectly you had played him.

"An eye for an eye, babe."

That phrase sends a shudder down his spine. It was clear now that every step of this relationship had been calculated—a twisted game where you have always held the upper hand.

You slide the ring onto his finger. He hadn't even noticed the velvet box sitting on the table beside you. The engagement ring feels like a shackle around his finger instead of a symbol of love. "Right..."

Joshua really fell for the hook, line, and sinker with your eye as bait.

Epilogue: First Look into Dazzling Eyes

The New Year’s gala unfolded in a vast candlelit garden, where frost clung to marble pathways, bare winter branches swayed in the freezing air of the last December night, and delicate gold-trimmed fountains shimmered beneath a thin layer of ice. Beneath fair lights hanging from ancient trees, the city’s elite mingle in glittering couture as live musicians play beside overflowing champagne towers and walls of white flowers.

You swirl your red wine mindlessly against the rim of the glass, raising them like waves that never reach shore. Endless chatter bores your eardrums, making you want this celebration to just be over.

You occasionally nod and send synthetic smiles to the greetings of your plastic friends.

“Are you planning to look miserable all night?” Mina asks, appearing beside you with a flute of champagne balanced between her fingers.

You hum absentmindedly. “Depends. Is there anything here worth entertaining?”

She snorts softly and leans in closer. “You sound like an old heiress trapped in a twenty-three-year-old’s body.”

“Maybe I am.”

Your eyes drift across the garden anyway, over the glittering gowns and clusters of polished smiles. Then they stop.

A man stands a few tables away beneath the hanging fairy lights, dressed in a black suit that fits like it was stitched onto him. He laughs at something an older businessman says, the sound warm and effortless as he clinks glasses with the group around him. There’s nothing loud about him, nothing attention-seeking, yet people orbit him naturally, drawn in by the calm gentleness in his expression.

Beautiful.

Dangerously so.

Mina notices your stare almost immediately. “Oh,” she beams with amusement. “So you do have a pulse.”

You tear your gaze away for half a second. “Who is he?”

“That,” she says dramatically, “is Joshua Hong. The newest heartthrob of the elite socialite circle.”

The name settles strangely in your chest.

“He came back from abroad six months ago,” Mina continues. “Started his own company from scratch and somehow already became a self-made millionaire. I heard he has branches opening all across the country now. Everyone’s obsessed with him.”

“Sounds exhausting,” you reply flatly before taking another sip of wine.

But your eyes betray you, drifting back to him almost instantly.

Joshua tilts his head while listening to someone speak, smiling softly in a way that barely reaches his eyes. The golden lights above scatter against the dark brown of his irises, making them glimmer like sunlight over amber glass.

Then the countdown begins.

“Ten!”

The crowd erupts around you as voices echo through the garden.

“Nine!”

Joshua glances upward just as the first firework explodes across the midnight sky.

Colors bloom over the garden in brilliant gold and silver, reflecting in the crystal fountains, in champagne glasses, and in his eyes.

And for one suspended moment, with fireworks painting light across his face and laughter spilling from his lips, you can’t look away.

“Three!”

Your pulse quickens unexpectedly.

“Two!”

Mina says something beside you, but the sound fades into the night.

“One!”

The sky bursts into dazzling color as cheers erupt through the garden.

You stare at Joshua Hong beneath the falling sparks of light and decide right there and then—

He will be your New Year’s goal.

His eyes twinkle with colorful fireworks, peering into a bright soul behind those pupils.

Such pretty deer eyes.

You wonder what they will look like caught in headlights.

Note: The turns have tabled.

I actually watched an eye removal surgery for this fic and I wanted to show off my new knowledge but that would had been an info dump so I didn't lol

Important Characterization Note: If you haven't noticed the fl is 'weird' at expressing emotions. Well, technically bad at putting an act on to be precise. Throughout the story, they both express their emotions at odd timings because they're both putting on an act in front of each other for their own agendas. However, Joshua's curiosity towards fl is genuine. And they both do have their moments where their masks slip and they're vulnerable.

I tried to include a lot of subtext in their dynamic and in story. Let me know your perspective. I would love to read y'all's theories.

This was my first attempt at writing unreliable narrative, so how was it?

Joshua:

Tagging readers from the waiting list: @dontwonder05 @joshujin @eskoupe

Tagging readers who showed interested in it (sorry, if you didn't want to be tagged): @arkihives @aethnie @bobathi

                               ⌝

⌕≔ Menu

⤳main masterlist

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Seungcheol's eyes glisten with a fresh wave of lust as he watches you bite your lip, which was clearly meant to provoke him, sending a jolt of want straight to his core. He presses your hip flush against his own possessively, his large hand spanning nearly the entire width.

"Appropriate?" He scoffs softly, shaking his head. "Life's too short to worry about labels and expectations, especially when something feels this right." His other hand slides up from your waist to tangle in your silky hair, tugging lightly to angle your face towards his.

"Your brother doesn't own you, sweetheart. You're your own person, free to make your own choices." His voice is low and hypnotic, his gaze boring into yours with intense conviction. "And I choose you. I want you, more than I've ever wanted anyone."

Your pulse pounds in your ears as Seungcheol's words wash over you, his grip on your hip and hair sending thrilling sparks of pleasure through your sensitive skin. You swallows a lump, your mouth suddenly feeling parched.

"I... want you too, Cheol." The admission spills from your lips before you can stop it, a confession born of raw, primal need. "But what about Jeonghan? He trusts you, relies on you..."

Your brow furrows in concern, even as your body continues to crave his closeness. "If we cross this line, there will be consequences. I don't want to hurt him, or ruin our relationships." Despite your words, your hands slide up to his chest, your fingertips tracing the hard planes of muscle as if drawn to them by an invisible force.

Seungcheol's expression softens, his thumb stroking your cheek now in a soothing caress. "Jeonghan is a good guy, and I care about him deeply. But my feelings for you... they're unlike anything I've experienced before. Irresistible, consuming."

He captures your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your gasp of surprise. His tongue delves past your parted lips, tangling with yours in a passionate dance that leaves you breathless and aching for more.

"Let's not worry about the future right now. Just live in this moment with me," he pants after breaking the the kiss, his heated gaze locks onto yours. "Let me show you how much I desire you, how perfect we fit together."

You melt into Seungcheol's embrace, your mind clouding with lust as you initiates another kiss. His tongue plunders your mouth instantly with a small moan. You cling to him, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as he returns the kiss with equal fervor.

"Mmmh," you moan back softly against his lips, your body arching into his, craving the heat and hardness of him. "Yes, Cheol... show me... make me forget everything else," you plead between the soul consuming kisses.

With a fluid motion, you wrap your legs around Seungcheol's waist, pressing your core against the prominent bulge in his pants. You nip at his bottom lip, then soothes the sting with your tongue—lost in the intoxicating taste of him.

Groaning into the kiss, he hoists you higher against him, his thick erection straining against the confines of his jeans as your hips grind against it. He walks you both backward until your back hits the wall, pinning your body there with his own.

"Fuck, baby... you have no idea how badly I want you." Seungcheol's husky confession is coated with desire, his hot breath fanning over your face as he trails kisses down your jaw and neck. "I'm going to make you see stars," he promises.

His hands roam your curves, squeezing and kneading the supple flesh. One palm cups your breast, thumb rubbing over the hardened nipple visible through your thin sundress. "You're so responsive, so perfect. I can't wait to see you come undone under me."

You whimper and writhe against the wall, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his passion. Your nipples throb beneath his touch, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

"Ahh—please, Cheol!" You gasp, your hips rolling in desperate circles against his throbbing length. "Touch me more, everywhere. I need it so bad!"

Your hands frantically work at the buttons of his shirt, yanking it open to reveal his chiseled chest. You attack his skin with open-mouthed kisses, licking and nipping at the defined muscles as your fingers explore the ridges and valleys.

"I'm yours, completely," you declare breathlessly, gazing up at him with glazed, adoring eyes. "Make me yours, Cheol mark me, claim me—please."

Seungcheol growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating through both of you as he claims your mouth in another scorching kiss. His hands slip beneath the hem of your dress, fingers dancing over the smooth expanse of your thighs before gripping your ass and lifting you higher.

"You're mine, love," he rasps against your lips, punctuating each word with a nip and suckle. "Every inch of you belongs to me now."

With a swift motion, he rips your dress open, the sound of tearing fabric mingling with your startled cry. Buttons scatter across the floor as he exposes your bra-clad breasts, which he tears it off as well, sending it hurling across the room. He immediately closes his mouth around a pert nipple and sucks it hard.

"Mmm, so sweet," Seungcheol murmurs approvingly, his tongue swirling around the stiff peak before moving to lavish attention on its twin.

You cry out in a mix of shock and ecstasy as he ravages your breasts, your back arching to press more of your sensitive flesh against his greedy mouth. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him against you as waves of pleasure tides up inside you.

"Yes, Cheol! More, please!" you beg shamelessly, your hips bucking wildly against his clothed rigid length, seeking friction for your aching sex. "I'm burning up for you—fill me, make me whole!"

As Seungcheol releases your nipples with a wet pop, you whimper at the loss, only to moan loudly when his hands find the waistband of your panties and swiftly shove them down your thighs. Cool air hits your slick, and swollen folds, making you shudder.

"Oh fuck, you look gorgeous," his breath hitches.

Primal hunger dances in his eyes as he drinks in the sight of your bared pussy, glistening with arousal. He drops to his knees before you, spreading your thighs wide to expose your most intimate area to his ravenous gaze.

"So pretty, so perfect," he mutters, his voice heavy with lust as he leans in to inhale your unique musky scent. "I'm going to devour you, sweetheart."

Without further preamble, he buries his face between your thighs, his tongue darting out to lap at your dripping slit. He groans at the taste of you, his hands gripping your hips as he eats you out with single-minded focus, his tongue fucking your hole and circling your clit with relentless pressure.

You scream in blissful agony as Seungcheol devours you whole, your hands flying to his hair, clutching and tugging as he assaults your sensitive folds with his talented tongue. Your thighs tremble and quiver as your inner walls clenches around nothing as he relentlessly teases your clit.

"Ahhh, yes, oh fuck, Cheol! Don't stop, please!" you chant, your hips rocking erratically against his face, chasing the elusive peak of pleasure. "I'm so close, so fucking close!"

Just as your orgasm threatens to crest, he pulls away, leaving you panting and bereft. You look down at him with furrowed brows, eyes wild with desperation and lust only to see him standing up and quickly shedding his clothes.

His massive cock springs free, thick and veiny, the tip already leaking precum.

Seungcheol's piercing gaze locks onto your face as he steps between your spread thighs, his engorged shaft bobbing mere inches from your entrance. He reaches down to guide himself to your slick opening, the head of his cock nudging against your swollen clit.

"You ready for me, baby?" he asks gruffly, his words strained with anticipation. "Ready to take every inch of my cock?"

At your breathless nod, he surges forward, burying himself to the hilt inside you in one powerful thrust. You both groan at the exquisite sensation of being joined, his thick length stretching your tight channel to the limit.

"Fuuuck, you feel amazing," he pants, his hips beginning to piston in and out of your desperate cunt, setting a brutal pace designed to drive both of you to the brink of madness.

Your whimpers of pleasure echoes through the room as he impales you on his huge dick, the initial stretch giving way to a pleasure so intense that it borders on pain. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you're too far gone to care, lost in the rhythmic pounding of his hips against yours.

"Yes, yes, harder! Fuck me, Cheol, use me!" you wail, your nails scoring down his back as you meet his thrusts with your own frantic movements, grinding your clit against him with each stroke. "I'm yours, all yours, fill me up!"

The obscene squelch of flesh slapping against flesh fills the air, punctuated by his guttural grunts and your high-pitched moans.

Seungcheol snarls, his control slipping as he loses himself in the intoxicating feeling of your tight, wet heat enveloping his cock. He grips your hips hard enough to bruise, angling them to hit that magic spot deep inside you with every driving thrust.

"That's it, take it all, baby!" he growls, his balls slapping against your ass as he fucks you with primal abandon. "Scream for me, let everyone know who you belong to!"

His thrusts become erratic, his climax rapidly approaching as your inner walls begin to flutter and clench around him. He reaches between your bodies to rub at your swollen clit, determined to push you over the edge with him.

He feels you flutter and clench around him in a tight grip.

"C'mon baby, I know you are close. Cum for me, babygirl!"

Your world narrows to the incredible sensation of his length plundering your depths, his skilled fingers working up your clit, pushing you toward the pinnacle of pleasure. You throw your head back with a scream tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave.

"CHEOL! OH FUCK, YES! I'M CUMMING!" Your voice rises to a shrill pitch, your body convulsing violently as wave after wave of ecstasy rips through you. "FILL ME UP—PLEASE!"

Your inner muscles clamp down on his pistoning cock, milking him for all he's worth as your vision whites out from the sheer intensity of your release.

With a roar of triumph, Seungcheol buries himself to the hilt inside your spasming cunt as your orgasm triggers his own. His length pulses and throbs, spilling jet after jet of hot semen deep within your quivering depths.

"Fuck, baby, you fell incredible!" he bellows, his hips jerking erratically as he empties himself into your welcoming womb. "Take it all, every last drop!"

He holds you close, his arms wrapped around you as you both ride out the aftershocks of your combined climaxes. He presses tender kisses to your sweat-dampened skin, murmuring words of praise and affection.

"That was... wow. You're amazing, babygirl. So beautiful, so responsive," his voice is dazed, still reeling from the intensity of their coupling.

You lie limp and sated in Seungcheol's embrace, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. You nuzzle into his neck, a contented sigh escaping your lips as you savor the warmth of his body pressed against yours.

"Mmm, Cheol... that was incredible," you agree, your voice husky from exertion and pleasure. "I've never felt anything like it before."

Your fingers trace idle patterns on his chest, your mind still foggy with post-orgasmic bliss. "You're amazing, too. So big and strong, and you make me feel so good."

A shy smile spreads on your lips as you glance up at him. "I think I want to know you more, Cheol."

"Me too," he agrees with a small smile, pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

After you both have caught your breath, he helps you clean up and leaves to draw a bubble bath for you after pressing another soft kiss to your lips.

You sit against the wall, draped in just his shirt as you wait for him.

The doors abruptly swings open, making your shoulders jump up. Jeonghan stands in the doorway with unbridled rage creasing his face.

A boulder rolls down in your stomach as a cold sweat breaks through your skin at his unannounced presence.

"I heard everything," he grits out.

Shit—you're really fucked up this time!

⚚ Masterlist

Pulling back, you inhale a sharp breath and spit on his tip and take him back in your mouth, this time letting his length hit the back of your throat.

Joshua's legs tremble, and his fingers claw in your hair, making you take him in more roughly. You smirk against cock, knowing he's struggling to hold himself back.

That's what you get, Mr. Grumpy-pants!

You scoff in your head and suck out his soul through his cock.

He's getting closer.

Your hands climb up to knead his balls with your moans vibrating his length. He's coated with your saliva and spit, making it easier for you to bob your head on.

Joshua knows you won't give him the way he wants, so he uses your hair as rails to guide your mouth on his cock.

You swirl your tongue around his tip, and that undoes him.

A warm liquid floods your mouth, and you savor it for a moment, then drink it without hesitation. You pull back to catch your breath, wiping with the back of your hand the drops of his spill that sticks to your lips.

The table cloth rises up, and you're met with those sharp eyes eating you up.

"You had your fun, huh? C'mon now, crawl out like a slut you are, and I'll teach you a lesson that you so desperately are asking for."

You gulp and close your legs; you can already feel the wave rising up in your folds.

You do as he asked—you crawl out to take your lesson.

⚚ Masterlist

Another step.

Watch me when I break and say it’s paradise

The balcony of his apartment, cold and dim beneath the flickering city lights.

Rain poured endlessly outside, drumming against the railings like a restless memory.

You had finally snapped that night—your cries drowned beneath the thunder and downpour.

“I don’t know how to love you anymore,” you hiccuped through sobs.

Jeonghan just stared at you calmly from the couch, the wine glass dangling loosely from elegant fingers.

Then he smiled.

So faint that you squinted to catch it.

“That’s the thing,” he said. “You’ll keep trying anyway.”

The memory coiled in your stomach, already turned rotten yet refusing to die.

Another step.

The veil suddenly felt like a silken noose tightening around your breath.

Set my body aflame, lock me up and close the door when it rains

Your phone lit up at two in the morning.

Come over.

No greeting. No affection.

The storm raged outside, and despite knowing he’d ignored you for three straight days before this—you still went.

Of course you did.

You always came when he called.

Even when he only wanted someone soft enough to absorb his cruelty—you willingly became his sponge.

Another step.

The organ music ascended, grand and sonorous.

But it rang only funeral music in your ears.

Maybe it’s my fault, I put you up so high

The first time he ever looked at you like you mattered.

That was the worst memory of all because it had been genuine enough to trap you.

Beneath the blur of shimmering city lights, Jeonghan gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips lingering against your skin as he leaned closer and whispered softly, “No one understands me like you do.”

You built a religion out of crumbs after that.

And he let you.

Another step.

Your bouquet trembled violently in your hands now.

At the altar, Jeonghan smiled faintly as if he already owned you.

Darling, I think you could make the Devil cry

Another memory surged to the surface, reopening a wound of an agonizing sequence.

His grip around your wrist had been too tight—more anger than restraint.

Not enough to bruise.

Enough to warn.

His face morphed into another time.

“You’re embarrassing me,” he gritted out.

His shard words pierced your soul with frigid and sharp precision.

Just because you cried in front of his friends after he disappeared on your anniversary.

Another one flashed behind your eyes.

Jeonghan pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, an artificial warmth lingering there.

“I didn’t mean it.”

But he never sounded sorry.

Only irritated that consequences existed.

Another step.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer to him.

And I’ve been waiting for the sunset, waiting on a sorry

You remembered every night you lay awake waiting for an apology that never came, the passing headlights outside your apartment window casting fleeting shadows across the dark room while silence settled heavier with every hour.

Your eyes fixated on the phone, fingers twitching to check it again and again.

Rehearsing forgiveness before he even asked for it.

But he never did ask.

But you're never sorry, are you?

Because he knew you’d stay anyway.

The aisle suddenly seemed to stretch on forever as if it's a path toward your own grave.

And still—

Your heart fluttered and bled at the sight of him.

That was the most humiliating part.

Even now, dressed like death itself, Jeonghan looked at you with those unreadable eyes, and your body recalled love before it remembered pain.

Breakin’ all my bones, tryin’ to hold you close

The very last memory surfaced, a fleeting image, just as you were about to reach the altar—

Kneeling on his cool bathroom tiles, your hands trembled uncontrollably after your most intense argument, while Jeonghan crouched down to face you.

“You’re scaring me,” you quavered.

And instead of comforting you, he tucked a strand behind your ear tenderly and asked, “Then why are you still here?”

The church bustled with celebration, but to you it's a funeral dressed as a wedding.

Jeonghan reached for your hand.

You realize every step down this aisle had not been leading you toward marriage.

It had been leading you back through every wound he ever gave you.

Your fingers slipped into Jeonghan’s chilly hand.

The church applauded softly.

They thought this was love.

They didn’t know love had already died long before today.

Jeonghan’s thumb brushed across your knuckles with practiced tenderness, and the touch alone nearly unraveled you.

Because this—this—was how he always kept you.

Gentle after cruelty.

Soft after destruction.

Like a man setting fire to a house only to wrap the survivor in a blanket afterward.

The officiant began speaking, but the words drowned beneath another memory.

Got me wrapped around your cold fingertips

Jeonghan stood outside your apartment at midnight, snowflakes settling silently in his dark hair as though winter itself refused to let him go.

You had sworn you wouldn’t let him in this time.

Not after he disappeared for a week.

Not after those rumors.

Not after the way he ignored your every message while you slowly convinced yourself you were unlovable.

But then he looked at you through the cracked doorway and sighed softly.

“Are you really going to leave me outside?”

Leave him.

As if you were the cruel one.

And stupidly, desperately, you moved aside.

The moment he stepped into your apartment, his hands found your waist.

“No one takes care of me like you do,” he murmured against your neck.

You melted into his arms immediately.

Like always.

In the church, your breathing became shallow beneath the veil.

Jeonghan noticed.

Of course he did.

He always noticed your pain best when he caused it himself.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

Concerned enough for everyone around you to admire him.

Not concerned enough to stop hurting you.

You nodded automatically.

Maybe it’s my fault I can’t walk away

The hotel hallway stretched ahead, only lit by flickering lights and lined with doors that hid everyone but you.

You stood outside his room after hearing laughter echo from inside.

A woman’s giggle.

Your chest caved in itself.

When the door swung open, guilt didn't crease Jeonghan's face—only exhaustion did.

“She means nothing.”

You should’ve left then.

Instead, tears burning your eyes, you asked the most pathetic question imaginable.

“Do you still love me?”

And Jeonghan—beautiful, terrible Jeonghan—cupped your face gently before answering: “Why else would I keep coming back?”

That time it had sounded romantic.

Now it sounded like possession.

The officiant smiled warmly. “Love requires sacrifice.”

Your stomach churned and twisted with a grimace.

No one had sacrificed more than you.

Cut my heart right out my body

You deleted photos of yourself because Jeonghan once casually mentioned he preferred quieter girls.

You skipped dinners with friends because he hated when your attention wasn’t on him.

You apologized after he made you cry.

Again.

Again.

Again.

You had peeled yourself apart piece by piece just to fit inside the shape of what he wanted.

Yet it was still never enough.

Jeonghan leaned in closer while the officiant spoke.

“You’re shaking,” he observed flatly.

You wanted to laugh.

You wanted to scream.

Instead, you whispered curtly, “Do you ever feel bad?”

A pause.

Tiny.

Almost nonexistent.

But you felt it.

His fingers tightened around yours.

“For what?”

The question hollowed you out completely.

He genuinely didn’t know.

Or maybe he did and simply believed loving him should hurt.

The stained glass windows glowed crimson from the setting sun, painting the church in violent shades of red.

Wedding colors.

Funeral colors.

Blood colors.

Every time you hurt me, baby

“You’re overreacting,” Jeonghan sighed wearily.

“I never promised I’d be good for you.”

“If this hurts so much, why don’t you leave?”

And the worst part? Sometimes he sounded genuinely curious.

As if your suffering fascinated him.

The officiant finally asked the life changing question.

“Do you take this man—”

Your gaze lifted toward Jeonghan, toward the face you had loved enough to ruin yourself for.

And another memory unfolded behind your eyes.

It wasn't cruel one this time, but much worse—tender.

Jeonghan half asleep beside you one early morning, sunlight spilling across white sheets in golden stripes while he held your wrist loosely in his hand.

You remembered staring at him and thinking:

I would survive anything for you.

Maybe that was where everything truly began.

Not with his cruelty but with your willingness to endure it.

The church waited.

Rows of strangers held their breath for your answer, unaware they were witnessing the slow autopsy of a relationship instead of a wedding ceremony.

Your lips parted.

Nothing came out.

Across from you, Jeonghan watched silently.

Calm on the outside, but you knew him well enough now to notice the tiny signs.

The slight tension in his jaw, and the way his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around yours.

He was nervous.

Not because he feared losing you.

Because he feared losing control.

The realization made something inside you ache.

Tell me, have I not given you enough?

The lyric echoed through your mind like a prayer.

Enough.

You had given him enough to fill several lifetimes.

You gave him softness when he was cruel.

Patience when he was cold.

Understanding when he gave you nothing but confusion wrapped in synthetic love.

You mourned every version of yourself that died loving him.

You are reminded of when you canceled plans with your family because Jeonghan suddenly wanted to see you after ignoring you for days.

“You’d choose dinner over me?” he asked lightly.

It was meant to sound lighthearted only on a surface level.

You hesitated, and his smile faded just enough to make panic bloom in your chest.

So you stayed.

Of course you stayed.

The first time you said I love you he didn’t say it back.

He only kissed your forehead and whispered, “You feel things too intensely.”

You spent months afterward trying to love him more quietly.

Less inconveniently.

You cried silently in his bathroom while he slept peacefully in the next room after another fight that you somehow ended up apologizing for.

Staring at your reflection, you barely recognized the person looking back.

Your eyes had looked so tired.

So small.

Like someone slowly disappearing.

The officiant repeated your name gently as the church shifted uncomfortably.

Jeonghan’s expression remained composed, but his voice dropped an octave only for your ears to hear.

“Don’t do this here.”

There it was again.

Not don’t leave me.

Not please.

Just concern for the scene.

For appearances.

For dignity.

His dignity.

A sharp and broken laugh almost escaped your throat because even now, standing at the edge of losing you forever, Jeonghan still cared more about maintaining control than understanding why you were slipping away.

Isn’t it a bit unethical?

Your gaze drifted over his face slowly.

God, he was beautiful—cruelly beautiful.

The kind of beautiful that made people forgive things they shouldn’t.

Maybe that was why he never learned.

The world had probably excused him his entire life, and you had certainly done enough of it.

Another memory bubbled up unexpectedly—

Jeonghan found you asleep on the couch after you had waited up for him all night.

You remembered waking to a blanket draped carefully over your body.

His fingers brushed gently through your hair—such a rare, soft gesture from him.

So loving.

Until he ruined it by murmuring,

“You’d wait forever for me, wouldn’t you?”

At that time, you thought it sounded affectionate.

Now you realized he had been testing the depth of your devotion—measuring how much suffering you would tolerate.

And the horrifying part is that the answer had been infinite.

Until now.

The church candles flickered violently as the wind rattled against the tall windows, stained by a dipping sunset.

The last rays of sunlight transformed Jeonghan into a divine spectacle, bathing him in a radiant glow of gold and crimson, as if he were a living flame.

You finally understood why this wedding felt like a funeral.

Because the one being buried here was the version of you that loved him unconditionally.

The version that accepted pain as proof of devotion.

The version that kept kneeling at the feet of someone who never intended to save her.

Jeonghan took a faint step closer.

“Look at me,” he spoke with caressed words.

You did.

And for one terrible second, your resolve nearly shattered.

Beneath all the manipulation, beneath all the cruelty, there was still something wounded inside him, churning into a mess he was.

You saw the faint desperation flicker beneath his calm composure.

In the way he held your hand too tightly now.

In the quiet fear he would never confess aloud.

Jeonghan loved like starving people ate—desperately, selfishly, without caring what they destroyed in the process.

And maybe he truly didn’t know how to love any other way, but understanding his damage wasn't going to bandage your wounds that he caused, neither make you hurt less.

A lone tear trailed down your cheek.

His thumb moved instinctively to wipe it away with a movement that was so tender and careful.

The same hands that broke you always held your pain so gently afterward, and that was the cruelest part.

“I did love you,” you confessed with a timid whisper.

Jeonghan went still.

It's in the past tense.

Did love.

Not just love.

Something fragile cracked visibly in his expression this time—it was genuine fear.

Finally.

The officiant looked utterly lost now, glancing nervously between both of you, but neither of you noticed.

This moment belonged only to the two people who had spent years destroying each other slowly enough to call it romance.

Your fingers slipped from Jeonghan’s grasp.

And his hand remained suspended in the air for half a second too long, as if he truly believed you would come back if he waited long enough.

The absence of his touch felt catastrophic.

Not freeing.

Not triumphant.

Just empty.

Like pulling a blade from a wound and realizing a part of you had grown around it.

Silence blanketed the church with compressed tension. Even the organ player had stopped.

Everyone was gawking at the pair, but all you could see was Jeonghan.

And for the first time since you met him—he looked uncertain.

His hand slowly lowered back to his side.

“You’re serious,” he said quietly.

It wasn't a question, but a sinking realization.

Your ribs clenched your heart excruciatingly because a part of you hated hurting him, even after everything.

Maybe love didn’t disappear all at once. Maybe it rotted slowly, leaving behind guilt and grief long after the devotion died.

Jeonghan stepped closer again with a quiet offer.

“We can fix this.”

The words pierced your soul not because you believed them, but you remembered how many times you once would have.

Three months into your relationship, you sat on the edge of his bed after your first real fight, eyes swollen from crying.

“I don’t think I can do this,” you lamented.

And Jeonghan had immediately pulled you into his arms, holding you against his chest while he murmured:

“Then we’ll fix it.”

You remembered how safe you felt hearing that.

How loved.

Until you realized fixing things always meant you forgiving him while he changed nothing.

Now you looked up at him slowly. “No,” you said firmly. “You’ll survive this.”

Something vicious flickered behind his eyes.

Survival had never been the point.

He wanted devotion.

He wanted certainty.

He wanted someone who would keep loving him no matter how cruel he became.

And for years, you had.

Jeonghan suddenly sniggered.

It's sewn with disbelief.

“You’re acting like I ruined your life.”

The words crash landed harsher than any shouting would have.

Your expression faltered.

Even now he still reduced your pain to an exaggeration.

You inhaled shakily.

Another memory surfaced so violently it nearly made you dizzy.

You were in the hospital waiting room alone after having the most horrific panic attack of your entire life.

Your hands trembled uncontrollably while nurses asked if there was someone they could call.

You had called Jeonghan three times.

No answer.

Hours later, he finally texted:

Sorry. Fell asleep.

No concern.

No urgency.

And when you confronted him afterward, he sighed wearily and said:

“You’re too dependent on me.”

As if he hadn’t trained you to orbit around him.

Now, in the church, tears burned your eyes again.

“You don’t even know what you did to me,” you snivelled.

Jeonghan’s composure slipped at last as frustration cracked through his voice. “Then tell me!”

The sudden sharpness startled the guests.

A few shifted uncomfortably in their seats while the others whispered behind cupped hands, but you didn't have the luxury to notice that.

For once, he finally—finally—sounded emotional too.

“You made me feel impossible to love unless I was suffering for it,” you wept with quivering grievance.

The words echoed through the cathedral.

And they landed raw hideousness, but they were true.

Jeonghan glowered at you.

And for a second, you saw something terrifying in his expression, and it wasn't cruelty but genuine confusion.

As if part of him truly believed pain and love were meant to coexist.

Your heart shattered across the altar all over again.

Maybe he never intended to destroy you.

Maybe this was simply the only way he knew how to be loved.

Possess.

Consume.

Test.

Withhold affection until desperation made devotion deeper.

A cycle so twisted he mistook it for intimacy.

Got me on my knees, have you any mercy?

The lyric pulsed through your mind as another memory came through—

You knelt on the floor, the sharp edges of broken wine glass digging into your palms, a stark reminder of the argument that had just ended.

Jeonghan leaned silently against the kitchen counter, looming nearby as his eyes tracked you tidying up the mess he had caused.

Then, he crouched down beside you, taking your bleeding hand gently into his own.

“You’re gonna cut yourself,” he murmured softly.

So softly, as if he hadn’t cut your heart already.

Now, the tears spilled down your cheeks like a river held back by a dam for years.

You were so tired.

So unbearably exhausted.

“I kept thinking if I loved you better,” you bewailed, spilling out your heart with a quivering voice, “you’d stop hurting me.”

Jeonghan inhaled sharply.

And there it was.

You were glad to witness a first true crack.

Pure agony flashed across his face, fast enough that anyone else might’ve missed it.

But you didn’t.

Because despite everything—you still knew him better than anyone.

His eyes dropped briefly as if he couldn’t bear the weight of your gaze anymore.

And when he spoke again, his voice sounded smaller.

“I never wanted you to hate me.”

A broken laugh escaped your throat through tears.

“Hate you?”

God.

If only it were that simple.

You shook your head slowly.

“That’s the problem,” you pointed out.

“I still love you.”

The confession devastated him.

You saw it happen in real time.

Jeonghan’s entire expression flickered—not with relief nor victory.

Something far more gloomy.

Because if you still loved him and were leaving anyway… then maybe this really was the end.

The stained windows above the altar burned crimson in the dying sunlight, casting fractured colors across his face. Red over his mouth. Gold across his throat.

Beautiful.

Always beautiful.

Even now, standing in the wreckage of your love story, he looked untouchable.

And maybe that had always been part of the problem too.

You loved him as if he were something holy.

He loved you like something that would never leave.

The church remained frozen around you both.

Nobody interrupted.

Nobody moved.

It felt less like a wedding now and more like witnessing two people bleed each other dry in public.

Jeonghan swallowed once more before speaking carefully.

“Then stay.”

So simple.

As if love alone should be enough to survive this.

Your eyes burned in a fresh wave of waterfall.

“You don’t understand,” you retort. “Love stopped being the reason I stayed a long time ago.”

And that unsettled him.

You could tell because for years, Jeonghan had relied on your love like oxygen. No matter what he did, no matter how cold he became, your devotion remained.

It was reliable—endless.

Until it turned into a habit.

Another memory surfaced—

You curled against his chest after another argument that neither of you truly resolved.

Jeonghan was half asleep, his fingers lazily tracing circles against your wrist.

“You’ll never leave me,” he murmured drowsily.

It wasn't hopeful, but certain.

You remembered the awful ache in your chest when you answered:

“Never.”

At that time, it felt romantic.

Now it felt like a threat made against yourself.

In the church, you stared at him quietly.

“I stayed because I got used to surviving you.”

The words slapped him across the face.

Jeonghan’s face hardened instinctively, his defensive walls rising up again.

“There you go,” he muttered bitterly. “Making me sound monstrous.”

Your heart cracked a little more because even now, when you finally confronted with your pain laid bare before him, a part of him still reached for self-preservation first.

Not understanding.

Not accountability.

Defense.

You wiped at your tears with a trembling hand. “I’m not saying you’re a monster.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No,” you protested. “I think you’re someone who was never taught that love isn’t supposed to hurt this much.”

Silence.

A tense and terrible silence.

Jeonghan looked away first.

That alone felt shocking.

His gaze drifted toward the guests, toward the flowers, toward the aisle you had walked down like a condemned woman.

Then, finally, back to you.

And suddenly he looked exhausted beyond words.

Like a man realizing too late that the person who carried his darkness for years was finally putting it down.

Another flashback came softly this time.

Not a cruel one.

Neither a manipulative one.

Just sad.

Jeonghan was asleep beside you after a nightmare, his fingers unconsciously clutching the sleeve of your shirt even in sleep.

You remembered watching him carefully in the dim blue morning light.

All sharp edges were gone.

All cruelty was absent.

Just a tired boy terrified of being abandoned.

And maybe that was why you stayed so long.

Because every time he hurt you, you caught glimpses of someone wounded underneath it all.

Someone who loved you in broken ways.

Someone you thought you could save if you just endured enough.

But people are not healed by becoming the center of someone else’s suffering.

And you had suffered enough.

The officiant quietly stepped away from the altar now, understanding this ceremony no longer belonged to a tradition.

It belonged to grief.

Jeonghan spoke again with carefully chosen words.

"What happens if you leave?”

The question sounded frighteningly genuine.

Like he truly couldn’t imagine a world where you weren’t there.

Your throat enclosed on itself.

You looked at him for a very long time before answering.

“You learn to live without hurting someone who loved you.”

His face crumpled almost imperceptibly.

It was a tiny expression, but a devastating one.

For the first time, Jeonghan looked less evil and more like someone standing knee-deep in the consequences of his own emptiness.

You took a faint step back.

Creating distance.

You needed this distance.

His voice halted you again.

“If I asked you to stay,” he whispered, “would you?”

The question almost ripped you apart.

Because the answer—the honest answer—was yes.

You knew a part of you still would.

A part of you would crawl back to him instantly if he reached for you the right way.

And maybe he knew that too.

Which was exactly why you couldn’t stay.

Fresh tears slipped down your cheeks as you smiled sadly.

“That’s why I have to leave before you do.”

Jeonghan went completely still.

The words settled between you like ash after a fire.

Before you do.

Before he changed his mind.

Before he softened his voice and touched your face and made you believe survival was love again.

Before you loved him enough to disperse your soul.

Jeonghan's face didn't crease with rage, nor irritation—just genuine fear.

His eyes searched your face desperately, as though trying to find the version of you that always stayed.

The version he knew how to keep.

But she was already gone.

Buried somewhere beneath sleepless nights, swallowed apologies, and all the pieces of yourself you sacrificed to love him.

The sunset outside had almost dipped below the horizon now.

Only traces of crimson remained through the stained glass windows, bathing the church in fading red light.

The end of something.

Jeonghan stepped toward you again instinctively.

You stepped back.

That hurt him more than anything else had.

You saw it immediately because distance was new between you.

You had forgiven screaming silences.

Coldness.

Neglect.

Cruel words whispered gently enough to confuse for affection.

But this?

This refusal to reach back for him?

That was unfamiliar territory.

And unfamiliar things frightened Jeonghan.

His voice came quieter now—fragile enough to crack.

"I don’t know how to do this.”

Your chest curled agonizingly.

Of course he didn’t.

He knew how to keep people.

How to make them stay.

How to pull love from someone until they bled devotion willingly into his hands.

But he didn’t know how to lose someone gracefully.

You nodded slowly, tears slipping silently down your cheeks.

“I know.”

A long silence followed.

The guests had mostly slipped away by now, leaving only empty pews and dying candlelight behind. White flowers drooped along the aisle like mourners lowering their heads.

The church finally looked honest.

Less like a wedding.

More like a funeral for their love.

Jeonghan stared at you as though memorizing your face.

And maybe he was.

Because somewhere deep down, both of you understood this was the last moment your love would ever look like this again.

Untouched by time.

Still breathing.

Still standing before the moment of death.

Another memory crawled up in that moment.

Jeonghan pulled you into his lap late one night, forehead resting against yours while exhaustion softened all his sharp edges.

“You love me too much,” he whispered quietly.

You smiled sadly back then and answered:

“I know.”

You understood now that it had never been romantic.

It had been a warning from someone who knew he would eventually ruin you.

The Jeonghan in church now inhaled shakily, eyes glistening despite how hard he tried to hide it.

“You said you still love me.”

The vulnerability in his voice nearly shattered your resolve.

But love was no longer enough reason to stay somewhere you were dying.

So you nodded once.

“I probably always will.”

His face broke not in a loud, dramatic way—just a tiny fracture in the beautiful mask he wore so carefully for the world.

And somehow that was worse.

You took one irrevocable step backward toward the open church doors.

Cold evening air drifted inside.

Freedom smelled strangely lonely.

Jeonghan looked at you as if he wanted to say a thousand things.

Sorry.

Stay.

Don’t leave me here alone.

But in the end, the tragedy of your relationship remained the same: he felt everything deeply and expressed almost none of it correctly.

So instead, all he asked was:

“What do I do now?”

Your tears rolled down heavier because despite everything—despite all the pain—you still wanted to comfort him.

That was how thoroughly you had loved him, but some acts of love become self-destruction if repeated long enough.

So this time, you chose yourself.

For the first time.

You looked at the man you once would have destroyed yourself to keep.

Then you whispered softly:

“Learn what mercy looks like before you ask for love again.”

Jeonghan’s breath caught.

And for the first time since meeting him—you did not stay long enough to soothe the wound you left behind.

You turned away.

The veil slipped from your hair, falling soundlessly onto the church floor behind you.

Like a surrender.

As a mourning cloth.

Like the ghost of a bride who almost buried herself alive for love.

Behind you, the silence stretched indefinitely.

Then, finally—very quietly—you heard Jeonghan cry.

It wasn't loud nor pleasant like his face—just one broken inhale he couldn’t swallow fast enough.

And somehow that sound hurt more than all his cruelty ever had, but you kept walking.

Because if you turned around now, he would reach for you.

And if he reached—you might still go back.

Outside, the night had swallowed the sunset whole.

Darkness had fallen, cloaking the sky in shadow.

The air was frosty against your skin, but for the first time in years, breathing didn’t hurt.

Behind you stood a church full of flowers, candles, and the ruins of a love that consumed more than it cherished.

Ahead of you was grief.

Loneliness.

Healing.

A future terrifyingly empty of him.

But it was yours.

And as the church doors slowly closed behind you, sealing away the sound of Jeonghan’s grief forever, one final thought echoed through your chest like the last line of a prayer:

“If you ever loved me… let me go.”

                               ⌝

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