#amaryllis.

His body moves before thought can catch up — slender fingers closing firmly around her lithe wrist. The echoing screeches of the undead below fade into static as his gaze locks onto her shoulder, where decay blooms. He hears it — sharp, unmistakable — the moment her muscles begin to wither.

She doesn’t stop. Doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t even flinch when her knee buckles or when her voice, sharp as shattered glass, tries to mask the tremble in her chest.

But Baekhyun's seen too much, lived too long, and her defiance smells too much like death.

"Don’t put on a facade with me," he says, low, leveled, but with the force of something ancient beneath it. "I can smell it, Rina. The rot. The venom. You’re bleeding lies and you think I won’t notice?" Her steps falter — a flicker of tension at the base of her neck. She still doesn’t look back.

He doesn’t expect her to.

"You’re dying," he says flatly, because no one else will. "And it’s going to be ugly. Venom is something not even I meddle with." Then the air splits.

A snarl — wet, guttural — rips down the stairwell as a blur of movement cuts across the smoke. The scent hits him first: burnt flesh, rusted blood, madness. Rogue vampires. Starved, untethered, drawn to the venom in her blood like carrion to rot. They drop from the rafters — three, maybe four — bone-thin and rapid, eyes glowing with something far beyond hunger.

Baekhyun doesn’t hesitate.

"Get down," he snaps, already moving.

He moves before the first creature fully breaches the landing — a blur of unnatural speed. His hand lashes out, claws tearing clean through its throat. It collapses in a heap before it ever makes a sound, ichor bubbling from its neck like oil.

Another one shrieks and charges from the smoke, leaping for Jimin — but Baekhyun's already there. He catches it mid-air by the jaw and slams it down spine-first onto the concrete, fist burying into its skull until the screaming stops.

The next two are faster. They come at him in tandem, but he twists into them like a storm — elbow driving into the first’s ribs, claws raking across its chest, tearing straight through bone. The second manages to catch his shoulder briefly before Baekhyun grabs it by the neck and rips. Flesh tears like fabric, and its body slumps to the floor twitching.

Blood coats his hands, dark and hot. It drips from his fingertips as he turns back to her, eyes glowing dimly in the dark — like a predator under moonlight. "You want to pretend you’re fine?" he says, breath steady, voice edged. "Then prove it." He steps closer, close enough that she can smell the iron on his skin.

"You want to play the tough guy? Fine. Show me you are not dying by the second as that venom eats you alive."

His gaze lingers on her shoulder, where poison pulses beneath the skin like something alive. "I’ve watched rot hollow out stronger bodies than yours," he adds, quieter now — not cruel, but cold with truth. "You want to outrun it, then stop lying to me and move smart."

He turns before she can answer, flexing his fingers once — the blood on his claws glinting wet in the dim light as he wipes it off with a handkerchief, already pacing up the stairs.

"Keep up, Rina."

This time, it's not a command.

The room felt colder somehow, though no window was open and no draft crept through. Baekhyun watched her the entire time — the tremble in her fingers, the obsessive touch to the glass, the control she thought she still had. Thought. There was grief in her voice, sure, but more than that — precision. It mirrored something he’d long ago buried in himself.

He didn’t speak right away. Didn’t need to. Only when her eyes found his — burning steady, the calm before some vicious, impending storm — did he shift.

A quiet sigh bled past his lips. He leaned back on the couch, gaze dropping to the empty glass in her hand. "…Leo’s a damn fool if he thought you’d keep your nose out of it," he said, voice low and edged with quiet disdain. "You were never the type to sit still while the world decided your fate for you."

His fingers laced together, resting just beneath his chin. "He’s afraid you’ll lose control. But the truth is, control is the only thing you have had left. And you’ve weaponized it."

There was no pride in his tone. No flattery. Just fact.

He stood then, slow, measured — as if to match her exhaustion with a patience only someone centuries old could summon. His footsteps brought him closer, but he stopped just short of touching her.

"You’re right," Baekhyun said. "She didn’t kill you that night. She left you. Watched the fire catch and still walked away. You think she spared you? I don’t." His head tilted slightly. "Knowing her for as long as I have, I think she meant to forge you."

His eyes bore into hers.

"I won’t stop you."

He let those words sit for a moment. Let the weight of them settle in the air between them, heavier than the grief she carried. "I’ll train you. I’ll teach you everything I know, and more — not so you can get revenge," he added, "but so when the time comes, you don’t falter. You don’t second-guess. You don’t die." A pause. "Not like they did."

Something softened then, almost imperceptibly. He lifted a hand and rested it briefly on her shoulder — not to comfort, but to ground her.

"You’ve already started down this path. There’s no going back. So from this point on… you walk it with me."

His voice dropped, steady as stone.

Thunderbolts Sentences — Accepting.

The dream folds around him like ash and smoke, endless, formless. A warm and comforting blanket he chose to wrap himself in, hoping the warmth might resemble that of the burning star that once lay beside him.

Baekhyun doesn't remember how long he's been wandering — only that every step feels heavier, as if the void itself drags him down with the memory of what once was. His feet sink into what resembles powdered snow as a raging blizzard collides against his crimson-tainted cheeks and nose, flakes catching on his lashes.

Karina's voice cuts through, soft but certain. "We can find a way out of here together. Will you try and leave with me?"

It pulls him back, if only for a moment, though he is no longer certain if the familiar silhouette caught in his line of vision belongs to her or just another mirage in the relentless cold, another trick of false hope.

His throat tightens, suffocated by the weight of the words that follow as the answer claws out of him before he can stop it.

"I can’t…"

The words hang in the emptiness, fragile, almost breaking. His hands tremble as if reaching for something that isn't there, something that should've burned bright but never returned.

"I don’t want to."

His gaze lowers, heavy with the weight of promises that never bloomed, distant and cold as if every flame has long since subsided. "If I let him go, it means it's over." His voice falters, as though even speaking the thought threatens to undo him. It's pathetic, really, but Baekhyun never expected such unconditional love to slip through his fingers so easily.

He deems it impossible to maintain composure when everything he has ever known threatens to shatter like brittle glass. "I… am afraid of whatever might hit me when I let that flame die, Rina."

The silence swallows him again, and his chest caves under it. He exhales shakily, almost a confession, with an impossibly bitter grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "I forgot what it's like to live without the love of my life."

His eyes close, and for a moment, the void flickers with an echo of firelight — illusory, fleeting — before it's gone.

Where It Hurts Starters — Accepting.

The night draped itself over the manor, the woods around it whispering secrets in the wind. Smoke curled lazily from the firepit, flickering in the crescent moonlight, and there she was — small and stubborn, curled up on the cushioned chair like she owned the cold.

Her fingers tugged lightly at his sleeve, a silent insistence.

"Can you just… stay a little longer?" She asked, voice soft but firm, tugging again when he didn't move.

Baekhyun crouched beside her, letting his shadow fall across the firelight. A small smirk tugged at his lips. "You mean… stay to make sure you don't turn into a human popsicle?"

She rolled her eyes, tugging again, and he let out a quiet laugh. "Fine, fine." He mused, shifting closer and letting his jacket brush against her shoulders. "I must say, I didn't expect you to return to the manor after your training, but…" He trails off, a hand carefully reaching to pat the top of her head once, maybe twice, retracting before she could bite it off. "I'm glad you did."

He leaned back slightly on the edge of the chair, a smile now replacing the mischievous grin, letting her tiny insistence dictate the rhythm.

Where It Hurts Starters — Accepting.

Perhaps Baekhyun hadn't realized just how long he had been twirling the silver band snug around his ring finger, or how long his gaze had lingered on the crackling fire, as though his mind was somewhere far from where they stood.

Or maybe it was the grim shadows cast across his features, shrouding the smile he had worn too long during their earlier conversations. Something about Leo, about how he had returned to the safety of her embrace, and how glad Baekhyun was to see Karina finally emerging from the reinforced fortress she had called her room.

It all crumbled when she finally cut through the silence.

The realization hit him like a boulder, crushing the air from his lungs and leaving only the sharp ache of truth behind. An ache as old as time — one he had learned to live with, or at least convinced himself he had. So when his gaze flickers to meet hers, it carries an impossible weight of sorrow.

"Forgive me, I didn't realize..." The words shatter before he can finish, caught in the back of his throat, burning like a forest fire. His fidgeting stills, and he slips the ring from his finger into an inner pocket of his jacket.

It doesn't burn as much when out of sight, or so he entertains himself with the thought.

The sommelier straightens on his chair. His shoulders ease back, expression smoothing into the practiced composure he wore so well, though he is certain the unavoidable bitter smile tugging at the edges of his lips gives everything away.

It is hard, concealing the pounding thrum within such fragile ribs.

Baekhyun found the box resting neatly at his doorstep, the soft pink ribbon catching faint morning light like a whisper. He didn’t need to guess who left it — he could feel her presence in the gesture itself. Everything about it was deliberate, restrained. Careful. Just like Jimin.

He picked it up gently, thumb brushing the folded note atop.

A quiet exhale left him. Then, instinctively, he brought the box closer — just enough to catch what most wouldn’t notice.

There it was.

Faint, but unmistakable beneath the chocolate and the hint of her perfume. Taeyong. That old, familiar thread of cold steel and ash, something he hadn’t scented in a while. It clung to the ribbon like a fingerprint.

So. He came to her.

Baekhyun’s expression shifted — just slightly. A slow, knowing smile tugged at his lips, chased by a weightless kind of relief. His shoulders dropped a fraction, tension unwinding from places he hadn’t realized were still tight.

“About time,” he murmured.

He lingered at the doorway a moment longer, the box cradled in one hand, the other resting on the doorframe. Not just for the chocolates, but for what they meant. Not forgiveness, not entirely — but connection. Closure, maybe. Beginning, maybe.