#czennet

It wasn’t like you were close friends or anything of the like to see his face on the regular, either. You only knew him since you went to school for four years together, were in the same groups for a few projects and outings together, and shared a few conversations and unfortunate events together (i.e. the time you were forced to act out a couple scene for a class roleplay, but that’s a story for another day). But then twelfth grade and college came swinging by and you haven’t heard of him ever since, save for a few whiffs here and there when someone would mention him, or when he’d heart your recently changed display picture.

The only other connection you can count with him is the fact that you also shared the same friend— Chaewon— your best friend of over ten years and the only girl a part of Jeno’s friend group. She’s also the star of the party you’re attending today, and the very reason why you’re meeting Lee Jeno again in the first place.

The very reason why you end up seeing him again when you enter the hotel room, white button up with rolled up sleeves tucked in sharp fitting slacks and all, and think: oh shit, I used to have a crush on him.

“Whoa. Y/N, is that you?"

He turned away from the mirror when he heard the door opening as you entered, sporting a look of surprise before melting into a wide, closed-eyed smile.

Oh shit, you think again. He’s still hot.

Out of the five things you knew about him, it seems this one still checks out.

“Y/N, Jeno’s asking if you’re Y/N,” Donghyuck chimes in as he squeezes past you, trying to maneuver around the crowded hotel room filled with people preparing and voices muddled together. You see faces you haven’t even caught a glimpse of in two years (Donghyuck was one), some you’ve seen just a week ago (Sunwoo, whose head you saw popping out from the bathroom. He went to your house last weekend to borrow a book). There are also people you’ve never met before in your entire life but have heard their names mentioned (Chenle was a name you’ve heard many times and is a name currently being shouted by a guy you don’t recognize), so that increases your ill comfort.

“No,” you snort in reply, placing your bags down on one of the empty spaces on the floor. “Who could I be, I wonder.”

Jeno chuckles and turns back to the mirror, throwing on his coat. “It’s nice seeing you again, Y/N.”

Christ, you sigh and sink into the closest chair. Even his back looks hot.

THE SECOND THING you knew about him was still the same, as well.

“Hey.”

You hear a familiar voice from a few seats away.

“Where did Jeno run off to?”

Despite all the music and voices chattering in the ballroom, your ears pick up Mark Lee from the table next to yours asking the rest of his friends in the middle of the event, and you let your spoon drop onto the saucer to listen out of curiosity. Letting your eyes gloss around their table, you can recognize each one of them— Donghyuck, Jaemin, Yangyang, Shotaro, Renjun (people you went to highschool with), and an empty chair right beside Mark— presumably, Jeno’s.

“Right,” Yangyang adds, flicking his wrist to check his watch. “It’s almost time for us to perform.”

All six turn to Jaemin simultaneously, and the orange-haired boy nonchalantly looks back at them in his seat. Jaemin takes out his right hand, two fingers open and raises it to his puckered up lips. He blows into the gap between his fingers and drops his hand down, shoulder slacking. “Out.”

They release a groan. Sunwoo asks from beside you if you’re gonna eat your remaining ice cream or just let it evaporate.

“I thought he stopped smoking,” you hear Renjun say.

“He stopped smoking to start vaping,” replied Donghyuck. “Jaemin, why don’t you tell your friend off. It’s Chaewon’s birthday, for fuck’s sake.”

“He doesn’t even listen anymore when I nag him,” Jaemin whines before turning back to Mark, who already looked worried because of two reasons. “But, hyung. If you’re worried about Chaewon’s party getting ruined if he doesn’t show up on time—”

He nods his head, chin pointing to the ballroom entrance.

“Don’t.”

At that moment, Jeno waltzes into the scene— one hand in his pocket, the other languidly swinging on his side as he makes large strides to the table. The moving lights flicker on his face for a split second, just a second before it slid elsewhere in the room, and you took in a sharp inhale of the conditioned air. He makes eye contact with you as he passes by, nods and smiles, one corner of his lips just barely twitching upwards, before grinning wider as he skips to his table with the boy.

“Hey,” he says, settling down beside Mark. “We’re up next, right?”

The chair you’re sitting on is kicked by Sunwoo, and you yelp out a swear. “What the fuck?”

“Your ice cream,” he deadpans. “Melting.”

Drawing your eyes back to the table, you see bits of nuts and marshmallows swimming in a pool of white, brown, and a darker shade inside your tall glass. You groan and push it aside. Jesus, it’s like you’re sixteen again.

YOU’RE LOSING YOUR MIND.

Were you that relationship deprived, romantically denied, and so much in need of something to water your dried-up, shriveled-up love life to the point of gawking at your old crush (of whom you don’t even know if he’s still single) throughout the entire party and after?

Perhaps.

You don’t want to admit it, but you also don’t have another explanation as to why the fuck you’re sitting against a seat in the cold, cold corner of the dim hotel room, fries and tupperwared cake and wine in a coke cup in front of your crossed legs, looking up, french fry between your fingers, and with your mouth slightly ajar at the Lee Jeno that’s looming over you at this very moment.

He’d just taken a shower. You can see from the droplets melting into the gray towel hanging around his neck.

“Can you get my phone?”

“Don’t want to,” the words automatically come out of your mouth before you can think, and you inwardly cringe at yourself, feeling your soul shrivel up and die just like your love life.

“It’s literally behind you,” Jeno grumbles. “Please?”

You wipe your mouth and blink more times than normal, returning the fry to its basket. “Where?”

“Wedged between the cushion,” his face scrunches together while he aggressively dries his hair with the towel.

You quickly turn around and look for the damned phone.

“Yup. That’s it,” he says, and you pass the device up to him. He shoots you a grin and turns on the screen. “Nice, good job.”

“Am I a dog?” you grimace, swiping your paper cup of wine from the floor and bringing it up to your lips, looking to the side. Jeno laughs and reaches for the top of your head, his fingers slipping through strands of your hair while he ruffles it up.

“Thanks.”

His fingers disappear from your scalp and he sits on the bedside, still close to you while he busies himself with his phone.

You could feel the wires in your brain start to fry and short circuit.

“Hey, you don’t have a cough or anything, right?”

Just then, Sunwoo enters your peripheral and settles himself down right in front of you on the floor, just beside Jeno’s feet. You remembered that there were other people here inside the hotel room, and suddenly you hear all the noises around— the screaming at each other, the laughing at the television screen right in front of the two, pushed together beds, and the hysterical crying from the dining area just outside the door.

“No,” you look at him, feeling the sting of liquid crawl down your throat before throwing the now empty cup to the floor. “Why?”

“Let me borrow your spoon.”

You look at what he has with him. It’s the mango float Shotaro brought. Sunwoo waits for you with a hopeful glimmer.

“Wait. I have a runny nose.”

You flinched when you heard Jeno break into a snort and laugh.

This isn’t supposed to make you feel proud, but it does.

Sunwoo scoffs, adjusting his legs with a glare directed straight at your forehead. “If you don’t want me to use it then just say it to my face.” Offended, you try to defend yourself, saying that he only asked if you were coughing at first, so of course you’d say no and that he should’ve clarified his intentions from the beginning, but Sunwoo wouldn’t take any of your shit. You could still hear Jeno’s stray chuckles. Sunwoo continues to ignore you and decides to pay attention to the guy sitting on the bed instead, much to your outrage. “Long time no see Jen.”

“Hey,” Jeno answers. “For the record, Y/N has a point.”

You stick your tongue out. Sunwoo ignores you. “You go to NCIT, right?”

“Yep. What about you two?”

“Music production at SNU,” your friend replies. Jeno hums and says something, but you lose whatever it was when his eyes flit over to you.

Right. He has a mole under his left eye.

“Y/N?”

“O—oh,” you stammer. Sunwoo snorts and makes fun of you. You give him the finger. “Hanyang.”

“What are you taking?”

You don’t know why but you’re suddenly embarrassed. “Uh— public administration.”

“Whoa,” he leans down, elbows resting on his knees while his hands dangle in front of him. The lights are all off. The television screen is the only thing illuminating the back of his head. You can see the outline of his features— sharp and gentle. Jeno opens his mouth. “That’s cool. You gonna run for president?”

You start coughing.

“I thought your throat was fine,” Sunwoo grimaces from in front of you, throwing sheets of tissue paper that he found on the floor to your direction.

“Fuck off,” you crumple the sheets and pelt it to his face before turning back to Jeno, un-knitting your eyebrows. “I’d rather get run over thanks to all my readings.”

“At least you’re taking a break today,” your friend butts in. You grumble and take a scoop of cake from the tupperware. “What about you, Jen? Weren’t you planning on being an engineer, or something?”

“Oh,” he says. “I’m taking up nursing.”

The spoon hangs from your mouth. Huh.

“What’s with the face?”

Jeno laughs at Sunwoo’s expression, his side profile highlighted by the television screen. Number three on the things you used to know about him is now crossed out, but still—

“You don’t think it suits me?”

It’s hot.

“Y/N, I’m fit to be a nurse, right?” suddenly, he turns to you, and you chase all your stupid thoughts away. Jesus, this guy needs to warn you before he looks at you. “I’m pretty sure I can rock a pair of scrubs and a stethoscope. I took your side earlier, c’mon.”

You stare at him. Why the fuck did he have to insert that image into your head.

Jeno lets out a groan, leaning back against the bed with his arms behind his neck. He lays on a nearby stack of pillows. His shirt rides up and your blood pressure is reaching a very dangerous level. “If you’re feeling sick, you can just phone me,” he grins at you. “I’ll nurse you back to health in no time.”

“I don’t even have your number, Jeno,” you manage to reply.

“Really?” his eyebrows lift up, tongue pushing against the inside of his mouth in a moment of thought. “Hold on.”

The phone you were looking for is suddenly thrown to your hands, home screen bright and open and unlocked.

“Save your number. I’ll text you.”

You make a noise of affirmation.

He has dating apps. At least now you know he’s single.

IT’S ONE IN THE MORNING when you return to the hotel room with Sunwoo from the convenience store to get some fresh air, and by god— you never knew how terrifying it would be to open a door and be greeted by around a dozen men scattered all around a dark room until it happened to you just now.

Fortunately for you, Chaewon is there to save you from the debilitating testosterone and sausage fest. She squeals when she sees you enter the room.

“Y/N!” you’re enveloped in a tight hug after the girl sprang herself from the bed to glomp you. A soft smile scatters across your lips, nose tickled by the stiff curls of her hair while she rocks you back and forth in her arms. “Ahh, I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to pay attention to you the whole day. There’s just so much things going on and a lot of people to tend to, so—”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. I get it, Chae,” you assure her, pulling away. “I could use a break from you, anyway.”

Her bottom lip juts outward. You laugh and bring her back into an embrace. “You literally call me every single day.” But that wasn’t enough for her, obviously. It takes a total of six minutes before she finally and reluctantly pries herself away from you.

“Make yourself at home, Y/N. There’s still some space on the bed, so go lie down and watch the movie they’re playing,” she says, and you take a peek at the television screen. The first thing you see is a shot of dismembered…member flying in the air. You look at Chaewon. She smiles stiffly. “Or not. I have to go to the other room, sorry.”

“Hope you make it until sunrise.”

“I’m having fun, it’s fine. You on the other hand better tell me if you need anything alright?” you nod and nod, telling her not to worry. “Sureness? I’ll be in the other room, so just— oh, jesus fuck— Kim Jungwoo, put that down!”

Chaewon rushes out of the room, door slamming after her. There’s a crash. You sigh and take in the scene right in front of you.

There is Donghyuck and Renjun sitting in the right corner that you previously occupied, mixing drinks and passing them to the men on the bed (the men on the bed being Yangyang, Mark, Jaemin, and Shotaro). Meanwhile, on your left, you can spot a certain Eric Sohn emerge from the bathroom, looking a little, uh, disoriented, managing a smile and wave to your direction while he passes by Dejun who was already mixing himself a packet of 3 in 1 coffee. You miss a few faces scattered herr and there in the dark, but you’d rather be here than outside where you can hear Chaewon and maybe Sunwoo trying to get an already wasted Jungwoo to get his shit together.

You exhale, crawling past a passed out Shotaro to position yourself right beside Yangyang. “The fuck are you guys watching?”

“No idea,” he replies. “It’s funny, though.”

When you tuned into the TV there was a dick again. It really feels like you’re transported three years into the past and not in a good way because you also find yourself laughing. God, is all the testosterone in the air getting to your head or what?

“Mark,” you call out to the guy on his phone at the edge of the bed. He looks behind and meets your eyes with pleasant surprise.

“Oh, Y/N,” he bats his eyelashes. “You’re here?”

“Since, three in the afternoon, dumbass,” you dig your legs under the blanket, stretching one out until your left foot barely hits Jaemin’s back. “Throw me the pillow.” He does as you say, and you settle the pillow on your lap.

Your attention flits back and forth over your phone and the movie (which is funny, you had to admit). At some point, Yangyang had decided to use your left arm as a resting post, and you had to push him off because he reeked of alcohol. Laying right in front of you is Na Jaemin, back flat on the two mattresses and taking up the most space along with Shotaro. Mark had already ran out to help Chaewon with the chaos outside, so Donghyuck took his spot in the far right corner.

It’s cold in the room. People have entered and left through the door multiple times over the course of twenty minutes, but you still don’t see Jeno anywhere. Not that you were specifically looking for him, but Na Jaemin is here and it’s odd to see them apart. Well, not that you’d seen them at all prior to this day, anyway.

You sigh.

Alright. Maybe you are looking for him.

“Where’s Jeno?” Yangyang asks the question for you, and your ears perk up for the answer.

“He went out with Kunhang,” says Jaemin, eyes glued on the TV screen. “Why? You miss him?”

Yangyang grimaces. “My phone’s dead and he borrowed my fucking charger.”

Speak of the devil. Leaks of light from the outside enter the room when the door swings open, revealing Jeno in a black shirt and a pair of basketball shorts before the lights dim once again. He’s stuck right by the door for a moment, right in front of the bed and staring at your direction. Why the fuck is he staring at your direction?

You swallow down, saliva cracking through your dry throat.

He answers by jumping into the empty space right by your legs.

“Oof— oh god, holy shit that hurts, man.”

A loud smack! bounces around the four walls of the room. Jeno yelps and curls his leg into his chest. Jaemin grunts and moves away to give him space.

“Dude, where did you put my charger?” Yangyang asks.

“The couch, somewhere,” he replies, squirming on top of the mess of blankets to get into a comfortable position. “Oh wait, Renjun borrowed it.”

Yangyang grumbles and leaves his spot beside you, and somehow Lee Jeno’s head finds its way on the pillow you were using. The pillow you were using to warm up your lap. He was laying down on your fucking lap. You can smell the bubblegum scented smoke that’s knitted into his hair, skin, and clothes. You can see the outline of his nose and eyelashes from the glow of the television screen right in front.

He lets out a deep laugh, eyes trained on the movie. You can feel the vibrations spilling into your thighs, stomach, chest, up to your faint and dizzying head.

There’s sweat trailing down the back of your neck. Fuck, it’s getting hotter.

“Found it.”

Yangyang announces as he throws himself back beside you, and you choke on your own spit in surprise. “Jesus, you good?”

Jesus, you hope you are.

“Who’s this?”

Jeno turns around briefly, and your legs are able to breathe for a quick moment and you mentally rejoice— “oh, it’s Y/N,”— however he settles back down, head resting on the pillow above your thighs, as if it isn’t a breach of platonic comfort.

It’s not like you’re friends or anything for him to be all close to you. This is the first time you’ve seen him in over a fucking year.

Jaemin is also laying beside Jeno, scrolling through pictures on his phone instead of watching the movie, and your attention is caught by the very stupid photo of Haechan and you burst into an unplanned two second of laughter before covering your mouth. The two look up, smiling, and continue to scroll through Jaemin’s gallery. “Jaem, Hyuck is gonna kill us.”

“He’s passed out on the floor.”

You try to hold in your snorts and chortles, but god damn— why did they have to show you the clip of a clearly pissed off Renjun, swearing and pointing his finger at Yangyang, ready to throw hands before slipping on the longboard conveniently in his way. It’s difficult to keep your hysterics on low volume, especially when the two are also laughing.

However, you go silent when your eyes catch a glimpse of a certain photo of Jeno, quickly scrolled past by Jaemin who went off to show a shot of Mark Lee’s ass in rash guard shorts.

Go back, you want to say. That was barely a second, go back.

“Hey, let me borrow the phone for a sec,” Jeno steals the phone from Jaemin’s hands to which the guy responds with a whine. He scrolls back dozens of photos, all in your perfect view since the guy was still using your legs as a second pillow, right before stopping. “Wow. Perfect.”

It’s the shot of him from earlier. Thirst trap mirror selfie. Sleeveless shirt. God, his jawline can slice through your arteries.

“Ew, you’re just trying to show off,” the screen is shut off in the process of Jaemin snatching his phone back. He turns around to look at you. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hello,” you reply flatly. Your right leg is starting to become numb. “Do you need anything?”

Jaemin stares at you for a few seconds. You raise a brow.

“Yes. I need to pee. Hold on.”

The guy shuffles off of the bed, and Jeno lets out a long, happy sigh for finally having all of the space to himself. You expect him transfer his fucking head elsewhere, but no. Jeno lifts his head up for a second— one second— only to adjust the pillow on your legs and stretch himself, right before dropping his head back down your lap with a comfortable groan, arms crossed.

Are you a joke to him?

Your mouth is itching to say something. For example, out of all the places, why here? Is this normal for him? To use the legs of a person he hasn’t even talked to in one point five years as a resting cushion? Does he realize how close he is? That you can smell the musky shampoo he used a while ago? He can take the fucking pillow and move away, why the fuck is he doing this?

The blood that’s supposed to be circulating around your legs is cut off. You can barely feel your thighs. However, you still can’t bring yourself to say anything because holy shit— he’s moving his head up and closer and you can feel it each time he breathes.

Suddenly, he shots up.

Your blood comes rushing back into your legs and you can feel them again. Jeno doesn’t say anything when he slides off the bed and walks out the door.

“Where’d he go?” Jaemin asks after returning from the bathroom. You shrug in response. He lays back down and the sounds coming from the television speakers enter your ears once again, and you let out a deep sigh.

While the end credits roll and air finally starts to become colder, you’re flashed back to the time where you first had a crush on him: 11th grade. Middle of the semester. You’d always been aware that Lee Jeno is a remarkably fine specimen, and that you were able to confirm that up close when you were roped into roleplaying a scene where he ended up pinning you against the blackboard for the sake of your grades— but you digress. It really, officially began when you were whining to Chaewon about being single, and that all you wanted was an attractive and strong looking man who had a pretty voice and liked cats, and Lee Donghyuck had to fucking overhear and scream to the entire class “hey! That’s Jeno!” subsequently causing the guy to look over to your direction, slow-mo style, and it clicked inside your head like the barrel of a gun.

You were a goner for five months tops. But then you moved up to twelfth grade and forgot about him.

Had you not been here today, you quite frankly would have continued to forget about him, but you didn’t— you’re here, you’ve seen him, and he’s back in the fucking room with a paper cup in hand that he slammed down onto the television counter right after downing the shot. You caught all of that with your eyeballs in 4K, especially the way his Adam's apple bobbed up and down when he swallowed the drink.

You mumble a silent swear.

He runs his fingers through his hair before falling back into his previous position (your lap), faced down with a grunt. Jaemin smacks Jeno’s ass upon return.

It’s almost as if your backlogs aren’t enough torture.

“You’re not allowed to smoke in the hotel,” Jaemin tells him.

“I didn’t. I went to the kitchen to drink a bit,” he groans in reply, flipping himself over and taking out his phone from his short pockets. You spot Jaemin about to get up. Jeno stops him. “Don’t go out unless you want to ice skate on vomit.”

Jaemin lies back down.

“Are— are those your cats?” you find yourself asking when Jeno’s phone screen shines on your face, full view of his home screen wallpaper. When he passed you his phone earlier, you took notice of the three different colored cats laying down on three different surfaces like a ladder.

“Yeah,” he replied with a smile. Not that you can see it, anyway, since his eyes are trained on his phone screen. “That’s Bongsik, Seol, and Nal. Cute, aren’t they?”

Jaemin scoffs. “You can’t even hold them without sneezing your ass off.”

“So? There’s always a small sacrifice when it comes to love.”

The two of them continue their back and forth banter. You smile to yourself. Item number four on your list also checks out. That’s three out of five since the guy suddenly switched over to nursing instead of mechanical engineering— the story behind that, you don’t know and don’t expect yourself to know since, well again, you aren’t close.

Supposedly. That closeness becomes arbitrary when he’s literally snuggled up on your legs at the moment.

Jaemin interrupts your mental musings by calling Jeno a ballsack. You didn’t get to hold back your snort and laughter.

“Oh god—” you wheeze, fingers covering your lips because god you aren’t proud of laughing over something as juvenile as that, but you are. Jaemin looks satisfied. You want to bury yourself. “Sorry, I’m— fuck, holy shit.”

It hits you that Jeno is dead silent, and when you look at him, you’re met with a pair of eyes, upside-down and reflecting the light from the television screen, looking straight at you. You can see his eyelashes fluttering open, his under eye mole contrasting his blue-tinted skin in the dim arena, and the shimmer on his slightly wet lips that’s turned into a faint pout.

His head is still resting on your lap.

Your giggles die down immediately.

“What’s so funny?”

Suddenly, he gets up. Your legs can finally breathe again, but now your lungs are clogged— seared shut and unable to squeeze in or out even the tiniest bit of cold air because for some reason Lee Jeno thinks it’s a good idea to get an answer from you by putting his face three inches away from yours. You sink into the mattress. His knuckles dig deep into the white blanket cascading down your sides.

“I can’t believe you’re laughing at his ballsack comment. Y/N, that’s so mean.”

“I— I’m not!” you stammer. Jesus fuck, he’s so close.

Jeno purses his lips and narrows his eyes, scrutinizing. A deep breath slips past you when Jeno finally moves away.

“Move it. I’m getting off,” you hastily announce. Yangyang, whom you’ve honestly forgotten until recently, asks where you’re going and why the hell were you leaving him and if you’re going home already when it’s literally two in the morning and you haven’t bonded enough yet. Jaemin and Jeno’s eyes follow you with the same level of curiosity. “Restroom. Jesus, stop being so dramatic.”

With that, you left through the door and for some fucking reason the floor is wet.

“You have slippers on, right?” Mark greets you upon your exit. “There was, uh, an accident earlier. Don’t take them off.”

You glance down at the now suspiciously shiny floor, and let out a long sigh.

You need a breather. A long one.

THE CHAOS TONED DOWN AT QUARTER TO FIVE IN THE MORNING, but not until after a total of three broken glasses, two trips to the shower because of another accident happening, and one misunderstanding with the boys which led to a very brief fist fight because they all passed out not long after. You could hear everything while you hid in the other room, only getting out when you finally sensed a semblance of peace outside.

Now, you’re sitting in the dark at the dining table with Yangyang, Sunwoo, Renjun, and Chaewon— the poor girl barely conscious after babysitting a grand total of a dozen boys the entirety of the night and morning. She’s using Renjun as a headrest, while the boy (clearly sober) asks you questions about your major and academics and life in general.

You’re sure you’ve shared a total of five words with him prior to this night. You don’t know why you’re telling him all about your college stresses and all the university organizations you’re in.

“Although your acads are the primary thing you’re entering college for, it’s still important to balance it out with extracurriculars. What you’re doing— Y/N, right?”

“Yes, I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N, yes, right,” Renjun nods to himself. You can barely see the outline of his head moving. “What you’re doing is a hundred percent correct, Y/N. Even if it’s difficult to balance everything, there’s always pros and cons.“

You sniffle from the cold, sounding out an agreement while adjusting the jacket you took from Sunwoo. “There are a lot of things you can get from joining orgs that you can’t just attain from sticking your nose solely into your academics. For one, socialization and networking You can mingle with a lot of people from different years and majors if you join them. And of course, you can actually immerse yourself in society, and apply the things you learn from—”

“Yes, exactly!” Renjun slams his palms down the table, causing Chaewon to flinch awake. “Shit, sorry. Go back to sleep, Chae. That’s it.” You lean back against the chair, arms crossed with a small smile curling on your lips. She must have been tired, you think to yourself.

“Hate to interrupt your nerd bonding, but aren’t you guys hungry?”

Sunwoo pipes in, shining his phone screen into your eyes that says 5:17AM. It occurs to you that you are hungry and thirsty, considering the fact that there’s literally no food or water, only alcohol in the hotel room. Yangyang makes a suggestion to go grab something to eat and drink at the nearest 7/11.

“You guys go ahead, I’ll bring her to one of the rooms,” Renjun grunts, lifting up Chaewon’s limp body to the room you were hiding in earlier, right past the bathroom.

“Careful, dude,” Sunwoo calls after him, then turns back to you. “Y/N, you coming?”

“Yup. Let me get a mask and my wallet first.”

You trail after Renjun and Chaewon minutes after, maneuvering yourself in the dark because if you’d turn the lights on, you’re sure to receive an earful of grown men complaining about the brightness. Just as you’re about to pass by the bathroom, the door swings open, shining light into your irises and you bump into someone.

The door closes. Your eyes readjust to the darkness and realize it’s Jeno.

Of course it’s him.

“Oh, crap.”

It’s Lee Jeno with his hair dripping wet wearing nothing but a towel in the dark hallway of the hotel room. There’s a sliver of light slipping through the crack of the bathroom door. It glazes over the droplets of water sprinkled on his chest and you refuse to let your eyes wander lower.

“Didn’t you sleep?”

He asks, voice raspy. Your own vocal cords stop functioning.

“You look tired.”

“I’ll sleep when I get home,” you manage to croak out. “We’re going out. Do you need anything?”

“We’re going out?” Jeno repeats in the same low voice, a small grin playing on his lips. You flush and smack his arm, instantly regretting because he dodged and your palm lands on the middle of his chest. Thank fucking god it’s dark. “Sorry, sorry,” he laughs. “Water, please. And if you’re getting ramen, count me in.”

You grunt in affirmation, sliding past him to retreat into the room at the end of the hall. The door slams shut.

“Whoa, calm down. Chae’s asleep.”

Renjun scolds you as you enter. You ignore him  and throw yourself into the mattress, burying your face in the crumpled up blanket next to Chaewon.

“You okay?” He asks. You grunt in response before he leaves the room.

No. No, you aren’t.

Stupid question when you’re having an existential crisis about an teeny tiny ex-crush that shouldn’t be ruining your life and senses this much had he been a little more sensitive, a little more self aware about the effect he has to all the people around him.

Or maybe that’s just you.

“Y/N! Aren’t you coming?”

Recap.

There’s at least five things you know about Lee Jeno: first, he was and is still insanely hot. No questions there. Second, he still smokes. Third, he switched interests from engineering to nursing. Fourth, he still likes cats and owns three of them now despite being allergic. In addition to all of that, you know he’s a little shameless and he has no qualms about invading your personal space. You also know he’s single.

“Y/N!”

Lastly—

“One moment!”

You know you had a crush on him.

“Took you long enough.”

Sunwoo grumbles the moment you stagger into the dining area, and you see Yangyang and Renjun waiting for you along with Jeno, now fully dressed in a gray hoodie, baseball cap and sweats. He shoots you a grin and wave. “I’m coming with. They need my car.”

You nod absentmindedly.

“Okay.”

Scratch that.

You still have a crush on him.

You met Yuta at a bar two years ago. You were both starting out at your jobs and looking to drink away your stress of being the new employee and paying off your student loans. You noticed him right away: his long hair and suit stuck out to you as he didn’t look like the typical corporate guy. So you made a plan to sit next to him and order a drink, and you almost succeeded until you approached the bar and he turned around, spilling his drink all over you. 

“Oh no!” Yuta exclaimed, grabbing a napkin. “I didn’t see you coming. I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you waved him off, your face hot with embarrassment. “Mistakes happen.”

He attempted to pat your blouse dry, touching your breasts by mistake. You cleared your throat, and Yuta realized what he had done. Now, it was his turn to be embarrassed. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know,” you responded, taking the napkin from him. 

You patted yourself dry as best as you could, feeling disappointed that your plan didn’t go through. You thanked Yuta for trying to help and left the bar, ready to go home and wash the stench of liquor off of you. Well, tonight was a bust, you thought to yourself, kicking small pebbles out of your way.

“Hey! Wait!”

You heard a voice calling from behind, and you turn around. Yuta was running up to you out of breath, holding a small black wallet—your wallet—in his hands. 

“You dropped this when you left,” he said, handing it to you. “You sure walk fast.”

“Well, I wanted to get home and shower, so...” you chuckled, motioning to your ruined dress. “I currently smell like Budweiser.”

“Honestly, I am really sorry about that.” His tone was soft, and his face was sincere. “Let me make it up to you tomorrow over dinner.”

You were at a loss of words, flattered that he asked you out on a date. However, you didn’t answer right away. Instead, you took a pen and a sticky note you had in your purse and scribbled down your number. Then, you stuck it on his coat, telling him to meet you tomorrow at 7pm at a local diner that you frequent. 

“I know the place,” Yuta disclosed, taking the note and putting it in his coat pocket. “I’ll meet you there.”

The date went great the next day: you learned more about each other and realized that you had more in common. For example, you both shared the same humor, tastes in music, tv shows and movies, and are family-oriented. You spent all night at the diner, talking about everything you could think of until the sun came up. Yuta was the perfect gentleman, ordering you a cab and making sure you got home safe. 

“I’ll call you when I wake up,” he said, leaving a kiss on your cheek. 

One date turned into several, and now, years later, you share an apartment and plan to spend the rest of your lives together. Thank God he spilled his beer on you that night. 

“Baby, are you ready?” Yuta calls out from the living room.

You are in the bedroom, packing up some last minute things before you both hit the road. Yuta wouldn’t tell you where the place is, saying it’s a “secret” and to pack clothes that you can quickly get out of. You know he mentioned a picnic, but your mind started wandering all over the place in excitement. So, you packed a sundress, t-shirt, shorts, and a swimsuit just in case wherever he is taking you has water. 

“Yeah, babe.” You rush out of the room. “I have everything I need.”

Yuta had packed all the foods you would need so you wouldn’t get hungry while you were out. You had offered to help, but he had insisted on doing it, saying that he wanted to make it special. He’s always thinking of you and how to create moments meaningful for you. He’s thoughtful, caring, and not afraid to tell you if you are messing up. How did you get so lucky?

You both exit the apartment and pack your things in the car, the early morning sun greeting you with its bright rays as you hit the road. You stop by a local cafe to get coffee and pastries in the drive-thru, complaining to Yuta that you did not feel fully functional without coffee.  

“I’m sorry, baby,” you giggle, eating your strawberry-filled danish. “You know how I am.”

Yuta shakes his head and smiles, pulling out of the drive-thru. He gets on the highway, and the ride is good for three hours. Watching the sunrise over the horizon is one of your favorite things in the world, and you let the window down, sticking your head out of the door occasionally. The ivory clouds and luscious green trees make a beautiful sight, and so you pull out your phone to take pictures. You capture everything in sight, including Yuta, who looks delectably handsome driving the car. 

“You are really handsome,” you tell him, snapping one last photo.

“Thank you, my love,” Yuta says, his shyness taking over. 

There aren’t many things that can make Yuta blush or feel cute, but you aren’t just anything. You are the apple of his eye, the love of his life. You love how bashful he gets when you praise him, and he deserves it. He is a good man, and there will never be a day he doesn’t know that. 

“We’re here! Wake up, sleepyhead,” Yuta announces. 

He nudges your shoulder, and you stir out of your sleep, eyes being met with tall grass, sand, and ocean water. You haven’t been to this beach before, and the smell of salt water and the seagulls flying overhead makes it more surreal. Yuta mentioned he found a beach while doing research for his job, and he wanted to take you whenever you had time. You are glad you thought to back everyone. Now you can really enjoy yourself. 

“It looks so pretty here,” you say, stepping out of the car and stretching your legs. 

“I found out that this area is private property, so you have to ask permission from the owners to come and spend time here,” Yuta says. “Fortunately, the owners are long-time clients of mine, so it was no big deal.”

Yuta grabs everything you packed from the car and walks towards the beach, settling on a spot that’s not too close to the water. The high will be in the early 80’s today, so you knew wearing your bathing suit was definitely ideal. You rummage through your bag until you find your one piece and shorts before searching for an outhouse to change in. 

“Babe, just go into the house there.” Yuta pointed to the beach house right behind you. “My clients left it to us for the day.” 

The house sits on a stone structure, and you couldn’t help but think that the architect wanted to make sure the house could withstand any storms that came its way. The rich tan wood and high decks made of sandstone pavement complemented each other very well. 

You walk in with the key Yuta gave you, and you are floored with how beautiful the house looks. These must be wealthy clients, you think to yourself. You find the bathroom, quickly change into your bathing suit, and make your way back to Yuta.

“It took you long enough,” he jokes with a silly grin on his face. 

Yuta had set everything up: the cold foods are on platters on the blanket and the warm food is still in the basket. He hands you a can of lemon-lime soda, and you take a seat next to him, looking at the ocean. The endless choppy waters crash into each other and the sun shines brightly in the sky, making you feel nostalgic. It reminds you of when you were a kid, and your parents used to bring you to the beach. You would run around with your brothers until you were out of breath and sandy, eat sandwiches and popsicles until your face was sticky, and were out cold on the drive home. At this moment, right now, you feel at peace. Yuta managed to do the one thing you’ve always wanted: to feel at home with the love of your life. 

“Hey Yuta,” you say, looking at the sand between your toes. 

“Yeah?” He takes a sip from his strawberry soda. 

“I love you. Thank you for this.”

You lean in and kiss him, the sweet taste on his soft lips drawing you in. He leans back on the blanket, and you straddle him, your lips not leaving his. For a moment, you forget that you are out in the open. Your short dress hikes up, showing your matching panties, and Yuta’s hands firmly grip on your ass. The bulge in his pants grows, hitting you in the right spot that’s making you melt. 

Yuta pulls the top of your dress down. “Take it off.” 

Half of your breasts are exposed, and you feel uncomfortable being half-naked out in the open. You nervously meet his eyes and slowly move your straps from your shoulders. Then, as if he read your mind,he stops you and places your hand over his heart. 

“Are you okay?” he asks softly. 

“I just feel a little nervous, being out in the open like this, you know?” 

Your face gets embarrassingly hot, and you sit back on the blanket. Yuta rubs your back, reassuring you that it’s okay and you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. It’s not like you haven’t had sex before. In fact, you have sex a couple times a week if possible. But you were always at home, where you’re the most comfortable, and where no one can see you. In theory, the thought of beach sex sounds nice, but your nerves won’t allow it. You fucking hate it. 

“I’m sorry,” you say softly. “I wish I was more adventurous for you.”

You put your head down in between your legs, wanting to hide from him and from the world if you could. You hate the thought of disappointing him, and even though he’s cool without getting any action, it doesn’t stop you from feeling bad. Especially when you want him just as badly. Yuta wore a black and white striped muscle shirt that showed off his toned arms, just the way you like it. He got his haircut the day before, styled in an undercut that drives you mad. Your center is pulsating for him, and even though you are scared shitless of being caught, you can’t ignore the way you feel. 

“Are you hungry?” Yuta hands you a bowl of strawberries. 

You take one, eating it slowly while your mind succumbs to dirty thoughts. Unbeknownst to you, Yuta watches you eat the strawberries, hard as a rock under his blanket. He doesn’t want to pressure you into doing something you aren’t comfortable with, but he can’t help but be turned on by you.

“Hey, babe?” Yuta’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “I want to try something with you, okay?”

You nod, setting your strawberries down and watching him move in front of you, and you notice the blanket covering his body. 

“You look really good eating those,” he says, palming himself. “We have the beach to ourselves, and I want nothing more than to taste your sweet pussy right now.”

“Yuta!” you gasp, face hot with embarrassment. 

“I’m sorry, babe. I can’t help it.” He kisses your cheek. “You are just so beautiful to me.”

Yuta kisses you once more, starting with your lips and tracing down to your neck. Your skin is on fire, every kiss he leaves setting you ablaze. Your nipples harden as his mouth trails down your body, the excitement of being touched in the open overtaking your fear. 

“We’ll take it slow, okay?” 

You nod, and a smirk creeps up his face, eyes twinkling at your faith in him. His hands slowly take off your dress, sliding your panties down and off your legs. He slowly spreads your legs apart, and his kisses move dangerously lower, his mouth now on your sensitive buds. Your hands run through his silky hair. He continues making his way down your body, careful to not miss an inch of you. He stops right as he reaches the paradise in between your legs, licking his lips and gazing at you. 

“Please,” you say softly. “Don’t make me wait anymore.”

Yuta nods, placing a sweet kiss on your folds. His tongue splits you open, his love for you spelled out with each lick. His face is buried in your cut, sucking on your clit like it would be his last. You bite your lip, trying to not bring any attention to yourself. 

“You taste so good.” Yuta sucks the juices off his fingers slowly. 

He clings to you and grips your thighs, eating you hungrily and lapping at your clit with a need that only you can fix. A muffled moan escapes your lips, and you feel him smirk against your thighs, humming softly as he continues to eat you alive. Your legs shake, and you feel your lower abdomen tighten, and your orgasm crashes down as you scream his name. 

“Go ahead, baby,” Yuta coos. “Cum for me.”

You’re a whimpering mess, your hands gripping his hair tightly as your sweet nectar covers the lower half of his face. You ride your hips against his tongue, riding out your orgasm until you are ripe with sensitivity. He releases you from his hold, and you sit up, trying to catch your breath. You watch him adjust his shorts, his hands covered with his load, and you realize that he pleasured himself while he was making you feel good. 

“Aww, babe.” You grab a napkin and wipe his hands. “I wish I could have helped you with that.”

He suddenly becomes shy, chuckling before leaving sweet kisses on your face. “It’s okay, baby.” His hand brushes your cheek softly. “I wanted today to be perfect for you.”

It’s your turn to be shy, and you bite your lip and cover your face. A flock of seagulls fly above the two of you, and the sparkling sea water invites you both in for a swim. You look at Yuta, who has the same thought in mind, standing up as you do and shedding off his clothes to change into his swim trunks. 

“Last one in the water has to make dinner tonight!” you exclaim, speeding off towards the waves. 

You’re halfway there before Yuta catches you by your waist and carries you into the water, bridal style. 

“So I guess we both are making dinner tonight?” You smile at him, clinging on to his shoulders. 

“Mmhmm,” he responds, kissing you before he throws you into the water. 

ML: what is that?

ML: is it a virus?

LJN joined the share

LDH joined the share

NJM joined the share

LDH: c’mon mark!

ML: ok, alright!

ML joins the share

You feel a soft hand caressing your stomach, slowly moving up around your breast to your collar bones to suddenly grab your neck with a strong grip. You gasp, dropping your phone on the bed, and look to your boyfriend only to notice his phone right in your face.

“The guys keep saying I’m soft… It’s starting to upset me.” Renjun coos from behind the phone. “Should we show them what really happens in this room?”

You nod as best as you can having your neck mobilised. In your sex life together you always took turns in the lead as you’re both ok with being dom or sub, but you had noticed how bothered he has been lately because his friends don’t believe his dominant skills, specially with those angelic facial features.

Renjun takes advantage of your open mouth and lets a string of saliva fall on it leaning down after to kiss your lips before he releases your throat. You swallow his spit and breathe in deeply to refill your lungs, you were no stranger to breath play but this time he really caught you off guard.

He removes the covers off of you and the phone follows the lines of your body, head to toe and back. You look him in the eyes waiting for his instructions, for some reason the thought of his friends watching whatever he’s about to do to you is already soaking your panties.

“Take off your shirt.” He says in a stern voice and you follow his request immediately.

With his free hand he roughly squishes one of your breasts and his mouth sucks on the other one. Making sure the camera is picking up everything he occasionally slaps your boob as he gives your nipple some love bites. You hiss in between soft moans that escape your mouth.

He does that for a while and then leans back to show his friends your abused breasts. Renjun moves down on the bed tapping your leg.

“Open.” He simply says and you already know to spread your legs wide for him.

He moves his phone close to your core running a finger through your slit over your panties. Even with the dim lighting in the room the wet patch in the fabric is pretty clear. He pushes it to the side and runs two fingers between your folds catching some of your juices, then holds his hand up to the camera so the others can see it glistening.

In a quick swipe he removes the last piece of clothing on you and leans between your legs centring your eager pussy on the screen.

“Play with yourself.” Renjun looks you in the eyes and you bite your lip moving a hand down your body.

Your fingers find your clit and you start rubbing circles on it. While you’re focused on your task, in between moans you feel two of his fingers sliding easily inside you. His hand moves in sync with yours so you decide to test the waters slightly speeding up your movements to see if he would do the same. Unfortunately that only made him stop, removing his fingers and getting up to stand next to the bed.

“Did I tell you to go faster?” He says in a harsh tone, his phone capturing your face.

You shake your head not moving an inch.

“I’m gonna ask again. Did I tell you to go faster?” He raises his voice and you know he wants you to use your words.

“No.” Your voice is shaky. “I’m sorry-”

“You’re sorry? Come here and show me.” He looks at his pants then back at you and you know exactly what to do.

You kneel in front of his crotch and massage his bulge.

“No teasing.” He grabs your jaw and you gulp.

You tug at the waistband of his sweatpants and yank them down his legs, followed by his underwear, eyes never leaving his. Renjun lets go of your jaw once his member is free, standing tall in front of your face.

You start licking the tip tasting the pre-cum that’s oozing out. Your tongue moves along the whole length getting it all wet and ready for you to take him in. One of his hands caresses your hair getting it out of your face while the other holds his phone capturing all your moves.

You start sucking the tip of his dick and slowly move your head forward to take more of him in your mouth. His hand that was caressing your hair now grabs a chunk of it pushing you until your nose touches his stomach. You almost gag but close your eyes and breathe through your nose ignoring the fact that his dick is inches away from the back of your throat.

“That’s it, take it all in.” Renjun praises you. “You’re such a good girl.”

You open your eyes to look up at him, tears forming as he loosens his grip on your hair for you to bob you head. As you keep sucking him you can see he’s holding back his moans probably so his friends won’t hear.

Once he’s fully erect inside the warmth of your mouth he pulls out leaving a thread of saliva and pre-cum behind.

“Get on all fours.” He instructs and you quickly get into position.

You moan as he lands a loud smack on your ass and then scream his name when he pushes himself into you without any warning or a trace of mercy.

“You love to be filled up like this don’t you?” He asks staying still inside you.

“Yes!” You reply in a moan. “Your cock always feels so good inside me.”

“Well if you like it so much, why don’t you fuck yourself on it?” You know this is not a question, but an order.

As he stands still you move your hips away from him only to bring them back making his dick go in and out of you. You keep moving like that, earning an occasional slap on the but that gives you motivation to keep fucking yourself on his length. As you start feeling a knot form inside you, you know you need him to take the lead.

“Please Renjun…” You beg still moving your hips. “Please fuck me like only you can.”

“You can’t cum on your own, uh?” He asks in a cocky tone as you vigorously shake your head. “Pathetic.”

He removes his member off of you and flips your body so you’re laying on your side. One of your legs is pushed over his shoulder and he gets back inside you. He now thrusts into you hard and deep as you moan uncontrollably.

The phone is still held up high enough to capture all the action, from your abused pussy to the fucked up expression on your face. Renjun feels you getting closer to your orgasm by the way your clenching around him so he slows his thrusts.

“Don’t you dare cum before I do.” His stern voice goes straight into your core and you bite your lip hard so you don’t cum right there and then.

You close your eyes as he resumes his strong thrusts, clenching your hands on the sheets of your bed as little whimpers escape your mouth.

“You look so desperate, I love that look on your face.” You open your eyes at his words and are confronted by his phone right in front of you.

The thought of his friends being on the other side and seeing you so desperate to cum was not helping your fight against your orgasm so you did the only thing you could think of to drive your boyfriend crazy.

“Shit…” Renjun curses under his breath as you clench around his length rolling your hips just the way he likes it. “You really want to cum that bad?”

“Please Renjun!” You plea knowing you won’t last much longer.

“Alright then.” His voice his shaky now so you know your little stunt is working. “Cum with me, now.”

He takes his hand to your clit but he barely touches it before you come undone on his length moaning loudly. That triggers his own orgasm making him spill his seed inside you. Your body shakes in pleasure and his grip on the phone tightens not to drop it on you as he rides off both your highs.

He then moves the device closer to your core as he slowly takes his dick out. He smiles as he shows the boys his cum dripping out of you while he plays with it pushing it back inside.

When Renjun feels your body relax he cleans you up with a piece of clothing discarded before. He then climbs back on the bed pulling you to his embrace. You curl up on his side hiding your face on his neck.

“Who’s your daddy?” He asks holding up the phone to show both your faces.

“You are, daddy.” You smile against his skin.

“Good girl.” He shows a cocky smile to the camera. “Are you tired?”

You lazily nod.

“Ow, can you handle round two though?”

You lift up your head to face him and nod vigorously while biting your lip.

“That’s my girl.” He gives you a peck on the lips before he continues. “Now, say goodbye to the guys.”

You look at the camera with an ecstatic look on your face and wave.

HRJ stopped sharing live video

NJM: NO

NJM: FREAKIN

NJM: WAY

ML: was this real?

LDH: ok maybe I couldn’t dom her…

LDH: how did he not break with that look on her face?

— teaser excerpt of fake dating!lee donghyuck, full series coming this november

reply below if you want to join the taglist ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)♡

The autumn wind blows with a bitterness you haven't felt since leaving your home for the city. Cold air seeps through the fabric of your clothing and nips at the bare skin underneath. You hold your textbook tighter to your chest and rush across campus towards your next lecture. Classes had resumed this past week for your second year of university and you couldn’t be more grateful for the distraction from the crushing weight of loneliness that had become an overwhelming part of your life over the summer. 

Your first year of school was a whirlwind of lectures and classes; barely giving you time to breathe, let alone think about how the only people you ever interacted with, aside from the weekly phone call home, were your dour professors. The loneliness hit you like a train as soon as the final exam had ended and you realized you had nowhere to go. No one to celebrate with. The cold was bitter, but the isolation was like a poison—creeping its way into your life and constricting itself in a vice grip around your heart. 

Money and the lack of transportation made it hard to go back home for the three month break, and you regretted choosing a school so far from your family and everything you once knew. Everything familiar and warm. So you contented yourself with buying one dollar paperbacks at the grocery store and reading them under the summer sun while watching the other students. A voyeur of happiness living vicariously through the laughter of others more outgoing--others more fortunate. 

Your mother did always say your shyness would be the death of you. 

There was one face that became as familiar to you as your own over your three months of silent observation. A face carved of marble by the gods themselves. His smooth skin stretched taut over a strong jaw. Kind eyes and a kinder smile lit up his face with joy as he sat and talked with his circle of friends—every time he laughed you could swear the sun shone only on him. 

You didn’t know his name, but you imagined how it would feel—how it would taste—as it rolled off your tongue in the midnight hours. How his hands and lips might feel grazing across your own skin. The daydreams were potent and heady and you felt drunk with infatuation. Intoxicated with unrequited love, but resigned to never having your desires fulfilled. He was so bright and vibrant and alive with the kiss of the summer, meanwhile you sat under the shade of an oak tree darkened by the haze of loneliness, kissed only by the ants crawling up your bare legs. 

The gap between you was too wide--too gaping. He hadn’t noticed you yet and you felt that it was entirely likely he never would. So you lost yourself in your paperback romances and continued to dream instead.

As summer dragged on and your days melted into each other, you started to notice the boy coming around campus less and less. You worried he might have dropped out and moved back home like so many others, or maybe he had fallen in love and run off to start his new life. The absence made your imagination run wild with the threat of possibility. 

The warmth of the lecture hall embraces you and you hurry to find a seat near the back of the room—far away from the wandering eyes of the other students milling about the class, chatting and gossiping in the absence of the professor. Taking your seat, you allow your eyes to roam over your classmates, noting the mix of people currently surrounding you decked out in a wash of earth tones and blue jeans. 

“Taeyong!” One of the students yells out, a pretty girl about your age with a bright, wide smile. She waves someone over from the doorway and your eyes follow her line of sight. You feel your heart drop to your stomach as you see the boy you’ve been missing the past few weeks standing like a mirage in the desert. 

‘So that’s his name…’ you think to yourself, mouthing the revelation in silence. 

His dyed blonde hair is wild with the force of the September wind, longer than the last time you saw him sitting in the grass on the campus quad. He smiles brightly in response and weaves his way through the desks towards the girl. You hadn’t seen her before hanging around his usual group of friends over the summer months and you can feel your heart pounding against your ribcage as your manic daydreams of him entangled in another girls’ arms resurface and cloud your vision. 

Feeling the heat of your stare on the back of her head, she turns around and offers you a small smile. Embarrassment washing over you in a wave at being caught; you bow your head towards your textbook and stare intently down at the swirling letters before you until the professor strolls in and begins his first lecture of the semester. 

The library had become your second home during your first year away at school. Thousands upon thousands of books were housed on endless rows in the old building—with a little digging you could find a reference for anything. And in the centre of it all sat the reason you had chosen this school in the first place—the reason you were so far away from home for the first time—a cluster of TRS-80 computers. Your parents never understood your fascination with the new technology, or why you had chosen computer science as your degree, but you knew it was the way of the future. Every stroke of the key, every thought translated to the screen, felt like progress unfolding before your very eyes. 

The only thing that rivalled your enamour for computers was Taeyong. 

Casting aside the rising yearning in your heart, you find a spot by one of the large windows, tucked behind a shelf of weathered calculus reference books that had begun gathering dust, and pull out a novel from your brown canvas satchel—ready to lose yourself in another world. 

The hours drag on as you sit buried in your copy of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, the light from the autumn sun dimming to a hazy glow outside, and you hardly notice as a small group of people come to take a seat next to you. You fail to also notice their intense stares as they watch you flip through page after page—engrossed in the narrative unfolding in front of you. After some time the feeling of being watching prickles under your skin and you raise your eyes from the book to see the same girl from your lecture earlier smiling over at you. 

Her smile is even more dazzling up close—bright and welcoming and filled with a genuine warmth that makes your heart ache for home. Her long brown hair falls in waves around her slight shoulders and you wonder at how it manages to look so effortlessly beautiful.

A boy with dark hair and even darker eyes sits next to her, stone-faced, head tilted as he examines the cover of your novel. You set it down face-first on the carpet next to you and glance at them sheepishly. 

“Hi,” the girl offers, smile unwavering. 

“H-hello,” you choke out your response, voice hoarse from disuse. 

“I’m Dahyun, from your computer sciences lecture this morning. You’re _____, right?” 

You nod reflexively. The shock that the knowledge of your name has somehow made it to her ears is painted plainly on your face and she laughs at the sight. 

“We’ve been watching you,” she continues, gesturing to the silent boy next to her. “Me and Doyoung.” 

Silence shrouds the air around your isolated corner of the library after she speaks, a moment of suffocating quiet before you realize she is waiting for you to say something. “Why?” you stutter, twisting the hem of your knitted cardigan around your fingers. 

“Do you ever get the feeling like you’ve known someone your whole life? Like your soul is connected to them somehow? For some reason, when I look at you I see myself,” her words strike a chord in your heart and it’s all you can do to keep the tears from welling up in your eyes. You don’t know why she’s saying this but you desperately want to believe her. You want to believe that there is some string of fate connecting you to this bright spark of a girl. 

Connecting you to something greater than your own, lonely world. 

Dahyun notices the shift in your emotions and reaches out to take your hand in her own, eyes gentle and kind. “There’s a party this Friday, I would love it if you would come,” she looks at you in anticipation, squeezing your hand reassuringly as you hesitate a moment. “I just know you will fit in so well with us there. With me and all the others, I think you know a few of them already,” she winks and the image of Taeyong is conjured up in your mind once more. 

“Okay,” you agree after a pause. “Why not?” You try and sound casual, unaffected, but the affectation falls short and you notice Doyoung smirking as he gets up and walks out of the library without a word. 

Dahyun turns to you before following him out, “he’s a little strange at first, but he’s a total sweetheart once you get to know him.” She assures you with another squeeze of her hand before the warmth leaves you and she rushes out of the library after him. 

The rest of the week passes by in a haze of pink and yellow. Anticipation for Friday swells up in your stomach and carries you along in a tidal wave of happiness you haven’t felt since moving out to university. You notice Dahyun’s presence in every single one of your classes and marvel with her over the similarities of your schedule, happily taking the seat next to hers in the centre of the lecture halls instead of hiding yourself away near the back of the room. You keep your eyes peeled for any signs of Taeyong, hoping against hope that he will grace your lectures with his presence and you might finally get to formally meet him, but you see no further sign of him on campus at all. 

Hope still weaves its way through your body as you think forward to the party and the possibility of his being there.

Friday evening arrives and you find yourself pacing the floor of your cramped dorm room, agonizing over what to wear. A pile of discarded jeans and cast-off sweaters litter the floor around you as you sit on the edge of your bed with your head in your hands wondering if it’s too late to feign illness and just sleep instead. The previous cloud of excitement you had been floating on throughout the week had been blinked out of existence in a wash of anxiety. 

A car horn sounds outside the entrance to your dorm and you hastily slip into a striped tank top and jean jacket before racing out of your room and sliding into the backseat of Doyoung’s old sky blue Buick. 

The small city passes by out the windows as you drive off campus and you realize just how little of your new home you have explored. Outside of the familiar brick and stone of the university, nothing looks familiar to you at all. You stare out at the town bathed in the fading light of the evening with a sense of awe as Doyoung and Dahyun chat happily in the front seat of the car. 

Dahyun calls your name, pulling your attention away from the passing scenery and towards her. “We just have to pick up one more person then we’re going to head out to the farm.” 

“The farm?” You ask, eyebrow cocked upward in curiosity. You had assumed the part would be at someone's dorm or maybe even a fraternity house inside the city. 

“Yeah! It’s where we all hang out on the weekends,” she answers with a warm smile, glancing at you through the rearview mirror. 

“Most weekdays now, too.” Doyoung chimes in, breaking his silence, but offering you a similar smile as Dahyun that casts his appearance in a much warmer light than his typical cold stoicism.

Dahyun nods with enthusiasm, excitement beaming through her eyes as she continues, “everyone is so excited you’re coming, too, you’re going to love it. The people, the music, the energy is just unlike anything else. The more time I spend at The Farm with our little family, the less the outside world even feels like a real place.” 

A question bites at the tip of your tongue, yearning to be asked--yearning for an answer. ‘Why me? Why are they excited about...me?’ but you swallow it down. The fear that they will realise, that Dahyun will see past this kindly shroud of blindness that has overtaken her, and notice that you’re just a fraud. You’re nothing special, and you definitely don’t deserve everything she is talking about. 

But by god do you want it. 

Gravel crunches under the tires of the old car as it pulls to a stop outside a large suburban home. The large bay windows are illuminated from within, casting a warm, amber glow over the neatly manicured lawn and garden splayed out in front of you. A few shadowy figures pass by through the windows and you gawk up at the large colonial build, wondering at who might be inside. Doyoung lays on the horn for a moment, shattering the silence of your wonder, and the front door swings open.

His body is cast in the shadows of dusk, but you would recognize his figure even in the darkest of nights. Taeyong strides out of the house and towards the car with a bright grin, waving towards Dahyun and Doyoung in greeting before opening the door and climbing in the backseat next to you. The warmth of his hand as it comes to rest next to yours on the seat stops your heart in your chest and it takes a moment for you to register his greeting. 

“Hey, we have a few coding classes together, right? I’m Taeyong,” he smiles and extends his hand for you to shake. 

You manage a weak grip on his hand before dropping it back onto the worn brown leather and stuttering out your name past the lump of nerves coiled in your throat. By some small miracle, he takes no notice of your inept greeting--widening his smile in response before leaning forward to ask Doyoung a question.

You sink back into the seat in a haze of self-inflicted embarrassment, watching the back of his head as he bobs along with the music filtering out through the radio. Doyoung laughs, the first you've seen from him, and you feel entirely out of place in the car with them--like an intruder in a home you were invited into. Welcome, but not a part of it. An outsider. 

Taeyong settles back into the leather, still nodding along to the song on the radio. From the corner of your eye you watch his profile shift and change in the headlights of the other cars on the road as they pass by. You get lost in the dance of shadow across his features--the sharp jaw softening in one moment only to come back into focus the next, his brown eyes lighting and darkening as each vehicle speeds by. 

"Are you from here?" He asks suddenly, startling you out of your study of his features.

You turn towards him, not quite meeting his gaze, and shake your head, "no, my family lives a few hours north of here." 

"Mine too," he grins, shifting in his seat to face you fully. "Maybe we're from the same place." 

"I don't think so," offering him a shy smile you bite back the part of you that wants to laugh at the idea. The idea that he has existed near you at any time beyond this moment. You think back to your hometown--to the small businesses dotting the streets, the cafe you would frequent to do your homework after school with your friends, the rows of bicycles stacked up at the high school. You try to imagine Taeyong there, shining in the sun of your memory, but draw a blank. He’s a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit. Part of an entirely different puzzle altogether. 

"Why not?" He asks, shrugging, genuine curiosity shining in his eyes, “anything is possible.” 

"I would remember you," the honesty of your own answer surprises you and you’re glad for the darkness inside the car as it hides the embarrassed grimace pulling down the corners of your mouth. 

He just smiles again; that same genuine  smile that you fell for over those months of summer heat shining its rays on you. It smoothes your expression with its softness and you relax--loosening some of the built up tension that had been holding your body rigid in your seat. “Maybe you’re right,” he nods, “I would have remembered you, too.” 

The rest of the drive is spent in a mostly comfortable silence in the backseat, while the denizens of the front bicker over the merits of each song that plays through the speakers--only ever coming to an agreement when Eric Clapton comes on. Taeyong laughs at the antics, and you continue to relax further in his presence; letting down some of the defenses that you didn’t even know had been thrust up. A fortress built unconsciously around yourself. You continue to watch him out of the corner of your eye, catching the way he smiles to himself, or smiles at you, every now and then, and you think that maybe you could let them slip even further. Just for him. 

Doyoung leaves the main highway after a while, taking a turn down a long, narrow gravel access road towards what you can only assume is the farm that they’ve been talking about. Nervous anticipation bubbles up in your stomach as you brace yourself against the effects of the unpaved road. The car hits a deep pothole and you crash unceremoniously into Taeyong, feeling the white hot embarrassment of the sudden closeness rage through you even as he laughs it off and helps steady you. 

Finally, after what feels like an hour spent driving over the rough road, you see the lights of the farm in the distance--twinkling through the sparse trees like a beacon in the dark. Doyoung pulls to a stop alongside a row of other old, beat up vehicles and you clamber out of the backseat eager to stretch the kinks out of your legs. 

“Here we are,” Dahyun says brightly, looping her arm through yours and leading you away from the car. “Sorry we got here a little late it looks like everyone else has got a good head start on us.” You walk with her towards a group of twenty to thirty people all dancing to music and drinking around a raging bonfire. The warmth of it hits your face as you step closer and you look around at the faces illuminated in the light of the flames. 

A few people you recognize from campus. Guys in jean jackets who were always sitting on the grass, never seeming to make their way to any classes regardless of the time of day. Girls in long, flowing skirts twirling around the fire who usually sat near the back of lecture halls staring blankly ahead or passing notes to each other; giggling under their breath like they held the secrets of the universe in the palms of their hands. 

The others were entirely foreign to you. Twenty-somethings with part-time jobs around town, or with no jobs whose main purpose in life was to simply exist as they saw fit. Thirty-somethings with semi-vacant expressions, already half-cut in the purple haze of beer and drugs. 

Misfits is the word that first comes to mind as you look around while Dahyun offers you a bottle of beer. People with no strong tether to society, nowhere to belong. Outsiders who have found themselves only amongst each other--stitching together their own frayed sweaters of existence into a mismatched tapestry. The longer you watch them dance and talk with each other, the more they seem to fit.

Dahyun pulls you into a conversation with a few girls who also turned out to be in a few of your coding classes and you introduce yourself, emboldened by the slight tingle of alcohol burning through your throat and the camaraderie that exists as ephemeral in this space. 

The night wears on in beer after beer until the edges of your vision are blurred with the effects if it. Doyoung and Taeyong has disappeared some time after arriving and the thought of where they might be is cradled in the back of your mind even as you laugh and dance with a girl called Moon Unit--a name she proudly tells you she had chosen after a long night of sleeping under the stars on the side of a road after running away from home at fourteen.

Minutes bleed into hours and finally they reappear at the edge of the group, flanking an older man who you hadn’t seen at all during the first half of the night. He stands tall and proud, shoulders thrust back in the manner of someone with authority and purpose. His long black hair is slicked into a low ponytail and you watch him with curiosity. You watch as Taeyong defers to him, as Doyoung looks somehow diminished at his side--his usual stone-faced expression taking on an almost sheepish quality next to the man. 

People in the group begin to notice his presence and you watch as they walk towards him, one by one, and kiss his knuckles in greeting. A parade of sheep to the shepherd. 

The party continues around you despite this bizarre occurrence and as Dahyun follows suit, tugging you along with her towards the man, you realize this must happen regularly for them. That it is only bizarre to you by nature of it being your first time here. 

The man smiles as you approach, face cast in the orange glow of the bonfire, and you glance at Taeyong. His gaze is fixed on you, brown eyes burning in the heat of the flames, and he nods in greeting as Dahyun pulls you to a stop in front of the three of them.

"Joe," she says, voice carrying a reverence you haven't heard since your days as a child sitting in church services with your grandmother. It calls your attention from Taeyong and you look at him once more in curiosity as she plants a quick kiss on his hand. 

His features up close come together in a standard formation. Under any other circumstances--in a grocery store, at a football game--you would never have taken notice of him. But something in his deep, dark brown eyes pulls you in. A fire burning inside of them matching the strength of the bonfire behind you. 

"And who is this?" He asks, catching your gaze as you stare openly at him. The presence of alcohol in your veins has emboldened you to a point where you hardly even care. Your usual shyness has slipped away like chalk from the sidewalk on a rainy day.

Dahyun answers for you, nudging you with her elbow as she speaks, "this is my friend  _____." 

He smiles at you, extending his hand for you to take. A brief bubble of panic forms in your throat, 'am I supposed to kiss him?' He must see the thoughts written across your face because when you reach out to take his hand he just smiles and gives yours a gentle, firm shake. 

"Pleasure to meet you," he says, patting the top of your hand with his before releasing it. Doyoung audibly snorts at the exchange, amused by the confusion swimming in your eyes. "Tell me, _____, are you in university with the others?" 

You nod in the affirmative and Dahyun offers an elaboration, "we have classes together." 

"Why are you in university?" The question catches you off guard, and you hesitate a moment--watching his expression for any hint of humour but he remains stone-faced, waiting for your response. 

The list of reasons rolls through your mind and you try to reach for one, any one, that might appease him--surprised at the internal desire to offer an answer that will garner you some sense of acceptance from this man whom you have never met before. 

You think about your major, computer science, and all the reasons you enjoy it. All the reasons you chose it in the first place, but they seem almost pointless now under his intent stare. "I don't know," you mumble the answer, suddenly shy despite the buzz still flowing through your veins. 

"That's too bad," he says, and you feel as though you've disappointed him. A small knife of guilt twisting in your gut. Dahyun pulls you away and you stumble after her back to the fire all while wishing you could relive the last five minutes. Wishing you could have given him the answer he was searching for. 

The evening drags on and slowly the group of partygoers dwindles down--people drop off here and there, climbing into their run-down pick up trucks and peeling off into the night. 

You're left sitting in the grass off to the side of the dwindling fire, watching as Dahyun is caught in a passionate conversation with one of the last remaining misfits about the merits of organic produce. The sense of belonging you had felt when you arrived had dwindled after your encounter with the man called Joe. Sitting alone now, you felt just as much of an outsider as you had sitting alone in the library reading your copy of Ken Kesey. 

"Hey," a voice calls out from behind you and you twist around to see Taeyong smiling down in your direction. Your heart is a fluttering bird in your chest as he sits down in the grass next to you, and you try to maintain your composure. 

"Hi."

"Having fun?" 

"I am," you nod, perhaps too fervently, and he laughs into the darkness, wrapping his arms around his knees. 

"It's a lot, hey?" He asks, turning his face to you with a knowing smile. "I get it, I was just as nervous about it the first time I got out here."

"Really?" He nods, and you tug at a thread of bravery to follow your curiosity, "what changed?"

"Ah," he leans back on his hands, stretching his legs out over the ground and you follow the line of his body up towards his face. "Honestly?" He seems to be waiting for your approval to continue so you nod, "I met Doyoung."

"Doyoung?" You glance over to where the dark haired boy stands, wreathed in the light of the flames as he talks casually with Dahyun and Joe. He looks more relaxed than you had seen him so far but still you can't shake your initial impression of him. Of his dark eyes and tight-lipped glare. You can't imagine him being the person to help Taeyong, to welcome him into this strange group of people.

"Doyoung's a good guy," he says, answering your unspoken question as if reading your thoughts, "he's just sort of standoffish at first."

"How did you meet?"

"Class last year," he explains, "he invited me out here and introduced me to everyone. University can be so lonely, leaving everything you knew for something so unknown." The wistfulness in his tone sinks into you. The feeling that maybe he understands--maybe he knows exactly what you've been feeling all along--emerges and you hope that it's the truth.

"It is lonely," you agree, leaning into the vulnerability instead of away from it. Already tonight you've transformed into someone you hardly recognize. Taking these small steps and actions that you never would have imagined you could. it makes you wonder what you might be capable of if you spent more time around them. 

Around him.

"I think we all need that person that sort of pulls us out of our own world, gives us somewhere else to belong."

"Yeah," you nod, staring into the bonfire as it crackles and burns in front of you. You can feel the faint heat of it on your face, joining with the heat of Taeyongs gaze. 

"Oh," he says suddenly, perking up out of his quiet reverie. "Here." He holds out what looks like a small square of paper towards you, adorned with an intricate design that you can hardly make out in the dark of the night. 

"What's this?" 

He laughs lightly at your confusion and moves a bit closer to your side. You can feel the warmth of him against you and it makes you shiver in spite of yourself. "LSD," he says, "stick out your tongue."

"Drugs?" The hesitation in your tone is palpable and he retreats, pulling away and you regret your tone immediately. Regret the loss of his warmth from your side. 

"You've never done it before?"

"No," the word rolls off your tongue slowly, as if you weren't sure if it. You were sure you hadn't ever taken acid before--what you weren't sure if was whether or not you should tell Taeyong that. Whether it might cause him to pull back even further. 

"Ah, I'm sorry I just--" he leans back, retracting his hand. "If you're not comfortable with it, we can find someone to take you home.” 

“No,” you blurt out the word in a panic before you can think. The fear of having to leave overtakes any sense of self preservation that otherwise hangs on by a wire inside you and you sprang to attention, trying desperately to scramble back to that place where you had been before this. “No, I’m not uncomfortable with it I just--” 

“Nervous?” 

“Yeah,” you swallow past the dryness in your throat, hoping he doesn’t see just how nervous under the cover of the night sky. 

“Don’t be,” he smiles, leaning back towards you, “I’m right here.” Your heart swells with a fool’s hope at the words and you nod, bracing yourself for whatever was about to come. His eyes are soft, reassuring, and you think that no matter what, as long as he’s here, you’re prepared for anything. 

“Stick out your tongue,” he instructs, and you do. You watch as he leans forward, eyes fixed on yours as he places the small square of paper into your mouth--soft, reassuring smile never leaving your face. “Good,” he nods, “now just let it dissolve in your mouth.” 

Taeyong grabs a blanket from the house, an old, beaten throw adorned with a faded floral print, and spreads it out on the grass and dirt before the fire. A few shipping pallets had been thrown onto the flames and it was now swelling with an intense heat you could feel even on your back. You lean back on the blanket in silence next to Taeyong, grateful that he has decided to stick near you for the time being and keep you company as Dahyun had disappeared some time ago without a word. 

You stare up at the stars and begin to feel your edges disintegrate. It comes on slowly, a ripple of tingles throughout the body that makes you feel at once both dizzied and enchanted by it, and then all at once you melt into the stars. They dance overhead with an intensity you have never seen before--denizens of the sky in a waltz of light and fire. 

Your mom had always warned you of the dangers of drugs. Horror stories at home and in school told by well-meaning adults to prevent any impressionable teens from dipping into this world that claims so many in death and addiction. You don’t doubt them. You’re sure those horror stories are real, that they do happen more often than not; but sitting under the open night sky next to the boy you had been dreaming about for months and watching the stars in their cosmic routes above you--it’s hard to imagine any of what they had told you. It seems more that their own fears and preconceived notions are preventing them from experiencing the sheer wonder that now courses through your mind. 

You’re not sure how long you sit there in silence--it could have been a minute, it could have been an hour, or it could have been three weeks. Time seems at once ever-present and entirely meaningless as you lose yourself in the tapestry of the night. 

“How do you feel?” Taeyong asks, pulling your attention back to him. He’s sitting next to you still, that same gentle smile quirking up the corners of his mouth, and you wonder how it is in all of those months of observing him that you never noticed how he held those same stars in his eyes. How the dark browns swirled and danced in a cosmic pattern. 

“I feel like I’m melting,” you reply after a quick search for the right word to encapsulate your feelings. 

He laughs and you think it sounds like the best thing you’ve ever heard. Better than motown, better than Hendrix. Better than the best guitar riff in any Led Zeppelin song. It’s like music, but it moves through you like air. You want to lean forward and kiss him--absorb the laughter into yourself--but some lingering insecurity holds you back. “That’s normal,” he nods, “it’s how it should be.” 

“What do you mean?” You shift your gaze from his lips to his eyes, and watch as he finds the words to explain himself. 

“It’s all connected,” he says finally, sitting up in a cross-legged position and twisting to face you. “We’re all connected, but we do things that go against that. We pretend that we’re not. But we are.” 

Suddenly the notion of his eyes holding the stars doesn’t feel as ridiculous to you. 

“Connected?” 

“Yeah like,” he glances around for a moment, searching, before reaching forward and taking your hands in his. He holds them up in the air, entwining your fingers, and you feel a heat pool through you as you watch in silent rapture. “Do you see how they fit? It’s like a puzzle, like they were always meant to be held together like this,” his eyes are wide, aglow in the light of the flames and the stars. “But we have built little homes of fear around us, too afraid to feel it. Too afraid to see the truth.”

“And what is the truth?” You ask, breathless. 

“That we’re all one. The stars, the sea, the earth below us, you and me. We’re all the same. You hold the ocean in your hands. You’re made of stardust,” he lets go of one of your hands, leaning forward to brush a gentle line down your cheek, awe glimmering through his expression--an expression you’re sure is mirrored on your face. “Your cheeks are the plains of the prairies,” his thumb glides down to meet the corner of your lips, sending a wave of sparks across your skin, “your lips are honey made by bees.” He grazes them with his thumb and you hope he closes the distance--hope he leans forward to taste the sweetness nestled there. You want him to, but instead he pulls back with a shy laugh. 

“Sorry,” he says, “I got a little carried away.” 

“No,” you shake your head, “I think you’re right.” 

“Oh?” 

“I mean, I don’t know but I sort of feel it,” you try to form the words that are circling in your head, try to capture them. You want to say something to pull him back towards you--to bring that light of joy and assuredness back into his eyes. “I look at the stars and I see you, and I look at you and I see the stars. Like you’re the same.” 

“You get it,” he says, grinning--sending your heart reeling again in a flurry of happy emotions. “It’s something Joe always says,” he nods towards the bearded man on the other side of the fire, standing silent and watching everyone as they sprawl out in front of the fire with each other. “He always said the only reason they try to prevent us using these drugs is to prevent us from finding the truth.” 

“Why?” 

“If we know the truth, we don’t need them anymore.”

“Won’t need who anymore?” 

“Them,” he shrugs, waving his arm around in a vague gesture. “Government, big business, police, authority. If we’re all one, and we take care of each other like that, then there’s no need for anything else. We could live in complete peace. A utopia.” 

“That would be amazing,” you mutter the words, awestruck at the notion. Through wide eyes you watch the man in question as he slowly walks through the group of people surrounding the fire and a seed of curiosity blooms inside your stomach. Who is he? How did he come to these ideas? They can’t truly be the results of this drug alone, there must be some deeper world of thoughts hidden in his mind only to be shared with his closest allies. People who also get it. 

You knew that if your parents heard this conversation, they would think it was nothing more than hippie drivel. That life existed in the spaces where you worked hard to earn your way. That your worth was incumbent upon what you provided to society, and you had entered university with that same notion nestled into your brain from years of absorption. It was the same message you got from teachers at school, from your friends and their parents, from your grandparents. And at the time it seemed perfectly reasonable--just a fact of life, much like birth and death. 

But now you weren’t so sure. How else could you explain the pull you felt towards Taeyong, if it weren’t for that interconnectedness? If you weren’t made of the same matter, the same thread of existence, then why did he feel so much like someone you’ve already known for years? 

Maybe Joe was on to something. Maybe they were just afraid of the truth. Afraid of how all-encompassing it was. 

“Taeyong?” You break your thoughts and turn towards him in question, “who is Joe?” 

He laughs, “what do you mean?” 

“What’s his story? How did he end up here, with all of these...ideas and stuff?” You struggle to form the question. Your thoughts feel too sharp, like knives made of glass in your brain, but blurry at the same time. Ephemeral and impossible to grab hold of for longer than a second for fear of either being cut or of them slipping through your fingers like smoke. You have so much to say, so much to ask--but you settle for the paltry questions. 

“Ah, I know before he came here he was living in a commune playing music,” he leans forward, trying to gather his own thoughts. “He told me once that he went on a vision quest in the desert. That he heard the voice of God and he told him to bring the truth to the world.” 

“And you believe him?” The question isn’t cynical--just open and curious. The bearded man in a faded denim jacket is an enigma to you. Everyone flocks to him as a messiah and you can’t help but wonder at the origins of it. 

He nods with a laugh, “I do. At first I thought it was ridiculous, don’t get me wrong, but now that I’ve sort of...seen the truth for myself? Now that I’ve been here with everyone else for a while? I believe him.” 

“Do you think he can do it?” 

“Yes,” Taeyong whispers, voice reverent as he gazes through the flames towards Joe. “I think he can. With our help.” Silence descends around you again, melting into you as you lean back on the blanket and zone back out into the stars. 

The fall semester drags on in weeks as you find yourself more and more drawn back to the same place each weekend. You stitch together the frayed edges of your loneliness while sitting beside the three of them--laughter filling the air as you trade stories with Taeyong and Dahyun, or sit back and listen as Doyoung rails on about the evils of the world or the seed of government corruption. A small thread of belonging had finally found its way into your life, tying you together with this motley crew. 

The days take on more colour and shade. No longer the bleak grey of loneliness, every corner of your life is lit up in sparks--glowing bright orange with intensity and joy. The colours bloom and grow whenever you see Taeyong. Rather than the feelings abating after finally being in such close proximity to him after so many months of being a simple observer, they’ve done nothing but swell larger in your chest. 

Every smile, every laugh, every hushed whisper feels as if it’s for you and for you alone. You begin to notice, as your shyness slips away over weeks and months of blossoming friendship, that sometimes they are for you. Catching him as he stares at you through the heat of the bonfire, feeling his hand rest on the small of your back as you stumble over the rough terrain of the farm on one of your many half-dazed weekend walks. 

The realization comes at first as a shock and then as a novelty. Something you enhance your daydreams on the nights you spend sleeping alone back in your dorm, rather than sprawled out on Dahyun’s floor or in the backseat of someone’s car after a party. 

Concerns from your mother at your sudden change in behaviour are brushed aside with a laugh. She worries, naturally as any parent in these times would, about the influence of these so-called hippies on your life, but she gives in easily when you tell her about them. About Dahyun’s bright smile and brighter laugh, about Doyoung’s sharp wit and intelligence, and about Taeyong as he lives in your mind and in your heart. 

You don’t tell her about Joe. 

Joe, who spends each Friday night standing off to the side of everyone and surveying the group as if they are a herd of wayward sheep he needs to keep watch over. He never speaks to you after that first party, only offering polite nods in your direction when he sees you with Taeyong. A part of you is slightly disappointed at the way he glances over you--never deens to pull you into his inner circle. You want to feel what Taeyong does when he’s around him; the same sense of belonging and being understood. At the same time, though, you remain wary of the man. Perhaps it’s the leftover prejudices of your upbringing still lingering in your veins, creating a barrier that he can sense as well as you, or perhaps it is something more than that. 

The natural questioning of why an older man would want to hang around college aged kids so much, to the point of basically building a commune out on the edge of civilization with them. 

You push the worries aside, afraid of disturbing your new found place amongst your new friends. Afraid that it might sever the tether you finally have to Taeyong and thrust you back into the shadows of observation and shyness. 

Winter sets in to the sleepy college city, bringing with it a bitter cold and preventing you from going out to the farm as often. Bonfires in the snow are much less fun and as it turns out the old house on the property barely has a working furnace. Taeyong laughs about it, calls the whole group a bunch of pioneers--braving the cold with nothing but a weak fire and body heat. 

According to Joe, he tells you, the cold resets the brain chemicals. Paying into the heating companies is just paying for the destruction of your freedom. Despite how ridiculous you find the statement as the temperature drops below freezing, you just shrug it off and shift your focus back to studying for finals. 

Dahyun and Doyoung both float in and out on your study sessions, but Taeyong begins to show more and more. Sitting with you in the library in silence, reading or simply thinking. At first you were surprised to see him back in classes and on campus, but you welcome his presence next to you as it warms you from the inside--even as the bitter winter wind chills you to the bone. 

It's on a particularly windy day, when the threat of snow hangs bitterly in the air, as you're on your way to the library to meet with the three of them that your attention is snagged by the headline of a newspaper. 

HOME INVASIONS ON THE RISE IN TOWN, the headline reads in bold print. A chill--one unrelated to the weather--snakes its way under your skin, raising the hair on the back of your neck. You slip your mittens off and grab one of the papers from the stand, flipping to the article nestled between the pages. 

Officials report an increase of home invasions in the area and are recommending everyone to begin locking all their doors and windows before bed to deter potential thieves.

The article drags on as they normally do, in pleas for public assistance and any tips or information that someone may have. You set the paper back down on the stand and continue your brisk pace towards the library. The chill that had wormed its way under your skin when you first saw the headline sinks deeper, settling in with each step you take and raising the alarms of nervous tension in your mind. 

The warmth of the library hits you in a wave as soon as the door opens. Tucked back in your usual forgotten corner of the building, Dahyun, Doyoung, and Taeyong sit with their heads bowed together--voices low in hushed conversation. Taeyong’s eyes catch yours as you walk towards them and he smiles. The conversation ceases as they all turn to greet you, smiling until they see the unsettled expression on your face. 

“What’s wrong?” Taeyong asks, concern creasing in lines on his forehead. 

Your mind drifts back to the article. You hadn’t been aware you were carrying your worries on your face until now, and you still weren’t entirely sure why the whole thing was bothering you so much. Home invasions, burglaries--these things were commonplace in all cities and towns. So why now? Why this article? 

Doyoung shifts over, offering you the seat beside Taeyong and you take it, hesitating a moment before deciding to just tell them what was on your mind. “Have you seen the news lately?” You start, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. “There’s been a string of home invasions in the area.” 

The three of them share a look, some unspoken message passing between them before Dahyun turns back to you with a laugh, “you read that stuff?” 

“Well, not usually but,” her easy dismissal of your worries makes your head swim with a flood of embarrassment. Maybe it was stupid. 

“All they print is fear mongering nonsense,” she waves her hand, and snaps open her textbook. 

“It seemed like more than that, though.” The quiet of the library, calm and still in the middle of a winter night, makes the knot of fear sitting in your gut feel silly. What did you have to worry about? Here, in your sheltered college life--what did you have to be afraid of? 

“There’s no need to be worried,” Doyoung says, straight faced and logical--answering your unasked questions. “It’s fairly typical of this time of year in the city,” he explains, “people without much money needing to find shelter and food, or things to sell to gain those things. I don’t think you have to worry about them breaking into your dorm, if that’s your concern.” 

“Doyoung’s right,” Taeyong nods, offering you a soft smile. It washes over you like a balm--soothing the knots of your worries as they lay tangled inside of you despite the dismissal. “You’re safe,” he says, leaning in towards you, still with that soft smile gracing his features. You nod and return the smile before pushing away your worries and flipping open your own textbook. 

The study session draws to a close, after hours of cramming for Thursday's final, and you stretch back in your seat. Dahyun and Doyoung had left a half an hour earlier, the former complaining of going blind from all the reading, but Taeyong lingered behind with you--thumbing idly through his notebook while you poured dutifully over your own. The middle aged librarian makes her rounds, shooing out the stragglers before closing up for the night, and you and Taeyong gather up your things and head back out into the cold. 

The night sky hangs overhead in shades of black and blue, stars obscured by a haze of snow and light pollution. Your breath comes out in small puffs of white air and you tighten your coat around you before turning to say goodnight to Taeyong. 

He stands, hands buried in his pockets, and glances at you under hooded eyes with a shy smile, “hey,” he stops you before you can take a step towards your dorm, “do you want me to walk you back home?” 

“Oh, um,” you stammer, surprised at the sudden offer. Months of hanging out with Taeyong--in groups, alone in the library, after class. Months of seeing his sideways glances and wishing for more; wishing he would make some sort of move even while being too shy to do so yourself. It had been months and you had sunk into a sort of stasis of half-expecting that your friendship would only exist as it was--casual, with anything deeper remaining forever unrequited. You had almost given up hoping for more, but now--with this one question--that hope surged anew in your heart. 

“I mean,” he runs a gloved hand through his hair with a small laugh, “I just thought, if you were still worried, you know? I know we’re totally safe but...better safe than sorry, right?” 

“Oh, of course,” you nod, trying not to appear too eager, “I would like that.” 

“Me too,” he smiles, shoving his hand back into his pocket. Silence takes over as you start walking, side by side, through the frost bitten pathways that wind across the campus grounds. Not much is said, not much needs to be said, you just walk in comfortable silence. 

You contemplate slowing your pace, soaking in this moment of just you and him--making it stretch out for as long as you can manage--but the cold wind urges you forward and before you realise you're standing in the doorway of the squat brick building that you call home. 

"Thank you," you turn to Taeyong with a smile, lingering with your keys clutched between your fingers, "for walking me home. I appreciate it." 

He nods, shaking loose a few snowflakes that had come to settle in his hair. The urge to run your fingers through it--to smooth out the rest of the snow and settle the strands back into place--almost overwhelms you as you smile back at him. "It was my pleasure, miss," he jokes, taking a mock bow as you laugh. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah," you nod, heart warming at his continued concern. By now you were mostly convinced that your alarm over the headline earlier was a bit overblown, in light of both Doyoung and Dahyuns reaction when you brought it up, but hearing Taeyong now still addressing it eases your mind further. Having someone like him care about you, you feel like anything could happen and you would be fine. 

You glance back down the empty street, watching the snowflakes drift down in lazy spirals under the light of the streetlamps, before directing your lingering worries towards him, "will you be okay walking back?" 

Taeyong nods, "I'll be fine." He watches as you turn to unlock the door and waits until you're safely in the warmth of the lobby to wave back towards you, "goodnight." 

The glass is cold against your forehead as you lean forward to watch him disappear into the darkness. With a sigh you move to turn around but notice as he pauses, head raised in silent contemplation towards the sky before he doubles back and all but runs towards your building. 

"You're still here," he grins when you open the front door to let him in to the warmth. "I forgot I had something to give you." He pauses a moment, digging through his pockets before handing you a slip of paper with a phone number scrawled across it. “Just in case,” he smiles. 

You clutch the paper in your fingers, chest blooming with happiness, and smile back at him, “thank you.” 

“I, uh,” his laugh comes out shy, nervous, “I might not always be there, but I will do whatever I can. If you need me.” Anticipation flutters in your stomach as you see his hand twitch at his side, a thought passes through his eyes and you watch him hesitate for a moment before he slips his hand back into his pocket and turns to retrace his footsteps back towards his own dorm. You stand in the doorway, watching as he finally disappears down the street then head up towards your room--clutching his number to your chest. 

“Doyoung left,” Dahyun announces, slamming her book down on the table and earning a customary glare from the librarian. 

“What?” It had been weeks since you had last been out to the farm with them. A fact that settled itself uncomfortably in your stomach every time you saw them drive by in Doyoung’s blue Buick. The weather was beginning to warm, shifting to spring as the new semester began, and you weren’t sure what reason they had for not asking you out with them when clearly the weather was not the issue anymore. 

You never brought it up--too nervous to disrupt the status quo--but it made you anxious every time a silence would descend on the small group during study sessions. Everytime Taeyong would smile at you, you would wonder at his motivations. Was it just pity? Did Joe veto you out of the group? 

The hope and excitement you felt those first few months had dwindled back into an anxious nervousness that hummed through your body every time you weren’t with them. Old high school fears of being the outcast, the social pariah, resurfaced in your mind and no matter how much Taeyong, or even Dahyun, made you feel welcome and at home when you were with them, the second they left for the farm without you the insecurities would flood back in. 

“Doyoung left the group,” she sighs, an expression of barely restrained anger clear on her face. Her usually bright, beaming smile washed away by exhaustion. 

“Why?” Your absence from that part of their life, from the farm and everything that happens out there--or doesn’t happen--has left you entirely in the dark in terms of their relationship. You knew Dahyun and Doyoung were close, they had a friendship forged through time and understanding, so the news and her tone hit you by surprise. 

“He doesn’t believe,” she mumbles, hanging her head in her hands. “He thinks we’re going too far but he doesn’t understand,” she speaks rapidly, hushed, as if she’s not even aware she’s speaking at all. You lean over and rest a hand on her shoulder, attempting to soothe her distraught emotions even while her words raise a flag of concern in your mind. A flag of concern written in boldface type spread out over a newspaper. 

She glances up at your touch, eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears, “he doesn’t understand that we have to do it. It’s for the best. For everyone.” 

“What is?” 

Her gaze is unwavering for a moment as she stares at you. You sit transfixed, fear and anxiety gripping your heart as she opens her mouth to answer. A shadow falls over you and Dahyun closes her mouth--turns away and focuses instead on the stack of books in front of her. Taeyong slides into the seat between you, cutting off the conversation with his presence. 

A part of you is relieved now, in his presence. Along with the fact that it’s him and you would take any opportunity to be near him, the fear of where the conversation was leading has dissipated slightly with his arrival. The anxiety has shrunk back down to a manageable pill in the pit of your stomach as he smiles at you and leans forward. 

Another part of you, a small whisper in your mind, begs to know more. Begs you to ask Taeyong what he knows--to clarify Dahyun’s ramblings and shed some light on the situation. Not just on Doyoung’s absence, but on why you weren’t as welcome with them anymore. Why all of a sudden you weren’t being asked to come with them on Fridays. The bonfires and the parties had all become such an integral part of your life over the last semester than now slipping back into college life without them you felt hollow. Empty. 

“What were you guys talking about?” Taeyong asks, leaning back in his seat and looking over at Dahyun. She lifts her head slightly, barely meeting his eyes before dropping her gaze once more and mumbling a soft dismissal. 

Not once had you seen Dahyun cowed by anyone in the time you’ve known her. She has always been a bright spark to you. Someone full of life to a point that it was almost blinding. It was her smile and laughter that first pulled you into their orbit. Her willingness to accept you, to offer the hand of friendship when you didn’t think it was even there. Seeing her now, distraught and afraid, sent your thoughts into a maddening spiral. 

"Is it about Doyoung?" He asks and Dahyun nods, head bowed towards the table. Taeyong's face falls into a frown at the sight and he stretches a comforting arm over her shoulders, "I'm worried about him too. But Doyoung's smart. He'll be fine."

"Is there something to be worried about?" You can't help the question as it boils over in your mind and spills out of your mouth. Did he not leave of his own accord? 

Taeyong pulls away from Dahyun and turns to you with a smile, "no. Nothing to worry about, I think he's just stressed over school. Needed to take some time for himself." 

A small, niggling doubt tugs at the threads of your desire to believe him. He smiles at you, eyes warm and sincere, and so you ignore it. You sink into his explanation and turn back to your homework. 

But you can't ignore it for long. 

The more days pass without Doyoung, without his presence anywhere aside from the occasional flash of his black hair in the hallways, or his old blue car driving off campus, the more the doubt flows through your mind like a slow poison.

You become hyper aware of everything around you. Every jean jacket clad man on the sidewalk looks suspiciously like Joe, every study session sends you back into a space of silent observation. You watch Taeyong and Dahyun for any further hints of what might be happening, but they reveal nothing. They only slip back into easy camaraderie--laughing and joking as if Doyoung was still there with the three of you. 

The newspaper stand becomes a beacon of both fear and hope. You walk by it everyday, glancing sideways at the headlines as you pass, and your heart soars as the front cover returns to national news. The goings on in other areas of the country drown out any further mention of the terror that lives in your own small city. 

Terror proclaimed in a full page spread. RITUAL KILLINGS SPARK LOCAL FEAR. 

You recoil from the headline, hands curling into fists even as you stare down at the paper. 

"Awful, isn't it?" A voice tuts next to you, startling you out of your steady fixation. You turn to see the old librarian, bundled in her usual beige cardigan on the way to work. She plucks a paper off the stack and shakes her head. "I can't believe what this place is turning into?"

"Do you know what happened?"

"First the home invasions and now this? Awful," she shakes her head again in disgust before turning away and walking towards the library. You watch her go, mind swimming with possibility, before grabbing a copy for yourself and shuffling after her. 

The double homicide of Richard and Karen Carpenter, following a string of home invasions and burglaries over the winter, has shocked the community. Inside sources are reporting cult-like aspects to the murders, citing messages written in blood on the walls. Police have neither confirmed nor denied the potential involvement of cults in the murders, but say they are following all possible avenues to find the culprits. 

Your breath comes out in short shallow gasps as you read, buried deep in the forgotten corners of the library. Black spots swim around the corners of your vision as the fear washes over you. It’s ridiculous, you think. This murder has nothing to do with you, or with anyone you know, but still you can’t help but feel somewhat guilty over it. You can’t help but feel like maybe you are connected somehow. You sit in silent contemplation for the rest of your time in the library, missing your third class of the day, and try to connect the dots between your fears and anxieties and the news. 

Your room greets you in darkness as you stumble back in, exhaustion settled deep in your mind after hours of sinking into your anxieties. You can feel them thrumming through your limbs as you toss your bag onto the floor and reach your arm out the flick the light on. 

As soon as the room is illuminated, something feels wrong. 

Your anxiety is a buzz in the back of your mind as you look around, wide eyed and frantic. Everything in your room, everything you left at first glance seems like it’s been moved an inch to the left. Your reach down towards a pair of jeans on your floor and your fingers tingle with the innate knowledge of someone else having touched them recently. 

You drop the jeans and try to remember if you even unlocked your door. Was it locked at all? Flashes in your mind, images of people clad in black picking the lock and sneaking in--hands seeking, searching through your possessions. A chill crawls down your spine and you feel close to tears. Stumbling towards your nightstand, you extend a shaking hand and fumble around for the slip of paper with Taeyong’s number--praying that for once he’s safe in his dorm and not out at the farm. Praying that he might answer your call. 

The communal phone in the kitchen downstairs rings and rings to no avail. No one answers and the panic bursts inside of you in a flood of worst case scenarios. Where was he? Had they gotten into his dorm as well? Was he lying there in a pool of blood listening to the phone ring and ring on the wall while you stood there near tears? 

The air around you feels suffocating. Every corner of the dorm feels full to the brim with invaders--people you don’t know hidden in the shadows. Waiting. Blindly you stumble out through the front door and onto the sidewalk, inhaling fresh air in short, panicked gasps. You consider your options--the library, the dorm next door where you know no one and anyone could be the culprit, the dean’s house on the other side of the campus, campus security. 

All of these would be reasonable options--reasonable places to run for safety and peace of mind--but all you can think about is Taeyong. All you can think is that maybe if he were here, if he were to wrap you up in his arms and hold you close to his chest you would feel okay again. 

You start walking, unsure of which direction to head to get to his off-campus dorm. Did he take a bus? The only time you had ever seen it was that first night when you drove out to the farm in Doyoung’s car. The thought of Doyoung raises more alarm bells in your mind and you choose and direction and pick up your pace. The tears start running after a few minutes and you’re almost sprinting, eyes blinded by moisture, when you slam into someone. 

“Hey, are you alright?” Taeyong’s voice wraps around you, the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard, and you collapse into his arms and allow your panicked sobs to wrench free from your chest. He wraps his arms around you, supporting you as your body trembles in a strange mixture of panic and relief. “It’s alright,” he soothes, running a hand over your hair and tightening his grip. 

You stay like that, under the light of the streetlamps, for a few moments until your breathing begins to slow to normal. You pull back slightly, sniffling, “sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” he smiles, running a thumb across your cheek to wipe away the lingering tears, “you don’t have to be sorry. What happened?” 

“I think there was someone in my room,” you say under your breath, resisting the urge to wrap yourself back up in him. 

“What? When?” His eyes widen in alarm and he glances behind you as if the culprit might appear there--wrapped in darkness and mist. 

“I just got home from the library and--” you trail off, unsure of how to phrase the feeling of terror that had sunk into your bones. There was no real proof of it. Nothing save for the feeling of fear and the anxiety that had taken over you the moment you flicked on the lights. Taeyong keeps his eyes focused on you, waiting for you to elaborate but you suddenly feel ridiculous now in front of him. Maybe it had all been in your imagination.

“Do you want me to come back with you?” He asks, breaking through your thoughts and you feel like you might start crying again. Instead you nod, and he slips his hand into yours, intertwining your fingers as you walk back towards your dorm. 

You stand in the doorway, watching as Taeyong looks through your room--searching for any signs of forced entry or any lingering hints that someone other than you had been inside. Seeing the room again, the same sinking fear as before gnaws at you but you bite it back as Taeyong continues his search. 

“Is anything missing?” He asks and you shake your head. You didn’t have a lot, and it all appeared accounted for, but you still couldn’t shake the fear. Taeyong takes a step towards you, shaking his head, “I don’t see any signs of a break in at all but,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t really want to leave you alone here just in case.” 

“I’ll be okay,” you try and summon up a steady tone but can’t help the shaking fear that comes out. 

Taeyong frowns, taking your hand in his for the second time, “do you want me to stay?” You look down at where your hands meet--his fingers intertwined with yours. The fears wane slightly and you marvel again at how calm he makes you feel. How safe and at home. 

“Yes,” you breathe the answer after a moment--softly. Taeyong nods, shrugging off his jacket and settling into the armchair in the corner of your room. You gather your things to get changed in the communal washroom down the hall and when you return, you find him asleep on the chair--head turned to the side.

He looks serene in the midst of sleep. No trace of a frown or any strain marring his features and you smile at the sight. Something pulls you in closer, moving your feet towards him. Your hand twitches to reach out, to run your fingers through his hair and for once you give in to the urge. It’s smooth and fine under your touch, you watch as his chest rises and falls with each breath, the skin peeking out underneath the collar of his button up shirt. Your line of sight follows the patterns of his shirt until they come to rest on a dark spot near his neck. 

A spot of red disturbing the soft yellows and browns of his shirt. Blood. You pull your hand back in shock and Taeyong stirs awake at the sudden movement, “are you okay?” The question comes again, this time in response to your wide eyed stare and you open your mouth to speak, but can’t summon a word. 

He stands, and you take an instinctive step backwards that deepens the frown now etching his features. “What’s wrong?” 

“I--” you stutter, “where did that blood come from?” You finally muster the courage to ask, pointing a shaky finger at his neck and he raises a hand as if to wipe it away. 

“Oh, I cut myself earlier cooking,” his features soften with a quiet laugh--embarrassed. “Must have gotten some blood on my shirt without realizing.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah,” he laughs, holding his hand out towards you, “look.” You lean forward, eyes straining in the low light of your room until you see it. A small cut on the side of his palm--an odd place to be cut while cooking. “Do you want me to leave?” He asks and you balk. The worries are there, deeply imprinted after the roller coaster of emotions you had been riding all day--but this is Taeyong. Taeyong with the kind smile and kinder soul. The Taeyong you had been watching for months before becoming acquainted. The Taeyong who made your heart swell every time he smiled at you. 

The Taeyong you were madly in love with. 

It was an odd place to be cut while cooking, but you wanted to believe him--wanted him to stay--and so you did. 

“No,” you shake your head, offering a nervous laugh of your own. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little spooked, I guess.” 

“Hey, hey--it’s okay,” he says, placing his hands on your shoulders. “I’m here. You’re safe. I said I would be there for you if you needed it and I mean to be.” The air between you shifts, thickening, as he moves closer to you--inch by inch--eyes focused on yours for any hint of refusal. You give him none. All your fears, all your worries are washed away under his gaze. 

How long you’ve been dreaming of this moment. Of being in his arms, of feeling him near you. Maybe these weren’t the circumstances you have imagined, but that’s all shoved to the back of your mind as he leans forward and presses his lips against yours. Softly, slowly. Testing the waters. You feel fireworks burst behind your eyes as you lean into him, deepening the kiss. 

His arms wrap around you, holding you tight to his chest, and you sink further into him. All of your dreams, all of your deepest wishes and fantasies concocted in the middle of many sleepless nights have finally coalesced into this one moment. His lips taste like honey and you smile against him before he pulls away for air. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” He whispers, entangling your fingers between you and glancing at you under hooded eyes. You nod, speechless and he laughs--light and airy--before confessing, “I’ve been wanting to do that for months.” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“I wasn’t sure you felt the same,” he gives you a wry smile and you have to keep yourself from laughing too hard at the statement. If only he knew just how much you thought about this exact moment. Instead you lean into him again, capturing his lips once more and feeling the last of your anxieties melt away as you both stumble towards your bed together. 

‘NO SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL’ the headline reads as you walk past that same newspaper stand on campus that has been the bearer of so much bad news. This time, a front page spread on the continued investigation into the murder of the Carpenter family. You walk past it at first, attention drawn towards your exam that day, but the title lingers in your mind so you double back and pluck one off the pile. 

The headline may have caught your attention, but it’s the grainy black and white photo at the bottom of the article that draws you in. A face so familiar yet so foreign to you on the page, a man in denim with a beard just beginning to grow out at the time of the photo. You glance around, the sudden fear that Joe might be looming over your shoulder watching you, clenches your nerves. Newspaper in hand, you scuttle off towards your exam hall to escape the anxiety and find a place to read. 

Police have suspicions about a commune outside of town in connection to the brutal slayings of Karen and Richard Carpenter this past week. An inside source has stated that the markings in blood on the walls of their quiet suburban home allude to a cleansing of falsehood from society and align with the beliefs of the de facto leader, Joseph Wilson, 42. 

Wilson has previously been incarcerated under suspicion of the slaying of his wife Sadie in 1962, but was cleared of all charges as no conclusive evidence could be found linking him to the murder. He has been a relative drifter since that case was cleared, and has only recently settled into the abandoned farm outside of town within the last year or two. 

Local residents are concerned about the influence on the students at the University in town, as we have seen from other incidents across the country cults like this recruiting from that vulnerable population. Sources state…

The article drags on, digging into the history of suspected cult murders in the country and ending with a plea for aid from the community and your mind lurches to catch up to the flood of information. The image of Joe, grainy in black and white on the cover of the newspaper, burns itself into your brain alongside the word ‘murder’. It bounces around, clattering and clashing with all that you’ve come to know about the man, and settles in the pit of your stomach. 

The exam starts and you try desperately to push the swirling thoughts from your brain and focus on the questions, but each time you get close they swim up again--intruders in your brain, setting up camp and making their home inside of you. By the time the exam is over, you’re both convinced that you failed it and dead-set on finding Taeyong as soon as possible--desperate for answers. 

After an hour combing the expansive campus, you don’t find him, but Doyoung’s shock of black hair gleaming in the spring sun catches your attention and you rush towards him. “Doyoung,” you call his name, voice frantic. He glances up, eyes widening for a moment an expression that, if you didn’t know any better, might have been fear. 

“Oh,” he says, relieved when he sees you come to a halt in front of him--shading his eyes with his hand, “hello.” 

“Did you see the article?” You ask, thrusting the, now slightly tattered, newspaper towards him. He frowns down at it, plucking it from your hands as if it might bite. 

“I did,” he nods. 

“Well?” 

“Well what?” 

“What do you think? Do you think it’s possible? Did he murder them?” The questions pour out of you in a flood of words and he just stares at you blankly for a moment processing it. 

“No,” he hums the word, as if he’s not entirely sure of it. “I don’t think he did it, but I can’t say that he’s not connected.” 

The statement does little to reassure you. “What do you mean?” You take a seat next to him on the bench, angling to face him despite the sun shining directly into your eyes. 

“You know why I left, right?” He asks, curious yet hesitant. 

“Not really,” you shake your head, “Dahyun just said you didn’t believe anymore.”

He looks relieved, face softening slightly at your answer and it pricks another bubble of curiosity inside of you, “good.” 

“Why did you leave?” 

"I just," he pauses, sighing. "It wasn't what it used to be anymore." The answer does nothing to satisfy your curiosity and Doyoung can see the questions still burning in your eyes, "I can't tell you the details, I'm sorry, but you should keep your distance, too. It's not safe." He gathers his book bag and stands, blocking the sun and casting you in shadow for a moment. 

"Not safe?" You can't help but press for more information, the questions bouncing around inside of you are clamouring for clarity and Doyoung has so far only served to intensify it. "What about Taeyong?"

His face falls at the name of his friend, a twisting of pain in his expression, "Taeyong's not safe either," he sighs, "but he's in too deep now." With a shake of his head he turns to leave, walking a few feet before turning to wave goodbye, "take care of yourself." 

You want to chase after him, grab him by the sleeve of his sweater and force him to give you a concrete answer. Why is it not safe? How is Taeyong in too deep? Why did he really leave the group? You watch him walk away, playing the encounter out in your mind until he disappears around the corner of the sciences building. 

You had been going back to the farm more steadily now that the weather was warmer--but only ever on Fridays.

They were the only days you felt safe to go. The charm and camaraderie that had lit up the place when you first arrived there months ago, arm in arm with Dahyun, had been washed away in shades of grey. Despite spring blossoming around you, the whole place felt dull. Dead. The people were less vibrant and friendly than they had been before. You weren’t sure if it was the lingering effects of the long winter, the toll of drugs and alcohol, or something deeper and more sinister--but it all felt wrong. 

A chill would crawl up your spine every time you stepped foot out of Taeyong’s car. You felt unwelcome, and interloper in a place that you once almost began to call home. The dissonance would push you closer into Taeyong’s side and you wouldn’t leave him until you were safely nestled back into the passenger seat of his Chevy. 

The article, and your subsequent conversation with Doyoung, take up space in your brain alongside the lifeless farm for the week leading up to Friday. You lay awake in bed, tossing and turning over his warning as you wrestle with your desire to head back to the farm--to see Taeyong again--or to heed Doyoung. The fear of what might be waiting for you out there, in the wake of the investigation, sends you into a spiral of anxiety and worry. 

The feelings are heightened by Taeyong's complete dismissal of anything. You bring the concerns to him each day, little by little broaching the topic in hopes that he responds in kind, but he simply brushes it off each time.

"It's fine," he says with a soft smile, smoothing your hair with the palm of his hand and pulling you into a gentle kiss. "I'm perfectly safe." 

His assurances only serve to heighten your anxieties. He's there with you, laying next to you at night, sitting near you in the library as you study, but his eyes are distant--almost vacant. He's next to you physically, but his mind is far away. It's back on the farm--thoughts entrenched in whatever activities out there you are not privy to. 

The anxiety is brought to a boil when Friday does roll around in the midst of a cool spring breeze. You sit stretched out in the far corner of the library, shielded by the medieval history section, and flip through your textbook as Taeyong plays mindlessly with the hem of your shirt. 

"Hey," he says, voice low to avoid the wrath of the librarians. You turn to him in question, eyebrows raised as he continues, "you have a few assignments to do this weekend right?"

"Yeah," you nod, "why?" 

"I was just thinking," he untangles his fingers from the fabric of your shirt, grasping your hand in his instead. You can feel him tremor slightly at your touch, "maybe instead of coming out with me and Dahyun again you should hang back and catch up." 

"Why?" The suggestion raises a red flag of alarm in your brain. Your thoughts start spiralling once more--a dark well of anxieties. 

Taeyong wraps his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your temple to soothe the edge in your tone, "I just know you've been stressed over school lately and there's nothing really going on at the farm this weekend." 

“What’s going on Taeyong?” Doyoung’s warning rings clear in your mind as Taeyong tries to dissuade you from what has become a weekly ritual for the past few months. You extricate yourself from his arms and turn to him, maintaining eye eye contact in an attempt to weed out the truth. 

He frowns, a slight pot twisting his lips, "there's nothing going on," he looks hurt, wounded, and you a small pang of guilt knots in your stomach. "Do you think I wouldn't tell you if there was something happening? I'm just looking out for you."

"No, I know," you say with a sigh, hoping to clear the sadness from his expression. You place a small, placating kiss to his lips, "I'm just worried about you with everything that's going on lately." 

"You don't need to be," he smiles. "I’m perfectly safe.” 

The reassurances do little for you but in the name of peace and comfort, you let him slide without further prodding. Sinking back into silence and simply enjoying his presence beside you--no longer a stranger pined after, now just Taeyong. Your Taeyong. Here and now, connected to you in heart and soul. 

The weekend breezes by in solitude. No word from Taeyong, though since the farm has both spotty electricity and no working telephone this was not a surprise. Despite knowing this, however, you hover around the common phone in the dorm, waiting for a ring that might sound a little different from the others. Maybe it would be higher in tone--the bells of the angels heralding his return to campus. Maybe it would be a lone drone; a sergeant on the other end relaying bad or worse news. 

Your homework remains unopened on your nightstand from Friday through Sunday, abandoned in preference of spending your time worrying. Flashes of news reports spring to mind--that same, grainy photo of Joe alongside a similar one of Taeyong. Each time it populates your nightmares it’s different. One minutes it’s a mass murder, the next a fire, the next they’ve simply fled the area and left no traces behind. In all of them you’re left here alone, picking up the pieces of your heart. 

Your waking mind tries to dispel these nightmares--tries to combat them with logic and reason but by the time the weekend ends and both Monday and Tuesday pass by with still no sign of Taeyong, your fears override any flimsy defense and you go searching for answers. 

“Doyoung,” you shout, spying his head bobbing across the street as he ducks out of the hardware store. He looks up, eyes wide and frantic, glancing around the street at the sound of his name like a startled deer. Anxiety buries itself deeper into your stomach at the sight. What was he so afraid of? 

After a moment of panic he sees you and heaves a sigh, jogging across the empty street towards you. 

“Hey,” you say as he comes to a stop on the sidewalk in front of you, “have you seen Taeyong around at all?”

His expression falls to a frown of concern, “no, isn’t he usually with you?” You nod, “I guess that’s why you’re asking me.” He answers his own question before drifting into his thoughts for a quiet moment, “when did you last see him?” 

“Friday morning,” you answer and his eyes widen in alarm. 

“You didn’t go out to the farm with them that night?” 

“No,” his concern sends the flags shooting back up in your mind, deepening the pit of dread in your stomach. 

“And you haven’t seen him since?” 

“No.”

“He’s probably still out there, then,” he says, glancing sideways down the street as if at any point Taeyong might appear around the corner. Might be standing there, wide smile shining in the sunshine, a box of donuts cradled in his arms. 

“Doyoung,” you say, pulling his attention back to you and locking eyes, “I have to know for sure.” 

“How?” 

“Could you come with me?” His face falls to a grimace at the question, fear and hesitation swirling in his dark brown eyes. You remember when you met him, and his surface level stoicism and bravado held you at an arm's length. You had been so afraid of him--of this boy who appeared so tough and cool--but now standing in front of him here in the middle of the desolate street, you can see that he’s just as afraid as you are. 

“I can’t go back there,” his voice comes out as a whisper, as if he’s afraid of being overheard. 

“Why not?” 

“It’s not safe for me,” he shakes his head. “You don’t understand, you were only ever on the periphery but what I saw, what I did--” He trails off into silence, words evading him. 

“Then can I borrow your car?” You don’t want to push him into revisiting somewhere he clearly didn’t want to go, but the fear and worry you felt for Taeyong was currently overriding your sense of self-preservation. 

“No,” he says, eyes wide. “Taeyong told me to look out for you, and letting you drive into that den of snakes doesn’t exactly fall in line with that.” 

“He told you to look out for me?” 

“In a brief moment of clarity,” he snorts, a wry smile twisting at the corners of his lips. 

“Doyoung,” you speak, latching on to the softness in his voice. “I have to go.” 

“I know,” he sighs, resignation clear on his face. “I’m worried, too.” He casts a glance down the sparsely populated sidewalk once more, as if hoping Taeyong might appear at last and solve this dilemma, but no one appears so he beckons you to follow him towards his car. 

You slide into the passenger seat, watching as he inserts his key into the ignition and brings the engine to life, “are you sure about this?” 

“No,” he replies, staring dead ahead as he pulls the car out of it’s spot and turns onto the road. 

The same road you’ve driven hundreds of times passes by through the windows of Doyoung’s car like a stranger. The trees, the fields, the houses--they’re all unfamiliar and strange. You stare out the window in silence, watching it all pass by in a blur, and think about what might be waiting for you at the farm. A place you once felt you belonged now feeling like a distant threat looming on the horizon of your thoughts. 

The farm comes into view in shades of brown and rust. In your memory it was so much brighter here--the shingles weren’t nearly as weather-beaten, the house wasn't nearly as dilapidated. Looking at it now, you can’t imagine ever seeing it as it was in your memory. A beacon of freedom and hope shining under the sun in golden fields or winter snow. Now, it was simply lifeless. 

The usual buzz surrounding it was also nonexistent. You had expected, as you and Doyoung were driving up, to find everyone milling around as they used to. Either dancing to music playing out of someone’s tinny car speakers, or stoking another bonfire. Months ago there was always laughter in the air--always upbeat chatter. Now the only sign of life were the crows perched like omens on the roof. 

You clamber out of the passenger seat of the car, jumping at the sound of the car door as it slams shut and disturbs the eerie silence around you, and glance over at Doyoung, “where is everyone?” 

The same unsettled expression that you're sure you’re wearing is reflected on his face as he looks around, “I don’t know.” He crosses over to the other side of the car to join you, eyes never leaving the run-down house in front of you, “something’s not right.” 

The truth of his observation sinks into--deepening the fear that already sits as a stone in your stomach. Outside of the shelter of his car, the whole place feels even more deserted. Dead. Like a graveyard. You take a hesitant step forward but Doyoung stops you, “here.” He holds out his car keys towards you and you look at him in questioning, “if anything happens just get out of here. Drive and don’t look back.” 

“What do you think’s going to happen?” You ask, tucking the keys into your pocket. 

He shakes his head and starts walking towards the farmhouse, “I don’t know.” 

You trail behind him, heart thudding dull against your chest as you take slow, steady steps. Each one feeling more and more like a step towards the gallow’s pole. The fear of what you might find inside paints your thoughts in blood. In red death. You hold your breath and feel the threat of tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as you watch Doyoung ascend the creaking steps towards the front door. 

He barely reaches a hand towards it before it bursts open. Dahyun stands in the entryway--bleary eyed and half-wild with a mixture of anger and grief. “You,” she screeches at Doyoung. “This is your fault.” 

Doyoung stumbles backwards down the steps, nearly barrelling into you, with his hands raised in defense, “Dahyun, what are you talking about?” 

“He left us,” she sobs, “and it’s your fault.” 

Confusion swirls in a thick miasma around you as you take a few stumbling steps back to avoid the confrontation brewing in front of you. 

“Dahyun, who left?” Doyoung keeps his voice level, as calm as possible, but you can hear the tremor of fear hidden in it. It shakes at the edges of his words as he tries to calm her tirade. More heads begin to poke through the windows and doors of the house, all wearing a similarly angry or saddened expression--all glaring daggers at Doyoung as he stands like prey before them. 

“Joe,” she seethes his name, spits it at Doyoung as if it might poison him. As if it might drop him dead on the spot with the force of her rage. 

“Dahyun,” you hear him before you see him and your heart swells with a momentary joy. Taeyong, it sings. You watch as he steps out of the house--eyes strained from what looks like days of sleeplessness, voice the same tone of golden honey you had come so accustomed to hearing in the late hours of the night, or the early mornings of the day. He was alive. “It’s Doyoung, he never would have--”

“How do you know, Tae?” She spits her venom at him now, whipping around to face him and watches as a snake coiled to strike as he steps around her and comes to Doyoung’s side. He hasn’t seen you yet. Or he has and he doesn’t want to draw attention to you in the wake of Dahyun’s ire. “How do you know he didn’t go to the police? How do you know he didn’t tip off the press like that? Remember,” she says, fixing them both with a dark glare, “he left us. He didn’t believe.” 

“Dahyun what are you--” Doyoung scrambles to gain footing as everyone begins to pool out of the house. They all stand behind or beside Dahyun--a wall of righteous anger propping her up in silent support. 

“He said we weren’t worthy anymore,” she cries, bitter tears streaking down her face, “that we didn’t believe.” She rubs at her face with the back of her hands before digging into the pockets of her baggy jacket, “but he was wrong.” Your eyes widen as you watch her anger ebb to a cold, steady fury. Taeyong stumbles back towards you, leaving Doyoung’s side and grabbing for your hand, “it was just you.” 

A shot rings out through the air and everything comes to a stop. You watch, frozen, as Doyoung’s lifeless body falls to the ground in a heap. Taeyong’s grip on your hand tightens and you stand in horror as blood starts to pool out from the wound in Doyoung’s head, soaking the earth with it’s red stain. 

No one speaks for what feels like an eternity--time stretches onward, shrouding the group in a tense silence. Panicked fear chokes you with the urge to run as far as your legs could take you yet still keeps you frozen in place--anchored by the feeling of Taeyong’s warm hand in yours, the only thing tethering you to reality. You can feel him trembling next to you. Whether from fear, from anger, or from sorrow you don’t know--you can’t force your eyes away from the boys lying dead on the ground a few feet away from you.

And then the screaming starts. 

At first from Dahyun as she stands, gripping the pistol between her hands still aiming towards the empty air where Doyoung had been standing before she shot him. She screams; a clear, high-pitched scream made of terror and disbelief--and rage, so much rage--breaking the silence with the force of the sound. A few more shrill voices join in to chorus with her, wrenched forward from the heaving chests of the people crowded around the body. 

You stand still, wide-eyed and mute, and just listen as their screams turn to sobs and dissolve finally into a sound that pierces you with horror more than the gunshot, more than the screaming. 

Laughter. 

In a daze you turn to Taeyong, tugging on his hand to pull his attention towards you, “we have to go.” You try to urge him to move, to run with you towards his car so that you can get back to the city--back to safety. 

“Go where?” He asks, eyes unfocused. He’s looking at you, but he’s not seeing you. It’s the same look you saw in his eyes that night you ran into him on campus--the same look that chilled you to your bones under the weight of his absence. He is standing in front of you, but he is not here. 

“Home, Taeyong,” you tug on his hand once more, whispering through gritted teeth as the people around you begin to move--spinning and reeling into each other in fits of laughter and tears.

“This is my home,” his voice is barely heard over the cacophony of noises and voices surrounding you. The din of mania drowning out his words and your thoughts. 

“Please,” you urge him, tugging on his hand once more, "I'm scared." The words come out shaking, pleading, and Taeyong finally finds himself again. Returning back to his body and looking at you in alarm.

"Doyoung," he breathes, sparing a glance over towards the body of his friend. 

You look back at Doyoung’s body, growing cold and forgotten on the ground, and force yourself to choke down the overwhelming swell of guilt that washes over you at the sight. “Taeyong,” you let go of his hand and cup his cheeks, forcing him to face you. “We have to get out of here,” his eyes are still dazed, unfocused and you start to wonder if it’s the effects of something more than just witnessing his friend being murdered in front of him. “We have to get out of here or we’re going to die. Do you want that?” 

His gaze sharpens, a slight focusing in his irises at the question, and he puts his hands over yours. “I don’t want you to die here,” he shakes his head and you lean forward to press a desperate kiss to his lips.

“Then we have to go."

A moment of clarity overtakes Taeyong and he nods, allowing you to tug him along towards Doyoung's car. You slide into the driver's seat and peel out over the gravel and dirt back towards the road. Taeyong sits in the passenger seat, blank faced and staring down at his hands like a man possessed. You glance through the rearview mirror in time to see the first glimpse of the fire wicking up the sides of the old house.

The screaming and laughter fades into the distance and you manage to make it to the highway, slowing the vehicle to a reasonable speed, before the first cop car appears in a blur of flashing lights--the red and blue blazing through the dark of the night. 

"Taeyong," you speak his name as you get into the city, his silence a further concern in the cab of the car. 

“Doyoung,” he whispers the name, bringing his hands to his face in horror or disbelief or both. You shove away the thoughts of Doyoung, lying dead on the ground in the light of the flames at the farm. How if you hadn’t convinced him to come with you, to take you out there in some mad attempt at saving someone who wasn’t ready to be saved, he might still be alive. He might be driving this car right now, heading back towards his family--towards safety. 

You shove the image of Dahyun standing over him with the gun aside. The image of everyone standing around screaming, faces cast over in a shroud of darkness and ecstasy. You shove it all aside, lock it in a small box in the back of your mind, and focus on the road as you come into the city. 

The lights of the campus pass by outside the windows as you pull Doyoung’s car to a stop outside of your dorm. The hum of the engine stops, plummeting you into silence and you turn to Taeyong as he sits still with his head in his hands, mumbling to himself under his breath. Some part of your rational mind says you should hide the car--take Taeyong upstairs to your room and come back down to ditch the vehicle a few blocks away. 

Somewhere where when the police come looking for it, as they inevitably will after finding Doyoung’s body, it won’t be connected to you. 

Another part of you--the part that’s afraid, the part that just wants to do the right thing, tells you that it doesn’t matter anyway. That they will find the connection between you regardless and come looking, so you might as well just call the police now. Confess to whatever small part you and Taeyong played in this and hope that they take some pity on you.

The rest of you is just tired. Yearning for the strong arms of sleep to encircle you and wash away the day. To banish the nightmares in the hope that when tomorrow morning comes, you will wake up in Taeyong’s arms and find that none of this had ever happened. 

You’ll see him smile at you again and everything will be as it was when the sun was still shining. 

For now, you lean over and take Taeyong’s hand in your own, circling the skin with your thumb and coaxing him out of his spiralling thoughts, “hey.” He looks up at you, brown eyes soft with confusion and a well of swirling emotions--fear, longing, regret. The sight tugs at your heart--a painful knot tightening around the organ--and you give his hand a gentle squeeze, “let’s get inside.” You try to offer him a reassuring smile as you clamber out of the car and wait for him to follow. 

The dormitory is quiet at this time of night. Everyone asleep in their respective rooms, no one aware of the horrors unfolding only miles away from their beds. The calm is disconcerting--a strange departure from the flames and blood you had just walked out of. It heightens the feeling that you might be able to simply sleep it off. If you sleep for long enough, you’ll wake up to an angry phone call from Doyoung asking just where the hell his car is. 

Or maybe you’ll wake up in the house on the farm with all the other bodies--wreathed in flame and destruction. 

You close the door to your room just in time to catch Taeyong as he collapses against you. You sink to the floor, arms wrapped tight around his shaking frame, as he leans against you. All of his confusion and sorrow breaking free in a wave of tear filled sobs. 

You want to say something--anything--to help quell the fears. Some platitude to soothe his sobbing and calm the nerves that are fraying at the edge of your mind, but words fail and nothing comes to mind. Instead you just hold him close, tight to your chest on the floor until the need for words passes. Until you both fade into silence and no sound but your breathing can be heard in the small space of your dorm room. 

The exhaustion in your bones finally makes itself known and you loosen your grip on Taeyong, stretching out your cramped legs and helping him to his feet along with you. He sits on the edge of your bed as you take a cloth and clean some of the blood and dirt from his face and hands, hoping the actions will quell your own shaking for a moment--give you something to focus on. 

The bed frame creaks under your weight as you slide into it next to Taeyong. You pull yourself tight against his back, curling around his body. No word has been spoken between you since you arrived at your dorm, neither of you wanting to broach the silence for fear that it makes everything too real. 

You lay together for a moment in continued silence until Taeyong speaks into the darkness, voice a mere whisper, "what do we do now?" He sounds so much like a child, helpless and afraid, as he lays in your arms. 

You smooth his hair down with a reassuring hand and place a small kiss behind his ear, at the nape of his neck, "sleep." You say, tightening your grip around his waist and he sinks back into you, "and then tomorrow we go to the police." Your eyelids droop, finally allowing sleep to overtake you--falling into silence again and not noticing the stiffening of his body against you at the words. 

Dawn filters in through your sheer curtains, stirring you awake with the kiss of it, and for one brief moment you breathe easily. Until you remember yesterday. Until the screams and blood floods back into your memories and reminds you. 

The bed beside you is empty, Taeyong is nowhere to be found as you swivel your head around in a dazed panic searching for him. Anxiety overwhelms you, tightening your chest in it’s vice grip as you scramble out of bed and look around for any signs of where he might have gone. 

Doyoung’s car keys are missing from the pocket of your jeans, hastily thrown in a pile on the carpet the night before, and the constriction in your heart tightens further. A flood of worst case scenarios crashes through your mind--images of Taeyong speeding down the highway towards the still burning flames of the farm, Taeyong in the back of a police car, Taeyong lying next to Doyoung in the cold, damp earth. 

The images swirl and dance through you in a dizzying fashion--blocking out all rational thought. You try to repel them, try to reason with them. 

‘Maybe he just went home for a shower.’ The image of Taeyong, water running with the bright red of the blood pouring forward from the bullet wounds in his chest. 

‘Maybe he went to phone the police,’ Taeyong stands with his wrists in cuffs, the cell door closing around him. 

‘Maybe he just went to grab some food,’ Blood, Taeyong, blood, the grey pavement of the sidewalk. Blood. Taeyong. No matter what you try to counter your panicked mind with, nothing but images of him soaked in the red of his own blood comes to mind. Flashing images evoking more terror, doubling down on the fear still humming through your body from the night before.

You tug on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, scrambling for any tether of thought that might lead you towards Taeyong when the door to your room swings back open and he’s standing in front of you with two cups of coffee. 

You exhale the breath you had been holding in a rush and throw your arms around him, burying your head in his neck in a wave of relief, “oh, thank god.” He’s here. He’s here and he’s alive and he’s not bleeding. 

He laughs lightly in shock at your response, wrapping his arms around you in kind while also taking care not to spill the drinks clutched in his hands, "is everything okay?" He asks and the cheerful tone of his voice catches you off guard. 

"Yeah," you nod, pulling out of the embrace and surveying his expression. He smiles at you, a soft smile reminiscent of those days you spent watching him relaxing in the grass on campus underneath the warmth of the sun. It's a beautiful smile, it fills you with warmth and light despite the events you had just lived through. You shake off your concerns and simply bask in the presence of it for now, for as long as it lasts. "I'm fine," you return his smile and accept the proffered coffee. "Are you," you hesitate, the images of all that blood flooding back into the forefront of your mind for a fleeting moment, "are you okay?"

He nods, entwining his fingers with yours, and leads you towards the bed, "I think I have it all figured out," he says, tightening his grip on your hand as he speaks. His features retain a sense of peace--a conviction and happiness that you wouldn't have expected considering his catatonic state last night, but that makes you yearn and hope for the best. Maybe he does have a solution to everything. Maybe you can put it all behind you and move on. Together. 

"The police," you wonder out loud and his smile falters a bit. A dark cloud passing through an otherwise blue, sunny sky. 

"No," he shakes his head. "I can't. We can't go to the police."

"Why not?" Maybe you were naive. Maybe all your time spent in relative safety and comfort in your family home growing up had made you innocent and unaware. No crime had ever touched your life--no violence or death--before now. Maybe you were naive, but it seemed to you as though the police could sort everything out. You would tell them your story, and since you weren't lying they would accept it and with your help move on to apprehend the people who were at the head of this snake. 

Taeyongs expression tells you otherwise. "I can't," he says again, "they'll take you away from me.” 

"What? Why?" More dark clouds--obscuring the sunshine that had been lulling you into a sense of calm. Anxiety creeps up again as he grows more tense. 

"I've done things," he says and your confusion grows at the cryptic words. "Bad things."

"What sorts of things?" You don't want to hear the answer. You don't even want to ask, but you can't help yourself. Curiosity propels you forward. Pushing you past the desire to return to that space of calm and sunshine. 

You have to know the truth. An answer to your months of questions. Articles and news reports flash through your mind in black and white--home invasions, murder, cults. You have to know. 

He shakes his head, tightening his grip on your hand for a moment before taking a sip of his coffee. You follow suit, grimacing at the bitterness of the liquid and briefly wishing you had some sugar to mask it. "I can't tell you," he turns to face you, brown eyes wide and pleading, "but I know how to fix it."

"How?" You want to believe him. You want to sink into his wide eyes and let him fix everything. You could run away--climb into his car and just drive. Maybe to the coast, maybe to the forest. Somewhere far away from here. Far away from the murders, far away from Dahyun, far away from Doyoung.The bitterness of the coffee lingers in your throat and you take another sip to try and wash it down. 

“We’ll be together forever,” he smiles, and leans towards you. The same bitter taste of your coffee is there on his lips as you meet the kiss. Your heart races in your chest, reminding you of that first kiss you shared. How the mixture of nerves and excitement had sent your heart reeling against your ribcage. 

That same, dizzying feeling--of love, of desire, of hope--swells through you now again. But this time it doesn't wane even as Taeyong pulls away from you, even when he lifts your hand to his chest so you can feel his own racing heart. Your heartbeat picks up pace--faster and faster until it's almost choking you with the speed. 

"Taeyong," you choke out his name past the bile rising in your throat--panic begins to set in and he grabs your hands, rubbing soothing circles over your skin as he pulls you to lay down with him. 

"You and me," he says, voice hoarse with love or something else, "forever." 

Your breathing grows more laboured, eyes wide in fear as Taeyong holds you tight. He chokes out your name, one last time. His last "I love you," leaves his lips even as your eyesight blurs. 

The last thing you see as the life drains from your body is Taeyong’s sunshine smile as he lays next to you--cold and lifeless. 

© neonun-au, 2021

 You grabbed your kid from her high chair and gave her a tight hug and plenty of kisses. You're about to leave once again for another workday, but you can't seem to get over leaving your child every single day.

///

"Kitty~"

 You cradled Yena as you made your way into the kitchen, where your husband, Mr. Nakamoto himself, was cooking breakfast for the three of you. Seeing him so domesticated made you giggle for a bit. His tattoo-clad body contrasts your pink frilly apron. You wiped his sweaty forehead and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

 Yuta has been working hard as a househusband for more than a year now. He used to be utterly hopeless in the house, something that he couldn't have learned from his past profession, but your husband still tried to keep himself busy while you work, and he stays at home with Yena.

 You see, Yuta is a former head of a famous gang in Japan. When he heard that you were pregnant with his child, he had quit the lifestyle and disbanded the whole unit. It was his life, but it's a small price to pay for raising a family away from chaos. And for that, you are eternally grateful.

 "Yuta, the eggs are burning."

"Shit. I fucked up."

 You sighed.

 "Language, please." You covered your daughter's ears and made your way back to the dining table, placing Yena right beside you as you prepared the baby food you premade for when Yuta will feed Yena throughout the day.

 "I managed to save the eggs..." Yuta brought out the plate of eggs, smilingly proudly as if he's accomplished something. You took one look at the eggs, and apparently, his idea of fixing it was to throw away the burnt pieces. You are now left with irregular pieces of eggs. 

 "Looks yummy..." You took the eggs from him wholeheartedly. You couldn't manage to break the fragile heart of the former gangster head right in front of you. Yuta took out one of the eggs as well, munching happily like nothing ever happened to them.

 Your phone started ringing before you even managed to take a bite out of your breakfast.

 "Oh no. I've got to go!" You stood up from your seat and struggled to find your coat from where you'd left it earlier. You grabbed your suitcase and gave your husband and Yena a kiss goodbye.

 "But… breakfast..." Yuta was disappointed to see you go, so you gave him one last kiss on the lips before saying, "Bring them to work for me later. I forgot I had a meeting at 7."

 You wore your shoes quickly and headed straight to the door. Before you left, though, you shouted, "Yuta, can you go get groceries later after you brought me my lunch to work?"

 Like a puppy, he replied, "Yes, dear. I love you!"

 "Love you too, baby! Give Yena lots of kisses for me!" Before Yuta gets the chance to answer you, you had already slammed the door and ran off to the bus stop to get to work.

///

"Hey, kid."

When you're gone, Yuta likes to play pretend with your kid.

 "You think you're tough enough for the job?"

 He spoke as he dresses Yena up after a bath.

 "We don't take kindly to rookies around here, kid. Are you sure you're man enough to take on the whole Kuma group?"

 Yena answered with a giggle, a gesture that made Yuta's heart melt every single time. It was a habit that Yena picked up from you, and he was glad that she did.

 "Alright. Suit yourself. You will be in charge of holding daddy's grocery basket while we go deliver mommy's lunch. You think you can handle that, kiddo?"

 Yena started babbling some incoherent words, but Yuta took that as her daughter taking up the challenge. She's such a go-getter.

 And after strapping Yena to her carrier, the two of them went on a mission to finish delivering mommy's lunch and buy groceries in one piece. A feat that Yuta wasn't expecting to achieve that day.

 ///

 Yuta had successfully done his task for that day. At the same time, Yena fell asleep in the middle of shopping, so he had an extra time of peace to himself. That is until a group of men came running in his direction. He tried to turn around, whistling as he silently gets away from that situation. If one of them recognizes him, he's dead.

 "Boss!"

 Yuta resisted the urge to facepalm as he heard someone call his former name. He slightly turned around to see Shotaro, his former apprentice, right before the group disbanded. The eyes of the guys chasing Taro went dark. It seems like they have been looking for Yuta through Shotaro for a long time now. He had made sure to hide very well until someone recognized his tattoos showing his plain white shirt.

 "I'm not sure who you're talking about. I'm Nakamoto Yuta, unemployed, full-time househusband."

 "You're the infamous Akuma. You're him, right? The head of the 127 group?"

 Yuta shook his head and flashed a friendly smile.

 "I don't know who you're talking about. If you'll excuse me, you'll wake my daughter up."

 Yuta tried to turn around again, but one of the goons grabbed his shirt. It caused him to move out of balance, almost waking Yena up.

 His attitude started to change. There was a rumor that you should never touch the Akuma unless you wanted to die a horrible death. Now that he has Yena with him, that rule extends to her as well.

 He sighs, and he motioned Shotaro to come to him. The younger guy hesitated at first, but he willingly obliged. Yuta started taking off Yena's carrier and strapped them into Taro's body. 

 "If something happens to her or that basket of groceries, consider yourself dead."

 Yuta warned as he instructed Taro to walk away as far as possible. His fatherly instincts kick in, which the other guy didn't realize made Yuta even more dangerous.

 Yuta cracked his fingers and replaced his toothy smile with something more sinister. It is what they call the smile of death.

 "Now, who wants to die today?"

 ///

 Shotaro came back to the scene, horrified at the lifeless bodies that Yuta left on the sidewalk. Yuta went back to his giddy self again when he saw that Yena was still sleeping in her carrier.

 "You sleep so well. I'm glad that you also got that from your mother." His white shirt was bloody, but that didn't stop him from holding on to his daughter.

 "Taro, help me carry out those groceries some will you?

 ///

 The three of them came home a few more minutes before you get home. Yuta quickly washed himself to get rid of the bloodstains in his body. He also threw his clothes at the trash as they can't take the stains off of them in time before you get home.

 Shotaro just watched as his former boss, the most ruthless killer in Osaka, wears this pink frilly apron while he makes that night's dinner.

 "Would you like to join us for dinner, Taro?" The kid wanted to refuse, but Yuta was wearing that deathly smile of his again.

 "U-uh sure thing, boss."

 "And please, stop calling me boss. Not in front of my wife or my daughter. Just call me Yuta."

 Shotaro dared not to call his former boss by his first name. However, he nodded as a sign of agreement and helped him take care of Yena and prepare that night's meal.

 You went home to the fragrant smell of soup, a dish that had recently become Yuta's specialty. It was certainly better than half burnt eggs.

 "Oh baby, you won't believe what happened at work today. I--" You stopped on your tracks when you were greeted by another Japanese man that isn't your husband.

 "Oh, hi. Are you a friend of my husband's?" The guy nodded, smiling happily like a little kid. 

 Cute.

 Yuta then came out from the kitchen and greeted you with a kiss. However, even if he hid his face with his long hair, you still noticed tiny cuts along with his eyes and forehead.

 "What are those?" You stepped closer and tried to sweep his hair off his face. You were hoping to get a closer look.

 "Ahh, haha, those were from when I was attempting to install a shelf earlier. The screw got loose and hit me in the face. Right, Taro?"

 The kid looked panicked, but he nodded profusely like he actually meant it.

 "Alright. What's for dinner, then?"

 You knew that Yuta got in a fight again. You're not as innocent as he deems you to be. There is a reason why you were married to a former gang boss, after all. However, you saw Yena all cleaned up and well-rested. Yuta did an excellent job of taking care of her well. It didn't matter that he went back to fighting once again. It was in his nature, after all.