#czennienet

You two are polar opposites in almost every way, and you would’ve never thought in a million years that you would be with a man like him. His family is wealthy, and he has had everything handed to him. You grew up on the wrong side of the tracks; your family was dirt poor, and you had to work during high school to keep the lights on. You only had one boyfriend before him, and that person treated you so badly it made you swear off love altogether. You would’ve been okay with being alone for the rest of your life. But Taeyong walked into your Renaissance and Baroque course in college one day, and that was the best and worst day of your life. 

“Hi, I’m Taeyong,” he introduced himself, taking a seat next to you. 

You were paired together to work on a project about the significance of art in the Renaissance and Baroque periods. You mainly met at coffee shops or the libraries, comparing notes to see what needed to be put in your presentation. Taeyong always showed up in style, dressed to the tens, driving his Mercedes Benz and flashing his Rolex watch whenever he rolled up his shirt from his wrists. He looked and smelled like money, while you showed up in jeans and a t-shirt with your hair a mess half the time. You were surprised to know that Taeyong is interested in art as he cited the famous Sistine Chapel ceiling as one of his favorite paintings. You two soon bond over your love of fifteenth and eighteenth-century paintings, trading over pictures of art that you have found over the year at museums.

“I guess we aren't that different,” you thought to yourself.

 As the project plannings went on, you started to see him in a different light. You noticed he was considerate, calm, and respectful of you. Taeyong made it his mission to pay for all of your meals and to make sure you made it home at night. He talked more about his life and how he was set to take over his family’s company. He made you feel at ease and said that you can talk to him about everything, and it scared you. You tried to keep things just platonic, making every excuse in the book about why you shouldn’t pursue him, but the more time you spent with each other, the more feelings you developed. It agonized you not to say anything, and you had a plan to disclose the way you felt after you finished your presentation, but Taeyong had another thing in mind.  

“Will you go out with me sometime?”

Taeyong asked you shortly after you finished your presentation weeks later, and you tried to pretend you were oblivious to his question.

“I’ve already gone out with you,” you teased him, nudging his shoulder. “How many cafes and libraries have we been to?

Taeyong cocked his head to the side, closing in on the space between you, and your breath hitched at his advances.

“A real date Y/n,” Taeyong murmured as his hands touched the bottom of your shirt. “You know what I mean.”

It scared you that he was able to see through you, calling your bluff. You considered his proposal as you were packing up your things, and walking out of the classroom. You are dramatic, and you know it, but it doesn’t stop you from turning around and giving him your answer.

“Pick me up tomorrow at 8.”

He picked you up promptly the next day, taking you to a movie theater where you could order dinner while you waited. You were more nervous than you let on, changing your hair and makeup several times before he showed up and making small talk about random things, which is way more conversation you’ve given anyone. Next, Taeyong took you to see Shakespeare In Love, one of your favorite movies. You snuck glances at him, and he seemed to thoroughly enjoy the movie. It made you happy to finally have someone to share these things with. 

“I didn’t take you to be a Shakespeare kind of guy,” you whisper in his ear. 

“Well, there are layers to me, love,” Taeyong whispers back. “You’ll see.”

After the movies, he took you to the park where you talked for hours about your favorite things and wanting to travel and see the world. You saw Taeyong in another light, not as this millionaire bachelor who’s had everything handed to him, but as a young man who is humble despite his privileges. You shared the same beliefs about the world, which made you like him even more, and when he kissed you, later on, it sealed the deal. 

That date was four years ago, and today, on the anniversary of your first date, Taeyong is taking you out to celebrate. He told you to dress in your finest, and you picked out what you could find in your closet. You decide on a little black dress and high heels that you only bring out for special occasions. Your nails and toes were freshly done, and when Taeyong sees you walking to his car, his eyes go dark, and you can see him shifting in his seat. 

“You look beautiful,” Taeyong divulges, kissing you sweetly.

You break apart and gaze into his eyes, beaming at the love of your life. Then, he speeds off into the city, taking you to one of the most high-class hotels in the world. He opens your door, walking you into the lobby while being greeted by the security.

“Babe, you know you didn’t have to take me to a hotel to fuck me, right?” You half-joke, slipping your arm around his. 

“Ah, your mind is always in the gutter, isn’t it?” He quips, secretly touching your bosom. “I have other things planned for you.”

You follow Taeyong’s lead, and he takes you to the highest floor of the hotel, leading you to an extravagant suite decorated with rose petals and candles. The table is already set for two, the servants standing by to address your needs. You are taken aback, touched by this vast gesture. 

“Aw baby,” you gush, looking around the suite. “You didn’t have to do all of this.”

“Yes, yes I did,” Taeyong waves off your concern with a gentle tone. “I want to give you the world. You deserve it.”

He ushers you into your seat, and he sits across from you, the servants removing the cloth from your plates. There’s salmon, shrimp, asparagus, and risotto prepared, your favorite foods paired with a glass of red wine. You both eat merrily, talking mostly about your day and how good the food is. It doesn’t feel real sometimes, being with someone of Taeyong’s status, considering your background. You’ve always been told that this wasn’t possible and that you would always be lower than scum. After hearing it so many times, you believed it, and you never thought that you could ever be a possibility. But Taeyong made it a reality, and you will always love him for that.

“What’s on your mind?” His voice cuts through your reverie, bringing you back to reality. 

“Nothing,” you smile, taking a sip of your wine. “I am just really happy right now.”

You both finish your food, and the staff clears the table quietly while you step outside on the balcony. The view shows the whole city, the bustling, bright lights showing off the nightlife. You think of the time Taeyong took you to an art exhibit after hours, just for you to have dinner. You told him once that you wished you could have dinner surrounded by your favorite paintings. Taeyong made that happen. You can also see the park that you both frequent together, bringing back memories of picnic dates and reading books under the trees. You have been all over this city with him for the past four years, and you wouldn’t change a thing. 

“Getting some fresh air?” Taeyong whispers behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

He kisses your cheek, and you relax in his arms, embracing the warmth his body brings you. Taeyong’s hand creeps up your thigh, taking the hem of your dress between his fingers then lifting it slowly, revealing your bare center.

“No panties tonight?” His voice is calm and alluring. You can’t help but get sucked in.

“I figured tonight was a special occasion,” you quip.

He chuckles and lifts your dress up further, your bare ass being greeted by the warm air as he bends you over. Taeyong drops to his knees and spreads your cheeks apart, his tongue welcoming your wet entrance. A loud, lip-sucking sound is heard as he sucks on your clit, and you bite back a moan, lowering the straps on your dress. 

“Does this feel good, baby?” Taeyong purrs, his face deep in your ass. 

“Mhmm,” you moan, your fingers playing with your nipples. 

He continues to eat you until he is satisfied, your legs quivering from the back to back orgasms on his tongue. He leaves you with a long last lick before getting up and helping you out of your dress, kissing you ravenously. You bend down to take off your heels, but Taeyong stops you, his eyes dark with lust. 

“Keep your heels on,” he commands, sitting you on the chair. 

You do as you’re told, watching him undress, his toned body revealed and hard dick ready to be swallowed. He lines himself in front of your mouth, and you suck him in, swallowing him whole. 

“Fuck Y/N,” Taeyong grunts as he takes a fistful of your hair. “You always know how to make me feel good.”

Your warm lips and even warmer tongue continue to circle around his shaft you gaze up at him watching as he clings onto you for dear life. You increase your pace, loving the way he curses your name when you take control. His dick hits the back of your throat roughly, but you don’t care. You like it when he’s rough with you. You love it when he slaps your face and calls you his dirty whore. Your pussy drips even more, when his hands circle around your throat, pushing himself farther into you until tears come out of your eyes. 

“You take me so well, baby,” Taeyong slowly removes himself out of your mouth. “Go over to the balcony for me.”

You get up slowly, walking over to the barrier, your nakedness on full display to the city below. Taeyong bends you over once more, this time slipping himself inside of you. 

“Uhm,” you moan as you cock your head back.

Taeyong smirks as he thrusts into you, your breasts clapping into each other happily due to his fast pace. He lifts your chin up, kissing you passionately as he continues to pound into you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, feeling lightheaded due to the high arousal. You scream his name, loud enough that you are sure that the people many floors below you can hear you, but you don’t care. 

“Harder,” you grit your teeth, throwing your ass back to meet his rhythm.

Taeyong grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls you off the balcony, bringing you inside and putting your face first on the bed. He pulls himself out of you and slams into you hard, making you cry out his name in the sheets. Your fingers claw into the pillows, feeling overloaded from the pleasure he is bringing you. Skin slapping noise fills the room, sex in the air as he continues to fuck you deep into the mattress. Finally, your stomach coils, signaling your release, and you tap his leg feverishly, screaming that you will cum.

“So, what’s stopping you?” His breath is hollow, sweat dripping from his body. “Cum all over me.”

Those are the magic words, and your orgasm comes rippling through you like crashing waters on a waterfall. He pulls himself out of you, slipping his fingers into you as you squirt all over his hand. His other hand is stroking his member, his hot load coating your face shortly after. You take your time sucking him dry, cleaning up your face and his hand covered with your juices. 

“God, I love you,” Taeyong kisses you sweetly, trying to catch his breath. 

“I love you more,” you collapse on the bed with the bit of energy you have left. 

You hear him go into the bathroom, and turn on the light you close your eyes, feeling sleep creep up on you. You love Taeyong more than anything in this world, and you hope that in the next life, you are paired with him again. He makes you feel open and more alive than you have ever been. He made you believe in love again and seeing the good in people. If you had a ring, you would ask him to marry you right now. 

“Y/n,” you hear him call you from the bathroom. 

You slowly get up, your body aching as you saunter towards him. The spacious bathroom is lit up with candles and decorated with roses; Taeyong is standing on one knee with a small black box in your hand. 

“I wanted to do this in the morning when you woke up,” Taeyong starts. “But I don’t want to wait anymore. I love you, Y/n. I want to be with you for the rest of my life. You don’t care about how much money I have or my status. You see me as a person, the real me. You have helped me grow and become a better person since we met in college years ago. I know I am not perfect, and yes, I can be an ass at times. But you get me, we get each other. Will you marry me?”

You beam at him, taking the ring and slipping it on your finger. 

“I was just laying in the bed thinking to myself that if I had a ring right now, I would propose to you,” you chuckle, bending down and kissing him. “Of course I will marry you, baby. I love you.”

You had an infinity with the theatrics, dabbling in stagecrafts and costume design at your local performing arts school, central of your small country town. 

You, however, had greater endeavors in mind, an aspiration for stardom on a grander stage. In particular, you had visualized a stage under an established proscenium arch from which the bonnie stage curtains hung in a dramatized, draping fashion. 

Onstage you felt grandiose, larger than. You beheld a persona other than your own, and with the simplicity of your lines, you could deliver an audience to tears. 

"I've finally made it," You proclaimed, setting down your suitcase. 

"Could I help you with something?" The stage manager peered from behind his clipboard, silently motioning one of the stylists to retreat back to the dressing rooms. 

"Yes," You bashfully nodded, "I'm here for my part as Lady Windermere in the latest production," 

The stage manager crossed his arms, a puzzled expression forming amongst his features, "As Lady Windermere?" He questioned. 

"Indeed," You confirmed, "I auditioned last August," You quickly dug into the pocket of your textured body con dress. The pockets were large enough to fit a singular piece of paper that had been purposefully folded over and over into a tiny square. 

The stage manager’s face drained in color, regretfully handing you back your paper, "I'm afraid Mrs. Beautford, the head of the production and owner of this theatre, decided on moving the show case to September," 

You glanced down at your wristwatch, the clockface stipulating it was now October. 

"Due to your absence your part was recasted." 

Your mouth trembled in horror, your previous state of elation slipping away.  

"Bu-t," You stuttered, "Nobody notified me. I would have come earlier, I would have done absolutely anything for this position." You insisted. 

The stage manager apologized, stating there was little that could be done about the situation now.

Defeatedly, you grasped the leather handle of your suitcase, lifting the hand-stitched trim and exposed wooden interior and resting it beside your thigh. 

"Thanks anyway," You lowered your head, "I'll get going then," You soberly walked back in the direction you'd come.

───

Yuta kept his leer to himself, pretending to occupy himself with a dustcloth by the bookcase as he eavesdropped on their conversation.

"Oh, I don't know." Mrs. Beautford dramatized, "I have an awful lot on my plate, with the production and the management of the theatre," She clutched her dangling baroque pearled necklace that modeled around the folds her wrinkled décolletage. 

Yuta brushed the binders of the leather first editions, awaiting for Mr. Randlehand, Mrs. Beautford's money-grubbing estate lawyer's, response. 

Mr. Randlehand played the widowed Mrs. Beautford like a fiddle, encouraging the woman to organize a trust for all her assets in the unfortunate case of her untimely demise. 

"These things need to be prioritized," Mr. Randlehand contented whilst impolitely gesturing for Yuta to refill his teacup. 

Yuta bit the inside of his cheek, containing his disposition. Objectively, Yuta was none other than Mrs. Beautford servant. He had no conditions that required him to wait on Mr. Randlehand. However, irking a scene would only place Yuta in a position of vilification. He complied—for a hybrid would never be accommodated over a human. 

Yuta placed aside the dustcloth before attending to the small table on the idyllic, white-painted veranda. He put on his pair of dark cotton gloves before handling the porcelain. 

Hybrids were the hapless speciesism that humans had denounced from their quintessential society. Their existence had since been reduced to pets, servants, or as their pitiful forms of entertainment. Either of the following situations would strip a hybrid from their fundamental liberties. 

In Yuta's case as a fox hybrid, his character was pigeonholed as conniving and unsavory. In turn, it made him unfit to be a pet. Also, foxes weren't particularly rare, far common than the likes of the big cat breeds. Therefore he wouldn't fetch well in the business of entertainment. This left him in the singular position of servent. 

Yuta poured the tan liquid until it reached the rim of the teacup. Mr. Randlehand pursed his lips and took a sip. He made a disgruntled sound, sitting the tea back onto his saucer. 

"It's cold," He accused. 

Yuta was about to maintain that was because Mrs. Beautford had asked him to heat the pot up forty-five minutes ago and yet, hadn't touched it until now...Yuta decided on holding his tongue. 

Mr. Randlehand tipped the teacup sideways, spilling it over Yuta's tailored pants. Yuta watched as they splashed over his shoes, droplets running down to the pool on the white-painted veranda. 

"Make us a new pot," He dismissed, "Make sure this time it's hot." 

Heat rose to Yuta's cheeks as he collected the tea set, balancing it on a silver tray. He mumbled an apology, bypassing the study to return to the kitchens. 

"Utterly useless," Yuta overheard Mr. Randlehand besmirched, urging Mrs. Beautford to surround herself with finer help.

───

October 10th 1964.

“Ticket for one,” You answered the teller, fidgeting with the frayed sleeves of your three-quarter length shirt. 

Your outfit had consisted of a matching neon green set, your skirt pleated and decorated with fringe. You sported a second-hand pair of go-go boots, the silver bedazzling matching the silver bauble earrings that swung side to side by your cheeks. 

You had tried your best to dress appropriately for the occasion. However, observing the fitted cocktail dresses and fur-collared coats you accumulated, you may be a tad underdressed. 

“Here you go,” The teller exchanged your coin for a geometric-shaped ticket stamped with the name of the play. 

You offered a quick thanks, ready to find your seat. 

“Wait, ma’am,” The teller waved his arm through the box office’s window, “I forgot to give you this,” 

Your brows furrowed, accepting the rust orange raffle ticket, “What is this for?” You curiously inquired. 

“Mrs. Beautford, the owner of the theatre is having a raffle,” The teller began listing off the potential prizes, your ears not hearing anything other than the prize of second place.

“A year-long pass to the theatre?” You exclaimed. 

You stared bewildered at your raffled ticket as you walked through the lobby. 

Please let it be me. You crossed your fingers. 

You passed the coat check, stepping into the auditorium. Your chest sunk as you had recalled the last time you’d come here.

You had spent the entirety of your life savings in order to move the city and pursue the job prospect you’d successfully auditioned for. Furthermore, you had leased a small studio within the downtown building complex, your bond nonrefundable. 

You let out a lethargic sigh. At the very least, could you take a seat and enjoy the show. You flattened the crinkled program, the complimentary leaflet available for patrons attending. It outlined the scheduled acts, one to four, also providing background information of the principal performers. 

Your thumb brushed against the actress’ name that was inscribed beside Lady Windermere’s character. Your heart dropped even further. 

───

The audience clapped, offering their best applause. After the show had ended, a heavy velvet curtain swept across the scene. A round spotlight was then shone down center-stage, a woman dressed in a floor-length taupe dress and an expensive mink stole came forth. She cleared her throat before thanking everybody who’d been in attendance this evening. 

Mrs. Beautford, melodramatic by nature, made the raffle into a puffery display. The orchestra’s trumpet players blowing into their instruments while the drummers began their drumroll to escalate the audience’s anticipation. 

She announced the two winners, which were ushered on stage. You were partly disappointed. You would have appreciated a year-long pass to the theatre, especially now that you were unemployed. 

You discretely stood to your feet, bending your knees in order not to obscure the view of the people behind you. You were disinterested in the surprise gift to the last finalists, opting you’d leave before the crowds, which were bound to occur when Mrs. Beautford concluded her raffle. 

“And our last prize winner—” Mrs. Beautford paused for effect, “Y/N!”

Your eyes widened, downcasted faces turning in your direction. 

“Come on,” Mrs. Beautford directed, “Come on stage dear,” Her hand motioning to stage left. 

Your jaw opened as you were whisked away. You were told to stand beside Mrs. Beautford. She shook your hand, instructing you to smile at the cameras. 

“We’re going to make the front page,” She whispered between her teeth. 

You blinked, momentarily stunned by the flashing lights. 

“Now for what you have won,” Mrs. Beautford broadcasted, capping her hands. “Bring it out!” 

The audience who had remained to hear the final announcement gasped in their chairs as they viewed who came on stage next. 

You, too, were astonished. 

On a mahogany leash, attached to an engraved collar, came forward an immaculately dressed fox hybrid which the handler briefly mentioned was called Yuta. 

You studied the hybrid’s hailing visuals, Yuta’s cut and styled ginger hair, and the pair of groomed ears that stuck upward, adding to his charm.  

Hybrids could be notoriously expensive, even the most common of kinds. Admittedly, it was the first time you’d been in such close proximity as hybrids weren’t readily seen in your small country town.

“Not only will I gift you my faithful servent of fifteen years,” Mrs. Beautford transmitted to the crowd rather than you personally, “I will bestow you part of my fortune, your name to be transcribed in my will and testament.” She broadened her smile, her red lips captured by every cameraman in the room. 

───

October 12th 1964.

Admittedly you were at a loss at what to do as Mrs. Beautford’s private handler dropped the fox hybrid at your small, one-bedroom studio. 

Others would have declared your fortunes had turned for the better, but you’d argued you were no closer to archiving the dreams you set out on the days prior. You were still jobless, behind on the first payment of your water bill, and now had acquired an extra mouth to feed. 

"Yuta?" You gingerly approached, careful not to spook the fox hybrid, "That's what they call you?" You extended a hand for him to shake. 

Beneath his burnt orange locks, Yuta's ears twitched. He, otherwise, made no efforts to acknowledge your presence, purposely averted his kiwi green eyes to the wooden suitcases huddle in the corner of your small-scale apartment. 

You stopped shuffling your feet, your awkwardly outstretched hand descending to brush your tweed skirt instead. The room fell into a deafening silence. One Yuta refused to break.

You continued to observe his mannerisms. From his slumped shoulders and clenched fists, you comprehended he was neither pleased about the exchange of owners nor anticipating this stay with you in your city dwelling.

What am I going to do? You internally groaned. 

It unnerved him the falsehood of your smile, the sincerity radiating from your eyes. He knew it ought to be a mask, one humans effortlessly wore. He knew no human to be genuinely kind, for he had seen it too often, that moment when the mask cracked, and their candid face came to light. 

You're all the same. You are all but liars. He told himself.

You rocked on your heels, scratching the back of your head. You supposed Yuta was accustomed to a more fruitful way of life. After all, his previous owner had been an abundance of wealth tied to her name. He would have been privy to a height of comfort and style, all of which your barren studio greatly lacked.

“Are you hungry?” You asked, abandoning the living room for the cramp kitchen quarters. You came back with a small box, “Pop tarts!” You animated. 

You revealed the frosted crust with a sugary filling sealed inside two layers of thin, rectangular pastry.

Yuta watched you suspiciously from the corner of his eye. It was unusual for a human to conserve to him not only casually but also directly as if he was somewhat equal to your standing. 

Disheartened, your attempt to lighten the atmosphere failed. You took a step closer to the hybrid once more. You gently reached for his hands, placing the box between them both. 

“Help yourself to as much as you’d like,” You told him warmly, “I’ll be in the other room unpacking the rest of my things,” You referred to the leather suitcases which remained. 

Your tender touch left his hand, leaving a coldness behind. He furtively studied you as you turned your back to him, trying to quell the obscure flutter of curiosity from blooming inside of his chest. 

NETWORKS: @czennienet​​

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You could barely blink. You froze in place, your hands shaking at an uncontrollable rate. You eyed him incredulously, “What are you talking about?”

That night, you came home alone. You knew that the disease made adults more vulnerable yet you couldn’t believe that you had lost both of your parents in one day. All you could do was sit in your living room and cry until you couldn’t breathe. You screamed until your lungs heart, the weight of grief crushing your chest- it suffocated you. All that swirled in your head was memories of your mother cooking dinner while your father chased you around the dining table or the way you’d go to the city to explore, laughing in your family’s van as you drove. It was all too much. What were you going to do? Who would you call for help? Your family didn’t have many relatives in the area after your father decided to take a PR job in New York City. You felt all alone, the gloomy, steely skies looked especially lonely outside of your window. You couldn’t even see the sun. 

You fell asleep on your living room couch, your muscles sore from the unmoving position of your legs and arms. Deciding to switch on the TV, you were sure that the government would send a social worker to come fetch you- that’s what they always said on the news. Surprisingly, headlines read, “New vaccine formulated by pharmaceutical team at New York Institute of Medicine.” Despite the fact being good news, you felt numb. It didn’t matter because you had lost your family. It was too late. Over the next two years, the government issued a world-wide administration of the vaccine, the diseases had almost disappeared entirely. People were able to go back to work, walk their dogs, and dine out with their friends. The UN had stated each nation would work together to rebuild the damage of what was lost, whole cities were torn down to restart again. Technology advanced just as quickly: the old, ruined world becoming a man-made virtual paradise. Engineers and infrastructure developers reached new heights by building jets that flew at 1,840 miles per hour to skyscrapers that seemed to pierce through heaven. Somehow, by mercy, you managed to see the world change. You survived.

Current time

Of course, there wasn’t a real opportunity to go back to school after the plague, it led you to look for other ways to contribute to the work force instead. In the old world, work consisted of becoming a doctor, a lawyer, even a neighborhood bee-keeper ; as a young kid, you never had a clear idea of who or what you wanted to be. When you started to stabilize yourself by taking small part-time jobs that didn’t require a degree or some form of formal education, you slowly started to accumulate savings. After a while, you had been eyeing a virtual game constructed by the Kynigos company that swept the world by storm. It was everywhere on social media, all of the sign boards that lined 2nd avenue to 7th. Almost every family on your block purchased these visionary headsets that allowed you to see life in a kaleidoscopic lense. When you tried yours on for the first time, it was utterly breathtaking. New York city mimicked that of rainbow road in your old mario kart game, the streets glowed hues of bubblegum pinks and electric blues. The skyscrapers were dripping with panels of evergreens and xanthous yellows as the sky sparkled as a net covered it, the tiny strands glittering with violet crystals. You continued to walk down the block, circles glowing over your eyes and floating signboards that advertised expensive desserts bobbed up and down. As you scanned your surroundings, every person on the street or drivers cruising down the road had their headset on. Cars projected virtual screens that were lined with data codes and numbers. Even the foliage on the trees changed a new color every morning and night, the clouds moved by glitching slightly. It was like you could sweep your fingertips across every color you could think of, the streetlamps dripping gold above your head. 

Each time Kynigos uploaded a new software update, people would go ballistic over the installation of game mode. In place of a regular day job, you’d be able to make money by taking investors’ requests and errands. It ran on in-game currency that could be exchanged for real money in which you desperately needed to eat, to live. That’s where you were: you took requests for the smaller investors like fetching their meals or buying their groceries. Moving up, you honed your skills on clearing the game levels, earning access to a database of more promising, richer moguls. They were getting hungry, some of them crossing the law to conduct illegal activities in-game: Kynigos never really enforced the restrictions. No matter how much the government tried to take over the game, it would only gain more and more powerful. They always found their way around it. You had just cleared level 50, your reward was to establish a link with an anonymous client who offered 5 grand in exchange for a person’s identity. Not that you knew who the client or request was, you had become a bounty-hunter chasing for your next bankroll. You didn’t have time to pick and choose. At the corner of your headset screen, a pop-chat window appeared: “Hello. Please refer to me as Mr. C.”

You replied, “Hi. How may I help you?”

“I’m looking for someone who can track down a person that I’ve been trying to find. The request is to confirm their identity and bring them to me. I will raise the reward if need be.”

You continue, “I need that in writing. May I have this person’s file?”

“I will send it over shortly.”

The chat window expands into a link, a typed document of the request along with a signature. You had been cheated out once, you were sure to not let it happen again. When you enlarge the file, it’s a picture of a boy who was much younger than you. He wore a navy blue sweatshirt, his black hair curled on one side of his forehead. His eyes seemed incredibly innocent, his doe irises complimenting the smile that graced his lips ; the sharpness of his cheekbones accentuating his prepubescent face. His name read, “Mark/ Minhyung Lee.” and was last spotted not far from where you lived. You asked, “Mr. C, why are you looking for a kid?”

“I have no obligation to answer that question. Regardless, are you able to do it? If you can’t succeed, I will have to take measures into my own hands.”

With the amount of money that was being offered, you would be set for a while. Taking the request seemed extremely worth it. 

“It’s a deal, Mr. C.”

You pulled up your virtual map with a click of a button, the map expanding into the space of your living room. It showed every alleyway, every nook and cranny in the city. You enlarged the floating map with your fingers, zooming in on a couple blocks away from your apartment. From your room, you grabbed your back-pack and changed into a black body-tight outfit (a skin you won as a reward on level 15), and your hair tied in a loose knot. Dashing out the door, you headed for where this Mark was last seen. You walked around the city, scanning the crowds of people as you walked. The street lamps illuminated the moving sidewalk as people talked into their headset by the cafe windows. Colorful lights blossomed on the tiny windows of the tall buildings. How were you supposed to find such a young kid wandering around by himself? Was Mr. C. his father? Maybe a disgruntled relative? You were unsure. You stopped inside a convenience store, the view of a black-haired boy turned around in one of the aisles. You couldn’t see his face, could that be Mark? The cashier sleepily greeted you, his headset sat crookedly on the rim of his forehead. Making your way to the small boy, you walked in front of him to get a better look- it was not him. He looked up at you confusedly, “hey lady, should I get a chocolate bar or a lollipop?”

Pointing at the chocolate bar you winked, “Chocolate for sure.”

The child walked away from you as he perused through the candy aisle more. You felt a hand grab your wrist from behind to be met with a scruffy man who wore tattered clothes and scratched at his dirtied beard. His eyes bulged with hysteria, “Pretty girl, give me that!”

He pointed at your polished headset, his grimy fingers reaching for it. You stumbled back as your heart beat furiously in your chest, “Sir, I don’t want trouble. Please step back from me.”

The man takes another step towards you instead, his rough hands flying to grip your waist, “Say, what’s your name? Want to come with me?”

You try wrenching out of his grip, you shouted for the cashier’s attention- he’s too busy paying attention to the game to even hear you. The man’s fingers make contact with the skin on your hip which causes you to jolt, you struggle to reach for the knife at the bottom of your backpack.

“Sir, kindly back off!”

The homeless man swivels around, facing a boy about the same age as you. Looking at him, you had not ever witnessed a more attractive boy in a while. His hair was a chestnut color, the crest of it gelled over, his face was slim and defined. Even his lips were the prettiest shade of sakura blossoms, his obsidian eyes stern with fury. He pushed up a pair of version 3 cyber-glasses on the bridge of his nose, “Sir, I said to back off!”

Just like that, the homeless man raised his hands in mock surrender as he scampered out of the convenience store- leaving you staring at the handsome boy in front of you.

You nervously adjust yourself, “Um-I- thank you for that.”

The boy gives you a warm smile, one of his hairs falling onto his forehead, “No need to thank me. That guy was being a total creep. Plus, that cashier should be fired for being distracted.”

You laugh, you catch yourself staring at the abundance of watermelon pops in the boy’s hands. He eyes you and then back to his pops, “Oh, would you like one?”

Stammering over your words you shake your head a bit too wildly, “N-no t-thanks! I-I prefer mango?”

Why did you say mango? You hate mango-flavored things. He gives you a hearty chuckle, “Fair enough, mango’s good too.”

It goes without saying anything, you both pay for the treats as you walk on to the sidewalk, a cold breeze making you shiver. The boy cards his fingers through his hair, the streetlamps casting a golden flow on his highlights, “I guess this is where we part. I hope you don’t run into any more creeps.”

You nod at him, “I sure hope not. By the way, what’s your name?”

There, you feel like you’ve messed up. This stranger saves you from some homeless guy and you ask him for his name, his eyes are widened with surprise. You silently sigh in relief when he breaks into a toothy smile, “Yeah, um, My name’s Jonathan.”

His voice comes out a little hesitant, as if he’s not sure. You eye him, “You sure about that, bud?”

“Of course. I was just deciding whether or not to tell you Jon or Jonathan is all.”

You say, “Well, goodbye Jonathan. Thank you for helping me out today.”

You swerve to walk back down the street in which you came, your headset blinking with the weather forecast in the corner of it. You feel a hand catch your shoulder gently, “Wait-t, d-do y-you think we can exchange handles?”

Turning back to the boy, you certainly weren’t expecting him to say that, “Yeah, sure!”

Together, you calibrate your headsets as a glowing icon appears above his head, “Accept Jonathan as a friend?”

You say, “Accept!”

Jonathan’s name adds to your friends list, not that you had any previous names added anyway. He finishes adding to you as well, your name hot on his tongue as he repeats it daintily. Giving you a final wave, you both go your separate ways. You decide to look for Mark in the morning.

Later that night, you find yourself staring at a message notification from Jonathan. Tapping in the air, you press on it- you bite your lip in anticipation. A bubble appears over his message, “You still up?”

You type on your virtual floating keyboard, “I am, wanna chat?”

Another bubble appears: “proceed with projection communication?”

You look yourself up and down, your outfit only consists of a pair of striped pajamas unlike your black suit earlier. You can’t imagine that Jonathan’s dressed up at this hour. Accepting the bubble, a scan of Jonathan’s virtual body appears in front of you as if he’s sitting in your desk chair. He looks different from earlier, he wears a thin t-shirt that reads ‘Vancouver’, his hair glimmers with wet drops from his shower and he holds an acoustic guitar in his hands. At first he doesn’t realize that you’ve accepted the projection call until he drops his guitar to the ground, fumbling in his chair, “Oh! hi-i, I didn’t see you there for a second..”

You laugh at his silliness, “you were the one who initiated the call in the first place!”

“Still! One second, I need to get something.”

When he finally returns, he holds a bowl of cereal in his hands, spooning sugary flakes into his mouth before toasting the bowl, “Cereal baby!”

“Who eats cereal at this hour?”

“Me- I do!”

You smile at him, leaning back into your pillows, it’s almost too surreal that it feels like Jonathan is staring right back at you from your room. It’s like he’s right there with you. 

You continue, “So, what do you like to do in your free-time?”

He looks up from his bowl, “Hm, I uh- I guess I just listen to music or watching Netflix? Something like that?”

“I see you have a guitar by you, do you play well?”

He rubs the back of his neck nervously, “I wouldn’t say too good but I do enjoy playing? I write a bit too.”

“Can you play something for me?”

He gives you a playful smirk before breaking into a high-pitched laugh, “Put me on the spot now aren’t we?”

You reply, “You kind of set yourself up by bringing out a guitar. Of course I was going to ask.”

With a heavy sigh, he mumbles, “This is a song that I wrote when I started living on my own.”

You feel your heart swell at the sight of this stranger whispering soft words of song, the strums of his guitar filling the emptiness of your room. When he’s finished, you give him a standing ovation, “What do you mean not too good? You’ve got talent.”

He rubs his eyes tiredly, “Gotta stay humble, you know?”

Your memory plays back to Jonathan’s words: “I started living on my own.”

You tread into unknown waters, “Listen, let me know if this is too personal but when did you start living alone?”

Visibly, his frame becomes stiffened, his lips press into a thin line, “About three years ago? I think?”

He’s the same as you. You continue, “Do you still keep in touch with your parents?”

A flash of pain coats Jonathan’s face, his teeth sink into his lower lip anxiously, “You know-w, I-I think we should call it a night-t?”

You’ve pushed too far. “Oh, yes- sure. Right, good night.”

Like that, Jonathan’s projection disappears from your desk chair, the call ending with a beep. You throw your headset to your nightstand with a clang, throwing your head into your pillow. You doubt that Jonathan wants to talk to you after pressing into his private matters.

When morning comes, your heart jumps at the notification at the top of your messages bar. You click on it, Jonathan’s audio file plays, “Hey-y, I-I’m reallly sorry for uh- I-I kind of left you hanging last night? Can we meet up and talk? Possibly? Let me know when you get this.”

You respond back to him, “Hey, don’t apologize. It was my fault for pushing you where you weren’t comfortable. I’ll forward my address.”

Within the next hour or so, you find Jonathan standing in your doorway as he raises a bag of mango and watermelon pops from the convenience store in his hand. You usher him in, “You got here quite fast..”

He smiles at you, setting the bag on your table, “I’m pretty speedy. Also, you’ve got a nice pad.”

“Oh- yeah, technically it used to be my parents but they well- they passed away.”

His face turns somber, his features darkening with hurt, “I’m sorry for your loss y/n.”

Trying your best, you muster a small smile at him, “It’s okay. Can I get you anything? Water?”

“I-uh- no, I’m good.”

With a heavy sigh, Jonathan plops himself on your couch, his eyes shifting to the vibrant city view outside, “Anyway, I-I just wanted to apologize for leaving so abruptly last night.”

Shaking your head, you answer regretfully, “No, it was completely my fault, I should be sorry.” The features on his face turn sharper. He stiffens again, his fists curl beside him on the couch, “I also haven’t been too honest about myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“My name isn’t Jonathan. That’s just an alias- my real name is Mark. Mark Lee.”

You feel your breath hitch in your throat. The boy that your client is after is sitting on your living room couch. How could you not recognize him? Your headset tab has his file bookmarked- he was a child then. Of course, he’s matured. 

“Why would you lie about your name?”

Jonathan- now, Mark sighs, “Because, I have to. You asked me about my parents? They were murdered by some gang leaders because they owed them money so we could survive the plague. They did what they had to so we could live. They’re still after me.”

You hand flies to your mouth in shock, “Mark, I- I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I-”

Mark places a warm hand on yours, “It’s okay- don’t be sorry y/n. Just don’t tell anyone.”

“Not a word, I swear on it.”

Mark picks himself up to move closer to you, your knees almost touching, “When did you start living alone?”

The memories of you watching the doctors send your parents’ bodies to the morgue surface in your mind. You can’t stop the flood that breaks the dam. Digging your nails into your palm, you sniffle, “My parents passed away from the plague on the same day. Like yours, they had to work and go outside for us to survive. I was on the streets a bit before I could make money myself.”

It’s impossible. You can’t stop the tears that stream on your cheeks. You squeeze your eyes shut, “I miss them so much.”You feel a thumb swipe your tears away. You open your eyes to see a blurry vision of Mark’s concerned face, his fringe swept on one side of his forehead, “I’m here, it’s okay. I miss mine too.”

In a split second, you fall into the crook of Mark’s chest, snuggling into his arms. You hear the slow thrum of his heartbeat, the music that beats with his soul. It’s beautiful, the way his doe eyes gaze down at you and the way it feels when you reach up to sweep the hair out of his eyes, “Thank you, Mark.”

He doesn’t say anything, he continues to rub circles on your back comfortingly as he thumbs your hand in his lap. Afterwards, you and Mark decide to eat dinner with Mark in the city. With Mark beside you, everything seems ten times more vibrant. Musicians play on the streets, their instruments laced with colorful threads (bonus items that tune your instrument automatically). Robotic helpers roll around in the restaurants as they pick up tabs, refill waters, and do little things that could be cumbersome for humans. You and Mark sit on the second floor of your favorite ramen restaurant, one that your parents frequented often. Laughing at the way Mark slurped his noodles made you happier. For some odd reason, Mark reminded you of the comfort that your parents had- a warm glow that always brightened the room. He placed his chicken into your bowl, forcing you to eat his no matter how much you protested. When you were done, Mark led you to the third story of the restaurant, a rooftop garden that overlooked the city. The view was breathtaking: the skyline reflected an ocean of colors onto the water as the Brooklyn bridge allowed flying vehicles to soar across the sky. You both sat on the edge of the building, Mark pulling your body closer to his. He rested his head on your shoulder as he hummed some unrecognizable song, the honking of cars is the only thing that disrupts him. Steadily, you brought a hand to the scar on his cheekbone- causing him to raise his head at you. Mark leaned further into your touch, his hair fluttering in the wind slightly, “Can I um, kiss you?”

Smiling, you crash your lips onto yours, his lips feeling plush and soft at first. You move one hand to entwine Mark’s hairs in between your fingers, causing him to let out a moan. Your kiss grows more passionate as you part your mouth for him to move his tongue, your body temperatures rise- an alert pops on to your headsets. Ignoring it, Mark leans further into your lips while you arch your back on the roof. He pushes you flat against the concrete, his lips detach from yours with a sound. When you look at him, Mark’s half lidded eyes and swollen lips pop from the colorful netted sky that hangs above him, you say, “Wow, you’re good Mark Lee.”

He laughs into your shoulder, his giggle full of mirth. You don’t resist when he presses a kiss to your lips for the second time, you take harder control than he does. You roll onto your side so you can climb on top of him instead. Mark reaches up to place a hair behind your ear before you lean in to press a kiss to his nose. His eyes glimmer with adoration, “y/n, the things you’re doing to me right now-”

Mark starts to press a burning kiss to the hollow of your neck, you pause when a notification flashes on your messages bar. You open it, it’s from Mr. C. It reads, “Y/n. I’m afraid you’re out of time.” You scramble off of Mark, causing him to yelp, “Oh god, y/n, I-I’m so sorry, I- did- I go too far? I shouldn’t have done that- oh my-”

You press your hand to Mark’s lips, “It’s not you. I have to tell you something, it’s-”

“What? What’s wrong?”

You both sit up, “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you earlier I just forgot about it because we were talking and I-I just don’t-”

Mark’s expression turns firm, “What is it?”

“I just passed level 50 in-game. I got a request from a client and he told me he was after you and I took it because I thought I needed the money and now that I know you’re the person he wants, I don’t know what to do-he says we’re out of time!”

Mark looks down, his face morphing into slow pain, “Did you have that request since we met?”

You shout at him, “Yes! But, I was never going to sell you out, I swear! I started to like you and I wouldn’t have done that!”

Marks still casts his eyes down, “Y/n, I have to go right now- I can’t be outside-”

“You’re too late!”

You and Mark swivel your heads to see a skinny man dressed in a plaid suit hop off his emerald hoverboard, a pistol sits in the grip of his hand, “I’ve got you now Mark Lee! And y/n has led me straight to you!”

Mark practically leaps across you, forcing you to move behind him, “Just stay behind me.”

You place your hands on Mark’s shoulders, gripping him tightly. The man- Mr. C. looks hysterical when he flashes Mark a sinister grin, “Your parents still haven’t paid their debt. You’ll serve as compensation.” 

He aims his gold-lined pistol at Mark, cackling before he sends a smoking bullet flying to Mark’s chest without a warning. You scream, Mark falling on his side as he clutches his wound. Mr. C. spits in your direction before zipping off on his hoverboard, leaving you to press your hands to Mark’s body. Already, your hands are covered in crimson blood, you smell the iron scent of it and it makes you sick. You don’t even realize that you’re screaming now, “Hold on! I’m going to get you to a hospital okay? Hold on!”

Mark lets out a weak cough, his eyes failing to stay open. You cradle his head, “Mark? Mark, stay awake! Stay with me, please!”

Once more, he reaches up a bloodied palm to your cheek, your tears falling onto his shirt, “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

You whimper, “It’s not okay! Don’t leave me! I’ll be alone again!”

The hot tears blur your vision, it’s getting harder to not collapse. You see Mark smile at you, “you know, you’re the only person that’s made me feel less lonely since my parents died.”

Clutching his hand, you feel the calloused skin along his palm, wanting to savor every bit of him, “Mark, I’ve fallen for you.”

Nodding, “And I, you.”

He often liked to lie down in your arms after taking a hot shower and you let him, even if his hair was not fully dry yet. You told him countless times to dry his hair before getting into bed, if not for his or his hair’s health, then at least for the longevity of the pillows. He never really listened but it’s not like you could blame him. If you performed a two-hour show you would be exhausted too.

Yuta was quite honestly like a human cat. As soon as he got comfortable with you, that was it. He would fall asleep so quickly and leave you trapped underneath him in whatever position you were in. On nights that he wasn’t so tired, he would spend them talking to you about things the two of you wanted to do in the future, if or when he got more popular.

Those late nights bled into early mornings together and lazy afternoons. Sometimes he would put on a cheesy anime and make you imitate the lines of the characters, causing him to turn pink and become shy. Other times the two of you would play something like Super Smash or Mariokart but it would have to be turned off within an hour or two before things got too competitive.

The best days were when you could just lie down with him and find peace in the rhythm of Yuta’s breaths. He enjoyed them equally as much and took it as a day to recharge his creativity and use you as his muse. He claimed that he gets the best ideas when you’re around.

He once found a way to record the sound of your heartbeat and used it in the intro of one of his songs. He titled it ‘Heaven Is A Place On Earth’ and made it into a dark and beautiful tribute to his love for you.

When he told you that he wrote a song for you and included your heartbeat in it, you were imagining something softer and more delicate, maybe a song like Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift. You were thrown off from the start when he played the demo of the song for you.

The running bass riff at the start was enjoyable, though certainly not what you expected. His vocals in the first verse started in time with heavy beats before diving into a thin pre-chorus detailing his heated love for you.

“I’d give up my sky for you

Cut my wings, die for you

Thinking again too soon

Like a beautiful ecstasy

When you get me down on my knees”

Yuta was intent on watching your face for your reactions to every new lyric. By the end of it, you were staring back into his eyes with implications of things less appropriate to put into his songs. He had done a magnificent job with this one and you were definitely going to reward him for it.

There was quite a large handful of songs that were inspired by you and the list only increased with every album he released. Some detailed the emotions he felt towards you while others metaphorically begged you to step on him. You were the apple of his eye, the jewel of his crown and he was not at all afraid to show you off.

He took you to every party, every event that invited him, and proudly introduced you to his friends and colleagues. It was a little difficult at first, meeting so many new people and remembering each of them but after some time, you settled into Yuta’s circle and found your favorites.

You would hang out with them at parties but never too far away from Yuta. Originally, it was because he was a little insecure that someone might try to steal you away from him but now it was because he found peace in your presence despite the sea of chaos surrounding you both.

“So what did you think about the new songs?” He asked over the volume of the music, one of his songs, actually.

“You know I like anything you put out,” you told him before taking a sip of your drink.

He shook his head though he wore a smile on his face. “You’re the worst consultant but the best hype person.”

You leaned into him, placing a quick kiss on his cheek. “Only the most for you.”

Yuta turned his attention fully to you and pressed his forehead against yours. “Thank you for always supporting me. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

You laughed a little from the way he looked from this angle but respected his sincerity. “Thank you for taking me with you on your journey and keeping me by your side.”

“You’re my one and only. In heaven and on Earth.”

He wanted to urge you to go with them. To run away from the catastrophic blaze that consumed all in its path, but he had not the strength to shift back into a human to tell you with his words.  

From the agitated flickering of Haechan's crimson eyes, you could tell what he was trying to communicate.  

"I will not leave you," You said in a broken voice.  

In spite of the knowledge you'd gained of Haechan's true self, the threat he posed you, and the lies he had told. You couldn't shake the undeniable concern you felt towards him.  

He was badly injured, his snout covered in open gashes from when he had prided the fallen beam off your arm. Furthermore, his hind legs and belly were torched to an unsightly extent. You feared he might lose the purpose for his legs altogether.  

"Haechan," You bent down, lowering your face to his, "I cannot carry you in this state," You cupped your hands on the base of his neck, careful to avoid his wounds, "Can you shift back into a human?"  

Haechan groggily whimpered.  

"Please," You gently rubbed his fur, ignoring the searing sensation that radiated from your arm. 

He'd try his best—for you.  

Haechan focused the last of his energy, willing himself to turn.  

For Y/N's sake, I must.  

───

The adrenaline that coursed through your veins provided you the little strength you had to drag Haechan's body. You had roped his arm around your shoulders, his purplish hand dangling by your face.  

You thought of no safer place than the forest, for you couldn't gamble Haechan's life by venturing to the clearing where the soldiers would await.  

You gently rested Haechan's limp build against a tree trunk. Fatigue getting the better of you, your legs buckling from underneath as you fell face-first into the earth. Your pupils dilating, your vision turning to a haze.  

It wouldn't be until tomorrow afternoon when you regained consciousness.  

"Wherever wolves go, misfortune will surely follow." Your sister's words echoed from deep within.

"Haechan?" Your voice rose in a panic.  

"Y/N," Haehan replied, his brow covered with sweat.  

Haechan remained lent against the tree trunk, his legs outstretched to air his gnarly wounds, which still bled profusely. He had somehow managed to maneuver you out of the sunlight and under the shade of the green foliage. You were rolled on your back, the top of your head touching the side of his thigh.  

"How do you feel?" You worriedly asked.  

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine." He assured, affectionately brushing back your fringe which obscured your eyes.  

A quiet humming habitually left his throat. It was a beautifully soft tune, Haechan's voice was like no other.  

You breathed deeply, your eyes staring at the skies above. You listened to the melody, your troubles slowly slipping away.  

You wished it ought to be just you in Haechan and that the rest of the world didn't exist. That the two of you could be but lazily gazing to the heavens in thanks for the gifts they had bestowed to you both. An offering of a lifelong partner or, in Haechan's case, a mate.  

Haechan's humming abruptly came to a halt. You turned your head, searching for what he'd discerned.

"Get behind me," Haechan demanded, disregarding the protest from his injuries. He shifted immediately into a wolf, his fur covering the entity of his body.

You forced yourself to crawled, cradling your arm across your stomach. The leaves on the branches ahead began to rustle. Your chest grew tighter from the suspense, waiting for them to reveal themselves.  

To your fortitude, it was a woman that approached. She didn't appear to be a threat. Nonetheless, Haechan growled, baring his teeth to warn the stranger from impending further.  

Startled, the woman dug her heels into the ground. Her eyes frantically scanning the both of you. 

Haechan heaved up his weight, bending his knees, ready to lunge.  

"I mean no harm," She spluttered, throwing her arms into the air.  

"Haechan," You murmured, "Please, you're hurt."  

Haechan's ears twitched, considering what you had vocalized. After a moment, he alleviated his stance.  

"Let me bandage her wound," The woman asked permission.  

Once she was reassured Haechan wouldn't attack, she came forth, bending her knees to level herself with you. She hastily ripped the fabric from her skirt, lifting your arm as gingerly as possible.  

"Sorry," She apologized, noticing you flinch.  

"It's okay," You watched as she warped your arm.  

You hadn't grasp just how severe your wound truly had been. The area around your wrist, skinless and ulcerated.

After she'd finished securing the leftover material into a knot, she stood upright, "I should get back before they send someone after me." She briefly glanced back in the direction she'd come, "Don't stay here for long. Once they're done with the village, they'll start burning the forest too." She advised.

───

An unwavering darkness befell upon the desolate forest. The pale moonlight cast eerie silhouettes of trees while they soundlessly rocked along with the wind.  

"Haechan?" You furiously rubbed his chocolate coat in attempt to stir him awake, "Haechan, I hear someone coming," 

Haechan made not a noise. His face contorted while his breathing came out laboured. You shook him harder to no avail. Haechan's condition had deteriorated rapidly within the span of a few hours.  

Concerned etched your features. You had to do something. 

No matter the cost, Haechan couldn't be caught. They'd execute him if they did. 

"Straightforward men," One of the soldiers ordered, the fire from their torches licking the skies as they marched closer.  

Your eyes flickered with alarm. It would be impossible for you to carry Haechan, especially as in his wolf form.

But they were coming closer... 

"Be safe," You whispered, leaning over his snout, "Be well," You brushed a feathery kiss over his nose before pulling back.  

It's now or never. 

"Take care of yourself, Haechan." 

Shakily, you dragged your feet forward, greeting the men before they could reach Haechan. They were stunned at the very sight of you.  

"Here she is," The closest snarled, roughly tilting your chin in his direction, "Where's the wolf?" 

"Gone," You couldn't help the smugness in your tone. 

You were bound, your screams echoed as your arms were forcibly tied behind your back. The rope dug deeply into your burns, alighting the pain you had thought to have numbed over.  

They led you out of the wicked woods. None, the wiser Haechan, had been there too.  

───

You were violently jerked about by the soldiers as they paraded you in the clearing. They jeered, spitting vulgarities in your ears.  

"Kill her," The crowd began to chant.  

You stumbled, tripping over your feet. Laughter amassed at your misfortune, your humiliation being their sort after form of entertainment. 

What did I do? Why do they hate me so?

The ropes that held you together were cut, their burly bodies towering over you.  

They began listing numerous offenses made on your part. That you harbored a wolf under your roof, that you had failed to turn yourself in and instead chose to run, and your gravest transgression of all, was that you were a wolf's mate.  

"Mate?" You stammer, puzzled by the notion.

Your pleas and honest explanations were curtly dismissed. Your guilt had already been decided.

Blood seeped through your make-shift bandages, trickling down your hand.  

What am I do now?

You were at a loss at how you'd escape from the situation at hand.  

Perhaps this is the end of the road for me.  

The one called Lord Yoon meticulously grabbed you from the front of your dress. He raised you off the ground, your feet dangling in the air. He then callously ripped down, nearly exposing your undergarments underneath. A muffled cry left your mouth. You had never encountered men so vicious, men, who reveled wickedness.  

"Lord Yoon!" A familiar voice yelled aloud.  

It was the woman you had met previously. She flashed a stolen dagger to the crowd before yanking you off the ground once more. She then thrust the dagger, your eyes enlarging.  

She leaned in, breathing in your ear, "Play along, please."

To add the theatrics, she wiped her hand across your cheek, leaving a bloody handprint behind. The crowd fell into a stirring silence. The two of you fell backward, the woman careful to cover your front.  

An old woman from out of nowhere rushed, placing two fingers under your chin.  

"Dead," She announced, claiming she no longer felt a pulse.  

While the crowd celebrated your demise, the old woman who you overheard to be called Rosa quickly mouthed for you to play dead.  

You heeded her ask, your frame stiffening to mimic a corps. You closed your lids and relaxed your face muscles. A shroud was thrown upon you, the dark cloth preventing others from seeing what lay beneath.  

───

A muted wash of yellow covered Haechan's face, his eyelids crinkled, disturbed by the heat that filtered through the gap between his curtains.  

"How are you feeling?" Jaemin delicately asked whilst sat upon his mattress.  

Haechan rubbed his eyes, "Like I've been trampled on," He groaned.  

As his eyes adjusted to his new surroundings, he took notice of Kun and Taeyong lingering at the foot of his bed.  

I'm no longer in the forest? Did my brothers manage to find me?  

"What the hell happened?" 

Jaemin anxiously turned to his Alpha and second in command. Haechan frowned, gauging the tension that hung about in the room.  

Kun rubbed his hand over his Alpha's shoulder, insinuating he'd be the one to break the news.  

"I'm sure you recall the little village that was set alight by soldiers. Soldiers that were in search of you." 

Haechan's eyes widened, his chest pounding furiously, "Y/N!" He scanned around, ""Where is she? Why isn't she with me?" Haechan kicked of his tangled blankets, his nose failing to locate your scent, "Is she resting in one of their other rooms?" 

"No, she isn't here," Kun regrettable informed, "She was killed by..." He paused, "One of the people who were hunting you." 

Haechan's world fractured. A part of him enraged by the testimony his brothers had re-laid to him, another part of him was frozen in disbelief.  

"No," He stated once he had found his words.  

"Haechan," Kun tried. 

"Y/N's alive," Haechan said with certainty. 

A life without you in it... He'd never accept it.

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