#minghao angst

STUPIDITY KNOWS NO BOUNDS

You swear your boyfriends are stupid. You've always known that when boys get together, their intellect goes down by quite a bit but witnessing it in action… is a whole other story.

Minghao and Hansol came as a pair. It was rare to find one without the other and in the underground racing world, they were known as the deadliest and fastest duo there ever was. Sure, they were different in many ways — their unique styles in fashion being one of them — but if there was one thing that the both of them loved and shared, it was the thrill of the game. Hence, it wasn't that surprising when rumours started spreading that they also shared something — or someone — else.

Minghao's been on the tense side recently, having made a few minor mistakes in an underground race that he partook in a few days ago. To anyone else, it would've been fine but you know your boyfriend and Minghao is a perfectionist, through and through. He still won the race but you knew that those mistakes were tugging at the back of his mind every time he spaced out when he was home. Hence, he needed an outlet, which so happened to be you.

He mentioned this to you before during one of your solo dates, but your presence has a way of making everything calm. You just have a way to make everything feel easy and his mind that normally races with a hundred and one things, just quietens when he's in your comfort.

However, Minghao wasn't the only one feeling off this week.

Hansol is normally really easygoing. In the time that you've spent dating the two of them, you realized that nothing really phases him and he always thinks with his head, not his heart. However, you know that he's been having trouble with his cars and he's had a few shitty days of bad races on the other side of town. Hence, he needed your comfort just as bad as Minghao did.

This lead to the two of them almost fighting for your time. Normally, you thrive a little on it, loving the effect that you have on them but as the tension kept building over time, you knew that it would eventually overflow if they didn't talk about it.

And overflow it did.

It was a small glare here and there, the atmosphere being a little tense in the room if you weren't there but then it started to get a little more intense when they started to talk to each other with clipped tones over a tiny mistake or two.

You were worried but you knew that they won't get physical with each other because no matter how angry or upset they were with the other, they both were aware and rational enough to know that violence was never the answer.

Racing on the other hand… was a free game.

Which leads you to this moment where you are sat next to your childhood best friend, Joshua who also owns part of the underground street racing scene.

"This is so stupid." You mutter under your breath. Joshua gives you a side glance before smirking as he leans back in his chair.

"The racing or the fight?"

"Both." You scoff, rolling your eyes as you cross your arms, your eyes fixed on the monitor that has a multi-camera view for you to see the route plus a tracker on both cars to see who finishes first.

Joshua fixes you with a familiar intrigued and mischievous look. "And here I was, under the impression that they agreed to not race on the same track after what happened two years ago."

You grimace, remembering the reason for that decision. It involved you as well but it was more of a rational decision than an emotional one, a just in case if you will. It was a particularly bad and memorable race for the both of them. You remember waiting in the stands, your anxiety through the roof as the cars revved their engines to start. There were six racers that day, your boyfriends occupying two out of six of the slots. It had started raining while they were waiting for the race to start and although that normally makes the race more interesting as winning is more dependent on the driver than the car, you had a bad feeling in your gut.

Minghao and Hansol had assured you that they would be fine, the two of them giving you a kiss before sliding into their respective cars but, you still felt uneasy. You watched with Joshua from the main room (being both their race engineers) as they sped away, the ache in your chest getting more tense as they went sped down the narrow and wet roads.

It was during the second lap where you noticed something wrong with Hansol's car, causing your heart to drop further in your stomach as you radioed it in. Due to the rain though, the connection was particularly bad which meant that Hansol had trouble hearing you and by the time he connected what you were trying to tell him, it was too late.

His brakes stopped working and his car skidded straight into one of the barriers that was setup, knocking him unconscious. As if it couldn't be worse, you weren't able to convey the information to Minghao, causing the man to crash into the other side of the barrier a few meters away, just to avoid crashing into Hansol.

You felt your heart break as you immediately collapsed into Joshua's arms when you witnessed the crash from the screen in-front of you as you broke into a fit of sobs. Minghao made it out with a minor concussion and a few scratches, having already been prepared for the worst of it but Hansol on the other hand, was unconscious for a day in the hospital.

You refused to leave his side, no matter how much Joshua and Minghao tried to convince you, as you blamed yourself for this happening. If you had just pushed a little harder, convinced them a little harder about the bad feeling in your chest, maybe this wouldn't have happened.

Thankfully, you woke up the next morning with Hansol's arms wrapped around you, accompanied by his soft snores in his hospital bed. You cried tears of relief that woke him up, blinking blurrily at you before he gently comforted you, assuring you that it wasn't your fault.

When Minghao came in a few minutes later, having gone to get the three of you breakfast and saw you in that state, it only took a shared glance between your boyfriends for them to come to the consensus that the they weren't allowed to participate in the same race anymore. One of them always being by your side just in case the worst happened.

However, you guessed that rule went out the window the second they started yelling at each other in a quick fit of anger after you stepped out to do some grocery shopping for the two of them, only settling it when one of them suggested to race.

"I guess men's intellect and common sense really take a toll when they're together." You deadpan, letting out a frustrated sigh.

Joshua feigns hurt. "Hey!" He pouts. "You can't stereotype all men like that."

"I can when you and Jeonghan display the same exact energy when you guys are together."

"Aww and here I was thinking that I was your favourite, sweetheart." You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you glance behind you, seeing Jeonghan walking into the control room, dressed comfortably in a plain white tee with a bomber jacket, jeans and a beanie.

"I'm pretty sure Hao and Non will physically beat you up for even suggesting that, Hannie."

The older man sends you a smirk. "They don't have to know, sweetheart."

"You're dreaming if you think you're her first choice after us, Hyung." Minghao says, his voice crackling as it came through the control room speakers. "I also advise that you tone down on the 'sweetheart' calling, she's known as 'Rookie' and only 'Rookie' to you."

Jeonghan's mouth twitches as clicks his tongue. "Point noted, geez. Don't need to put your claws out." He teases, his hands raising in mock surrender even though Minghao couldn't see him. "Such possessiveness."

You roll your eyes before dishing out the headsets for both the men beside you to connect them to their respective drivers. When they had agreed to do this race, you immediately opted out of being a race engineer for either of them because you didn't want to get in between whatever this was (even though you were already in between it). Hence, you called your two older confidants to give the callouts and to make sure your boyfriends were safe, no matter who won the race. All the radios were connected to one singular channel but you think that each of them having their own space would also be good because that might help to resolve whatever was going on.

Or at least you hope it would.

You grab your own headset, placing it over your head before switching everyone to the general channel with the click of a few buttons on the control panel.

"Test, test. Can everyone hear me?" You ask, slightly adjusting your headset mic.

"Loud and clear, Baobei." Minghao's voice says first making you smile.

"Yep." Hansol clicks his tongue as you hear a little bit of shuffling. "Crystal clear, Angel."

You smile fondly to yourself before you purse your lips and look at the track.

"You know you both don't need to do this." You whisper into the microphone, gnawing at your bottom lip as you try one last time to convince them out of this. "We can talk it out here right now and then go home."

You feel Jeonghan and Joshua exchange a few glances behind your back but you try to ignore them and focus on what your boyfriends are going to say.

"We're already here, Baobei." Minghao says, trying to keep his voice light and airy so that you don't worry. "You also dragged Jeonghan and Shua Hyung here to help us so we might as well make the most of it."

"He's right, Angel." Hansol's voice cuts through and even though you can't see him, you know that he's nodding his head. "We promise we will be safe, we just need to settle this and this is the best way to do it."

Minghao lets out a hum in agreement, making you sigh as you pinch the bridge of your nose. You want to yell at them or tell them off because you can think of a hundred other ways to deal with this without either of them getting upset by the end of the night or in any injuries but, they're too far gone to listen.

"Okay." You steel your emotions, the tone of your voice going neutral. "Ground rules." You say, adjusting the mic once more as you spare a glance at Jeonghan and Joshua. "I want a clean race, you two. You two can shit talk each other as much as you want but if there is any sign of cheating, the two of you are sharing the couch till I say so."

The protest of your sentence is immediate. "What?!" They both exclaim.

"Baobei, you can't be serious." You roll your eyes.

"I am serious, Xu." You chastise, hating everything about this race. "If any harm comes to either of you that is inflicted by the other, I will be pissed."

The line goes quiet at that the tone in your voice indicating to your boyfriends that you are indeed not joking. "Moving on." You say, clearing your throat as you grimace, looking at the route that they chose.

V8.

You don't know whether it's ironic or poetic.

The race starts off with an uphill zigzag path, followed by a ton of different eight round bends that really test a street racer's skill and ends with what everyone calls the leap of faith which is a downhill slope that is so steep, it feels like you're taking a leap of faith.

You describe the course to your boyfriends — even though they probably know it by heart — before setting the race rules. "As you both are aware, there are ramps around as well as shortcuts but use them safely and at your own risk. Shua and I went through just now to remove debris because no one has used this course in months…" You click your tongue. "so, take everything with a pinch of salt and be careful."

"Jeonghan and Joshua are here to assist you guys with route guidance and route guidance only. They are not allowed to tell you how close the other is because that's F1 and we don't run motor sports here."

That gets a soft chuckle out of the four men with you as your lips twitch, a ghost of a smile wanting to form.

"Any sign of a Jump, will be considered a false start and the other person will be automatically considered the winner. Lastly, and because I need this fact to be drilled into both your heads, any sign of foul play, I'm calling the race off and both of you are sleeping on the couch. Understood?"

The line is silent for a little bit, making you slightly annoyed as you clear your throat. "Understood?" You ask again, your tone reflecting seriousness.

"Yes." The two of them reluctantly murmur out.

You lean back in your seat with your arms crossed. "Good." You say. "I'll start the countdown."

You click at a few of the buttons on the dashboard as you peer at the time.

11:39pm.

You let out a slow exhale, hoping that this race will end before twelve before you flick the starting switch for the countdown lights.

Red light illuminate the track as you peer at the two cameras beside you that show both your boyfriends in their respective cars.

"I love you both." You whisper out. "Please be safe."

The two of them simultaneously eye the camera that's in their cars as they give you a smile.

"We'll be safe, Angel." Minghao nods, echoing Hansol's sentiment.

"Regardless of the outcome of this race," Minghao starts, leaning in closer to the camera. "We both love you and each other very much, Baobei."

You should feel a little more reassured after Minghao says it and Hansol nods, but you can't help that same uneasy feeling in your gut and chest that something was just about to go wrong. However, you know that both of them are far too deep into this to stop now.

You close your eyes to steel yourself as you let out a slow exhale before you nod at the two older men beside you before you flick the second switch that officially starts the race.

A steady beep rings out through the speakers before the lights change to yellow as Minghao and Hansol rev their engines, which seem to charge your body as well, the antipation of the race leaving your body on edge. "Ready. Get set…"

Your adrenaline rushes and your heart pounds in your ear before the light switches to green and the resounding beep rings through the speakers.

"GO!"

The effect is immediate as your boyfriends speed down the zigzag paths, making you hold your heart race as you watch them from the monitor in-front of you. You silently tune Joshua and Jeonghan out as they advise your boyfriends, having been amateur street racers long before them and just watch the cameras as you will your heart to slow down.

They will be fine. You internally tell yourself as you gnaw on your bottom lip. Right?

You lean back into your seat as you close your eyes, letting the engines roar in your ear as you sigh.

It either ends really well or really badly.

THE EGO FUCK UP

Two laps in and everything is smooth so far. You wince every time one of them makes a risky drift or takes the shortcut that you aren't sure is cleared or not. You had to have lost around a decade of your life just sitting here and watching your boyfriends eagerly battle it out in cars.

"Your drift there was a little risky, wasn't it, Hansol?" Minghao's voice rings out in the joint channel as he smoothly overtakes the younger man. You spare at a glance at his monitor, grimacing as you see Hansol's jaw clenching as he lets out a dark chuckle.

"Just learning from your drift a round ago, hyung." Hansol says coolly. "I need to learn from my seniors, don't I?"

Minghao's face doesn't change but his knuckles turn white at Hansol's words, making you sigh as you click the button that deafens them from the three of you.

"It's going well so far." Joshua gently says, giving you a smile.

You scoff, shaking your head. "If you call the name-calling and insults that rile them up even more and make them reckless, 'going well'." You sarcastically quip, raising your hands to make quotation marks. "Then, yeah! It's going great!"

The two older men share a look as you sink further into your chair, the build-up of anxiety getting a little too much for you.

"Rookie." Jeonghan gently calls, giving you a comforting squeeze on your arm. "Did you try telling them how you feel about all this? I mean, you basically have a free card that you can pull in a few minutes."

You glance at the clock.

11:55pm.

You sigh, shaking your head. "I don't even know if they remember." You admit quietly. "They've been talking about this stupid competition for the last week and whenever they spend time with me, it's to rant about the other one and I'm genuinely so sick of it."

You watch Jeonghan and Joshua share a look before the younger of the two scoots his chair over to tug you into him, letting you rest on his chest. You lean into your childhood friend who is like a brother to you. "What if they actually forgot, Shua?" You ask quietly, your voice cracking slightly.

You feel Joshua sigh underneath you. "I'm sure they didn't, darling." He assures quietly as he presses a kiss to your temple. "They love and adore you too much."

"You can say that again." Jeonghan says with a playful scoff. "Do you not remember your big birthday bash two years ago where they rented out the whole go-kart place with arcade machines?"

You bite back a fond smile as you recall that, you offhandedly mentioned once that you were a big fan of surprises during one of your movie nights with them. You didn't notice it then but they had shared a glance when they heard about it and just started surprising you with things whenever they could.

A bouquet of your favourite flowers here and there. Sometimes they saw a book that you have on your 'to be read' and immediately bought it for next day delivery. They also loved to buy you little trinkets that reminded them of you to put in your display shelf (which is running out of space) in your gaming room.

The biggest surprise was the one that Jeonghan had mentioned where you confided in them that you wanted to try an arcade and go-kart place because you never had the chance to when you were younger. Being the overachiever boyfriends they were, they got you a two-in-one with all your friends.

The two older men beside you were right, there is no way that they don't remember. They hadn't mentioned any plans yet but that was normal if they were planning on surprising you again this year.

You peer upwards at Joshua offering him a soft smile before you do the same with Jeonghan. "Thanks guys." You softly say. "I needed that."

Jeonghan gives you a genuine smile as he ruffles your hair. "We always got you, Rookie. Don't you ever forget it."

Your smile grows wider at his words before something catches your attention from the corner of your eye.

You immediately sit up and stare outside the control room windows to see that it had started pouring. The uneasiness in your gut flares as you gnaw at your lips, looking as the rain hit the control room windows. You dial back into the call with Minghao and Hansol.

Your head spins as you go back into race mode, moving both boys back to the their respective calls with the older ones. "Check tire and car condition with both." You command, making the two older men nod before unmuting their headsets to talk to their respective drivers.

You monitor the route as the rain continues to pelt down heavily. You tune out the men beside you as you switch between the cameras that are left on their respective route. Your eyes flit around the screen as you flick through each camera scene. You let your eyes linger for a few moments to see if there's anything out of the ordinary before repeating the process with the next one.

All is good till you reach camera eighty-four that is right at the last infinity bend. You were about to pass it over when you notice one of the trees swaying a little too much to the side. Your eyes narrow, your finger twitching as it hovers over the microphone button to pull all of them into the collective call.

The tree stops swaying making you breath a sigh of relief before moving your hand from the button. However, your heart stops when you notice something rolling from the corner of your eye. Your eyes immediately flick to it to see a boulder rolling down the nearby mountain. Your blood runs cold as you watch it knock into the nearest tree, breaking it and causing it to tumble down onto the path that both Hansol and Minghao are racing through.

Your adrenaline surges as you press the button, bringing everyone into the general call. The call immediately fills with overlapping conversations from both groups. You vaguely hear them talking about different strategies but you couldn't care less, more worried about the blockage in the road.

"Boys!" You interrupt, immediately halting all the conversations. "I need you both to slow down right now."

There's a brief period of silence before they both immediately start protesting. Minghao is currently just slightly ahead of Hansol, trying his best to not block him.

"Rookie." Minghao calls, his voice serious. "What is it?"

"There's a blockade on the road so I need the two of you to pull out now." Your boyfriends go quiet as soon as you say that, their focus still on the road but you watch as they contemplate your words, as if they are trying to find a workaround to what you are saying.

Your eyes flicker between both the screens as your patience starts to wear thin, your anxiety shooting through the roof. "Hello?!" You ask, your tone one of panic. "Did you guys not hear what I just said? There's a blockade in the middle of the road that the two of you are going to crash into—"

"How big is the blockade, Rookie?"

You freeze upon hearing Hansol's question cut through your panic.

"I beg your fucking pardon?" You blurt out, unable to stop yourself as you feel your blood start to boil.

"The blockade, baobei." Minghao affirms but this time with the loving nickname, as if it could placate you from the annoyance you're starting to feel. "How big is it?"

"You guys can't be fucking serious." You answer, your fists slowly clenching on the desk as you feel your anger rising with each word they were saying to you. "Turn back, right now. I'm being serious."

You watch the gears turn in your boyfriends heads before Hansol speaks. "Hyung." He calls, completely ignoring your earlier sentence which makes your heart drop. "How far till blockade and how big is it?"

Joshua looks between you and Hansol's face on the camera footage in-front of you before his eyes flicker towards the route map where time to impact is stated.

Five Minutes.

"Shua." You warn, your tone wavering as you stare at him with a pleading gaze, hoping that he will back up your decision.

"Hyung." Hansol tries again as he takes the lead from Minghao who lets out a groan of frustration, his palm smacking the steering wheel as he watches Hansol pull ahead by quite a bit.

"Hyung." Minghao tries this time. "Time to impact so I know if I can overtake?"

Jeonghan hesitates, watching your head whip to him as he contemplates whether he should tell your boyfriend.

"Hannie." You warn before turning back to your boyfriends.

"Xu Minghao. Chwe Hansol." You warn as you stare at the time until impact on your screen. "If the two of you do not turn your cars around, there will be consequences."

Three Minutes.

"Rookie, we're in too deep to stop here." Minghao sternly says as he changes gear and tries to overtake Hansol.

Your heart lurches as you see how close the cars come to knocking each other. The rain pelts down harder and the road narrows as they round the last bend, meaning they were only a couple of kilometers away from the giant tree that's blocking them.

"Hyung." Hansol presses harder, his grip on the steering wheel tight as he tries to fight of Minghao's advance. "Time to fucking impact!"

Joshua stares at you, almost stunned that the two hopelessly in love men were not listening to you. Your boyfriends in the car start to overlap their yelling, demanding that their race engineers tell them the time from impact so that they can plan accordingly while you sit there, your face pale as your palms begin to sweat.

You're speechless as you watch them still fight it out despite all your words, your heart racing as you watch them get closer and closer to the thing that will be the death of both of them.

One Minute.

"Fuck it." You hear Minghao whisper before he reaches over to turn off the camera in his car. You watch from the monitor as he speeds ahead, causing Hansol to immediately break, to slow his car down before he hits the other male.

"Hyung." Hansol yells. "The fuck are you doing?"

"Winning." Minghao says smoothly as you hear him shift his gears before seeing the car speed up on the monitor.

"Mother—" With that, Hansol also turns off his camera meaning that the three of you are blind to the egotistical drivers that are down there on the track.

"What the fuck are you two doing?!" You exclaim, standing up now as you slam your hands on the desk, a last ditch effort to get the two of them to turn around. "Please." You plead into the microphone, your eyes getting slightly watery as you watch them get closer and closer to the tree.

"Fifty seconds." Joshua whispers as you fumble with the dashboard in-front of you, flicking through the different cameras there till you found one that showed you exactly where they were on the track.

When you find it, you hit a few more buttons to trigger the path following on the device as you watch the cameras change in-front of you to follow your boyfriend's cars.

They ignore you, still swapping positions with each other as you feel like throwing up, the anxiety in your chest getting too much as you watch them get closer and closer to the tree.

"Guys." You sob out, nearly begging at this point. "Please turn around."

"Thirty seconds." Jeonghan says softly, making you slam your fist against the desk as you watch the distance between them and the tree. You wonder why they're doing this, why they are silent and it hits you like a ton of bricks.

You heart races. They're wearing you down, wanting you to crack and tell them the impact timing because they know you care too much about them. You feel your heart crack as you watch them go down the road.

"Fifteen seconds." Joshua says, his voice in a slight panic as he stares at you.

You angrily wipe your tears away. "Fuck it." You mutter before putting your microphone closer to your mouth. "Ten seconds, blockage is the same size as the fucking truck we saw yesterday."

You sniffle, pushing down a sob. "Good fucking luck." Is the last thing you venomously whisper before you tap out, not wanting to see your boyfriends risk their life for some fucked up competition.

You rip the headset off and slam it down onto the control room dashboard making the two men beside you jump. Without wasting another second, you pick up your things before picking up and walk out the door. Joshua recovers first and is quick to follow, ripping off his own headset to chase after you as you try not to angrily break down.

You don't make it very far as Joshua catches up to you with his significantly longer legs. He pulls you into him with ease as you try to wrestle out of his grip, needing to get away for your own sanity. You're fighting a losing battle as he tugs you firmly into his chest and wraps his arms around your center to keep you from leaving.

When it becomes clear that you aren't able to break out from his grasps, you break down into it instead. Joshua's hand runs through your hair, soothing you as you sob into his chest, feeling all the tiredness and overwhelm that you've been struggling to keep at bay for the last week or so.

"I hate them." You whisper into his chest. "Why are they so fucking stupid."

Joshua sighs as he presses a kiss to the top of your head as he moves his hand to slowly run up and down your back. "Ego, darling." Is what he answers after a couple of seconds. The two of you don't say anything else after that, Joshua letting you focus on regulating your breathing so that you stop crying.

Stupid fucking ego.

The two of you stand like that for a while, Joshua letting you take as much time as you need as your breathing starts to even out. You both hear a scuffle of footsteps, making you lift your head from Joshua's chest to see Jeonghan with his hands in his pocket.

"Are they okay?" You whisper out, unable to help how much you care about your idiotic boyfriends. Jeonghan gives you a weak smile before nodding.

"They both reversed and took a shortcut a couple of metres back." He shoots you a sympathetic look. "The race did end in a tie though."

Your heart drops.

A fucking tie.

All that for a fucking tie.

You close your eyes, a heavy sigh already building in your throat. This couldn't be worse.

The loud sounds of engines revving and drifting makes the three of you turn to the entrance of the outdoor carpark. The lights make you wince as you squint to see your boyfriends arriving. They don't bother to park and just turn off their engines before getting out of the car.

You expect them to walk straight to you first but Minghao instead slams his car door shut hard and walks over to Hansol, cornering him to the side of his car.

"What the fuck was that there at the end, Chwe?!"

Joshua and you blink at the sight as Jeonghan grimaces, remembering how they almost ran each other off the road at the end there.

"Driving, Xu." Hansol replies, his tone dry and pointed as he shows no sign of remorse. "But I could ask you the same for what you pulled at infinity turn forty-eight."

Minghao's jaw clenches. "Watch your tone, Chwe." He venomously seethes, jabbing a finger into the latter's chest. "You forget that I'm the older one here."

"I don't fucking care." Hansol bites back, grabbing Minghao's hand tightly. "Your recklessness nearly ran both of us off the fucking road."

"You did the same fucking thing towards the end there, Hansol."

"Well, like I said, I'm learning from my senior."

Minghao scoffs before leveling Hansol with a glare. "Well, let's fucking go again then." Minghao says as the younger one folds his arms. "If you are that good of a driver and you learned everything from me, you should be able to beat me without the fucking helpline of the tree right?"

"Oh that's easy." Hansol says, a smirk on his face from riling up the older man. "At the end, you wish you had the fucking helpline of the tree as you did today."

You see Minghao fume as Hansol gets up in his space. He shoves Hansol backwards and opens his mouth, ready to tear him a new one.

"Both of you, shut the fuck up!"

The two men immediately freeze, hearing you yell at them before turning to face you, their faces a little pale.

You, on the other hand, are fuming.

"Are you two even listening to the words coming out of your fucking mouths?" You ask, your eyes stinging with hot tears. "You both tried to kill each other out there!" You angrily brush at your eyes as Joshua gives your shoulder a squeeze, trying to ground you.

"Breathe, darling." Joshua whispers into your ear as you glare at the two boys you love so much.

"I told you both that this was a fucking stupid idea and you two wouldn't even listen to me! Your girlfriend that's been with you both for the last three years." You shake your head, your words getting softer and softer as you stare at them, slightly defeated. "You both didn't need to settle this on the stupid track. The three of us talking it out would've solved everything but no."

You glance between the two of them. "The two of you needed to show the other that you were better and broke the promise that you made to me two years ago. Is proving your worth to each other that important?"

Hansol and Minghao share a look before Minghao steps closer to you cautiously.

"Baobei." He softly calls out as he reaches for you. "We didn't mean for this to happen."

Hansol nods, also trying to get closer. "We're sorry that we got angry at each other and for the race. I swear when we do it again tomorrow—"

You bitterly laugh as Joshua's hand tenses on your shoulder, sensing the oncoming rage. "Tomorrow?" You ask softly.

"Yeah, when we actually can find a winner."

Joshua internally sighs as his grip on your shoulder tightens, hoping that it will help to ground you so that you don't unleash fury on the two men in-front of you. His hope however, goes down the drain when you break out of his hold.

"What the fuck is wrong with you two?" You lash out, the tears flowing freely down your face from how angry you are. The two men are stunned again as they stare at you before you toss your hands in exasperation. "I'm fucking done." You say as a laugh with absolutely zero humour escapes you.

"If the two of you race again tomorrow." You fix them with a hard stare as your heart breaks with the next words that come out of your mouth. "I'm done with you two."

Before either of them could even process what you meant or stop you, you turn on your heel and walk off. It takes one look from your childhood best friend to understand what you need as he gives you a small nod before taking your hand into his and walking off with you to his car. Joshua tosses your boyfriends a look of disbelief before shaking his head at them.

Hansol and Minghao just watch as you get into Joshua's car and leave, speechless and unsure what they did wrong. They fix each other with a look as Jeonghan stands there, looking at the two of them in utter disbelief.

"What just happened?" Are the first words out of Hansol's mouth as he stares at Jeonghan, hoping he knows the answer. Minghao, on the other hand, runs through every possible scenario in his head.

Jeonghan lets out a scoff at the clueless expression on both their faces. "You two are really stupid, you know." He deadpans out, making the two look at him a little more exasperatedly.'

He sighs, realizing that he needs to spell it out for them. "Both of you need to put your fucking egos to the side for second and look at what just walked away from you." He points towards where you and Joshua were. "That girl has been so patient with the two of you for God knows how many weeks, listening to the two of you argue while trying to be the middle ground for you both. She's been dividing her time, without any regard for herself and her well-being and she even let you both proceed with this stupid race despite her begging you not to do it."

Jeonghan shakes his head. "You guys claim that she's the best thing to have ever walked into your lives but because of this stupid fucking race, the two of you forgot the one thing that you promised to continue doing despite however much you were angry at each other." He pins them with a hard gaze. "Both of you broke your promise of remembering important dates."

Hearing that, Hansol immediately pulls out his phone before looking at the date for today.

12:48am on the 29th of June.

Hansol feels his heart shatter as he lets out a wrecked gasp, the date finally clicking in his head. "Hyung." He calls out to his counterpart who looks at him as Hansol shows him the screen. Minghao's face pales as it clicks into his head, his heart dropping into his stomach as his mind races.

Jeonghan watches the two of them go through mixed emotions and the five stages of grief before sighing.

"You two better find a way to fix this." He softly says. "If not, you're going to lose the most important person in your lives."

You can't remember the last time you've felt this empty. After Joshua took you to his place last night, he immediately sprinted to his closet to pull out your favourite hoodie of his and a pair of sweatpants that you left the last time the two of you had a sleepover. He ran a bath for you before he ushered you to it, wanting you to relax as much as possible.

When you had enough of the bath, you walked out of the bathroom to see that Joshua had ordered all your favourites. Stir fried mala sits on the table alongside your favourite bubble tea order as he gives you a smile.

You had given him a look of surprise, knowing how he felt about such an unhealthy combo. He just gave you a simple shrug and responded with a soft, "Figured we could use it today."

Those words alone were enough to cause your eyes to water as your older brother figure immediately plated you a plate with all your favourite ingredients. He passed you the bowl before putting on 'How to Train Your Dragon'. The intro of the movie plays as you leaned against his sofa, staring at the bowl of mala with a frown.

"Do you think I was too harsh on them?" You ask which makes Joshua stop eating, his food halfway to his mouth. He fixes you with a soft look before shaking his head as he places his chopsticks back onto his bowl.

He makes you look at him. "Darling." He softly says. "They were being absolute idiots. You had every right to act the way that you did because they hurt you with their actions. If you didn't stand up for yourself back there, they would've continued acting like that and you were doing what was right for yourself." He fixes you with a look.

"If you didn't do that, I would've probably done it for you anyways."

A soft watery laugh escapes you, which makes a small grin tug on Joshua's face. His hand goes to ruffle your hair in a very elder brother way before he gestures to the food in your hands. "Eat." He softly says. "And watch the movie, we're missing the best part."

You give Joshua a small smile before you nod and scoop up a spoonful of mala to eat. You turn your attention to the movie but you can't help the feeling of emptiness in your chest as you do. You love your boyfriends, you really do but they really hurt you and you couldn't help but feel less important to them. However, you couldn't bare the thought of having to actually break up with them. You loved them, you were sure of that. They filled your life with so much joy that you can't imagine dating or loving someone, the way that you love them.

Yet, on the night where they were supposed to treat you like a queen, ringing in your birthday, you spent it on your best friend's floor with a broken heart.

You sigh as you shake your head, your recollection ending as you stare at the ceiling in the guestroom of Joshua's house. You contemplate just staying in Joshua's house the whole day but you immediately push that thought aside because it's your birthday, you should do something you want to do instead of rotting in your best friend's house.

Luckily, Joshua shares the same sentiment as you.

"That's an amazing idea, darling." He says as he packs a tea to go for you as you're finishing up the special birthday breakfast that he had prepared for you.

Bacon and pancakes with a side of orange juice.

You had smiled when you first saw it, it was a childhood favourite of yours and it definitely brightened up your day just a little more.

Joshua walks over to you, placing the thermos on the table. "You did say you wanted to finish up the car before August so that you could show it to your parents when you go back and see them."

You swallow your last bit of food before nodding, a small smile on your face.

"It's a good distraction for sure." You say quietly as Joshua gives you a sympathetic smile. He glances at your phone that had been laid flat on the dining table.

He raises an eyebrow at it, "They haven't tried contacting you at all?"

You spare a glance at it, the pit in your stomach deep as you shrug. "I don't know." You answer honestly. "Put it on do not disturb as soon as I came here last night." You shake your head. "I don't wanna hear any of their half-excuses at the moment."

Joshua gives you another sympathetic look before reaching over and squeezing your hand. "Well," His tongue darts out to wet his tongue. "Happy Birthday, Sweetheart."

You give your older brother figure a small smile before he leans and gives you a kiss on the top of your head. "I should get going." You say softly, standing up. "Before the calvary arrives because they think they've given me enough space."

Joshua lets out a soft chuckle at your use of words as you give him a quirky smile. You slide your phone into your back pocket as you sling your bag over your shoulders. Joshua stands up with you as he holds your thermos of tea.

"Let's get going then." He says, giving you a smile as he opens the front-door for you.

FIRST MEETINGS

Joshua drops you off at your workshop before he presses a kiss to the top of your head and speeds off with the promise of seeing you after he finishes the errands he needs to run. You bid him goodbye before digging through your bag for the keycard to your garage.

A beep is heard before you push the door open and breathe in the smell that you've grown up with your whole life, your body immediately relaxing at the familiar comfort.

While Minghao and Hansol seek the thrill of the drive, you prefer to know the ins and outs of the machine. You had always been in love with cars, your dad being one of the main engineers for street racers back in the day. You always hung around and helped him grab his tools, your eyes wide with awe as he always manages to find whatever was wrong with the car.

Hence, he trained you for it, letting you take care of the workshop every other day so that you get some hands-on experience. Funnily enough, that wasn't where you met Minghao and Hansol.

It was one of the slower nights in the workshop. You spun on one of the chairs in the garage as you tossed a wrench up and down, your boredom reaching a new high. You almost fell out of your chair when your phone rang, piercing the silence.

"Shua?" You asked, a little confused as to why your best friend was calling you.

"Hey, you busy?" Joshua asked as his background noise booms in the background.

You winced a little at the loud sounds. "No, but where the hell are you? Why is it so noisy?"

Joshua ignored you, telling you that he was going to send you an address and to be there as soon as you could before he hung up the phone. You stared at your phone, bewildered as you wonder what the hell was going on.

You sighed before you made your way to lock up. If there was one annoying thing that your best friend knew how to do, it was to entice you enough that you'd drop everything to see whatever he was doing.

You get out of the car and stared at the underground racetrack with a confused expression on your face. What the hell was your best friend doing here. You walked through the different areas, taking in all the details of the place while keeping a keen eye out for your best friend.

"Darling!" Your ears perked up as you turn to the source of the greeting. You smiled to yourself as you saw Joshua jog to your side before he pulled you into a tight hug. "You made it!"

You scoffed. "You knew that I would come, Shua." You flicked his forehead. "Don't act all surprised now."

Your best friend let out a yelp from the pain before a pout appeared on his lips as he rubbed the spot you just flicked. "You hate me." He whined out, making you scoff.

"If I did, I wouldn't have locked up the shop early for you, dummy."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Joshua's face as soon as you said that statement as he feigned sentiment. You rolled your eyes before you grabbed his hand. "C'mon, show me whatever you want to show me." You muttered, which made Joshua let out a breath of a chuckle before he dragged you away from the current area.

"Why are you at a street racer course anyway?" You asked, raising an eyebrow at your best friend.

"Well, I own this establishment." Your jaw dropped open as you stopped walking, jerking Joshua back a little. He glanced at you, a confused expression on his face which meets your shocked one.

"You own an underground street racing establishment?" You asked, repeating the words slowly as if you had hoped that the words become more believable if you did.

Joshua chuckled at your expression and nodded. "Yep." He said, popping his 'p'. Without another word, he dragged you off towards God knows where as if everything was now suddenly clear.

You rolled your eyes at your best friend as you give up, letting him drag you wherever because you would have an easier time getting answers when Joshua was not so tunnel-visioned on where he wanted to go.

He dragged you through multiple crowds before the two of you appeared in-front of the VIP section. The security guard gave him a once over and a nod before letting the two of you into the closed off section.

"Shua!" A voice boomed over the music, making the two of you whip around to see a man with a leather jacket and jeans on, with a beer in hand. "Was wondering where you hurried off to."

The man glanced at you before a smirk appeared on his lips. "Well, well, well." He whistled out. "Looks like you brought a new friend."

Your best friend let out a scoff before he tugged you closer to him. "Out of your league, Jeonghan."

The man, Jeonghan, feigned a flabbergasted gasp as he placed his hand on his chest. "Ouch, Shuji." He muttered, a fake pout on his face. "Way to hurt a guy, why don't you."

Your best friend rolled his eyes before he said your name to the man in-front of you. "This is Jeonghan."

Jeonghan's expression did a full 360 as he gave you a smirk and a small salute with a wink. "Pleasure to meet you, sweetheart." His eyes twinkled with mischief. "I wonder why Shuji has been hiding you all this time."

"Probably because she's uncomfortable with you calling her sweetheart, Hyung." Your ears perked at the new voice that caused goosebumps to appear on your skin. You turned to see lanky, tall man, who was leaning against a nearby wall with blonde hair and a pair of sunglasses on the top of his head. He donned a white sleeveless shirt that effectively showed off his tattoos that dotted his arms and a pair of dark brown cargo pants with some timberlands.

He eyed you, making your pulse jump at the intensity of his gaze, feeling slightly warm under it. He was definitely one of the most attractive men that you've ever seen. Jeonghan scoffed, shaking his head as a ghost of a smile lingers on his lips.

"Minghao." He greeted, raising an eyebrow. "Where's your counterpart?"

Minghao doesn't answer at first, his gaze unwavered from your figure which makes you fidget slightly, a little exposed under his gaze. He noticed, his lips pulled up into a small smirk before he looked at Joshua and Jeonghan, acknowledging them for the first time since he had arrived.

"Hansol went to grab the two of us a drink." He answered easily before he pushed off the wall and made his way over to you.

"Are the two of you not racing today?" Joshua asked with a raise of his eyebrow. Minghao nods at that.

"We are. Hansol's just grabbing us some sparkling water before we have to head for the drive."

He stopped walking as he reached your side, his gaze calculated as he stared at you.

"Minghao." He said after a beat, reaching out his hand for you to grab. You blinked, a little stunned by how forward the handsome man was being before you took his hand into yours as softly replied with your name.

Minghao's lips quirked a little when he noticed your cheeks heat up as he tested how well your name rolled off his tongue. The air felt a little charged and dangerous as he held your gaze, your heartbeat in your ears before he pulled his hand back when someone held out a drink for him.

Everyone's gaze fell on the newcomer who made your breath hitch. There stood a man with the most gorgeous face and mullet that you've ever seen. He was dressed comfortably in a sleeveless ripped hoodie with ripped skinny jeans and a pair of gloves on.

"Ah, there he is." Jeonghan said, his gaze twinkled with mischief as he looked between you and the boys. "Hansol, meet Shuji's best friend."

Hansol's eyes pierced through your soul as he gave you a once over, just like Minghao had done before he held out his hand for you to shake.

"Pleasure to meet you." You felt hot under their gaze as you muttered the same, shaking the man's hand.

Jeonghan clapped his hands. "Right, not to be the weird party pooper here." He said cheekily, causing your cheeks to heat up more as he gave you a wink. "But I think our racers need to get to their starting positions and we should probably head up to the main control booth.

Jeonghan hooked an arm around Joshua's shoulders before he dragged him a little, making Joshua lose his grip on you. The older man gave the three of you a look before he dragged your best friend with him, despite his protests.

"Come find us when you're done, sweetheart." Jeonghan threw back to you with a shit-eating grin on his face. You silently cursed the man that you just met as you felt the heat of the two good-looking men's gaze on you.

You turned to them, a timid smile on your face as you shifted uncomfortably.

"Is this your first time at an underground race?" Hansol asked, noticing the minor fidgeting you were doing. You let out a nervous breath of a laugh as you nodded.

"Is it that obvious?" You wondered aloud as you eyed the two of them. A faint smirk appeared on Hansol's face as he nodded.

"Just a little, you look a little out of place." Your heart stuttered at that as you frowned.

"Like I don't belong?" You asked.

"Like you're a little too innocent for the likes of this." Minghao answered before he took a sip of his drink. The low rumble of his words made your stomach flutter as you willed for the heat on your cheeks to disappear.

"Is that a bad thing?" You asked, your voice soft as you peered upwards at the two of them.

The two shared a glance as you watched a common understanding pass through the two of them before they turned back to you as Minghao shook his head.

"Not at all, Baobei." He said, leaning in closer. The nickname made your heart stutter as Hansol leaned in as well.

"Just means we got a thing or two that we can teach you, Angel." The double meaning of his words and the low rumble of his voice made your stomach do flip flops as they stared intensely at you, making your knees feel weak.

A sound was heard from the speakers before you could even reply, which effectively broke the spell and hold that the two of them had on you. They glanced at the speaker.

"Well," Minghao drawled out. "That's our cue."

Hansol nodded as the two of them took a step back from you. "Will you cheer us on?" Hansol asked making you blink at them as they stared at you in anticipation.

"Probably." You answered. "I mean the two of you are the only drivers I know." You blurted out before even having the chance to stop yourself.

Minghao's smirk grew as he gave Hansol a look.

"Good." He said before he reached out and gave your hair a small ruffle. "Let's keep it that way."

You swear your heart skipped a beat or two after he said that as Hansol fixed you with a smirk. "See you after the race, Angel." He sealed off his sentence with a wink. "Can't wait to get to know you better."

With that, they left you standing there, a little dumbfounded as they prepared for their race. You stayed glued to the spot for a few minutes before you shook yourself out of it and composed yourself as your thoughts raced.

You had no idea what you had just gotten yourself into but as you recalled their faces through your mind, you bit back a grin.

What was the worst that could happen?

KISS AND MAKE UP

You don't know how many hours you've spent working under the hood of your dream car but when you pull yourself out from under it and actually check your phone after wiping your hands on the washcloth, it's already 5pm.

You sigh before you let your eyes drift lower to stare at your lockscreen. It's a picture of the three of you during one of the first few underground races after the three of you made it official. You feel your emotions get stuck in your throat as you see the big smile on your face as Minghao and Hansol just stared at you, a soft and fond smile on both their faces as they looked at you instead of the camera.

You feel your heart clench as you contemplate checking your notifications. You sigh before you turn off your 'do not disturb' and let the notifications roll upwards.

62 Missed Calls from Hansolie <3 48 Missed Calls from Hao <3 22 Unread Messages from Hansolie <3 24 Unread Messages from Hao <3 296 Unread Messages from 'The Reason We Drive'

2 Unread Messages from Hannie 1 Missed Call from Shua 1 Unread Message from Shua

You sigh, placing your phone back face down onto the desk as you smack your face lightly. "Get it together." You mutter to yourself. The amount of time you spent here really did help to clear your head but with all the muck and grease over yourself, you really need a shower before you even think about answering any of those messages.

You huff before pushing yourself off of the desk and tidy up your workspace before going to the washroom to take a shower, the dirt and grime making your skin crawl. You step out of the shower in a pair of ripped jeans, a fitting top with a windbreaker and sigh, feeling a lot more refreshed.

You walk back to your workshop, using the towel to dry off the remaining bits of water in your hair when you freeze, noticing the door to your garage open. You frown, recalling that you had shut the door behind you because you remember hearing the magnetic lock click in place after you did.

You slowly creep to the workshop as you hear some shuffling inside as well as some soft voices. You peak your head through the door before your heart stutters. Out of all the people you were expecting to see, Hansol and Minghao leaning against your workshop table, talking more than they had in the last few weeks, wasn't one of them.

"What the hell." Are the first words to leave your mouth, which alerts the two men who whip around to see you standing there, looking super confused.

The two man immediately scramble to stand up as they give you a nervous look, fidgeting every few seconds. You eye them skeptically as you slowly walk into the workshop, the towel still in your hands as you glance between them.

"How did you get in here?" You ask, a small frown on your face as you scrunch your eyebrows. "Better question, how the hell do you guys even know about this space?"

The two share a glance as you cross your arms.

"We might've dropped by Shua Hyung's house." Minghao admits, scratching the back of his neck. You raise an eyebrow at that, urging them to continue.

"We might've begged him to tell us where you were and when he wasn't looking, stole the keycard for your workshop." Hansol finishes.

Your eyes narrow. "How did you even know that keycard was for here?"

Hansol lifts up the keycard and stuck onto the card was a label which had your name and garage behind it in a cursive font. You roll your eyes. Of course your meticulous best friend had labeled the keycard so that he wouldn't forget what it was for.

The workshop has always been a sacred place for you, you never really told anyone about this place since your father had given it to you and it was a place for you to come to when you needed some sort of escape.

Joshua was the only one who knew about it because he had dropped by many times when the two of you were younger and after your dad had given it to you, it felt right to give him a keycard for access at all times.

"Well," You huff, unable to escape the inevitable conversation anymore. "You guys found me. I'm fine and you guys can go now." You try to step around them to retrieve your things when Hansol reaches out, gently grabbing your hand.

You've always been a little weak to either of their touch so it's no surprise when he's able to easily pull you back to stand in-front of them. You internally curse yourself for being a little easy but you still refuse to meet their eyes.

"Baobei." Minghao softly calls, ducking his head a little to try to meet your eyes. You stubbornly look away, making the older man sigh. "Can you look at us, please?" He softly begs, his tone sounding a little exhausted, almost as if he didn't sleep well.

You refuse, gnawing on your bottom lip which makes them change their strategy.

"Angel." Hansol starts, fidgeting with his hands. "We're sorry."

You stare at the floor as he continues. "We were stupid and let our egos get the better of us because we were frustrated at ourselves. We didn't mean to take it out on each other and more importantly…" You feel Hansol grab your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "We didn't mean to take it out on you."

You purse your lips, still refusing to answer as you feel Minghao approach you before he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest as his head sits on your shoulder.

"We're also sorry for breaking our promise to you, to keep you happy and to always remember the special days. Even though we didn't mean to forget, it's no excuse because you mean the world to us and we're sorry that we didn't listen to you."

You feel Minghao brush a kiss to the side of your neck, causing a shiver to run down your spine. "Please forgive us."

You internally sigh before composing yourself as you pull out of their grasps to fully look at them. "It really hurt when the two of you wouldn't listen to me." You softly say as you fidget with the zipper of your windbreaker. "It felt like nothing I said mattered to you guys and I was just a personal comfort thing for both of you. It was like I didn't actually matter in this equation between the two of you when we're supposed to be in a relationship together."

You feel your eyes start to prick with tears as you sniffle. "It felt like I was just walking on eggshells in my— our own apartment, the one place that I am meant to feel the safest and I… I grew tired of it." You glance between the two of them as you watch their faces crack, the guilt in their eyes evident. "I was only there when you needed someone to rant to or someone to affirm what you guys were angry about. Neither of you asked me about my day or even cared enough to see if I had eaten. Even when I was tired, I still felt like I needed to cater to you two because I love you both so much and seeing you both fight really broke my heart."

You see their hands twitch, especially Hansol's, who wanted nothing more to reach out for you, to comfort you, but they were waiting for you to finish, not wanting to interrupt you.

"I don't really care that the two of you forgot my birthday." You admit softly, taking a step closer to the two of them. "I just didn't want you to get hurt because I love you both with everything I am and I can't imagine my life without the two of you."

As soon as you finish your sentence, Hansol is up from the desk and he all but tugs you into his warm embrace, his breathing a little shaky as his whole body wrecks with emotions.

"Angel." He softly breathes out into your ear, his voice shaky and soft, as if he was scared that you were going to disappear if he spoke any louder. "We're so sorry. We didn't mean to make you feel like you needed to take on the weight of the world. It was stupid of us and we were only thinking of ourselves and we know that it's no excuse but we want to make it up to you, please."

You bit the inside of your cheek, to will the tears that dot your waterline to not flow over as you breathe in Hansol's comforting woody scent before you smell a hint of an earthy light scent as Minghao wraps his arms around you as well, placing a soft kiss to your temple.

"He's right, Baobei. You have every right to be angry with us and you should care that we forgot your birthday. It's the one day where we're meant to celebrate you. Not that we shouldn't celebrate you everyday anyway, but it's the one day where the universe blessed us with you by bringing you into this world. We can't imagine not having you in our life and we're sorry that we let our ego get the better of us. We shouldn't have fought over who is more worth your time but be grateful that you choose to spend your time with us and love us despite how flawed we both are."

You peer upwards at the older man who gives a soft kiss to your forehead. "We love you." Minghao says, his voie barely above a whisper as he pulls back from you and gets on his knees, making your eyes widen as Hansol does the same.

"Please forgive us."

You glance between the two of them on their knees for you as a bewildered giggle escapes you as you smile at them, wiping away the tears in your eyes.

"You're both idiots." You say as you reach for both of them to tug them up. "Please get off the floor."

A ghost of a smile of relief lingers on Minghao's lips as he shakes his head. "We can't." He says, tugging you closer to the two of them, which makes a surprise giggle escape from your lips. "You need to forgive us first, Baobei." He says, bringing your hand to his lips as he brushes a kiss onto them.

Hansol nods, as he places his hand on the back of your thigh, making you squirm a little as he looks up at you. "Please say you forgive us, Angel."

You glance downwards at them as you realize the position that the three of you are in. Heat pools on the underside of your belly as you see the way that they catch on too, their eyes darkening beneath you.

You swallow before feigning a ponder, trying to keep your heart from racing. "Well…" You drawl out as you look between the two of them. "Maybe the two of you should show me how sorry you are." You softly say, letting your eyes pierce into theirs as you watch their pupils dilate slightly. "Then maybe, I'll forgive you."

There's silence for a little bit as they share a glance before they turn back to you with a smirk on both their faces.

"With pleasure, Baby."

Those are the last words that fall from Hansol's mouth before your boyfriends move. Minghao stands and pulls you into a searing kiss that elicits a gasp from your lips, making him groan as he slides his tongue into your mouth. Hansol, on the other hand, moves his hand upwards and under your shirt before he pushes himself up slightly on his knees to be able to kiss all around your stomach.

You feel yourself getting wetter at their touch as they continue to overstimulate you with their touch, each making your knees weaker and weaker. You let out a whiny moan as Hansol starts to tease your nipples, pushing your bra upwards for easier access. Minghao bites lightly on your bottom lip, making your mind blank as he continues to kiss you as if you are providing him with the oxygen to breathe.

Minghao pulls away, pressing two chaste kisses on your lips as the two of you catch your breath before your boyfriends move you towards where your car is. Hansol rips the canvas off of the car and lets out a low whistle as he catches the make and model of it.

"Damn, Angel." He looks at you, his eyes filled with lust as he gives you a smirk. "A baby blue 2004 Mazda RX-8?" You blink at him, slowly registering his question as you nod, your brain still foggy.

Minghao sends his partner-in-crime a smirk as he pulls you toward the car to lay you on the hood of it. He hovers above you as he eyes you up and down and devilishly smirks at how wreckced you already look.

"What a perfect car," He hums as he unbuttons your pants and pulls it down along with your underwear in one swift motion, making you gasp as the cold air hits your wet pussy. "To fuck you on."

Before you even have a chance to register his words, his mouth is on you, eating you out like a starved man. You gasp as your back arches and your eyes bulge. Hansol is next to you in a matter of milliseconds, his hands tight on your waist which effectively stops your squirming.

"Shhh." Hansol coos as he spots a few tears leaving your eyes. "Be a good girl and let Hyung eat you out like you deserve." Those words make your mind blank more as Minghao captures your clit into his mouth and sucks as it, groaning a little which sends a wave of pleasure through you as the vibrations roll through your body.

Your eyes roll as Hansol takes the opportunity to lift your shirt and bra up fully and over your head, his one hand still steady on your waist before he dips his head and wraps his mouth around your right breast.

You let out a loud moan as Hansol massages your breast while sucking and nipping at your right one. Minghao takes that chance to dip his tongue into your hole, fucking you with his tongue that makes you lose all sense of your sanity.

"Fuck." Minghao drawls out as he glances upwards to see Hansol switching and continuing his ministrations on your other breast. "You taste so heavenly, Baobei."

You whimper at his praise as he dips a finger into your folds, making you let out a gasp as he gathers your wetness onto them.

"Want a taste, Hansol?" Hansol is quick to pull away and take Minghao's fingers into his mouth, sucking erotically as he eyes you, making your jaw drop open as that gesture causes you to clench around nothing.

Minghao notices and smirks as his pupils dilate more. "Think you need a better taste, Non." Minghao all but whispers as he pulls his fingers out of Hansol's mouth with a soft 'pop'. "Want it?"

Hansol nods, making Minghao smirk as he pulls Hansol in for a kiss, licking into his mouth to let the younger man taste the remnants of you on his lips. You, however, are not forgotten as Minghao sinks two fingers into you without warning, making your eyes roll backward as he fingers you, hard and fast.

Your boyfriends pull away from each other, panting as Minghao gestures his head towards you. "Go on." Minghao goads, his voice low. "Eat her out while I finger her, Hansol."

That's all the command that Hansol needs before his mouth is on you, making you let out a loud broken moan, your legs shaking as their touch brings you closer and closer to the edge. Minghao, who notices that you are pursing your lips, a tell that you are almost close, immediately angles his fingers until they hit your g-spot inside of you.

The first time he hits it, you nearly cum on the spot from the shock of it, your body wretching upwards and making Minghao's angle change.

He looks at you with a slightly disappointed look as he shakes his head before his other hand moves to pin you to the car. "Be good, Baobei." He says sternly as he fixes you with a pout. "We can't make it up to you if you thrash around like that, so be still and let us give you what a birthday girl deserves."

Before you could even sob out a reply, Minghao captures your lips into a searing kiss as he re-angles his fingers to hit the same spot, harder now. You whine into his mouth as he licks and nips at your lips as Hansol sucks on your clit hard.

You feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your right hand gripping and pulling at Minghao's hair which indicates that to him. He pulls away from your lips before leaning down to your ear.

"Be a good girl and cum for us, Baobei." He whispers, his voice rumbly and low.

That command is all it takes as you let out another whiny moan before the coil in your stomach snaps and you cum all over Hansol's mouth. Hansol doesn't complain. In fact, he does the opposite and groans into your pussy as he begins to lap up at your elixir, not wanting to waste a single drop.

You feel like you've just seen the stars as Minghao coos sweet words at you and gives you soft pecks as his fingers still move inside of you, chasing the high of your release. You lets out a whine, your body shuddering as you feel the start of the overstimulation, making your hand fly to Minghao's arm.

He glances at it and nods before he nudges Hansol, lightly with his foot. Hansol immediately pulls away from your pussy, the lower half of his face shiny with your slick, making your cheeks heat up as he gives you a slightly dazed smile.

You whimper as Minghao's fingers slide out of you, still sensitive from cumming. He brings his fingers to his mouth and leaks them clean while staring straight into your eyes making the butterflies in your stomach flutter as he groans.

You glance around for Hansol who is back at your desk, digging around your table for a little bit before he finds what he is looking for. He returns with some wipes and a bottle of water from his bag as helps you to sit up. He opens the bottle in one quick twist before placing a straw into it.

"Slowly." He gently mutters as he watches you drink the water. "Don't want you to choke."

Your heart warms at his concerns as he opens the wipes and hands one to Minghao. You watch, with the bottle in hand, as your boyfriends wipe you clean, making sure to be extra careful around your private parts as they don't want to overstimulate you. Minghao helps to pull up your underwear and pants as Hansol helps you adjust your bra and your shirt, brushing it downwards so that it doesn't wrinkle.

Hansol presses a chaste kiss onto your lips as he helps you to fix your hair, causing you to give him a small, lovesick grin which he returns before he plants a kiss onto your nose, making you giggle.

Minghao smoothens out your ripped jeans before rising and planting a kiss onto your forehead. "Do you forgive us, Baobei?" He wonders softly, looking at you at eye level as you give him a soft grin before nodding.

"I do." You say, giving him a quick peck on his lips. A cute smile appears on his face which makes your heart race as Hansol takes the bottle of water from your hand and shifts the straw for himself to drink.

"Good." Hansol hums after he gulps the water down. "Would be pretty awkward for the two of us to go to your birthday dinner without you."

Your heart flutters at his words as you glance between the two, a smile of excitement appearing on your lips. "Really?"

The two of them look a little offended by your question as they crouch down to meet your gaze a little better as you still sit on your dream car.

"Angel." Hansol starts, grabbing your hand into his. "We were serious about making it up to you. We will never ever forget your birthday again for the rest of our lives and if we do, you have full permission to leave us."

That pulls a soft giggle out of your lips, making Hansol crack a small smile as Minghao continues. "We love you, Baobei. We were in the wrong and we also re-promise that the two of us will not be on the same track ever again. Just because we always want one of you to be here with us because baby, you might not need us, but we both sure as hell need you."

You feel your chest ache at their words as you squeeze both their hands. "Silly boys." You mutter glancing between the two of them. "I sure as hell need you both too. So don't ever say something silly like that ever again."

Your boyfriends flash you smiles before you stand up, tugging them up with you.

"So…" You eye the two of them eagerly. "Where are we going?"

Your boyfriends sneakily glanced at each other before giving you a knowing smile.

"You'll see."

FOREVER AND ALWAYS

"I love you both so much." You sigh out, glancing at your boyfriends who are lying on either side of you on the grassy hill that they took you too. "This is absolutely perfect."

Minghao gives you a grin as he pushes himself up, leaning on his elbow. "Well, we know that you didn't want a big birthday bash this year so we decided that it should just be the three of us. Plus," He darts his tongue out to wet his lips. "Hansol and I had a lot of apologizing to do."

"And I forgive you both." You mutter. "You both planned an amazing birthday for me."

It's true, they had.

After they helped you to pack up the rest of your garage, you guys dropped by Joshua's house to give him back his key, which led to a twenty minute sigh-lecture fest from your childhood best friend before you physically had to push your boyfriends out of the door so that he doesn't rip them a new one for stealing from him.

You promised the two that they would get keycards from you in the coming days because you trusted them and it was honestly something that you should've given them a year or two ago.

Hansol was particularly interested in that because he wanted to help you out with fixing the car and learning from you. "It will probably help me to be a safer and better driver." He hums out in the car. "Not many racers have the knack for knowing what's going on in the organs of the car."

Minghao had scoffed at Hansol's word choices but was excited to see you in action, all the same.

They drove you to one of the nearby taco truck that is your go-to and ordered a few before they drove you to 'Lover's Hill'. A stargazing spot that had been on their mind for ages.

The three of you ate happily as they asked you to talk about the car before you guys started to stargazing at the beautiful night sky.

"It's our pleasure, Baobei." Minghao softly says as he leans in to press a kiss to your temple. "You are the reason we do this, y'know?"

You tilt your head to the side. "To do what?"

"Drive." Hansol answers, making you peer at him as he too, leans on his elbows. "You're the reason we drive."

You swear you're going to break down into a second fit of sobs if they continue to say things like this to you. "I love you both, so much."

Hansol and Minghao grin at you. "We love you more, Angel."

"Forever and always, Baobei."

You smile up at them before giving a thought crosses your mind, making you give them a small smirk. "Y'know…" You drawl out, pushing yourself up and leaning on your palm as you glance between the both of them. "This hill is called 'Lover's Hill for a reason…"

Your boyfriends share a glance before turning back to you, small smirks on both their faces.

"Oh, really?" Minghao asks softly, leaning in closer. You nod, your breathing hitching slighly at how close they're getting.

"Maybe you should enlighten us, Angel." Hansol says, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip.

You look between the two men in-front of you and smile to yourself at how much love the three of you have for each other and looking at them, you honestly see forever.

"With pleasure."

©livmarauder2026 Thank you guys so much for reading my v8 birthday fic! I do hope you guys truly enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3 More fics to come!! Like my work? Join my Permanent Taglist! All my fics are 18+, which means blogs without age or age indicator will not be tagged! If you like this, please consider reblogging or liking! It really makes my day! <3 Thank you for showing our hyperpop v8 street racers so much love!

Lately, the two of them have been conversing more as she seeks his expertise in the classes he took the year before. He finds that she’s been texting him constantly, asking for his opinions on a fabric she’s choosing for her latest projects. 

Minghao isn’t a moron and he’s certainly not blind. He knows Insong is into him, but since she hasn’t explicitly made any moves on him, he’s not doing anything about it. He keeps his answers short, refraining from answering her when he’s in bed right next to you.

His girlfriend of three years. 

There is no one on planet Earth whom Minghao loves more than you. You’re his shining star, and he’s merely a planet, orbiting around you. His perfect match, his missing piece. The day he met you, he knew you were the one. There was something about the way you held yourself, bold and beautiful, that he knew he needed to be with you. 

Turns out the universe agreed. You both had so much in common- your desire to experiment in fashion, adding chains, mixed metals, furs, diamonds to what was once a simple piece. Your confidence entranced him; how you walked to class in unique outfits, with different hair colors, styles, and cuts. 

It took just one date for you to feel the same way. 

Now he has endless access to you. Your lips, your body, your mind, but most importantly, your heart. 

Insong places a hand on his shoulder, shooting Minghao a dimpled smile. Eyes peering down at her, he notes the half-empty glass in her other hand. 

“Hao, I don’t know how to say this, so I figured I should just tell you. I’m,” she pauses to look into his eyes. “I’m interested in you. Like, interested interested. You’re so hard to read, but I can’t wait any longer. I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date?” She bats her eyelashes, moving closer so that their chests are an inch apart. One more step and they’d be chest to chest. 

Minghao places his hand on top of Insong’s and softly lifts it away. “Insong, I’m very flattered. But, I’m not single.”

Insong’s eyes are as wide as saucers as she opens and closes her mouth, clearly in shock.

“Oh, oh my gosh. Oh, I’m so sorry, Minghao. I just- I thought you were single. I, I just assumed you were single because you never show any girlfriend on Instagram. I should’ve never assumed, I should’ve asked the others,” Insong is blabbering now, and Minghao interrupts her with a soft hand on her shoulder. 

“Hey, it’s fine. Don’t worry about this. I promise this won’t change anything about our friendship,” he softly smiles, looking directly into her eyes. 

Insong flushes, still clearly embarrassed about her incorrect assumption. “Really?” she asks meekly. “Yeah, you’re fine. Here I’ll grab you another drink.” Minghao reaches behind him to hand her a cold can of beer. 

Insong meekly runs away after thanking him for the drink, not without throwing out a few more apologies.

Now alone, Minghao frowns. Did he really never post you on his Instagram? Minghao wasn’t one to share so much of his personal life on there, but if he could share selfies or mirror pics of himself, surely he had to have shared a pic of you. Right? 

His Instagram profile boasts one photo, a picture of himself at an art museum in graffiti-covered jeans that you gave him on his 24th birthday. He goes through the archive of his stories and finds it full of pictures of himself that you took, or pictures of his friends, or concerts, or parties. Not one clear, direct photo of you. His heart is pounding in his chest. There is no proof you exist in his life. The three years of love you’ve given him aren’t displayed on the platform that represents who he is to the people from all around his life. 

Desperate, Minghao approaches Joshua. “You know I have a girlfriend, right?” Confusion flashes across Joshua’s face. 

“What? No, you don’t.” Minghao’s face must be full of horror because Joshua pauses to think back to Minghao’s romantic history. 

“Oh, wait. Are you still with Y/N? I never knew if you guys were actually together?”

“We’ve been together for three years now,” Minghao says flatly. Joshua’s eyes widen. He drags Mingyu into the conversation. All Minghao hears is white noise as Mingyu also confesses he had no idea Minghao had been with you all this time. 

He’s spiraling. 

There was the time you went to one of these stupid parties with him, yet you spent the whole night apart with different friend groups. He never kisses you in public, always hating public displays of affection. He prefers to show you just how much he loves you in private, sensually pressing his lips against yours, making love to you over and over. 

There is no doubt that he shows you just how much he loves you. But he doesn’t show the world. 

Setting his drink down on the closest table, Minghao quickly waves his friends off, itching to get back home to be with you.

“You’re back early,” you say with a big stretch, clearly surprised that your boyfriend is back from a party before midnight. 

“Hey,” he greets you softly, immediately making a beeline towards your curled-up figure on the couch. You’re in a tiny black tank top, making it easier for him to touch every surface of your warm skin. After three years together, there is nothing your boyfriend can hide from you.

“What’s wrong, babe?” you ask, playing with the two silver hoops on his left ear.

“You remember Insong?”

“Yeah, the new grad student, right?”

“Well, she asked me out, but I told her I wasn’t single. And she said she didn’t know because I’ve never posted you on my Instagram,” he says, finally looking into your eyes to gauge your thoughts. 

“So you think I’m upset that you don’t post me on your Instagram?” Minghao nods, tightening his hold on your arms.

You break into a beautiful smile.

“My love, I don’t care about that. I love you, and you love me. Who cares?”

“But I do!” Minghao suddenly exclaims. “I care that no one knows I’ve been with you for three years, and there’s no proof. We go on so many dates and we take so many pictures, yet I never post any of them. I don’t share how much I love you. It feels like I’m hiding you or embarrassed by you, which I’m not. I feel like I’ve fucked up,” he says slumping back into the couch. 

Minghao grabs your arm and pulls you into his chest. 

“I love you, infinitely. I’m sorry I don’t say it louder,” he whispers in your ear. To seal the deal, he holds your chin between his thumb and index finger, staring deep into your eyes, lips ghosting yours. “I love you,” he says, sinking his tongue into your mouth. “I’m sorry.” Lips brush against your jaw, a big, strong hand wraps around the base of your throat. 

Arms encircle your waist, a cheek is pressed against your shoulder, a face buried in your neck. 

“You’re it for me,” he says softly, voice muffled.

You run your fingers through his long hair. Minghao loves experimenting with different hair colors. You’ve been with him when his hair was bleached blond in the fall, silver in the winter, caramel brown in the spring, red in the summer. Five more hair colors since then, and it’s now in its natural state. You’ve loved Minghao throughout all his hair phases, but you’ll always remember the Minghao you fell in love with three winters ago, when it was pitch black, just like how it is now.

“Babe, you’re it for me too,” you reply back with a big, beautiful smile. 

Minghao is looking at you with lidded eyes, and when he shrugs your tank top sleeve down your shoulder, he’s determined to show you just how much he loves you.

*xuminghao_o just posted a story

Eyebrow raised, you click on the story. 

It’s the mirror picture you took earlier today. Minghao’s chest was pressed against your back with his arms wrapped around your stomach. A kiss pressed to your cheek and a huge smile on your face. Much like the smile you were sporting right now. 

You’ve never been one to care what your boyfriend does or doesn’t post on his Instagram. But this picture on his story is evidence of your relationship. Evidence that he loves you enough to share you with everyone who follows him. 

[flashback]

The only sound that could be heard in your apartment was the furious typing coming from your keyboard. The code you had meticulously been working on for the last month all of a sudden wasn't running properly.

"C'mon you rat bastard, where are you hiding," you mutter out. You chewed on your bottom lip, dedicated to find the one piece of syntax ruining what was bound to be a big payout for you.

A month ago, you'd been tagged to do another hit on some confidential FBI files. The network you worked for was made aware by an informant that there were case files being built against the network. Being the resident hacker within the network meant that this task was immediately handed to you. This wasn't your first go at hacking the Federal Bureau of Investigations and you certainly didn't think it was going to be your last. You loved playing tag with the CyberSec department in the Quantico office. Imagining the look of shock when the analysts in their cushy lil offices realize that files were corrupted or missing. For a bunch of highly paid, well-resourced government officials, jobs that involved the FBI felt like taking candy from a baby.

Your search continued, scouring through what felt like endless lines of code, until your phone rang. Taking a look at the Caller ID, a chill ran through your body.

It's an unlisted number. To the ordinary person, it would look like an unknown caller. But not to you. No, you knew this number by heart. You gingerly pressed the answer button.

"YN, a pleasure."

You found it weird that he was using your actual name given everyone in the network typically used an alias. You figured he was in a secure enough location, so you didn't pursue this line of thought any further.

"Jackson. What can I do for you? I'm working right now." Every ounce of you fought to keep your words unwavered. A small chuckle came from the other end of the line.

"Just wanted to check in. Make sure you're holding up your end of the bargain." This caught you off guard.

Jackson was a higher up in your network, always the one doling out your assignments, but never one to double check your work. You'd proven yourself to be irreplaceable in the last three years of working for the Caissa. Why was he asking about this now?

"In the three years I've been doing your work, when have you ever known me to not hold up my end of the deal?" You questioned, a slight edge in your voice.

Even with your "boss" on the line, there was a deadline to meet and your code was still not running properly. Your hand moved to press a button on your phone and you placed Jackson on speakerphone. As the search for the bug resumed, you explained to Jackson that what he wanted should be finished within the next two hours.

"Remind me again, what is it I'm paying you for?" In hindsight, this question should have been ringing the loudest bells in your head. Jackson had the tendency to be aloof and a bit forgetful given he worked with multiple people, but not ever to this degree. But the damn bug making your code not work took up all of your attention.

"What are you talking about Jackson, did you seriously forget that you tasked me to wipe the case files being built against the Caissa? What, did you forget to take your pills today old man?" Another laugh came. It's uneasy but of course you were too wrapped up in fixing the code to notice the difference.

"Jeez Rook, I'm just testing you."

"I think I've outgrown that nickname, don't you Jackson? Was this really all you called me for?" You were getting annoyed now. There was a crunch for this code to be finished and here was your boss actively wasting your time. Again in hindsight this should have tipped you off. There's a bit of noise from the other end of the line before Jackson responds.

"YN?"

"What is it, Jackson?"

"The Grandmaster sends his regards." The mention of the kingpin of your network made your back straighten. Before you could ask what the hell Jackson meant, the line died. Your monitor went next. There wasn't enough time for you to make sense of anything before you heard the sirens surrounding your apartment and your front door being busted open. Everything after this point happened in slow motion, you moved like molasses. Only a few things in your vision were in focus: the reds and blues of cop car lights shining on the poster covered walls of your apartment, the condensation ring from the iced coffee you'd been nursing, a trinket of your favorite animal shattered from the impact of your front door.

You didn't resist any of the officers taking you into their custody. Your mind was otherwise preoccupied. The second your door was cracked down, the puzzle pieces connected: Jackson and the network had cut you loose and turned you in. Racking your brain for any possible reason why, you come up with the conclusion that the feds were getting too close and they cut the newest recruit on the team.

Last one in, first one out.

The interrogation room was bone-chilling and reeked of the worst kind of drip coffee. Agent after agent came in, but your mind couldn't focus. Every time they talked to you it sounded like Charlie Brown's parents were speaking to you. Your entire world had come crashing down. The network that had protected you for so long, had all of a sudden delivered you right to the FBI's front door, the team that had spent the better part of a year trying to track you down.

The door to the interrogation room opened again and you were about to tell the next agent that they were going to waste their time because you weren't going to spill a word. But when you lifted your head, you see him and the air shifts. You feel the static neurons become charged with something you can't quite place.

[end of flashback]

Speak of the devil.

The ding of the elevator doors snaps you out of your recollection and there stands Xu Minghao. The guy, who for a lack of a better explanation, is your knight in shining armor. Minghao was the one that broke through your walls that day in the interrogation room. The one that turned you from hunted to hunter. Every other agent they'd sent in to question you weren't able to hammer away at the walls you'd built, but he did. He walked in, the definition of nonchalance and arrogance. Taking your walls apart brick by brick like it was nothing with cologne that enveloped the whole room and would linger. The same one currently wafting in your nose as he's waving you into the elevator.

"Good morning babygirl," he says, pearly-white teeth shining right into your heart. It has been five years since the day Minghao cut you a deal and your partnership with him and the FBI had started. Five years since he gave you a chance to turn your life around and not rot in prison. Five years since he started calling you that nickname. The nickname that never failed to dust a deep shade of pink across your cheeks.

"Morning, White Rabbit," you chirp out, adding the delicious milk candy to the list of nicknames you have for the profiler. This was your banter, everyone in the office knew it. Everyone in the office was also sick of it. A prime example comes in the form of Dr. Jeon Wonwoo, resident know-it-all. He constantly commented on your relationship; labeling it grossly inappropriate for the office and requesting that it be taken outside of work. Both of your responses to him matching as you stick your tongue out, blowing raspberries at him.

"What's on your mind pretty?" Minghao questions. You wave him off, telling him that you'd been thinking about the day that you first met.

"Was it love at first sight?" He teases. You give him a slight push and tell him to shove it where the sun doesn't shine. The ride up to the office is silent, but it's comfortable. The kind of comfortable you can only get when you've built a relationship with someone. The elevator doors whoosh open signaling that your moment of peace is over and it was time to get to work. You start the short trek to your "cave of darkness", as the rest of the team calls it, but Minghao catches your wrist before you even make it another step.

"Here," he places a coffee cup in your hand, "Honey vanilla latte for the sweetest honey in my life."

There it is again. The blood rushes to your cheeks, covering it with a rosy haze. Minghao is still holding onto your wrist and you're painfully aware of everything happening right now. But you let yourself get lost in the feeling for a bit. Fantasizing that this is more than the usual nice banter between the two of you. That he got you a latte because he was thinking about you at the cafe you both frequent. That he knows your order because he learned it the first time the both of you had been to said cafe and not because you'd made him order it for you a billion times.

Wonwoo, who had been behind the both of you in the elevator, clears his throat to get through and the facade breaks. Minghao gives you a wink, then moves back to let him step between the two of you. Raising the warm coffee cup towards him, you bid Wonwoo goodbye and the two of you make your way down to your office. As you come down the hallway one of the other analysts, Maeve, falls in step with you. Her strong gourmand scent hits you before her greeting does. The three of you talk about recent case loads and what you had been up to the past weekend. She casually jokes that the intense amount of snow should be keeping the streets crime free, but the files coming across the desks say otherwise. Synced laughs of agreement come from you and him. Minghao replies that there isn't enough coffee in the world. Without any real thought, you say,

"Thank God for Minghao. I don't know what I'd do if he didn't get me this coffee." She coos at you, agreeing that it was really nice of him do so, but then she makes a comment that stutters your thoughts.

"God I wish I had a boyfriend that worked with me so I could get personally delivered coffee. You two are so cute together."

"Oh, no-" You begin to stop her.

"It's not like that." You pretend the emphasis Minghao places on the last word doesn't sting.

"We're not-"

The two of you stumble over each other to tell your coworker that you aren't dating. When she hears this, there's a look of surprise on her face, but she doesn't say anything else. She's too busy watching the two of you staring at each other, trying to find the hidden conversation in raised brows. You'd never been more thankful in your life to be right in front of your office door. Minghao quietly excuses himself and walks towards the bullpen. While your coworker chats you up, you're still staring at the back of Minghao, noticing how he rubbed the back of his neck as he walked away from the two of you.

"Helloooo? Earth to YN!" Your focus shifts to her hand waving in front of your face. Apologizing to her, you ask her to repeat herself. She talks about needing help on figuring out how to run a code to aggregate the encrypted files your team has been getting with the caseload. You relax, this is an easy task, you could write code in your sleep, this was something that won't distract you. Asking her for more metrics, your eyes light up at the chance to talk about coding — the only thing that has kept you alive all these years. As you're going over proper formatting syntax, she makes a silly joke that for some reason really just hit you, so you find yourself doubled over in laughter.

What you don't notice is that your coworker makes sudden eye contact with Minghao, who perks up and whips his head towards your direction at the sound of your laughter. You couldn't see it, but his gaze brims with adoration. The mere sound of your laugh, infectious, getting the corners of his lips to tug up. Maeve gives Minghao a questioning smirk, he then stutters and forces himself back into the conversation with Wonwoo. She continues your conversation by asking how to run newly written code without ruining encrypted files.

You lift yourself back up and continue your explanation of performing test runs on old files to Maeve. As you do so, you feel the air change and something in you tells your brain to look beyond Maeve. Cocking your head to the side, you see that Minghao has Wonwoo in a headlock. You try to hide your smile, but fail as Maeve traces your sight line. She shakes her head and jokes that it's really hard to believe that the two of you aren't together, with the way you steal glances like lovesick puppies. Suddenly, Minghao looks up and you immediately move your head back to its original position, not wanting him to catch you staring. Maeve watches this exchange with the biggest smirk on her face. Thanking you for the advice on writing code, she walks away to her office muttering something that you couldn't make out.

As you settle into your office, a sigh pushes through your entire body. Minghao's comment and gesture sticks with you for the rest of the day, the drink actually making it all the way home with you. Spending what others would diagnose as an "unhealthy" amount of time staring at the coffee cup, trying to will the fantasy in your head to life. So many things are swimming around in your mind right now. As you get lost in writing code, Minghao's question of love at first sight is ringing in your ears. You were telling the truth, you found him incredibly annoying at first. Your first month he did nothing but gloat that he was the one to bring you in; that if it wasn't for him there wouldn't be progress on the Caissa file. But something changed in the years of you working together and you're left remembering when exactly it was that he completely broke your heart open for him.

[flashback]

It's your first winter in Virginia. Adjusting to the non-criminal life has been easier than you expected. Who knew you could breathe easier when not working for the digital underworld and not having to look over your shoulder all the time. Regular civilian life wasn't something you steadily had access to in your formative years and you're finding yourself mourning that younger version of you.

Idyllic. Not hard. A version of you that didn't have to put up walls yet.

A particularly nasty case made its way to the top of your team's list, leaving you all to work past normal hours. You'd moved out of your office into the bullpen to make sharing information easier. The office is fairly silent, the only symphony playing is the shuffle of papers and the scuffle of your team walking around. You'd been knee deep in assembling a list of victim profiles to help look for the unsub's MO. You fired off a couple lines of code that you think will help you narrow something down, only to be hit with a big red flashing "ERROR". You slam your laptop down and exhale in frustration, the sound of it drawing everyone's eyes on you. You feel his eyes before you could see them. Flashing everyone a quick smile of apology, you excuse yourself to take a lap around and get a breather.

You stop by your office to grab your water bottle and on your way out you see Minghao. He smirks when he makes eye contact and you immediately brace yourself for whatever smart ass comment he had waiting for you.

"Taking a break already? Wouldn't have pegged you as the quitting type," he jokes. You mockingly laugh back and roll your eyes. The two of you were a duo that no one ever expected. You'd find this out much later, but there were bets going around the office for how long Minghao would last before you ripped his head off. You and Minghao got the last laugh as the two of you gelled together after you dished his smugness back to him. Fairly soon after, you became the insufferable duo that everyone was familiar with.

The two of you finish a lap around the office in complete sync, quietly returning to the makeshift workstation that was set up in the bullpen. You stretch your neck out before sitting back down to read over the case files in the hopes that you could pinpoint parameters that would get your team closer to solving this case. Line after line swims through your brain and nothing seems to stick. It's like suddenly all the ridges in your brain have disappeared and the receptors have melted.

Behind you, you hear someone yell that they're going on a coffee run, then you feel a tap on your elbow. Turning your head, you see Minghao with a questioning look in his eye. Without a word, you knew exactly what he was asking.

Want a coffee?

You immediately shake your head no, not wanting to deal with the effects of caffeine later. He gives you a curt nod and calls out to the person leaving the office to wait for him. He brushes behind you and you catch a whiff of him — sandalwood and something smoky — he smells like comfort. The scent of him lingers around you like an unspoken message from him:

Be back soon.

For the hundredth time, you turn your eyes back to the files hoping that this time you wouldn't come up empty. Taking a breath, you repeat a silent prayer in your head, one that wishes you are able to find anything that could help. Three folders of files later, you feel Minghao sliding into the seat next to you. You don't have to look up from the mountain of paper to know it's him. You just do.

As you're flipping over to the next page, you sense something warm near your left hand. You move your hand to find the source of heat and see that Minghao has placed a cup next to you. The logo of the coffee shop from down the street adorns the cupsleeve. Acknowledging him with a nod, you wrap both your hands around the cup and bring it in front of you.

I didn't ask for this. You say with a raise of your brow.

I know. He shrugs in response.

Drawing the cup to your mouth, the sweet scent of honey and vanilla fills the space around you as you blow on it. You were expecting the strong bitter aroma of coffee to invade your nose so when you smell the indicators of your regular order, your head whips back to him. You're staring at him with delighted surprise in your eyes. He squeezes your shoulder and shoots the warmest smile when he meets your gaze. You thank him by taking a drink, contently sighing at the sweet taste on your tongue.

When you open your eyes, you find a different pair of eyes staring at you.

"Can I help you, Dr. Jeon?"

"Just observing," he says, his eyes flitting between you and the man beside you.

"Find anything worth sharing?" You muse, tucking your chin on top of your hands.

While flipping through a case file, Wonwoo shakes his head no. You don't believe him for a second, which you make known by giving him a scrutinizing look. But you don't press him any further, opting to return to your work instead.

Minghao suddenly gets up and walks over to the board, presumably to pin something he found.

"He's never brought anyone coffee," Wonwoo says, breaking your concentration. You look at the doctorate in front of you with a deadpan look. One that prompts him to elaborate his point.

He leans forward and in a quiet tone explains that in the time that the two of them have worked together, he's never seen Minghao willingly get anyone coffee. Usually opting to joke that whoever asks has legs and can get the drink themselves. He also guessed by the look of your first sip that Minghao didn't just grab you any coffee, he purposefully got your specific coffee order.

There's a feeling in your stomach you can't place when you hear this. As Wonwoo drones on, you find your gaze naturally moving to where Minghao is. You can only see his back, but you can tell he's concentrating on something from the way his head is slightly tilted.

"And then there's the twin telepathy thing," Wonwoo quips. This breaks your stare.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh c'mon! The two of you just had a full blown conversation without uttering a single word."

You scoff and wave him off, telling him that it doesn't mean anything. Defending your friendship, you deflect and mock the young doctor. He returns your scoff with his own and leans back in his chair.

To anyone that asked, you would always deny it. You and Minghao, were friends, nothing else. But after Wonwoo's line of questioning, you wonder if he's maybe just named the intense feelings that you've been unable to.

Returning your gaze to Minghao, your head is swimming with the thoughts Wonwoo's seemingly planted. He turns to call out for Wonwoo to join him. Your eyes meet Minghao's and he gives you a smile that makes your heart drop to the pit of your stomach. It's a smile laced with a check in. Like somehow he knows you might not be all there.

And suddenly you realize it.

Fuck.

You like Xu Minghao.

[end of flashback]

A soft knock breaks your mindless (but correct) code writing and you smile as you see Minghao waving through the window. You push the memory from three years ago to the deep recesses of your mind. He pushes the door slightly open and pokes his head in, weary smile following. You know what this look means; it's wheels up for the team, time for them to fly somewhere to solve a case, time for him to leave.

"Hey, I'm heading out. I'll see you soon, yeah?"

"Safe flight, call me for any expert information pulling," you joke as he pulls off from your door.

"There isn't anyone else I would want to call babygirl," he calls out as he jogs to catch up with the rest of the team flying out. You smile watching him bounce away.

Unfortunately for you, that moment was the last time you would physically see Minghao for the next week. This was the norm for the two of you. You hardly ever joined in the field, and to be completely honest you preferred it that way. With your history, you decided (along with some urging from your boss) that it was probably better that you stayed behind for cases.

You do get to talk to him mid-week when an important piece of information comes across your desk.

"Tell me something I wanna hear," he exhales. You can hear the exhaustion and frustration in his voice.

"Anyone ever tell you, you have a great ass? Cause you do," you tease, trying to lighten the mood. Hearing him smile from the other side of the line makes you feel better.

"Tell me something I don't know pretty girl," he jokes back. You boo him, whining that he always spoils your fun.

"Don't make me spank you."

"Mmm, don't tempt me with a good time Agent," you say in a lower tone, feigning seduction. With a click of his tongue, he tells you to quit playing around. You sigh and acquiesce him, sharing that the unsub and his victims had a shared history. Grimacing as you shakily recount horrifying details, you wrap up your information dump with a sigh and a promise that this information would be sent over asap.

"Look up the words hot and magnificent in that magic box of yours and tell me what comes up," you hear the smirk and pride on Minghao's face loud and clear. Luck was on your side today as no one could see the rouge tint splayed across your face and on the tips of your ears.

"Would ya look at that? A picture of me popped up." You replied, emphasizing the p in the last word with a popping sound. Inside you are fighting every nerve in your body.

"You are the love of my life, gorgeous! Good job, see ya when we're back." The click of the line rescues you from having to repsond. Your hand is still wrapped around the receiver as you let out a breath. An involuntary groan comes from you. It's the kind of groan you let out when you know you're absolutely smitten and can't do jack all about it. The silence in your office cloaks you in your own feelings, the next words that come out of your mouth barely break the sound barrier.

"I wish you meant that, Hao."

It wasn't till Friday afternoon that the rest of the team was flying in after wrapping up another horrifying but solved case.

The clock ticks a quarter till five and you shoot a text to your cat-eyed partner in crime, asking him if he needed a round (or more) once he landed. An immediate ping returns with a resounding yes and that he'd head straight to Rummo's. Wrapping up a report, you lock up and head to the elevator to meet with Minghao. The ride down takes longer than you want it to, but the doors finally ding open and you're basically skipping out the exit.

"Have a good weekend YN," Chan smiles at you as he holds the door open for you.

"Thanks Channie! I'll see ya Monday!"

"Rummo's tonight? I didn't see the team come in this morning." You nod back.

"Is tonight the night?" He asks with expectant eyes. While everyone in the office basically knew about the budding relationship between you and Minghao, Chan was the only one who ever said anything to you about it. He was also the only one who knew about how much you truly longed for Minghao. It wasn't like you paraded around declaring your love for the profiler, but anyone who looked hard enough could see it. You cared about Minghao in the way that you didn't about anyone else. Sometimes more than yourself. You shoot Chan a look with a hopeful gleam and he responds back with a thumbs up. The week spent in the office alone (along with a phone call from your mother regarding your love life) had forced you to evaluate your relationship with Minghao. Years of noticing the small things that make him tick. Simply put, after years of yearning for the man who broke you down with a whiff of his cologne, you came to the conclusion that you couldn't bear to wait any longer. You needed him to know how you felt and more importantly how he made you feel.

You send a quick text to him that you'd be at your favorite bar in less than ten minutes. As you're walking past storefronts you check your reflection in the glass. No biggie, you're just confessing your feelings to the most important person in your life and your hair is a tangled mess and the mascara on your eyelashes smudged from the strain of staring at a computer all day. You do your best to smooth down the frizz of your hair and you pray to whatever god above that you can fix yourself up before Minghao spots you.

It's half past five by the time you get to Rummo's and it seems like every other office worker in the vicinity had the same idea because your favorite local bar is packed with people in suits. You thank your lucky stars and make a beeline for the bathroom to fix yourself up. You assess the damage as you take a look at the mirror and you wish you hadn't.

Your top fits a little funny because of how blessed you are in the chest department. Your trousers suddenly feel a bit tight and you tune into how the button seems to dig into your stomach. You try to move your clothes around a bit to make it look more flattering against your shape and notice that the seams of your pants have left imprints on your hips. The movement (and your awful anxiety) have made the tiny bathroom even tinier and you feel like the temperature inside has gotten warmer.

Taking a shallow breath you move on to take a look at your hair but before you can do anything about it, a knock on the door alerts you to someone who had been waiting on you. You push the door open to the bathroom and apologize to the person on the other side and look for Minghao. Your confidence is lower than when you walked in, but you were still determined to tell him how you felt tonight.

The smell of his cologne, hidden behind copious amounts of whiskey, hits you before you even lay your eyes on him. You square your shoulders back, plaster on a smile and clap him on the back when you approach. He turns to you, a tinge of pink dotted across his cheeks and eyes in the shape of crescent moons. A quick glance at the three empty glasses next to him tells you all you need to know — this case was horrific and he needed a break from reality. You don't think you'll get to tell him anything tonight.

"There's my babygirl," he swoons excitedly reaching out to you. Your heart leaps out of your chest and it aches. It kills you to not focus on the inflection behind the "my".

"Hey Hao— Whoa," you lean forward as he almost falls out of the bar stool. A giggle comes spilling out of him when he wraps his arms around you, pressing his face into your shoulder. You help him sit back upright and he scrambles to remove his jacket from the seat next to him, ushering you to sit next to him. Doyoung, the usual barback who tends to your crew, places a drink in front of you. Thanking him with a nod, you down the drink to match Hao's level of drunkenness. The night is filled with him drunkenly egging you on to drink more and you making sure that he's also drinking water so he doesn't absolutely perish the next day.

Suddenly Minghao, who had previously been slumped over the bar, sits straight up and grabs your face. He brings it close to his and you genuinely are unable to tell if you're currently hallucinating. He pores over your face with a scrutinizing look in his eyes. His gaze lands on your lips and stays for a while. Longer than what is appropriate between two best friends. Two coworkers. Your lips are inches away and the alcohol you've consumed silences the alarm bells going off in your head. You hadn't expected this at all, the second you had seen him downing drinks you quickly pivoted away from the original intention you had tonight. You let your eyes flutter shut and enjoy the warmth of his hands, you also pick up on the scent of whiskey and mint on his breath. There's a ringing in your ears and it isn't the alarm bells of your barely functioning brain. No, it's the ringing that happens when the one person who turns your world upside down is about to kiss you. But the moment never comes.

You open your eyes and find him studying your face. Irises wide (probably from the whiskey) and mapping spots on your face.

"Hao?" You ask as you place one of your hands on his, you're hyper aware of the small jolt of electricity that happens on your cheek when your hands touch.

"Mmm?" He hums, absolute glee hidden behind the smile on his face. You tap the hand on your left cheek, asking him if there was something he needed to tell you.

"You remind me of her." The shape of his eyes still crescent moons, his cheeks even pinker. From the alcohol or the confession you weren't able to tell.

"Hmm?" You say giggly.

"The girl I'm in love with— you remind me of her." He says like he isn't absolutely shattering your entire world right now.

"Oh." You could only respond in a monosyllabic manner, the entire situation quickly sobering you from your fantasy. You grab his hands and gingerly fold them into his lap.

He giggles to himself at your short response. Your mind is spinning and the three heavy-handed drinks Doyoung poured you certainly weren't helping. It isn't till Minghao waves his hand in your face that you realize he'd asked you a question. You apologize and he asks you again what you think. It felt like an impossible question to answer; your heart was absolutely shattered but as his best friend you needed to at least seem supportive.

"Whoever she is, she's a lucky girl," you respond, the fake smile on your face hurting your jaw.

"You think so?" He asks, blissfully drunk and unaware.

You nod, trying to will the tears in your eyes to not spill. Your barback slides the two of you tall glasses of water and your tab. The time had passed by and the time on the receipt told you that the bar was nearing closing time. Downing your water like a camel, you gear up to play another heartbreaking game of pretend. Quickly you get Minghao to drink his water, slide some cash to Doyoung, and move the drunk cat that is your coworker outside the bar to wait for a cab. Puffs of your breath can be seen against the night sky and the two of you stand close to each other to get some warmth. It doesn't prove to be very effective as shivers run through your body. Perceptive as he is, Minghao wordlessly shrugs his black coat off and threads your arms through the sleeves.

"Hao, what are you doing? Take your coat back. It's below freezing," you say through chattering teeth.

You roll your eyes and start to remove the very warm coat off you. The unmistakable shake of his earrings rings through the air as he hushes you and forces the coat around you again, this time closing the buttons to make sure you stay put. A frustrated sigh comes from you, made evident by the puff of steam flowing in front of you. You silently thank him with a swift nod of your head. Some minutes tick by and suddenly you feel a cold hand slip into the pocket and close over your balled up fist.

A hollow ache is forming in your chest. Your hand instinctively unfurls and the second it does, Minghao threads his fingers through yours. Wetness pools around the rim of your eyes when you feel the shape of figure eights rubbing against the back of your hand. Silently, you thank the cold weather as you sniffle the tears back. If he noticed what was wrong, you could immediately blame it on the chill. You stare up at the sky, hoping to find something that could distract you from your wailing thoughts. But you're met with nothing, not a single star in sight. Not a constellation in the sky to use as small talk. So you stand and let your heart ache, because this might be the last time you have a moment like this with him.

You're also trying to make sure Minghao doesn't crumple to the floor. He whines telling you that he's tired of standing and he clings onto you like a koala, telling you that you felt like a plush radiator. You blow off his comment and wave down the bright yellow cab who had just dropped off someone down the street. With as much strength you can muster you push Minghao into the cab and give directions to the driver to his place.

"Wait, you're not coming with me?" He pouts, hanging his head out the window.

You hated yourself for how much you wanted to still kiss him. Shaking your head no, you tell him you'll see him later. He pouts some more and even whines a little, making your heart swell and ache simultaneously. You tilt his head up a little and drill into him that he needs to drink water when he gets home. He gives you a little salute and slumps his back in his seat. The cab begins to drive away and you wave even though you know Minghao can't see you. Suddenly he sticks his head out the window again and yells at you.

"Don't tell the girl at work that I'm in love with her!" And just like that Xu Minghao shatters your heart for the second time.

Saturdays are reserved for shitty movies and wasting away at your place. In the last year, Minghao has been a welcome addition to your long standing tradition, but you wake up today (still slightly hungover) remembering every single thing that happened last night and can't bear the thought of seeing him. You send him a text that you aren't feeling well and need to just sleep the nausea and hangover away. It wasn't completely a lie, you genuinely did have a hangover and you felt sick to your stomach at his confession. The confession that broke your heart and had you questioning your own self worth. Who were you kidding, no guy like Minghao could have ever been into you. He could have his pick of girls, so of course he was pining for someone else. You mostly felt so dumb that you even held the fantasy for so long. Minghao doesn't reply back right away, you assume he's probably still asleep and decide that a small nap might help you feel better.

You wake up to the sound of knocking at your front door and grumble, throwing the blanket over your head, hoping that whoever is at your door will just go away. You're not expecting any guests so you definitely were not getting up for anyone right now. Unfortunately, your attempt to ignore them does not work as the knocking gets louder and more aggressive. Throwing your blanket around you, you groan and stomp to your front door. The knocking keeps going and you finally swing your door open, ready to yell at whoever is fucking disturbing your peace right now.

"Jesus Christ! What do you wa— Minghao? What the fuck?!"

"Me what the fuck? I think I should be saying that to you. It's Saturday, our day remember?" You wince at the decibel he's at. Shooting him a glare with the force of a thousand daggers, you whip out your phone and show him the text of you canceling.

He sticks his tongue out and pushes into your apartment, blabbering about how you couldn't let a couple drinks interrupt the tradition. A trail of his things follow behind him as he makes himself completely at home on your couch. He spots his coat from the night before and jokes that he wondered where it ended up. Your nose scrunches up in annoyance and you can't find it within yourself to pretend to be fine with him being here. One by one you pick up his things and launch them at him, each landing getting a complaint. You coldly tell him to take his things and leave.

"Haha very funny babygirl. C'mon," he pats the spot next to him, "It's movie time. I'm thinking comedy because you're being so gru-"

"Minghao. I'm not kidding. I don't feel good, I'm going back to bed, please take your shit and go home."

You don't even wait for a response, you quickly spin on your heel and head back to your room. You don't even have it in you to close the door on him, you just slip back into your bed. Burying yourself under the covers, the tears in your eyes are hot and you try to blink them back. It isn't until you hear the muffled click of your front door that you let the tears stream down your face, effectively dehydrating you even more.

This year's winter was giving unsubs harsh brutality a run for their money. In the five years since you've lived in Virginia, you'd never felt such an arctic winter. Roads constantly slick with ice, the chill in the air absolutely biting. The only thing rivaling the intensity of this winter was how hard your head had been thinking about your relationship with Minghao. After what you thought would have been the moment, you decided that you couldn't wait forever anymore. You couldn't waste time on the cat-eyed profiler anymore. Knowing he'd had ample time in the years of you working together to say something. The years filled of stolen glances during team debriefs, of flirty comments that would gave HR a heart attack, of him using a nickname reserved only for you. Even on that night, he had the entire night to say something, anything. Instead you were met with a confession that crushed any hope you had as well as your self esteem.

This was the third week of you silently mending the heart he'd unknowingly broken. You could absolutely feel the difference in the interactions, but the profiler for all his ability to read humans, was none the wiser. The list of your names for him continued, but never with the same vibrancy you'd always envelope them in. You were facing a silent fight, the only person who only noticed your off kilter demeanor, was Chan. The first week of your moping he initially let you be, only ever giving a skeptic raise of his brow when you'd brush off his comments regarding your well-being. By the second week, he knew you'd been lying and figuratively backed you into a corner.

You had been drowning in case files and your eyes were starting to dry out. You make your way out of your office and to the bathroom on your floor, but you sharply make a right towards the elevator when you see Minghao heading in the same direction. The door is about to close and you call out to the group to hold the doors open for you. In your absolute panic, you don't realize how loud your voice was. What you also miss when you push yourself into the elevator is Minghao frantically searching for you across the office when he heard you.

You make your way to the back of the elevator and pinch the bridge of your nose as you lean your head back against the wall. Your eyes are closed for the entire ride and it's only when the automated voice of the elevator bell announces the floor, that you realized you took the elevator all the way down to the main lobby. Remembering what your actual purpose of leaving the office was, you make a beeline for the bathroom. You weren't explicitly avoiding Chan, but you knew you couldn't hold out much longer until you cracked under his constant questions.

On your way out from the restroom, you hear a sharp whistle come from behind. Whipping your head around, you see Chan waving you over. Timidly you walk over. You know that he's going to ask what's up with you, so you mentally prepare your responses on your way to him. Sure enough his first question after greeting each other is why you aren't your normal bubbly self. You lie and say that you haven't been feeling well, which he immediately clocks, urging you to not lie to him.

"Come on sweetheart. I haven't seen the two of you walk in together in weeks, almost a month. And if I'm noticing it, it's only a matter of time before everyone else in the office notices it too."

You say nothing and just look at him with pleading eyes, trying to communicate that you don't really feel like talking about this. But of course he doesn't see it or he adamantly ignores it because he presses you even further. Arguing that he definitely knows something is wrong because he hasn't heard a complaint from Dr. Jeon about the out of line comments that are always coming from the two of you.

"Seriously seeing his face scrunch up at the two of you is the only real bit of entertainment I get around here. So spill it sweetheart, what the heck happened at Rummo's?"

You don't know if it's his persistence, the threat that your multi-doctorate coworker would eventually put the pieces together, or the idea that you were tired of holding everything in, but you give in and run down the details of that heartbreaking Friday night. You don't even notice that you're speaking in hushed tones until Chan leans in closer and asks you to repeat certain parts of the story. As you move along the details, you notice his shoulders visibly lower, like he's physically taking the weight of your pain. When you finish, you're full on silently crying and the first thing he does is fish a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket. The whimsical dinosaur print makes you giggle and he tells you that it belongs to his kid. You look at him incredulously, you were not prepared for this lore drop about your favored security guard.

"You have a kid?!"

"You're not the only one with secrets around here," he says with a wink.

You hit him in the arm and beg him to show you pictures. Further prodding him about the fact that he has a kid, leading into the fact that he has a whole family that you didn't know about. He pulls out his wallet and shows you several polaroids of the sweetest little girl. She is the spitting image of him, even in her young age she smiles just as big as her dad. While you're leafing through the pictures, Chan starts to talk about your situation. He comforts you, assuring that your reaction to the whole confession was normal. That the ache you feel is what everyone would feel and comes with the territory. He starts the next sentence, but pauses, chewing on his bottom lip.

"I can tell you're trying to fit a sentence together, what is it Chan?"

"I'm just not 100% convinced…" Your brows knit together in confusion. You stay quiet to signal him to continue his thought. He then asks if you're sure of what he said to you the night at the bar.

"I mean I don't think I'll ever forget him breaking my heart like that," you say solemnly.

"Look sweetheart, I'm not saying I know anything about how he really feels…"

"But?"

"But I've seen the way you two look at each other. More importantly I've seen the way he looks at you. The way he looks at you isn't the way you look at someone who's just a friend."

"How does he look at me then? If you don't think he looks at me like a friend, then how?" You arms are crossed as you scrutinize him with your eyes.

Chan sighs and takes the pile of polaroids from your hands. You whine in protest. He goes through them one by one, seemingly looking for something specific. He finally lands on the polaroid he's looking for and takes a big pause. You feel him take your hand and he places it face down on your palm. Flipping it over, your heart aches. It's a candid family picture; Chan's wife is cooing at their daughter, giving her a kiss on the cheek, and Chan is off to the side smiling wide. At first glance you'd think he's smiling at his daughter, but at a closer look you can see that the smile isn't for his kid, it's for his wife. He is looking at her with so much love, if he was a cartoon there would pink and red hearts in his eyes.

"That's how he looks at you. The way I look at my wife. You told me what he said that night, I don't know. I just don't believe it."

You let out a huff of disapproval and he throws his hands up in defense, offering that these were only his thoughts. Your shoulders slump back down and you squeeze the bridge of your nose. Chan offers a comforting rub of your shoulder and suggests that maybe it would be good for you to get out of the office for a bit, or at the very least finding a quiet place to let your thoughts run wild so you can come back and focus on your work.

Deciding that the thing you needed to help you clear your head was a warm cup of coffee, you brave the flurry of snow and take a quick walk to your usual cafe, a ten minute walk from the office. As you're wrapping a scarf around yourself, a gust of wind knocks the fabric out of your hand and straight into the face of a person who was heading into same cafe.

"I am so sorry!" You call out, rushing over to the being whose face was currently trapped in your bright yellow scarf.

A muffled laugh comes from behind your scarf, a leather gloved hand bunches it up to pull it away, and what's revealed is the face of an absolutely breathtaking man. His skin glowing like he'd been kissed by the sun, even in this dreary winter. You notice the moles that decorate his golden skin, like stars had placed themselves there. Eyes the color of coal but the coal that still feels warm even after the fire stopped burning. He flashes a smile at you, the kind that that radiates heat in your stomach, one that you're sure could melt all the snow fluttering around you.

"It's alright, honestly it's my fault I walked into your scarf," he chuckles, folding up your scarf, handing it back to you.

He then opens the door to the cafe, gesturing inside. You basically float inside, the flutters in your tummy carrying you in. You walk up to the counter and order your usual — honey vanilla latte. There's something about this drink that just feels like the warmest and most comforting hug. As you pull out your card to pay, you hear someone behind you request a red eye added to that order. The speed at which you whip your head is probably faster than lightning. Ready to lay into the person who thought they could sneak in on your coffee order, you take a breath, but nothing comes out when you realize it's the guy who got a face full of your scarf earlier.

"Oh, it's just you," you say meekly.

"Just me? Ouch, I haven't even given you my name yet," he teases. You feel warmth grace the tips of your ears and cheeks. Chuckling at you, he reaches into his pocket and hands the barista behind you a ten dollar bill. Your eyes go wide, indicating a protest at his action. He shrugs and walks to an empty table, he looks up at you then shifts his gaze to the seat in front of him. After an internal conflict, you figure that a conversation with the cute stranger who just paid for your coffee wouldn't hurt. Thanking him for the coffee, he shrugs and leans back in his seat. He replies that its not a big deal and the two of you begin to talk as you wait for your coffee to be ready.

You learn his name is Donghyuck but most of his friends call him Hyuck. He moved to Virginia from California a couple months ago after picking a random spot on the map. He's a piano teacher to the children in his neighborhood. You jokingly ask if he would extend lessons to adults and he jokes back that you would be the only person he'd consider doing it for. Before you can reply, the barista calls out that your drinks are ready. Beating him to the punch, you pick up both of your drinks and take it back to the table.

Sliding his drink toward him, you circle back to him teaching piano lessons. Your hands touch when he wraps his hand around the cup and it lingers for just a moment. At a simple glance, no one would have noticed it. You do and you fight the smile that begs to come out. Luckily for you, the warm cup of coffee in your hands was a great way to cover it up. You take a small sip and feel yourself melt into the drink.

"Is your drink as sweet as you are?" He says as you put the cup down. It takes everything in you to not choke on the hot liquid. Cheesy lines like this don't typically work on you, but there's something about Donghyuck that just feels true and intentional. After years of pining over someone else, why not allow yourself to be chosen first? Chosen boldly?

As you're about to return the flirty comment, your phone pings. Shooting him an apologetic look, you flip your phone open to see that you've gotten a text from an analyst on your team asking where you were. You looked at the time and realized that you'd been gone for three quarters of an hour.

"Shoot, I'm sorry I have to go back to work," you say, shoving your arms through your coat. Scooting out of your chair you stand up and hurriedly rush towards the door.

"Hold on," he calls out after you. Turning around you notice that he has your scarf in his hand. You reach out your hand to accept it, but instead of handing it to you, he unravels the golden fabric. He wraps the scarf around you and once it's fixed to his liking, he steps back with a smile.

"Perfect."

Your eyes fall to the floor and you feel the prick of heat warming the tips of your ears. He slips something into your hand and you barely catch what he says, too distracted by the gesture. You know it was a question so you nod your head and promptly head out the door. It's not until you're halfway back to the building that you realize he gave you a coffee sleeve with his number written on it. Shaking your head, you laugh to yourself and slide the sleeve into your purse.

You return to the office in an absolute daze. Your steps feel lighter and so does your chest. The ache of Minghao's wreckage still sings, but the volume is currently softened. There's a smile hiding in your cheeks, you zip past security so you can calm yourself down in your office.

"Good morning!" The profiler chirps, coffee in hand.

"Morning." You push past, head down trying to avoid eye contact.

"Hold it," he stops you before you can get too far, "Ease off the gas there Zug."

You freeze.

You hadn't heard that name in years. Five to be exact. And he was the last one to call you that.

The nickname was a reference to your alias when you worked with the Caissa network. The network itself was named after the Greek dryad of chess and every network player had some kind of chess term as an alias. Yours was "Zugzwang" — a term to describe when a player is put at a disadvantage by having to make a move. Appropriate because when you trapped someone into your game any move they made was a losing one. When you were at odds with the government, they fell for the trap every time. But now, because of Minghao, you'd been using your evil genius for good.

"Every day."

"Every day what?"

"Every day I say good morning . Every day you say, 'it is now that I've seen you' or another quirky comment that would make Dr. Jeon turn the color of your sparkle pen. Where have you been?"

Your eyes form into lines as you scrutinize him. Pretending to straightening the ID badge affixed to his shirt pocket, you kiss your teeth with a click. He continues on talking about how he's noticed that you've been passing off delivering case reports and sitting out of team meetings.

"You profilers and your behavioral analysis. You ever take a break?" Inside you're screaming. Now he has the sense to finally notice the difference?!

"If I took a break, who'd catch all the bad guys? 'Fess up pretty."

You roll your eyes and land a soft smack on his shoulder.

"Fine. I met a guy," you admit, a dreamy smile breaking out of the corners of your lips.

For a second there is a look of shock displayed on Minghao's face. He quickly fixes his face, but you definitely notice. You always noticed the small changes, even when you tried not to. You try not to think too much of it as he digs you for more details. You recap the interaction from this morning. Spilling small details about Donghyuck in a dreamy daze. Not forgetting to comment on how handsome and hot you think he is. Twice. There's a beat of silence, a look of pondering etched across his face, before he nods to himself.

"Alright, yeah that happens." He gives you a pat on the shoulder and starts to walk to his office, but you don't miss the purse of his lips.

"Not to me it doesn't." He stops and turns around.

"Come again?"

"Look Hao, let's not kid ourselves. I'm not the kind of girl who turns heads when she walks into a room—"

"Babygirl—"

"No. It's okay. I do well enough on my own. I'm a big girl, literally. I can pull, it just isn't always instantly, y'know? I gotta get them to look past the space I take up first." He hesitates to nod. Another small moment of quiet, the effort of piecing together his next sentence apparent in the crease of his brows. Before he can say anything you beat him to breaking the silence.

"I mean, what do you think Hao?"

"I'd say trust your gut princess. If the guy feels too good to be true, he probably is. Best to move on yeah?"

"Well—

Before you can answer, Hyeri the case liaison walks in, arms chock full of files.

"Team brief now. It's bad."

"Clearly."

The two of you follow her into the conference room, something indescribable weighs heavy on your shoulders.

The team debrief makes you feel nauseous. And it's not because of the bloody gruesome details of the latest unsub that Hyeri had briefed the team on. Minghao's words keep ringing in your ear. The rest of the team made their way out to the Florida site and here you were in your office replaying the peculiar conversation the two of you had. You're trying to make sense of his reactions but you're unable to get very far. To ease your mind, you turn to work and get to compiling and cross-referencing the victim list that the team had drawn up with the information the local police department had just sent over.

Knee deep in a list of mugshots, your office phone trills to break your concentration.

"You know who you've reached. Speak," your tone monotonous as you try to continue your focus on your job. Minghao is on the other end asking for an update. You frown at his voice, something that in the past rarely happened. But his comment, along with everything else that transpired between the two of you, were creeping under your skin. The reaction he had to Donghyuck was off and it was beginning to irritate you. Why did he care so much about you meeting a guy, much less a dreamy one like Hyuck? Shouldn't he be whisking away the girl he's supposedly in love with? As he continues to feed you more information, you cut him off telling him you've identified the victims and a locale parameter that the unsub is using as their hunting ground.

"Damn woman, you blow my mind." He whistles, the tone of his voice reading impressed at how fast you were able to narrow things down.

"Yeah, I'm efficient. Gotta go" You quip, not wanting to keep this conversation any longer than it needs to be.

"Whoa, whoa, that's the second time today. No fiery comment? No 'I'll show you what else I can blow'.

"Not today, Minghao." You sigh, rolling your eyes.

"Full government? What's going on?" He never called you by your full name either.

"I'm gonna tell the hot coffee shop guy no. I'm taking your advice, you were right he's probably too good to be true."

"Oh.. Um.. Well that was definitely a smart move." Adds insult to injury by saying there was probably, definitely something wrong with him. Fire starts to run through your veins.

"Huh. Guess that's why they pay you the big bucks." You snort under you breath.

"Come again?" The defensiveness in his voice ignites the fire inside you to roar.

"What was it Minghao? What tipped you off about him? I gave you an ounce of info about him and suddenly you can tell everything about him?!" You're sure that at the decibel you were screamng at, those standing out in the bullpen could hear you.

"Babygirl I-"

"No, humor me for a sec Mr. Profiler, was it how dashingly handsome he was or how interested he was in me that screamed wrong to you?"

"Wait—"

"Just because YOU wouldn't cross a crowded room to hit on me, doesn't mean that someone else— someone less frivolous and not so damn full of themselves wouldn't. You want fiery Xu? How's this: You're a fucking coward."

You slam the receiver down and the dam bursts. You call for one of the other analysts to take over your casework for the day and rush home. As you're heading out, your boss catches you and you quickly tell him to expect a call once you get home explaining why you're leaving midday in the middle of the week. The elevator ride feels like agonizing hours, your anxiety spreading itself like wildfire across your body. You thank every star above that Chan was on his break because you didn't want to face him, mostly because you didn't want to break down at the entrance of your building where you could be perceived. It's only while you're driving home, in the quiet of midday traffic, do you let yourself actually cry. The tears making stoplights and street signs blurs of reds and greens. The rest of the afternoon is spent rotting on your couch, sniffling over the man who caused your heart to splinter.

When you're sure you've cried all the water out of you, you get up to get some water. A chill has landed in your apartment and you resort to wrapping your softest blanket around you. Grabbing your blanket ends up knocking over your purse and its contents spill out onto your carpet. The whine that comes out of you mirrors a petulant child and you kneel down to gather the mess up. When you think that you've returned everything into your purse, you notice a crumpled cupsleeve from the cafe you frequent. You pick it up and head to the kitchen to throw it in the trash, but before you drop into the plastic, you notice the handwriting on the back of it. You get a closer look and see that the mess of scribble is actually Donghyuck's number.

You don't know if it's rage, revenge, or purely just needing a distraction but suddenly you're grabbing your phone and dialing the number. After three rings, the call connects and you hear his smile before his voice.

"Hello?"

"Hi Donghyuck?"

"Ah the girl whose drink matches her voice!" You smile at his words and even giggle a little. You share that work had you pre-occupied (not a lie, but not the truth). The laughter on the other end of the line gives you butterflies.

"Are you free this weekend?" you blurt out. Immediately realizing how sudden it might seem you stutter out, "To pay you b-back for coffee, of course!" Your voice squeaks at the end and you roll your eyes at how pathetic you probably look right now.

"Saturday for dinner work for you gorgeous?"

You bite your lip at the nickname, feeling like you were back in elementary school waiting for your crush to read your note. Telling him that Saturday was perfect, he affirms by telling you he'll pick you up around eight o'clock.

Saturday rolls around and you're getting ready for your date with Donghyuck, but there's a twinge of something wrong in the air. Something in your gut isn't settling well.

Everything reminded you of him.

The outfit you were wearing? The first time you'd worn the ensemble, Minghao had said that the color made your eyes shine like galaxies.

The bangle hanging off your right hand? A present from him after your first year at the BAU. "A celebration — to turning a new leaf", he said as he closed the clasp around your wrist. You unconsciously rub your fingers around the metal band surrounding your forearm. The indentation of your favorite flowers etched in intricate detail, providing a sense of familiarity and emptiness.

The color on your lips, painted the same color the night you two almost kissed. The color he said was downright sinful but made you look like you had been plucked straight from heaven.

The moisture in your eyes isn't apparent until you're staring back at your blurry reflection. The soft ambient lighting in your apartment becomes unclear in the mirror. A groan erupts from the back of your throat as you blink the tears back, not wanting to ruin the makeup you'd spent way too much time on.

You felt him everywhere and it was suffocating. It became loud and clear that your heart still beats for one person and one person only. Your heart takes over your body and you reach for your phone to cancel your plans with Donghyuck. Before you can even press the call icon, a knock on your door startles you.

He's here? Already? You could've sworn that you had agreed on 8 pm and your clock only read quarter past 7. A quick swipe of your phone confirms that there were no new messages from Hyuck. You shrug, assuming that maybe he had just decided to come early. You let out a huff, realizing that the hot guy from the cafe is probably standing outside of your apartment, minutes after you'd come to the earth shattering realization that you were still hung up on the profiler you'd been avoiding for weeks. This was going to be really awkward.

Men and their awful fucking timing.

You grab a sweater to shield yourself from the inevitable chill that opening your front door would allow in. But what awaits you on the other side of your cherry red door isn't something that your sweater could've prepared you for.

"Minghao?"

The tips of his ears and his entire nose as bright as your door. Puffs of his breath coming out in short bursts. His chest was heaving. Did he run over here?

"What are you doing here?" You're staring at him in bewilderment.

It had been a while since you had last been face to face. The last time you'd seen him was the day you told him about Donghyuck. The last time you'd actually spoken to him was during the Florida case. Where he'd unknowingly planted a hurtful comment inside of you. You'd ignored his invite to the bar the day that he returned. The tradition of movie night on Saturdays had been skipped the last couple of weekends, with whatever excuse you could come up with. It took a lot of convincing on your end, but your boss allowed you to sit out on team briefs just so you didn't have to be in the same room as Minghao. One of the things that stayed with you from your past life was the ability to determine who was walking by based only on their tread. This came in especially handy on the days that you couldn't work from home. That skill escaped you in this very moment.

Because here he is. Right outside your apartment.

You say nothing and cross your arms with an air of ignorance.

"You said I wouldn't cross a crowded room to hit on you and you're right." You roll your eyes and start to close the door but he stops it. He pushes the door back open and lets himself into your apartment. Your eyes are wide, staring at his audacity.

"I'd do more." Kicking off his boots, he stalks further into your apartment. The nerve he has to make himself familiar in your sanctuary. What infuriates you further is how devastatingly handsome he looks. Hair the color of onyx, perfectly windswept, the tips of them covered in half melted snowflakes. You can see under his black trench coat, a black ribbed tank, showing off his stupidly perfect collarbones and the small layer of sheen from what you assume is the result of him running to your place.

"What?" The look on your face is a combination of bewilderment and annoyance. Minghao across your living room, huffs out and crosses to you.

He cradles your face then presses his forehead against yours.

"I'm sorry I was a coward."

Seconds that feel like hours pass and he finally kisses you. And of course it's perfect, the kind of kiss that you dream of when kissing the person that holds your entire heart. The perfect clash of passion. The kind of kiss that leaves you wanting more. The kind that leaves the both of you panting as you pull away for air.

"God for a profiler, you were really unable to read me for the longest time."

"I don't use my skills for personal gain, babygirl."

"Maybe you should…" The lilt in your voice is teasing.

"You think so?" You flash him a grin, one that's inviting in nature.

"So… When you said you'd do more, what did that exactly entail?" You tease, fisting your hands in his tank as you pull him in for another kiss. His hands hadn't left your face, thumbs caressing your cheeks as he returns your advance.

There is fire behind both of your lips, you can feel the rawness as the two of you clumsily fight for dominance. Minghao fists a hand in your hair and gently tugs, exposing your neck to him. He trails kisses down to your collarbone, each touch igniting the flame inside your stomach. He's got you pushed up against the wall, placing marks across your chest. Desire is pooling at the apex of your thighs and like moth to a flame, Minghao senses it. His free hands makes its way down your body, down to where you wanted to feel him the most. Pushing up your dress, he dreamily sighs at the sight that beholds him: red mesh underwear that leaves little to the imagination. The minx that he is skirts around your pulsing clit, the tips of his fingers flirting around your bundle of nerves through the thin layer of fabric. You whine against his lips, hips involuntarily pushing into his hand. The sound of his smile against your lips is intoxicating and the smokiness of his rasp is sinful.

"C'mon babygirl, use your words and tell me what you want."

Your eyes roll back in pleasure as he weaponizes his nickname for you. You can't help but whimper when he slides your underwear to the side and makes brief contact with your clit, an unrecognizable pitch coming from you. His lips have returned to your neck and your hands find purchase in his locks.

"Fuck Minghao. Please" You beg. The lack of touch driving you to the brink of insanity. He moves his hands, but in the opposite direction of what you want. A pout forms on your lips and another whine spills past. He pulls you away from the wall and kisses you again, hands roaming, like he was mapping every part of you he wanted to devour. They stop at your ass where he grabs a handful, the groan that follows sending heat straight to your belly. In between lip locks, he lightly taps the backs of your thighs and in a low register laced with sin, commanded

"Jump."

Your body moved faster than your mind, wrapping your legs around his waist. The simple ask sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core. He carries you with ease to your bedroom, whose door he kicks open. You tell him this later but this very simple act of carrying you like you were weightless made you want to praise him like a god. Laying you at the edge of your bed, he stands back to drink the sight of you in. What he sees is feminine divine: your hair flowing like you were Aphrodite herself, remnants of your lipstick looking decadent on your lips, the way you're chewing on your bottom lip the very definition of sin. You prop yourself up on your elbows, completely in your head. You, the girl who was often passed over, almost always the second choice, felt the voices of doubt nipping at your skin. Even now as he towers over you, in your bedroom, you're avoiding his gaze and you can feel yourself shrinking.

"Hey, no. None of that pretty," he takes your chin in your hand and focuses your gaze on him. He kisses you, softly, waxing poetic of your beauty in between breaths. You mentally thank your past self for choosing a dress with buttons in the front as he begins to fumble with them. He doesn't get very far and out of frustration rips the front of your dress open, buttons flying in every direction. A sound of protest comes from you, but Minghao is immediately shutting you up by telling you he'll buy you another one. The other thing that shuts you up is his arms as he removes his trench coat. You'd always known his arms were thick, the lines of them defined in the button ups he'd wear to work, but seeing them bare confirmed your beliefs. The stretch of his biceps as he took his tank off making you dizzy.

There was no doubt about the hunger in his eyes as they raked down your body, the smirk forming when he realized that your bra matched your underwear. For a swift second, there's a tinge of darkness in them that chills your spine. The sound that comes from him can be described as nothing but feral when he leans over you and pushes your bra down. A mix of cold air and his warm wet mouth around your nipple makes you hiss. Your hands lock him to your chest and your hips are bucking up into him. His free hand reaches up and two fingers graze your lips and push into your open mouth. You feel Minghao smile against your chest when you swirl your tongue against his fingers. Pulling his fingers out of your mouth, he dances a line down to your core, sliding them through your wet folds. The sensation elicits a sound that vibrates through your chest and you buck your hips against his palm, signaling your desire. He picks up on your cue and slides two fingers into you, the sensation stinging in the best way possible.Bucking your hips up into the air with wanton need, you lay a message for him to find in your moans — keep going.

The telepathic connection you two have proves to still be fully functional as he continues his pace. Curling his long, slender fingers into a spot that makes you feel like he's bringing down the stars just for you. Warmth is spreading all over your body, the band in your core beginning to tighten up. Your breath is getting shallower, your moans are barely sounds.

"Let go for me babygirl."

"Let me feel it," He urges and you can't do anything but oblige.

The coil snaps and the pleasure is white-hot. You cry his name out as you squeeze around his fingers. The bliss you feel pushes you to drag his face up to you and capture his lips. You snake a free hand down to his pants and palm his length, a moan coming out when you feel how hard he is. Switching positions, you get yourself on top of him and grind on him to try and cure the ache in your core. He makes space between the two of you and undresses his lower half for you.

You're slightly ashamed for how you drool when his length flops up and smacks against his toned stomach, but that feeling quickly disappears. There's a split second where you pout when you take in how well endowed Minghao is. Mentally whining that he was blessed in every department, you wrap your hand around his length and you hear him grit his teeth. There's a glint in your eye as you shimmy down and take his leaking head in your mouth. It's almost automatic how his hand flies and threads into your scalp. A groan escapes him and that encourages you to take his length even deeper. This action gets him to throw his head back and in turn pulling your hair. The sting from that sends waves of heat to your core.

"Fuck pretty girl, I knew your mouth was filthy but holy fu-" He doesn't finish his sentence because you take him in fully and he hits the back of your throat. You look up at him and the way his face twists in pleasure has you sucking harder. This proves to be enjoyable for him because you feel him trying not to buck his hips up into your mouth.

"Fuck. Fuck baby, hold on. I don't-" You pull off him, a look of worry in your eyes, eyelashes wet from your actions. He instantly assures you that nothing is wrong, he just embarrassingly doesn't want to cum too early. His ears twinge pink and you giggle at him, coming back up and placing a kiss on his nose.

"You have no idea, how long…" he stops himself, but you give his hand a squeeze, telling him you understand. He kisses you lightly and before you two get lost in the heat, he pulls away then pats on your bed. Getting the hint, you climb onto your bed and wait for him. Turning over sits in front of you, drinking in the sight of you once again. There's lust in his eyes, yours too, but there's warmth behind the gaze.

Taking your left leg in his hand, he places a kiss on your ankle. The fire inside you burns brighter. Switching to your right leg, he does the same. There's hunger that radiates off him as he gets to your thigh and lands a big bite. He sucks at a spot close to where you ache for him the most. Pulling his hair in response, but he toys with you further and continues to bite and leave marks all over your thighs. He continues peppering kisses up along your body, maneuvering himself left and right, until he gets to your face where he places a soft kiss on your lips.

He reaches down to palm himself and the very real fact that the two of you are about to have sex, hits you.

"Wait, Hao," you say softly. He hums in response and you're trying to figure out how to ask for what you want without ruining the mood. In true fashion, Minghao senses your brain running wild and tilts your chin to look up at him.

"Where's your head at pretty?" He brushes your cheek with this thumb. Blushing is the name of the game and you have Olympic gold without even trying. Shyly you express that you haven't been with anyone in a while, which meant that you hadn't been on birth control. Your face is beet red as you're about to ask him for a condom, but he stops you in your tracks.

"Baby, you never have to feel weird about asking me to put on a condom," he murmurs as he presses a kiss to your forehead. He pulls back and looks straight into your eyes,

"Your comfort isn't optional. Ever."

He leans over to where he dropped his pants and fishes out a condom. He slips it on and returns to hover over you. Spreading your legs open with his knee, a sharp inhale comes from him when his eyes drop to your pussy, still glistening and pulsing from earlier. Reaching his hand down, he wraps his hand around himself and plays with your folds. Still sensitive from his fingers, you jump a bit at the contact. After a beat, he slides himself in with ease. Once he's bottomed out, you pull his face to yours to kiss him.

The two of you are a mix of groans as Minghao picks up the pace. One of his hands rolls a nipple in between his finger and thumb. The room feels hot, you feel sweat prickle at the base of your neck and the backs of your knees. Both of your hands are fisted into the sheets, toes curling at the height of pleasure he's bringing you to. You're begging him for more with your moans, you can feel your throat beginning to get sore.

When he suddenly slides out of you, you whimper at how empty you feel. The feeling only lasts for a second as he takes your left leg and throws it over his shoulder and sliding right back in. The new angle that he's fucking you with makes you dizzy with pleasure. Broken cries come out of your throat. His right hand grips your hip harshly as he pummels into you. Taking your left leg, he pulls it straight up by the calf and starts kissing your ankle again. The sensation sending fire straight to your core, prompting you to squeeze tightly around him. In reaction he lets out a low growl and nips at your ankle.

"Fuck Mingh-hao. Feels so good!" The room is filled with the noises of him slamming against your pussy and the chorus of your voices ringing out in pleasure. You know your neighbors are gonna hate you, but you quickly stop caring as Minghao continues rutting into you.

He moans against your calf in response, you feel the vibrations in your belly. The pace of his thrusts are starting to slow and you can feel that he's close. Arching your back off the bed, the angle is deeper and kisses the tip of your cervix. You know that you're gonna feel it tomorrow, but this was another thing that future you could worry about. This is Minghao's downfall as the new angle has you squeezing him tighter. Your second orgasm crashes over you and he catches the swell with the ease of a veteran surfer.

"Fu-fu-fuck, baby I'm cumming," he groans as he lets your leg go. You wrap both of your legs around his waist and cradle him as he collapses on top of you and spills into the condom. The two of you stay like this for a few moments, until Minghao slowly pulls out of you. Immediately feeling the sensitivity, you let out a small hiss as he slides out. He peppers your face with kisses to help as he slips the condom off.

After the two of you get cleaned up, you both lay under your sheets — legs tangled, your breaths matching each others, his hand drawing random shapes on your upper arm. The silence that falls over you two is comfortable, but there's something waiting to break the quiet.

"We did this totally backwards," Minghao giggles. You look up at him with wide eyes, a bit in shock with his choice of his words. Realizing that, he immediately presses a kiss to your nose to calm you.

"What I meant was that I would've at least liked to take you on a date first." It was Minghao's turn to blush. You giggle and place a soft kiss on his lips.

"We've never been the kind to go about things the typical way Hao," you quip. The smile he gives you makes your heart sing and swell. It's the type of smile that you'd spend the rest of your life preserving. The kind people fought wars for.

"That's true… In that case, wanna be my girlfriend?"

You hit his chest softly and he places his hand over yours. You kiss his hand and you know that he knows the answer to his question.

Yes.

It's a new week of work and you and Minghao walk into the building, hand in hand. Your favorite security guard makes no verbal mention of it when you walk past him, but you do not miss the giant grin plastered on his face as he hands the two of you your badges.

"You get up to anything fun this weekend?" The smugness incredibly evident on his face. You shrug, pretending to be absolutely aloof. In your periphery, you see the tips of Minghao's ears turn pink. Collecting your badges from Chan's hands, you nudge Minghao in the direction of the elevator. Once inside, you let out the laugh you'd been holding in, clutching your your sides. He looks at you like you've grown two heads. You wipe your tears and explain to him that Chan knew about the feelings you'd been harboring for the last five years.

"Chan was probably thinking 'Finally'." You shake your head, chuckling. As soon the two of you step off the elevator, you hear a shriek and suddenly you're pulled away from Minghao. You get wrapped into a tight hug by Hyeri, who sounds absolutely hysterical.

"Hi! What's this for? Don't get me wrong I quite love everything that is happening, but Ri you never hug me." She hits your arm, sniffling, warning you to not joke around.

The rest of the team surrounds you, thanking the heavens that you were alright. You and Minghao share the same questioning look. Your resident boy-genius fills you in by directing your eyes to the TV behind him. Your boss, Agent Choi Seungcheol is leading a press conference. Your eyebrows scrunch in even more confusion and then you read the byline at the bottom of the screen: "Caissa Networks sends clear message to the FBI". Hyeri finally lets you go, her eyes rimmed with red and damp. She continues scolding you for not answering any of her calls over the weekend. She rambles on about the fact that there was a threatening letter left on the doorstep of your boss' door with your name on it.

The bullpen is quiet until Dr. Jeon breaks the silence.

"What did happen to you this weekend?" You shake your head, shifting your eyes to Minghao. Neither of you talked about whether or not you were gonna tell everyone the second you came back to the office. You were both otherwise preoccupied. Before either of you can fumble through some awkward explanation, Seungcheol walks in, the poster boy for stoicism.

"Team meeting. 10 minutes," is all he says as he walks by. Like ducklings following their mother, the rest of the team tails behind him. Wonwoo narrows his eyes at the two of you before following suit. Silence falls between you and Minghao. You can hear the corners of his mouth turning up, ready to interrupt the quiet.

"So… You gonna tell the truth and say it was love at first sight?" The smugness is radiating off of him. You roll your eyes and mockingly tell him that he's not funny.

The smile on his face is annoyingly wide, but also dazzling. Not wanting to dignify him with a response, you turn on your heel and walk towards the conference room.

"C'moooon. It's a little bit funny!" He whispers into your ear.

"Pissing me off this early in the morning and in our relationship is not a smart move, Xu." You grumble quietly as you enter the conference room. Minghao's right behind you, sheepish grin as Seungcheol raises his brow at the two of you.

The rest of the meeting is spent trying to keep your focus as Minghao draws circles on your thigh underneath the table. You know it's his special way of apologizing and buttering you up. You make eye contact with Hyeri at some point and from across the table she mouths, "Girlfriend?!" referring to your comment from earlier. A look that says "I'll explain everything later" dances in your eyes and she returns a quick nod. There's a smile hidden behind your eyes, giddy at the memory of Minghao asking you to be his girlfriend.

taglist: @chogiwaw @cherrymayz @lunaxgyu @choco-scoups

“Fine. One pitch.”  “We’ll have to work on your technique! Don’t wanna embarrass yourself out there, you know. They’re a co-ed team.” 

“They have those?” Minghao yawns, stretching his arms over his head as Seokmin types on his phone, nodding. “I don’t keep up with baseball like that, sorry.” 

“No worries, I’m actually good friends with the captain of their team. Choi Seungcheol, I’ve introduced you, right? We’ve had dinner at his a couple times.” 

“I know who Seungcheol is. Great brows on that guy, I’ll say.” Minghao rolls his shoulders back, adjusting in his seat. 

“Great butt, too.” Seokmin nods again, and Minghao gives him an amused look as he reaches for his phone across the couch, “sure, Seok. Whatever you say.” 

“It is! Have you seen it? Phenomenal, I see why the Diamonds are so big on social media.”  “Or...they could just be good.”  “They are, but he’s also a cutie.” 

“You’re so funny,” Minghao chuckles, unlocking his phone to see two new messages from his manager, Boo Seungkwan, following up on the e-mail about throwing the first pitch at the last game of the season for the Daegu Diamonds. Tonguing his cheek, Minghao just shoots back a short response in the affirmative, before feeling Seokmin pat his knee.  

“Alright, I’ve confirmed. We’re going to be down there tomorrow afternoon, so I’ll book the flights and send your ticket over before noon today. Pack light, we’ll only be there three days before we’re in Japan for Tokyo Collection. You’re walking for the Cherry Jubilee spring launch, and we’re having dinner with Seungkwan and Jeonghan. Yoon Jeonghan, the designer.” Seokmin looks at Minghao pointedly, who only glances up at him with boredom. 

“Yes, I know who Jeonghan is. We’re friends.” He lolls his head back, and Seokmin shrugs, “you know so many people, Hao. I can only take the initiative and ensure that you remember them.” 

Seokmin shoves his phone in his pocket, grabbing his jacket off the chair with a click of his tongue, “I’m gonna go on a quick coffee run, but they want you in the red set first. If you need help, Seungkwan is down the hall talking to the creative director. Do you want anything? Tea? Something to nibble on? Lunch is in an hour.” 

“I’m good. You go ahead, I’ll be out of here in a bit.” 

Seokmin nods, slipping out of the room whistling something that sounds a lot like Death of a Strawberry by Dance Gavin Dance. Minghao waits until the door shuts behind him to melt into the grooves of the couch, letting the soreness of the already-long day seep into his muscles as he drums his fingertips against his phone. He stares at a water spot in the ceiling tiles, his chest heavy as he opens his phone and scrolls down through his messages. Lots of old friends from back home, a few of his fellow modeling peers, a couple designers... 

An unsaved number, with messages dating back two years.  

He can’t bring himself to delete it. 

He doesn’t remember your full name, either, and it bothers him – only remembering your face, and that you liked the Daegu Diamonds. If he scrolls up high enough, he’ll see the exchange of nude photos and videos, and his face will grow hot before he clicks off the message thread and chooses to ignore it for exactly ten minutes... 

Before going back in and staring at the thumbnail of the singular video of you together, taken on his phone on the second and last night you ever saw each other. A week after meeting at a hole-in-the-wall bar, you’d gotten a non-disclosure agreement sent to him and he’d filled it out within ten minutes – sending it back with a ticket to meet him in Osaka the next weekend. He was him, and you were you – he'd said something about not having enough time, you admitted to commitment issues...and you both settled on two nights in Japan – away from the cameras, away from any friends or family. 

Just you. 

It had been fun. Of course, it was fun – as fun as risky, messy sex with a girl he didn’t know and didn’t have to know could be. You didn’t care to know him, either – only heading straight to business the moment you both crossed the threshold of the hotel room he’d gotten for the weekend. He had a pair of white panties in his apartment from that night, pulled off you with his teeth and shoved into the pocket of his True Religion jeans – never to meet the inside of your duffel bag again – but it wasn’t enough. 

Unfortunately, you lingered in his mind at the most inopportune moments. He could be half naked in someone else’s bed and about to get down to business; when your body will flash by his eyes, enough to knock him off his game, even if just for a moment. He’ll be in meetings, and he’ll feel his skin prickle as if he can still feel the ghost of your blood red fingernails dragging down his back. He’ll be sitting at dinner, his eyes trained on the food in front of him as he sips his drink but all he can taste is you. 

It feels cynical. Like a slow form of torture, to look at those messages and know that he’s drawn a line he cannot cross. To know that if he just presses play, even just once – he'll hear every single sound he drew from you in just those fifteen minutes. He’ll see the way your body was flush against him, the way you sighed at the feeling of his lips against your burning skin. 

He’ll remember the taste of your sweat as he dragged his tongue up the slope of your neck before sinking his teeth into you – marking you for the weekend. Never to be in his arms again. 

He hasn’t watched it since the night he sent it. The temptation is there. It’s always there, just like the photos of you that he can’t bring himself to look at. 

Message From: +82 010-2015-0526  Best of luck, Minghao! See you around. (Delivered) 

Message To: +82 010-2015-0526  You too, sweetheart. (Read: 4:32 AM) 

Minghao barely unlocks the door of his condo when the warmth of the heater hits his face. He shivers, locking the door behind him and resting his forehead against the cold steel. He lets out a deep breath, shrugging his coat off as his phone buzzes in his pocket, arguably another message from Seokmin or Seungkwan, or even the most hidden person on his team — Soonyoung. A cheery, bright-eyed publicist with a knack for persuasion, carefully navigating Minghao into the oddest of situations that have skyrocketed his career. It's because of Soonyoung that Minghao is the face of so many brands, plastered all over in countries he's never even been to. At least, not yet. 

Minghao hangs his coat with no urgency, smoothing the lapels before closing the front closet door and easing his way into his home. He toes his shoes off, sliding them onto the shelf in the foyer before stretching his arms over his head and walking into his empty living room. 

Empty living room with a single lamp on, waiting for him to come home. Empty kitchen, with food packed neatly in the fridge waiting to be eaten. An empty bathroom, empty bedroom. 

Empty bed. 

He can never get too comfortable. His condo in Shanghai is the closest he gets to feeling at home – even if his apartment in Seoul has seen him the most, and his studio in Osaka is bare bones aside from a few art pieces on the walls and a singular photo of him and his parents on a desk in the corner. 

Maybe that’s loneliness. Having so much and wanting so little, but to be rich in love...he yearns for that. 

He reaches into his pocket as he sits on the edge of his recliner, tonguing his cheek as he reads the message across his screen. 

Group Message From: Unnamed Group (4 Members)  Choi Seungcheol (DD): Hey, guys! Heard from our head of SNS that you’d be coming down for a game. Are you throwing the first pitch, Minghao? We’d love to get a team photo with you! Let us know.  Lee Seokmin (Work): You’re so cute. Yeah, we’re gonna be down there this weekend, we’re flying in from Shanghai in the morning. Should we expect to drop by the Choi residence for dinner? (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )  +82 010-2015-0526: Shit, hey Seok. I asked Cheol to make the group because I broke my phone a few months ago and lost your number. I have gossip, call me when you can. Good luck this weekend! 

Minghao stills, his brows furrowing as he looks at the number again. He exits the group, quickly scrolling down his message threads before seeing the number right there. Seungcheol replies in the groupchat as he stares at the conversation between you and him – his skin prickling as he enters and exits the thread almost anxiously. 

“Shit,” he runs a hand over his face, tossing his phone onto the recliner as he gets up. He beelines for the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water out of his refrigerator when he hears his phone continue to ping with messages. He brings the bottle to his lips, taking a poor excuse for a sip before setting it down on his countertop. 

The cold of it hurts his stomach.

He moves back to the recliner, quickly unlocking his phone and reading through new messages. Seungcheol, Seokmin, Soonyoung, Seungkwan, Seokmin again... 

You. 

NEW! 2 Messages from: +82 010-2015-0526  [9:32 PM] Minghao, right?  [9:32 PM] Oh, wow...I forgot we'd made these.

He groans. 

It’s not like Minghao to particularly care about the past, but he doesn’t remember your name. Surely, if you’re affiliated with Seungcheol, you could be very well affiliated with the Daegu Diamonds. 

He nibbles on his lip for a moment as the chat bubble on your end pops up and disappears repeatedly before it dawns on him – Seokmin said that the Diamonds were a co-ed team. 

He doesn’t reply to your texts, opting to go onto the official site for the Daegu Diamonds and scour through the roster. Many faces are familiar – Lee ‘Woozi’ Jihoon, Park Jihyo, Lee ‘Dino’ Chan... 

Y/N Kim. A pitcher for the Daegu Diamonds, repping #08 on the mound. Your height, your weight, your birthday, your social media – it's all there, in color on his screen. 

He, against his better judgment, presses the Instagram icon beneath your debut date – November 9th, 2015. 

His phone redirects him to your profile. You’ve amassed millions of followers, your profile plain of any introduction aside from a cheeky photo booth strip as your profile photo and ‘#08 DD’ in your biography. You have Fire by 2NE1 linked to your profile, and there is a neat array of posts filling the screen. 

Your profile is purely...you.

Not just pictures of you, but…the embodiment of you as an art. Your style. Everything he would've assumed a curated profile surrounding you would look like.

Candid photos, photos of you and friends at dinner or simply hanging out together. He spots several shots of his own colleagues and friends – Hansol 'Vernon' Chwe, a music producer he’d met in passing at a Cherry Jubilee show six years ago; Chou Tzuyu, a designer for Lazy Baby and Kim Mingyu, a fellow model and the face of Calvin Klein (and abs, and arms, that man is beautiful.) 

Also Tzuyu’s fiancé. 

Not that anyone knew that. 

He scrolls further and further – before seeing an Osaka carousel from two years ago. The song over the post is Heart Burn by Sunmi, and he scrolls past several pictures only to stop on the second to last. 

Him. 

Well, not him.  

His jacket, the corner of one of your photos. The Osaka skyline from the hotel room is the focus, but he can see the letters on the back of his monogrammed jacket – XU MIN visible before the photo crops the rest of it out. His watch is on the windowsill, and a sliver of his back is visible on the bed.  The window was behind the bed frame, and you had to have been standing by the vanity to get that angle. 

He chews on his lip anxiously, scrolling to the next photo before seeing your fingers holding a ring up to the light at the airport. A signet ring, his signet ring with an orchid stamped in the center – one he’d lost after that trip. He clears his throat, glancing at the caption before his eyes widen. 

diamonddazed: i hope we find time for more than osaka someday. 

His tongue runs behind his teeth as he closes the app, his head hanging low between his shoulders as he lets out a sigh. His phone continues to buzz and ping in his hand, but he ignores everyone else to move to your thread with him. 

NEW! 2 Messages from: Y/N [9:34 PM] I hope this...history doesn’t hinder your ability to come see the guys this weekend. They talk about you and Seokmin all the time.  [9:34 PM] But, it would be nice to see you. Maybe we can get drinks. LMK (: 

Minghao taps his foot as he opens and closes his keyboard. He tries typing a few letters, erasing them. Tries again, deletes them.  

He opens his email instead, typing your name into the search box before seeing a copy of the non-disclosure agreement he signed. He opens it, reading along the lines of when the contract ends. Maybe he can get out of this, state personal differences. Maybe say it wasn’t good for his brand to be tied to so many things plus baseball. 

Two weeks from today. 

“That’s not soon enough,” he murmurs, closing out of the application and moving back to messages. Seokmin has texted him six times, but he doesn’t care to reply as he opens your thread again. 

Message to: Y/N [9:39 PM] Are you in Seoul right now? 

He presses his thumb to his lips, and he can almost imagine the smile spreading on your lips as his phone shows that you’ve read the message. His knee bounces as you type, only to stop when your message comes through. 

NEW! 2 Message from: Y/N [9:42 PM] [1 Attachment]  [9:42 PM] Shanghai. Fly out for the game tomorrow afternoon. 

His stomach drops as he sees the Shanghai skyline fill his screen, and he can barely see the subtle reflection of you in the window – wrapped in a white towel, the glisten of your red nails bouncing off the fabric. He glances around the photo, trying to see anything else in the reflection before another message bounces in. 

NEW! 1 Message from: Y/N [9:43 PM] I’m alone if you want to swing by. Room 1107 @ the Conrad Shanghai.  

Minghao feels stupid as he nearly falls out of his recliner, shoving his phone in his pocket as he moves back to his foyer. He shoves his shoes on, cheeks hot as he grabs his coat and pulls it on haphazardly. He barrels out his front door, not bothering to check that it has shut behind him as he beelines for the stairs. 

He feels a rush course through him as he pulls his phone back out of his pocket, stopping at the top of the stairs to type a quick message. 

Message To: Y/N [9:47 PM] Lose the towel. 

Getting past the lobby proves to be far too easy. He flashes a few quick smiles, signs a few slips of paper before he calmly steps into an elevator, knowing the Conrad like the back of his hand as he presses your floor button. He fiddles with his coat's buttons, flapping it open, before shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He trills his lips, leaning against the wall of the elevator as he watches the floor counter go up. The elevator seems to sense his urgency, and it jolts to a stop on your floor.  

He slides out between the barely open doors, his eyes scanning the doors for your room number – finding it at the very end of the hall. He knocks twice, softly – adrenaline making his hands shake as he shoves them back into his pocket. 

The door opens slightly, but you’re behind the door as your hand beckons him inside. He tongues his cheek, slinking in through the gap to see you wrapped in a robe. He raises a brow at it, his fingers pinching the tie and tugging lightly. 

“Room service,” your voice is soft, “can’t be indecent, you know.” 

“Doesn’t look like room service is here, though.” He responds, nerves making his tongue feel larger than it is as you glance at his fingers still holding the tie. He rolls his eyes, wrapping it around his hand and using it to pull you closer, “you sleep with anyone else here?” 

“No.” You shake your head, your hair still slightly damp as your hands splay on his chest. His jaw is tense as he runs his eyes down the slope of your neck, across your clavicle to the small chain snug at the base of your throat. He glances up at your face, your lips smooth with lip balm and your cheeks still soft, still as supple as he remembers them.  

“Are you lying?”  “No, Minghao. I wouldn’t have asked you over if I had.”  “So, I’m just a quick fuck before you fly home?” 

You don’t reply, rolling your eyes as you press your lips to his. Your hands on your chest slide around his slender waist, pulling him closer as his hand loosens around the tie of your robe. He kisses you back carefully, pulling at the knot of the tie as your tongue slips into his mouth. The same taste that’s sat at the back of his throat for the last two years coats your tongue as he sucks on it gently, your robe falling open as he pulls away. The back of his head hits the wall lightly, making him wince as your hand immediately cards through his hair and rubs at the spot. 

“Can I touch?” He murmurs, his hands ghosting over the warmth of your skin as you nod. You move further into his space, your fingers pulling at the buckle of his belt and undoing it quickly. His hands are cautious as they shove your robe off your shoulders, the same small tattoo he'd bitten two years ago peering back at him as you pull his belt off and toss it to the side before kissing him again. Your lips are so soft against his, your hands proving desperate as you unbutton his jeans and shove his shirt out of the way to reveal the waistband of his boxers.  

“Why are you so fucking dressed up?” You mutter against his lips as your fingertips slither under his shirt, and he smiles as one of his own find the lace of your panties snug to your hips, “you don’t need all these clothes to fuck me.” 

“Believe it or not, I work, too.” He speaks between kisses, nipping at your lip with a soft growl in the back of his throat, “why do you taste like that? Did you touch yourself before I got here?” 

“I always touch myself when I think of you,”  you’re breathless as your fingers curl around his waistband, tugging uselessly. You pout as he laughs, “it’s true! I'm already halfway to getting in your pants, no need to lie. We’re all friends here.” 

“I wouldn’t say we’re friends at all, actually.” He refutes, sliding his fingers under the fabric of your panties to cup a handful of your ass. His lips press open mouthed kisses to your neck, earning him those soft, soft groans he’s had daydreams about for the last two years as he scrapes his teeth against your skin. “I don’t typically fuck my friends, much less make them sign NDAs about it. And if we were friends...” 

“You’d fuck me in your bed?” You interject, your fingertips pulling at his zipper and cupping his half-hard cock. He tries not to keen as you run a finger against him over the thin fabric, "you’d fuck me in your bed, right? Mark me up? Make me yours?” 

“Wouldn’t be my friend if you were mine.” He tugs at the ends of your hair, a quipped gasp falling from your lips as he gives your ass a gentle squeeze. “You hear me?” 

“Uh huh,” your fingertips are teasing at the waistband of his boxers, but he pulls your hand away, sliding his own back out from under your panties. He kisses the shell of your ear, your lips pouted as he squeezes your hips, “Minghao.” 

“Show me how you touched yourself,” he whispers, your lips parting slightly as he physically turns you around. “Then maybe I’ll give you what you want.” 

“Maybe?”  “Maybe.” 

“Cynical,” you huff, squealing as his fingertips land a soft smack against your ass. Your hands cover it as you scurry away, and he picks up his belt and follows, with a grin threatening to breach his lips. He doesn’t remember talking to you this much the first time (or even at the bar you met him at) but...the sound of your voice has something in it. Something...addictive. Erotic, even. 

He doesn’t know and he doesn’t care to figure it out right now. 

He pulls his coat off his shoulders as you pull your robe off fully, a tattoo across the dip of your spine new to his eyes and stark against the lace of your underwear. He stops what he’s doing, his eyes running over it as you glance over your shoulder at him. 

Lucky.

“It’s new.”  “I know.” 

He doesn’t say anything else as he pulls his shirt over his head, toeing his shoes off as you move to sit on the bed. He watches the way your demeanor shifts slightly, a bit shy as your thumbs hook on the waistband of your underwear. He shakes his head, motioning for you to get on the bed, “all fours.” 

“But I—”  “Just wanna see that new tattoo, sweetheart. All fours, please.” 

You oblige, carefully sprawling yourself on the bed as he asks. He moves closer, his fingers wrapping around your ankles and pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. You move easily, your back smooth in the low lighting of your hotel room as he slides his hand up it, curling his fingers around the back of your neck. Your skin litters in goosebumps as you push your hips back, meeting his lightly as he bends slightly, pressing his lips to your hip. You shiver as his teeth scrape the skin of your hip, pulling gently at the fabric of your panties and sliding them down your thighs.  

“I’m keeping these,” he says as he pulls them off entirely, shoving them in the back pocket of his jeans as you scoff. 

“Pervert.”  “You smell good. Show me.” 

He peers down between your thighs, the swell of your ass covered by his hands as he spreads the cheeks carefully. Your hand covers you immediately, the sheen of arousal spread between your inner thighs as he smirks inwardly, “I haven’t even touched you.” 

“You know I’m sensitive, shut up.” Your breathing is shaky as you drag your fingertips through your folds, spreading them lightly and circling your puffy clit. He sucks in a breath, his cock twitching beneath his boxers as your thighs slightly weaken at the stimulation. You bury your face in a pillow as you rub your clit in tight circles for him, shuddered whimpers wracking your body before you tease your hole with a finger. He leans forward slightly, enough that you can feel his breath as he drops a wad of spit on your pussy. You jolt as he presses a kiss to the curve of your ass, “come on, pretty. Make yourself cum for me.” 

Your whine rings in his ears, making him bite down on his lip as he runs his hands up and down the back of your thighs, “so pretty when you’re touching yourself, huh? Like putting on a show for me?” 

“Minghao...” your voice trails off as he watches you slip a finger in and then another, a breathy chuckle falling from his lips as he kneels behind you. He kisses the side of your foot, trailing his lips up your ankle as he watches your juices coat your fingers. He kisses up your calf, dragging his lips up your thigh as they shake. 

“So close already? Tsk,” he mocks you as he presses a kiss to the curve of your ass, then another. He switches to the other side, watching your hand still as if to stave it off before he presses a kiss to your knuckles, “can’t do it yourself?” 

“Hao,” you’re whining, your fingers slipping out to spread your pussy for him to see. He smiles inwardly as your hole clenches around nothing, begging for something in it as he sinks his teeth into the meat of your ass. You only groan, pushing your hips back as he laps his tongue over the marks of his teeth before your fingers find your clit again, tracing slow circles into it as he kisses them. He takes them into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as the taste of you coats his tongue. He presses a kiss to your fingertips before pushing your hand away, hooking his arms around your thighs and pulling your cunt to his face. 

“Please, please...” your hips are pushing back, and he can’t deny you anything as he presses a tentative kiss to your clit, covering his lips in your arousal. He flattens his tongue against it, licking long, languid strokes through your folds to taste you entirely. His lips wrap around your clit carefully, sucking it into his mouth as your hand reaches back and finds his hair. Your thighs are a shaking mess as he holds onto you tighter, his cock painfully hard against his boxers and aching for release – threatening to come undone at the mere taste of you paired with your soft thank you, thank you, thank you. 

He pulls away abruptly, using his strength to flip you onto your back before diving back in. Your thighs threaten to clamp shut around his head, but he doesn’t care as he feels your walls flutter around his fingers as he brings you closer to the edge. Your voice is barely audible with the flesh of your thighs pressed against his ears, your fingers tangled in his hair once more as you come undone on his tongue. 

He keeps his fingers inside you, thrusting them in and out gently as your thighs fall apart, trembling as he works you over with his tongue again.  

“H-Hao—”  “You can give me another. Just one more, then I’ll fuck you. Yeah?” 

Your legs must feel like jelly the way you spread them limply for him, your cunt covered in his spit and your cum as he slips his fingers out to smear your juices around. A soft gasp falls as he slides them back in with a coo, his lips pressing a kiss to your clit. 

“Messy,” he murmurs, biting his lip at the wet squelching sound you make around his lithe fingers. He can’t tell if you’re embarrassed or not, your hips grinding against his hand lazily as he peppers kisses across your hips. He nips at the skin, sucking soft marks as your whimpers fill the air, “greedy, too. Just taking everything I give you, huh? Such a good girl for me.” 

Your reply is too quiet for him to hear, and he pushes off his knees, trailing kisses up your soft belly as your fingers rake through his hair. He plants his free hand next to your head as he feels himself press against your inner thigh, before his tongue slides in the valley of your breasts. He kisses the flesh carefully, open-mouthed as he makes his way up your throat. Your breathing is all soft pants and bitten moans as your swollen lips are shiny with spit. Your face is flushed as he kisses up your jaw, biting your earlobe lightly and making your eyes open slightly. They’re hazy, watery as your lashes are coated with tears of pleasure as he kisses the side of your face, your pussy clamping around his fingers as his lips ghost over yours. 

“Tell me you missed me.” His mouth brushes yours as you nod silently, “nah, not like that. Tell me. Tell me you missed my cock inside you.” 

He knows it’s not the same thing, but it’s all he’s got in the moment as your eyes widen, his thumb pressing against your clit as a choked sound falls from your lips. You cant your hips up, but he stills his fingers as he sinks his teeth into your lower lip, “say it.”  

“Missed your cock inside me,” you whisper, tilting your head up to kiss him. He lets you, slotting his lips with yours chastely as you wrap one leg around his hip, “missed feeling you. Haven’t stopped thinking about you.” 

The admission, fake or not, makes his fingers start moving again, your eyes rolling slightly before you shut them. You kiss him again, your hand gripping the ends of his hair between your fingers as if to keep yourself grounded. The kiss is all teeth and tongue, a groan from your lips as you taste yourself all over him, your pussy clamping around his fingers at it. He smirks into your kiss, gently rutting his cock against your thigh as you coat his fingers again with a shuddered whine. 

Your hand shoves his fingers away as they circle your clit, shaking your head as you snap the waistband of his underwear against his hip, “take them off. Wanna feel you.” 

You pull his fingers into your mouth, slipping your tongue between them and collecting your juices off his skin. His eyes are glued to your lips, swollen and bitten from his teeth as his other hand cups your breast, running his thumb over your nipple and smiling inwardly at the way your back arches off the mattress lightly. Your ankle kicks his hip lightly as you pull off his fingers with a pop, and he pushes off the mattress to reach into his pocket for his wallet.  

Not a single condom in sight. 

“Shit,” he mutters, and you sit up, pointing at something on the nightstand. He glances at it – a pink pill case. Slots reading Monday through Sunday... 

“You’re clean, yeah?” You lean back on your elbows, your chest heaving slightly and your skin shiny with a layer of sweat. He nods, and you gesture at his jeans with your foot, the French tip pedicure glossy in the low light, “so take it off.” 

He wastes no time shucking off his pants and underwear in one go, hissing softly as his underwear brushes over his leaking cock. You sink your teeth into your lower lip as he wraps his hand around himself, a soft laugh slipping out as he slots himself between your legs.  

“What’s so funny?” He asks as he spreads beads of his precum through your folds, a soft breath falling from your lips as you feel his tip bump your clit. You shake your head, “nothing.” 

“Tell me.”  “...Just nice to see you so worked up over going down on me.” 

“That’s the way it should be,” he scoffs, forcing himself to focus as he grinds his cock against you, slick and messy with you all over his shaft. “God, missed this pussy.” 

“Just her?” Your voice is airy as he pulls you to the edge of the mattress, your leg resting against his body and your foot against his cheek. He presses a kiss to the side of it, his other hand spreading your thighs apart to peer at your bare cunt against him.  

“Gotta miss you to miss this, you know. One plus one.” He grinds down against you harder, brushing his lips against your ankle as he feels your hole clench around nothing, empty and wanting for him.  

“Not always the case.”  “You’ve plagued me for the last two years, shut up.” 

His voice is lacking confidence as he feels himself grow close just from the feeling of you against him, feeling his limbs slightly fuzzy as he takes his cock in his hand, his tip circling your hole carefully. 

“I won’t last very long,” he admits softly, and you tilt your hips up, his tip barely dipping inside you. He sinks in fully, his hips flush to yours as you clamp around him like a vice. A whine gets caught in his throat, annoyed at himself for being so close at the feeling of you – so wet and warm and delicious. “Shit.” 

“Fuck me,” you mewl, his hands moving to wrap around your thighs and pin you in place. He gives a roll of his hips, muffling his groan by sinking his teeth into your calf. You’re trying to move against him, but he gives a harsh thrust, hitting that spongy spot inside you and making your back arch up off the bed. Your hands trail up your body, cupping the bottom of your breasts before running your fingers over your hardened nipples. He watches you through hooded eyes, fucking his cock into you at a menacing pace that makes you whimper his name sinfully. He rests his head against your leg, kissing the skin of it as you continue to touch yourself, rolling your nipple through your fingers as his lips ache to be wrapped around them. 

He splays his hands on the underside of your thighs, holding them apart as he bends at the waist, dragging his tongue up from your navel and between your breasts before your hand finds home in his hair as he sucks one of your nipples into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around it, shivering at how hard you clench around him, your walls fluttering as your moans fill his head. He feels like it’s swimming, intoxicated with the smell and taste of you all over him as he switches sides, scraping the neglected bud lightly with his teeth and earning a tug of your fingers in his hair, his groan covering your skin as he laps at the peak gently. 

“Want you to cum inside me,” you breathe out, “fill me up. Please.”  

He doesn’t respond, trying to stave himself off as his hips threaten to stutter. Your nails dig into his shoulders, dragging down slightly and he has to force himself to rip them away and pin them next to your head. He finds your lips, “can’t use your pretty nails. Have a show next week, baby.” 

You pout against his lips, kissing him slowly as he sinks lower against you, your chest flush to his. His hand slips out of yours, running between your bodies and curling around your hip as he sinks into your kiss. It’s slow and sensual, your legs wrapping around his hips and locking your ankles at the dip of his spine as his cock twitches inside you. 

“Feel so good,” his face is buried in your neck, his hand on your hip slipping between your thighs to circle your clit and make you finish before him. You’re a whining mess under him, his eyes squeezing shut as he buries himself to the hilt inside you, feeling the rush of your orgasm dripping down his thighs and soaking the mattress as he spills inside you. Your chest is heaving in tandem with his as he rocks his hips into you, working you into overstimulation as your moans grow weak. 

“S’too much,” you’re barely speaking above a whisper, and he covers your mouth with his as he stops, his hips flush to yours as he kisses you softly. You try to keep up, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding him close as his hands circle your knees, pushing them to your chest before carefully pulling out. He pulls away from your lips with a chaste kiss, his eyes glancing at the mess of you and him between your thighs. 

He feels his cheeks hot as he looks back up at you, an embarrassed look glazing your eyes as you clear your throat. 

“...I didn’t even say hello when I walked in.” He says suddenly, and you cover your mouth with your hand as you bite back a sound akin to a snort. He presses your knees together, “hi.” 

“Hey,” you laugh, running your hand through your hair. “It’s...nice to see you.” 

“Cut the shit,” he scoffs, and you only laugh harder as your arms cover your chest. He smiles inwardly, pressing his forehead to your knees, “I don’t know what came over me.” 

“Me either, but I’m not mad about it.” You wipe at your eyes, before scrunching your nose, “I’m gonna have to ask to get the sheets changed and they’re gonna know I got laid.” 

You cover your face with a pillow, letting out a groan of embarrassment as he laughs, “you’re an adult and you had a visitor. I’m sure they didn’t think we were just going to talk.” 

“Speaking of, you got here fast. Desperate to see me?” You lift the pillow just enough to show him the wiggle of your brows, only for him to tongue his lip and land a soft smack on your ass. You squeal, swatting his hand away as he turns his nose up, “I was taught never to keep a lady waiting.” 

“And you sure didn’t,” you tease, making him stick his tongue out at you as his hands slide down your thighs. He gives them a soft squeeze as you toss the pillow aside, stretching your arms over your head. You’re still covered with his spit and blooming nips of his teeth, “kind of a funny reunion, huh?” 

“The NDA is up in two weeks, otherwise I would’ve used it to get out of throwing that damn first pitch.” He admits, looking around before spotting a towel on the vanity. You snicker as he grabs it, carefully wiping you down. You wince here and there, before sitting up on your elbows, “there’s more towels in the bathroom, if you want to...shower before you go.” 

“I can’t promise it won’t get frisky if we’re both in there,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your knee. 

“Who said I was joining you?”  “The fact that you probably can’t even stand up on your own.” 

“Damn, got me there.” You sigh, his fingers massaging into the flesh of your thighs instinctively. A silence settles over you both, your eyes meeting as he smooths his palms against your skin. He squeezes carefully, "should we skip the small talk?"

You don't respond, merely spreading your knees with a quirk of your brow. He rolls his eyes, pinching your thigh gently and making you suck in a breath, "use words."

"I don't know what we are or what we're doing, if that's what you want to know," you say pointedly as he kneels back on the bed, his hands holding your knees apart as he scans your face. "I don't even know why I came to Shanghai. I don't plan ahead, I don't think twice. I just do it. I just go."

"So, you're reckless." "I'm spontaneous."

"You're full of shit," he snorts, making you smirk as you shrug, opting to lay back against the bed with your arms crossed behind your head. His hands slid up your thighs, squeezing the soft dip of your hips carefully. You shrug again, hooking a finger around the dangling silver chain and giving it a soft tug.

"I'd say I'm a spontaneous young woman with a promising career and good taste in sexual deviants," you nod slowly, and he has to bite back the smile threatening to spread on his lips as he hovers over you. He presses his lips to yours chastely, feeling the warmth flushing on your cheeks as he cups your face gently.

"Sexual deviant, huh?" "Sorry, do you prefer fuck buddy?"

"Shut up," he mutters against your lips, slotting them with his and swallowing the limp attempt at a chuckle from your throat. You card your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly at the roots as you kiss him eagerly. You're just as smooth with your tongue as you were then, carefully licking into his mouth as his hand wandered down between your bodies, wrapping around his cock. You spread your thighs further for him without breaking the kiss, and he smiles against your parted lips as he slides the tip of his cock through your slick folds. "Give me one for the road."

"Let me get on top." "Whatever you want, baby."

MINGHAO DIDN'T END UP LEAVING YOUR HOTEL ROOM UNTIL AN HOUR BEFORE YOU DID.

He'd spent the entire night and most of the next day between your thighs, if not holding you flush to him in the shower and washing your hair for you. Conversations were fulfilling though limited, often interrupted by a pair of lips kissing some expanse of skin — he ignores the coil in his stomach when he thinks about the sweet taste of your lip balm fading as the night went on.

Another Monday night of parting felt…laughable, honestly. He snorted at himself as he shoved himself into the black taxi he ordered, letting you kiss him goodbye one too many times for it to just be casual. Your scent lingered on his lips, his skin, and he felt exactly the same way he did when he left Osaka before you did — six hours earlier, pressing a lingering kiss to your soft mouth and wishing you a safe flight.

He'd done the same then, but he let you get carried away. He let you pull him in again, he almost let you take his pants off again but managed to get himself together before you could. You were almost too tempting, and it made his skin prickle as you watched from your door as he walked down the hall to the elevator. He stepped into it, thankful that there wasn't an awkward wait before waving again. He heard your laugh ring out before the doors closed, and he closed his eyes, gripping the railing and taking a deep breath.

This doesn't mean anything.

Just two people blowing off steam with someone that knows what the other likes.

He knows you prefer receiving oral, you know he prefers giving it. He knows that you're not into edging, rather overstimulation, he knows that you like to be held closely afterwards. He knows you like to be kissed breathless, that you like to be bitten, nipped at, suckled on…

That you would rather be on top and control the narrative — but you know he craves that same control, grappling at the ends of his sanity the same way you do.

The spotlight is something you both share, and though in different lights…you understand each other. Flashing cameras, winded magazine articles, online criticism forums — neither of you discuss your professional lives in depth. He knows you like to dabble in drinking with friends or long nights out to distract from the giant baseball career weighing on your back, you know he disappears completely into EDM parties and recording sessions to duck out of the blinding runway lights.

There is an unspoken comfort, an unvoiced observance that gives you both the answers you seek about one another.

And yet, he still rolls his eyes when he finds himself wanting to hear your voice.

He hasn't seen you since that Monday in Shanghai. It's been a total of four days, and he made a pit-stop in Seoul before Seokmin, Seungkwan and Soonyoung hauled him to Daegu in the back of an unmarked SUV that felt suspiciously like a kidnapping — he eyed them with more suspicion as they whispered on and on within themselves before flashing him falsely reassuring smiles.

Your schedule was packed; you'd done a handful of interviews, a few features in magazines and updated your Instagram profile since. In which he saw himself, once more, riddled in the crevices of your photos. The same Shanghai skyline photo you'd taken, a few snapshots of beautifully plated dishes, you in fitting rooms and hanging out with blurred friends…

And a singular photo of you in the steamy bathroom mirror right after he'd washed your hair — clad in a loose pair of blueberry-print pajamas and a blur of his (accidentally) scratched back. You apologized for the nail marks, he just shook his head and pressed his lips to yours, swallowing your apologies and pressing you into the tile. He winced when the hot water hit his skin, your fingers squeezing his hip gently before you lathered gentle soap over the expanse of the lean muscle.

You had taken it after he kissed you for an hour until the water ran cool, wandering hands spreading soapy suds all over each other. After he'd grimaced at the bruising of his teeth littered on your skin, a mark sucked deep on your inner thigh. After he'd brushed his teeth next to you — the second toothbrush and his collection of jewelry glistening in the corner of the photo. The carousel has a soft song over top — Heart Burn by Sunmi, again.

diamonddazed: i hope i'll be home to you someday, even if shanghai is the closest i'll ever get to it.

You posted it just after he landed in Seoul at two-something in the morning, and was clambered into the SUV by his team. He stared at the photo for fifteen minutes, sat in the back of the van before closing his eyes and shamelessly double tapping the screen. He turned his phone off right after, sliding it into the cup holder and settling his neck into the travel pillow Seungkwan had slid over his shoulders.

They'd been far too awake for two in the morning.

The team kept the curtains drawn, but he couldn't sleep — opting to stare out the sunroof as dawn crept in, his eyes burning with fatigue. Seokmin typed away on his laptop next to Minghao, eyes low as they peered at the screen's low brightness. He clicked around, rubbing his face once or twice before Minghao reached over and blindly closed the laptop. Seokmin sighed, settling his rigid shoulders into the stiff leather seats.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," he says softly, and Minghao peels an eye open as far as he can with a shrug, "I have a pit in my stomach."

"Tomorrow is a short day, don't worry. We'll have all day to rest up today." "When does the game happen?" "Six, but we'll be there by four to get you situated with everyone. Take some pictures, get some refreshments, maybe have one of the players help on your form. You might not care about baseball, but it's important you leave a good impression."

"I assume this was all said in that groupchat with Seungcheol?" He murmurs back, lolling his head against the seat as Seokmin nods, "and Y/N."

"I'm sorry?" "Y/N Kim. The pitcher? She's in the group."

Minghao feigns confusion, shrugging before closing his eyes. He feels his cheeks warm at the memory of your lips on his, your fingers carding through his hair with a rough tug that made him sink his teeth into the column of your throat.

"Right. Is she nice?" "Yes, very. She'll be at dinner with Seungcheol with us, but she won't be staying there like we will." "Cool, cool…anyone else I should know about?"

"Sure," he shrugs, crossing his arms on his chest. He eyes Minghao hard enough that the younger man can feel it, prompting him to look over, "mhm?"

"Jeonghan flew in." Seokmin raises a brow, and Minghao snorts, "Jeonghan? What for? We have a show."

"Because Seungcheol asked him to." "You'd think those two would have tied the knot by now." "Someone's dragging their feet and it's not Jeonghan."

"Ooh, messy," Minghao chuckles, shaking his head, "I forget they're dating at times."

"Don't we all," Seokmin stretches his legs as best as he can, wincing as soreness creeps up his thighs from the cramped seat. "I'm just hoping they'll do it sooner rather than later. Jeonghan's impatient and Seungcheol keeps pushing it back with things happening in their careers. I wouldn't be surprised if Seungcheol flew to Tokyo with us at this point."

"The more the merrier."

The rest of the ride is splattered with small talk — the weather, what does Minghao want to wear, is he comfortable staying at Seungcheol's house instead of a hotel…but none of it really registers. Minghao gives half-assed answers, bunching his blanket high on his lap when he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. Seokmin has dozed off, his cheek mushed against his own travel pillow as Minghao digs his phone out of his pocket.

NEW! 3 Messages from: Y/N [5:29 AM] Hiii [5:29 AM] Cheollie told me you're staying with him? Is that true? [5:29 AM] I miss you.

He bites back his smile, tonguing his lip as he quickly types a few responses out. He sends them off, pressing his thumb to his lips as he watches the read receipt pop up almost immediately.

Message To: Y/N [5:30 AM] Five in the morning, shouldn't you be in bed? [5:30 AM] Yes, we're staying with Seungcheol. I don't know why but I'm not complaining, either. [5:30 AM] And to say you miss me…feels like a lie, hm?

NEW! 3 Messages from: Y/N [5:30 AM] I am in bed, Mr. Xu. Just checking in 👀 [5:30 AM] Seungcheol invited me to dinner tomorrow after the game but I haven't given him an answer in case you don't want me there. [5:30 AM] Maybe I'm a little tipsy but I still mean it. Come see me if you want…I'd love to see you.

He can picture you sprawled on your bedsheets in those soft pajamas you like. Freshly washed hair, with the taste of soju on the tip of your tongue — he'd seen you in Mingyu's Instagram story earlier that night with Jihyo and Tzuyu, huddled over a steaming hot pot and clinking shot glasses together.

You'd looked pretty. The strap of your dress had fallen down your shoulder, and you were squished against Jihyo's smiling face with all your teeth gleaming in the flash of the camera, plump lips slick with gloss and those very same nails that dragged down his back.

Message To: Y/N [5:32 AM] And I'd love to come see you but I'm on zero sleep. I'd be of no use to your needs. [5:33 AM] But…come to dinner. Wear something pretty.

Your message comes in almost instantly.

NEW! 2 Messages From: Y/N [5:33 AM] Come see me anyway. I only live down the block from Seungcheol, you can lie and say you're getting breakfast at the convenience store across from me. [5:33 AM] Please.

Minghao chews on his lip — glancing up to the dashboard and seeing that he'll be in Seungcheol's neighborhood in less than three minutes. He doesn't think about it too much; silently transferring a shirt and pair of sleep pants into his backpack as Seokmin snores softly.

He'll make up an excuse later.

Getting out of Seungcheol's house is a lot easier than anticipated. His team was far too tired to question why he was so awake, and he helped them all settle in Seungcheol's spare rooms. Seungcheol and Jeonghan were getting tipsy on the back deck, and Minghao let them know he'd be slipping out for a second. Seungcheol glanced at him, eyes glassy as he gave him a soft smile.

"Y/N's gate code is 1-1-0-9." He sang quietly, and Minghao only feigned amusement, ruffling the older man's hair before ducking out the enormous front doors. He shoved his hands in his pockets, thankful for the chilly air that kept him alert as he made his way down to your house. You'd been telling him you'd fall asleep if he didn't get there soon — and he wonders if you've fallen asleep when he stands in front of the heavy steel gates of your home. He glances around, nibbling on his lip before flipping the gate pad open and typing in the numbers Seungcheol had teased him with.

The gates unlock with a clunk, and he slips in and shuts it with his foot. He makes sure the lock has moved back in place before glancing up, seeing you standing at the open glass doors. Your pajamas are rumpled and you're squinting in the morning sun, your hand covering your eyebrows as he makes his way up the mosaic path made of colorful stones.

"You're unbelievable," he greets, fighting back a smile as you grin brightly. You're still clearly tipsy, the sway in your stance amusing as he steadies you carefully when you reach your arms out to him. He reaches one hand back to close and lock your front door; the other carding through your hair as you hum in satisfaction, resting your chin on his chest as you wrap your arms around his waist. "Still tipsy?"

"Oh, I got hammered. I can't tell you how I'm standing right now." "On your legs." "You're really annoying."

"Yet, you begged me to come over." Minghao chides, his fingers settling on the back of your neck as you give him a deadpan look, "begged is hyperbole, Mr. Xu. Take your shoes off."

"Hyperbole, understatement…it's whatever you say, sweetheart." He shrugs as he toes off his shoes, and you do the same, puckering your lips cutely. He rolls his eyes, craning his neck to press a chaste kiss to them; the minty scent of toothpaste wafting off. You twist out of his hold, sliding your fingers in his and tugging him towards the back of the house.

The common areas say more about you than he could've ever figured — dozens, if not hundreds of photos and memories scatter the baby blue walls from crown molding to baseboards. Huge art pieces are tastefully hung around the living room, gorgeous Tiffany lamps on glossy side tables, a beautiful deep sapphire sofa set with soft throw blankets. A pair of cream pillows with golden stitching are strewn on the recliner in the corner, the coffee table exhibiting an open book with highlighter and annotations next to a journal with blue ink scrawled across the lined pages.

"This is my humble abode, you can get a tour later." You hoot, pulling him through a dimmer hallway. The walls are painted a deep cherry red behind the quilted sapele shelves of vinyls, a player atop a barely open matching credenza. If he peeked inside, he'd see even more vinyls — retired ones you no longer played until you remember that one good song, what was it? I think I have the record!

Your bedroom is nothing like what he'd expect from you. The walls are forest green, the curtains dark brown and the blinds drawn. Your bed is in the middle of the room, surrounded by stunning zebrano furniture. Your ceiling boasts a massive fan, the blades shaped like moth wings and spinning slowly. The walls are covered with baseball paraphernalia, rock music posters, a Catwoman poster next to your closet and another vinyl — Hold The Girl by Rina Sawayama, hung directly above another player.

"Do you like?" You ask, your hair still in disarray as you tilt your head. He nods slowly, "very cool. Earthy…a little dark."

"I'm gonna have a massive hangover. Gotta keep it dark for now." "Oh, no doubt babe." "Not your babe."

"True," he says pointedly, glancing down at you. You're pouting, and he coos; lithe fingers tucking your hair behind your ears. He toys with the earrings speckled about the shells, a gold hoop catching his attention as he fiddles with it, "what's with the face?"

"You didn't call." "Ahh…did you want me to?" "…Maybe. I don't know."

You shrug, toying with the strings of his sweatpants. He hums, smoothing his hand over your hair before pressing his lips to your forehead, "we can talk about this later, yeah? When you're not tipsy and I'm not about to pass out."

"We could, yeah." You agree quietly, dropping your hands from his clothes and gesturing towards the bathroom, "that way. You can change or shower, too, I set some stuff out in case you did."

"Can barely stand but is a good host. Very redeeming." "Careful, you'll fall in love with me and I don't quite feel like cleaning up that mess."

He chuckles, pinching your cheek as you swat at his hip. He makes his way to the bathroom, the door ajar as he slips in. He hears you shuffling around, likely making yourself comfortable as he flicks the light on — a soft yellow light illuminates a stone shower with a smooth bench and golden fixtures. There's a fluffy white towel on the sink, a new toothbrush laid out next to it with a small array of travel toiletries. He tongues his cheek, glancing at himself in the mirror — more pictures of you and your friends. Polaroids taken in that very bathroom tucked neatly into the corners of the mirror's frame. Mingyu, Tzuyu, Hansol, Jihyo. A bunch of other people he's met in passing — Yoo Jeongyeon (a singer-songwriter), Jeon Wonwoo (a photographer for Cherry Jubilee)…

Wen Junhui, his life-long best friend and an actor — also a model on his limited free time for Cherry Jubilee and the face of Tzuyu's Lazy Baby menswear. He raises a brow, filing the photo away in his mind as he strips to get in the shower.

He doesn't let himself think much as he goes through the motions of his routine, opting to get in quick and get out quicker. He brushes his teeth, opting to towel dry his hair so as to not wake you if you're already asleep. He glances at the pictures once more, his eyes lingering on Junhui's squished cheek with yours before flicking the light off and ducking back out.

You're curled into a ball, facing away from the bathroom but the duvet is pulled back where he assumes you want him to lay down. You stir slightly, your hand blindly reaching behind you as he slips onto the mattress. Your fingers brush his shirt, quickly bunching it in your hand as you pull him down. He bites back his smile, sinking into the bed behind you and pulling the duvet over his hips. Your hand grabs his, interlacing your fingers and holding them to your chest.

"Can I ask you something?" He murmurs, and you hum, nodding as he curls himself around you, holding himself up on his elbow. He peers down at you, biting back his smile at the way your lashes kiss your cheeks. "What's your walk-up song?"

You snort, letting out a tired laugh as you peel an eye open, raking it over his face as he leans over you. He presses his lips to your cheek, the warmth of your skin flushing against his, "it's When I Grow Up by The Pussycat Dolls."

"You've always known you'd be a big deal, huh?" "I was made for this. Now, sleep. Hold me."

He snickers, planting a kiss to your temple as you hum. Your hand is tight around his, high on your chest as he buries your face in the back of your neck, a thin necklace brushing his lips. Your skin smells of pears and lilies, an underlying powder scent filling his nose as he sighs, letting his body sag into the mattress.

He doesn't bother thinking about how he could fall in love with you.

And maybe, already has.

THE BALL PARK IS MASSIVE — MINGHAO CAN'T REMEMBER THE LAST TIME HE'D SEEN SOMETHING SO ARTIFICIALLY GREEN.

He's still peeking out through one of the hallways, basking in the chill of the air conditioning that will disappear the moment he steps onto the field. There's people sitting in the stands that aren't exactly customers. There's managers, photographers, even interviews happening right on the turf. Some players are dressed fully, caps set backwards and casualness drifting off their set-back shoulders — and then there's you, in black shorts and a Daegu Diamonds Training Camp t-shirt and standing at the mound.

A woman in standing in front of you but he knows its you — red nails, now trimmed short, digging into your arms as you cross them on your chest. She's got you looking up, passing a fluffy brush under your eyes before allowing you to step back from her. Your lips have that same gloss carefully glimmering under the lights, and your hair is slicked back with a sheen of gel — but he can't focus on just you as more people surround you. A taller man hands you a ball of many in his bag and a permanent marker, making you talk about one thing or another as you're scribbling your autograph on the composite leather.

"That's Y/N Kim." Seokmin's voice is suddenly in his ear, as is the slosh of the ice in a drink. Minghao glances down, seeing Seokmin holding a Daegu Diamonds Collectible cup filled to the brim with lemonade and covered with a clear lid — and a jersey draped over his arm with a matching one resting on his shoulders.

"Guess you're having the time of your life, huh?" Minghao chuckles, and Seokmin shrugs as he holds the jersey out to him. It's a crisp white with the signature powder blue and navy grey details of the Daegu Diamonds logo, and it's not sporting any of the autographs that Seokmin's is. "You earn those stripes?"

"You know it," Seokmin sips his drink, before gesturing around the park. "I spent my weekends growing up driving all around the country with my parents to see the Diamonds play. Got the shirt big so it'd fit forever. Look at me now, close with the players and with season tickets! Oh…and bringing you along!"

"Aww, you're sweet," Minghao chuckles as he rolls his eyes, carefully taking the jersey and pulling it over his shirt. He doesn't bother buttoning it, opting to look around the park from his spot in the hall, "we'll be in the audience during the game?"

"And we're having dinner with Seungcheol and Y/N before we fly out tomorrow at noon. The other teammates have plans, and a few are actually going out to Japan to see you strut your stuff," Seokmin bumps Minghao's hip with his, before the crunch of cleats and your voice traveling catches his attention.

"It was incredible! Shanghai never disappoints me," your laugh is soft as you're suddenly in front of him and Seokmin. Your eyes are wide as you feign surprise, extending your hand to him, "you must be…Minghao. I heard I was going to meet you today."

"Xu Minghao, yes. He's throwing your first pitch today!" Seokmin beams beside him, as Minghao carefully takes your hand as though he hadn't pinned it by your head only a week earlier. You gave his a soft squeeze, "you're even more ethereal in person."

"Haven't heard that one yet." Minghao smiles gently, making you roll your eyes. "Y/N Kim. I've heard a lot about…you."

"You don't know a thing about baseball." "Not nearly as much as I know about soccer." "Zero times zero is still zero, Mr. Xu."

"Sense of humor, I like her," Minghao looks over his shoulder at Seokmin. He's got that twinkle in his eye that Minghao has learned to recognize when he wants to say something he shouldn't. "Whatever you're thinking—"

"I'm not thinking anything! Y/N, beloved, teach this guy a thing or two." Seokmin pats Minghao's shoulder, before his eyes catch your hand still holding his. "You can't hold hands, rumors will fly."

"Not a baseball player and a model, what would the people say?" You pretend to be scandalized, but effectively drop Minghao's hand to hold your own to his chest. "Xu Minghao steps into the Diamond Life…pretty catchy headline."

"I'll leave you two to this…odd mating dance," Seokmin turns on his heel, and Minghao almost turns to face you before Seokmin turns once more, "oh, don't let me forget…I'll ask why you're both wrapped up in an NDA dated back two years after the game."

Your face reads like a book — and Seokmin only smiles before holding his phone up.

"Don't CC me next time!" He beams, walking backwards before turning around and calling Seungcheol's name, the captain whipping his head over to see him bounding over. Minghao gingerly reaches over and closes your mouth, his knuckle tapping your chin as a sheepish smile spreads on his lips.

"I may or may not have forgotten that my email is automatically set to do that." He says softly, and you cross your arms with what he can't discern is playful or serious disappointment. He matches your expression easily, "hey, it's no better than you soft-launching us on your Instagram! My back, my jewelry, my jacket—"

"You don't even follow me on there! How could you possibly—"

"You're involved in so many people's lives that are important to me. It's only common sense that you'd eventually make that team, too." He states firmly, and you make no move to hide the way a soft smile is spreading on your lips. "Stop."

"Aw, I'm important to you?" "Y/N." "Invite me to your show in Tokyo."

You're almost too close, your hands clasped behind your back as you bat your lashes at him. He scoffs out a laugh, cheeks warming at the proximity as he realizes people around you give absolutely zero fucks about either of you.

He could kiss you and no one would care.

He wants to. And he wants them to care and he wants to brag.

"Don't you have to go practice or something?" Minghao's voice is much less confident with you in his face, his eyes flickering down to your lips as you pout. His knees feel slightly weak, "don't do that."

"Invite me to your show, Minghao." "I already know that Jeonghan gave you a ticket on my behalf." "True…but I want to hear it from you."

He rolls his eyes, his hands finding home on your hips and pulling you slightly closer. You easily drape your arms over his shoulders, peering at him through your lashes with a shy smile, "I missed you."

"You saw me yesterday. In your bed, mind you." "Mmh…but you didn't kiss me before you left." "Didn't know our NDA required goodbye kisses."

You press your lips to his gently, his arms tightening around your waist as he nips at your lower lip, "come to my show."

"Say please and I might even let you—" "We're in public. Please come to my show and tell me I look pretty."

You only smile against his lips, "can I soft launch on Instagram again?"

"If that's what you need to do to ease me into the Diamond Life." "Come on, loser. I can't have my NDA partner embarrassing himself on the mound. Today, pitcher. Tomorrow…supermodel. What a life you live."

Minghao hadn't bothered to hide the way your thigh was thrown over his at dinner, and neither of you explained anything to Seokmin — it was easy to figure out. Seungcheol and Jeonghan had fun dissecting your vague Instagram posts, finding details of Minghao in almost any and every post — including the orchid-stamped signet ring that was in almost every single one of your posts. Minghao doesn't know how he missed it, but all he knows is that he'd really missed you.

It's been three days since the show.

You'd sat quietly, dressed in a beautiful red dress from Tzuyu's unreleased Lazy Baby Spring collection — and that same dress was featured hanging in the back of one of the photos in Minghao's latest Instagram post. Along with a snapshot (courtesy of Jeonghan) of your hand tucked into the back pocket of his jeans while the two of you roamed Tokyo, a cropped picture of your friends all crowded together in a too-small booth for a delicious dinner…

And a picture of your hands interlaced, with a new, matching orchid-stamped signet ring on his finger — all of it set to Heartburn by Sunmi.

xuminghao_o: home, no matter where we are. ↳ 💬 diamonddazed: welcome to the diamond life, lover ♡

The mark was not something too special, it was one of the more common ones, your parent had the exact same one and you had always loved hearing the story of how they had both been so out of their minds when there was 30 minutes until they met, that they had just walked through the city, trying to think of anything but the watch on their wrists. 

They had bumped into each other in the park. Nothing short of divine timing. 

Nothing made you more excited about finally getting to meet him. Whoever or wherever he was. 

“Thanks for cooking dinner” Minghao said again as he looked at Mingyu, currently in the kitchen mouth full of food. 

His friend smiled at him. “Any time!” It’s always nice I get to practice my chinese cuisine with someone who knows how it should taste” 

Mingyu looked to his own wrist where the word that had been there an hour ago slowly faded away. 

“Do you ever wonder if you’ll find her?” Minghao asked with a small smile, as his hands toyed with the bracelet around his wrist. 

Mingyu just shrugged. “I hope so, but if I’m being honest I’m not really counting on it” He smiled, but it didn’t seem genuine, and those usually broad shoulders seemed to shrink a little. 

Minghao sighed as well, running a hand through his long locks. “Yeah, I know mine is rather easy, but there’s a bit of anxiety tied to it. Knowing when I meet her is not always as… easy as it sounds” 

The tall man turned towards his friend and crossed his arms in front of his chest, nodding, urging him to explain further. 

“In the beginning I didn’t really think about it, like yay I’m gonna meet her in my late 20’s, okay, I’ll just build a life for myself before that. But the older I got, the more I came to realize that even that isn’t promised. I have no idea what she’s doing, what her life is like. I have no idea if she’s safe, healthy, happy…” 

A small smile spread on his lips. “I envy you guys a lot, most of you have some sort of indicator of who they are and how they’re doing. All I have is this fucking clock, and if I one day look down and it has stopped… What do I do then?” 

To Minghao it looked like Mingyu had never had the thought, as if he suddenly reminded the man that they in fact could lose them before they ever met, this part of their soul. 

He sighed. “Never thought about it like that, I think mine is okay, I don’t think anyone would crave so much food as she is if they weren’t. I think it’s worst when she doom scrolls, damn the mark is flashing as quickly as her thumb can touch the screen” 

They both smiled. 

“I’m sure you’ll find her at some point” Minghao said as he stood from the chair, ready to help his friend with the dishes after their shared dinner. 

“You too, too bad it wasn’t Tan’s friend” Mingyu said as he pushed his friend lightly with his shoulder.

Minghao leaned back his head as he laughed. “Yeah, it was worth a shot, but I did say from the get go that would be a little too easy” 

“Ugh I don’t know if it even makes sense” You said into the phone, talking to your older brother. 

The two of you had been talking to one another for the last hour or so, him trying to convince you to fly out to see him. 

“Dude, you can work from anywhere, so you don’t even need time off, and I could show you the city when you had a break. Just imagine all the food” 

You had always been close, and even after he moved across the world you had made sure to speak on the phone or facetime a few times a week. 

You took a deep breath. “It’s just… two trips in a year, we’re all coming for christmas after all” 

If it had been possible to hear when a person rolled your eyes, you knew you would have heard it right then. 

“Just get here okay?!” he said before he hung up. 

Which now meant you had a decision to make. 

He was laying in bed, somewhat beat after a long day. He rubbed his collarbone as he had gotten a habit of doing after his injury. And like always, right before he turned off the light in his room, he looked down at his clock, but that night it didn’t just count down. It flickered. It lacked. 

In a split second he was sitting, staring down at the ticking time, that flashed from the time that was still a few months away to a time that was literal days away. Back and forth, back and forth. 

His heart was beating out of his chest, and before he could even think too hard about it, he was out the door wearing nothing but shorts and a tanktop. He didn’t even put on his shoes, but it didn’t matter, he was running instantly. 

Seungcheol didn’t live far, and he was knocking on his leader's door frantically, not really caring that it was in the middle of the night. He would most likely be up gaming anyway. 

When his brother opened the door Minghao flew right past him into the living room frantically pacing until he was able to catch up. 

“Hao…” Seungcheol said, testing the waters. But the blond only held that infamous wrist of his, covering the clock that he usually flashed to everyone proudly. 

He moved closer, and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Minghao?” He said, finally able to catch his eyes. He stopped pacing and exhaled. 

With the exhale he lost all ability to stand upright, it was as if his legs started working all together, and he fell to the couch that stood behind him. 

Minghao buried his head in his hands as he shook it, silently whispering something beneath that the older one had trouble deciphering. 

Seungcheol slowly pulled his hands from his face. “What’s wrong?” his eyes were kind, as was his smile. 

“Please tell me she’s okay…” his voice trembled as the tears welled up in his eyes. It was a prayer on his lips, one of pure desperation. 

Minghao held out his wrist for the leader to see and for a few seconds he just stared at the clock, ticking away as usual. Just as he was about to open his mouth to ask what it exactly was he was looking for, the numbers shifted for a split second. 

It looked as if it was lacking, as if something was wrong and Seungcheol took a deep breath before he looked to his brother who had winced the second the numbers changed. 

“Hyung, what's wrong with her?” he asked with pleading eyes. But he had no idea so he shook his head. 

“I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out okay? I promise we’ll figure it out” and with that he pulled Minghao close, allowing him to totally lose it, and break down in his arms. 

It was known in Seventeen that if Seungcheol promised them something, it was a promise he would never break. Every time he had a chance the following days he was researching, talking to mark researchers, but most of them had never really encountered something like it. 

“I got something!” Jun had yelled out in the restaurant they were occupying one night. 

All the eyes around the table were at him as he stood up, reading from his phone: “the glitch of the clock is usually seen in moments where a single decision can impact the meeting of the two soulmates in question. If a decision is made where the clock speeds up the time, a light heat will blossom around it, if more time is added it will cool the numbers down” 

Jun looked from his phone to his best friend, who leaned back into his chair, arms hugging himself as he released a breath he didn’t know he had been holding all these days. 

The guys erupted in ecstatic screams and claps while they surrounded their friend. A single tear escaped Minghao’s eye, grateful that you were in fact, okay. 

You were seated on the plane to Seoul, sending a text to your brother that he better come pick you up, or you would be turning back home in a second. 

There was an excitement blossoming in your chest, you had missed him a lot. You had made the decision when he had finally explained just why he needed you to fly out. He had met his soulmate, and he wanted the two of you to meet before he was introduced to the whole family this upcoming Christmas. 

What you hadn’t told him was as soon as you had booked the flight, a heat blossomed on your wrist, and suddenly the clock had changed. 4 days and 22h. 

Not only were you meeting your brother's soulmate on this trip, but you would meet your own as well. 

You took a deep breath as you rubbed the numbers on your wrist. You had made a promise to yourself to cover the numbers while you were there, you wanted the meeting to be a natural occurrence of events. You kissed them once and then slipped the black band over them. 

When you arrived at the airport, your brother stood with flowers and a huge smile, ready to greet you. He had you in a tight embrace soon after. 

The two of you had quickly moved from the airport to dump your suitcase back at his apartment, luckily he hadn’t commented on the sheer size of it. 

You spend the rides catching up, and he told you in somewhat rough terms how he had met his other half. He didn’t want to spoil too much, but of course your workaholic brother would meet his soulmate while literally working. 

You met him when the three of you were out for dinner that very evening. And the two of them made perfect sense. He was the cold and calm to your brother's fire and passion. 

They moved around one another almost as if it was a dance. 

“No, so I just stepped into the practice room and that string just led straight to him,” your brother's soulmate laughed as he pulled his other half close by the neck. Slightly tucking at the long strands of hair. 

“Speaking of the practice room” your brother said as he looked at you with a raised brow. 

You stuffed the kimchi into your mouth, as you stared back at him in defiance. “Don’t even think about it” 

Just like your brother you had danced, but unlike him you had never had the guts to actually pursue it as a career, especially after he did. 

“You dance?” The man before you asked as he looked at your brother. 

“She does, and she’s really fucking good at it” he answered wile pointing to you with his chopsticks. 

“What kind of dance?” 

“Oh she does it all… ballet, ballroom, b-boying, contemporary. She’s better than me” 

You rolled your eyes at the praise. 

“Maybe we should bring her tomorrow, I’m sure Chan would love a little ballroom lesson” your brother leaned back in his chair as he laughed, genuinely and absolutely contagiously. 

“Oh I love that; yeah… you know what? Hell yeah, let’s bring her on of these days” 

“I’ll call the managers for an NDA” 

The man stood up to make a call and you looked at your brother. 

“He seems good for you,” you said and he responded with a smile. 

“He’s too good for me” the both of you laughed. “Are you okay though, it seems like your mind is somewhere else?” He took your hand and gave it a squeeze. 

“Don’t worry about me, worry about me beating your ass if you force me to dance in front of your crew” 

“Oh I would never make you dance in front of them. I want you to dance with them” 

The two hadn’t lied when they said they wanted to bring you along for a day's work. 

The building was big, so big you wondered how anyone could find their way in the corridors, because to you they made absolutely no sense. 

A signed NDA and a visitor pass later and you were on your way to the practice room. And that too was huge. 

“Who the hell needs this much space?” You asked as you looked around. 

Your brother laughed. “Well there’s 13 of them, and then all the dancers go balance it out. We take up quite a bit of space” 

You nodded as you looked around. You had chosen comfortable clothes that still somewhat showed off your personal style. 

The two soulmates introduced you to all their coworkers, and before you knew it, you were dancing along beside them, learning the choreography for some of the dances. 

It almost felt like coming home. Your muscles loosened straight away to make it possible for you to do all the twists and turns. 

A door opened and a few loud cheers broke out. And in stepped 6 people you had only heard stories of. The guys all went around, greeting every single dancer, asking questions or telling jokes that made no sense to an outsider. 

One of them stopped before you and raised a brow. “And who might you be?” Chan said in a language you didn’t really know much of. 

“Chan, say hello to my sister” your brother said as he gestured between the two of you. 

The man almost did a little jump from pure excitement, and then went off in a rant your broken Korean couldn’t quite follow. 

And before you knew it, music was blasting from the speakers and he had taken your hand, leading you to the middle of the room, and before you knew it, you were leading a dance class in ballroom dance. 

“No but she literally moved like the ocean. I’ve never seen anything like it” Chan said later that day, when the dancing around with the background dancers had stopped to make room for learning the new choreography for their upcoming comeback. 

“It was pretty god damn smooth” Mingyu noted and looked at Minghao who just sat and stared at the clock that slowly counted down. 

“You guys should come tomorrow, meet her” Hoshi said before drowning half a bottle of water in what seemed to be one sip. 

“She better stay for a while, this could end up being fucking hillarious” Chan said with a smile right before he grabbed Hoshi’s waist and spun him around just as you had taught him earlier that day. 

The room broke out in absolute laughter. 

“Yeah, maybe” Minghao said as he rubbed the numbers once, twice. 

“Dude, you do know you won’t meet her if you keep isolating yourself right?” Vernon said with serious eyes. 

He knew his friend was right so he took a breath. “Fine, I’ll join you guys” 

He could hear the music and the cheers on the other side of the door. His heart was hammering away in his chest. Two minutes was what was left, which meant when he entered he would either open the door to see you, or you would follow right behind him. 

A deep breath later and he stepped through the door, leaving the numbers behind, ready to meet you. 

Some of his brothers and all of their dancers were all cheering for Chan and the woman he was currently spinning around within the circle of people.

It had somewhat been an understatement when he had said that the woman moved like water, whoever she was, she was a natural. 

Minghao smiled to himself. And then the pieces clicked into place. He looked around the room, and sure enough, the woman, you, was the only new addition to the people in the room. 

He moved through a few people and stood in the very front, desperate to capture your eyes. Because you had to be his, you had to. 

Chan pulled you close to his chest and he couldn’t help his grimace and the small gasp he made when he saw how his friend's hand came into contact with the small of your back. 

That small sound was enough for your eyes to shoot up over the shoulder of your dance partner, and then they met his. 

Your wrist almost buzzed with warmth as your eyes met, and the two of you knew instantly what it meant. There was no need to do a double take, all you needed was to be in his arms. 

Chan spun you around and as soon as only his fingertips held you, you broke free from his grasp, did an extra spin and ran to him. 

Minghao, as if he knew exactly what you planned, took two steps forward and opened his arms. And in the next second you flew directly into them. 

His arms were around you in an instant, lifting you from the ground as you flung your legs around him. 

Gasps broke out around the two of you, but he didn’t care. They had all had you for longer than he had. So without letting you down, he left the room with you in his arms, leaving everyone behind to either wonder what had just happened, or celebrate it. 

He walked out of the room with you still in his arms, a giant smile painted on his lips. 

“Did that just happen?” you kept repeating, more to yourself than to him. 

You pulled away to actually look at him, and he loosened one of his arms, gently tucking your hair behind your ear as he kept walking. 

“Thank you for finding me sooner” he said, eyes sparkling as he looked at you as if you were his whole world. 

You hugged him once again, not really knowing what to say as the tears threatened to spill if you talked. 

You nuzzled into him, allowing yourself to feel small in his arms as he took you to who knows where. 

A door opened, and then it closed, and everything fell silent. He sat you down on a couch, and sat between your legs at the coffee table directly in front of it. 

Nothing could’ve stopped the whine you released as he pulled away from you. He laughed, and you couldn’t quite figure out if it was because he was a little embarrassed, or because he didn’t really know what to say. 

“I’m not good at english” he managed to say as he intertwined his fingers with yours. 

“I’m not good at korean” You said with a sheepish smile. 

He nodded. “We’ll figure it out” he gave your hands a gentle squeeze, and you nodded in response. 

“And mandarin might be too big of a stretch” he mumbled in the language, but you on the other hand, perked at it and answered him in his mother tongue. 

“Maybe not too big of a stretch” You said with a smile. 

Minghao fell to his knees in front of you, as he laughed quietly. “Maybe not, you are a part of my soul, so I guess it makes sense we would be able to communicate” 

He looked up at you with those beautiful eyes, they almost shone like little stars in the light of the room. You had never seen happiness like this, pure bliss, unconditional love. And to know that he was looking at you with such affection melted your heart. 

“So, you’re a dancer?” he asked. He had to bite his tongue to not ask you every question that ran through his mind. 

You laughed. “Actually I work in marketing and product development, hence the mandarin, but I’ve danced my whole life” 

Minghao made a grimace. “Then how exactly did you end up in our practice room?” He asked before moving closer to you. 

You slid your hand from his hands and felt how it felt like your heart tripled in size at the way he pouted at the loss of contact to your skin. Instead you slid them up his broad shoulders, intertwining your hands behind his head and pulling him even closer to you. 

The action had left him on his literal knees before you, and Minghao didn’t mind it one bit. 

“My brother is one of your dancers, came to meet his soulmate, and somehow stumbled upon it” 

His arms snaked around your waist as he leaned forward, slowly, teasing and testing every movement. 

“Did you now?” he said with a low tone. 

Your eyes looked from his, to his mouth and that devilish smirk he had on full display. You nodded. 

“Just promise me one thing love, don’t let my members hands run up your body like that again” 

Your head leaned back a little as you laughed, and for a second he almost lost all control over himself and kissed you up the neck. 

“Oh? Are you the jealous type?” You asked with a raised brow. 

Now he looked to your mouth, but unlike you, his eyes never left your lips, not even when he answered: “Usually no, but apparently that’s just the kind of feelings you evoke in me” 

“Yeah?” you asked as his nose came into contact with your own, sending sparks up and down your spine. 

“Yeah” he whispered with an exhale. He took a jagged breath in. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asked as he searched your eyes for any kind of hesitation or indication that what he was currently doing overstepped any kind of boundary. 

A small nod from you and he dived into your mouth as a man who had been starving his entire life. 

He was gentle and firm, teasing and generous all at the same time. You could live here for the rest of his life, breathing only when he allowed you to come up for air, warmed by his embrace. Yes, there was no doubt in your mind that the universe had managed to pick the perfect partner for you. 

The two of you had stayed in the room for about an hour, kissing, catching up and getting to know one another as well as one could in a short amount of time. 

But at one point the two of your phones refused to stop buzzing which meant it was time for the two of you to face the music. 

Which meant your brother and all of his. 

The two of you stepped back into the practice room and were met by cheers and screams, leaving the two of you somewhat embarrassed by being the center of attention. 

Your brother was there in a second pulling the both of you close to him. “Well you’re fucking welcome for dragging your ass here” he said with a smirk as he kissed your forehead. 

Minghao didn’t really mean to make a face, but he did. And he did his very best in hiding it, but you looked straight through it, so in response you leaned into him, and felt how his shoulders seemed less tense after you did so. 

He pulled you closer by the hip and snaked his arm around you possessively. 

Your brother looked between the two of you and lifted his hands. “Hey I’ll back off” he then looked to his own soulmate. “Trust me I get it. It gets better after a little while” 

Minghao sent him a thankful smile, and sheepishly whispered “sorry”. 

As your brother backed off, it meant it was his brother's turn to say hello and introduce themselves. 

Minghao couldn’t help the pride that filled his chest as he watched them all excitedly say hello and introduce himself. 

And as you looked at him with those sparks in your eyes all he could think about was how lucky he was to spend the rest of his life by your side.

✦ taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @zaycie @lveegsoi @hellaboredd @loudpeachdetective @why4anne @why-did-i-just-do-this @ramyeonzwithspam @floating-moon-dust @skyearby @acourtofmoonlightandstars @stormy1408 @tunafishyfishylike @sol3chu @blvengene @fics-lovebot @fangirl125reader @fabulousarepo4 @acopenhagenarmy @tunafishyfishylike @meowstake @chaseyui @ateez-atiny380 @reiofsuns2001 @dcrlingyou @dy-kyeom @unusuallyshy @littlemoonfairy02 @melovehao @kwonhs96 @juju-227592 @strwberrymuffins

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

Shut up.

Comfort them. They’re hurting.

Get over yourself.

Support them unnoticed.

Don’t sound like you’re trying to one-up them; be quiet.

They didn’t mean it, they just weren’t paying attention.

Not like you do.

Suffer in silence.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

The bus was dark. A ghostly glow emanated from a small light at the front signalling for seatbelts–not that anyone was using them anyway. Bright streaks of white flew by outside as cars passed at this ungodly hour.

You stared bleakly out the window beside you. Not that there was much to see other than the pitch black landscape and the subtle reflection of the bus’ interior provided by that one, lonely light. The occasional lightning struck along the horizon; no doubt emulating the turmoil still storming in your head. You could only tell it was raining if you looked to the front windshield to see if the wipers were moving.

You weren’t really tired, yet your eyes drooped from exhaustion nonetheless. It felt like someone had shoved your face into molasses and left you suspended in limbo. The tear tracks on your face had long since dried, but you couldn’t be bothered to wipe away the lingering drops lining your jaw.

Until a light touch cleared them for you before they could drip into your collar.

You turned your head, casting your gaze onto the one thing holding you steady: your boyfriend, Minghao. Even in the dark of night, illuminated in a soft blue from the lone fluorescent light, he still looked ethereal. And he only had eyes for you. Soft, concerned eyes, but still.

Your shoulders sagged, the weight of memories consuming your thoughts. The isolation. Guilt. Self-loathing. A constant search for what the point was anymore.

You didn’t know. Did you even care at this point?

Too much; and that’s the problem.

The trip was over. You were headed home, back to regular life, even settled in Minghao’s arms ever since he arrived with the bus.

So why did you still care?

Maybe it’s because, while you were used to the occasional ignorance, it’d never been to this degree. You’d always coasted through life, a subtle support that keeps things running in the background. Sometimes people acknowledged your effort. Sometimes they didn’t. You didn’t mind. 

But loneliness was hard to shake, you supposed.

You sighed, leaning your weight onto Minghao, your head slotting perfectly onto his shoulder, and his own coming to rest upon yours. His slender fingers curled loosely around your hands in his lap, the painted digits fiddling with your own as he breathed next to you.

“You want to talk about it?” he murmured, slowly tracing the spaces between your fingers.

He’d asked something similar when he first saw your strained face upon reuniting. What’s weighing on you, my love? he’d said.

What isn’t? you’d wanted to respond. 

But it was all too much; the people, the chatter, the heavy humidity. The promise of home after so long was all you wanted to focus on at that moment. So, you’d just shaken your head and pulled him onto the bus.

And now, with your thoughts numbly settled, you could only sigh again and nuzzle further into him.

“It wasn’t even that bad,” you began, “just one interruption here, another dropped topic there, little subtle things that started chipping away at me.”

Conversations were supposed to be give and take, right? Some would start well, enjoyably, even. Words formed sentences that elicited smiles. Laughter rang through the mountains. But then they’d stop paying attention. Another person would join in and the energy would shift, ostracizing you until you could walk away and they wouldn’t even flinch, carrying on like you were never there in the first place.

Nothing but a passing breeze in the cool mountain air.

Strike one.

You could feel Minghao’s head dip in a nod, imploring you to continue as he softly drummed along your knuckles.

“But then… I had no one to turn to. My entire focus was on keeping others afloat; and when I turned around, there was no one doing the same for me.”

You wanted to be mad. You wanted stew in complacent rage as the world passed you by without a care. But you couldn’t; too many people were being affected by the change in atmosphere and you were their support. Comfort in the strange new environment. That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it? It was all you could do, and it eventually worked because–due to your influence or not–people started feeling better.

Meanwhile you just felt… worse. You slowly deteriorated until your body and mind slipped into autopilot if you weren’t actively doing something.

And no one noticed.

Why would they?

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. They did notice, but by then it was too late; and they didn’t even do… anything?

No one cares when the ordinary people crack, do they?

Strike two.

“I missed that. Having someone to rely on, someone–anyone–who cared… at least when they could…” Your eyes fell on your intertwined hands, and the new tears that fell onto them.

You didn’t wipe them away. Neither did he.

“I missed you,” you mumbled.

His hand squeezed yours, and his lips met your temple as he echoed your thoughts.

“It feels like I’m a petulant child who’s whining for attention. Like I’m just digging up old skeletons to be bitter about when they don’t matter anymore.”

You could almost sense Minghao’s eyeroll on a spiritual level.

“You know that’s not true.”

“I know that, I just can’t seem to convince my emotions to think otherwise.” Your voice wavered as more water leaked out. Your nose was starting to run, too. How unpleasant.

“That was the loneliest I’ve ever felt. And no one seemed to care.”

You knew they cared. How could they not? What screw would you have to knock loose in order to not feel a sliver of concern at the sight of someone crying?

But the truth of the matter was, you weren’t their top priority. You never had been, and you were okay with that… right? 

You were strong. You didn’t let yourself reach your lowest point, ever. Not for yourself, but because you couldn’t bear to make it someone else’s problem. Especially when they had so much going on already, and what you’d deluded yourself into being upset about was nothing in comparison.

You knew you shouldn’t compare burdens, but there really was no reason for them to worry about you.

It wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle. You’d done so in the past just fine.

You’d be fine.

Strike three.

You brought your head up to look him in the eyes, the dark voids that they were in the late hour. “It all just feels so inconsequential in the long run. I want to be crying for things that actually matter, not some childish complaint that no one's paying attention to me.’”

Minghao’s eyebrows drew together, the creases in his frown amplified in the blurry shadows.

“But it still hurt you. That matters, doesn’t it?”

He shifted to face you fully, dropping your hands in favor of cupping your face and wiping away the tears. Your eyes slipped closed for a moment as your entire body relaxed into his hold. This was what you missed. The ability to just… be. That was easy with Minghao.

“You put so much pressure on yourself to be a support to others, you know?” He shook his head, his dark hair swishing in front of his face momentarily. “I don’t even think you do it consciously at this point; that’s just the role you take upon yourself. Some people see that and are grateful, but others aren’t.

“You need to protect that heart of yours too, darling. It’s never unwarranted to be upset by things that hurt you, however trivial they can seem.”

You sniffed, a reluctant smile gracing your features while his own glowed brighter than the small seatbelt light.

“The world can try to break you down and make you forget your place in it,” he hummed, “but you’ve never let that stop you, and I’m confident you won’t now.

“You’re one of the strongest people I know, and that’s why I love you.” He paused. “One of the reasons I love you, anyways.”

You couldn’t contain the wet giggle that slipped out, causing the corner of his mouth to tick up.

“I know you’ve helped me so much when I’m struggling. Remember that one brutal choreo week a while back?”

You would’ve laughed if your heart wasn’t still an uncomfortable stone weighing in your chest. How could you forget? That was the time Soonyoung thought it’d be a good idea to sign the entire dance club up for a competition, and then neglected to tell them until a week prior. 

In all the years you’d known Minghao, you’d never seen him that hollow in such a short amount of time. He spent so much time at the studio that week the only reason he didn’t fully move in was because there wasn’t a magical ration of food always being supplied. You’d taken it upon yourself to make sure he didn’t wither away from exhaustion–he was already built like a stick, it wouldn’t take much.

You hadn’t thought it all that special at the time, but Minghao refused to let you sweep it under the rug. He still wholeheartedly expressed his gratitude to this day; always saying that without your electrolyte drinks and encouragement he wouldn’t’ve made it through.

He grinned–that adorable crooked smile you’ve always loved–and continued. “Anyone else who can be on the receiving end of your love is blessed beyond words. Whether they know it or not.”

Your tearstained face met the soft reassurance on his.

“But even the strongest can’t shoulder everything, so let me carry this for you.”

He was still smiling as he tucked your hair back to see your face–clumped lashes, blotchy face, and all.

His lips met your forehead in a lingering kiss, a small spark of comfort and home along this desolate road. They left your skin for only a moment, long enough for him to whisper, “And I’ll carry it as long as it takes, until you believe every word.”

Dammit, you were crying again. But this time the tears were interspersed with breathless laughter, so it wasn’t all bad.

“You’re ridiculous, I love you,” you chuckled. “What’d I ever do to deserve you, huh? You, the epitome of grace and just overall… composure. You always make me feel valued. I can’t thank you enough for choosing me of all people to stick by.”

“Nonsense, I should be the one thanking you. My life would be entirely different without you in it.” Minghao’s smile softened. “But that’s not my reality. So, I don’t need to concern myself with that alternative.”

He looked at you with so much love that it was hard to comprehend at times. You’d considered the possibility that one day you might explode because of it. But then he’d be sad, and–as much as his pout made you want to put him in a jar for safe-keeping–you couldn’t bear to do that to him.

A beam of light passed along his features, causing his eyes to flit to the window behind you. His eyes sparkled as numerous lights illuminated his face in steady succession. He placed a hand on your shoulder, gesturing for you to turn around.

Objectively, there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. The bus had entered a small town; thus, more of the outside surroundings were evident thanks to various streetlamps and the occasional porch light. But what caught your eye was the bus window itself.

It’d started raining again, apparently; not that you would’ve been able to hear it over your thoughts anyway. Raindrops covered the entirety of the glass, invisible until the passing light of a streetlamp made them sparkle like tiny rhinestones.

“Don’t bother thanking me, my love,” Minghao whispered, his lips brushing your ear as he hooked his chin over your shoulder. “You are already a diamond.

“You just needed a little light to see how much you shine.”

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ, ꜰᴇᴇʟ ꜰʀᴇᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛꜱ .ᐟ.ᐟ

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (ᴏᴘᴇɴ) : @sparkyy00 <3

Tonight’s target is a man named Arthur Kim. Age forty-three, married, with two daughters𑁋assigned to be executed under the orders of the Dominion for illegally accessing financial streams and attempting to sell them to some brokers located in the Undercity. A fatal error that costed him his entire life, and Minghao was sent to deliver the act within a termination window of two hours.

Minghao didn’t need all that time. 

In due time, the ocular implant in his eye pings, immediately locking onto the target’s heat signature through the reinforced glass and walls. Minghao narrows his gaze, heat mapping across his vision, following the man’s dull amber silhouette frantically pacing inside of his dimly lit and expensive apartment, as if already knowing what’s about to come.

A forty metre gap separates the two buildings. Minghao steps into the void without any hesitation. The wind roars past him as he launches himself off the ledge, his coat flaring out like wings. Twin magnetic grapples fire out from the wrist of his right bionic arm with a sharp hiss, cables flying across the chasm until they latch onto the Helix Tower’s exterior frame. 

At the apex of the launch, he releases the grapples and twists his body into a controlled dive towards the window. The second he makes contact, reinforced glass explodes inward as his boots smashes cleanly through Arthur Kim’s window, causing shards to rain across the carpet floor like confetti. 

The man in question spins around too late, eyes blown wide with utter panic, clutching nothing but a half-empty glass of whiskey in his trembling hand and useless revolver in the other that he shakily points directly at Minghao.

“Don’t… don’t come any closer!” he begs, fingers twitching around the trigger. “I have connections𑁋I-I have a family, a wife, two little girls𑁋I can pay𑁋”

Minghao doesn’t speak. He never does on missions like this. Words are wasted on the already dead.

Instead, he crosses the room in three, perfect strides, way faster than any modified human should. Arthur attempts to shoot, but the revolver kicks back into his grip and causes the bullet to go wide and harmlessly punch into the wall directly behind Minghao, barely grazing the edge of his temple. The second bullet misses again and punches a smoking hole through a video holographic family portrait that flickers and dies mid-laugh.

When Arthur tries to bolt towards the door, Minghao cuts him off with a firm seize to his throat with his cybernetic hand, lifting the man clean off the floor and knocking the breath out of his lungs with a choked gasp. The synthetic muscles and servos whirr softly under the plating as Arthur’s legs kicked uselessly through the air, causing the whiskey glass and gun to slip free out of his hands. 

Arthur’s screams are muddled when a sudden boom of thunder vibrates the world outside. Minghao doesn’t budge, even as the man claws at his grip with both hands. Forty-three years of soft living against a body rebuilt for war𑁋there was never a contest. 

Minghao tightens his hold ever so slightly. Not enough to fully incapacitate yet. He wants the man to feel it, to feel the consequences of his actions with a teasing crush to his windpipe. The ocular implant in his left eye feeds him live data: heart rate 179… 203… oxygen saturation plummeting from 97% to 47%. It isn’t long until Arthur’s face bloats and washes into a deep crimson. Veins stand out like ropes along his temples. His eyes bulge, whites shot through with burst capillaries, tears leaking from the corners as his tongue presses thickly against his teeth.

Nothing but a wet, gurgling choke escapes him, barely audible over the storm raging outside and Minghao’s ironclad grip. “Please… my girls…”

The man continues to spew out gargled, pathetic words𑁋about his family who he only wanted to provide for, his wife who didn’t know anything, his innocent little girls𑁋and Minghao doesn’t feel a single ounce of remorse for it. He was assigned a task to complete. There was nothing programmed in him for mercy or pity. 

When Minghao squeezes his fingers a fraction tighter, Arthur’s windpipe collapses with a wet, sickening pop. His eyes roll back completely in his head, his face drained of colour, as one final spasm jerks through his body before his arms drop limp to his side. Minghao holds him suspended in the air for a full ten seconds after the heart monitor flatlines before opening his hand.

Arthur’s body falls to the floor with a thud, sprawling among the glass shards and spilled whiskey. A thin stream of blood leaks from the corner of his mouth and pools beside his lifeless eyes. Updated data swarms through Minghao’s vision.

TARGET: Arthur Kim — TERMINATED ELAPSED TIME: 8 minutes, 53 seconds

Minghao exhales a breath through his nose, rolling his shoulders back. The servos under his bionic arm hum faintly through the movement of his artificial joints, recalibrating itself from the temporary exertion. Eight minutes and fifty-three seconds. It’s somewhat sloppy by his standards, but the noise of the storm did well to hide most of the struggle. Still, the Dominion would be satisfied with his work as they always are. 

He crouches beside the corpse, metal fingers brushing against the man’s neck to confirm zero pulse. Rain pours in from the shattered window, mixing in with the whiskey and the small pool of blood at his feet. This was definitely one of his messier missions, but the cleanup crew will do their task when he leaves.

He does a quick scan around the room, cycling through spectral overlays𑁋motion, thermal, electromagnetic. No alarms or security drones are detected. Arthur Kim had been arrogant enough to hide behind privacy glass and a single biometric lock on his door. What an amateur. 

The apartment is dead silent now, except for the storm outside slowly beginning to dull out. But what catches him for a split second is the glitchy sound of laughter. Minghao shoots a glance toward the broken holographic family portrait that Arthur had shot at just moments ago.

His gaze lingers on the screen as it flickers erratically. What remains is a looping fragment: Arthur Kim smiling wide with his arms looped around another woman, and two small girls in front of them, both of them with equally big grins as if the world had never once been cruel.

The audio stutters with one of the girls saying, “Daddy, look! I drew you a𑁋” before restarting the loop again. 

Minghao forcibly tears his eyes away. He forces out a flat exhale through his nose, turning his back on the portrait entirely. Sentiment was a luxury for the wealthy civilians; for him, it was just irrelevant data. He mindlessly steps over Arthur’s corpse and treads his way toward the shattered window, climbing onto the rain-slicked ledge without looking back. 

The wind claws onto him immediately, trying to sweep him off the building. He activates the magnetic grapples through his hand and anchors onto the opposite structure. With one powerful pull, he’s airborne again, swinging across the forty-metre gap like a shadow trailing through the void. Then he finds himself running across the rooftop before stopping right at the edge.

Below him, the city continues its restless slumber. Minghao watches it all distantly.

Then he jumps down into the void as the rain washes away the city’s sins. 

This time, the fall felt a little longer than it should have.

SECTOR THREE — THE AETHER DISTRICTS

“And what is this one here supposed to represent? The colour palette you chose is truly… evocative.”

You give a polite and charming smile to the gallery patron in front of you. A middle-aged man within the wealthy elitists of the city, too rich to the point he’s probably untouchable. He’s wearing a flashy chrome silver suit, a champagne glass in his hand, and both of his eyes appear obviously augmented. He’s standing a little too close for comfort to you, gaze wandering down your figure instead of the digital artwork displayed in front of him. The gun hidden under your coat suddenly feels ten times heavier. 

“The piece explores the themes of emotional preservation through digital decay,” You explain smoothly. “It showcases how memories become distorted when people try to immortalise them.” 

“How fascinating,” the man hums contemplatively, his eyes gleaming a little too brightly when they switch between the artwork and you. “You must have a tortured mind to come up with this, yeah?”

You resist the urge to laugh out of spite. The elitists adore these kinds of things𑁋seeking out tragically profound artwork to place in their grandly guarded penthouses, far removed from the decay eating away at the city. The wealthy have spent the entire evening complimenting your work.

Little do they know that you created it after watching a beggar get murdered in cold blood in the Undercity last month.

Funny how context changes art. 

“Someone with your talent shouldn’t remain independent any longer,” the man chimes back in, eyes pervertedly trailing over your body once again. “I could introduce you to more people who could help you elevate your career beyond these…” He gestures vaguely around the gallery. “...smaller venues.”

The hook beneath the bait. 

You tilt your head thoughtfully, pretending to be interested in the offer. You subtly adjust your stance, giving you enough room to slide your hand underneath your coat, fingertips brushing against your concealed gun. 

“Generous offer,” You reply lightly. “But I prefer maintaining creative control over my own art.”

“Everyone says that before the right amount of money appears.”

A tight-lipped smile forces its way across your face. If only he knew the amount of money currently sitting in your anonymous offshore accounts you’d siphoned from people exactly like him. 

“I appreciate the offer, sir, but I’ll have to decline,” You say, keeping your tone perfectly neutral. “Would you like to make an offer on the product?”

The man taps his foot pensively on the ground, trailing his amused eyes back to your artwork. 

“Price won’t be an issue,” he states casually, or more so with that lazy entitlement. “Have it delivered privately to my estate this week. I’ll send the coordinates.”

You nod. “Of course. It’ll arrive by tomorrow evening.” 

The man shoots you a wink, raising his champagne glass in the air before taking a slow sip that almost makes you want to gag. “Smart girl.”

You offer him one last polite smile as he walks away. But the moment his back is turned and you watch his figure disappear into the crowd of mingling elitists roaming through your gallery, the smile immediately fades off your face. You retrieve your hand from where it had been hiding underneath your coat.

God, your feet are aching. 

As the day begins to wind down to the night, the last patron finally steps out just after 22:17. You lock the hydraulic gallery doors with a click, dimming the overhead lights to thirty percent until only the neon colours of your digital canvases remain as the only sources of life. 

Then you move behind the counter and slip your heels off, your feet throbbing from hours of walking and pretending to care about rich people’s feelings. It’s time to conduct your closing routine. 

First, the security sweep. You pull up the gallery’s neural interface on your wrist watch, entering a quick code that shows off the holographic display of the building. You check through cameras, motion sensors, and electromagnetic jammers𑁋they all check green. Then a secondary backdoor protocol that scrubs any facial recognition data the elitists might have tried to sneak in on their visit. 

Next, you handle the finances. You transfer tonight’s legitimate sales onto the gallery’s clean account and send a generous amount into your offshore wallets. The piece you sold to the chrome-suited pervert would be delivered by drone tomorrow. You guess it helps to bring you closer to whatever ‘enough’ means anymore. 

After the finances are secured and the gallery’s digital footprint scrubbed clean, a soft ping of your wrist watch grabs your attention. You smile to yourself, realising it’s an encrypted message from Vernon𑁋another ghost hacker who’s been operating in the depths of the Undercity and one of the very few people you trust enough not to point a gun at on sight. 

The man once hacked a Dominion military convoy while actively high, laughed through the entire thing, and he never got caught once. So yeah, that’s how much trust you put in him. 

The two of you have recently formed a partnership together, combining your goals in exposing the corruption rotting through the Dominion from near-opposite ends in the city. Vernon specialised in infiltrating governmental infrastructure and extracting classified data; you specialised in infiltrating the social bloodstreams of the elitists and laundering decrypted data and money to other ghost hackers in your field. 

You can definitely say he’s the closest thing to family, with…whatever family you have left. It’s strange considering that you both carry enough criminal charges to disappear forever if the Dominion ever got their hands on you. If shit ever hits the fan, your existences would be completely erased. 

The Dominion𑁋in most people’s eyes𑁋are basically worshipped like gods. They emerged as the most powerful megacorporation of the city right after the government had basically collapsed in itself and humanity was fighting one another for survival. They were painted as saviours for rebuilding civilisation and spreading advanced cybernetic medicine and technology.

To the people, they promised stability and safety. That promise was never fulfilled, because their only goal was total control. 

You knew pieces of it. Vernon had been feeding you fragments for months.

Together, you both have secretly stolen enough information in the past six months to fill a small data vault. Progress has been slow and time-consuming, but every ounce of corruption pulled from the Dominion’s veins felt like another brick removed from their tower. One day, it would all come crashing down. 

You open Vernon’s encrypted message. 

VERNON yo ghost u alive? heard u had a gallery showing tonight did u manage to manipulate any rich freaks to join ur harem?

You snort quietly to yourself, the sound echoing throughout the empty gallery.

Y/N a few yeah some creep wanted to buy the art and the artist was hella close to kicking him in the balls but i realised that would be bad for business anyway, closing up now. about to head back to the loft

It takes a few minutes for Vernon’s next encrypted message to send.

VERNON cool cool cool got some new toys to play with wanna try them out with me? i got snacks and some fresh ash to smoke

A low laugh leaves you. Vernon always had his own definition of chaos. First step: casually hijack the relays of a Dominion cargo truck. Second: somehow succeed. Then finally: get high off enough ash to think it was funny.

You shake your head in fond disbelief before typing back. 

Y/N say less i’ll be there by midnight

VERNON fuck yeah don’t ditch me for some rich art daddy pls

When your wristwatch slips dark again, you lean back against the counter and allow the silence of the gallery to settle around you for a moment. The gallery looks beautiful at night. Cold, but beautiful. You meticulously slide out of the side exit and trigger the final lockdown sequence on your wristwatch.

The streets of the Aether Districts are still slick from the same storm that must have rolled through earlier this week. The sounds of hover-traffic hum overhead on the nearby skyways that travel throughout each district. The higher tier you are, the more pristine the skyways become; the lower you are, the more grimy and forgotten they are. 

You pull your hood up over your head, shove your hands in your pockets, and head towards the Undercity.

SECTOR SIX — THE UNDERCITY

The Undercity. Home sweet rotting home. The air is thicker here, heavy with the smell of exhaust and street food grease left to rot on the ground. 

Vernon’s current sanctum is an old shipping containers sitting on the eastern side of the Undercity.. Neon kanji flickers weakly above the reinforced door𑁋some half-dead ramen sign he never bothered to fix. You knock twice, pause for a second, then once more in the stupid rhythm he insists on.

After a few moments, the door hissens open. 

“Finally,” Vernon says, a half-eaten protein bar dangling from his mouth. His hair had been recently cut into this punk-rock style mullet, which you’ve constantly teased him about ever since he got it. 

You only roll your eyes and shove past him into the warm and cluttered interior of his little haven. 

The space is so Vernon. The walls are covered with holographic sticky notes overlapping each other, a bunch of half-disassembled drones, candy wrappers, and empty cans scattered on his workbench at the corner of the room, and a sagging couch (and bed) that has seen better days. Near his computer setup, there’s a small mountain of ‘fresh ash’𑁋the glowing, iridescent synth-weed everyone in the underground swears isn’t addictive. 

You plop down on his beaten-up couch with a groan while Vernon sits down in the chair in front of his computer. The screen behind him flashes with lines of stolen data and files and whatever toys he promised to show you. The old chair creaks under his weight as he kicks his feet up onto the edge of the desk. He’s already reaching over to the ash as if he already knows that you’re thinking about it, taking a few quiet moments to pack the joint. The iridescent smoke travels through the air when he lights it and takes a smooth hit, before passing it to you. 

“Rough day at the gallery?” he asks, his voice carrying that familiar drawl as the ash does its work.

You take the joint from his fingers and pull a deep hit. The sweet burn floods your lungs as you exhale slowly, watching the smoke curl through the air. 

“Understatement of the year,” You retort in annoyance. “I love smiling at entitled pricks while they eye-fuck both me and my art.” 

“Well, if it makes you feel better,” Vernon starts, spinning his chair around to face you. “I pulled some shit from the feeds earlier.” 

Curiosity lights up your face as you stand up and settle by his side. He pulls up some surveillance footage from what seems to be in the Veil Districts according to the timestamp and location at the corner of the screen, captured from a mid-level security camera that had barely survived the storm. The footage is heavily corrupted𑁋static glitching eating at the edges and the feed constantly flickering between security overlays like someone tried to scrub the clip out of sight but failed to finish the job completely. 

“Watch this shit,” Vernon mutters. “Storm hella degraded the quality, but it looks like the Dominion sent one of their shadows out recently.” 

At first, you aren’t able to make out what you’re supposed to be looking at. All you see is rain at first before the footage manages to stabilise. You spot a lone figure in what seems to be a black trench coat, but you aren’t able to make out any sort of face. Rain lashes across the screen when the figure suddenly launches across the gap and smashes through a penthouse window like a missile. 

The rest of the footage doesn’t directly capture whatever is happening inside the apartment, but from what you can see, the signs of a struggle𑁋a murder𑁋is abundantly clear from the grainy, violent flashes of movement. When the figure emerges back into frame, you watch them pause briefly at the window, before jumping across the gap once more and disappearing into the stormy night. 

Your eyes grow wide.

“Holy shit.” You grab hold of Vernon’s mouse, rewinding the footage back slightly, trying to zoom more into whoever this mysterious killing machine is. “Who is that?” 

“No clue,” Vernon answers with a shrug. “But whoever was in there must have definitely pissed off the Dominion in some way.”

You can’t tell if it’s the ash or the footage itself that sends a shiver of paranoia down your spine. That faceless killer is enough of a reminder to show what waited for people like you and Vernon if you both ever slipped up somehow. 

You’ve seen murders before.

In the Undercity, death can be considered as common as rain. You’ve watched bodies being dragged into alleyways and witnessed gang disputes end with blood painting the pavement. 

This one shouldn’t feel any different, but there was something about it that sticks to your skin like a vice. 

“Were you able to clean it up at all?” You ask Vernon. 

“Already tried. Tried boosting the resolution, running reconstruction software… Nothing.”

Your fingers clench tighter around the joint, tight enough you feel the burn searing at your fingertips. “Then what the fuck is that thing?” 

“I don’t know,” Vernon responds truthfully, leaning back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “And I don’t really want to find out… if it means ending up like that guy.” 

Passing the joint back to him, you watch the sweet iridescent smoke curl in the air as the frozen footage of the shadow operative sits almost tauntingly on the screen. That faceless killer in the black trench coat has your nerves buzzing harder than the ash.

“Dig deeper,” You urge him, standing up and leaning over his shoulder. “Maybe try crossing it with the financial breach logs we grabbed last week.”

Vernon cracks his neck and dives in, fingers flying across the haptic keyboard. “You got it. Gimme a sec to reroute these fuckass dummy nodes…”

Lines of encrypted data begin to stream past your eyes. You settle into the second chair with tense shoulders, while Vernon’s decryption worms burrow into the deeper layers of the Dominion’s surveillance archives.

However, the moment his proxy hits, the screen blares red. 

INTRUSION DETECTED — COUNTERMEASURE PROTOCOL INITIATED

“Goddammit!” Vernon snaps in panic, fingers flying across the keyboard. “Ghost snare! They’re pinging our location!”

In the blink of an eye, multiple windows on Vernon’s computer flood with aggressive tendrils of red code, trying to latch onto the connection and backtrace to your location. On the secondary monitor, spot a predator Dominion trace icon trying to sneak to your proxy chain.

You’re already moving before you could even think, shoulder-bumping Vernon aside to take one side of the dual controls. “I’ll sever the primary relay, you kill the secondary nodes and flood the pipe with junk! Buy us time!”

TRACE PROGRESS — 27%... 43%... 61%...

The shipping container feels as if it’s shrunk down ten times in size. Your fingers blur across the keys as you snap a series of ghost partitions to secure the logs while Vernon focuses on flooding the connection with junk data to confuse the trace: malicious traffic, Dominion propaganda, and generous sprinkle of black-market porn holos for good measure. The red node countermeasure continues surging angrily, and for a terrifying moment, it feels as if the Dominion itself is breathing down your neck.

“Motherfuckers have teeth,” Vernon growls in frustration as he works on slamming kill switches on the breached connection. One of the cooling fans on the computer screams in protest.

“Sixty-eight percent!” You bark, sweat prickling at the back of your neck while you reroute the last of your active proxies across the other districts. 

TRACE PROGRESS — 75%... 87%... 91%... 

When the progress bar reaches 94%, your heart and stomach drops for a single moment, but it stalls. The predator icon thrashes on the screen as the minutes continue to tensely tick by, glitching from your combined defenses, before finally breaking into static. One final red warning flashes before everything goes dark.

The computer reboots with a low, exhausted hum. Success.

You and Vernon slump back in your chairs. The cooling fans start to quiet down, silence returning except for the sounds of the rain from outside. 

Vernon lets out a shaky laugh, running a hand down his face. “Fuck. That was close.”

“They’re getting better at their security measures,” You say shakily, wiping away a drop of sweat on your brow, heart still hammering behind your ribs. “What was the damage?”

“Lost three dummy nodes, but… we’re back to being ghosts. They were definitely waiting for people stupid enough to dig into that footage.”

It takes a while for the computer to fully reboot. But when it does, Vernon leans in and starts to carefully recover the session. A file tree appears on the interface, containing the collateral files of whatever you both managed to claim. But something catches your eye at the very corner of a tree. 

Another file𑁋at least, one you haven’t seen before.

PROJECT REBIRTH: THE NEXT STAGE OF HUMANITY  — ACTIVE ASSETS

“Was that there before?” You ask, pointing at the screen.

Vernon rubs his jaw, narrowing his eyes at the file. “Shit. No, what is that? It sounds like some fucked-up Dominion wet dream.”

Before he could click on the file, you grab at his wrist to stop him from continuing. 

“Don’t open it yet,” You tell him. “I wouldn’t trust anything, especially after the close-call we had.”

Vernon glances between the file and you, then slowly nods and lets his hand fall away from the mouse. The two of you know that whatever is in these files may cost your anonymity; or worst, your entire lives. And as frustrating as it is, impatience can get hackers killed. 

“...Yeah, okay.” 

You chew at the inside of your cheek. “Should we try to sandbox it?”

“Probably. Might take a day or… longer, depending on how much we need to isolate and decrypt it.”

You twiddle the now-dead joint between your fingers before flickering the burnt filter into the overflowing astray beside the monitor. 

“Let’s do it,” You say with determination. “It’s now or never.” 

SECTOR THREE — THE AETHER DISTRICTS

It happened again this morning. 

Cyberpsychosis is what they call it. An anomaly that happens from the endless cybernetic modifications on the human body; a result of too much steel and too little flesh. Minghao believed he could control it, but the violent outburst he had experienced upon waking up proved otherwise. 

He doesn’t recall much from the morning, only remembering the screams of the ripperdoc running the diagnostic scan on him. For one horrifying moment, he looked at the doctor and felt the same thing he feels when looking at a target. Minghao had apparently lashed out with a phantom urge to tear through anything that moved𑁋his metal fingers crushing the man’s forearm before a sedative was forced through him and his systems were promptly rebooted. The ripperdoc survived, but just barely. 

It’s been happening ever since the Dominion hired him to become a shadow operative, like tiny little fractures that feel as if they’re clawing its way up his body. The handlers had reassured him that these temporary neurological instabilities were just a side effect of the robotic components installed within his system and that it is completely manageable. 

Or rather, more accurately, it’s been happening ever since they brought him back.

The distinction is important. At least, he thinks it is.

Minghao knew he had a life before the Dominion, but whatever was left of that previous life ceased to exist. He doesn’t remember where he was born, what his favourite colour used to be, or whether he had loved someone enough to miss seeing them. There are no parents, friends, or a childhood home waiting for him in the city. 

There was only darkness, and never a point in his current life where he questioned the relevance of his previous existence. The Dominion gave him another chance, because what other choice is there? He isn’t allowed to question the hands that pulled him from the grave. Now, he has a purpose when he had nothing. 

He was saved.

But as a result of his outburst from earlier, Minghao finds himself roaming the Aether Districts without an assigned target for him to eliminate in weeks. A mandatory cooldown window of two hours to allow the city to absorb the heat building inside of him before it becomes reportable deviation. Extra time to let the fractures settle. 

So… he walks with no destination in mind. 

The Aether Districts isn’t like Undercity’s choking rot, nor does it resemble the polished cages of the upper districts. The district exists as an in-between. It’s highly recognised as a hub where creativity and entertainment are showcased and a place where the wealthy often come to feel profound without ever touching the filth and insecurity of the lower districts. 

Minghao moves through like a ghost, taking in the sight of towering billboards glowing with abstract art and Dominion slogans. His ocular implant continues to idle in standby as he walks past passerbys: no targets, no threats, no kill parameters. He strolls by bustling restaurants, casinos, and nightclubs without interest; they’re all simple tools for the complacent, which he is none of those. 

Yet something pulls at the edge of his awareness when he rounds a corner leading to the quieter side of the district showcasing a bunch of curated storefronts. Most stores are closed for the night, but one remains softly lit in the distance. His feet lead him almost curiously in the direction, and he pauses directly in front of the main entrance. 

He doesn’t know why he stops. There’s no mission parameter, no target or odd signature in the electromagnetic field that he detects other than the patrons roaming inside. It appears to only be a simple art gallery, one of many in this part of the city. But still, he remains planted through the ground, staring beyond the reinforced glass to the holographic art that feels as if they’re teasing him from the inside. 

The doors slide open with a hiss. A chime echoes through the dim interior as the gallery’s neural system registers another visitor. When the doors shut behind, the hum of the city is instantly silenced into nothing but background static. His ocular implant cycles through a passive scan out of habit, still detecting nothing out of the ordinary beyond standard security protocols.

He moves deeper into the gallery silently before stopping in front of a particular exhibit. Minghao stares, unblinking, taking in the pulsing colours that appear like they’re almost breathing. The piece in front of him displays two figures standing on opposite sides of what seems to be a shattered mirror, standing close but not quite touching. At his side, his bionic arm hidden under his trench coat flexes unconsciously.

“Are you interested in buying a piece here?” 

His system doesn’t register the unfamiliar yet soft voice. When he turns, his gaze lands on you. You’re standing close enough to be polite, a soft smile to your features as you study him with curiosity. 

Minghao’s implant runs through an immediate scan on you.

IDENTITY: Unknown THREAT LEVEL: LOW SUBJECT PROXIMITY: 0.9 metres HEART RATE: 72 BPM

His eyes linger on your face longer than protocol would ever require, tracing over the lifted corners of your mouth, the slight exhaustion on your face, practically mapping you. You’re staring at him too, noticing the way his outfit doesn’t scream like a typical wealthy elitist that you regularly see drifting through the gallery.

Unusual.

An awkward chuckle leaves you when your question is left unanswered. 

“If you’re interested in any pieces here, feel free to let me know,” You tell him tactfully. “My name is Y/N L/N, the owner of the gallery.” 

Y/N L/N. He registers your name, then holds it for a fraction too long before his system considers it as irrelevant. And yet it does not leave his memory𑁋refuses to leave his memory. 

As you offer a curt smile and begin to turn around, Minghao takes a heavy step in your direction and finally speaks. 

“Are you the artist?” 

Through your ears, his voice sounds like it’s edged with something mechanical. It’s smooth, but not quite human. He clearly has some cosmetic augmentations installed, which you suspected the second you made eye contact with him. 

You turn back to him in surprise. “I am, yes.”

Minghao’s eyes doesn’t waver from you. In your perspective, he appears more striking and almost… unnerving up close. Maybe even familiar. He’s close enough you feel the odd jumps of your heartbeat from his presence. Tall, lean muscle wrapped in a matte black trench coat that drinks in the soft neon of your displays. One of his eyes catches the light with an unnatural, faint crimson ring around the pupil. An ocular implant, clearly; subtle, but you’ve seen enough chrome in your line of work to recognise it. 

His implant registers the spike in your pulse. 

“The gallery is preparing to close in a couple of minutes,” You tell him as casually as possible after clearing your throat. “If you are interested in purchasing something, feel free to stop by anytime this week. My schedule is quite available.”

Then you offer your hand to him.

Minghao glances down at your hand warily, the faint crimson ring in his ocular implant flickering once as if processing an unfamiliar protocol. For a few beats, he doesn’t dare move. Then, after a long, hesitant moment, his right hand emerges from the folds of his black trench coat and stretches out toward you. 

He takes your hand.

The moment your palms meet, you feel it𑁋the cool, unyielding smoothness of engineered alloy. A bionic arm. His grip is almost careful, like he’s internally modulating every servo to avoid crushing your fingers. It’s not entirely cold; the outer layer has been warmed by his body heat (or whatever passes for it in someone like him), but the weight and the quiet power hiding within the handshake sends a shiver racing up your arm.

His bionic hand engulfs yours completely. Your eyes widen slightly at the feeling. You can feel the segmented plating on his knuckles, the data cables running beneath the metal instead of veins. You can tell that it’s strong𑁋impossibly, and inhumanly, strong. Yet he holds you like you’re made of glass. For a moment, you wonder what could have happened for his arm to be put back together like this. 

Minghao feels it too. It’s unlike him to hold something with so much tenderness as he’s killed many humans who deserved far less, but the warmth of your palm seeps too easily through him. His bionic arm’s feedback loops hum faintly, sending a low vibration up through his shoulder joint that he forces down before it can register as a glitch.

His systems flag it as irrelevant; his mind refuses to let it go. You’re undoubtedly human𑁋perhaps more human than others whom he’s interacted with. 

You’re the first to let go before Minghao has time to fully process it. When he lets his arm fall back to his side, his fingers are still subtly curled as if remembering the shape of your hand. Then he lets eyes drift back to the holographic display.

“This art appears incomplete,” he says. 

You turn towards your art, a soft laugh escaping you. “Incomplete?”

“Correct.”

“If it was incomplete, I wouldn’t have it displayed.”

Before he can respond, you step up closer to it. Minghao watches your movements carefully.

“The two people here are the same person,” You explain to him, catching his full attention. “One is who they used to be, while the other is who they’ve become.”

Minghao’s brows furrow imperceptibly. You can tell he’s genuinely thinking. 

“And the mirror?” he questions curiously. 

“The mirror represents memory,” You answer. “because you can’t always put yourself back together exactly as you are.” 

“But people can be repaired.” 

You tilt your head at him, studying him more closely now. 

“I would argue against that,” You say, crossing your arms together. “I believe that people can heal.” 

“Repair implies returning something to its original condition.”

“And healing means accepting that it won’t.” 

The words settle in the air between the two of you like the fractured mirror on the display, and it loops through his neural code uncontrollably. His ocular implant flickers rapidly, logging every microexpression on your face, the way your arms are crossed𑁋not out of defense, but thoughtfully. Threat level: low. His systems insist on it. 

But something buried beneath layers of countless Dominion technology that was placed in him, twists.

“Art is subjective.” Your words make him blink back to reality, a tight-lipped smile at your mouth. “It can come with many different interpretations and meanings. Most people who stroll don’t really care for the depth of it, you know? I guess it’s nice to hear what others think of it. Whatever you believe that real meaning is up to you, at the end of the day.”

Minghao watches you glance down at your wristwatch, a low gasp leaving you at the time displayed on it. 

“Shit𑁋it’s late,” You curse under your breath, running a hand through your hair, before realising that the stranger𑁋Minghao𑁋is still in front of you. “Sorry, I should really get to closing up. But if you’re ever willing to come back again, you know where to find me𑁋”

“Minghao,” he cuts in primly. 

You pause, brow twitching up. “Minghao?”

“My name.”

“Oh.” Even though you don’t have any cybernetic modifications in you, his name settles somewhere in the back of your mind like it belongs there. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Minghao.”

Minghao inclines his head solemnly. Hearing his name from your mouth does something dangerous to his feedback loops, sending a bloom of warmth to spread through the organic parts of his chest. He detects the way your pulse has steadied, a certain relaxation to your shoulders now that your little conversation together has found a natural end. The crimson ring around his iris dims to its idle state. 

SUBJECT EMOTIONAL STATE: Calm

He stores the information away without understanding why.

You offer him one last smile before stepping away.

“Goodnight, Minghao. Stay safe out there.”

Minghao gives you one last lingering look, his implant pulsing faintly as he commits your face to more than just temporary memory banks. When he watches you disappear within the shadows of your gallery, he begins to head toward the exit. 

In the background, you quietly watch the doors hiss to a final close, and it only makes you imagine what kind of ghosts surround him. 

But you shake the thought loose and initiate the security protocols with a simple swipe to your wristwatch. Minghao’s name still echoes in the back of your mind as you slip out of the side exit with your hood up over your head. 

The streets are slick and quiet tonight, yet your thoughts are anything but. 

SECTOR THREE — AETHER DISTRICTS -> SECTOR ONE — THE CENTRAL DOMINION

Minghao wipes the blood off his sleeve. 

Another target had been successfully dealt with. The body of a man lay slumped against a hidden back alleyway of the Aether Districts, blood oozing from the slit across his throat, caused by the small monomolecular blade that Minghao could summon right out of his fingertip. The kill had been precise and quiet, successful under his own terms.

His ocular implant runs one final scan over the man’s body to confirm zero pulse, zero neural activity, and zero threat. Mission complete. 

TARGET: Jung Minjae — TERMINATED ELAPSED TIME: 4 minutes, 31 seconds

Minghao retracts the monomolecular blade back beneath the plating of his index finger before crouching beside the corpse. He reaches into the pocket of the man’s jacket to take out a tiny metallic chip, exactly where the Dominion stated it would be. He tucks it in his own pocket to submit for evidence as later. 

But he still can’t bring himself to leave. 

His eyes take in the sight of the man’s shocked expression, now frozen in time after the blade had done its work𑁋mouth hanging open and eyes blown wide with that final, useless realisation that his life had ended in an alley because he had been too greedy, too loud, too alive. 

Yet something twists in his chest as he stares down at the body. It isn’t exactly remorse, and it isn’t guilt either𑁋that feeling had long burned away𑁋he can’t quite name it. For a miniscule second, Minghao nearly imagines another kind of expression on the man’s face. Perhaps something of another emotion, one that isn’t plagued with fear or greed, but one in the more… positive aspect. Freedom, maybe.

Or happiness. The thought unsettles him more than the kill itself. 

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever felt happiness. 

The mission is beyond complete. He should return to the nexus for debrief. But as his feet remain planted on the ground, he finds his bionic arm reaching out, his metal fingers hovering over the man’s face. With a gesture so gentle, he closes the dead man’s eyes shut to erase that final look of terror. 

It was a pointless gesture. The dead didn’t care𑁋the body would get disposed of in a matter of minutes by the meat wagons after he confirms that his mission is complete, but something inside of him insisted on it. 

Minghao straightens back up on his feet and fixes his trench coat, snapping it back against the damp air. The servos in his bionic arm whir softly throughout the dripping alleyway. He stares at his metal fingers for a long moment, flexing them slowly as if testing whether the motion had been a glitch or something else. 

A directive pings across his ocular implant: Return to Nexus for debrief. Priority Alpha.

He accepts the directive. 

But as he travels through the Aether Districts𑁋past all the neon storefronts and vibrant dance clubs𑁋his feet are slower than what protocol demands. Everywhere he looks, he’s reminded of you and the art you display so passionately at your gallery. 

Maybe art had once meant something to him. There was something about it that drew him in like a magnet so easily. Maybe he once wandered around galleries, or held a haptic brush instead of a blade. Or perhaps he hated art altogether. He doesn’t know. 

The possibilities were endless when an entire life had been erased. Each one felt equally true. All he knew is that something inside of him shifted the moment he stepped through your gallery doors the other night and his eyes refused to stray away from your artwork… and refused to stray away from you. 

When he arrives back at the nexus, The Central Dominion building looms above him like a giant monolithic blade in the heart of the city. Tall sterile white towers stained over with black Dominion insignia stand proud and tall while security drones orbit overhead. Minghao passes through the outer checkpoint without issue, his ocular implant syncing automatically with the security grid. Red beams sweep over his body to verify his identity and biometrics, before a heavy security door hisses open

“Operative X-08. Report to Chamber 47-C immediately,” a toneless, robotic voice orders him. 

Minghao’s jaw tightens, but he complies as he steps into the large corridor, his boots echoing against the polished obsidian floors. The hallway stretches endlessly before him. He walks past scientists, engineers, executives, and military officials who move synchronously beneath the watchful eyes of the surveillance systems installed in every corner. 

Nobody wastes time here.

Minghao knows this.

He was built in this place.

Inside the chamber, a Dominion handler is already waiting for him. A woman named Director Han with her back facing the entrance. She’s sharply dressed in Dominion attire, her silver hair tied in a tight updo, and her posture filled with enough authority that Minghao knew better than to question back. 

“Operative X-08,” she calls coldly over her shoulder without turning around yet. “Mission report.”

“Target was properly neutralised within the termination window. I have already sent out orders to the cleanup division,” Minghao responds evenly. He reaches into his pocket to take out the chip he retrieved from the body. “I also have the evidence I was ordered to extract.” 

Director Han finally turns around to meet his gaze, her gold-ringed eyes narrowing as she studies him carefully. She extends a hand out toward him without a word, and Minghao places the metallic chip directly in her palm. She turns the chip over between her fingers, then sets it into a secure scanner on the console. On the holographic display ahead, the stolen data quickly fills the screen in glowing, streaming lines. 

“Clean extraction. No traces left behind. Good.” Her praise is flat, almost bored. “The Dominion appreciates your efficiency, Operative. As always.” 

Minghao gives a solemn nod, however he doesn’t get dismissed right away. Director Han taps another command on the console, causing a secondary feed to bloom on the screen. 

“One more thing,” she begins. “We’ve recently detected a surge of anomalies aiming to breach confidential Dominion files. Ghost hackers. While we are able to contain their attempts most of the time, they’ve been becoming more challenging to identify.” 

Minghao listens with intent. Ghost hackers. He knows that they exist, and most times he’d find it ridiculous that these kinds of people would be bold enough to hack into the Dominion’s network. They were like cockroaches scuttling through the cracks of the city’s underbelly, surviving on scraps of data and dumb luck. 

A small, buried part of him wonders what secrets they might uncover that even he isn’t allowed to see.

“The second we are able to identify them, their termination assignments will be sent directly to you,” Director Han instructs. “Understood?”

“Understood.”

“Good. Head to the sub-levels for recalibration.” Before she leaves, she eyes him warily. “I do not want to see another deviation report on my desk.” 

Minghao unclenches his fist when the door behind him slams shut.

VERNON yo ghost i managed to decrypt a bunch of the corrupted files sending them your way now be careful though

The decrypted files land in your private inbox by the time you sit down at your computer in a secret room constructed within the gallery, a hidden space tucked behind a false wall panel in the back storage room. After an entire week of working torturously hard to decrypt the file tree, it had finally been done. 

You boot up your virtual machine, triple-check your jammers to ensure your signal won’t be caught, and wipe the sweat off your brow. This was it. This was the moment you’ve been waiting for. If the Dominion hid teeth inside the files, they might as well be biting into a corpse instead of you. It couldn’t possibly be worse from anything you’ve ever seen… right?

“Let’s see what you’re hiding,” You say under your breath. 

Taking a deep breath, you drag the decrypted files into an isolated sandbox, and after a singular click, progress bars quickly flash across your screen. PROJECT REBIRTH splits itself into a hundred different folders and directories, all labeled with names with what appear to be procedure codes: Asset Archives, Incidents, Subject Logs, and more.

You click on Subject Logs first. 

At first, the directory hesitates to open, sitting frozen as if silently taunting you. Then rows of files begin to populate your screen one after the other, each one labelled with simple numerical designations that go all the way to eight and a description underneath.

SUBJECT 01, SUBJECT 02, SUBJECT 03…

You scroll through the medical dossiers. 

[SUBJECT 01] Status: DECEASED Cause of Failure: Extensive neural degradation following cybernetic integration Notes: Recover compatible components; dispose of remaining biological material

[SUBJECT 02] Status: DECEASED Cause of Failure: Complete cardiovascular collapse mid-procedure Notes: Mechanical augmentation incompatible with surviving tissue 

[SUBJECT 03] Status: DECEASED Cause of Failure: Persistent identity retention; attempted to defect after regaining memories of pre-procedure life Notes: Subjected to immediate termination 48 hours after procedure; family erased for security 

“Persistent identity retention?” You repeat quizzically. 

That could only mean one thing𑁋some poor soul was trying to cling onto the last bit of their biological identity before the Dominion decided to solve the problem with immediate termination. And if the procedure failed, their bodies would be disposed of as if nothing even happened. 

Your heart sinks into your stomach at the thought. 

The more you scroll through each subject, the more grotesque the details become. One subject was terminated for killing three technicians during a calibration episode, while another one self-terminated themself in an attempt to escape from the Dominion’s controlling hands and got caught. What the hell kind of experimentation was happening? Were they forced?

However, there was one subject that stuck out to you.

[SUBJECT 08] Status: ACTIVE Reconstruction Summary: Full skeletal lattice integration; bilateral limb replacement; cranial, ocular, and spinal reinforcement; neural core reinforced; full neuromuscular overrides Model: X-08 Loyalty Index: 98.7% Observed Anomalies: Recurrent cyberpsychosis episodes that often become violent, cooldown periods and memory suppression recommended Field Performance: Exceptional, has terminated multiple high-profile targets Notes: Continue routine deployment; monitor for emerging behavioural deviations 

A survivor𑁋no, a victim. A victim who had survived through this so-called procedure and became a puppet meant to serve under the Dominion. 

Your gaze drifts lower through the rest of the description, but nothing else informative comes up. There isn’t a name, age, photos, or any family history. Only body measurements, height, weight, and blood type. Whoever Subject 08 was had been reduced to nothing but numbers on a screen. 

And it appears that they are the only person to have survived the procedure so far.

That’s when the file titled Incidents catches your eye next. You hover your mouse over to click on it, and the page expands into what seems to be an official redacted report.

Date: [REDACTED] Location: Sector Four — The Bastion Districts Classification: Level 5 Summary: Eight soldiers operating in an internal resistance cell were involved in a catastrophic accident that declared all KIA. Key evidence shows that a malfunction occurred within the building’s power core, causing an inevitable explosion to erupt over the surrounding area. Intelligence reports indicated they were planning a coordinated defection and strike against key Dominion infrastructure. In the aftermath of this event, the families of the soldiers were offered condolence packages and gifts of remembrance. 

Eight soldiers. Eight rebels. Eight subjects. You continue reading.

As kept confidential, the Dominion orchestrated a detonation in order to eliminate the threat. All bodies were recovered from the scene and immediately placed under inspection for PROJECT REBIRTH. Memory engrams were overwritten with a fabricated narrative to foster gratitude and loyalty. All references to the resistance cell were buried under repeated sessions of memory suppression. If any subjects experienced symptoms beyond recalibration, a lethal safeguard was to be deployed.  The goal of PROJECT REBIRTH is to become what the future requires. Humanity cannot survive as it is with rebellion propaganda spreading. Peace is impossible when choice is presented. If successful, the subjects would be hired to serve permanently under Dominion cause in eliminating threats of rebellion and preserving harmony. 

What the fuck? Your eyes widen in pure shock as you reread the paragraphs once, twice, even three times. The Dominion staged an attack on a group of rebels, used their bodies for experimentation, and forced the subjects to serve under them in order to… preserve peace? To believe that eliminating free will is essential for humanity to survive? 

The irony punches you in the gut. What kind of sick minds thought of this? 

Judging from the subject logs, seven of them did not survive PROJECT REBIRTH. On the other hand, the final subject is… somewhere out there roaming the city and serving the Dominion like a slave, silently eliminating threats that stand in the way of their ruling. 

Just like the surveillance footage that Vernon showed you. 

The next file that you click on is Asset Archives. Your heart is already in your stomach from what you’ve just read from the report, and it only drops even further when a plethora of photos suddenly fills your screen.

The images are beyond brutal. You find high-resolution stills captured in the aftermath of the explosion. Twisted metal beams jutting from collapsed walls. Charred remains fused to concrete. There are pictures of the bodies𑁋or what was left of them at least𑁋scattered across the rubble. One frame shows a gloved hand reaching out from under a fallen support column, fingers frozen mid-grasp. Another captures the moment med-teams in Dominion black pulled a barely-living figure from the wreckage: half his body crushed, left arm and leg gone with his face burned beyond recognition. 

You feel like you’re going to puke. 

Photos of the reconstruction procedures follow. The bodies of the soldiers scattered across operating tables surrounded by ripperdocs, photos showing a before shot, with some almost mutilated beyond repair you’re surprised that the procedure had worked, if only for a moment. Then photos of the after shot, where missing limbs were replaced with bionic prosthetics and cranial platings inserted into skulls. 

You force yourself to look away from the screen for a few seconds, bile rising in your throat like a parasite. Sure, you’ve seen some heavy shit while being a ghost hacker, yet this was basically incomparable to everything you have ever seen. 

There is one photo in particular that catches your attention. Although it was a wider shot, you spot the blurry outline of one of the subjects sitting upright on the operating table post-procedure. He’s draped in patient wear, a ripperdoc standing in front of him blocking the view of his face seemingly testing out the new cybernetic modifications on his body. 

You lean in closer, attempting to sharpen the image. There was something about the subject’s body figure and the shape of his shoulders that strikes a nerve of familiarity through you. Subject 08… and the man in the surveillance video…

But before the realisation can sink in, your entire terminal suddenly explodes with red alerts. 

SECURITY BREACH DETECTED PRIORITY: ALPHA

Panic floods through your senses, your fingers instinctively flying over your keyboard to counterattack the breach.

“No, no, no𑁋fuck!” You seethe out angrily.

You slam with every countermeasure you have against the poison beginning to rot through your systems𑁋ghost reroutes, signal jammers, false data floods, even a desperate worm meant to fry the incoming trace. For a few heart-stopping seconds the alerts flicker and slow, slow enough to let you hear violent pounding of your heart in your ears. 

Endless lines of code scroll past in a blur as you reroute your signal through three dummy nodes in random locations within the Undercity. The breach starts to slow and the red alerts begin to stutter in panic. When the progress bar on your worm reaches 61%, you think you might actually win.

Then everything collapses in the snap of a finger, and the worm begins to count backwards.

61%... 54%... 47%...

“Shit!” You pivot instantly, slamming your hands to induce another layer of heavy encryption and flooding the trace with junk data. “Come on, you bastard! Work with me here!” 

But the alerts only begin to frantically multiply across your screen, your last clean proxy is burned through, and your worm inevitably flatlines at a heartbreaking 19%. 

You desperately try to initiate the self-destruct sequence on your sandbox, hoping it could corrupt everything the Dominion is trying to pull. Your fingers hover the execute command, ready to destroy your entire set-up with just the click of a button.

However, your finger lands on the button a millisecond too late. The entire screen of your computer goes black, shrouding the entire room in a permanent silent darkness. The entire system powers down with a final, defeated whine, leaving you with nothing but the imminent dread crawling up your spine. 

Your entire system is fried. There’s nothing left that you can do. 

With shaky hands, you flick your wristwatch on.

Y/N vernon i think i’m fucked.

VERNON what the fuck did you do y/n?? hello?? shit

NEW TARGET ASSIGNMENT COORDINATES: Aether-03 | X: 483.637 | Y: -115.092 | Z: +02.500 TARGET ASSIGNMENT: Unknown Name | Alias: “Ghost” TERMINATION WINDOW: 3 Hours

Minghao rids of the ocular interface with a flick of the finger as he marches down the Aether District with determination in his step. It’s comical, really, from how often he’s been finding himself drifting to this particular sector of the city. Most times it’s been out of habit, like there’s some sort of half-buried pull toward the curated streets hiding within whatever is left of consciousness. 

He can definitely agree that this is the most beautiful sector of the entire city. The only part that feels more alive. 

The distance to the coordinates continues to grow smaller as he approaches the destination. The sector is mostly empty from how late it is, but he’s learned that the best time to strike his targets is during the depths of the night. His targets don’t sleep because they already know their inevitable fate is coming due to the consequences of their own actions. The Dominion always aims to make that known whenever someone breaks their rules.

Minghao’s footsteps begin to slow when he realises the familiarity of the area that he’s in. He followed the coordinates precisely, and yet… how is it possible that it managed to land him here?

In front of your gallery?

He faces his body toward other directions, thinking it was just some bug or error. The coordinates refresh in his implant and his systems run a forced diagnostic, but it all comes out clean. Same numbers. Same location. No glitch. No error. No misread.

The target is inside your gallery. You’re probably at home during this point, and someone might be attempting to seek refuge inside. 

The monomolecular blade at his fingertip extends as he peers inside through the window. It appears closed for the night, with only a handful of lights illuminating the walls and holographic art displays inside. In the several seconds that pass, he calculates fifteen different entry routes he can use to get inside. 

Front entrance, roof access, maintenance shaft… He could force any of them open; he’s done more destructive things before. Every simulation that runs through his code ends the same way: locate and terminate Ghost; mission success probability of 99.2%. 

Yet his feet remain planted to the ground. The blade stays extended at his side but idle. Minghao never hesitates during a mission. He’s always been the type of operative to get the job done clean and quickly. 

Something about this feels wrong. 

That is, until he catches a heat signature spike moving from inside the rear-end part of the building. The termination window continues to tick down in his implant, causing him to click his jaw. He shakes away the hesitation coursing through him and walks over to the side of the building. The mission comes first always. 

Silently as a ghost himself, he scales up the wall until he lands directly on the roof, his boots making no sound. A light drizzle of rain patters softly against his trench coat as he runs a scan over the roof, detecting a reinforced maintenance hatch near the western corner. Bingo.

Minghao drifts between ventilation units before kneeling beside the hatch. The biometric lock flashes with warning, waiting for an authorised employee to access it. But he lifts up the monomolecular hiding underneath the sleeve of his trench coat and begins to trace a delicately perfect circle around the locking mechanism. 

The thin blade passes through the reinforced steel as effortlessly as pen on paper. He catches the damaged section before it can hit the floor below. Below lies nothing but darkness as he begins to descend into the shaft, night-vision clicking on instinctively, his nose catching the faint scent of ozone and dust. 

By the time he reaches the bottom of the shaft, he finds himself standing in a cramped utility unit corridor hidden between the gallery walls. 

Exposed wiring runs along the ceiling as he moves silently through the space. His implant focuses on the heat signature pulsating more strongly through the walls. He pushes open through a useless door that opens into a back storage room, seeing dozens of empty projection rigs and holotanks scattered across the floor. 

When Minghao nudges another door, he’s finally standing in the main gallery. 

He steps into the silence.

The murmurs of wealthy patrons are long gone by now. The holographic installations have dimmed into their nocturnal state for the night, light lazily rippling through the translucent displays and washing the polished floors in shifting shades of purple, blue, and red. His boots whisper against the ground as he continues walking. 

His gaze tracks the heat signature as it slips silently behind columns and installations before coming to a halt. The silhouette shifts into a kneeling position, its face appearing to be covered heat-to-toe by some thick garments to shield their facial features. The corner of Minghao’s lift slightly into a smirk. 

Behind one of the towering holographic installations, your breathing remains perfectly even. A gun is tightly clenched in your hand underneath your sleeve. Your pulse hammers wildly in your ears. The gallery had never been built to withstand a siege𑁋now it has become a living battlefield. And if the battle has lost, you have another secret weapon hidden directly in the pocket of your coat. 

Earlier, you had killed every power source connected to your hidden room the second the system fried.

You knew the Dominion would come, but you hadn’t expected them this quickly.

Through a narrow gap between two suspended sculptures, you catch your first glimpse of the intruder, and you spot a tall figure standing in the middle of the vast gallery. You’d recognise him anywhere𑁋the Dominion’s one and only shadow executioner is now standing in your territory, scanning for the prey he was assigned to hunt: you. 

Subject 08. 

The next breath that leaves you comes off shaky, and the man’s head tilts curiously as if he hears your heartbeat.

Shit. You can’t stay in this spot any longer. You need an opening.

Minghao starts walking measuredly in the direction the heat signature is taking him, his implant catching the faintest fluctuation of body temperature. His head turns towards the particular holo-display that seems to be the final boundary in the way of accomplishing his mission.

The moment your eyes meet through the narrow gap, you fire your gun.

The bullet slices through the air with a sharp crack, causing Minghao to inhumanly twist away immediately. The round punches through the holographic installation behind him, shattering its projector into a shower of blue sparks. And this time, he doesn’t hesitate.

Sweat beads at your forehead as you fire and fire again, scrambling backward as you squeeze the trigger. A nearby holographic frame splinters in the background from another shot, while a few other bullets clip his bionic arm, causing them to ricochet off it and slam through another pillar. 

Minghao continues weaving and ducking from the onslaught of bullets raining at him, but the distance between him and the target only becomes smaller and smaller. He spots the clothed figure roll behind a pedestal, and in a quick, fluid motion, he vaults over it. The next bullet fires at him point-blank, catching him in his side, a low grunt leaving him as his system registers it as damage, but he shoves it down.

He surges forward like a predator and swings his bionic arm to knock the gun out of the target’s hand, skidding it across the floor and into the shadows. 

Your elbow suddenly slams at his jaw and a knee is driven up into his ribs. Most of the impact is blocked from his strength, but jars him enough for you to wiggle free enough to reach a hand into your coat before letting your other hand drive another punch to his face.

But a painful, strong, mechanical grip grabs your hand mid-punch and drives you down hard. The world spins all in that singular moment. 

You find your body completely pinned to the polished floor and your wrist is slammed above your head. A knee is pressed deeply into your stomach, and no matter how much you try to push him off, you realise you’re completely immobile. A blade hovers just mere inches from your throat, and you feel the hot, unsteady breath of the man above you fanning across your face.

The position causes your hood to fall back in the struggle. The dim, flickering lights of the gallery illuminates your face clearly. And when your gaze draws up to meet the eyes of your killer, your breath catches, and the blade at your throat trembles subtly. 

Minghao?

“...Y/N?” Your name glitches out of his lips. 

For a split second, the Dominion’s perfect weapon freezes and hesitates. 

You don’t waste it.

With every ounce of strength left, you twist yourself out of his hold beneath him, slamming your knee upward and using the momentary distraction to buck him off-balance. Minghao’s grip loosens just enough to let you roll over on top of him. Now you pin him down, straddling his waist, one knee on his bionic arm to keep the blade away from your body, even if you’re aware he has all the power to snap you in half if he wanted. 

You yank out a small cylindrical self-destruct trigger and press it firmly into his chest, thumb hovering over the activator. Just a singular press and the hidden charges throughout the gallery would render the entire building into nothing but a blazing tomb.

Minghao could only stare up at you. His ocular implant flickers erratically, like his entire system is screaming at him to finish this mission. He knows that he can𑁋knows that he can empower you and add you onto his endless list of accomplished directives𑁋but the monomolecular blade at his fingertip twitches useless at his side. 

DIRECTIVE: TERMINATE TARGET LOYALTY INDEX: 91.5% TERMINATION WINDOW: 2 Hours, 21 minutes remaining

“If you kill me, then we’ll both die,” You whisper fiercely, staring at him dead in the eyes as your fingertip lingers over the button. “The whole building, my art, everything, including the Dominion’s favourite puppet.”

The words snake through his system like venom. The servos in his body whine at the conflicting directives tearing at his neural core, his body trembling with the effort. His eyes flicker rapidly over your features, taking in the determination in your eyes and the quiver of fear at your lips. His loyalty index plummets another notch. 

“And if that doesn’t work, the entire gallery is rigged into your neuroport.” A brittle smirk runs across your face. “I could fry you within seconds and you wouldn’t even know.”

Minghao’s jaw clenches tightly. You can tell he’s internally trying to fight himself𑁋a ravenous battle between human and robot. The servos in his bionic arm gripe under the pressure of your knee, but he forces it to keep still. His human hand digs into the fabric of your coat as if he’s trying to cling onto you. The space between your bodies closes even more when your face hovers over his, watching him struggle like you’re both his saviour and executioner. 

LOYALTY INDEX: 86.3%

“But I won’t kill you.” You shove the trigger back into your pocket. “Unless you give me a reason to.” 

You carefully stand back up on your feet and retrieve your gun from the floor, pointing it directly at him. You cock the gun back, and with a small motion, you silently tell him to stand up. When Minghao lifts himself from off the floor, you notice a small pool of blood on the floor. The shot you landed on him earlier seemed to have got him clean. His human side is still there, just leaking out onto the floor.

Something about it tugs at your heart.

You gesture with the barrel toward the back storage room. “Move. And don’t even think about testing me.”

Minghao starts walking to where you’re directing him. You keep a respectful distance away, gun never wavering as you follow him into the backroom. 

The room feels as if it’s shrunk ten times in size when you both step in together. You point toward an empty reinforced crate with the barrel of your gun. He settles himself on top of it with his back against the wall, watching you disappear for a minute to grab a first-aid kit from a nearby shelf.

You hesitate briefly before lowering the gun slightly. “Take it off. Let me see the wound.”

Minghao studies you with a wary look, then glances down at his side. He runs a finger over the wound, seeing real human blood leaking through his shirt. His pain receptors must be dialed down due to whatever the hell the Dominion implanted on him, but the sting still registers somewhere deep in what’s left of his nervous system. To remind him that he’s not entirely a machine. 

He shakes off his trench coat and peels off his undershirt without a single word. A lump forms in your throat as your eyes rake over his toned, bare-chested form. The dim lighting of the storage room illuminates his muscles and old scars plastered over his skin𑁋some clearly surgical, others from targets who wasted their time trying to take him down. His bionic arm gleams coldly from his shoulder and down to his fingertips, twitching against his thigh like he’s physically trying to hold himself back from grabbing you. Though the human side of him… that side is breathing a little harder now. 

Forcing your focus back on the wound, you grab an antiseptic wipe from the medkit and begin to clean the bullet graze. His abs tense involuntarily from your touch on the raw flesh, and he keeps his eyes trained on you as you carefully smooth down a patch over the wound, lingering on the warm skin a little longer than needed.

“Ghost,” he calls out softly. 

You visibly wince at the mention of your alias, shooting him a dry look. “Ouch. Please do not call me that.”

“Y/N.”

You finally meet his eyes. He seems almost… exhausted.

“You’re wanted by the Dominion.”

A humourless smile crosses your face. “And you were sent to kill me, what a way to end the night, am I right?” 

Minghao’s implant runs a subconscious scan over your face. 

IDENTITY: Y/N L/N THREAT LEVEL: ??? HEART LEVEL: 91 BPM

“Why are you helping me?” he suddenly asks. 

You sit back on your heels, gun still within easy reach but pointed loosely at the floor now. A bitter little laugh escapes you.

“I wouldn’t call this ‘helping,’” You remind him, deftly tearing off another piece of medical tape before smoothing it across the patch. “I’m making sure the idiot who was sent to kill me doesn’t bleed out on my floor. I bet you’ve forgotten that you can bleed like a human.” 

Minghao’s eyes narrow down at you. “I’m not human.”

“No?”

“No.”

The reply comes off automatically, like some pre-programmed response engraved in his system. You tilt your head at him and stand back up on your feet, stepping closer to the point you’re almost positioned between his legs. Close enough that he could probably analyse every single tiny crack in your guarded expression.

Without thinking, you reach in to brush a fingertip over a raised scar on his collarbone. Seductive in the slightest, but more so out of curiosity. 

“Right here… this is human,” You tell him as your hands wander again, hesitating momentarily before flattening against the centre of his chest. His breath catches imperceptibly. “And this… still beats. Do you still think you’re not human?” 

Minghao looks down at your hand as if he’s never once noticed the sound sitting beneath his ribs. Ever since the Dominion brought him back, he hardly ever worried about the human heart still beating in his chest. It was just another component of him or another system to monitor. Another thing they could shut off if he ever became too inconvenient.

But right now, he feels it𑁋that rhythmic thump of his heartbeat slamming against your hand that’s still pressed firmly to his chest, daring him to feel the truth. 

Perhaps that remnant of humanity was still part of him. Somewhere, somehow. 

“I’ve hurt people too,” You admit to him, drawing your hand away from his chest but allowing your body to loom over his. “I’ve smiled at monsters to drain their pockets clean. I’ve hacked countless bank accounts, exposed trafficking rings, blackmailed executives, and sold secrets to people who could afford them. My hands aren’t exactly clean either.” 

Minghao absorbs your words carefully. There was something about you that his systems couldn’t exactly process. Usually, a target should be simple, a target should have a weakness. Every person the Dominion has placed on him were always separated into binary categories of morality.

But you don’t seem to fit into either. 

“You’re human, Minghao,” You remind him again, more sharply this time. “I’ve read the files. I know who you are, who you were.”

His ocular implant flickers once.

“Files?” he echoes.

“Yes,” You answer matter-of-factly. “I’ve read all about it𑁋about what the Dominion did to you, how they killed you and made you their slave. PROJECT REBIRTH. Does it ring a bell?”

Minghao’s entire body suddenly goes completely rigid beneath you. The name hits like a kill-switch.

For a fraction of a second, his entire vision flares red. The human warmth in his gaze vanishes and his bionic fingers snap up to grab at your wrist like a vice. He moves like lightning𑁋pain surging through you when your back meets the wall behind with enough force to rattle the surrounding shelves. The monomolecular blade extends out of his fingertip and hovers at the soft skin under your jaw. 

“You𑁋” His voice comes out like a glitchy, guttural snarl. “That name𑁋you can’t𑁋”

LOYALTY INDEX: 95.4%

The pressure around your wrist is almost bone-crushing that you feel the tears sprouting at the corners of your eyes. The blade presses a little deeper into your skin, just enough to draw a thin line of blood, before he forcibly wrenches it away. Raging tremors run up and down his body, like thousands of corrupted and suppressed memories have flooded his system all at once. 

“Fuck, get out𑁋get out of my head𑁋” Minghao grits out hoarsely. “Eliminate𑁋need to eliminate𑁋”

His vision distorts fleetingly𑁋a silhouette, a flash of an explosion, then darkness𑁋causing him to claw at the side of his skull as if trying to rip the implant out of his head. Your body is still pinned to the wall behind, completely frozen and trapped from his weight. 

After a few moments, the violent surge of cyberpsychosis ebbs away as fast as it came.

Both of your breaths come out in heavy pants. The thin cut at your throat stings, a warm trickle of blood sliding down your neck. Minghao’s head slowly comes back up, and when he catches the fear in your gaze, something inside of him fractures. 

For the first time since he’s stepped foot into your gallery, you see him as less the executioner and more the survivor. 

Every instinct within you is screaming to pull away from him before something worse could happen. But your feet remain planted to the floor below; if anything, you inch your face closer to his, your trembling lips hovering just over his. The corners of your mouth rise ever so slightly with a smile that he can’t quite decipher. Compassionate in a way, yet taunting at the same time. 

“If I told you everything the Dominion took from you…” You begin, dragging your words slowly, refusing to break eye contact with him. “...would you still kill me to accomplish your mission, or let me help you get it all back?” 

For once, Minghao doesn’t answer right away because he can’t. It’s as if he isn’t built or programmed to handle a question that cuts straight through every layer of conditioning that was forced upon him. The war plays out visibly across his face, and you notice the sharp twitch of his jaw and how the pupil in his eye widens with something painfully close to recognition. 

The crushing grip on your wrist loosens, only to curl around it again almost… possessively. His touch sends a shiver racing up your arm and the heat of his solid body seeps through the crevices of your coat. 

In his implant, the termination window continues to tick down. His loyalty index plummets once again.

LOYALTY INDEX: 79.7%... 73.5%...

The thrill of the chase has just begun. 

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You never meant to fall for someone who was never supposed to fall at all.

The first time you hear his name, it arrives on the wind that sweeps down from the northern ridge of Camp Olympus, carrying pine needles and the faint metallic tang of freshly fletched arrows. It’s late summer, the kind of heat that makes the air shimmer above the archery range and the senior campers are already whispering about the new arrival for the mixed-god training cycle.

"Minghao" someone says at the Aphrodite table during dinner, the word pronounced carefully, like a secret spell. "Artemis found him herself. Raised him. Blessed him. He’s not like the rest of us."

You glance up from the pomegranate seeds you’ve been arranging into a tiny constellation on your plate. Across the long wooden tables, the rest of the camp is a riot of color: Hephaestus kids with soot-streaked faces, Ares children still wearing sparring bruises like badges, Apollo kids humming between bites, but your gaze slides past all of them to the far end of the Hunters’ table.

There he sits.

He doesn’t look like someone who should belong among the silver-clad girls who have sworn off men forever. Yet he does. His silver hair is pulled into a low knot at the nape of his neck, strands escaping to frame a face carved with quiet precision: high cheekbones, a straight nose, eyes the color of moonlight reflected on still water. A silver crescent pendant rests against the hollow of his throat. His tunic is simple, forest-green edged in silver thread, and the bow across his back is no mortal weapon, it gleams like liquid starlight even in the firelight.

You feel the pull before you can name it. Not the easy, syrupy attraction you’re used to wielding like a brushstroke, something you can summon or dismiss at will. This is different. Sharper. Like the moment just before an arrow leaves the string.

You look away first.

Later that night you lie awake in the rose-and-gold glow of Cabin 10, listening to the soft breathing of your half-siblings. Someone is crying quietly in the bunk above you (another doomed summer fling ending in tears). You press your palms to your eyes and try to remember why you ever thought love was beautiful instead of exhausting.

The next morning you’re assigned to the advanced archery rotation. You arrive early, hair braided tight, quiver already strapped to your thigh. The range is still damp with dew; mist curls around the targets like ghosts. You nock an arrow, draw, exhale and release.

The shaft flies clean but veers at the last second, embedding itself just outside the gold ring. You curse under your breath.

Then you hear the sound. It isn’t loud. Just the soft creak of a bowstring drawn to full extension, followed by the unmistakable sigh of an arrow cutting air. You turn.

He stands at the farthest shooting line, sixty meters from the target, farther than most campers would even attempt without wind compensation. His stance is perfect: feet shoulder-width, shoulders relaxed, elbow high. The bowstring rests against the corner of his mouth like a lover’s secret. He releases.

The arrow doesn’t wobble. It doesn’t hesitate. It simply arrives at the exact center of the target with a sound like a dropped coin hitting water. The entire shaft vanishes into the straw; only the silver fletching remains visible, glittering.

No one claps. No one cheers. The other archers simply lower their bows and step back half a pace, the way people do when something sacred has occurred in their presence.

He lowers his weapon slowly. Then, without any warning, his gaze lifts and finds yours across the range.

For one heartbeat the world narrows to the space between you.

His eyes are darker up close than you expected, almost black, but flecked with silver like the moon has spilled into them. There is no smirk, no challenge, no curiosity. Only recognition. As though he has been waiting to see exactly what you look like when you are staring back.

Your throat closes.

You look down at your own bow, suddenly clumsy in your hands. When you glance up again he is already walking away, silver bow slung across his back, stride silent on the grass. He doesn’t look behind him.

You spend the rest of the day trying to convince yourself it was nothing.

That night the dreams come. You are running through a forest so old the trees remember the first mortals who feared the dark. Moonlight pours between branches like spilled mercury. Somewhere ahead a child is crying: thin, desperate wails that tear at your chest. You push faster, thorns ripping at your arms, until you break into a clearing.

There, kneeling in a shaft of silver light, is Artemis.

She is younger than the statues make her, barely older than you, perhaps the form she decided to take at that time, with hair the color of winter birch and eyes like twin full moons. In her arms is a baby wrapped in moss and leaves, tiny fists waving, face red from screaming. The goddess presses her lips to the infant’s forehead. A crescent of light blooms where her mouth touches skin.

The child quiets instantly.

Artemis lifts her gaze. She looks straight at you.

"You should not be here" she says. Her voice is wind through pine needles, calm and final. "He is mine."

You wake gasping, heart hammering against your ribs.

The next week is torture by proximity. He is everywhere and nowhere. In the mess hall he sits with the Hunters, eating quickly and speaking rarely. During strategy lectures he stands at the back, arms crossed, silver pendant catching every stray beam of light. In the weapons pavilion he sharpens arrows with movements so precise they look meditative.

You catch yourself watching the way his fingers move, long, elegant, callused only at the pads and first knuckles. The way he tilts his head when listening, exposing the long line of his throat. The way animals seem to notice him first: squirrels pausing mid-scamper, birds tilting their heads, even the camp’s surly horses nickering softly when he passes the stables.

You hate how much you notice. You hate more that he notices you noticing.

During a paired tracking exercise in the western woods, the instructors pair everyone randomly. You draw his name from the basket and feel your stomach drop like a stone into deep water.

He doesn’t speak when you meet at the trailhead. He simply nods once, shoulders his quiver and starts walking. You fall into step beside him, pulse loud in your ears.

The forest is alive around you: leaves rustling, distant woodpecker drumming, the faint trickle of an underground spring. He moves like he was born knowing exactly where every root and stone lies. You try to match his silence, but after twenty minutes the quiet becomes unbearable.

"So" you say, keeping your voice light "how does it feel to be the only boy Artemis ever kept?"

He doesn’t break stride. "She didn’t keep me" he answers. "She saved me."

There’s no defensiveness in it, only fact. You wait for him to elaborate. He doesn’t.

You try again. "They say you were abandoned. Left in the woods to die."

A muscle flickers along his jaw. "They say a lot of things."

"Is it true?"

He stops so suddenly you almost collide with his back. When he turns, the silver in his eyes seems brighter, colder.

"I don’t remember the night she found me" he says quietly. "I only remember waking up warm. Safe. With her standing over me like the moon had come down to earth. She could have left me. Most gods would have. Instead she carried me to her hunters and told them I was hers to raise. That is the only origin story I need."

You swallow. "And the blessing?"

His gaze drops to the silver mark on the inside of his left wrist: a crescent moon cradled in an archer’s bow, etched into his skin like frost. "She gave me everything I have. Speed. Sight. The forest listens when I speak to it. Animals answer. Arrows never miss unless I will them to." He meets your eyes again. "In return I swore to walk her path. No distractions. No entanglements. No… love."

The word hangs between you like smoke.

You feel your own power stir instinctively, the soft rose-gold shimmer that lives beneath your skin, the gift that lets you sense longing, amplify it, twist it. Right now it is screaming that he is lying. Not to you. To himself.

You could push. A brush of fingers against his wrist, a whispered suggestion and the wall he’s built would crack. You’ve done it before. It’s easy.

Instead you step back. "Then I guess we have nothing to talk about" you say and start walking again.

He follows a half-second later. Neither of you speaks for the rest of the exercise.

But when you reach the meeting point and hand the instructors the sprig of wolfsbane you were meant to find, his fingers brush yours as he passes you the marker ribbon. The contact lasts perhaps two heartbeats.

It is the longest two heartbeats of your life.

That night you dream of him again. This time there is no Artemis, no crying infant. Only moonlight pouring through branches and Minghao standing alone in the clearing, bow in hand, staring at the sky as though waiting for judgment. You step forward. He turns. His eyes are full of something raw and unguarded: fear, maybe, or hunger, or both.

You reach for him. He steps back.

When you wake, the sheets are twisted around your legs and your cheeks are wet.

You tell yourself it’s only curiosity. Only the forbidden thrill of wanting what can never be yours. You tell yourself you can stop anytime. You are lying.

You tell yourself the next morning that yesterday was nothing more than a trick of the light.

The sun is barely cresting the eastern ridge when you slip out of Cabin 10, braid still loose and sleep still clinging to your lashes. You need the quiet before the camp wakes, before the laughter, the flirting, the endless commentary on who looked at whom too long last night. You need to breathe air that hasn’t already been scented with someone else’s longing.

The archery range is empty except for the mist and the targets standing like silent sentinels. You like it best at dawn: the world still soft-edged, the grass silver with dew, every sound muffled as though the forest itself is holding its breath. You select a spot near the middle line, forty meters, nothing ambitious and begin your warm-up routine. Draw. Anchor. Breathe. Release.

Your arrows group tighter than yesterday. Progress. Small, but yours.

You’re retrieving your last shaft from the straw when you hear footsteps, deliberate, almost soundless, approaching from the tree line. You don’t turn immediately. You know who it is before you see him; the air changes when he’s near, grows cooler, sharper, like stepping into the shadow of a mountain.

Minghao stops at the edge of the range, perhaps five meters away. He doesn’t speak. He simply unshoulders his bow with that same liquid grace you noticed yesterday and begins sighting down the longest lane, seventy meters, the kind of distance that separates mortals from legends.

You should leave. You should gather your quiver and walk back to the cabins before the rest of the camp floods the field and turns this fragile quiet into performance. Instead you stay, pretending to adjust the fletching on an arrow you’ve already checked twice.

He draws.

The bowstring sings as it releases. The arrow disappears into the haze and strikes true, you don’t need to see the target to know it; you feel the clean satisfaction of it in your own chest. Another perfect shot. Another reminder that the goddess who claimed him did not do so lightly.

He lowers the bow slowly. Then, without any preamble, he turns his head and looks directly at you.

This time there is no crowd, no distance of sixty meters, no convenient excuse of coincidence. Just you, him and the pale gold light spilling between you like spilled honey.

His eyes hold yours for three full seconds, long enough that your pulse becomes a drum in your ears, long enough that you feel the rose-gold shimmer beneath your skin flare in instinctive answer. You are used to people looking at you. You are used to admiration, desire, envy, even fear. But this is none of those things.

This is recognition.

Not the shallow kind but the kind that says I see your beauty and I want it. This is deeper, older. As though some part of him has always known your face, even if the rest of him is only now catching up.

You feel exposed. Not your body, your mother’s gift has long since inured you to that, but something more tender. The soft, secret place inside where you keep the things you never say aloud: that you are tired of being beautiful for other people, that you sometimes wish you could love without it feeling like a performance, that you are afraid the only thing you will ever truly be good at is making others want what they cannot keep.

His gaze doesn’t waver, doesn’t turn hungry or mocking. It simply… sees.

And then, because the gods are rarely kind, he looks away first. He turns back to the target, nocks another arrow, draws again. The motion is identical to the first, yet somehow heavier now, as though he is forcing his body to remember its discipline.

You exhale shakily and bend to collect the last of your arrows. Your fingers tremble just enough to make the task clumsy. When you straighten, he is already walking toward the far end of the range to retrieve his shafts. He doesn’t glance back.

You tell yourself to go. Instead you follow, slowly, keeping to the edge of the grass as though you are only heading in the same general direction. He reaches the target first. Up close you can see the damage: both arrows buried so deeply that only the silver fletching remains visible, the straw around them scorched faintly from the sheer force of impact.

He pulls them free with economical movements, inspecting the tips before sliding them back into his quiver. You stop a respectful distance away.

"Seventy meters" you say, because silence feels worse than speech. "Most people can’t even see the rings from here."

He doesn’t startle. He simply finishes securing the last arrow before turning to face you.

"Most people don’t have Artemis looking over their shoulder" he replies. His voice is quiet, low, carrying the faintest trace of an accent you can’t place, something older than the modern world, worn smooth by years in wilderness.

You nod, not trusting yourself to say more.

He studies you for another long moment. Then, unexpectedly, speaks "You shoot well."

It is not flattery. It is observation, delivered with the same neutral precision he uses when speaking of wind direction or animal tracks. You feel heat rise in your cheeks anyway.

"Thank you" you manage. "I’ve had practice."

A ghost of something (amusement?) flickers in his eyes. "Practice can only take you so far. The rest is… surrender."

"Surrender?"

"To the shot. To the moment. You fight the arrow too much. You want it to be perfect before it even leaves the string."

You blink. No one has ever described your archery that way before. Usually the feedback is kinder, shallower: beautiful form, graceful release, you look like a painting when you shoot. Never this.

"How do you know?" you ask.

He shrugs one shoulder. "I watch."

The words land like stones in still water.

You open your mouth, close it again. The air between you feels suddenly thinner, charged.

He seems to realize what he has said. His expression shutters, only slightly, but enough. He steps back, inclining his head in the smallest gesture of farewell.

"I should return to my cabin" he says. "Dawn drills with the Hunters."

You nod, throat tight. "Right. Of course."

He turns to go.

"Wait."

The word escapes before you can stop it.

He pauses, half-turned, one brow lifting in faint question. You don’t know what you meant to say. You only know that if he walks away now, something fragile will crack and never quite mend.

Instead you lift your chin. "You don’t have to avoid me, you know. I’m not… contagious."

Something raw flashes across his face, gone so quickly you almost miss it.

"I know what you are" he says softly. "And I know what I swore."

The crescent mark on his wrist seems to glow faintly in the growing light.

You feel your own power stir again, unbidden, this time not in invitation but in quiet defiance. The rose-gold shimmer pulses once, warm against your skin, and for a heartbeat you let him feel it: not seduction, not charm, just the truth of you. The part that is tired and hopeful and afraid in equal measure.

His breath catches, barely audible, but there.

Then he steps back again, more deliberately this time.

"Be careful" he says, almost gently. "Some things are forbidden for a reason."

He walks away then, long strides eating the distance between you until he disappears into the tree line.

You stand there until the sun clears the ridge and the first shouts of morning drills drift across the camp. Until the mist burns away and the world feels ordinary again.

Only it doesn’t. Because now you know what his voice sounds like when it is quiet with warning. You know what it feels like when his gaze lingers not out of desire but out of something far more dangerous: curiosity.

And you know, deep in the place where your mother’s gifts live, that curiosity is the first crack in any vow.

The rest of the day passes in fragments.

Breakfast is a blur of chatter you barely hear. Strategy seminar is endless; you doodle crescent moons in the margins of your notes until the ink bleeds through the page. Sparring practice leaves you bruised and distracted; your opponent, a daughter of Athena, pins you twice because your mind is elsewhere.

Everywhere you go, you look for him. He is careful now. He keeps to the Hunters’ side of the camp, trains at odd hours, eats standing at the edge of the pavilion instead of sitting among the others. But the glances still happen.

In the armory, when you are polishing your dagger and he enters to requisition new bowstring, he pauses in the doorway just long enough for your eyes to meet across the racks of weapons.

During the afternoon lecture on monster classification, when the instructor calls on him to demonstrate tracking signs, he answers without hesitation, voice steady, but his gaze flicks to you once, twice, before returning to the diagram on the board.

At dusk, when the whole camp gathers for the evening bonfire, he stands at the very edge of the circle, silver pendant catching the firelight like a second flame. You sit with your siblings, knees drawn up, pretending to listen to their gossip. But your attention is on the shadowed figure across the flames.

He doesn’t look at you. Not once. And somehow that hurts worse than if he had stared.

You leave early, claiming a headache. The path back to Cabin 10 winds through the cedar grove; moonlight filters through the branches in silver ribbons. You pause beneath the largest tree, press your forehead to the rough bark, and breathe.

You are not in love. You are not even close. You are simply… caught. And so is he. Because when you finally lift your head, you see him. He has followed. Not close enough to speak. Not close enough to be seen by anyone else. Just far enough that the moonlight paints him in monochrome: silver hair, pale skin, eyes like moons.

He doesn’t move toward you. You don’t move toward him. For a long moment you simply stand there, five meters apart, breathing the same night air.

Then he lifts one hand, slowly, deliberately and presses it to his chest, over his heart. Not a salute. Not a promise. Just acknowledgment. I see you.

You mirror the gesture without thinking. Your palm flat against your sternum, feeling the frantic beat beneath. I see you too.

He nods once, small, almost imperceptible.

Then he turns and melts back into the shadows. You wait until the sound of his footsteps fades completely before you let your hand fall. Your fingers are trembling again.

You walk the rest of the way to your cabin alone, moonlight spilling down your back like a second skin.

When you reach the porch, you pause and look back toward the grove.

You learn quickly that forbidden things have their own gravity.

They don’t announce themselves with thunder or lightning. They arrive in silences that stretch too long, in pauses that feel deliberate, in the way your skin remembers a look long after the eyes have moved on. Minghao becomes a presence you carry even when he isn’t near, like the faint ache of a bruise you keep pressing to see if it still hurts.

The glances start small. In the mess hall the next evening, the long tables are crowded with voices and clattering trays. You sit near the middle of the Aphrodite bench, half-listening to your sister recounting the latest disaster of a hookup between an Ares boy and a Hermes girl. Someone laughs too loud; silverware clinks. You lift your eyes to reach for the pitcher of iced hibiscus tea and there he is.

Across the room, at the very end of the Hunters’ table, Minghao sits with his back to the wall, plate untouched except for a single apple he turns slowly between his fingers. He isn’t looking at anyone. His gaze is fixed somewhere above the crowd, distant, thoughtful.

Then it shifts. Just a fraction. Enough for his eyes to find yours through the haze of steam and bodies.

Your breath snags.

He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t nod. He simply holds the contact, steady, unblinking, like he is memorizing the exact shade of your irises in firelight. The rose-gold shimmer beneath your skin wakes without permission, soft and warm, answering something he hasn’t even asked aloud.

Three seconds. Four. A girl beside him says something; he answers without looking away from you. His lips move, but his attention never wavers.

Then someone passes between you, a son of Hephaestus carrying a tray stacked dangerously high and the thread snaps. When the boy moves on, Minghao is already looking down at his apple again, turning it once more as though nothing happened.

Your hands are shaking when you pour the tea. You spill a little. No one notices.

You tell yourself it means nothing. You are lying. The glances multiply like shadows at dusk.

During the afternoon group sparring session in the oak grove, the instructors pair everyone by weapon specialty. You draw a short sword and a partner from the Athena cabin, sharp-eyed, faster than you, but predictable in her footwork. You circle each other on the packed earth, blades flashing.

You disarm her once with a feint and a twist of your wrist. The second time she nearly has you, her blade an inch from your throat, when you feel it.

That prickle at the nape of your neck. You glance sideways without meaning to.

Minghao stands at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, silver bow resting against his shoulder. He is supposed to be with the archery unit, but he has drifted, or perhaps been drawn, toward the melee drills. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are locked on you.

Not on the fight. On you.

The way your braid swings when you pivot. The way sweat gathers at your collarbone. The way your lips part when you exhale after a parry.

Your opponent takes advantage of your distraction. Her wooden practice blade cracks against your forearm, hard. Pain flares bright and immediate. You hiss, stumbling back.

"Focus" she snaps.

You nod, cheeks burning, but when you look again Minghao is already turning away, disappearing between the trees as though he had never been there.

The bruise blooms purple by evening. You don’t mind. It feels like proof.

At night the bonfire burns, taller than usual because someone from the Hephaestus cabin thought it would be funny to feed it a jar of Greek fire (it wasn’t). Flames lick 3 meters into the air; sparks drift like fireflies. The whole camp circles the blaze, some singing, some kissing in the shadows, some simply staring into the heart of it like they’re waiting for an oracle to speak.

You sit on a fallen log near the back, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them. The heat presses against your face; the cold night air kisses the back of your neck. Your siblings are scattered, some flirting shamelessly, some already pairing off to sneak into the woods. You stay put. You aren’t in the mood to play the part tonight.

Across the fire, half-hidden by smoke and shifting bodies, Minghao stands alone. He never sits at these things. He never joins the singing or the storytelling. He simply watches, silver pendant glinting every time a fresh log cracks and sends embers spiraling upward. Tonight he is closer to the flames than usual, close enough that the orange light paints his cheekbones in molten gold.

You don’t mean to stare. But your eyes find him anyway. He must feel it. Because after a long moment he lifts his head, searches the crowd and finds you.

This time the glance lasts. No one passes between you. No one laughs or shouts or blocks the line of sight. Just firelight and smoke and few meters of charged air.

His expression doesn’t change, but something in his posture softens. Shoulders easing. Head tilting the smallest degree. It is the most unguarded you have ever seen him.

You feel your own body respond before your mind can stop it, leaning forward slightly, lips parting on a breath you don’t release. The rose-gold shimmer pulses once, bright enough that you’re sure he can see it: a faint halo around your silhouette, visible only to someone who knows how to look.

His eyes darken. Not with hunger. Not yet. With something closer to wonder. Like he is seeing color for the first time after years of silver and shadow.

The moment stretches until it hurts. Then a log collapses in the fire with a shower of sparks. Someone whoops. The spell fractures.

Minghao looks away first, slowly, reluctantly. He turns his face toward the flames again, but his hand rises, almost unconsciously, and presses against the crescent mark on his wrist. As though reminding himself of a promise. Or a chain.

You exhale shakily and press your forehead to your knees. Your heart is too loud. The glances become a language only the two of you speak.

In the weapons pavilion the next day, you are sharpening your dagger on a whetstone when he enters. He moves to the far wall, selects a new coil of bowstring, begins measuring it with practiced hands. You keep your head down, but you watch him through your lashes.

He glances up once. Twice. The third time your eyes meet over the length of the room. He freezes mid-motion, fingers wrapped around the string. You hold his gaze for five heartbeats, long enough to feel the air thicken, then you look back at your blade, turning it so the edge catches the light.

When you glance up again, he is gone. But the whetstone still bears the shallow groove where your hand pressed too hard.

During the evening strategy lecture: maps of ancient battlegrounds spread across tables, Chiron droning about flanking maneuvers, you sit near the back. Minghao stands against the far wall, half in shadow. The lamplight turns his eyes molten.

Halfway through the lecture, Chiron asks a question about reading terrain. Minghao answers without raising his hand, voice low, calm, carrying effortlessly.

You turn your head just enough to see him. He is already looking at you. Not at the map. Not at Chiron.

At you.

The corner of his mouth lifts, barely a millimeter. The smallest possible smile.

It vanishes so quickly you wonder if you imagined it.

But your pulse doesn’t lie.

Later, when the lecture ends and campers spill out into the night, you linger to roll up a stray scroll. By the time you step outside, most of the crowd has dispersed. Moonlight blankets the path in silver.

He is waiting. Not obviously. He leans against the trunk of an ancient cedar just off the trail, arms crossed, bow propped beside him. He could be waiting for anyone. Or no one.

You slow. He straightens. Neither of you speaks.

You walk past him, close enough that your sleeve brushes his arm. Close enough to smell pine and moonlight on his skin.

He doesn’t move.

But as you pass, his gaze follows you like a physical touch: down your spine, across your shoulders, lingering at the nape of your neck where your braid swings.

You don’t look back. You don’t need to. You feel it all the way to Cabin 10.

The glances are no longer accidents. They are choices. Small. Deliberate. Dangerous. Each one chips at the vow he made under moonlight years ago.

Each one feeds the quiet rebellion growing inside you, the part that whispers maybe the rules were never meant to last forever.

You lie awake that night listening to the soft breathing of your siblings. Moonlight spills through the window in pale ribbons across the floor.

You press two fingers to your lips, remembering the shape of his almost-smile. You wonder what it would feel like if he ever let it stay. You wonder how long either of you can keep pretending this is still nothing.

The answer arrives the next morning.

During breakfast, a daughter of Hermes slides onto the bench beside you, grinning like she knows every secret you’ve ever tried to keep.

"So" she says, popping a grape into her mouth, "what’s with you and Artemis’s pet hunter?"

Your spoon freezes halfway to your mouth.

She leans closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "People are talking. The way he looks at you? It’s not normal. Hunters don’t look at anyone like that. Especially not Aphrodite kids."

You force a laugh. It sounds brittle even to you. "It’s nothing" you say. "Just… eye contact. Happens all the time."

She snorts. "Sure. And I’m the next Oracle."

She leaves you with that, skipping off to terrorize someone else.

You look across the pavilion. Minghao is already watching. This time he doesn’t look away when your eyes meet. He holds your gaze across the crowded tables, open, unflinching, almost defiant.

The silver crescent at his throat catches the morning sun and flashes like a warning. Or an invitation.

Your heart stutters. Because in that moment you understand something terrible and beautiful at once: The glances are no longer secret.

They are the beginning of something neither of you can stop.

You should have known better than to wander alone into the restricted groves after dusk.

The boundary markers are there for a reason: thin silver threads strung between ancient oaks, humming with Artemis’ quiet warning. Cross them without permission and you risk a lecture from the senior Hunters, or worse: a glimpse of the goddess herself, eyes like winter stars, asking why you thought her rules didn’t apply to you. But tonight the camp feels too loud, too full of knowing glances and half-spoken rumors. Your half-siblings have spent the entire dinner speculating about who you’ve been "looking at" lately, their voices syrup-sweet and edged with envy. You needed air that didn’t taste like gossip.

So you slipped away just as the first stars appeared, braid swinging against your back, sandals silent on the pine-needle path. The silver threads part for you without resistance, perhaps because you carry Aphrodite’s blood, perhaps because the forest itself is curious. Either way, you step through.

The grove beyond is older than the camp, older than most of the gods who claim dominion here. Trees grow so close their branches interlace overhead, forming a living ceiling that filters moonlight into pale ribbons. Ferns brush your calves. Somewhere a stream murmurs. The air smells of damp earth and resin and something sharper: moonlight made scent.

You walk until the path fades and you’re simply moving between trunks, letting the quiet settle over you like a cloak. Your thoughts keep circling back to him. To the way his almost-smile vanished as quickly as it appeared. To the press of his palm over his heart in the cedar grove two nights ago. To the crescent mark on his wrist that seems to burn brighter every time your eyes meet.

You tell yourself you’re not looking for him. You’re lying.

The first sign is subtle: a sudden stillness. The night insects fall quiet all at once. Even the stream seems to hush. Your skin prickles, not fear, exactly, but awareness. Someone is watching.

You stop. Turn slowly. He steps from behind the largest oak you’ve ever seen, moving so fluidly the shadows barely shift around him. Moonlight catches the silver fletching of the arrows in his quiver, turns his eyes to liquid mercury. His bow is already half-drawn, arrow nocked, point aimed at the ground, but the tension in the string tells you he could raise and loose in less than a heartbeat.

Recognition flashes across his face. The bow lowers instantly.

"You" he says. The single word carries more weight than it should.

"Me" you answer, trying for lightness. It comes out softer than intended.

He exhales through his nose, shoulders easing a fraction. "This grove is off-limits after moonrise. Even to campers with… privileges."

"I know." You lift your chin. "I needed somewhere quiet."

His gaze travels over you, quick, assessing, taking in the thin linen tunic, the bare arms, the way your braid has come half-undone from walking. Something flickers in his expression. Not desire. Caution. Maybe regret.

"You shouldn’t be here alone" he says again, quieter.

"Neither should you."

A beat of silence. Then the corner of his mouth lifts, just enough to be called a smile, too small to be safe.

"Touché."

He slings the bow across his back in one smooth motion and steps closer. Not close enough to touch. Close enough that you can see the faint scar that curves along his left cheekbone: old, pale, almost invisible unless the light catches it just right. Close enough to smell pine needles crushed under his boots and the clean, metallic edge that always clings to him, like he carries moonlight in his skin.

For a moment neither of you speaks. The grove holds its breath with you.

Then you break the quiet because the alternative is unbearable. "Why are you here?" you ask.

He glances toward the canopy, as though the answer might be written in the branches. "Tracking a wounded doe. She crossed the boundary an hour ago. I couldn’t leave her to suffer."

You nod. It fits him: the duty, the mercy wrapped in discipline. "Did you find her?"

"Yes. She’s resting now. The wound wasn’t mortal." He pauses. "I was on my way back when I heard footsteps. I thought…" He trails off, jaw tightening.

"You thought I was something else" you finish for him.

His eyes return to yours. "I thought you were trouble."

The honesty lands like a stone in still water.

You laugh, short, surprised. "I probably am."

He doesn’t laugh back, but the tension in his shoulders eases another degree. "Probably."

Another silence. This one feels different, less brittle, more deliberate. Like the moment before a bowstring is released, when everything hangs on the archer’s choice.

You take one step closer. He doesn’t retreat.

"You keep looking at me" you say. The words come out quieter than you mean them to. "In the mess hall. At the bonfire. During drills. Why?"

His throat moves on a swallow. "I don’t know."

"That’s not an answer.

"It’s the only one I have."

You study him. The way his fingers flex at his sides, restless. The way the crescent mark on his wrist catches moonlight and seems to pulse once, faintly. The way his eyes, dark now, almost black, keep returning to your mouth before flicking back up.

"You’re lying" you say softly. Not an accusation. An observation.

He exhales, a sound that might have been a laugh if it weren’t so tired. "Maybe."

You take another step. The space between you shrinks to arm’s length.

"I feel it too" you admit. "Whatever this is. It’s not just… looking. It’s heavier."

His gaze darkens further. "It can’t be."

"But it is."

He closes his eyes for a second, as though the words physically hurt. When he opens them again, the silver flecks are brighter, almost feverish.

"Artemis saved me" he says, voice low and rough. "I was nothing. A bundle left under an oak, crying until my voice gave out. She could have passed by. Most gods would have. Instead she knelt in the dirt, lifted me, carried me to her hunters. She gave me breath when I had none left. She gave me purpose. In return I swore-" His hand rises, almost involuntarily, and presses against the mark on his wrist. "No distractions. No weakness. No love."

The last word falls like a blade between you.

You feel your own power stir, rose-gold, warm, instinctive, but you don’t let it reach for him. Not yet. This moment doesn’t need charm. It needs truth.

"And yet here you are" you say.

"Here I am."

Neither of you moves. The stream murmurs somewhere to your left. A night bird calls once, soft and mournful.

You speak again, carefully. "Tell me about the forest. The one she found you in."

He blinks, surprised by the change of direction. Then, slowly, he lowers his hand.

"It was old" he says. "Older than Rome. Trees so tall they swallowed the sky. Moss thick enough to sleep on. I don’t remember much. Just cold. Hunger. And then… warmth. Silver light everywhere. Her hands were cool but gentle. She smelled like blueberries and starlight." He pauses. "I didn’t know what safety felt like until that moment."

Your chest aches. "And now?" you ask. "Do you still feel it?"

He looks at you, really looks. "Every day. The forest still listens when I speak. Animals still come when I call. Arrows still fly true. But safety…" His voice drops. "Safety feels different now."

You swallow. "Because of me?"

"Because of this." He gestures between you, small, helpless. "Because every time I see you I remember what it felt like to want something more than survival."

The confession hangs there, raw and unguarded. You step forward again. This time he doesn’t step back.

Your hand rises slowly, giving him every chance to stop you and your fingertips brush the silver crescent pendant at his throat. It’s warm from his skin.

He inhales sharply.

You don’t pull away. Instead you let your fingers trail upward, tracing the line of his jaw, the faint scar, the edge of his cheekbone. His eyes flutter closed. When they open again they are molten, silver and shadow and something dangerously close to surrender.

"You should go" he whispers.

"You should make me."

A beat. Then his hand catches your wrist, not hard, just firm enough to hold you still. His thumb presses against your pulse point. You feel it race under his touch.

"I can’t" he says. The words sound torn from somewhere deep.

"Then don’t."

For one endless heartbeat neither of you breathes.

Then he leans in, slowly, giving you time to pull away and his forehead rests against yours.

The contact is electric. Not lust. Not yet. Just two people standing in moonlight, breathing the same air, holding the same fragile thing between them.

"I don’t know how to do this" he murmurs against your skin.

"Neither do I."

His free hand rises, hesitates, then cups the side of your face. His palm is callused, warm. You turn into it instinctively.

The first touch of his lips is barely there, a brush against the corner of your mouth, testing, asking. You answer by tilting your head, parting your lips just enough.

The kiss deepens slowly. Tentative. Reverent. His mouth is soft, careful, like he’s afraid of breaking something. You taste moonlight and pine and the faintest trace of salt, maybe from the sea wind that sometimes drifts over the camp, maybe from tears neither of you will admit to.

Your hands slide to his shoulders, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his tunic. He makes a low sound in his throat, half sigh, half surrender and pulls you closer until there is no space left between you.

Time loses meaning.

When you finally part, gasping, foreheads still touching, his eyes are wide, stunned.

"I-" He stops. Swallows. Tries again. "I shouldn’t have."

"But you did."

He nods once, small and shaky.

You brush your thumb along his lower lip. "No regrets?"

His gaze searches yours. "Not yet."

The honesty makes your chest ache. You step back first, slowly, reluctantly. The night air feels colder without him.

"We should go back" you say. "Before someone notices we’re both missing."

He nods again. But he doesn’t move. Instead he reaches out, catches your hand, and brings it to his lips. The kiss he presses to your knuckles is feather-light, almost devotional.

"Tomorrow" he says. "Same time. Same place."

Your heart stutters. "You’re asking me to keep meeting you here?"

"I’m asking you to let me keep breaking my vow. Just a little longer."

You feel the rose-gold shimmer flare bright beneath your skin, bright enough that he must see it, because his breath catches.

"Then I’ll be here" you whisper.

He releases your hand. You turn to go. At the edge of the grove you look back. He is still standing where you left him, silver bow at his side, moonlight pooling around him like spilled mercury.

He lifts one hand, small, almost shy and presses it to his heart again. You mirror the gesture. Then you step through the silver threads and back into the camp’s ordinary night.

Your lips still taste like him. Your skin still remembers his hands. And somewhere deep inside, a quiet rebellion takes root. It whispers that maybe vows were never meant to be unbreakable. It whispers that maybe love, real, dangerous, impossible love, is worth whatever comes next.

You walk back to Cabin 10 with moonlight on your back and his name on your tongue.

The grove becomes your sanctuary. Every night after moonrise, when the camp settles into the soft hush of sleeping cabins and distant owl calls, you slip past the silver threads like a shadow wearing moonlight. The forest knows you now. Branches bend slightly to let you pass; ferns part without catching your ankles. It feels like approval, or perhaps complicity.

Minghao is always there first. He waits in the same small clearing ringed by white birch, the one where moonlight pools brightest. He never sits. He stands with his back to a trunk, bow resting against his thigh, silver crescent pendant rising and falling with each slow breath. When he hears your footsteps he doesn’t startle; he simply turns and the tension in his shoulders melts away like frost under sun.

The first few nights you don’t speak much. You simply close the distance until you’re close enough to touch and then you do, tentative at first, fingertips brushing knuckles, then palms sliding together, then his arms circling your waist while yours loop around his neck. You stand like that for long minutes, foreheads pressed, breathing in rhythm until the world narrows to heartbeat and heat and the faint scent of pine needles crushed underfoot.

Then the kisses come, slow, searching, learning. He kisses like someone who has spent years denying hunger: careful, deliberate, savoring every second as though it might be stolen away at any moment. You teach him how to let go a little more each time, how to tilt his head so your noses don’t bump, how to part his lips just enough for tongues to brush without urgency. He teaches you patience, how to linger, how to trace the seam of someone’s mouth with your thumb before diving back in, how a single exhaled breath against collarbone can feel more intimate than anything rushed.

One night you pull back just far enough to look at him. His lips are swollen, eyes glassy with something between awe and fear. Moonlight turns his silver hair shimmery at the edges.

"You’re shaking" you whisper.

He laughs, quiet, breathless. "I know."

You cup his face with both hands. "Still scared?"

"Every time." His thumbs stroke slow circles over your hipbones through the thin fabric of your tunic. "But I keep coming back anyway."

You kiss the corner of his mouth. "Good."

After that the nights stretch longer. He teaches you things the camp instructors never cover. He shows you how to move through underbrush without snapping a single twig, how to place your weight on the outer edge of your foot first, then roll inward. How to read the forest’s mood: the way leaves turn their undersides before rain, the way birds fall silent when something large passes nearby. He presses your palm to the rough bark of an oak and tells you to listen, not with your ears, but with your skin. You feel it, the slow, ancient pulse of sap moving beneath the surface, steady as a heartbeat.

In return you teach him softer things. You show him how to sense the emotional currents that drift around people like invisible perfume. You sit cross-legged on a mossy log, eyes closed and guide his hand to hover just above your heart.

"Feel that?" you murmur.

He frowns in concentration. "Warmth. Like sunlight trapped under skin."

"That’s contentment." You move his hand lower, to the soft dip beneath your ribs. "And this?"

His breath catches. "Faster. Sharper. Like… wanting."

You open your eyes. "Exactly."

He stares at his own hand as though it belongs to someone else. "I’ve never felt anything like this before. Not even when I track. Not even when an arrow finds its mark."

You cover his hand with yours. "Because this isn’t instinct. It’s choice."

His gaze lifts to yours, dark, searching. "I choose you. Every night I choose you."

The words land heavy and sweet. You lean in and kiss him until neither of you can speak.

Some nights you don’t kiss at all. You lie on your backs in the clearing, shoulders touching, fingers laced and talk until your voices grow hoarse.

He tells you about the years with the Hunters, how the girls first distrusted him, how they slowly accepted him as one of their own because Artemis herself had claimed him. How he learned to braid hair when one of the younger ones cried over tangled knots. How he once tracked a lost fawn for three days straight because its mother refused to leave without it.

You tell him about growing up in Cabin 10, how love always felt like currency, something to be traded or performed. How you learned early that beauty could open doors but never keep them from slamming shut again. How sometimes you hated the rose-gold shimmer because it made people want you without ever really seeing you.

He listens like no one else ever has: completely, without interruption, without judgment. When you finish he simply turns his head and presses a kiss to your temple.

"You’re more than what they expect" he murmurs against your skin. "You always have been."

The words crack something open inside you. You roll onto your side, prop your head on one hand and study him in the moonlight.

"Tell me something you’ve never told anyone."

He hesitates. Then speaks "When I was twelve, one of the older Hunters got sick. Fever. Delirium. She kept calling for someone named Lysander, her mortal brother, long dead. I sat with her for three nights straight. Held her hand. Sang the lullabies my foster mothers taught me until my throat bled. She survived. But she never remembered I was there."

You trace the line of his jaw with one finger. "Why keep that secret?"

"Because it felt… selfish. To want credit for kindness." He catches your hand, kisses the center of your palm. "I didn’t do it for thanks. I did it because she was hurting. That should have been enough."

Your throat tightens. "It is enough."

He looks at you for a long moment. Then he pulls you down until you’re sprawled half across his chest, ear pressed to the steady drum of his heart. You stay like that until the first gray light of false dawn creeps between the trees.

The kisses grow bolder. One night he backs you against the smooth trunk of a birch, hands braced on either side of your head. You expect him to kiss you hard, finally, after weeks of careful restraint, but instead he simply looks.

His eyes trace your face like he’s committing every detail to memory: the arch of your brows, the faint freckles across your nose that only show in moonlight, the way your lips part when you’re waiting.

"What?" you breathe.

"I want to remember this" he says softly. "Exactly like this. In case-"

He doesn’t finish. You don’t let him. You surge up and kiss him, deep, desperate, tasting the fear he won’t name. He groans into your mouth, hands sliding to your waist, pulling you flush against him until you feel every hard line of his body, every shuddering breath.

When you break apart you’re both trembling.

"No in case" you whisper fiercely. "We don’t do that."

He rests his forehead against yours. "I’m trying."

"Try harder."

He laughs, low, ragged and kisses you again. Slower this time. Deeper. His hands wander, tentative at first, then bolder. Fingers slipping under the hem of your tunic to trace the curve of your spine. Palms skimming your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts until you arch and gasp against his mouth. You retaliate by sliding your hands beneath his tunic, mapping the lean muscle of his back, the faint ridges of old scars, the way he shivers when your nails drag lightly down his sides.

You learn each other in fragments, by touch, by taste, by sound.

The way he groans when you suck gently at the spot beneath his ear. The way you whimper when his teeth graze your lower lip. The way your bodies fit together like they were carved for this purpose alone. But you never go further than this. Not yet. There’s an unspoken agreement: these nights are stolen, fragile. Pushing too far might shatter them.

So you stop when breathing becomes difficult, when hands start to shake too badly, when the line between want and need blurs dangerously close to breaking.

You pull apart, panting, and simply hold each other until the world steadies again.

One night, perhaps the sixth, perhaps the tenth; time blurs in the grove, he brings something. A small wooden box, no bigger than his palm. He sets it on the moss between you.

"What is it?" you ask.

"Open it."

You lift the lid. Inside, nestled in a bed of dried white clover, lies a single arrowhead. Not silver like his bow’s fletching. Obsidian, black as midnight, edges so sharp they seem to drink the moonlight. A tiny crescent moon has been etched into one flat side. You lift it carefully. It’s warm, as though it remembers being held.

"I made it" he says quietly. "After the first night we kissed. I sat by the stream and chipped it until my fingers bled. I wanted… something to mark this. Us."

You turn it over in your fingers. The craftsmanship is exquisite, perfectly balanced, lethal, beautiful.

"It’s perfect" you whisper.

He reaches out, closes your fingers around it.

"Keep it" he says. "Wherever you go."

You press it to your lips, then tuck it into the small pouch at your belt, next to your heart.

Then you kiss him like it’s the last time. Because someday it might be.

The nights continue. Stolen laughter when he tries to teach you a Hunter’s whistle and you sound like an angry goose. Quiet confessions whispered against skin. Moments of pure stillness when you simply exist together, no words, no fear, just two heartbeats syncing under the same moon.

And every dawn, when the first birds begin to stir and the sky pales, you part with the same ritual: His hand over your heart. Your hand over his.

A final, lingering kiss.

"Tomorrow" he always says.

"Tomorrow" you always answer.

You walk back to Cabin 10 with obsidian in your pocket and moonlight on your skin. You tell yourself this can last. You tell yourself the gods won’t notice. You tell yourself love this quiet, this careful, this real can slip through the cracks in divine law unnoticed. Deep down you know better. But for now, for these stolen moments, you let yourself believe.

The first crack comes quietly, the way most endings do. It’s a Thursday evening, two weeks since the grove became your secret world, when you notice the shift. The glances haven’t stopped, but they’ve grown shorter, sharper, like a blade testing skin. Minghao still waits for you under the birches, still kisses you like the moon might disappear tomorrow, but there’s a new hesitation in his hands. A fraction of a second longer before he pulls you close. A breath held too long when he finally lets go.

You ask him once, voice muffled against his throat. "Is something wrong?"

He kisses your temple instead of answering. "Just tired."

You let it go. You want to believe it’s only exhaustion, the endless drills, the night watches, the weight of living two lives. But deep down the rose-gold shimmer flickers uneasily, tasting something bitter in the air.

The rumor begins small. A daughter of Hermes, sharp-tongued, faster with gossip than with a dagger, catches you slipping back into Cabin 10 just before dawn. Your braid is loose, lips still flushed, tunic wrinkled in places hands have lingered. She doesn’t say anything that morning. She simply smiles, small, knowing and disappears into the crowd at breakfast.

By lunch the whispers have spread. You feel them first in the pavilion. Heads turn a beat too late when you walk past. Conversations dip and rise again when you draw near. Your siblings shoot you sidelong glances, some amused, some disapproving, one or two openly envious. The daughter of Aphrodite who charms everyone finally caught someone’s eye herself. And not just anyone. Artemis’ own.

You ignore it. You have to.

That night in the grove Minghao is late. You wait twenty minutes, thirty, heart climbing higher with each passing second. When he finally appears he moves differently, shoulders tight, steps clipped. He doesn’t kiss you immediately. He stands a full arm’s length away, silver bow gripped so hard the wood creaks.

"What happened?" you ask.

He exhales through his nose. "One of the younger Hunters saw us. Two nights ago. Near the stream. She didn’t say anything at the time, but she told her bunkmate. Word reached the senior circle this morning."

Your stomach drops. "Did they tell Artemis?"

"Not yet." He rubs a hand over his face. "But they will. They have to. It’s protocol."

You step closer. He doesn’t step back, but he doesn’t reach for you either.

"What did they see?" you ask.

"Enough." His voice is flat. "Moonlight. Two silhouettes. Too close to be training partners."

Silence stretches thin between you.

You swallow. "And you? What did you tell them?"

"I told them it was nothing. A late-night tracking lesson." He meets your eyes, dark, haunted. "They didn’t believe me."

You reach for his hand. He lets you take it, but his fingers stay limp.

"I can talk to them" you say. "I can use… charm. Make them forget."

"No." The word is sharp. "You don’t touch their memories. Not like that."

"I’m not talking about forcing anything. Just… softening the edges. Making it seem less important."

He pulls his hand away, gently, but firmly. "No."

The rejection stings more than you expect. "Then what?" you ask. "We stop?"

He closes his eyes. "I don’t know."

The words land like stones. You feel the rose-gold inside you flare, defensive, angry but you force it down. This isn’t about power. Not tonight.

"We could be careful" you say instead. "Meet less often. Different places. Dawn instead of midnight."

He opens his eyes. They’re wet. "I don’t want to be careful with you" he says quietly. "I want to be reckless. I want to walk into the mess hall and sit beside you. I want to hold your hand where everyone can see. I want-" He stops. Swallows. "I want what I swore I’d never want."

Your throat closes. "Then fight for it" you whisper.

He laughs, bitter, broken. "Fight Artemis? Fight the goddess who pulled me from death? Who gave me everything?"

"Fight for us."

He looks at you for a long, aching moment. Then he steps forward and kisses you, hard, desperate, like he’s trying to pour every unsaid word into your mouth. You kiss him back with the same ferocity, fingers tangling in his hair, bodies pressed so close you can feel his heartbeat slamming against yours.

When you break apart you’re both breathing raggedly.

"I’m trying" he says against your lips. "I’m trying so hard."

You rest your forehead against his. "Then don’t decide tonight. Give us a little more time."

He nods, small, defeated. "One more week. Then we talk. Really talk."

You seal the promise with another kiss. Softer this time. Sadder.

The next few days are a tightrope. You keep your distance in public, eyes down in the hall, careful not to linger near the Hunters’ table. But the glances still happen. Quick. Hungry. Guilty.

The rumors grow louder.

During sparring practice an Ares boy: broad-shouldered, smirking, leans close as you pass.

"Heard you’ve got Artemis’ boy wrapped around your finger" he says. "Careful. Hunters get territorial."

You flash him your sweetest smile, the one that makes people forget their own names. "Jealous?"

He laughs. "Maybe. But I like my head attached to my shoulders."

You walk away before the smile slips.

That night in the grove Minghao is already there,pacing. He stops when he sees you. "They’re watching the boundaries now" he says without preamble. "Two Hunters on rotation. They’re looking for us."

Your heart sinks. "Did they see you come here?"

"No. I took the long way. Through the ravine." He drags a hand through his hair. "But it’s only a matter of time."

You step into his arms. He holds you like you might vanish.

"We could leave" you murmur against his chest. "Just for a night. Cross the camp boundary. Find somewhere no one knows us."

He tenses. "You know what happens if I leave without permission. The blessing fades. My skills dull. The forest stops listening."

"And if they catch us here?"

He doesn’t answer.

You pull back just enough to look at him. "Then we run out of time either way."

His eyes close. "I know."

The full moon ritual arrives three nights later.

Every Hunter, every blessed child of Artemis, gathers at the sacred oak on the northern ridge. A bonfire burns silver instead of orange, fed by offerings of pine resin and moon-blessed herbs. The Hunters circle it in silence, bows raised in salute as Artemis’ presence brushes the air, cool, vast, unyielding.

You aren’t invited. No one from the other cabins is. But you feel it anyway, the pull of divine attention, heavy as storm clouds.

Minghao goes. He has no choice.

You wait in the grove alone, sitting on the moss with your knees drawn up, obsidian arrowhead clutched in your fist until it bites into your palm.

Hours pass. When he finally returns, the sky is beginning to pale. He looks wrecked. Hair disheveled. Eyes red-rimmed. The crescent mark on his wrist glowing brighter than you’ve ever seen it, almost painful.

He drops to his knees in front of you. "She spoke to me" he says hoarsely.

Your heart stops.

"In a vision. Clear as daylight." He swallows. "A silver arrow pierced a rose in full bloom. The petals bled. The stem snapped. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to."

You reach for him. He catches your wrist before you can touch his face.

"Don’t" he whispers. "If you touch me now I won’t be able to let go."

Tears burn your eyes. "What does it mean?" you ask.

"It means she knows." His voice cracks. "It means she’s warning me. One more step and the blessing is gone. I lose the forest. I lose the hunt. I lose… everything she gave me."

You feel something inside you fracture. "And me?" you ask. "What do you lose if you walk away from this?"

He looks at you, raw, shattered. "Everything else."

Silence swallows the grove. You don’t cry. Not yet. Instead you lean forward and press your lips to his forehead, soft, careful, like a benediction.

"Then we have one more night" you say. "One more. After that… we decide."

He nods against your skin.

You spend the remaining hours tangled together on the moss, kissing, holding, whispering nonsense to keep the silence from swallowing you whole. No promises. No plans. Just the desperate need to memorize every inch of each other before dawn steals the dark.

When the first bird calls, you pull apart. He helps you to your feet. His hands shake.

"Tomorrow night" he says. "Same time. We’ll talk. We’ll choose."

You nod.

He kisses you once more, slow, aching, final in a way neither of you wants to name. Then he disappears into the trees.

You walk back to Cabin 10 numb. The camp is waking. Campers spill from cabins, stretching, laughing, complaining about morning drills. No one notices the way your eyes are glassy, the way your steps drag.

You slip inside, crawl into bed, pull the covers over your head. Sleep doesn’t come.

Instead you lie there listening to your heartbeat, too loud, too fast and wonder how something that felt like flying could hurt this much when it lands.

The next day is torture by routine. Breakfast. Lectures. Sparring. Every moment stretched thin. During the joint hunt simulation in the western woods, a test of mixed-god teams, you’re paired with an Apollo boy and two Hunters. Minghao is on the opposing side.

The exercise is simple: track and "tag" the other team with blunted arrows before sunset.

You move through the trees like a ghost, senses sharp, rose-gold shimmer dialed low so you don’t give yourself away. Your team spreads out. You take the left flank.

Then you hear it: footsteps. Silent. Deliberate. You freeze behind an oak. He steps into view—m, bow drawn, arrow nocked, eyes scanning.

He sees you. For one heartbeat neither of you moves. Then a monster crashes through the underbrush, not part of the simulation. A real one. A chimeric thing: lion head, goat body, serpent tail, snarling, eyes red with fury. It must have slipped through the camp wards during the full-moon ritual.

It charges straight for you. You raise your dagger, useless against something that size, but before you can move Minghao is there. He looses his arrow without hesitation. It strikes true, through the lion’s eye, deep into the skull.

The beast roars, staggers, collapses. He doesn’t stop. He sprints to your side, grabs your arm, pulls you behind him as the goat head snaps toward you both. Another arrow. Another perfect shot. The creature shrieks, thrashes, then dissolves into golden dust.

Silence falls. Your team arrives seconds later, wide-eyed, breathless.

The Hunters arrive too. One of them, a senior, silver braid swinging, looks from the dust pile to Minghao to you.

She sees his hand still wrapped around your arm. Protective. Possessive.

She doesn’t speak. She simply turns and walks away. The message is clear. They saw. They all saw.

Minghao releases you slowly. His face is pale. "I-" he starts.

You shake your head. "Don’t."

Because you both know what comes next. That night you wait in the grove. He doesn’t come.

You wait until moonset. Still nothing.

Dawn finds you curled against the birch trunk, obsidian arrowhead pressed to your lips, tears finally falling. The shadows have found you. And they are closing in.

You wait three nights. Three nights of empty birch grove, three nights of moonlight falling on moss with no one there to catch it, three nights of pressing the obsidian arrowhead so hard against your palm that it draws blood. Each dawn you walk back to Cabin 10 hollowed out, eyes dry because the tears have already run out. The camp keeps turning, breakfast trays clatter, drills shout, laughter rings, but you move through it like smoke, untouched and untouchable.

On the fourth night you stop going to the grove. You sit instead on the porch steps of Cabin 10, knees drawn up, chin resting on them, staring at the path that leads into the trees. The silver threads shimmer faintly in the distance, mocking you with their quiet permission. You don’t cross them. You simply wait.

At some point past midnight, footsteps. Soft. Deliberate. Familiar. He emerges from the shadow of the cedars, not from the grove direction, but from the main camp trail. He’s still wearing the silver-edged tunic of the Hunters, but the bow is gone. Slung over his shoulder instead is a simple linen pack. His hair is loose, strands falling across his forehead, and the crescent mark on his wrist glows brighter than the moon itself, almost angry.

He stops at the bottom of the steps. You don’t speak first. Neither does he. The silence stretches until it hurts. Then he climbs the three steps and sits beside you, close enough that your shoulders brush, far enough that he isn’t touching you yet. His hands rest on his knees, fingers laced so tightly the knuckles bleach white.

"I tried to stay away" he says at last. Voice rough. "I told myself it was over. That the vision was clear. That I had to choose her path or lose everything she gave me."

You keep staring at the dark trees. "And?"

"I couldn’t." He exhales, a sound like something breaking. "Every time I closed my eyes I saw you. Not the rose. Not the arrow. You. The way you laugh when I whistle wrong. The way your fingers feel when they trace scars I forgot I had. The way you look at me like I’m more than a vow someone else made on my behalf."

Your throat closes. He turns his head. Looks at you, really looks.

"I stood under the sacred oak tonight. Alone. After the others left. I laid my bow at the roots and waited for her to appear. For the light to burn me. For the blessing to unravel." He lifts his wrist; the crescent pulses once, steady. "Nothing happened. No voice. No vision. Just silence. And in that silence I understood something."

You finally meet his eyes. They’re wet, silver-streaked, terrified and certain all at once.

"She didn’t take it back" he says softly. "Because maybe, maybe, she never meant for me to be only the hunt. Maybe saving me wasn’t just about making me a weapon. Maybe it was about giving me a life worth living. Even if that life includes… this."

He reaches out slowly, gives you time to pull away and cups your cheek.

His thumb brushes the tear track you didn’t realize was there.

"I’m done hiding" he whispers. "I’m done pretending this is weakness. If she wants to take the blessing, let her. I’ll still have you. And that will be enough."

Your breath shudders out. You lean into his palm. "You’re sure?"

"No." He smiles, small, crooked, heartbreakingly honest. "But I’m choosing anyway."

You surge forward and kiss him. Not careful. Not tentative. Hungry. Desperate. All the nights of waiting and fear and almost-goodbyes pour into it until you’re both gasping against each other’s mouths. His hands slide into your hair, tilting your head, deepening the kiss until the world narrows to heat and heartbeat and the taste of salt and moonlight.

When you break apart you’re both shaking.

"Come inside" you whisper.

He hesitates, glances toward the dark windows of the cabin. "The others-"

"Sleeping." You stand, take his hand. "And even if they weren’t… I don’t care anymore."

He lets you pull him up. You lead him through the door, quiet steps across rosewood floors, past bunks where your half-siblings dream of their own tangled hearts. Moonlight spills through the tall windows in silver ribbons, painting everything soft and unreal.

Your bunk is at the far end, curtained off with pale pink gauze that flutters when you push it aside. You draw the fabric closed behind you both. The space is small: narrow mattress, pillows piled high, a single lantern burning low on the nightstand. It smells like rosewater and clean linen and you.

Minghao stands in the center like he doesn’t know where to put himself.

You step close. Slide your hands under his tunic hem. His stomach muscles jump under your palms.

"Let me see you" you murmur.

He lifts his arms. You peel the tunic off slowly, revealing lean muscle, faint scars that map years in the wild, the silver crescent pendant resting against his sternum. You trace one scar with your fingertip, from collarbone to ribs and feel him shiver.

"Your turn" he says, voice low.

You reach for the ties at your shoulders. The linen slips down your arms, pools at your feet. You stand in nothing but moonlight and thin cotton underthings. His gaze darkens, pupils blown wide, breath catching.

"Gods" he breathes.

You smile, small, shy, brave. "Not quite."

He steps forward. Hands hover at your waist, asking.

You answer by pressing yourself against him, skin to skin, heat to heat.

His arms come around you then, strong, sure and he kisses you again. Slower this time. Deeper. Like he’s memorizing every second. You guide his hands: up your ribs, over the curve of your breasts. He thumbs your nipples through cotton until they pebble; you arch into the touch with a soft gasp.

The sound seems to unravel him. He walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. You sit. He follows, kneeling between your thighs, hands braced on either side of your hips.

You reach for the pendant at his throat, fingers closing around silver warmed by his skin.

"Still yours" you whisper. "Even if she takes the rest."

He leans in and kisses the hollow of your throat. "Still yours" he echoes against your pulse.

You tug him down until he’s covering you, weight solid, grounding. His mouth finds yours again while his hands roam, learning curves, mapping freckles, tracing the dip of your waist. You arch when his fingers slip beneath cotton, brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

"Tell me what you want" he murmurs.

"Everything."

He smiles against your lips, soft, wicked. "Greedy."

"Only for you."

He kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, lower. When his mouth closes over one nipple through fabric you moan, quiet, but enough to make him groan in answer. He pulls the cotton aside with his teeth, then takes you properly: tongue circling, lips tugging gently until you’re writhing beneath him.

Your hands fist in his hair. He moves lower, kissing ribs, navel, the soft swell below. When he reaches the edge of your underwear he pauses, looks up at you through dark lashes.

"Yes" you breathe.

He hooks his fingers under the waistband and draws them down slowly, agonizingly slowly, until you’re bare beneath him. He exhales shakily at the sight.

"Beautiful" he whispers. Reverent.

Then he lowers his head. The first touch of his tongue is tentative, testing, tasting. You gasp. He takes it as encouragement, flattens his tongue, licks a slow stripe from entrance to clit. Your hips jerk. He bands one arm across your hips, holding you still, and does it again. Deeper. Firmer.

You bite your lip to keep quiet. He doesn’t let you. He sucks gently, then harder, until you’re trembling, thighs shaking around his shoulders. One finger circles your entrance, presses inside, slow, careful. Then another. He curls them and finds the spot that makes you shake immediately.

"Minghao-"

He hums against you. The vibration sends you spiraling. You come with a choked sob, back arching, fingers twisting in sheets, his name spilling from your lips like prayer.

He doesn’t stop until the aftershocks fade.

When he finally lifts his head his lips are glossy, eyes fever-bright. He crawls back up your body, kissing every inch he passes until he’s hovering over you again.

You reach between you, find him hard, straining against his trousers. You palm him through fabric; he drops his forehead to your shoulder with a broken sound.

"Off" you whisper.

He helps you, awkward, hurried, until he’s bare too. You wrap your hand around him, velvet heat, pulsing. He thrusts once into your grip, then stills, breathing hard.

"Wait" he rasps. "I need-"

You guide him to your entrance. "I’m ready."

He looks at you, searching, almost afraid.

You lift your hips.He sinks inside, slow, inch by inch, until he’s seated fully. You both freeze, foreheads pressed, breaths mingling.

"Gods" he chokes. "You feel-"

"Perfect" you finish.

He starts to move, shallow at first, testing. Then deeper. Harder. You wrap your legs around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, urging him closer, faster.

The rhythm builds, desperate, reverent. Skin slapping softly. Breaths ragged. Hands are everywhere: his on your hips, yours on his shoulders, nails leaving crescent marks that mirror the one on his wrist.

He shifts angle, hits that spot inside you again and again. You cry out, too loud. He covers your mouth with his palm, gentle, but firm.

"Shh" he whispers against your ear. "I’ve got you."

You turn your head, bite the heel of his hand instead, muffling yourself as pleasure coils tighter.

He groans low, wrecked. "I’m close" he warns.

"Inside" you gasp. "Please."

His rhythm falters, hips snapping harder, deeper. One hand slides between you, thumb circling your clit in tight, perfect strokes.

You shatter first, clenching around him, vision whiting out, his name a broken moan behind his palm.

He follows seconds later, burying himself deep, shuddering, spilling inside you with a choked moan that vibrates against your throat.

You hold each other through the aftershocks, sweat-slick, trembling, hearts slamming in unison.

When breathing steadies he rolls to the side, pulling you with him until you’re curled against his chest, legs tangled, his softening length still inside you.

He kisses your forehead. Your temple. The corner of your eye.

"I love you" he whispers, quiet, certain, like a vow remade.

You press your lips to the crescent mark on his wrist.

"I love you too."

Moonlight spills across the sheets, silver and rose-gold mingling where your skin touches his.

Just two demigods, blessed by hunt and love alike, lying tangled in defiance of every rule Olympus ever wrote.

And for the first time, the silence feels like permission. Not from Artemis. Not from Aphrodite. From the only gods who matter now: The ones beating inside your chests.

You fall asleep like that, his heartbeat under your ear, your fingers laced with his, the obsidian arrowhead resting on the nightstand like a promise kept.

Tomorrow the camp will wake. Tomorrow the whispers will grow louder. Tomorrow choices will have to be made: explanations given, consequences faced.

But tonight, tonight is simply Minghao and you. Forbidden. Rebellious. Alive. And in love.

The taglist for the next parts is still open!