You were watching clips from the movie Nerve, the one you've already seen like a thousand times but never get tired of watching. Fun facts videos that you can't skip and all that stuff that keeps you glued to the computer longer than the movie itself.

You head over to the comments section like you always do and read one that really piques your curiosity, a link posted by a user with a name that barely makes sense, with the caption, “Just click and you’ll see what real fun is.”

You stared at the screen with tired eyes, your mind completely overwhelmed by the stress of the long day; you even had a slight headache, and the dark circles under your eyes showed just how exhausted you were.

You hesitated for a few seconds before deciding to click; your heart was racing. You’ve always been wary of websites, and the last thing you wanted was to fill your laptop with virus.

When the website finished loading, a Neon panel appeared on your screen that said “Wanna Play?” You were about to click the X and leave that suspicious page, but a mix of exhaustion and curiosity made you click Accept, just as if you were going into settings.

Immediately, a variety of group chats and some videos popped up in front of you. The page’s design was catchy, the mix of pink and blue lit up your room, and you noticed that for some reason, people were live streaming.

The idea of the movie you’d just watched popped into your head, it was quite similar and you were partly tempted to keep exploring the site, until you came across a chat group called “🌶️.”

You entered the chat; there were 20 people in it, which seemed kind of intimate, like a group of friends, but at the same time weird since it was open to anyone and you could read the conversation without participating in it. At the top of the chat, it said 2,100 people were online, and it seemed weirder to you.

At the bottom, in the text bar, which was locked for you, there was a button that said “Send Request,” and before doing anything, you decided to read the chat’s bio to find out a little about what was that chat.

Truth or dare?

We don't play childish games here. This chat is for people who want to take risks, experience a rush of adrenaline, and be free. If you're part of this small team, you're willing to do anything, and, of course, show us what you've got.

We mix a dash of courage with that spicy touch we know you love. Come make your darkest fantasies come true (+18)

When you finished reading it all, a spark of "excitement" coursed through your body; even without doing anything yet, just by thinking about all the things you could do with it, something stirred inside you.

You read the usernames in the group; they were all people you obviously didn't know, and next to one username, in purple, it said "admin" which caught your attention.

The chat had a pinned message with the rules, and of course you read the whole thing, just out of curiosity.

“To join this chat, first send a request to join. You’ll have a private chat with Jaypk-7, our team’s administrator, who will ask you some basic questions. You’ll need to get his approval first, and you’ll be accepted if he confirms it.”

On a hunch, you felt the urge, blood rushing through your veins and a rush of adrenaline you’d rarely felt in your life. Ever since you’ve been living alone, you’ve felt like your whole life has been a monstrous monotony, and this might make you feel alive, again.

You clicked that fucking bottom

Barely five minutes had passed; you couldn't feel your fingers because you were so nervous, and you just wanted the ground to swallow you up. Regret washed over you within seconds of pressing the button, but you waited anyway for that message to arrive.

Jaypk-7: Hey, this is Jay. Now that I've received your application, I have a few brief questions to determine if you're a good fit for this adventure. I'm not a bot, you can trust me. This entire conversation is private, and I've attached a file below that explains all our privacy policies. If you'd like to proceed to the questions, please send your name, age, and gender followed by "OK."

⤷Y/N , 21, Women. OK.

Jaypk-7: Great, let's start with the basics. How did you find this chat group?

⤷I was watching a video on YouTube, and this link was in the comments section, i was curious.

Jaypk-7: Perfect. Why do you want to join this chat and take responsibility for everything that happens?

You stared at the screen for a few seconds; there was no obvious reason to do this. It all started out of pure curiosity, but at the same time, remembering that rush of emotion you hadn't felt in so long was hard to explain.

⤷At first I was scared because I didn't know what I was getting myself into, but as I read more, I felt a need to keep going, to make a change in my life

Jaypk-7: Is it possible to know the exact reason for that feeling?

⤷to escape my routine, to feel like I can do everything i want in my life, to take risks in life, to feel alive again.

Jaypk-7: thank you for explain that feeling better. This chat is for ages 18 and older; it is intended for an adult audience, and the content here is primarily pornographic. After saying that, do you still want to go in?

Your reaction changed when you found out what this page was all about, sex, probably porn. It's worse than opening OnlyFans. What the hell are you thinking? And why do you feel like you still don't want to back out...?

⤷yeah. I want to stay in this, just thinking about it makes me want to learn more.

Jaypk-7: Great. Now that we have your consent, what would you be willing to offer in this chat? To clarify, this is a public chat; few people can participate in it, but it’s open to any user who comes across it. There’s all kinds of content here, all of it consists of recommendations and ideas submitted by users that comply with our policies and do not constitute a crime, are not illegal, or violate any human rights.

⤷I feel like I have a lot to offer; I'm open to any sexual experience, as long as we agree on it beforehand. I'm open to fulfilling any fetish, and I have no problem being filmed and posted online.

Jaypk-7: Every video uploaded to this chat is protected by certain admins and top-tier IT experts. All content is restricted solely to this chat; it cannot be taken out of here, not even via screen recording, nor can it be shared on this website or any other. There is a monitoring network with special AI-enhanced links that helps recognize the video on any device. To be clear, if the Artificial Intelligence recognizes the video frames and finds a match with the link, the video is automatically deleted, so no external device can record the video and save it; it will remain only in the chat and can only be viewed from within this chat. Currently, there are 2,100 people.

Jaypk-7: Sorry for the extra details, I just wanted to make things even clearer. Next, I need to ask what kind of content you like to create, and if you're new to this, what do you like to watch or would you like to try making?

You read everything; it seemed like a safe site, with professionals involved, it gave you a sense of security, and even that user you didn't know made you feel good, like you could keep going.

⤷I've always thought about having threesomes; I like bondage, and I don't mind the roleplay of being dominated, humiliation is one of my kinks as well...

Jaypk-7: Okay, the last question. When it comes to creating content, would you prefer to be assigned a single user to make the videos, or are you open to experimenting with multiple users?

⤷I don't mind with multiple users...

Jaypk-7: Thank you for your responses. i've already asked the basic questions. We'll now discuss this with a group of admins and get back to you as soon as possible. Please don't close the website, this won't take more than 20 minutes. Jay-

After reading his last message, you got up to go to the kitchen for some water; you’d just “auditioned” for a porn forum, a fucking forum where you’re going to do all kinds of things, something yourself from three hours ago wouldn’t have believed.

After 15 minutes, you heard the notification sound coming from your computer, ran to your room, and flopped onto your bed, staring at the screen, so nervous you didn't even know how to calm down.

Jaypk-7: Congratulations! The admin team and we have decided that you meet our requirements. After answering these questions, we need some photos of your face and full body, as well as the basic medical information attached here: [Files: medical info]

A feeling of joy washed over you, as if this had somehow pulled you out of your black hole. You met all the requirements and submitted the necessary photos and sufficient information to continue with the process.

A few minutes later, you realized you were in the group chat, and now there were 21 members in the group. Messages popped up welcoming you, and after a few minutes of introductions, the group’s activity continued as before, videos, photos, and content that left you speechless when you saw it: all kinds of fetishes, experiences, and crazy things you’d never even considered.

Below the videos was a section where they tagged the participants; in one of them, you saw the username "Jaypk-7" the admin who had helped you earlier. You clicked on it, and a wave of heat washed over your body, making you almost tremble.

A girl with her legs spread wide, pressed against her chest, and him gripping her thighs, squeezing so hard that his knuckles were white.

He was between her legs, probably giving her the best pussy licking you’ve ever seen, the video was out of the ordinary because she was wearing heels and pressing them into Jay’s back, leaving marks and making him look submissive; his profile was perfect, and his body, or what little of it was visible in the video, was toned; you were completely flushed from just watching.

The only thought that could have crossed your mind was a feeling of need, a feeling of wanting more, not to be a fucking watcher, but to be a player.

You went to the admin's private chat, Jay, and wrote a message just a few minutes after joining the group chat

⤷One question, Once I'm logged in, what can I do to create content? How can I see the recommendations sent by viewers?

Jaypk-7: First, scroll all the way to the bottom of the bio, where you'll find a link that takes you to the recommendations box. To contact with another user, just send them a private message or wait for someone to want to collaborate with you. You can also create content on your own, based on the ideas in the recommendations box.

Also, here’s something to keep in mind: when you upload content, you earn points, and you can redeem those points for money whenever you need it, everything has its reward!

⤷Okay, thanks. To be honest, I'm a little lost right now. Could you recommend something for me to do to get started?

Jaypk-7: Sure, I'm free tomorrow night. We can do our first collaboration and build up some hype for the viewers. I was thinking of shooting some titjob scenes, it's been a really popular fetish this week, and we could end with a creampie. That's definitely been racking up a lot of points lately.

You stared at the screen with sweat on your forehead, it was your first time doing something like this, especially with someone you didn't even know. You felt like he was talking about all the sex stuff like nothing, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, and you were about to faint.

You placed your fingers on the keyboard, and after a couple of minutes, you typed your reply.

⤷Sure, I'm free in tomorrow night, too. Let's do it.

The next day arrived. You looked at your dm's with him to remember the address, and you only had half an hour left before leaving the house. You were completely shaved, had taken a shower, and had eaten nothing but vegetables that day, your stomach was growling with hunger. You smelled of cologne and moisturizer, and you were basically perfect for your first porn shoot, no words.

A little while later, you went downstairs to get your Uber, gave the driver the address, and 20 minutes later you arrived at a building that looked modern from the outside.

You took the elevator to the 5th floor and knocked the door specified in the message. Your hands were sweaty, your breathing was ragged, and your heart was racing, you didn’t even know how you were managing to stand there.

When you called, you heard footsteps approaching the door, and the person who opened it appeared to be Jay. His face looked just like it did in the video, and you couldn't help but smile at him when you saw him for the first time, you were speechless.

-"Hey, i'm y/n, are you Jay?"

-"Hey, yeah, come in." Jay said as he stepped slightly aside to let you pass. He had a lovely smile, and his features were just sharp enough to tell that he was a handsome man.

-"thank you..." you said with a smile as you walked into what looked like an ordinary apartment and made your way into the living room

-"You can leave your purse and jacket on the couch; I've made some coffee so we can chat a bit before we start recording." Jay said as he headed to the kitchen to get the two cups of coffee he had made earlier

-"Yeah, thanks. To be honest, I'm a little nervous." you said from the living room as you sat down on the sofa that took up the center of the room.

-"There's no need to feel that way, we'll agree on whatever you're willing to do, and once you get started, you'll see how much fun it is." Jay said as he sat down next to you on the couch and set the cups down on a small table in front of you both

-"Well, I guess this really caught me off guard." You said to Jay as you grabbed the coffee cup and took a sip, still without looking directly at him.

-"If you feel like you're not ready for this, we can always back off and not do anything." Jay said while he rested a hand on your leg, making you turn your gaze toward him, a gaze that radiated safety.

-"No problem, I just need to go slower than everyone else, I guess"

Since you were already there, there was no way you were going to back out, especially not now. You were sitting right next to a guy like him, and this feeling was giving you more of a rush than you'd ever felt in your whole life.

You set your coffee cup down on the table in front of you, and finally deigned to look at him; you turned toward him and, before speaking, thought things through calmly.

-"This is my first time filming, and I don't usually hook up with just anyone every now and then. It's weird, but I want to keep doing this, so don't worry about a thing, I'm open to anything."

You explained, and as you felt Jay’s gaze, you realized he wasn’t judging you, on the contrary, you could tell he was hungry.

You felt that with every word you uttered, his gaze grew darker, and you felt more heat between your legs.

-"Great, then. We can go to the room if you want while I set up the recording equipment, and that way we can get into the right mood."

Jay said as he got up from the couch and offered you his hand to lead you to his room.

You didn't know why, but feeling his hand brush against yours was already making you almost tremble.

The two of you headed to his room. When you walked in, you saw a perfectly ordinary room. You’d been expecting something more BDSM shit, don’t know, something wild, but no.

It was a room with a white bed in the middle, selves decorated with plants and soft-colored paintings, as if it were literally a beachside hotel, something that threw you off a bit but didn’t bother you.

You sat on the edge of the bed and watched as Jay grabbed a tripod and set it up in front of you, which surprised you a little; then he grabbed a camera and mounted it on the tripod while trying to frame the bed.

-"Can you sit in the middle of the bed? It's so I can make sure everything fits in the frame." Jay said, his eyes fixed on the camera screen. You obviously listened and stood right in the middle without saying a word.

After making sure the camera was perfectly positioned, he grabbed a chest harness that had another camera mount, put it on over his clothes, and positioned the camera so it was angled straight down toward his crotch.

You saw how professionally he set everything up, and it was all a little cold and weird.

When he finished setting everything up, he simply pressed record on the camera mounted on the tripod, looked at you, you were still sitting right in the center of the bed, and smiled at you while staring intently; you automatically melted and blushed.

-"Honey, I want you to be comfortable, and if there's anything you don't like, just let me know, okay, sweetie?" he said as he approached the bed, placing his legs at the edge of the bed without taking his eyes off you

You nodded and swallowed, feeling a little nervous but more eager to feel him than anything else in the world

-"come here, baby..." he said as he grabbed your ankles and pulled you closer to him, his hands caressing your legs over your jeans as he brought his face closer to yours

-"i need you to use words..." He whispered to you just a few centimeters from your lips while you felt his hands caress your body, even though you were fully clothed

-"i'm ready... i want to do it..." You whispered, your voice a faint whisper, as you looked at his lips and felt your legs grow weak

-"that's it... my good girl..."

When you heard those words from Jay, you closed the distance between his lips and yours. At first, the kiss was chaotic, hungry, as if you wanted to devour him, but Jay pulled away slightly and began to control the rhythm and depth.

You felt his hands on your waist, and slowly, with one hand, he began to unbutton your pants; he was more than used to this and was an expert at what he was doing.

He stopped kissing you and smiled as he gently slid your pants down your legs until they were completely off, leaving you in a thong, a black lace one you wore on occasions like this.

He turned you over on the bed, putting you face down, and began kissing your ass, caressing your cheeks and burying his face in every plsce he could kiss and lick, making you shiver.

He lifted your hips, leaving your ass suspended in the air, and with one finger gently pulled the fabric of your thong to one side, tucking it in one of your butt cheek and exposing your wet slit to him. He growled before he began planting wet kisses all over the area, making you moan and tremble before he’d even really started.

-"Fuck, Jay please... i need it"

You moaned against the bed just from seeing him play with you; he’d plant kisses near where you needed them most, but without actually touching your weak spot.

When he heard your words, he pulled his lips away from that area and spanked one of your butt cheeks, making you moan even louder and tremble.

-"I’ll do it whenever I want... my little slut"

After noticing that Jay had stopped touching your body, you sat up and turned in bed, resting your elbows on the bed and staring at him. You watched as he took off his shirt and moved closer to you, crawling across the bed and slipping between your legs.

His hands returned to your body, and little by little he lifted your top until he pulled it over your head; since you weren’t wearing a bra, only the small piece of fabric from your panties remained on your body. The camera seemed invisible, and you felt that he could make you being comfortable in any situation.

-"you're so fucking pretty, look at those beautiful tits... mmh."

he said as he laid you down on the bed and knelt between your breasts, with each knee on either side of your torso; he grabbed the harness and fastened it across his chest, turned on the camera pointing downward, and slowly unbuttoned his pants to pull out his hard, shiny cock, glistening with pre cum.

-"i'm gonna fuck them so good, mmh? and you're gonna love it babe"

He told you that, and then he slipped his cock between your breasts and grabbed each one with his hands, pressing them together so his cock slid between them, and he began to groan and moan with pleasure.

-"they look so good huh..."

The harness camera offered a close up of his cock being jerked off by your breasts; his groans echoed through the room, and you knew they would sound soo god through the harness camera.

You looked Jay in the eyes; he was really enjoying it. Then you felt that tension melt away completely. You removed his hands and placed your own on each breast, squeezing to wrap yourself around his cock. You stuck out your tongue so that the tip of his cock would brush against it, and you stared straight at the camera to get a better shot.

-"that's it baby... yo do it so good, mmh..."

Every sentence Jay said made your panties get wetter; you felt like you needed to feel him inside you right then and there. He was driving you crazy, but you needed him to touch you before you started whining.

When Jay saw your eyebrows arch and felt your breath catch between moans, he pulled away from you, positioned himself between your legs, and yanked your thong off in one swift motion, tearing the fabric.

He grabbed your thighs and lifted your legs up to your chest, just like in the video you’d watched the day before. He spat on your slit, letting a thread of saliva drip down, which made you tremble when it hit your clit, and slowly slid his cock inside you, without even using his hands, so perfectly it felt ireal.

-"holy shit Jay"

You arched your back as you suddenly felt filled, grabbed the white sheets on the bed, and let out a moan that made your voice break completely; his rhythm began to quicken, and you felt like you were in heaven itself

You looked at Jay, and he was staring right at your face the whole time, making sure you were enjoying it just as much as he was. And when you saw him looking so handsome, sweaty, and feeling his hips pounding into yours, you bit your lower lip as you rolled your eyes; you felt like you were breaking apart, in the best possible way.

-"such a good girl for me, taking me so damn good..."

Each sentence was worse than the last; you melted with every thrust and felt like you were going to come at any moment.

-"Aww, look at your belly, I'm so fucking deep inside you..."

You looked down at your stomach and could see the bulge from his thrusts; you opened your mouth in surprise, you’d never felt anyone so deep inside you that it felt like he was going to break you. Seeing that faint mark every time he hit your deepest point was pushing you to your limit.

-"oh my god... don't stop please... i'm so close..."

As you whimpered like that, Jay pulled out of you immediately, grabbed you by the waist, and positioned you on top of him, aligning himself with your entrance and teasing your folds until your body calmed down, without entering you.

-"Not yet baby, you're gonna wait a little longer for me, okay?"

You placed your hands on his chest when you felt him take off the harness and set it aside on the edge of the bed; this time he was facing the camera on the tripod, and all you could see on camera was your ass on his lap and his cock teasing your entrance.

-"okay... but please i nee-."

Before you could finish your sentence, he thrust his hips forward in a single stroke and filled you up completely once again. The change in angle and position made you feel it even deeper.

The clash of skin made a nasty sound that repeated with every thrust you received; you moved your hips as his cock slammed deep inside you, and your legs trembled from how hard he was going.

-"Here I am, sweetie. Do you like it like this, mmh?"

You couldn't say a word; you could only dig your nails into his chest and feel your whole body tense with every thrust, your walls tightening more and more, and you felt like you couldn't take it anymore

-"i'm gonna cum, please... i can't- fuck Jay..."

You were desperate, and then Jay grabbed your head, pulled you close to his chest, and whispered in your ear, setting aside the importance of the recording and focusing only on you

-"You're squeezing me so good, honey. You're doing it so perfect, aren't you? Come all over my cock...I'm going to fill you up all the way, sweetheart."

His words made you feel like you were really cut out for this, that this was the best sex of your life, and that, for one night, you could feel something different in your body.

You kissed Jay on the cheek, then pulled away from his embrance to rest your hands on his chest again, look at him, and start moving your hips to the rhythm of his thrusts.

A few minutes later, your walls tightened around his cock and your legs trembled as your orgasm washed over your body; you moaned his name and your breath caught in your throat.

At the same time, you felt Jay’s hands tighten around your waist, and you felt hot ropes of cum fill you completely, prolonging both of your orgasms.

-"that's it, so needy for me..."

You heard Jay say that, and then him lifted your hips slightly, pulling his dick out of you and offering a close up view of his cum trickling down your slit and dripping back onto his cock, which was now resting on his pelvis.

-"this is a mess baby... clean it up..."

he told you as he laid you down on the bed and used his fingers to scoop up his cum, bringing them to your mouth and pushing them inside so you'd suck it all up.

and of course, you fucking did it.

You looked Jay in the eyes as you savored his fingers; he was gently biting his lower lip, as if admiring the sight, and when he pulled them out of your mouth, he kissed you on the forehead.

Then he got up from the bed and turned off the camera on the tripod, so he could lie down next to you again and smile at you, as if nothing had happened between you two.

-"You did an amazing job, pretty... You're amazing for this, y/n..."

he said to you, and then gave you a tender kiss on the lips, and then snuggled up next to you, as the two of you caught your breath after what had happened.

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've been staring at the door since 7:40. It's currently 8:05. Taehyun's mom's going to walk through it any minute now and you're going to jump like she caught you doing something illegal.”

“I wasn't staring at the door.” You absolutely were staring at the door. 

“Okay.“ Jiwon holds up an oval that's more of a rhombus. “Do these look like chicken eggs to you?”

“They look like abstract art.”

She sticks her tongue out at you. “Okay, well, they're chicken eggs.”

Across the room, Soyeon — who technically works the front desk and has no real business in the classroom during the day, but wanders in anyway whenever she's got a free ten minutes — is refereeing a dispute over a single yellow crayon that has somehow become the most coveted object in the building. Two kids stand on either side of her, red-faced and furious, both absolutely certain of their claim.

“I had it first.”

“I had it first first.”

“There's no such thing as first first,” Soyeon says, with the weary patience of someone who's negotiated with cranky four year olds before breakfast and will again after lunch. “There are, however, eleven other yellow crayons in that bin. I checked.”

Neither kid finds this persuasive. You've learned, over three years, that most classroom diplomacy comes down to waiting people out rather than winning any actual argument, and sure enough, within ninety seconds both of them have abandoned the crayon entirely in favor of a much more interesting pile of dolls in the corner. Soyeon catches your eye over their heads and mouths good luck, and you give her a thumbs up you don't entirely feel yet as she disappears back to the office.

The door opens. It's Taehyun's mother, harried and talking rapidly about a meeting she's clearly already late for, depositing her son and his bag and a granola bar all in one motion before disappearing again in a cloud of strong perfume. Taehyun toddles toward the block corner without acknowledging either of you, which is, frankly, the daycare equivalent of a warm greeting.

You've got four kids in by 8:15, seven by 8:30, and by nine the whole room has that low hum of chaos that means the day's properly begun — someone building a tower, someone destroying a tower, someone crying about the tower's destruction with a passion. Chaewon, three going on forty, sits very seriously at the reading corner turning the pages of a picture book upside down and narrating it with complete confidence.

“That's not what it says,” you tell her, crouching down.

“I know,“ Chaewon says. “I made it better.”

You don't have a response to that, so you let her keep going.

By ten you've got the whole room moving through the usual currents — circle time, then centres, then the slow inevitable descent into midday crankiness over minor grievances that means it's almost snack time. You hand out orange slices and listen to a passionate, incoherent argument between two five-year-olds about whether dogs could, in principle, become doctors, a debate that resolves itself only when someone knocks over the entire bin of blocks and both parties get called away to help clean it up, already having forgotten what they were arguing about in the first place. 

This is the shape of your days, mostly. Small disasters, smaller triumphs, a lot of glitter you'll find in your hair for a week afterward. You do like it — the specific way you like something you didn't expect to love. You'd taken the job out of necessity two summers after a psychology degree that hadn't led anywhere near where you'd planned it would; you'd pictured a clinic, or a research post, or at the very least something with your name on a door, not a room full of glue sticks and orange peels. But somewhere in the middle of your first year you'd looked up from tying somebody's shoe and realised you weren't counting down to anything anymore. You like the kids, you like listening to their absolutely nonsensical debates, and okay, maybe the tantrums aren’t exactly a plus, but when they hand you a badly coloured apple or give the sweetest compliments about your outfit on any given day, your whole heart melts. You think about it sometimes — grad school, or moving away, but never with any real intensity. It could happen, someday, but for now, you’re happy exactly where you are.

Sunday dinner at your mom's is a fixed institution, always at the same table, same mismatched chairs, same argument, most weeks, about whether the good tablecloth is really necessary for a meal that will inevitably involve your younger sister spilling something on it. Agreeing to dinner once a week was one of your mother’s few stipulations when you decided to move out. And now Yuna's twenty-two and home for the summer between the end of her graphic design degree in another city and the beginning of whatever comes next, and she's currently interrogating you about your love life with the particular shamelessness only a younger sibling can manage.

“So nothing's happening with anyone,” she says, not a question.

You roll your eyes. “Correct.”

“Nothing at all. Zero activity.”

“I have a very rich inner life, Yuna, it doesn't all have to be romantic. Hobbies. Friends.”

“I didn't ask about your inner life, I asked if you're seeing anyone.“ Yuna reaches across the table for the rice without asking, which your mother allows only from her, a fact that has been a point of argument for roughly twenty years. “You have like, two friends anyway.”

Unfortunately, your younger sister is entirely correct. 

“I saw that lovely Choi boy last week, actually,” your mom says, entirely too casual about it, spooning more food onto your plate — which is her way of forcing you to stay in your seat. “He asked how you were doing. Very polite about it. He's always been polite, hasn’t he?”

You scoff. “He's flirting with the whole town, Mom, that's just what he does.”

“Mm,“ your mother says, which is not agreement, and also not disagreement, and is in fact the single most infuriating sound a mother can make. “He's been doing it a long time, though, hasn't he? Since you two were teenagers.”

“He asked her to proooom,” Yuna chips in, sing-song, and you promptly kick her under the table. “Ow! Mom!”

“That doesn't mean anything,” you say, over Yuna’s complaint.

“I didn't say it meant anything.” Your mother says it lightly, the way she says most things she actually means incredibly pointedly, a skill you're fairly sure you inherited directly from her and have spent years turning against her at this exact table. “I just think it's interesting that a man can ask about a woman for ten years and it doesn't mean anything, and a woman can turn him down for ten years and that doesn't mean anything either. Sounds like a lot of nothing happening for a very long time.”

“Can we talk about literally anything else,” you groan, rubbing a hand over your eyes. “In fact! We can talk about how Yuna still hasn't found a job,” you offer, and Yuna kicks you back under the table hard enough that you yelp, and your mother laughs, and the conversation moves on, mercifully, to safer ground — Yuna's job search, the neighbour's renovation, whether it's finally time to replace the good tablecloth — but you catch your mom looking at you once more over the course of the meal with an expression you don't examine too closely.

Here's the truth of it, if you're being honest, which you try not to be too often on this particular subject: Seungcheol's been flirting with you since roughly the ninth grade, in the low-grade, no-stakes way he’s never grown out of. But he also flirts with the guy at the post office. He flirts with Ms. Oh, who's sixty-one and unmarried and thinks he's a delight. He flirts with the bartender at the one good bar in town, who's engaged and finds it hilarious. It's not a thing you take personally, mostly, because it so clearly isn't personal — it's just the way it is with him, constant.

Except it's always felt a little more personal directed at you, and you've spent a lot of energy over the years making sure it never gets anywhere near landing. 

You remember the prom thing specifically, with a clarity that time hasn't done much to soften — him leaning against your locker two weeks before, hands in his pockets, asking with a shrug that was trying so hard to look like it didn't matter, and you turning him down before he'd even finished the sentence, because Kim Daeun had told you the week before that he'd asked three other girls the exact same way, and you weren't about to be a fourth. You'd found out later that wasn't true, that you'd actually been the only one he'd asked, but by then the pattern was already set, the reflex already built, and reflexes, you've learned, are a lot harder to unlearn than they are to learn in the first place. He hadn't argued, hadn't sulked, had just said “your loss” and grinned and gone off to ask someone else's opinion on which tie to wear instead, and you remember watching him walk away and feeling, underneath the relief, something that took you another decade to correctly identify as disappointment.

There was something else, too, that came later, and you think about it more than you'd like to admit, because by then you weren't the same girl who'd turned him down at a locker. You were two years into a psychology degree, home for a fortnight over the winter break, feeling like a slightly different person in your own hometown, the way you always did those first few days back, still half in seminar-mode, still analysing everything, including, apparently, yourself. You'd been walking back from your mum's when the sky opened properly, no warning, the kind of rain that soaks through in under a minute, and a car had pulled up alongside you with its window already rolling down before you'd even registered whose it was. Seungcheol in his brother's beat-up sedan, hair already damp from getting out to jog around and open the passenger door for you before you could say anything.

“Get in,” he'd said, entirely reasonable, entirely obvious, and you'd stood there on the curb, drenched, freezing, genuinely unable to think of a single sensible reason to say no, and said no anyway. You'd told him you didn't mind the walk, which was a lie so transparent you'd half expected him to call it, and he hadn't, had just looked at you for a second too long, rain running down from his long fringe onto his cheeks, before he'd said, “Alright,”  and driven off slowly. 

You'd spent the rest of that walk soaked through and furious with yourself in a way you didn't have language for yet, turning it over with the same detached, clinical curiosity you were being trained to turn on everything else that year — why did you say no, what did you think accepting would cost you — and never quite landing on an answer you liked. You remember thinking, absurdly, that you'd learned more about avoidant attachment that semester than you'd ever wanted to know, and that none of it had stopped you doing exactly what the textbook said you would.

You remember the coffee, more recently, and the movie, and the wedding — Soonyoung's cousin's wedding, the one he'd asked you to as a plus-one with an actual paper invitation he'd apparently gone to the trouble of getting an extra copy of, which you'd found both sweet and alarming in equal measure and you had turned down within about four seconds of seeing it, before you could think too hard about why your hands had gone a little unsteady holding it.

You expect it now. Seungcheol borderline flirts every time he sees you; occasionally he pushes his luck and asks you out, with enough time in between that you can’t call him insistent. 

Each time, you refuse it with the specific lightness of someone slamming a door gently enough that it doesn't look like she's slamming it. And each time he's taken it exactly the way he takes everything — with a grin, a shrug, a “your loss” tossed over his shoulder as he walks away completely unbothered, already on to the next joke, the next call, the next whatever. 

So you do the same — you don't examine it. You put it in the same drawer where you keep most things you don't want to look at directly, close it, and go back to your life.

The same week you have that pointed dinner with your mom, you see him at the grocery store — or rather, he sees you. It's a Wednesday, nothing special about it, and you're standing in the cereal aisle trying to decide whether you actually need a box of the good granola or whether that's just a symptom of grocery shopping hungry, when a voice behind you says, “You're gonna want the other kind.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, not even bothering to turn around. “I didn’t ask you, Seungcheol.”

“You didn't have to. You've been standing there for a full minute looking at that box.” Seungcheol's got a basket hooked over one arm, and the basket, when you glance at it, contains a box of protein bars, a carton of orange juice (with pulp, which, ew), and a single lime, which tells you absolutely nothing about what he's planning to cook tonight. “The one with the honey clusters. Trust me.”

“I don't take grocery advice from a man whose entire cart is a lime and protein bars.”

“It's a basket, not a cart, and I resent the implication that I don’t know how to grocery shop.” He leans against the shelf, unbothered, like he's got nowhere else to be — which, this being a Wednesday evening and him apparently off shift, he probably doesn't. “You still owe me an answer on Seokmin’s barbecue thing, by the way.”

“That was two years ago, Seungcheol.”

“I have a long memory.”

“You have a selective memory. You don't remember owing Soonyoung forty dollars, but you remember a barbecue invitation from two summers ago.”

“Different category of memory. One's debt. The other's an open wound.” He says it with a hand pressed dramatically to his chest, grinning, and you roll your eyes and put the honey clusters in your cart anyway, which he looks entirely too pleased about.

“Don't,” you say.

“Didn't say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was going to say I'm always right about cereal, but sure, put words in my mouth.“ He falls into step beside you as you push toward the dairy section, not because he needs anything there, you're fairly sure, but because this is also just how it goes, has gone, for as long as you can remember: running into each other in the produce aisle or outside the post office or at the one gas station, falling into the same easy rhythm you've had since you were teenagers — like the conversation never really stops, just pauses between sightings. “How's the daycare? Still winning?”

“Every day's a battle, but yes.”

“You could come to Seokmin’s barbecue this year. Renewing my invitation.”

“I'll think about it,” you say, which is what you always say, and he laughs like he already knows what that means, because he does, because you've been having some version of this exact exchange for the better part of a decade — him asking, lightly, for something, you deflecting, lightly, in return. Neither of you ever quite landing anywhere, both of you apparently fine with that. You part ways at the register, him with his lime and his orange juice and his protein bars, you with a cart full of things that will mostly go uneaten, and you don't think about it again until you're halfway through unpacking your groceries at home and realise you're smiling for no reason you can name.

It isn't all banter, though, and it would be doing the whole thing a disservice to pretend it is. There's a version of you two that has nothing to do with the game at all, that surfaces every so often, and you think about one particular evening more than you'd probably admit to anyone, including yourself.

You'd run into him at the diner on the edge of town, the one that's open too late and serves coffee that's either too strong or too watery. He'd been alone in a booth looking like a man who'd had a longer day than usual, sleeves shoved up, staring at a mug he wasn't drinking from. You'd almost kept walking.

“You look like you got hit by that truck of yours,”you'd said, sliding into the booth across from him without being invited, and his look of surprise when he saw you mirrored exactly how you’d felt at your own actions.

“Feels about right.” He hadn't tried to make a joke of it, which was how you knew it was serious. Seungcheol without a joke ready was rare. “There was a house fire. We got everyone out,” he adds quickly, “It’s just — the house. It’s fucked up. Like, it was a couple and their kids, and their dog, and they were — you know. Gutted. Crying and shit. The kids, especially.”

You hadn't said anything clever, because there wasn't anything clever to say, and you'd known enough not to try, from years of watching adults fumble around children in crisis and from a psychology degree that had, in fact, occasionally been useful. 

“You did everything you could,” you'd said eventually, quiet, as he rubbed his hands over his eyes. “I know that's going to sound like nothing to you right now, but it’s true.”

He'd looked up at you properly then, something unguarded in his face that had nothing to do with flirting, nothing to do with the bit — just a kind of tired gratitude that made you want to reach across the table and grab his hand. “They teach you that in your psych degree or what?” he'd asked, attempting for a smile.

You mirror the smile, with a small shrug of your own. “Turns out it's good for something besides making me insufferable at dinner parties.”

That had got a real laugh out of him, short and surprised, and the two of you had sat there for another hour talking about nothing that mattered and everything that did — his brother, your sister,the particular dread of watching a four-year-old take a deep breath right before they’re about to scream the place down. He'd asked you, at one point, about college and your degree — he’d never been to college, of course, and he’d listened to the whole thing like it was the most interesting thing anyone had said to him all week.

You remember thinking, driving home that night, that you liked him best like this, unshowy, unarmoured, asking real questions and actually waiting for the answers — and you remember being immediately furious with yourself for thinking it, and filing the whole evening away in the same drawer as everything else.

Minji's been your friend since third grade, and she's the one person you still talk to who's known you both — you and Seungcheol — long enough to have a real opinion on the whole situation, which she airs freely and often. Today it's as she’s doing her nails, a shade of red she's had you hold the bottle for while she does the other hand, sitting cross-legged on her grandmother's back porch with two iced coffees sweating rings onto the railing between you.

“I saw Seungcheol at the gas station Tuesday,” Minji says without preamble, not looking up from her hand. “He asked if I'd talked to you lately. Very smooth about it. Very casual.“

“He's like that with—”

“If you say 'he's like that with everyone' I'm going to put this nail polish in your hair.“ She caps the bottle, finally looks at you, and there's none of your mother's careful lightness in it, just Minji's usual bluntness, worn soft by nearly twenty years of friendship. “I've watched this specific bit for ten years. I watched it in high school, I watched it through your entire early twenties,and at some point, as your best friend, I have to ask: what exactly are you so afraid of?”

You don’t answer straight away, dropping your gaze to the coffee. You take a sip, fiddle with the straw between your teeth before you sigh, tilt your head back towards the clouds. “He’s not serious. It’s like a game to him.”

“Did someone tell you that or are you just making up your own conclusions?” She arches a perfectly shaped brow. “It’s been years, ___.”

“Yeah, years of playful flirting. There’s literally nothing serious behind it — I turn him down and he laughs, Minji. It’s a joke. We both know it’s a joke.”

“Do you? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like he’s been stuck on you since high school, and you’re too scared of yourself to even give him a chance.”

She always knows how to hit where it hurts, exactly when you need to be hit. Your mouth opens for a second, and then closes as you flounder for something to say. “He’s not stuck on me,” you say finally. “Seriously. We’ve both dated other people, in high school and after.”

“Don’t be purposefully obtuse, you know what I mean. He likes you.”

“Well, he’s never actually said that!”

“Purposefully. Obtuse.” She pokes your forehead after each word. “What are you protecting yourself from here?”

You close your mouth, silenced and sulking about it.

“Because it's not him,” she continues. “He'd catch you. He's been standing there with his arms out for a decade.”

“It's not that simple.”

“It's exactly that simple, you've just made it complicated on purpose because complicated is easier to dismiss than simple.“ She blows on her nails. “He likes you. You like him. It’s the simplest fucking thing ever.”

You don’t say anything, just scowl and sip your coffee. Your best friend is harsh on the best of days, and usually you like it — today, she’s said everything you don’t want to hear.

“Anyway. How's Chaewon? Is she still doing her pirate princess story?”

“She's added a supervillain.”

“Of course she has.” Minji grins, and the conversation slides, mercifully, sideways — into Minji's own things, a promotion she's up for, a guy she's seeing who she's not sure about — and you're grateful for it, for the reminder that your life has edges that don't touch Seungcheol at all, whole rooms of it that are just yours, just Minji's, just the ordinary unremarkable texture of having a friend since you were eight years old. But underneath the rest of the afternoon, everything Minji said keeps surfacing, quiet and insistently plaguing your thoughts.

It's a Tuesday, unremarkable in every way, when Ms. Oh — who owns and runs Little Pines — gathers the staff in the break room after the kids have gone home to go over the calendar for the next month.

“Also,“ she says, near the end, flipping a laminated sheet, “Fire Safety Day's the fourteenth. The station's sending a few of the firemen out to do the usual — stop, drop, roll, let the kids sit in the truck, the whole bit.”

“Cute,“ Soyeon says, refilling her coffee. “The kids’ll love it.”

“Who's coming?” Jiwon asks, because Jiwon asks things you'd rather she didn't, and you’re pretty sure she has a crush on one of Seungcheol’s coworkers, Wonwoo.

“Didn't say. Whoever's on rotation, I'd assume.” Ms. Oh moves on to the field trip permission slips, and you let out a breath you hadn't noticed you were holding, and tell yourself, very firmly, that it doesn't matter who's coming. It's a fire station. There are, by your count, eleven firefighters in this town. The odds are fine. The odds are completely fine. 

You avoid thinking about Choi Seungcheol for the rest of the day. Which is to say, you think about him constantly for the rest of the day.

The morning of the fourteenth arrives, and the kids are beyond excited. They’ve talking about it for a week — Chaewon's drawn what she insists is a fire truck and what everyone else agrees looks more like a very angry snail, and Taehyun's informed you three separate times, with the grave authority of a man delivering breaking news, that firemen have “actual axes.” You've got the kids lined up in the yard by ten, sunscreen reapplied, hats on, when the truck rolls up the gravel drive with the low satisfying rumble that makes every single child under the age of six lose their entire mind at once.

You see him before the truck's even fully stopped. Of course you do. He's hanging half out of the passenger side before it brakes, waving at the kids (who are adorably excited), and something in your chest does the thing it always does — a small, private, entirely inconvenient drop, like missing a stair in the dark.

Choi Seungcheol climbs down in his full gear, helmet under one arm, and crouches immediately to be at eye level with a cluster of four- and five-year-olds who are looking at him like he's personally invented fire trucks. “Who wants to sit in the driver's seat?” he sings, and the resulting scream from twelve small children could probably be heard three towns over.

He's good at this. You'll give him that, freely, the way you give him most things freely except the one thing he actually asks for. He crouches and jokes and lets Chaewon try on his helmet, which swallows her entire head, and gets down on the ground to show a rapt little semicircle of children how the hose attaches, and doesn't once break character even when Taehyun asks him, with total sincerity, whether he's ever fought a dragon. (“Couple times,” Seungcheol says. “Rough guys, dragons. Mostly it's the smoke.”)

The other two firefighters who've come with him, an older woman named Yerin and Soonyoung, who you’d also gone to high school with, do their parts fine, competent and pleasant and funny, but the kids gravitate to Seungcheol easily and instinctively.

You've managed, for a solid twenty minutes, to stay on the opposite side of the gaggle of kids, ostensibly ensuring Beomgyu keeps his hat on. It doesn't last. Around the time the kids are being herded toward the truck to take turns sitting behind the wheel, he peels off from the group and ambles over, helmet tucked under his arm, looking entirely too good for someone who's just spent twenty minutes being climbed on by preschoolers.

“You've got glitter on your face,” he says, by way of hello.

“I always have glitter on my face. It's basically work uniform at this point.”

“It's a good look on you.” He says it easily, the same way he says everything, but his eyes do a quick pass over you before landing back on your face with that brief dimpled smile, and you hate — hate — the small flicker of warmth that swells in your stomach.

“You didn't have to come,” you say, which isn't true, since he clearly did have to come, it's his job, but it's the fastest thing you can think to say that isn't I hoped you wouldn't and also knew you would.

“Somebody's gotta protect this town's youth from the dangers of unattended candles,“ he says solemnly. “It's a calling.“

“Right. Noble.” You pause. “They’re four, by the way.”

“Extremely noble. You should be nicer to me. I'm basically a public servant.”

“I'm always nice to you.”

“You're the meanest person I know,“ he says, delighted, “and I mean that as a compliment to your commitment.”

“Anyway,” he says, looking over to the truck. “The kids are gonna want to come to the station. We usually do that — let them see where the trucks live and everything. I can set it up with your boss if that's alright with you.”

“Sure,” you say, half-listening, half-watching the kids. You’re pretty sure Beomgyu and Yeonjun are going to trip, chasing each other like that. “Whatever's easiest.”

“You'll come too, right? Chaperone duty?”

“That's generally how field trips work, yes.” 

“Good.” He says it satisfied, like it matters, and for just a second something honest surfaces under the joking — you catch it before he tucks it away again, the way you sometimes do, a flash of something steadier than the bit usually allows.

And then, before you can examine that, Chaewon comes sprinting over demanding to know if the truck can go faster than a police car, and he's gone again, crouched down explaining horsepower to a three-year-old with the same total sincerity he used on the dragon question, and you stand there for a second longer than you mean to, watching him, before you make yourself go help Yerin with the hose demonstration instead.

By the time the truck pulls away an hour later, every single kid in the yard is talking about the fire station visit like it's the moon landing. You've got a feeling you won't hear the end of it for a while.

You don't hear the end of it for a while.

For the better part of two weeks, the fire station visit's the single principle of every conversation the four-year-olds have. Taehyun draws the truck again, several times, with increasing and alarming detail about the axes. Chaewon stages an elaborate reenactment during free play in which she plays “the fireman” and assigns you the role of “the person who has to be saved,” which you accept with as much dignity as you can muster while lying on the carpet pretending to be unconscious as a group of kids tug at your legs. Jiwon, of course, finds the whole thing extremely funny.

The days have a way of absorbing whatever's going on with you and continuing regardless, which is, most of the time, a mercy. Circle time happens. Snack time happens. A minor crisis occurs when it's discovered that the class hamster, Mr. Biscuit, has gotten loose sometime overnight, and he's eventually located, after forty tense minutes and one very dramatic search party. Chaewon had refused to take part in said search party, and had instead spent the entire time in the reading corner, insisting Mr. Biscuit would “come back when he was ready,” which, infuriatingly, turns out to be correct.

You also go back to your evenings, which have nothing to do with any of it — a phone call with Yuna where she vents about her job search, an afternoon spent helping Minji repaint her spare room, a Sunday at your mom's where the subject of Seungcheol does not come up even once, a small mercy you're grateful for and slightly suspicious of. Life, in other words, keeps being a whole life, most of which has nothing to do with him at all, which is the thing you keep having to remind yourself of whenever it starts to feel otherwise.

Friday nights, when you're not too wrecked from the week, you go to the bar with Minji and Jimin and a few other friends, because it's the only bar in town worth it. It's not a big fancy place, with its low light,  jukebox, and pool table with a wobble in one of the left legs, but it’s the only place to go, really, unless you want to make the drive into the city.

Minji drags you along after a week of promotion nerves and you go willingly enough. The place is familiar enough to be comfortable even after the tiring week you’ve had, but you’re not really looking to drink too much tonight. 

You've had a few sips of a cocktail by the time the door opens and a loud group of off-duty firefighters spills in, mid-laugh, and naturally, Seungcheol's in the middle of it. He’s saying something that's got Soonyoung doubled over, and you feel the familiar lurch of oh, here we go before you've even fully processed that he's clocked you across the room.

“Oh, this'll be good,” Minji murmurs into her drink, and you kick her under the table, which only makes her grin wider. 

You run into him often, at this bar, so seeing him isn’t really a surprise in itself. He grins at you as he and his friends make their way first to the pool table, and you return the gesture with an awkward nod, and somehow almost drop your drink in the process. 

It’s maybe forty five minutes later that he actually comes over to you. He always does, at least once when you run into each other like this, always comes to say hi, which usually leads into some kind of line.

He waves Dohyun, the bartender, over and orders a whiskey on the rocks, and for a while you just talk, as the ice in his drink melts. Easy, unimportant things, the kind of conversation that happens naturally between two people who've known each other long enough that silence isn't awkward, just comfortable. He tells you about a call they had that week, a cat stuck in a drainpipe that took forty-five minutes and drew a crowd. You tell him about Chaewon's ongoing crusade against the concept of naptime, which makes him laugh so hard he has to put his drink down, not that he’s drank much of it. Somewhere in there Minji peels off to go play pool with Jiwon and Soonyoung, throwing you one loaded look over her shoulder on the way that you very deliberately ignore.

Somehow, the two of you have drifted from the bar itself to a booth in the back corner, and Jiwon's gone home with a wave you barely registered, and Minji's deep in a game of pool she's losing badly and loudly to Soonyoung, and you're sitting closer to him than you were an hour ago without being able to say exactly when that happened. He's telling you something about his brother’s wedding, some story about a groomsman and a dropped ring you're only half following because you've gotten distracted by the way he laughs at his own joke before he even finishes it, the way his hand's landed, at some point, loosely on the back of the booth behind your shoulders, close enough that you can feel the warmth of it without him actually touching you.

“You're not listening,” he says, not offended, just observing.

“I'm listening.”

“What'd I just say?”

“Something about a ring.“

“Close enough.“ He's looking at you in a way that feels different from the usual — like he's forgotten, for a second, to be charming about it. “You've got that look.“

“What look?”

“You’re totally zoning out. That look.”

You snort, aiming for humour. “I'm always zoning out around you.“

“I know,” he says, and there's something in his voice, something almost fond and almost sad at once, so much that it makes your levity fall flat and for a moment neither of you says anything at all. Then he smiles, “You always zone out anyway, though. I remember from school.”

“Please.”

“It’s true! I remember it happening in history class and Miss Lee had to snap her fingers in front of your face!”

Heat crawls up your face. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you remember that! That was in my first week, too, I nearly cried.”

“I remember,” he smiles. “Everyone was talking about the new girl who just moved to town and that was the first time I saw you.”

It's strange, the way ten years can gather themselves into a single quiet second like that — all of it sitting there in the space between his face and yours, close enough now that you can count his eyelashes if you wanted to, which you don't let yourself do, except you do anyway. You think, distantly, of Minji on the porch — he's been standing there with his arms out for a decade — and your mother at the dinner table — sounds like a lot of nothing happening for a very long time — and something in you that's held itself very carefully closed for a very long time simply, without your permission, stops holding.

He leans in, slow enough that you have every opportunity to move. You don't take it.

The kiss, when it happens, isn't clumsy at all, not at first — it's slow, almost unbearably so, like he's been waiting so long for it he's decided to actually take his time now that he's got it, one hand coming up to your jaw so lightly it's almost a question, and you answer it by leaning further in, by letting your hand find the front of his shirt and hold on, and you kiss him back like you mean it, because you do. Then his other hand finds your waist and yours finds the back of his neck and the two of you shift closer in the booth and it turns into something hungrier, less careful.

Somewhere in the bar, distantly, you hear Minji whoop, and you don't even have it in you to be embarrassed.

Then your brain catches up with the rest of you, the way it always eventually does, and you pull back, breathing hard like you've run somewhere. Seungcheol looks a little wrecked, the same way you feel, his hair mussed and his lips a little swollen, and you guess you must look something similar.

“I—” you start, and don't finish, because you don't actually know what comes next. 

“Hey,” he says, low, steady, not moving away, his thumb still resting at your jaw like he’s catching up to the fact that you're pulling out of it. “It's okay, just — ”

“I shouldn't have — ” You're already reaching for your bag, your keys, anything to hold onto that isn't him. “I think I had too much to drink.“

“You didn’t even finish your cocktail,” he says, and he's not smiling now, which is somehow worse than if he had been. “Can we just — talk for a second? I've been wanting to say something for a while, and I know the timing's not— ”

“Cheol, I’m sorry — I — I really think I should go,” you’re fumbling with your bag and your words at the same time.

“I'm not trying to freak you out.” He says it gently, both hands visible now, like he's talking someone down off a ledge, which, you suppose, isn't entirely inaccurate. And his voice speeds up a little, because you’re still gathering your things and avoiding his gaze and it’s his turn to trip over his words: “I just — I like you. Like, actually. I know it's always been the bit, with us, and that's fine, that's — I get why. But I'm not messing around right now. I want you to know that. Can we just talk for a se—?” And he cuts himself off, because you’re standing up.

It's the most honest he's ever been with you, stripped clean of the performance, and it terrifies you in a way you don't have language for at eleven-thirty on a Friday with your pulse still loud in your ears. “Please,” he says, softly, so softly, and his hand brushes against yours, feather-soft. You make the mistake of looking, and he’s gazing up at you from the booth, his eyes pleading and brown and warm and serious.

“I have work in the morning,“ you say, which is a lie, and you both know it's a lie, it’s a fuckin Saturday, but he lets you have it anyway, some tired resignation moving through his face.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Okay. Get home safe.”

Minji catches you by the door, pool cue still in hand, all the teasing gone out of her face the second she sees yours. “Hey,” she says, softer than you've heard her all night. “You good?”

“I don't know,” you say honestly, and she doesn't push, just squeezes your arm once and tells you she'll call a cab for both of you, and you let her, grateful, not for the first time, that she's known you long enough to know exactly when not to push.

You don't remember much of the ride home. Your hands are shaking slightly as you find your keys at your own front door, and you don't look back toward the bar even once, and you lie awake for a long time afterward turning the whole thing over and over in your head like a stone you can't put down, unable to decide which part scares you more — that he said it, or that some traitorous, long-buried part of you wanted to say something back.

You don't see him again for eleven days, which you know because you count, which you're furious with yourself for doing.

Life continues in the meantime, because it does that, indifferent to the small personal catastrophes you're nursing. There are snacks to portion out and scraped knees to bandage and an entire day on the letter Q that takes far longer than it has any right to. Chaewon's fireman reenactments continue unabated, blessedly innocent of the fact that you now flinch slightly every time she mentions the word. Jiwon notices you're off but, for once, has the mercy not to push, which you appreciate more than you tell her.

Sunday dinner happens in the middle of the eleven days, and you spend most of it pushing rice around your plate while your mother and Yuna talk around you, until your mother, halfway through clearing the table, pauses behind your chair and rests a hand briefly on your shoulder. Not asking anything, just letting you know she's noticed, which somehow makes it harder to hold together than if she'd asked directly. Minji calls twice and you let both calls go to voicemail, not because you don't want to talk to her but because you know exactly what she'll say, and you're not ready yet to hear it out loud, even though some louder part of you already knows she'd be right.

The field trip to the fire station is scheduled for the Thursday of that second week, and you've spent a genuinely humiliating amount of effort trying to get out of it. You ask Jiwon, with what you hope is believable casualness, if there’s any possible way Ms Oh would let you skip it and take a parent chaperone instead. She looks at you like you've suggested trading a kidney.

“Absolutely not. Do you know Ms Oh? No. You're going.”

You haven't been able to think of a version of the truth small enough to hand her, so you let it drop, and here you are on Thursday morning, herding twelve overexcited kids onto a rented minibus with the specific dread of someone walking toward a conversation she's been dodging for a week and a half.

The station's a squat brick building on the edge of downtown, garage doors up, two trucks gleaming in the shade, and the kids lose their minds the second the bus door opens. You busy yourself with headcounts and hand-holding, buying yourself as much time as you reasonably can before you have to actually look at him.

When you do, it isn't what you expect, and somehow that's worse.

Seungcheol is polite. That's the word for it, the only word, and it lands like a slap precisely because it's so foreign coming from him. He greets the kids with the same warmth as before — you'll give him that, he never once lets it touch them — crouching down, letting them climb the truck, patiently explaining the same things he explained a month ago in the daycare yard. 

There's one second, early on, when he glances up and catches your eye across the garage and something almost warm flickers there on instinct, old habit, ten years of muscle memory — before he seems to remember, visibly, and shuts it down, his face resetting into something careful before he looks away again. You watch it happen and wish, immediately, that you hadn't seen it. But mostly, for the rest of the hour, there's none of the usual spark in his eyes when they pass over you, none of the teasing, none of the warmth that's always, always been there even when you were actively trying to shut it down. He nods at you once, says “morning,“ in a tone you've never heard him use on you before and then turns his attention fully to the kids and doesn't look at you again for the better part of an hour.

It should be a relief. Instead, it fucking stings.

Yerin gives the group tour of the trucks. Soonyoung lets three kids at a time try on a real helmet. Seungcheol does his part competently, kindly, and entirely at arm's length from you, and when the visit wraps up and the kids are being herded back toward the bus in a loose, sunscreen-smelling parade, you find yourself hanging back at the garage door while Jiwon does the headcount, because you can't make yourself walk away without saying something, even though you have no idea what the something is.

“Hey,” you say, inadequately.

He's coiling a length of hose that doesn't especially need coiling. “Hey,” he says, not looking up. “Kids have a good time?”

“They loved it. You're good with them.” 

“Yeah, well.” He sets the hose down, finally looks at you, and his face is doing the thing it's been doing all morning — pleasant and closed-off.

“Seungcheol—”

“You should get back to the bus,” he says, not unkindly, which somehow makes it land harder than if he'd been sharp about it. “Don't want to lose a kid on my watch.”

It's a joke, technically, the shape of one, but it comes out flat, missing the thing that always makes his jokes land — that easy, unbothered warmth. You realise, standing there in the wide mouth of the garage with the smell of diesel and rubber hose around you, that you've finally managed it. 

“Okay,” you say, because you can't think of anything else, and you turn and walk back to the bus, and don't let yourself look back at the garage until you're sure the kids can't see your face. You spend the entire drive back with a thick lump in your throat and something burning behind your eyes.

You don't sleep well that night, or the two after it. Your brain keeps circling back to the same three minutes in a garage no matter what you try to distract it with. You go through the motions of your days competently enough — nobody at Little Pines seems to notice anything beyond your slightly quieter mood, which you blame on being tired — but underneath the surface you're doing the thing you've always been careful never to do where he's concerned: you're actually thinking about it. 

You skip Friday at the bar that week, and the one after, telling Jiwon and Soyeon you're just tired, which is half true. Minji shows up at your apartment uninvited the same night with a bag of takeout and an expression that says she's done waiting for you to call her back, and you let her in because you don't have it in you to pretend anymore, not to her.

“Okay,” Minji says, setting the containers out on your coffee table like she's settling in for a long negotiation, which, you suspect, she is. “Talk. All of it. I already know something happened at the bar, I was there for the whoop-worthy part, I just don't know the rest.”

So you tell her. All of it — the kiss, what he said after, the eleven days, the garage, the way his face had gone so carefully closed you almost hadn't recognised him. Minji listens without interrupting, which for Minji is its own kind of remarkable, and when you finally run out of words she doesn't say I told you so, which you'd braced for, and which you almost wish she had, because instead she just looks at you, steady and a little sad on your behalf, and says, “You know what you have to do.”

“I know what I have to do.”

“So why haven't you done it yet.”

“Because I've never actually done this before,” you admit, and it's the truest thing you've said out loud in two weeks. “Turning him down, that I know how to do. That's years of practice. I don't know how to do the other thing.“

“Nobody knows how to do the other thing,” Minji says, not unkindly. “You just do it anyway.”

You think about the ten years of it, after she leaves, sitting alone with the takeout containers cooling on your table — the prom, the rain, the coffee you never got, the wedding you didn't go to as anyone's plus-one, every single time you took the easy warm shape of his affection and handed it back to him like something you couldn't use. 

You think about how none of it ever once made him flinch, how you told yourself that meant it didn't matter to him, when really (you can see it now, uncomfortably clearly) it probably meant the opposite. It meant he’d turned the flirting into a joke on purpose, so a no from you never actually cost him anything. But then — keeping it up, over and over, for years, because some idiotic, hopeful part of him had apparently decided you were worth that particular patience.

And you'd spent that same decade telling yourself it was nothing more than a bit, because the alternative — that it wasn't nothing, that it never had been, and that you might actually want it back — was a door you weren't ready to open.

By Sunday you’ve waded into your thoughts deep enough that you can't ignore it anymore. You sit on your kitchen counter with a cup of tea you're not drinking and you make yourself actually look at the thing you've kept in the drawer for ten years, and what you find, when you finally look, isn't complicated at all. It never was. You'd just been very good at making it look that way.

It occurs to you, sitting there with your tea going cold, that obviously, you’ve dated other people since the ninth grade, even been serious with one or two, and none of them ever tied you up in knots the way this has. 

It’s not that they mattered less. It’s that none of them were Choi Seungcheol, who’d been the easiest person in your entire year to like, who’d had half the school a little bit in love with him since he was fifteen, and you’d been so sure back then that a boy like that leaning against your locker was a joke because the alternative — that he meant it, about you, specifically — just didn’t make sense.

It had been simpler, safer, to decide it was just Seungcheol being Seungcheol, the same warmth he handed out to the woman at the post office and the bartender at and anyone else unlucky enough to be standing in front of him, and to file yourself in with all of them instead of letting yourself be the one exception. 

You call Jiwon, because you've run out of ways to have the conversation only with yourself, and because Minji's already said her piece and you want, this once, a second voice saying the same thing back to you before you trust it.

“Okay,” Jiwon says, once you've gotten through the whole thing, sitting cross-legged on your kitchen floor with your phone on speaker and a second cup of tea gone cold beside you. “So let me get this straight. You've liked him since — what, ninth grade?”

“I didn't say I liked him since ninth grade.”

“You basically said that.”

“I said I'd been turning him down since ninth grade, that's a different thing. I think it started as something silly. I haven’t been, you know, pining around for him for a decade straight, and neither has he.” 

You can hear her moving around her own kitchen, a cupboard opening and closing. “Yeah, well. It seems like he’s been waiting for a chance for a decade, though.”

You don’t have anything to say to that. Jiwon continues anyway, so you don’t have a chance. “I genuinely thought you two just had a bit going.  A little routine. I didn't realise that it was unresolved feelings the entire time, and I consider myself a fairly perceptive person, so, congratulations, you've out-repressed even me.”

“That's not a compliment.”

“It's not not a compliment.” A pause. “You're going to go find him, right? Not just think about it for another week.”

Your nose scrunches. “I might.”

“Don't. Go tonight. Or tomorrow. Just — don't let this be a thing you circle for another decade, you've circled it long enough.” 

You laugh, the first real laugh you've managed in days, and it loosens something in your chest that's been sitting there, tight and small, since the fire station garage. “Tomorrow,” you say. “I'll go tomorrow.”

“Good. And tell me everything after. I mean everything.”

“I'm not going to tell you everything.“

“You're going to tell me everything,” Jiwon says, with total confidence, and hangs up before you can argue, which, you have to admit, is probably the correct read of the situation.

You find him on Tuesday evening, off shift, at the little park two streets from the station where you know — because everyone in a town this size knows everyone's habits eventually, whether they mean to or not — he sometimes goes to shoot free throws alone on the cracked half-court when he's got something on his mind. 

Your hands are unsteady the whole drive over, and twice you nearly turn around, and both times you think of Minji on your couch, of your mother's hand on your shoulder, of Jiwon's voice on the phone, and you keep driving.

He sees you before you reach the fence, ball tucked under one arm, and for a second his face does something complicated — surprise, then that same careful, contained politeness from the fire station, sliding down over it like a shade.

“Hey,“ he says. “Everything okay? Kids alright?”

“The kids are fine. I'm not here about the kids.” Your voice sounds horribly strained. If he notices, he doesn’t comment, just waits, bouncing the ball once against the cracked asphalt like he needs something to do with his hands.

“I've been an idiot,“ you say, which isn't how you'd planned to start, but it's true, at least. “For, honestly, a really long time. I don't know how to say the rest of it in a way that doesn't sound like I practised it in my car on the way here, so I'm just going to tell you I practised it in my car on the way here and say it anyway.“

That gets the smallest flicker of something across his face — not quite a smile, but the ghost of one.

“I think I started off thinking you were teasing me, back in school. I thought it was a joke when you asked me to prom. And then after that I just needed you to be joking, because to me it didn’t make sense for you to be serious. And because the alternative meant I had to admit I wanted it too, and I didn't know what to do with that, so I kept handing it back to you instead.”

He sets the ball down against his hip, quiet, still watching you with an expression you can't fully read.

“And at the bar,” you say, “I panicked because I think I realised you meant it, and I realised I did too, and then, I don’t know, I just totally freaked. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously and I kept brushing you off and I was mean when you didn’t deserve it, and I’m really, really sorry.”

He's quiet for a moment, turning the ball slowly in his hands, and when he speaks again some of the careful politeness has gone out of his voice, replaced by something rawer, more tired. “I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t mean it. It was just — in high school, yeah, I had a crush on you. And then after, there would be whole stretches where I wouldn’t even think about it. I mean, you went to college and I went to the academy, and — then you’d show up again and, I don’t know. Especially when you moved back.” He pauses — the ball slips out of his hands, and you both watch it bounce to a stop. “You were always worth asking,” he says, finally. “I wanted the chance again, every time, even if you wouldn’t take me seriously.”

“I'm really sorry,” you say, and you mean it. 

“Okay,” he says, soft, and something in his shoulders loosens. “Practised in your car,” he repeats, and there — there it is, the corner of his lips turning up, small and a little disbelieving, like he isn't sure yet whether to trust it.

“Don't gloat.”

“I'm not gloating. I'm saving this for later. I'm going to bring it up constantly.”

“There he is,” you say, and your own eyes are stinging in a way you choose to blame on the wind, and he crosses the distance between you, slower than at the bar, giving you every chance to step back, and you don't, and this time when he kisses you, there's nothing careless in it at all.

an: i did not intend for this to be so complicated i rewrote this three times with different plots and editing took way way longer than intended. idk. it’s nearly 4am and i need to sleep.

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You used to recognize these streets. You used to be able to make a map out of them, all the crooked alleyways and dead-ends forming a knotted ball of yarn in your head. Now, nothing is as it used to be. None of the names feel familiar. The metallic, cartoonish jingles meant to lure you in like a siren song don’t, either, and you try to discern if you’re hearing them for the first time or if, like so much of this city, you forced yourself to forget. You take another step. All the old haunts you used to frequent are either boarded up or long gone. Either sequestered behind rotting caution tape that’s frayed and worn at the edges or nothing but exposed steel and concrete and a memory where a building used to stand.

God, this is fucking with you. Have you finally lost it? Done yourself in for good? You’re certain it used to be here, right where you’re standing. You know it was. Out of everything, you recognize the shape of the crack in the sidewalk—the one that’s shaped like a bolt of lightning. You remember how you used to joke that it was going to strike Hansol, rewire his brain like electroshock therapy, and you can see it so vividly: the way his lip curled as he sneered and said in return that was the only way he’d ever be able to tolerate you as his partner. How he used to turn his head to hide his eyes from view and the way the neon lights of the city swarmed in on him, filling in the contours of his cheeks and the slit in his brow. Another step and you remember the street vendor that used to set up there—the tent the two of you used to sit beneath in the liminal hours of the night to get out of the rain. The way you came to associate the pitter-patter against the cheap plastic with the bitter beer Hansol used to drink.

Even now, the sound of rain reminds you of him. Of stale beer and neon lights and memories you so desperately want to cling to that dissipate like smoke every time you try to reach for them.

As you stand in the graveyard of your old life, it’s clear the world has moved on without you.

Without him.

But you have to be sure.

You need to know there’s some semblance of truth to what you’ve been hearing. If you’re going to go down this path again—if you’re going to stalk these once-familiar streets with your eyes constantly trained over your shoulder, you need to be absolutely certain the incessant whispers have substance. Even now, there’s still an unshakeable weakness in you when it comes to Hansol, and you need to know what you’re walking into, because he makes you vulnerable. And if there’s a puppetmaster—if all of this is just meant to lure you out of the shadows—there you’ll be, dangling hopelessly from wood and string, only moving when you’re made to.

Nothing more than a marionette. A thrall for someone else’s whims.

You sigh and press the palms of your hands into your eyes. This liminal space is giving you vertigo—this world you recognize but don’t, long for but don’t, want to return to but can’t. Unable to tell the difference between remembrance and hallucination. What’d this place used to sound like? Had you sunk into the ambient noise like a warm bath, letting the conversations of strangers pull you just beneath the surface? Had you wrapped yourself in the muted sounds of their laughter? Their anger? Standing here now—the streets empty and devoid of life, nothing but ghosts to keep you company—you don’t remember. Maybe you can’t, or don’t want to. You want to scream until your throat is raw. Want to drop to your knees on the concrete and let the polluted rain seep into your clothes as you ask no one and nothing, What’s the point in any of this?

But you’re terrified the abyss will answer.

You’re terrified someone will tell you the point is Hansol, because nothing else could drag you back into this life. Nothing else could bloody you so badly and still draw you back in. Nothing else could conjure a fear so primal it left you—leaves you—paralyzed and still have you crawling over glass if it meant getting vengeance on every last person who harmed him. If it meant getting it right this time.

A chill runs up your spine.

You already know who will be standing behind you when you turn around. Hansol has always been a viper, preferring the safety of the fringes until it came time to strike. It’s what made him so effective, that you could feel his presence like a syrupy, tangible thing—that you knew there were eyes on you, that you could sense an apex predator camouflaged amongst the shadows, but you couldn’t see him. Not until it was too late. Not until fangs were sinking into flesh.

That’s what you expect now, for Hansol to charge and tear you apart, and you brace yourself. But nothing happens. There’s no movement. No sound except rain on concrete. You turn slowly, your movements stunted by the anticipation of something that never came, and you’d miss him if you didn’t know where to look. Didn’t know all his favorite hiding places.

And that’s what you do, immediately casting your eyes to the darkest corner of this desolate street, finding his silhouette exactly where you expected it to be. Hunched over to obscure his height, hood pulled over his head to hide his eyes. A lone sliver of moonlight slices through the darkness, and casts him in a silver glow, making him look otherworldly. It’s all that keeps him from being entirely disguised by the umbra.

Still, it feels hard to believe after so long—after time and circumstance formed such an insurmountable chasm.

You watch one another wordlessly, and as the minutes tick by you catch yourself counting his breaths. They’re all that tells you there’s a human being standing there rather than one of the many faceless phantoms taking up residence in this part of the city. That he’s real and not some illusion your brain has cooked up in order to cope with the crippling loneliness that accompanies your forced solitude.

There’s the flick of a lighter, a cherry red ember, and a plume of smoke before Hansol speaks. “Didn’t think you’d actually come.”

Why wouldn’t I, when you asked me to? you want to say, but it feels too intimate for a deserted street that reeks of garbage and stale piss. “I could say the same for you,” is what you settle on. “Suffice it to say I was pretty fuckin’ shocked to hear from you.”

He takes another drag of his cigarette. Exhales another plume of smoke. “Yeah, well.” Tosses the butt to the pavement and stomps it out.

That’s all he has to say about that.

[input_TIME >>: the before // input_DATE >>: may 2112.]

You fidget in your seat, silently cursing the bureau’s uniform requirements.

Two weeks out from graduation and you haven’t heard a thing your instructor has said. The bottom-most button of your blazer refuses to sit right, intent on digging into your skin, and you’ve been fucking with it all morning, hissing through your teeth at every stab of discomfort. If you would’ve known you’d have to dress like a middle-aged department store clerk, you would’ve applied to a different department.

That prompts a snort of hushed laughter.

As if you hadn’t been recruited. As if this bureau with the horrible uniforms hadn’t taken one look at your transcripts and handed you your dream job on a silver platter, effectively offering you everything you’d been working towards your entire life. As if it wasn’t a childhood dream that squeezed into a blazer and pencil skirt every morning for the last six months just to spend nine hours a day sitting ramrod straight in an uncomfortable metal chair. As if it wasn’t optimism and the constellation of stars in your eyes that pored over pages upon pages of notes each night, committing them to memory as you washed away ink smears and ignored the ache in your dominant hand.

Just two more weeks, you reassure yourself. Two more weeks and you’ll finally be done with your instructional training. Two more weeks and it’ll finally be real: a real job, a real title, real responsibilities. Two more weeks and you can finally put your education to good use. You can finally start cleaning up the streets.

Start making a real difference.

It’s this thought, more than anything else, that gets you through each day—more than finally earning a salary; more than finally being able to subsist on something more substantial than freeze-fried noodles and whatever’s on sale at the GS25. You’ll tolerate fourteen more days of this cursed uniform if it gets you one step closer to your place in the Ministry, the role waiting for you within it, and finally being able to realize your life’s purpose.

And it arrives in the blink of an eye. One second you’re metaphorically chained to your desk at the training institute; the next, you’re sitting opposite one of the Ministry’s middlemen as he monotonously explains the minutiae of your employment from his side of a glossy walnut desk. You try to listen but it feels like staring at the sun. All you’ve ever wanted is finally within reach, yet you can’t bring yourself to reach out and grab it. You sigh. Wipe your sweat-slick palms on the same pencil skirt you’d been cursing weeks ago, hoping desperately that whatever you’re feeling isn’t showing on your face. That he can’t smell it like a bloodhound.

There’s no one better equipped for this position. No one who wants it nearly as badly.

Some of your classmates had called you a brown-noser. Doesn’t matter now, you think, your broad smile coming easily as this man—someone important; someone who actually matters—uses more flattering words to describe you. Impressive. Hard-working. Ambitious and intelligent. One of the most promising recruits the Ministry of Welfare has had in decades.

He continues shuffling through your paperwork, tongue darting out to wet his fingertips. “Tell me again where you graduated from.”

You clear your throat. “Ewha Higher Education, sir.”

He hums an acknowledgement. “Ah! Yes, yes, here it is. Ewha Higher Education… double-majored in psychology and social welfare… perfect grades… awarded the highest honors... Yes, yes, very impressive, indeed.” There’s a spot of dark sauce on the corner of his mouth you hadn’t noticed earlier. “Inspector Choi could surely use someone of your caliber.”

You know that name. You wrack your brain, trying to remember how, and then—

Another blink of an eye as your field of vision is reduced to the size of a pinhead. Suddenly, your breath hitches, stuck in your throat as you feel your blood turn to ice. Please no, you want to beg, anywhere but there. But there’s no point. Before you can protest, the man pulls a giant rubber stamp from a drawer, officially branding your file.

MINISTRY OF WELFARE, CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION UNIT

The ink is so red it could pass for blood.

[input_TIME >>: the before // input_DATE >>: november 2112.]

“Again.”

You clench your jaw. Try not to spare any concern for the sound your bones make when you roll your neck to the side. You’re thankful that your back is to Hansol so he can’t see the irritated look on your face. Not that he’s paying attention to you, anyway—he’s taken up residence in the corner, slumped in a metal chair as he makes shapes out of the water stains on the ceiling. He’s silent, making absolutely no sound until it comes time to either criticize you or obnoxiously smack his gum.

So yes, you’re irritated. You’ve been at this for hours. Your arms are sore, you’re hungry, and the stench of mildew is bringing on a migraine. But it isn’t like Hansol’s criticisms don’t have merit. Inspector Choi won’t clear you for field work until you get better. Until you can prove you won’t be a liability.

Until your partner feels confident in your ability to save his life and do your job.

“Again.”

Hansol is not feeling very confident, needless to say.

You raise your arms. Press your tongue into the fat of your cheek. Squint one eye as you center the target. The silhouette stares back at you, riddled with bullet holes, numbers demarcating body parts. You aim your pistol at the bright red X on its chest, trying to imagine a reality in which you have to do this. In which the silhouette was real, living and breathing right in front of you—the difference between kill or be killed. Would you take a life to save your own? To save Hansol’s? It made you sick at first, the thought of it. You used to lie in bed and swear there was blood on your hands, viscous and sticky, but every time you’d stumble to the bathroom and flick on the dingy fluorescent light there was nothing there.

Made you wonder if you were turning into a monster.

But you can do this. You have to. The tattered silhouette is not the difference between life or death, not right now, but it is the only thing standing between you and a dream. A duty. You exhale slowly, trying to steady your erratic heartbeat, and place your finger on the trigger. Before this job, there was a foolish naïveté in the way you thought there was a particular weight to this decision, but not now. No, now you think there’s a foolish metaphor in how little it takes to fire a gun. Just the slightest hint of pressure and you can shoot for whatever reason you choose: to paralyze and stun, to contain—and to kill, of course, if necessary.

If the System deems it so.

Nonsense has clearly made its way into your head. You’re safe. The System keeps you safe, as does the Ministry. The same one you work for. The reason you’re stuck down here in this basement shooting at numbers until it’s instinctual, training to keep others safe. Listening to Hansol chew his gum like a cow. Rummaging through the rubble of everything he says, discarding all his snide remarks as you search for feedback you can actually use.

Another exhale. You widen your stance and plant your feet. Focus on that red X. Adjust your aim by nanometers. Finger firmly on the trigger, just a little bit of pressure, you can do this, you can do this, you can, you will—

Pop!

You startle, letting out a sound of frustration more akin to a wild animal. Hansol pays you no mind, just plucks the remnants of the popped bubble from his face and stuffs the wad of gum back into his mouth, no doubt gearing up for a repeat performance. It’s got to feel more like chewing on rubber by now, but you wouldn’t put it past him to saw off his own foot if it’d annoy you.

Sighing, you lower the pistol and put the safety back on, turning slowly as you dig deep, trying to gather whatever professionalism is left in you. “Hansol.”

Pop! That one was bigger than his—

“Headshot.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“Head. Shot,” he repeats, tone belying his belief that you’re nothing more than a stupid child. He sits up straight, finally making eye contact with you. Nods in the silhouette’s direction. “You see those circles above his head? Big and red?” You ignore his taunting. “C’mon, they’ve got a big X on ‘em and everything. Not even you could miss that.”

Proverbial fingers stuck in your proverbial ears, you turn back around. The silhouette stares wordlessly. It doesn’t beg for its life as you remove the safety just as quickly as you’d put it back on. Doesn’t start bargaining, desperate and incoherent, as you raise your arm and squint through one eye. Doesn’t do anything at all as you pull the trigger and blow a perfect hole right between its eyes.

Now that you think about it, though, it does start to look a lot like Hansol.

[input_TIME >>: the before // input_DATE >>: february 2115.]

Inspector Choi says he’ll handle the paperwork and bids the two of you goodnight.

Snow falls steadily. It’s rare these days—too warm, not the right kind of precipitation—so you’ll covet it, even though it covers the streets and sidewalks in an unsightly and inconvenient layer of brown-grey slush. As always, Hansol isn’t quite so romantic. He scoffs, hands immediately going to his coat pockets in search of his cigarettes. When he pulls them back out, his knuckles are red from the cold, hands trembling slightly when he tries to use his lighter.

“Give it here.”

With a roll of his eyes, Hansol hands the lighter over and moves in closer, cupping his hands around the tip of the cigarette to block it from the wind. You flick the wheel, a low flame sparking after a few well-practiced tries. Hansol erases more of the space between you. Steps in closer and lights his cigarette, sucking the first pull of it deep into his lungs, a small explosion of cherry red embers. He’s close enough for you to smell the smoke that lingers in the wool fibers of his coat. It’s not a smell you ever thought you’d find comforting, but it’s the one you associate with him the most.

“You heading home?” Each word is reluctant, as if they’re being pried out of his mouth by force. He exhales another drag of his cigarette. Doesn’t move entirely out of your space, but turns his head just enough so that the smoke doesn’t blow directly into your face.

Snowflakes land and immediately melt on his eyelashes.

One of the Sybil drones approaches, whirring as it wheels by you on the sidewalk. Every few meters it slows to a stop, moving side to side as it completes its scans, leaving behind perfectly parallel tracks in the slush. The crowd parts biblically as it continues down its pre-programmed path. Every face you can make out wears a look of trepidation; of anxiety and unease. It’s always the first thing you notice. People don’t look at you and see a savior. Don’t see a protector or a guardian or even a role model. People look at you and see someone responsible for defending and upholding the status quo.

The turning of the tides has been slow, but certainly not subtle.

You can feel Hansol’s eyes on you, his gaze heavy and pointed. “Hey,” he says, dragging you out of your head, “I asked you a question.”

The snowfall is heavier now, the flakes larger and less watered-down. You know the entire city will be covered and iced over soon. You know the government will tell everyone to go home and stay there, that there will be a losing battle mounted against it using plows and shovels; that the public transit systems will stop running and, even though you don’t live far, it’ll be a headache to get home if you don’t get going.

But you stay rooted in place, unable to bring yourself to care.

A half-turn with a shit-eating grin. “No,” you finally answer, feeling a thrill jolt through you as Hansol raises an eyebrow in question, “I’m taking you out for a drink.”

Surprise stuns him into silence, leaving him unable to protest. You take advantage, grabbing onto the lapel of his coat as you drag him down the sidewalk towards the pojangmacha the two of you frequent:  the one that never seems to close; the one that has slowly come to belong to you and Hansol.

“Absolutely fuckin’ not,” he grumbles, using all the strength he possesses to pull himself in the opposite direction but he slips, no traction to be found in the snow. He swears. Starts bitching about how fucking cold it is, it’s getting late, he lives all the way across the city and the fucking trains never run in the snow so how the fuck’s he gonna get home, he’s gonna be fucking stranded here and it’s gonna be your fucking fault.

Perpetually open, the amber lights of the pocha spill onto the sidewalk, contrasting against the harsh neon of the city. The heater is cranked to full-blast; you can hear the gears clanking as it works overtime and you find yourself desperate for the warmth. Pulling back one of the flaps, you snark, “I don’t live that far, so if worst comes to worst you can crash on my couch.” Hansol scoffs, making no attempt to hide the fact that this would not be his contingency plan if there were any other options available.

You move aside and gesture for him to go in.

Soonyoung greets you immediately from his spot at an empty table. He waves you over and relinquishes his seat to Hansol—who’s clearly still sour about this entire ordeal—before disappearing to fetch menus neither of you need. “Come on, it’s your birthday,” you argue, dropping into the seat opposite your sulking partner. “Can you please find it in yourself to stop being miserable for one hour and enjoy one of those shitty beers you always drink?”

The corners of his mouth turn up minutely, blink and you’ll miss it, before he schools his expression back into familiar annoyance. “They’re not shitty.”

You roll your eyes. Soonyoung reappears with sweat dotting his hairline, cheeks ruddy from the heat. A complimentary bowl of tteokbokki is placed between the two of you: seemingly a preemptive apology for the unprompted report of the weather forecast that he launches into. You roll your lips. It’s extremely detailed—you might even dare to call it impressive—but what little patience Hansol had is fading fast. So you politely interject, cutting him off to order, “Two shitty beers, please,” which obviously makes no sense to him. Nevertheless, he nods and disappears once more, two cans of beer cracked open and poured into frosted mugs that make your fingers ache, and when you take a sip of what he sets in front of you, it’s just as metallic and awful as you hoped it’d be.

Your lips pucker from the taste and Hansol laughs, not bothering to tamp down his smile this time.

[input_TIME >>: the before // input_DATE >>: august 2115.]

Discontent is swelling.

What used to exist in the undercurrent has morphed into something palpable, the cells of it multiplying as rapidly as a tumor. What was once communicated through knowing glances shared in the safety of silence is now being spoken into existence. Lone protestors on street corners have become grand-scale demonstrations; the handmade signs, once shoddily painted and nailed into a plank of wood, are now replicated and distributed en masse, printed on paper so glossy it’s nearly blinding. What was once a gentle rain is now thunderous. What once thrived only in the shadows of the underbelly has made its way above ground.

Tension permeates every inch of the city, sparing no one. Your branch of the Ministry feels it heavier than the rest. After all, the system they’re protesting was given life here, born from computers and tangles of wires as thick as jungle vines—the system that was once heralded as the guiding light into a new age of governmental omnipresence. What was once revered as a beacon of safety is now regarded with deep distrust, as yet another oppressor with its fingers crossed behind its back, chains ready and waiting for anyone needing to be contained.

Once that skepticism had taken hold, there was no vanquishing it. No going back. Now it has you by the throat, squeezing increasingly tighter, watching with indifference as you struggle to breathe. As the crowds of protestors jeer at you, spittle flying as they hurl their curses and accusations, call you names. It watches with indifference as Inspector Choi locks himself in his office day after day, lights off, speaking to no one, bankrupt of guidance. As Hansol spends his time pacing between his desk and the large window that overlooks the city, a severe crease between his brows as he stares down at the raucous mob, his fragile, fraying nerves unraveling entirely as he chainsmokes with trembling hands, resolving to throw himself off the rooftop before admitting his worry. It watches with indifference as you step into the elevator and descend into the labyrinthine depths of the building; as you navigate the funhouse maze and pass the biometric scans.

Watches with indifference as the automatic door whirrs shut behind you, sealing you in Wonwoo’s domain. This place has always made you uneasy: the neon green lighting that falls over your skin, making you feel like you’re being bathed in acid; the nonstop humming of the servers; the humid, stale air that the fans try—and fail—to circulate. You don’t know how he works down here. How he copes with the unyielding darkness and the liminal passage of time.

Regardless, this is Wonwoo’s empire, its walls built out of CCTV monitors that oversee every inch of this city, scanning and listening and anticipating. Wires dangle from the ceiling. On every computer screen, endless lines of code rapidly scroll by, jumbled and nonsensical, only having to make sense to one person. And there he sits in the center of the room, his figure illuminated by a silvery-blue aura, fuzzy around the edges as if he’s slowly being absorbed by the technology he spends all his time with. There’s an energy drink in his hand and a pile of empty cans at his feet. Every so often he moves—to alter a line of code, to change the view of the CCTVs, to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose—but otherwise he’s entirely still, a ghost on autopilot, and it only adds to the restlessness you feel here.

“How haven’t you gone blind yet?” you half-joke.

Wonwoo snorts a laugh, spinning his chair 90° to greet you. No one else bothers to come down here. “Here to get away from the hellscape outside?”

“Somewhat,” you admit, stepping in closer. Unsurprisingly, Wonwoo’s got cameras trained on every crowd. The one that has assembled right outside the Ministry’s doors is displayed on its own screen. “Got anything we can use?”

He hums and presses a button. The Ministry protestors now up the entire wall of monitors in front of you. “Not really.” He scratches at the back of his neck. “They aren’t protesting anything new. No new faces, either.”

“They’re relentless,” you mutter. “What’s Sybil saying?”

Wonwoo presses another button and the screen splits in half. The camera trained on the protestors remains on the left. On the right, however, is a familiar array of identifiers, colors, and numbers. “Psycho-Pass levels continue to be heightened, as you’d expect, and all Crime Coefficients have remained within normal range. So far, nothing has even remotely approached clouded status.”

You sigh, forced to live another day in this in-between, unable to do your job. Protesting the government isn’t strictly forbidden, per se. It’s certainly frowned upon, but so long as nothing gets flagged by the Sybil System, it remains begrudgingly legal. It’s not your responsibility to arrest petty demonstrators, anyway—that’s the role of another department entirely, so it’s not the crowds themselves that have you so anxious.

It’s the novelty of it all.

The country (and its capital city, especially) has a long history of protesting, but never before have citizens been able to keep their numbers—stress levels or their overall mental wellbeing—within range. Protesting is directly at odds with neutrality, so it seems to be a foregone conclusion that those levels will inevitably surpass the established ranges dictated by the government. Sybil is almost always flagged. Someone almost always ends up institutionalized, locked away to prevent the spread of dissent.

That’s not happening this time, though.

The numbers remain acceptable, ultimately unactionable despite teetering on the knife’s edge of concern, liable to tip over in either direction. Discord continues to circulate. Animosity and distrust continue to fester, burning every bridge the government attempts to build. A plague continues to take over the city. It’ll reach pandemic status soon, and that’s your fear: that by the time everyone else notices, takes it seriously, it’ll be too late.

It’s too late now, you think, eyes scanning over the monitors. You read all of the signs. Listen to all of the synchronized chants. Try not to let the odious words and malice in their voices send you spiraling deeper. You try to trick yourself into believing this will turn out like the others: a brief period of unrest that barely registers as a blip in the country’s history in the end. A government crackdown that widens the chasm but brings an end to the chaos. A bandage stuck uselessly over a bleeding, gaping wound.

You want to believe this. You have to believe this, because there is no fathomable alternative.

Lost in thought, you miss it but Wonwoo doesn’t: a line of code that doesn’t look right. Doesn’t fit with the rest. He types something into the screen and isolates it, and this time you don’t miss it when all the color drains from his face. When you ask what’s going on and he tries to stutter his way through an explanation. When, in fragments, you make out the system didn’t catch it… don’t know how long… should’ve caught it… I don’t know who or what…

You swallow your panic and ask, “Can you fix it?”

Wonwoo doesn’t bother as he answers, “I don—I don't think so? I don't—”

It’s too late.

It’s too late.

“Hey baby, you looking for a good time?” A sleazy voice called out when you walked past; the heavy unpleasant smell of booze, piss, old oil, and cigarette smoke heavily coming from that direction. It made your lips curl in disgust when the mixture met your nose and kept your eyes forward.

Pulling the large thick trench coat tighter around your body, you hoped that it would hide away the little outfit you wore to work and took the chance to inhale the comforting scent of your boyfriend that lingered on the fabric. Keeping you grounded and giving you the strength to bite your tongue.

You ignored the man and his friend yelling insults at your back as you continued your journey through the near empty streets of the Shadow District, back home. With one hand gripping the knife under the thick sleeves, one that Wonwoo had insisted you carry for protection. Luckily, you were able to go another day without having to use it, with the most those men could do was yell out names at your back as you disappear in the crowd.

Even with how early it was, or late depending on the person, the streets were still filled with people. Stores opening their doors to sell synthetically processed foods and supplements to help curve your hunger or thirst, groups of people still enjoying the night life despite the sky glowing grey with smog and sunrise, or those hiding in the shadows, waiting for someone to approach them for the drugs they had in their pockets.

Eagerly waiting for the next victim to get hooked and keep coming back for more.

That was life here in Huimang, named with the intentions of being a City of Hope, but hope was not even a luxury that many people could have. You being one of them, but this was still your home.

The apartment was quiet when you got in, with the grey morning light peeking through the blinds and violet lights that Wonwoo left for you. He was long asleep in your bedroom, greeted by golden eyes and soft meows from your shared cat instead. Her soft dark fur feeling comforting against your leg, and you were quick to shed the coat to pick her up.

“Hello to you too, Doodle Bug.” You cooed at the small feline, scratching the side of her head as you made your way into the small kitchen. Wiggling free, Doodle jumped from your arms to the floor, only to look back at you to meow and it brought a smile to your face, “Didn’t your dad feed you before he went to bed?”

This earned another meow from her, and you chuckled. “Alright, alright. You win. Early breakfast it is.”

After feeding the cat a can of her favorite food, you made sure her water bowl was full before making your way to the bathroom to clean up. The boots you switched to after work kicked off to a random corner of the small living room, the revealing top thrown over the back of the sofa, and your shorts that felt more like underwear left on the ground by the bathroom. You didn’t care that you would need to pick up everything later.

The shower felt amazing on your skin, the hot water washing away everything that had clung to you from working that night—sweat, spilled booze, tobacco smoke, the disgusting things that had been said to you, and the ghost of hands that tried to touch you as you tried to serve drinks.

It left the stripped away version of you. The real version of you, or what was left of it from years of running and trying to survive.

When you emerged from the steamy shower, the cold air of the apartment bit at your damp skin and a shiver ran through you. You were ready to slip into the warmth of your bed, into the warmth of Wonwoo. The shower may have washed everything away, but it also made you aware of how sore your muscles were, and how tired you were. Each day growing heavier on you, no matter how many hot showers you took.

You didn’t bother putting on any pajamas, just slipping onto the old worn bed, with your boyfriend sleeping on his side. His back faces you as you settled under the bedding and moved to mold your body against it, pressing your lips against his bare shoulder.

“How was work?” His voice was deeper than usual, rough with sleep, taking one of your hands that rested against his stomach. The sound and gesture making your lips upturn against his skin.

“The usual. Rich, drunk and high assholes that don’t know how to or even capable of keeping their hands too themselves. Thinking that flaunting their wealth, and expensive body mods will impress anyone enough to sleep with them.” You let out a soft sigh, eyes closed while you welcome the warmth of your boyfriend, feeling his thumb run over the back of your hand.

Wonwoo stopped before he shifted himself to sit up, causing you to lift your head in confusion. There was some dried drool at the corner of his mouth, his black hair a tangled mess from sleep, and a frown on his lips. He had taken his left eye out to sleep, so only his right one was opened and trained on you with concern.

Just looking at him made your heart flutter still after years together, still the most beautiful person you ever laid eyes on. You couldn’t stop from thinking of how lucky you were to have him love you and be in your corner. Your missing piece.

“They touched you?” He asked calmly, that sleepy rasp was now gone and something dangerous took center stage. “And Seungcheol did nothing about this?”

“Seungcheol wasn’t there tonight. You know if he was, or any of us said something, they would be out on their asses. Their credits aren’t any good there if they fuck with the servers, no matter how rich they claim to be.” You answer, rolling onto your back, trying to not giggle when his eye dropped to your bare breasts when they moved. You reached out to run your hand over his arm, giving him a reassuring smile. “It’s not anything I can’t handle, baby. They eventually get bored when they realized that I wouldn’t let them fuck me in the bathroom.”

“I should kill them for touching you.” His words sounded more like a growl while he leaned over you. His gaze slid over your frame before it returned to your face. “Only I can touch you.”

“As lovely as that sounds, I rather keep you next to me and not behind a glass window.” The hand that had been resting on his arm moved up to his neck so you could pull him into a kiss.

Wonwoo didn’t resist your pull, leaning down to find your lips, tasting the minty flavor of the teeth cleaning tablet still fresh on your tongue. The kiss was brief, but it still ignited a fire in you, your body warming, and it seeped to your core. You found yourself chasing his lips when he pulled back, the soft whine that left you earned a smirk from your boyfriend.

“Only I’m allowed to touch you.” He repeated, his mouth brushing against yours, slipping on top of you and his hips pushing your thighs open without any resistance from you. He didn’t wear clothes to bed, so when he pressed down, there was no barriers against his hardening cock and your own bare heat. Another moan escaped you, as your hips instinctually moved as if you would be able to catch the tip of his thick length just the right way. “Only I can fuck you in those bathrooms.”

“Is that so?” You teased, trying to not let your lashes flutter at the way Wonwoo’s strong hand grabbed your hips, holding it there with more pressure than needed, but you didn’t mind his possessiveness over you. He pulled his face back to give you a look, knowing that bratty but aroused smirk all too well, and had to hold back a very vocal groan feeling your cunt getting slicker against the underneath of his cock.

“Last I checked, I am in charge of who touches me, and where I get fucked.”

Wonwoo’s mouth latched onto yours, this time his kiss hungry to taste you again, relishing that you returned that same hunger. You were tired, your body desperate for sleep, but you could never pass up a moment like this; especially when you know letting him fuck you would help you sleep better.

His hands moved down your body, caressing your breasts and teased your hardened peaks, while his tongue took claim of yours. Teasing and sucking on it, each of you swallowing moans his hips moving against yours, his cock sliding through your slit teasingly. Letting himself be coated by your arousal, teasing you.

“You want to play a little, or just want me to fuck you?” Wonwoo asked, pulling from the kiss, his eye looking over your face, a lazy smirk playing over his lips. The question made you laugh because it didn’t sound the least bit romantic or intimate, but at the same time, neither of you were aiming for that. Except you weren’t going to miss a chance to pick on him. “What?”

“You sure know how to romance a…oooh.” The words were lost when he shifted his hips back so that he could slip a hand between your legs, slender fingertips slipping between your folds and found your clit with practiced ease. “Fuck… Wonwoo…”

“If you want me to be romantic…” His voice was soft, his touch matched it in movement. Slow, gentle circles around your sensitive bud, teasing and earned whimpers from you. He was doing this on purpose. His lips barely brushed against your as he spoke again. “Then you’re out of luck.” You went to roll your eyes, but instead they rolled back when two fingers pushed into you, a little gasp leaving you while a groan left him. “Always so wet for me. This is why only I can fuck you.”

“Then do it, you dick.” You snapped, though there was no punch behind it, only to earn a chuckle from him. His fingers were going at a slow agonizing pace, like he hadn’t just woken from a deep sleep, and you didn’t just spend all night working. Taking his time like it wasn’t early hours in the morning.

“You’re demanding.”

“But you love me and will listen anyways.” And he did listen, withdrawing his fingers so he could line himself up; the thick tip barely pressed into you making you groan in a mix of frustration and anticipation. He may have listened, but he sure as hell was going to torture you a bit and pulled back when you would try to roll your hips. “Wonwoo!”

He did this to you a few more times before finally sinking into you, earning a moan of pleasure and relief as he took a quick inhale of breath. Your inner walls squeezed and molding to him in such a delicious way that he had to clear his head or he was going to cum right then.

“Fuck baby…” He groaned, stilling after he filled you completely, his forehead pressed against yours and both eyes squeezed shut this time. Your own body was shaking, relishing in the feel of him on top of you and inside you, fitting together like missing pieces.

When he finally started to move, Wonwoo created a tantalizing pace with his thrusts, making sure not only you felt every inch of his length but for his own enjoyment as well. He wasn’t in a rush, but neither of you were going to last long.

“I love you.” You moaned out, clinging to him in need to feel him over every inch of your skin. You needed to feel the weight of him on you, to be grounded, to know he’s still real, that you were still alive. Wonwoo’s mouth was hot on your collarbone, one hand holding onto your hip using his strength to keep you where he wanted you while the other massaged one of your breasts, leaving marks where it would be hard to hide.

“I love you too, fuck. I love you so fucking much,” His words came out labored, the deep vibrations of his voice sending waves over you with his words, his thrusts started to get sloppy quickly. Too lost in the feeling of you and exhaustion that still clung to him.

He was getting close to his release; except he refused to let go first. He had to make you come undone around him before he could. Wonwoo was a lot of things in life, but he was never a selfish lover; at least he never was one with you.

The hand that was massaging the fatty flesh of your breast slipped between you to give you a bit of help to get to your release. He smirked against your skin, gently pressing his lips to a fresh mark, when you let out a small cry when he started to tease your clit. Your nails raked down his back and left red scratch marks down his back.

You weren’t sure if you were just sensitive from the hot shower, and exhaustion but the mixture of his cock plunging into your warmth and his quick finger movements was just enough to push you over the edge. Your body shaking as your release washed over you, any moans and gasps leaving you were now swallowed up by Wonwoo. His mouth was hot against your lips, tongue eagerly licking the inside of your mouth; his moans turning into soft whines.

You were already snug around him, but when you came it was like you were squeezing the life from him. Wonwoo tried to hold out a little longer, until your hands moved down his body to grab his ass, pushing his hips into you to grind and that was it for him. Letting himself go inside you, filling you until he couldn’t give any more.

Neither of you moved for a moment, his kiss now slowing to a gentle make out and a hand cupping your cheek. The room dim and quiet, letting you both forget that there was a dark world out the confides of your little apartment. When that moment passed, Wonwoo pulled himself out with a sensitive wince and rolled himself off you with a groan.

“You are going to be the death of me.” He muttered, now on his back and pulling you to his side. Giving you enough time to move so you were facing him before you were pressed against his slick skin.

“You’re the one who started it.” You mumbled, still attempting to catch your breath as your eyes closed. Your body is completely relaxed, and exhaustion had finally taken you under.

Barely awake, you said in a sleepy tone, “We need to clean up.”

“No we don’t.” Wonwoo grumbled, sleep taking back over him, turning his head to press a kiss to your hairline. “We need to sleep.”

The excessive knocking started to turn into pounding and finally ripped you from your deep sleep. An annoyed groan left your lips as you rolled onto Wonwoo’s side of the bed, empty and feeling cool against your skin. Showing he had been up and gone for a while.

“Fuck off…” You mumbled, but whoever was at your door was persistent, and you couldn’t ignore it any longer. Getting up, you stumbled through the room to find clothes since you weren’t going to answer naked. Luckily, you found a pair of shorts and a shirt of Wonwoo’s, and whoever it was now full on pounding at the door. Causing you to exhaustedly yell, “Fucking stop it! I’m coming!”

Padding through the small apartment, you were tempted to grab a knife from the kitchen once you realized who it was. Especially when the pounding turned into some kind of beat since this asshole thought he was clever.

Ripping the door open, you were met with the bane of your existence leaning against the door frame; acting like he didn’t just use your door as his personal beat box. His attention on his cybernetic hand that he currently had out as a claw. To the Shadow District, he was Hoshi, but to you and a small group of people, he was Kwon Soonyoung. Your best friend by force more times than choice at this point.

“Finally. Thought I was going to have to claw this door down.” He mused, turning his sharp eyes on you with his tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek.

“And if I don’t kill you for it, Wonwoo definitely will.” You snapped, turning from open door to walk to the kitchen. Pushing off the frame, Soonyoung grabbed a plastic bag that was resting at his feet before sauntering into the apartment and closed the door behind him. “It’s too early for this.”

“It’s almost two in the afternoon.” He pointed out, and you shot him a dirty look over your shoulder.

“I worked late last night, you idiot.” You grumbled, and this made him chuckle, retracting his tiger claws so it was normal metal hand. “What are you doing here anyways? Besides pissing me off while the sun is still out.”

“Was able to get my hands one some fresh fruits, like fresh from a farm type. Wanted to share them with one of my bestest friends.” Soonyoung watched as you froze, turning toward him slowly with interest. Your eyes dropped to the plastic bag in his hand filled with strawberries, oranges, and peaches dangling from his normal hand, only for you to look back up at his face. Seeing right through him, and from the look on his face, he knew it too. “Aaaannnddd maybe some credits.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You no longer felt sleepy or even tired anymore, instead you felt a rush of anger through you. You knew that he was using the fruit to attempt to butter you up. “Why didn’t you use the credits you used on the fruit?”

“Didn’t pay for these. I actually called in a favor from a friend. Figured bring an offering to sweeten the passing of credits.”

You groaned in frustration as you snatched the bag from him. He didn’t put up a fight, instead diverting toward the sofa while you moved to the small kitchen to clean and have some of the fruit for breakfast. Frustrated that he’d known you would take the fruit, but he didn’t know you weren’t going to give him a single credit.

“Go away, Soonyoung. Come back around when you’re not wanting something from us.” You told him, waving your hand dismissively in the air. “I told you before, I am not supporting your addiction anymore. Me and Wonwoo are barely making ends meet as it is.”

The blond tsked before he said your name in a slow and condescending tone, one that made your stomach turn uncomfortably, his sharp eyes looking in your direction. Taking in that your hair was still sleep ridden, Wonwoo’s shirt was actually inside out, and your shorts peeking from under just enough to show you rushed to get dressed. Analyzing you and your blatant lie.

“See… you and I both know that is a lie.” He went to say more, but Doodle had distracted him by jumping onto the sofa, meowing, knowing perfectly well that Soonyoung would give her the attention that she was ‘desperate’ for. Reaching out to pet the feline, he finally continued. “If I’m not mistaken, but isn’t your mother still sending you your monthly allowance? With an extra two thousand credits to convince you to leave Wonwoo and come home.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” You huffed out, knowing that the only reason your friend was bringing that up was because he was fiending; needing another hit to numb himself like everyone else in this city.

Tears started to sting your eyes, because you hated this side of him. The Soonyoung you once knew wouldn’t do this to you, he would never resort to blackmail, but the fiend version of him would and does with no remorse.

“Oh, we both know you do.” He responded in a calm voice, a wide smile on Soonyoung’s face as he played with Doodle. “What better way to say, ‘fuck you Mom’ than letting me use the credits to buy drugs and you can continue to live with Wonwoo and he can stay blissfully unaware of that little account.”

“Fuck you, Soonyoung.” There was a silence between you, a tense one with the only sound was Doodle’s little chirps. “Get out.”

“I guess, you’re right.” He leaned forward to peck the top of your cat’s head, with her meeting his lips with a soft headbutt. Standing, Soonyoung adjusted his ridiculously baggy pants and his compression shirt. “Wonwoo should be at the docks, right? Him and Gyu doing some recon by helping unload some freight? Maybe I should pay him a bit of a visit, see how him and that deliciously muscular man are doing.” He started toward the door, stopping as he reached for the handle, “Would be such a shame if I happen to let it slip that you’ve been hiding who you were before coming to the Shadow District… or well… ran away to it. I am pretty sure he wouldn’t like knowing the person he loves and trusts isn’t who he thought she was and is hiding a dark secret.”

“You’re a real piece of fucking work, you know that right?”

“I know, one of a kind. No one else like me. So a thousand credits sound good?” Soonyoung then turned around, crossing his arms and leaned against the door. The triumphant smile that graced his lips made your nose scrunch in disgust.

“Not a chance.” You shook your head and the smirk he was wearing started to twitch. “I can give you fifty credits.”

“Now, that isn’t going to work, but I’ll bump it down.” Soonyoung scratched his chin like he was thinking of a new total, before snapping his fingers. “Seven hundred.”

“No. Fifty credits.”

“Listen, I brought you fresh fruit!” He dropped his arms to his sides and stomped his feet childishly, but you didn’t miss the way his cybernetic fingers started to lengthen in claws. “This shit is hard to get.”

“Hard to get fresh fruit, that you didn’t pay for.” You could see the way his eyes were darkening dangerously, but you couldn’t give him the amount he wanted. You didn’t have it, and that account he referenced was one you refused to touch or even acknowledge. “I can do seventy five right now if you leave my fucking apartment.”

“You know you drive a hard bargain.” That smirk was back, and he took a few steps toward you, flexing the now clawed adorned hand. “I’ll take that seventy five, and then I am going to stroll down to those docks.” He held it up when you went to speak, and you closed your mouth. “Now, if you don’t want that, then I will gladly take two hundred credits now and your secret stays safe with me.”

“You’re an asshole.” You answered in defeat, turning away from him to wipe away a stray tear from your cheek and went to find your phone to send the credits. You didn’t want him to see you cry, knowing that this Soonyoung wouldn’t feel an ounce of guilt for it, nor did you want to see the way he bounced excitedly. “Don’t come back around after this, because I’m not giving you another fucking thing. Just take the credits and leave me alone.”

“Yeah, sure.” He didn’t believe you when you said this, he never did. Hell, you didn’t even believe the words that came out of your mouth. “You and I both know that you can’t live without your best friend.”

“You’re not my best friend.” You told him, your stomach sick as you sent the credits through the thin device. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes to push back any more tears and attempted to calm yourself before you threw a knife at his head. With a slow breath out, you turned to look at the stranger where Soonyoung once stood. “My best friend died the moment he got hooked on that shit. You’re just the scum that came out of the ashes.”

“Ah, haven’t been referred to as a Phoenix before. I think I prefer tigers still.” He was able to hear the hurt in your voice, he was able to see the pain in your eyes, but he didn’t care. He was too excited that he was able to get high on your credits. “Pleasure doing business with you. Let me know how Wonwoo likes the strawberries. Made sure to grab those for him.”

“Just leave.” You looked away from him, your words felt more like a plea then a demand, one that he actually listened to. But only cause he had what he wanted.

You heard the door open, and his heavy boots walk through the threshold, but you didn’t hear the door close.

“Oh, I forgot to mention.” He spoke slowly, his voice still smug, but there was something softer to it. Like for a moment, your best friend was trying to push past the fiend. “Seokmin saw notices on Holiday. Eviction notices.” Your back stiffened at those words, that sick feeling in your stomach turned into acid in your throat, but you didn’t look back at him. Holiday was a street right before the Shadow District. “I think you and I both know what that means.”

You knew perfectly well what that meant.

“Guess you can’t run from your mom or Skyfall forever.” And with that, Soonyoung closed the door behind him. Leaving you to stand there, next to the counter filled with the fruits he brought.

Tainted with blackmail and betrayal, but that was nothing compared to the anger and fear that you were feeling by his parting words. You felt like you were thrown off kilter, your body no longer felt like yours but the intense emotions that coursed through you.

After all these years that you lied to yourself that the Shadow District wouldn’t be touched by the filthy hands of those rich bastards. Convincing yourself that the home you found here with Wonwoo, with your friends, didn’t always have a looming threat at your door. That you could go a lifetime without seeing her.

It had been years since you ran, but it was still not enough time. It was never enough time to stay away.

The frustrated scream that left you didn’t sound like you, it was raw and from somewhere deep inside you, as you angrily swiped the fruit off the counter and onto the ground. Forgetting that you had pulled out a knife to cut them up and sliced your hand.

“Fuck!” You grasped your wrist, blood starting to come out of the cut, more tears breaking through. Sinking to the ground, you let out a wail as your cried. You were in pain, you were hurting deeper than pain, you were scared.

You were naïve to think that anywhere was safe. Safe from her, safe from Skyfall Industries, safe from the suffocating feeling of greed that came to be a constant in this greedy city.

You lied to Wonwoo when he came home that day, told him that you cut yourself slicing up the fruit Soonyoung had dropped off. Worked it in a way that you wanted him to believe that you had bought them from him, refused to say what happened during your former best friend’s visit, but adamant that the cut happened after he left.

You tried not to look at him when his left eye lens flickered as he scanned your body but failed. Allowing him to read your vitals, take any changes in them, but he didn’t question you further despite of what he’d seen. He didn’t even need to scan you though, unable to hide your distress. That something had happened with Soonyoung, and something deadly started to stir.

He could’ve easily leave, find Soonyoung and put a knife to his throat for upsetting you, for making you feel like you needed to lie to him, but he didn’t. Wonwoo was the quick tempered type, and he had no problem punching or stabbing someone instead of talking it out or walk away, especially when it came to you. But Wonwoo also knew that there was some things that he couldn’t resolve with violence.

Soonyoung, unfortunately, was one of those some things. You were too protective over him, no matter how much the fiend hurt you, but he knew that there was more to it. And whatever that fiend had over you, it kept you from cutting him off. It kept you from telling him.

“Earth to Wonwoo,” Vernon spoke up, pulling the older man from his thoughts and turned his attention back to the conversation at hand. The younger man was sitting on a filing cabinet that was in the corner of Jihoon’s office, one arm resting on his knee while his head leaned back against the wall. “I know it sucks down here, but we are talking business.”

“Sorry.” Wonwoo answered with a sigh, his eyes moved toward the other two men in the room. Jihoon was sitting at his desk chair, his attention on the tablet in his hands and not on the rest on the room. Mingyu was leaning against the wall next to the door, and his attention on his best friend, sensing something was up the moment he saw him. “What was the question again?”

“What did you see in the boxes from the dock yesterday?” Jihoon repeated, and a scoff left Vernon when he did. “Mingyu said you saw something in some of the boxes.”

“It wasn’t what I saw, it was what I didn’t see.” Wonwoo could hear Mingyu murmuring an apology for getting it wrong and leaned forward to rest his chin on his hand. This made Jihoon finally look at him. “That and where they were going.”

“What you mean you couldn’t see?” It was Vernon who spoke, another scoff leaving him as he looked for a pack of cigarettes in the pockets of his jumpsuit, not caring that he received a dark look. “Thought that hacked ass eye of yours could see through shit. You know through thermal scans or some shit.”

“I am not above putting a knife through your own fucking eye. Make you just like me.” Wonwoo warned, which only earned another cocky laugh. The cybernetic-free punk ass knew that he wasn’t joking or bluffing, but they just didn’t give a shit, making his hand twitch toward the knife that he kept hidden away.

“Just get to it.” Jihoon snapped, shooting his own dark look toward both of them. “Why couldn’t you see?”

“Most the boxes, easy to scan and act like I am verifying cargo, but there was about three or four large ones. Couldn’t get a reading at all.” Adjusting in his seat, Wonwoo continued to speak. “Boxes came up empty, but they were definitely not.”

“Took ten of us just to move one onto the truck.” Mingyu grumbled, sounding annoyed that he had to be reminded of the labor he had to do. “No way we were going to be able to move those with the forklift.”

“Well, where are they taking them?” Vernon asked, while Jihoon looked between the two men before them.

“The Factory.” Mingyu answered. The Factory was a warehouse on the dock, typically a storage unit for parts until they are shipped to facilities to build or specialize in installing them on people.  

“Why is that so weird? Everything goes there.” Jihoon sat the tablet down onto his desk to stand, a low grimace sketched over his face, his hand reaching down to massage his leg only to be met with metal. The rest of the group watched in silence as Jihoon schooled his expression and cautiously took steps away from his desk.

“That’s their first stop. The next stop is an address on Holiday. Skyfall Cybernetics Shop, but the address is a set of apartments right now.” This brought an uncomfortable silence over them, one that even Vernon was part of. This was too close to home, and none of them wanted to actually say what it could mean. After a heartbeat of silence, Wonwoo was the one to say it, “This is becoming more than stealing parts.”

“You’re right.” Jihoon nodded, not looking toward anyone as he tried to pace but only manage an awkward limp. Without thinking, Wonwoo’s left eye flickered behind his glasses, scanning his friend and boss to analyze him. Checked for anything different in his vitals.

Jihoon may have been good at keeping himself levelheaded in front of his crew, he never liked showing his worry nor when he was in pain, but he couldn’t hide it away from Wonwoo. And it wasn’t like it was something he typically did, he wouldn’t just scan his friends unless he felt like he needed to, but something told him to do it, and he was right to. Not only was his friend in pain, but he could tell by the increased vitals that there was more than that.

This was more than a simple heist job, this was more than stealing a few parts for a few thousand credits to split. They could easily still go on with the job, focus on the parts on the list and ignore the large boxes since they weren’t what they were looking for. But if Skyfall Industries took the steps to make it where not even scanners could penetrate the boxes, then that possibly meant more security so their usual ways weren’t going to cut it.

It caused the unspoken question hang heavy among the four of them. Was taking this job a good idea after all?

A familiar rhythmic knock broke through the silence that had followed Jihoon’s words, causing the four of them to look toward the opening door. It was Soonyoung, practically skipping into the room with wide eyes, pupils completely blown out, and his skin had a glow to it. His blond hair spiked up, and it was a surprise that the corner of his lips weren’t splitting from the size of his shit eating grin he wore.

The fucking fiend was on a high, and it was obvious to the rest of the people in the room. No scan was needed for this.

“Why hello there gentlemen. Lovely day isn’t it?” He said with a chirpy voice, shooting a smug look toward Wonwoo as he went to close the door. Like he was rubbing something into his face without saying what it was, and that deadly feeling started to stir inside again.

His thoughts went back to when he had come home to you, your hand wrapped in gauze and a few droplets of blood that you missed on the floor. He thought back to how you wouldn’t look at him when you told him that you did it while cutting fruit, the fruit that you ‘bought’ off Soonyoung, and the way your voice was raspy but still full of tears. You made him promise to not go and off the fiend, that he had nothing to do with your hand or your state.

And Wonwoo tried to keep his promise to you, even though he didn’t believe you, because you were so protective over Soonyoung. But that smug look on that mother fucker’s face, while your teary and sad look was burned into his brain, snapped something in him. He was out of his seat before he could stop himself.

A hiss of pain left Soonyoung when Wonwoo slammed him against the door, the doorknob jabbing into his back while a knife was pressed to his throat. Pinning him to the office door and made the three other men yell in surprise.

“You got some fucking nerve showing your face around me right now.” Wonwoo hissed, pressing his sharp knife to Soonyoung’s jugular, more than willing to slice his neck open. “Not after how you left my girl yesterday.”

“Oh that…” Soonyoung sighed dramatically, his cybernetic hand resting on Wonwoo’s arm with the tips of the metal fingers lengthened to sharp claws. A warning from the fiend, but Wonwoo didn’t care. He was seeing so much red that it triggered his fake eye to turn the bright color behind his glasses, and Soonyoung’s smug look turned sadistic. Wonwoo wanted to end him right then and there, ready to watch him bleed out on Jihoon’s office floor. “You’re being so dramatic, all I did was sell her some fruit.”

“You drugged up mother fucker.” The words came out like venom which switched something in Soonyoung, because his blown out eyes flashed and the claws of his hand started to rip the sleeves of his coat. His unserious warning now turning deadly in its own right. Either of them could kill the other right then and there easily.

Neither man would do it though. Wonwoo wouldn’t because he would lose you for good if he did, while there was still shards of the old Soonyoung inside the fiend somewhere that stopped him. Except it didn’t stop them from wanting to, and that was enough to have the other men on them quickly.

Mingyu’s tight grip on Soonyoung’s metal wrist, attempting to loosen his hold on him while Vernon and Jihoon attempted to pull Wonwoo away. Especially the hand that held the knife to the fiend’s throat.

“Let go of him.” Jihoon commanded, while the three men struggled to pull them apart. “Do you think she would be happy with you if you killed him?”

“Yeah, Wonwoo baby.” That smug look was back, but this time there was something sinister and wild to it. He was getting off on this, and it only made Wonwoo’s grip tighten on his knife. “Be a good boy and listen to Jihoonie. Don’t want your princess unhappy with you, do you?”

“Soonyoung shut up, or we will let him kill you and help him lie about what happened to you.” Jihoon scowled, then leaned closer toward Wonwoo. His voice softer in hopes that will help defuse the situation. “Come on, he’s trying to get you to do something stupid. He’s not worth it.”

“Wonwoo…” Mingyu also tried to reason with him, his dark eyes on the older man and were filled with concern.

After a moment, Wonwoo finally pulled the knife away and stepping back while Soonyoung released his grip. The metal claws retracting back to fingers, while his human hand went to his neck to run over the skin where the knife was pressed into him, checking to see if blood was drawn. Only to be disappointed to find that Wonwoo didn’t leave any nicks on him, unable to find a reason to villainize him.

“You should thank her.” Wonwoo told the fiend flatly, more distance created as the two youngest of the group stepped between them. Vernon’s eyes on Soonyoung and Mingyu’s on Wonwoo, both wearing unsure looks on their faces. Neither trusted the fiend or Wonwoo to go back after each other. “If it wasn’t for her, I would have killed you long ago.”

“How generous of you.” Soonyoung was dry with his words, smoothing out the wrinkles of his shirt. The claws were completely put away, but his sharp eyes were still wild and shining with dare. Daring Wonwoo to come at him again.

“Enough.” Jihoon demanded, a hiss of pain followed when he took unsteady steps back from the situation. With a hand planted on the desk, the shorter man shifted on his feet to take pressure of his cybernetic leg. “What are you doing here, Soonyoung? We’re not interested in your bullshit today.”

“Jihoonie. My baby, the love of my life, the sparkle to my eye…”

“I am none of those things to you.” Jihoon sneered while Soonyoung clutched his chest as he changed the sweet talk to hurt.

“…You wound my heart. You wound my soul.” Soonyoung let out an over exaggerated wail, and the rest of the men in the room rolled their eyes. When he wasn’t going to get any other reaction out of them, Soonyoung just sighed and crossed his arms. “I came by just to see my favorite boytoy…”

“Not your boytoy.”

“…But I couldn’t help but overhear when opening the door that you guys were talking about Holiday.” The way the fiend’s lip twitched into a smirk, and it was clear that he found a way to take advantage for his own gain. “I think I may have some information that may benefit you.”

“I’m not paying you shit for whatever you have.” Jihoon saw right through him, just like the rest did. Wonwoo found his place back in his chair, more slouched as he glared at the fiend while the two younger went back to their places in the office. Though Mingyu was standing closer toward Soonyoung, ready to grab him if needed. “I don’t have some promise to not kill you going, so you can either tell me, or I’ll shoot you in the shin.”

“That’s one way to get me on my knees for you baby, but for a few credits, I’ll do it without the bullet.” He went to take a step further into the office, but with a sharp nod from Jihoon, he was stopped by Mingyu. Keeping him by the door and acted as the line in the sand.

“Just get with it.” It was Vernon who spoke, perched back on the filing cabinet, and sounding just as fed up the rest of them. “You’re not going to extort us like you do others. With us, aside from wiped boy over here,” He smirked when he earned a dirty look and a finger from Wonwoo, “you’ll either tell us, you keep your mouth shut, or the next parts you get will not be cosmetic.”

“Whatever you say, pretty boy.” Soonyoung scoffed, crossing his arms and rolled his eyes. “Fine…I’ll tell you…”

Growing up, you’d always heard about the Shadow District from the people around you. To the adults in your life, it was seen as a cesspool of filth and crime. They viewed the people who resided there as criminals and low life individuals with no hope or place in their future society. The area was supposedly so bad that not even your mother or the rest of the elites at Skyfall wanted to set foot in or even want to touch.

They viewed it as a lost cause and ordered others around your age to stay away.

To your peers, they had shared the same view as the adults, that only criminals and low lives lived there but that didn’t stop many of them from venturing over. Mostly to buy the drugs that were offer, addicting and fun party favors to take to the parties they would throw in their empty penthouse apartments, try to sneak into the roughest bars and clubs, or whatever else teens did to cause problems. They saw going into the district as a challenge, when really all it was were cries of attention that their parents would never give.

To Soonyoung, the boy whose mom raised you more than your own mother did, it was home. He was the only person you knew that would talk about the Shadow District in a positive light, making sure you knew that was still beauty beyond the stories that others would tell you. That deep past the crime and poverty, it had a community stronger than anywhere else in the city.

People weren’t fake as the ones in West Hills Parkway where you grew up, or any other rich area in Huimang. Good but guarded people, even if many lost their way in their fight to survive because of the elites running the rest of the city. They were all more than just stolen cybernetics, drugs that would numb them enough to live another day or had to break laws to make ends meet.

He would always talk about taking you there, so he could show you that beauty behind the ugly. Even joking that he was sure you would find a sense of belonging there instead of the world you grew up in and was expected to assimilate to what everyone else expected you to be.

Because in the Shadow District, no one expected you to behave a certain way, no one expected you to be perfect there. No one cared enough, because they all had their own shit to worry about. There you could be anyone you wanted, disappear and become a completely different person than who you were. It was a reality you dreamt to be in, no matter how dark it was, and at one point those jokes stopped being just jokes.

So, the first time Soonyoung took you there, you had finally ran away from your old life and a version of you that wasn’t real. You ran away from the expectations that were laid before you, the evils that were behind the closed doors of Skyfall, left behind a last name that never felt was yours, and changing yourself to someone different.

You became someone else, just another soul trying to survive like everyone else around you.

It hadn’t been easy by any means. You weren’t proud of some of the things that you did along the way, having to adapt and change to survive, but you were happier. Eventually you met Wonwoo, someone who wasn’t meant to be anything more than a dick to ride and a bed to sleep in for the night and fell in love. It was still hard, but together you made it work with him giving you love and shelter while you returned that love and made that shelter a place you both could call home.

You lost a lot over the years for your choices, family and friends, but you also gained just as many. You were free to be who you were and free from your mother’s control, her demands. You were struggling, but you were happy.

But that all came crashing down after Soonyoung’s recent visit, pulling out that flicker of fear you hid away by everything else. The fear that Skyfall would decide that the Shadow District and its real estate was worth their attention. Now, you had to face the reality.

The reality that your past is catching up to you, the reality that Wonwoo will learn of the who you used to be and ran from. Find out that you’ve lied to him for so long. It distracted you, it clouded your thoughts, made you keep looking over your shoulder as you walked to work and was late. The night didn’t get any better either.

Chan snapped his fingers to bring you out of your thoughts, bringing back to Cherries’ busy bar and the full tray of drinks waiting for one of your tables. He raised his brow to you, silently questioning where your head was that night, and all you could do was force a smile at him. It was meant to be your way of telling him you were fine, but your lips felt tight over your teeth. You could only hope that he bought it or didn’t care enough to believe it.

The only response you got from Chan was a shrug, moving away from you to tend to the other customers and servers waiting for their drinks. You picked up the full tray of drinks and carefully balanced them as you made your way through the crowded club. Easily maneuvering through the groups of people standing together, too focused on not bumping into anyone and get to the table with their order, so you weren’t paying attention to the faces of the people around you.

So when a hand reached out and caught you by the hip, it startled you and nearly caused you to drop the tray. Rebalancing yourself, you twisted your head where the hand that held onto you came from, a frown playing over your features. The owner was a smug business type at one of the booths, sleek expensive clothes, hair styled back that people like to see as ‘professional’, and the cybernetics weren’t for because he needed it. They purely for aesthetic and status purposes.

Especially with the type of metal that was used, the highest of qualities that was buffed to shine. It would have looked nice with the flashing lights hitting it, had it been on anyone else and they didn’t touch you like you were a toy to grab. With a jerk of your hips, you pulled yourself away from his touch as a sickening feeling crept up you from where his hand was. Like you just touched poison.

“I will be right back with you.” You yelled over the music, taking a step away from the table to your destination when they spoke your name. You froze on the spot.

It wasn’t because he called you by your first name, most of the patrons here knew it. It was the last name. Your old last name. Your mother’s last name.

“It’s you isn’t it?” He had stood from his seat, you felt him take a step toward you and reach for you again.

“No.” You responded, shooting him a dirty look and pushed forward through the crowd. Blood rushed through your ears, not liking that he still had that smug look on his face, a mixture of anger and panic coursing through you.

You don’t recognize him, it had been so long since you’d seen anyone from your past that they all became nothing but blur of faces and metals, so you couldn’t think of his name or what family he was from. Except he recognized you. You were cybernetic free and looked nearly the same as you did when you ran, just older, more mature, and signs of you learning to survive. He recognized you and called you out by your old name.

As you got closer to the table you were serving, you decided that you were going to circle back to the bar from the other side of the club and get one of the other girls to help him and his table. Maybe even avoid this side for the rest of the night.

It all happened quickly after that. You were so lost in your plans that you missed a girl taking a step back, and you collided right into her. The tray full of drinks flew through the air, splashing the people sitting at the table and everyone standing around them while you landed on the ground with a thud.

The girl who had tripped you was quick to help you up, apologizing to you as you apologized profusely to the people at the table. Your hands moved quickly to grab all the spilled glasses and rush to the bar to get towels from Chan; who was already had a stack of small of them on the bar to help clean up. His expression unreadable, with a new set of glasses already out so he could remake their drinks.

You cleaned up the mess the best you could and was able to get the new drinks to them, while Seungkwan, your manager, tried to placate one of the girls in the group. She was the only one who didn’t get hit with alcohol, but she made a fuss and complained to him about you. Not giving a single damn if she was being truthful or that you were still standing there.

“Go get some air,” Seungkwan spoke to you at one point, cutting off the girl to do so and she looked like she was ready to explode. “I will talk to you when I am done here.”

With a solemn nod, you turned to head to the back of the club. With a glance toward the bar, you saw Chan give you a sympathetic look but was quick to return back to his job, so he wasn’t joining you in getting yelled at. You couldn’t blame him for that, because you didn’t want to be in this position either.

The back of the club was a private alley, one that was fenced off by Cherries’ owner Seungcheol so that not only was there no issues with inventory deliveries, but so his staff had somewhere to hide away. It stopped them from being harassed when they would go smoke or be able to take a breather away from a busy night. It was the only club in the area that did this, and you were grateful that you worked there and not anywhere else.

The cool night air felt like a relief to your hot and sweat covered skin, instantly relaxing you as you breathed in the smell of rain and a permanent smell of oil. It grounded you, giving you the chance to center yourself and remind yourself that you were better than this.

The sound of the back door opening caused you to twist around as Seungkwan walked out with a cigarette in his hand. Leaning against the wall, he took his time lighting the wrapped tobacco and let the heavy door shut before speaking.

“You going to tell me what happened in there?” He asked, blowing a cloud of smoke in the air before his tongue pressed against his cheek, and the brief respite you had was taken away. “I had to comp two rounds of drinks just now, and not to mention, Chan has been saying you been acting strange all night.” He took another drag of his cigarette, his eyes narrowed. “Are you on something?”

“What? No, of course not.” You answered tensely, not liking that he accused you of that. “I just have a lot on my mind. I wasn’t paying attention as well as I should have.” Looking down at your hands, purposely leaving out your encounter with the nameless guy. No one here knew you by that name, and you couldn’t afford it getting out. “I’m sorry. I will do better.”

There was a beat of silence, and you cast your gaze nervously up toward Seungkwan, only to see his eyes were on his cigarette and not you, his expression hard to read. Which made your stomach churn uncomfortably since your manager was an expressive man, always wearing his heart on his sleeve. He made sure that he said what was on his mind, even if it got him in trouble or hurt someone’s feelings.

“Listen…” He finally spoke as he blew out another cloud of smoke then licked his lips. “The first rule at Cherries is plain and simple, whatever shit you have going on in your life is left at the door. You’re here to work, not fucking worry about shit that has nothing to do with this place.”

“I know, Kwan. I am…”

“Sorry. Yeah, I know. You guys always are.” A scoff left him as he said this, taking a final drag of his cigarette then dropped it into a small rain puddle next to him. “You’re paying for all the drinks I had to comp tonight, Chan's tallying it all up now and will be taking it from your tips and earnings tonight.”

Hearing these words made you feel sick, that churning turned sour and felt like bile was already creeping up. After Soonyoung’s blackmail, you couldn’t have this happen since those credits you just lost was needed to recover that loss and for rent. You couldn’t afford to lose another credit, not when you weren’t sure what the payoff was for the job Jihoon had Wonwoo doing.

And you refused to touch that account your mother had for you.

“Understood.” You told him after a long moment of silence on your part, forced to accept this fate of yours. There was no point in arguing with Seungkwan without giving too much away, without giving yourself away. You were in a lose/lose situation here.

“I know that it seems unfair, but you got lucky here since we have fired others for less.” Seungkwan went to grab the door handle to go back inside, before stopping and looking at you with a resigned expression. “Guess is pays that Cheol has a soft spot for Wonwoo, or you wouldn’t just be paying for those drinks, you’d be looking for another job. Take a few minutes to get your head right and then get back in here. We need you tonight, or I would’ve sent your ass home.”

With that, he disappeared through the large metal door. His words echoed through your brain, the contempt he had when he mentioned your boyfriend’s name and his pull with the Cherries’ owner. And by proxy you as well.

You took that few minutes before returning to your job and managed to finish the night with no further mistakes, but you were not able to push your thoughts away. After what happened that night, that nameless guy who knew you by your old name, and Skyfall Industries finally deciding that the Shadow District was worthy for their development, you couldn’t ignore the crushing realization that the two worlds you knew were colliding.

It was early in the morning when you got home and was surprised to see Wonwoo already up and in the kitchen making coffee. With his hair sticking up in different directions, one eye barely open while the other stayed shut, his face still had the indents of his pillow, and sleep still heavy on him. He wasn't in anything more than a pair of dark grey boxers, giving you a perfect view of the rest of his body.

A lean muscular frame with naturally broad shoulders, long legs, and strong arms that was normally hidden away by dark heavy clothes due to the scars that littered on different places on his body. Old wounds from fights he got into over the years, from the accident that caused him to lose his left eye, and from other stupid shit he did. You were seeing one of the barest version of him, a version that only you see, and it was your favorite.

When he looked at you, it made your heart squeeze when a sleepy smile broke across his lips, and a hand reach out to you. One that you reached for without hesitation, your body moving without needing to think too much about it, just ready to be in his presence.

"Hey baby." His voice was rough, his fingers interlocking with yours to pull you into him, before his lips found the top of your head. Pressing them against your hair, before breathing you in. "You smell good."

"I smell gross." You giggle softly, tilting your head so that his lips could find yours. The soft press of his lips helped loosen some of the tension that was clinging to you, but not enough to help you forget. You still had to tell him about that you lose money instead of bringing any home.

"I don't think so." He shook his head, before pressed another kiss to your lips. When he pulled away, his brows then furrowed when he saw your face. "What's wrong? Did something happen at work?"

"Just had a shitty night. Spilled a tray of alcohol all over a table full of people, and Seungkwan was not happy because he had to comp two rounds of drinks." You answered with a small voice and attempted to turn away from him but one of his hands grasped your face to stop you. It hurt to see that smile gone, and concern shine through his eye. "I ended up having to pay for the drinks that we lost today and was told I am lucky that I wasn’t fired." You let out a shaky sigh, "We needed those credits."

You earned silence from your boyfriend, the frown deepened and his eye stayed on you. The sleep that was still clinging to him when you walked in gone, with only the physical signs left. The arm that was wrapped possessively around your waist had tightened, pressing you more against his near bare frame, while the hand on your face held you there. His expression was dark, and it made you slightly nervous.

"I'm sorry…" Your voice sounded small, and this earned a dark laugh from Wonwoo, his thumb brushing against your cheek affectionately. "I'll talk to Seungcheol when he's in next and see if I can get an extra shift to make up for what I lost today."

"Don't worry about it. Shit happens." Wonwoo shook his head, though his expression didn’t changed and his tone was sharper. You knew that he was pissed with you, it wasn't hard to read him when he was like this, but he was holding himself back.

A fight wasn’t something either of you needed, and it left a heavy tension between you both. You avoided his gaze that was searching your face, threatening to pull your secrets that now lingered under the surface than buried deep without the help of his eye. With one look, he would know everything you hid from him, and you would lose everything. You couldn’t have that.

“I love you.” You finally said after a long beat of silence, your fingers brushing against the back of the hand that held your face as you pressed yourself against him. Your eyes flicked up toward his, wanting to be sure that he saw the tip of your tongue run over your bottom lip before you leaned forward to kiss the curve of his collarbone.

“I love you too, but what’s going on? You haven’t—fuck.” A soft groan left him when your mouth moved to his neck, kissing the kiss as your free hand moved down between you. Your hand slid over the fabric of his underwear, cupping his hardened cock through the thin material.

You weren't proud of what you were doing, but it was the only way to distract him. You weren't ready for it all to come out. You weren't ready for him to walk away and hate you.

"Everything is fine, don’t worry." You lied, grateful that he didn't have his left eye in, or he would’ve seen right through you, and used it to your advantage, pulling from his hold to move your mouth over his chest. You earned a moan from him when your teeth grazed his skin, massaging the twitching bulge with your hand, and gave the thick member a gentle squeeze.

"Don't… ah… think I don't know what you're doing." Wonwoo managed to get out with effort, his right eye watching as you slipped down onto your knees. Not caring that you were still in the deep red dress that you had worn that night for work, because you were on a mission. You left a reminder of yourself on his hip, fingers hooking the band of his underwear to pull down. Freeing his cock from its confides.

You chose to not respond, your thighs pressed together at the sight of him, so easily ready for you. His fingers brushed against your hairline, and you looked up to him while your own wrapped around his length, catching the way his face contorted in pleasure when you tentatively stroked him. Mouth slightly opened, with breathy moans escaped while he tried to keep his one eye open to take in the way you looked for him.

Wonwoo went to speak you name in a stern voice, but it was lost when your mouth brushed the tip of his cock before planting an open mouth kiss on it. Pulling back, you gathered some spit in your mouth to dribble it onto his length, coating it with your hand so it easier to stroke what you couldn't fit into your mouth.

The hand that had been brushing your hairline now was going to grip at your hair when you finally took him between your lips, taking nearly half of him in one go and ignored the need to gag when it hit the back of your throat. Wonwoo's head dropped back, no longer concerned over anything exchanged between the two of you, already lost in you. Too lost in the wet heat of your mouth and your tongue pressed against his underneath.

Your hand moved in sync of your mouth, at a pace that he liked, and took him as far down your throat as you could go. It left your boyfriend a mess before you, his grip on your hair tightened but wouldn't take control. The sight of him from this angle made you clench around nothing, your already wet underwear stick to your cunt uncomfortably. To relief the feeling, you slipped a free hand between your thighs.

The feeling of your touch over the covered heat caused you do a quick inhale through your nose that was followed by a whimper. The sound made Wonwoo's head to snap forward, prying open his eye to take in the sight of you. Your mouth stretched over his cock, lips red, and eyes glossed over. Your red dress pushed up your hips and giving him view of one of your hands between your legs, touching yourself while you pleasured him.

The sight made him twitch in your mouth, and found himself quickly near the edge, but Wonwoo was a greedy man. He wanted his as well as yours and watching as you touched yourself as you worked to give him his own was not enough. He needed to feel it himself, he felt like a fiend needing their fix.

With a firm tug of your hair, Wonwoo pulled you off his cock, a groan left his lips when he saw a string of spit trail from your mouth to his cock.

"Get up." He commanded, releasing your hair to help you stand. His own hands rough as he moved you how he wanted you, and you let him. Loving the way he would handle you and took control.

The smell of coffee and sex filled the small apartment as you rested your arms onto the kitchen counter while Wonwoo took his place behind you. He pushed the dress up so that it was now at your waist, and your ruined underwear pulled down. The cook air of the apartment had sent shivers through you when it meat your wet head, leaving you to be the one whimpering.

"Wonwoo…" You weren't sure what you were going to say after this, his name felt right on your tongue in that moment. Especially when you felt the thick head of his cock tease your wet slit, catching your opening just right and you attempted to push your hips back. "Please."

"You know, I have to leave soon…" The words were slightly muffled, Wonwoo's mouth pressed against your shoulder. He continued to tease you, knowing that it would make you lose your mind. "I am supposed to meet Vernon out on the dock today." You found it funny that he said this while he took his time, wording it like it's your fault. It was, but you only intended to suck him off. "Good thing that fucking prick is always late."

You went to respond, only for your mouth to drop when he sunk his teeth into your shoulder and filled you completely in one thrust. It made your eyes roll, the stretch was enough to numb your own mind of everything that was playing in it. This may have started to distract him, but the way he filled you and the way his body enveloped you, maybe you needed this yourself.

Wonwoo didn't stay still too long, pulling back until he was only half out, before snapping his hips forward. The force of the thrust jerked you into the counter, causing your grip to tighten on the counter’s edge to steady yourself. A soft cry left you as you attempted to meet his thrusts but his grip on your hips stopped you. It left you to take what he gave you.

His breath hot against your shoulder as he fucked you in the middle of your shared kitchen, each thrust felt rougher than the last. Filling the apartment with the sounds of skin slapping, the moans that left you both, and the slick sounds of his cock plunging into your cunt. Every time you squeezed around him a string of curses left him, loosening his grip on your hips enough to adjust and pulled you to an upright position.

Your back pressed against his chest, while his mouth was on your neck, running his tongue over the sweat that was starting to collect from your activities. His hands roamed your body as one of your own reached back to grab his hair, trying to find an anchor at the new angle of his thrusts. No longer was he the only mess in this, you were too.

"Wonwoo." You whimpered out his name, with tears pricking at your eyes at the feeling your release almost within reach. Slipping a hand between your legs, you started to desperately rubbing your clit to help him push you over.

Your release hit you harder than you expected, your knees nearly buckled and was more than grateful that you were being held up in that moment. Wonwoo's release quickly followed with a low groan in your ear, and kept you anchored against him. Your breathing labored as you came down from your highs.

Dropping your head back against his shoulder, your boyfriend pressed a kiss to your temple.

"Don't worry too much about the money right now," He murmured against your skin, pulling out of you after a few moments and turned you to face him. Skin flushed, sweat falling from his brow, breathing came out in slight pants, as he looked at you with one eye. "This job that Jihoon is having us do will bring in a decent amount of credits each and bring more parts to the district." He smiled softly. "It'll be enough to keep us comfortable for a while, and maybe even enough to get you, me, and Doodle out of the city. Start over somewhere new."

It was something he always said when Jihoon had him do a job, it was a promise that he kept trying to speak into fruition. It would bring you hope every time he would say it, but this time, it only brought back that uncomfortable twist in your stomach.

“I don’t see why we’re still trying to do this job.” Vernon muttered, blowing smoke from his cigarette, and looked like he wanted to be anywhere but at the dock with Wonwoo. The two had been tasked to stake out the Factory and report back to Jihoon, “Look at the fucking place. Covered in guards that look more like cyborgs than human. What the fuck do they have that needs that much security?”

“Whatever was in those boxes.” Wonwoo answered, declining the pack of cigarettes the younger had offered him. He was tempted, but he didn’t want to pull his mask down as his eyes stayed trained on the building. His eye flickered every so often as he took photos of the large warehouse and the guards that patrolled it, while making sure to notes any patterns he caught. “Jihoon wants us to get photos and videos of everything.”

“Better be so that he can demand more credits if they really want us to do this.” Vernon scoffed as a set of cars pulled up to the Factory’s entrance. Sleek vehicles that screamed status and money. “Hazard pay or whatever the fuck it’s called.”

“That and he’s brought the Angel in to help. If these guards are more parts than human, then we’ll need his help and insight on this.”

“We’re definitely fucked if he had to bring that asshole in.” Vernon grumbled as he pulled his beanie further onto his head and Wonwoo let out a huff of a laugh. They watched one of the car doors open so a woman could get out.

She was older, dark red suit, hair perfectly styled, and a heavy aura of power that clung to her like a second skin. It was clear she was someone important as she was greeted by one of the guards, something that he made sure to note. Then she briefly looked in their direction, and Wonwoo felt a sudden familiarity to her.

The woman was then joined by two more men from the other car, all talking with the guard before making their way into the building. Not before Wonwoo’s eye was able to zoom in and get some photos of all of them. Included in them was a good shot of the woman’s face, and it was then he started to realize that she looked like you, but an older version. There was subtle differences, but it was like he was seeing you over twenty years in the future.

“That woman looks like Y/N.” Vernon pointed out, not looking in Wonwoo’s direction to see that he was having a moment himself. “But like older, richer, and probably a bigger bitch.” The older man shot him a look that Vernon caught. “What? I ain’t saying she’s a bitch all the time, but the girl bites.”

“Don’t I know it.” Wonwoo answered, the photo of the woman still on the screen of his eye. Analyzing her features and matching them to  you with something unsettling in his stomach. He had known you weren’t a native to the Shadow District when he met you, but he remembered you  telling him that you had no family and the closest to family you had was Soonyoung.

He didn’t have a reason to not believe you, it was just sex. It wasn’t important at the time, and the subject of your family had been a sore spot for you. Now looking at this woman, her likeness to you, it made him wonder if you had lied to him.

“How much longer do we have to be here?” Vernon’s bored tone tore Wonwoo from his thoughts, as well as his attention from the building to look in his direction to see he had lit another cigarette.

“I’m sorry, but do you have some other plans that you need to get to?” The words came out harsher than he intended, which earned a sneer from Vernon. “You haven’t shut the fuck up since we got here.”

“Well seeing as this shit keeps getting more complicated, not to mention the looming reality that Skyfall is kicking people out of their homes for whatever ‘redevelopment’ bullshit they have going on. I would say that my bitching and lack of wanting to be on a fucking suicide mission is reasonable.” Vernon waved his hand toward Wonwoo. “I honestly don’t see what this is supposed to accomplish having us fucking sit here? This place fucking stinks of fish and oil, and all that’s going on is you’re taking pictures with that fuck ass eye of yours.” The laugh that left him was bitter. “This surveillance we are doing isn’t going to do shit for us when those fucking things are guarding this shit.”

“Jihoon isn’t holding a gun to your head to do this, you know that right? You don’t have to be part of this.”

“Nah, I rather get the credits.” This answer made Wonwoo roll his eyes, before shaking his head. “I am going to take off though. This shit doesn’t need both of us.” Vernon then pushed off the set of boxes they’d been perched on since early that morning and gave him a nod. “I’d say it was a pleasure, but you annoy the shit out of me, so bye.”

“Yeah, go fuck yourself.” Despite the harsh words, the two did a weird handshake before Vernon was gone. Leaving Wonwoo to finish getting a few more shots and videos, and when he looked back to the building, he caught the woman had excited to go back to her car. As if she was able to feel his eyes on her, she looked in his direction and made eye contact with him.

Wonwoo had his face hidden pretty well, with a mask covering most of his face and his glasses covering the other half. His beanie and thick hood covered his hair, so she had no idea what he looked like, but it didn’t feel that way with the way she looked at him. Like she knew exactly who he was.

He didn’t look away either, taking several more photos of her with his eyes; ones of her head on. No longer caring what he was there for as the realization that she was someone to you, and from the similarities, family, hit him hard.

She then smirked at him before she slipped into the back of the car, letting the driver close the door behind her. Wonwoo didn’t move, catching images of the plates of as the vehicle left the docks.

 Several blocks from the docks, you couldn’t sleep no matter how hard you tried. After sex with Wonwoo didn’t work, you tried to take a hot shower, drank some tea that you were saving, read, laid in silence, laid with a window open so you could hear the street below, but sleep still didn’t happen. You ended up giving up and found yourself on the sofa, wrapped up in your boyfriend’s clothes that smelled like him, and Doodle laid on your lap purring softly.

The comforting feeling of his Wonwoo’s clothes, his smell, and the soft purrs of your pet grounded you, but it didn’t settle anything. You weren’t sure if you wanted to scream and cry in despair and worry or throw and punch things in anger and rage. Nor were you sure where to direct it all.

At life. At your mother and Skyfall Industries. Or at yourself for making this worse by keeping this secret from Wonwoo as long as you did.

The knock at the door and Doodle rushing off the sofa in a panic startled you. The feline stopped once one the floor to look at the door, her eyes wide and pupils dilated in fear before disappearing when another knock came. Her reaction was unusual and didn’t sit right with you as you slipped off the sofa.

When you reached the door, you cautiously looked through the peephole to see who was there, and your mouth went dry. Standing there was a woman with an annoyed and mildly disgusted look on her face and looked like she would rather be anywhere else. The sight of her stirred emotions that you remembered feeling every day growing up.

“I would recommend opening up.” She sighed as she adjusted her expensive designer bag onto her other arm. “I know you are there, and this is no way to treat your mother after all these years.” You didn’t move, or say anything in response, that earned another sigh from her as she spoke your name. “I think it would be wise to open this door, or I will have my men pick up that boyfriend of yours for sniffing around the Factory.”

She knew that would get what she wanted when you ripped open the door with a snarl to your lips.

“You touch him, and I will kill you without a second though.” You seethed to your uncaring mother, who just laughed and shook her head. “What do you want?”

“I wasn’t going to be in the area and pass up a chance to see my daughter.” She pushed past you, her shoulder bumping against yours while she took in the sight of the small apartment. Her eyes moved from the old furniture to the run down cat tree in one corner of the living room, then to the small kitchen that had a few dishes in the sink before they landed on you. The look on her face the same judgmental one that you knew all too well. “I can see that you are putting your monthly allowance to good use.”

“We both know I don’t touch those credits. I don’t need them.”

“Oh, I am aware and sure you don’t.” She waved you off, stopping herself from setting her bag down at the sight of Doodle’s cat hair. “This place screams it.”

“You’re not welcomed here.” You crossed your arms as you said this to her, trying to not visibly flinch when her sharp gaze turned on you. A look that reduced you back to that child she never thought was good enough. “Not in the Shadow District, and sure as hell not in my apartment.”

“Skyfall Industries owns the entire city, foolish girl. And as a member of the board of directors, I am welcome wherever I so please. And that includes…” Your mother then gestured toward the apartment, gold cybernetic metal shining in the low light of your apartment. “…your apartment.”

“Get the fuck out.” You snapped right before her hand connected with your cheek and your head jerked to the side. The metal on her hand sliced your cheek deep, drawing blood and a bruise was quick to follow.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that.” The older woman hissed, her anger turning palatable when you didn’t move for a moment. Your eyes closed as you slowly breathed through your nose, trying to control the familiar shake that would come with this. That anger and fear toward this woman mixing inside you.

Fear tried to reduce you back to that girl that she once controlled near perfectly, and the anger reminded you of the person you had to become because of that control.

“Why are you even here?” You asked coldly. The question was simple as you turned to look at her again, your hand slow to pull the hair that was stuck to the blood on your face. “Thought no one wanted to touch the Shadow District. It didn’t fit your project model for a perfect city. Needing a place to house the lower classes that would bring you your precious cybernetics.”

“You are such a stupid child.” She didn’t seem to care that your expression was dark and cold, or that you refused to wipe away the blood from your cut cheek. A dark bruise quickly formed around it from the force of the slap. Your fists clenched, with your anger started to take over and you had to fight to contain it. “It was always in the plan, it was always going to be redeveloped, but considering that I’m a generous mother…”

“To who?” You asked, your words venom, but she ignored you.

“I managed to keep the project at bay so you could have your little rebellious phase, let you playhouse with this one eye criminal before you finally came home and this place is bulldozed to the ground.” It was then that she reached out and cupped the cheek that she didn’t strike, a soft smile playing over her lips. It was meant to be loving, and if you were still that little girl, you’d be tricked by it like always. “I held it off as long as I could but not only is this disgusting stain on the city getting the makeover it desperately needs. I finally can bring you back home.”

“Had it ever occurred to you that I don’t want to go back? That my real phase was trying to be that perfect model child for you all those years, willing to do anything to earn your love, or your approval.” Your words caused that fake smile to crack, her hand dropping when you recoiled from her touch. “I am home, mom. This is my home, and that one eyed criminal is my family and have been for years. We actually love each other.”

“He loves the lie that you fed him.” She responded, making you look at her in shock and confusion. “You think I don’t know? You don’t think that I don’t know that you been lying to him about who you are and where you came from? Buried me with your father.”

“Don’t you dare bring Dad into this.”

“You don’t get to talk to me like that, or act like this life is so much better when it’s built on a lie.” Your mother smile then turned dangerous, and that left you rooted to the spot. “I thought I taught you better than this and actually feel bad for the pathetic fool.”

You watched as she opened a purse and pulled out an envelope. You knew what was inside it, an eviction notice.

“It’s time to end this foolishness and come back home. Your position is still waiting for you at Skyfall, and I have a lovely gentleman who is willing to look passed the… things you did while out here.” Her voice was smug as you took the envelope from her and she gestured to the apartment then to your appearance. Wonwoo’s clothes, hair a mess, dark circles under your eyes, and the bruise she gave you. Your hand was still wrapped from when you cut it and trembled holding the envelope. “I mean, it’ll be the only place you will have to go in thirty days. Which is more than what the rest of these people are being given.”

“You’re not getting the Shadow District.” You told her with confidence. The laugh that left her would have left you terrified years ago, but now it only fueled the anger inside you. “We won’t let you.”

“Who is this we? You? Your boyfriend and that little gang he’s part of? That fiend that fed your head with all that nonsense?” Smoothing out her suit, your mother regarded you. “You don’t have a choice in this matter. It’s time to wake up and face reality, stupid girl. Your time for fun is up.”

“We aren’t going down without a fight.”

“Of course you will.” Her shoulder hit yours as she passed and made her way toward the apartment door. “It’s evitable. Just like your place at Skyfall with me.”

“I rather die than go back to any kind of life with you.” You yelled as your turned toward her and the door, only for your whole body to freeze. Because standing at the doorway was Wonwoo. His face was still covered so you could not see his expression, but by his posture, he had heard it all.

“Looks like I should be expecting you back sooner.” Her satisfactory tone in her voice made you feel sick and that anger building turned to deep rage.

You lunged toward her, a high pitch angry cry ripping through you, but Wonwoo was already there to pull you back. Holding you to him as you thrashed in his arms, wanting to wrap your hands around your mother’s throat.

With a final look of satisfaction, your mother clothes the door behind her. Leaving you to continue to struggle to free yourself from your boyfriend’s arms, the tears that had been burning behind your eyes finally broke through.

Your mother was sorely mistaken if she thought she could snap her fingers and you would fall in line easily. You weren’t the same person as you were all those years ago, and you weren’t going to leave Wonwoo or the life you had.

And you sure as hell won’t let them take the Shadow District.

He looks devastating in his black suit, his hair slightly tousled in a way that defies the strict grooming standards of his father’s empire. Your eyes lock, and the world around you fades into a blur of mindless chatter and clinking glasses. The tension between you is a living thing, a wire stretched to the breaking point.

For months, you’ve met in the shadows, stealing hours of desperate, hungry passion in hidden corners and locked rooms, all because your parents view your union as a social disaster.

Jay doesn't look away. He gives you a slow, predatory smirk, his gaze dropping from your eyes to the swell of your breasts and the exposed skin of your thigh. He knows exactly what you're thinking. He can see the hunger in your eyes, the way your nipples are already hardening against the silk of your dress.

He makes his move. With a calculated excuse to his parents, he weaves through the crowd, his eyes never leaving yours. As he passes by you, his hand brushes firmly against your lower back, his fingers digging into your flesh for a fleeting second.

"Excuse me for a moment, Mother," you murmur, your voice trembling. "I need some air."

You don't wait for an answer. You slip away, your heels clicking rapidly against the polished mahogany floors. You feel Jay right behind you, his presence a warm heat at your back. The moment you turn the corner into a dimly lit corridor, away from the prying eyes of the elite, he slams you against the wall.

The impact knocks the breath out of you, but you welcome it. Jay’s mouth crashes onto yours in a bruising, desperate kiss. He tastes of expensive scotch and raw desire. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, claiming you with a ferocity that makes your knees buckle. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair.

"I've been wanting to rip this dress off you since the moment I saw you," Jay growls against your lips, his voice a low, gravelly vibration.

He grabs your hand and drags you down the hall to a private cabin he’d managed to secure. He kicks the door shut and locks it with a sharp click, the sound echoing like a starting gun. Before you can even breathe, he has you pinned against the door, his hands roaming frantically over your body.

He reaches down, grabbing the hem of your emerald dress and bunching the fabric up around your waist. He doesn't care about the silk; he only cares about the skin beneath. He finds your panties—thin, lace things that offer no protection—and hooks two fingers into the waistband, ripping them aside to get to your heat.

"You're so wet for me, (y/n)," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

He slides two fingers deep into your pussy, and you let out a loud, sharp moan that echoes in the small cabin. You arch your back, grinding your hips against his hand, craving more. He pumps his fingers in and out of you with a rhythmic, punishing pace, his thumb rubbing circles over your clit until you're shaking.

"Please, Jay... now," you whimper, your head tossing back against the wood of the door.

Jay doesn't make you wait. He fumbles with his trousers, freeing his cock. It’s thick, pulsing, and fully erect. He grabs your thighs, hoisting your legs up around his waist. You wrap your ankles tight, locking him in.

With one powerful thrust, he drives himself deep inside you.

You scream into his shoulder, the sensation of him filling you completely sending a jolt of electricity through your spine. He’s huge, stretching you open, hitting your cervix with every heavy plunge. The friction is intense, the wet slap of his groin hitting your ass filling the room.

Jay begins to fuck you with a primal intensity, his movements raw and unfiltered. He isn't the polished heir to a fortune right now; he's a man starved for the woman he's forbidden to have. He grips your hips, his fingers leaving bruises on your pale skin, as he hammers into you.

"You're mine," he grunts, his voice strained. "Fuck the parents. Fuck the money. You're mine."

You moan his name, your voice breaking as the pleasure builds. You can feel the vibrations of the ship's engines beneath you, blending with the rhythm of his thrusts. You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders, urging him to go faster, harder.

He shifts his angle, pulling you slightly higher so he can hit your G-spot with every stroke. You start to peak, your internal muscles clamping tight around his cock, milking him. The sensation is overwhelming, a tidal wave of heat that crashes over you. You shudder violently, your pussy pulsing around him in rhythmic contractions as you orgasm, your vision blurring.

The feeling of your climax triggers his own. Jay lets out a guttural groan, his body tensing as he delivers three more deep, powerful thrusts. He buries himself as deep as possible, his cock throbbing inside you as he erupts, filling you with hot, thick ropes of cum.

You both slump against the door, breathing heavily, the only sound the frantic beating of your hearts. Jay kisses your forehead, his grip on you still possessive and tight.

"We can't stay here long," he whispers, though he makes no move to let you go.

You lean your head against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin. Outside, the party continues, the rich and powerful oblivious to the act of rebellion that just took place in the shadows of their luxury. For now, in this locked cabin, the world doesn't exist—only the two of you and the lingering heat of your skin.

The adrenaline from the sex is still humming in your veins as you and Jay slowly begin to compose yourselves. You smooth down the emerald silk of your dress, though it’s still slightly rumpled, and Jay fixes his tie with a smirk that tells you he’s still thinking about how tight you felt around him.

"We have to go back," you whisper, though you lean in to steal one more kiss.

The moment your lips meet, the kiss shifts from sweet to hungry. Jay pins you against the cabin wall again, his hands sliding down to cup your ass, pulling you flush against his hardening cock. You moan into his mouth, your tongues dancing in a familiar, desperate rhythm. You're so lost in the taste of him that you don't hear the voices approaching in the corridor.

"I'm telling you, she's probably just freshening up her makeup," your mother’s sharp, aristocratic voice rings out, sounding dangerously close.

Your eyes snap open. You and Jay freeze, your lips still brushing, your bodies pressed tight against the door. You can hear the soft click of your mother's heels and the deep rumble of Jay's father's voice right outside.

"And Jay has vanished as well," his father notes, his tone suspicious. "It's highly irregular for both of them to disappear at the same time."

You hold your breath, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. Jay’s hand is still firmly gripping your hip, and you can feel him trembling slightly—not from fear, but from the sheer thrill of the risk. The door handle jiggles. Just a fraction of an inch, but enough to make you gasp silently.

"Is someone in there?" your mother asks, her voice now right against the wood.

For a heartbeat, you're certain you're caught. You can almost imagine the scandal, the screaming, the immediate separation. But then, a loud crash echoes from the far end of the hall—a waiter dropping a tray of champagne flutes. The distraction is instant.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," your mother sighs. "Come along, let's find the host."

As the footsteps fade away, you and Jay collapse against each other, bursting into a fit of hushed, manic giggles. The terror transforms into a rush of euphoria. You grab his hand and pull him out of the cabin, not heading back toward the ballroom, but sprinting in the opposite direction.

You run through the winding corridors, laughing and whispering, your heels clicking rapidly. You don't stop until you reach the very end of the boat, the secluded observation deck where the salt spray of the ocean mists your skin and the moonlight turns the waves into shimmering silver.

"That was way too close," you pant, leaning against the railing, your chest heaving.

Jay is grinning, his eyes dark with a different kind of hunger now. "I don't know... I kind of liked the risk."

He steps closer, his presence enveloping you. He doesn't go for your lips this time. Instead, he drops to his knees in front of you. The sudden movement catches you off guard, and you let out a small, surprised sound as he looks up at you, his gaze fixed on the slit of your dress.

"You were so loud in the cabin," he murmurs, his voice a low growl. "I want to hear you again. But this time, I want to take my time."

He reaches out, sliding his hands up your thighs, bunching the emerald fabric up until it's gathered around your waist. He doesn't bother with the lace panties this time; he simply hooks his fingers into the side and rips them away, tossing them onto the deck.

Your pussy is still glistening and swollen from the previous round, the scent of your arousal mixing with the salty sea air. Jay doesn't hesitate. He leans in and presses his face against you, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine before his tongue makes first contact.

He starts with a slow, broad lick, starting from the bottom of your opening and dragging his tongue all the way up to your clit. You gasp, your fingers gripping the cold metal railing for support.

"Oh god, Jay..."

He doesn't stop. He begins to lap at you with a rhythmic, swirling motion, his tongue focusing entirely on your clit. He sucks the small, sensitive nub into his mouth, applying a firm, pulsing suction that makes your toes curl. He knows exactly how you like it—the perfect balance of pressure and flicking movements.

You arch your back, your head falling back as you stare up at the stars. The sensation is electric. Jay is relentless, his tongue working with a precision that is almost agonizing. He uses his fingers to spread your folds wide, ensuring every inch of your wetness is tasted, while his tongue continues to hammer away at your clit.

He begins to suck harder, his cheeks hollowing as he draws the pleasure out of you. You can feel the tension building again, a coil tightening in your lower belly. You start to moan, the sound echoing over the sound of the crashing waves.

"Right there... please, Jay, right there!" you whimper, your hips beginning to buck instinctively against his face.

He responds by sliding two fingers deep inside you, mimicking the thrusting motion of his cock while his tongue continues to flick rapidly against your clit. The double stimulation is too much. You feel the wave crashing over you, a violent, shimmering orgasm that makes your entire body shake.

You scream his name into the night air, your internal muscles clamping tight around his fingers as you peak. Jay doesn't pull away; he stays there, sucking and licking through the height of your climax, drinking in every drop of your release.

As you slowly come down, breathless and shaking, Jay looks up at you, a stray drop of your juices glistening on his lip. He looks completely satisfied, a predatory, loving glint in his eyes.

"Best part of the trip so far," he whispers, before standing up to pull you into a tight, possessive embrace.

this work is mine do not steal

A knock on the door does nothing to break your concentration. Your fingers don’t so much as falter. Joshua pokes his head in through a crack in the doorframe, frowns when he sees you, and finally speaks up.

“Any chance you will be wrapping this up soon?”

You don’t look up, but you hum in acknowledgment. “Just a little bit more. I’m just finishing up on….”

Your voice trails off. You don’t attempt to finish the sentence. Joshua sighs.

“It’s Friday night.” He reminds you, gently, still lingering in the doorway. “How about you and I get some dinner? You can sleep in tomorrow.”

He knows his suggestions will fall on deaf ears, but he tries nonetheless. He is hyperaware of his boss at this point. There’s no convincing you to slow down, to take a breather. You won’t allow yourself to. Slowing down means letting your mind wander. And you haven’t let that happen in five years, lest you are reminded of what you have lost.

“It’s okay for you to head home, Josh.” You break him from his thoughts. “I promise, I’m almost done. Maybe an hour more.”

There’s no point in arguing. Joshua sighs and steps out again. He reminds himself to call you an hour later to make sure you have, in fact, left the office. His satchel is already packed, so he just pulls on his coat and steps out.

You know Joshua worries. He’s the only person on staff who can see your struggle. You pride yourself on being composed and shut off from the people around you. If you’re drowning, no one really sees it. Except Joshua, of course. He has been there since the very beginning, so he knows. The rest of the staff though, you did a complete turnover half a decade ago. They don’t know what actually went down or what you’ve been through.

True to your word, you’re wrapping up forty five minutes later. It’s well past midnight, and you know Joshua won’t take kindly to you still working when he inevitably calls in fifteen minutes. There have been occasions where he has dragged you out of the building himself, when he is particularly frustrated. He keeps speaking about ‘work-life balance’, reprimanding you for not having it. You always bite your tongue instead of telling him that you have no ‘life’ to go back to. The only person you ever loved is gone, so your work is all you have.

The drive back is inconsequential. The roads are empty by this point, despite the weekend. Your apartment building is silent and looming as always. You don’t really like your neighborhood, but you had moved here after everything happened for a fresh start, and at the time, you weren’t in any headspace to pick out a nice place. Joshua often complained about how drab and uninspiring your apartment is. You pay him no mind. He has always been all about flowers and rainbows. His desk at the office is so colorful it makes your eyes hurt sometimes.

You leave the light on in the kitchen landing so you don’t have to stumble through the dark to get to the switchboard. Again, you can hear Joshua complaining in your head about how you can easily afford an AI home system, considering how well the company has been doing. You are least interested though. You don’t want to put anything in this apartment that can mean you are planning to live here long term. You don’t even know why you’re still here. Most days, you have no clue where your life is heading anyway.

You toe off your shoes and plop your heavy trenchcoat over the back of the couch. You wonder what you can make yourself for dinner. Something minimal straight out of the packet, probably. You’ve got dozens of those prepackaged meals in your pantry. You beeline for the sink, washing your hands and wondering bleakly what you are in the mood for stomaching. Through the window over the counter, you can see the city’s skyline. Thousands of tiny, yellow dots from people’s windows, the backdrop formed by the sleek, poised buildings of the business sector looming beyond. Straight edges and smooth lines. But one building, not even two blocks away, shows an irregularity.

You squint for a second, hands held under the sink still. It looks like a person. Tall, but very broad. You half think you’re imagining it, but then the silhouette moves, and your eye catches on a gleam of silver over the shoulder.

The water is still running. You shut it off, looking back up. He’s gone.

You blink a few times. Then you glance at the clock. It’s nearly three in the morning. You huff and step away from the sink, shaking off your hands. It’s too late at night for your brain to be functioning properly. You need sustenance. And then you need to sleep.

It’s easy enough to pop your chicken dinner into a dish and slide it into the oven. You set fifteen minutes on the digital counter, and then busy yourself with hopping into the shower for a quick wash. Fifteen minutes on the dot, you’re back in the kitchen, peering into the oven with dripping wet hair and a bathrobe covering your drenched body. Everything around you is silent, so deafeningly still that you immediately hear the click and whir of metal. Right behind you. Too close.

The hair on the back of your neck stands. You whirl around.

Something smashes, hard, against your nose. Pain explodes and you gasp, stumbling back into the counter. Your eyes water, something warm and liquid drips over your lips and down your chin. You’re dizzy, you can’t see properly. You can barely breathe through the excruciating hurt. But alarm bells are ringing in your head, and fight or flight takes over. Backed against the counter for support, you kick your legs out hard. Your feet make contact with something sturdy. There’s a grunt, and the man stumbles backward, his back hitting the refrigerator with what sounds like a deafening crash. You’re already scrambling to run from the kitchen.

You can barely see, but you know the map of this house like the back of your hand. Your ears are ringing, you’re gasping for breath, but panic is fueling you. You’ve had this feeling before, your life has been threatened once, a long time ago, and somehow, the second time around is giving you more clarity.

It also means that you are better prepared this time around.

You can hear the thuds and bangs behind you. Your attacker will be right on your heels soon. You barely manage to wretch your door closed, locking it, before a startling bang shakes it at its very hinges. Your yelp is involuntary. You know you have only bought yourself mere seconds.

Inside your drawer you find what you’re looking for, a tiny, unassuming device, shiny and silver, resembling a lighter. It comes with two silicone ear buds that you shove into your ears. Then, your hand on the solitary button on the device, you turn around.

The door comes down after just two bangs, splintering the doorframe completely. Sawdust rises, clouding the air. You don’t wait to see your attacker, pressing the button immediately.

You can’t hear it, owing to the buds in your ears, but you know a high pitched screeching has filled the air, nearly unbearable because of how high the frequency is. But it does its job. The man howls in pain, dropping what looks like a gun on the ground and using both hands to cover his ears. His knees buckle and he falls on them. You can see, even from a few feet away, the veins in his neck bulge hard, disappearing behind the black mask on his face. He crumples on the floor, clutching the sides of his head. You snatch your phone from where you had thrown it on your bed, frantically dialling three digits.

The man is still writhing, his body, clad in black and silver, contracting and arching painfully as he tries in vain to keep the sound out. As he moves, metal thuds against the ground. There is more clicking and whirring, like machinery buzzing with life. You realise he’s not entirely human. His shoulders tighten as you step closer, trying to make out who it is.

“911, what is your emergency?”

A single brown eye pops open on the stranger's mask-covered face. The other half, you realise, is covered in silver metal. But you don’t care about that, because your blood is running cold.

You would recognise that eye anywhere.

Your grip falters. The device in your hand gets silenced. The man on the ground relaxes, his hands falling down as he quickly tries to scramble to his feet. He is still swaying, his short cropped blond hair matted to his sweaty forehead, the after effects of the sonic attack making him stumble, but for the first time, you register his stature. His height, the breadth of his shoulders. And his one, visible eye.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

The woman on your phone seems to break your trance. Before you know it, the man is rushing out over the broken wreckage of your door. Your hand shakes, your eyes are still watering from the blow you took. Both your phone and your device fall from your hand. You scramble after him.

“Wait-”

But he’s gone. Out of your living room window, which you didn’t notice was wide open when you first walked into the apartment. You can’t see him on the street below, which is glaringly empty. It’s like he was a ghost, vanishing before you can blink. You are left staring at nothing, blood dripping steadily down your chin now, staining your bathrobe, your hair still damp from the shower, sticking to your face and neck. You can’t even register the pain anymore, can’t think of anything else except the cold depth of his one brown eye.

……………………………

“That’s impossible.”

“It was him.”

“And I’m telling you, that’s not possible.”

“I know what I saw, Josh.”

“Y/N, he’s dead. We had a funeral. We buried him.”

“Only parts.” But your voice cracks. You don’t like remembering that day. “We had an arm and a leg. Some teeth. And this man…. half of him was metal. He’s been modified.”

Joshua doesn’t reply, staring at the TV playing across the room on low volume. You follow his lead, gaze blank. You don’t really register much of anything since the pain in your face is too overwhelming to take in much else.

When you woke up this morning, you almost forgot what happened in your apartment mere hours ago. One look at the broken mess of your door, the twinge in your face that made your eyes water, and all the events came rushing back. The punch you took, running to your room, your door broken down, driving your attacker away.

Clear, brown, almond shaped eye. Just one eye, while the other half of the face was covered in what looked like a metal plate, and a mechanical, white circle where the other eye should have been.

“The Secretary of Defence has a bionic arm.” You add, absentmindedly.

“Just one arm.” Joshua counters. “Not half the entire body.”

“It wasn’t the entire body. I could make out the arm and leg. Some part of the face-”

“My point is,” Your friend cuts you off, “why would it be Seungcheol? And if by some miracle it was him, why would he attack you?”

You don’t answer, because you don’t know. You’ve been mulling over the same questions for hours, long before you finally called Joshua to come over. You know bionic prostheses are very much an emerging field in biotech circles. Everyone is racing towards this kind of technology because of how much revenue there is in the medical applications. The other, more sinister angle is weaponry, and you know that a lot of your fellow developers and companies want to tap into that potential. There have been rumors for months, covert projects underway by both government and private agencies to develop this exact kind of thing.

Maybe what you saw last night was an application of that weapon.

It still doesn’t explain why he would attack you. Doesn’t explain why the person who would never so much as raise his voice at you could hurt you so severely that Joshua balked at the sight of your purple and blue face, nose swollen and bruised in ugly colors that told you that you would have to work from home for the foreseeable future.

The Seungcheol you knew had been so gentle. That’s how you met him, actually, so many years ago that you don’t even recognise that time.

He’d spilled coffee on you, as cliché as it sounds. Thankfully, it missed any part of your skin that was bare, but even through the cloth it burned a bit. He was so apologetic, dark brown hair falling into his eyes, messed up by the wind in a look that reminded you a little bit of a gentle dog. He had panicked, tried to wipe you down, but you were too distracted by this giant of a man who talked so softly, dabbed your sleeve with a grip on your wrist uncharacteristically gentle for such large hands. He wanted to pay for dry cleaning, and you agreed only if he would let you buy a coffee to replace the one he had spilled on you. Of course, he didn’t let you pay even after agreeing to it.

“I spilled it on you.” He argued. “What kind of man would I be if I let you pay for it?”

His lips, full and pink in a way that you immediately wondered about the feel of them, ticked up, and a little dimple dented his right cheek. You felt the squeeze of your heart, fluttering wildly in your chest, a feeling that was replicated every day after that, for Seungcheol never left your side since then. Until the day he died. Or did he?

Joshua is watching the screen more intently now, eyebrows furrowing.

“Yoon Tech is doing a demonstration at the New York Expo? I had no idea.”

You blink to focus on the screen. Sure enough, Yoon Tech’s CEO, Yoon Jeonghan, is speaking to the audience and cameras with that sly, charming smile on his face, talking about unveiling a project that can revolutionise the field of war weaponry and put their military supremely on top of their competition around the world. You know Yoon Tech is the military’s primary contractor, and their focus is weaponry. You know this because before Yoon Tech, your company was approached for a military contract, one that you turned down because your prime focus was not weapons. Joshua still thinks you should have said yes, but you don’t want to take the company in that direction. Besides, things get messy if you have the government as your big boss.

“You know Jeonghan doesn’t say anything about projects until the day he unveils them.” You mumble, only half focusing. “He’s secretive that way-”

“Wait, shut up.” Joshua sits up abruptly, scrambling for the remote to turn the volume up. Behind Jeonghan, several people are stepping onto the stage. He’s introducing them one by one as military veterans, and your eyes catch their forms immediately, breath stilling. Protheses, lots of them.

A man with a bionic arm, quite like the one the Secretary of Defence has. A woman with a below knee prosthetic leg. There’s more, attached limbs and shoulders, half a pelvic girdle, part of a jaw. Jeonghan is still talking, gesturing to the people now lining up behind him. The silver gleams, just like it gleamed on Seungcheol’s body last night. The only difference is the Yoon Tech and Military logos stamped on the ones on your screen. Jeonghan announces a demonstration, steps off the stage, and you watch, completely silent, as all of them demonstrate feats of extraordinary strength, aided by their metal attachments, some even showing installed weaponry between the plates of their limbs.

“A formation of advanced humans,” Jeonghan is saying somewhere off screen. “Man and machine combined, that will allow these soldiers to serve their country in ways they did not even possess before their unfortunate injuries.”

“Josh…” Your voice trails off.

Joshua looks pale, confused, and a little frightened when his eyes meet your beaten and bruised face. It looks like he dared not believe, but you know he has reached the same conclusion as you.

“Jeonghan sent Seungcheol to kill you?”

…………………………

The only sound in the large, swanky office is the tea as it pours slowly into a cup on Jeonghan’s desk. It steams, and the scent of chamomile hits his nose. He watches it absentmindedly, and then waves his hand to dismiss his secretary. She places the tea kettle down gently and leaves without a word, and the room falls into silence. There is only him, and the man sitting opposite to him across his large, mahogany desk. Half his face is shrouded by darkness, the other half reflects the light as it hits the cold, unforgiving metal.

Jeonghan tuts.

“Well, this is definitely a setback.” He hums, picking up the cup so he can take a small sip. It warms his throat, perfect for the cold weather. But his mind remains distracted. “After the demonstration at the Expo yesterday, she will definitely know it was me who ordered the hit. After all, who else is making bionic weaponry?”

The man across from him doesn’t respond. He rarely talks unless directly spoken to, one eye blank and unseeing. Jeonghan doesn’t claim to know much about how the human brain works, but he supposes extensive memory modification can do that to a person.

“You always used to have something witty or crass to say, Seungcheol.” Jeonghan sighs. “Oh well. It was either that, or your willingness to kill her. I will take what I can get.”

Again, no reply. Jeonghan focuses on drinking his tea, thinking. His eyes are trained on his former business rival, the presumed dead husband of his current business rival. The soothing chamomile does nothing to take the bitter taste out of his mouth. He still feels the resentment, the bruise on his ego. For your company to be pursued as a first choice in a military partnership, when his own efforts are much grander, much more advanced, for you to turn that opportunity down (you’re a dumbass, he thinks), for him to be second choice, despite where he stands in tech circles…

A company that was a mere baby not even a full decade ago to beat something it took his family generations to build. It irks him. It burns him.

So he will burn you.

He did it once, in the explosion that took away what you loved the most. It should’ve been enough to deter you, but it clearly wasn’t. No matter, he plans to destroy you directly this time.

“You know what you need to do.” He says, mutely. The man before him stirs, nods. Jeonghan scowls at him.

“Make sure you finish the job this time.”

……………………………..

Seungcheol had always been a mega-nerd about tech. And his dream was to own his own company.

He would tell you about it, both of you sprawled on the uncomfortable rooftop of his college dorm building, staring at the sky. He’d talk and talk about his plans after graduation, about how he wanted to build something from the ground up, something he was proud of. You would listen, not just because the sound of his voice always made you so happy, but because you were genuinely interested in it. You had a business major, and while Seungcheol didn’t know how to run things, you did. Even then, it felt like a match made in heaven to you. Seungcheol knew the substance of the company, you knew how to run it. It almost felt like a no-brainer that eventually you would do this together.

Back in his dorm, you would plop yourself into his lap and look over the little gadgets he had designed, the many, many files in his computer of inventions you didn’t even know could exist. You would tease him, calling him a glorified mechanic.

“Engineer.” He would pout. You would kiss it off him through a million giggles. His laptop would be pushed off the bed, forgotten, as you sunk into each other’s arms.

The company was his baby, truly. While you were CEO because you ran day to day operations and focused on logistics, any product you pushed out was crafted carefully in Seungcheol’s hands. He would bring every prototype to you, you would run it by focus groups and tweak it, and eventually, it would hit the market with great success. Seungcheol always thought it was because of you.

“You run your magic over it, and it becomes a hit.” He would say, kissing your cheek over and over. You would just grin and take it, never ever pushing him away.

It was all Seungcheol, everyone knew this. But when he looked at you so softly, that glint of awe in his beautiful eyes, you would just indulge whatever he had to say.

“You wouldn’t know what to do without me, mister.” You would tease. He would squeeze you so tightly.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

All those memories are ghosts now. The truth is, you don’t know what to do without him either. He was part of you, intertwined with your soul, and he was painfully ripped away after so many glorious years together. Sometimes, you think you imagined that time in your life. It feels so far away. But then you walk into your office, you look at the logo he designed, the furniture you picked out, the many, many unfinished files in your server that you are still working on, his creations, and you would be reminded that he was real. All that time, all that delirious bliss, was completely real.

Jeon Wonwoo is the current head of your Product Development branch, Seungcheol’s previous post. You had brought him in after the tragedy that killed your husband. Well, not you, but Joshua, who suggested overhauling the entire team after the attack. He is brilliant, quiet and a little reclusive, but whip-smart. He became intimately familiar with Seungcheol’s work when you brought him in, and he respected the integrity of it, which made you respect him even more. He’s no Seungcheol, but he’s the closest thing, and you think he might be the only one you can trust to answer the questions in your head.

“Bionic weaponry isn’t exactly novel.” He murmurs. “We know it exists. Not openly yet, but it’s being manufactured in a lot of places. Companies we know as well as around the world. Yoon Tech is just the first one to unveil it publicly.”

Joshua is pacing your living room floor, and watching him makes you feel dizzy, so you close your eyes instead. Your face is still tingling with pain, and you’re so tired that you just want to sleep. But you also need some form of explanation.

“So it’s possible? Modifying Seungcheol’s body like that?” Joshua asks.

Wonwoo hesitates, holding his chin and staring at the far wall. “Theoretically, yes. Practically, I haven’t seen or heard of it yet. Not to the extent you describe. Establishing neural connections in that many body parts and making sure they work in perfect coordination is a huge undertaking.”

Joshua looks at you pointedly, as if to say ‘I told you so’.

“But,” Wonwoo clears his throat, “if anyone can accomplish it, it would be Yoon Tech. Their R&D team is the best in the game.”

You return Joshua’s look the best that you can through your marred face. He huffs.

“What about the fact that he attacked her? Why would he do that?” He asks.

Wonwoo blinks. “Oh, that’s easy. Memory modification. Brainwashing. CIA has been doing it for years. A lot of assassins operate under that frame of mind. It’s easier to control them that way.”

A small silence stretches over the room. Joshua is chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“So he doesn’t know who I am.” You mumble. “I’m just….. what, a target?”

Wonwoo nods. “Likely, yes. And you know Jeonghan way better than me, ma’am. It’s very like him to toy with you by using Seungcheol specifically.”

You can’t argue with him on that. You know how ruthless Jeonghan is about his company, about his standing in tech circles. You’re catching up, dangerously close, and some would say you’ve even surpassed him. You won't put it past him to knock out competition under the table.

You never did find out who ordered the hit on Seungcheol five years ago. But now, you think you know.

“Can we undo it?” You ask. “The memory change, or whatever?”

Joshua stares at you. “What do you mean?”

Wonwoo answers you, though.

“I think so, yes. It’s not my area of expertise, but I know people who can tell us more about it. The memory isn’t the problem, though. He’s basically a walking weapon. Subduing him long enough to do anything about his brain is going to be an issue.”

“Whoa, hold on.” Joshua steps closer to you, cutting off your reply to Wonwoo, holding a hand up. Both of you look at him as he stares at you in bewilderment.

“What the hell are you planning? Are you insane? He almost killed you!”

“What do you want me to do then?” You grit your teeth. “Nothing? Should I just lay down and let him kill me?”

“We need to call the police-”

You laugh dryly. Your face twinges with pain.

“I have no proof. You think any agency in this city is going to mess with Yoon Tech? And by some miracle if they do believe me, do you think any of them are going to spare Seungcheol long enough to save him?”

Joshua’s mouth opens and closes, like he wants to protest, but no words leave him. He huffs and shakes his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair. You turn your attention back to Wonwoo.

“I know you’re not a biotech expert, but you’re the best IT guy I know. Any ideas on how to hack into Yoon Tech’s mainframe?”

Wonwoo looks a little taken aback. “That’s….. illegal.”

You roll your eyes, ignoring the pain that comes with it. “I’m pretty sure trying to get your business competitor killed is illegal too. Jeonghan seems comfortable attempting it twice.”

He nods slowly, still slightly hesitant. “I will need help…”

You stand up, essentially declaring the meeting over. You’re tired, as you often are these days. Your injury might look like it affects your face only, but you feel the exhaustion bone deep in every part of you. You want a soothing cup of tea and then a million blankets to lie down in. That's it.

“Call in anyone you need.”

…………………………

You know he will come again. The only question is when.

The bruises around your nose and under your eyes take a long time to fade. The slow move from a deep purple, to blue, to a sickly green and then yellow surprises you every day. You’re breathing easy now, only a week later, but you know going to the office looking like this will raise serious questions. You can’t risk any eyes on this right now, since getting Seungcheol back needs to be as discrete as possible.

That’s what you plan to do. Get him back.

It’s idealistic, almost. Maybe something out of a movie. He has been altered, mind and body, for years. You don’t even want to imagine how much he was been put through. How convoluted must his mind be now? How dangerous would tinkering with his body be?

Every few minutes, your hand reaches into the pocket of your jeans, toying with the small, rectangular chip that Wonwoo had given you a couple of days ago.

“You need to get close enough to him to get this on any bionic part of him.” He told you. “Arm, leg, doesn’t matter. We can’t hack into Yoon Tech’s mainframe, it’s too secure. But we can isolate him from it. This chip can do that. Once that’s done, we can figure out a way to rewire his mechanics.”

It’s easier said than done, of course. For one, Seungcheol is nearly twice your size. He’s always been massive, but he seems even more so now. You wonder if he has worked covertly for Yoon Tech to do other dirty work. How long has he been their weapon? How much training does he have? Can you, a novice civilian, even get close enough to him to do any lasting damage?

“You managed it once, didn’t you?” Joshua replied to your mind’s worries. “You got out of that alive, somehow. I’m willing to bet you can do it again.”

“He’ll be more careful this time.” Wonwoo mumbled. “For one, he won’t try again until you’re completely alone. For another, he will make sure you are isolated from any weapon you might be able to access.”

So now here you are, meandering in your kitchen, watching your television blankly, staring unseeing at your laptop. Anything and everything to make yourself look as unassuming as possible. He’s watching, you know he is, and every fiber of your body is silently asking him to come to you. You wait, and wait, because you would wait endlessly for him. Somehow, you’re not afraid. In your head, this ends in one of two ways. Either you get the love of your life back, or you die trying. You’re good with both options.

It’s Tuesday by the time he finally shows up.

You think you sense him, because the hair on your body stands. You feel the chill, and then, that very soft whirring sound that comes when he moves his limbs.

You stare at the contents inside your refrigerator. You don’t turn around. And yet, he doesn’t shoot. He doesn’t swing.

“I was expecting you sooner.” You finally say.

When you turn to look at him, your eyes catch his visible brown one. Your breath hitches. He has ditched the mask, and you can see his face. Well, what’s left of it.

Metal pieces are carved into the shape of his right ear, curling forward to form a cheekbone, encroaching all the way over his eye and stopping right before his nose. It covers the ridge of his right eyebrow as well, but spares his forehead. A white, flat circle is fitted where his eye should be, and now that you look closely at it, it swirls and moves, no doubt mapping your every move.

The rest of his face is gloriously, warmly human. It’s him, it’s his left eye, his thick, furrowed eyebrow, the strong bridge of his nose, his lips, set in a hard line on his face. His hair has been cropped right to his skull, dyed a dirty blond with brown roots already growing out, slightly spiked and dishevelled around his head. Finally, your eyes dart down to the pistol in his hand, pointing directly at your chest.

You clench your teeth.

“Shoot me.”

He doesn’t reply, but his mouth tightens. From your chest, the gun rises to your head. The shifting of his aim is your window. Your hand shoots back, grabs and throws the first thing you can find at him. It’s a glass. His metal arm comes up, makes contact, and the glass shatters. His stance does not falter for even a second, but he flinches at the shards of glass, and before it even makes contact, you are sprinting forward, hand curled tight around the chip, and with one leap, you collide into him. Hard.

Your momentum is enough, and you both fall in a mess of limbs. You scramble, finding the edge of the plate in his shoulder, but before you can wedge the chip in it, his human hand reaches up and smashes hard against your jaw. You cry out, the sharp sting blooming, the taste of blood already in your mouth. But your hands are still moving, and before you know it, the chip hits hard against his bicep, immediately lighting up a pale yellow, the tiny spikes on its edges sinking into the metal.

Seungcheol shouts and roughly pushes you off. You fall limply on your side, trying to see through how dizzy you are. Everything hurts, your face is on fire, but your eyes are focused on the pale yellow streaks spreading over Seungcheol’s arm, glowing between the plates making up his leg, part of his face. His arm and leg jerk hard, seemingly out of his control. He shouts again, trying to stand up, but it looks like his limbs aren’t cooperating with him anymore.

The human part is still his though.

You force yourself, despite the excruciating pain and the blood now sliding down your throat, and you rush into the living room. Under your couch, you’ve stored what you need. Electromagnetic cuffs, both for his wrists and ankles, shiny grey steel with a light that blinks on when you press the buttons on them. You can hear Seungcheol stumble onto his feet in the kitchen, and you’re already rushing back before he can stand properly. The cuffs hum, slam hard around his human wrist and the light on them turns red. The arm goes limp on his side immediately. He can’t react, not with his only remaining limb, and you are able to secure the other cuff around his ankle as well.

With that, your husband crumples to your kitchen floor.

He’s motionless from the neck down, but he strains hard. You can see the muscles in his neck bulge. He is flushed with the exertion of it, grunting and snarling. His glare is venomous as you back into the kitchen island, trying not to choke on the blood dripping down your throat as you breathe hard.

You drape yourself over the sink, trying not to throw up, spitting blood into it so you can breathe. Behind you, Seungcheol is still groaning and straining, to no avail. You stay leaning over until the wave of nausea passes, and the bleeding slows. Finally, you grab a bunch of paper towels, wiping your mouth and chin. The metallic taste still lingers.

Your hands leave some streaks of blood on your phone as you dial Wonwoo’s number. He picks up on the first ring, and when he speaks, you realise he was anticipating your call.

“The chip just connected to my server! I’m working on decrypting and isolating him from Yoon Tech’s servers right now.”

“How long is it going to take?” You ask, not recognising your own, broken voice. Your jaw is sore. You’re in so much pain.

“I don’t know yet….” Wonwoo’s voice is more subdued. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

You shake your head before you realise he can’t see you.

“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.” Big underreport. “What do I do while you work on this?”

Wonwoo doesn’t immediately answer, but you can hear shuffling in the background.

“What I’m doing only changes the physical.” His voice sounds apologetic. “The mental barrier, his lack of memory, I can’t fix that.”

You know what he is implying. You turn your head to look at Seungcheol, still on your kitchen floor, heaving but no longer futilely straining.

“Thanks, Wonwoo. I can handle that part.”

The truth is, you don’t know if you can. You don’t know what was done to him. You don’t even know if your husband still exists somewhere inside him, or if he was wiped out completely. Are you even cut out for this? With your modest business degree and a company that is successful only because of Seungcheol’s genius, where do you stand in this situation?

As you walk back into the kitchen, watching the man writhing on the floor does nothing to soothe your confidence. Suddenly, all your clarity is gone.

You don’t know what to do.

……………………………..

Seungcheol was a very clingy man.

You always liked that about him. To you, he was like an overgrown bear, curling around you tightly while you chopped vegetables until you complained that you still needed your mobility in order to cook dinner.

“You’re too heavy, Cheolie!” You would whine, but his grip on you would only tighten, pressing your back harder into his front.

“Five more minutes.” He would mumble into your hair. You would laugh incredulously.

You’re reminded of that moment as you drag this immobilised, half human, half robot man into your living room, using every bit of your strength to plop him onto the armchair next to the couch. You’re heaving, your head pounding so severely that it makes you dizzy. There’s no fight in him anymore, and he stares blankly at you as you cough a little, still feeling drops of blood hit your palm as you do so. You huff and go to the bathroom to clean up, rummaging in your medicine cabinet for anything that could ease your pain. You leave him on the chair, knowing he’s incapable of escaping anyway.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re sitting on the couch with a cup of tea, your legs curled under you, a blanket draped over your lap. You stare with bleary vision at the dark, steaming liquid. Seungcheol stares at the ceiling, head thrown back. Neither of you says a word.

“Do you speak?” You muse out loud, not looking at him. “I haven’t heard you talk yet, so it makes me wonder.”

No reply.

“Jasmine tea was your favorite, you know?” You mumble on, not even fully aware of what you are saying. “You were always a coffee person, but when you had tea with me sometimes, it would be jasmine. It’s the only one you could stomach, actually.”

A mirthless laugh leaves you. He still stares at the ceiling. You watch him, the stiff cut of his jaw, the streaks of yellow glowing under the plates of his bionic attachments. There is a distinct, soft hum coming from them, but both of you elect to ignore it.

“Seungcheol.” You whisper. He doesn’t react beyond a small flick of his eyelid.

You’re so tired. You can feel it tug on your limbs, like invisible weights making it difficult to even move. With every ounce of strength in you, you stand up, walking to the closet in your hallway. You return with a pale blue blanket, the one Seungcheol got for himself years ago and never let go, claiming it was a comfort for him. Now, his eye trains on you as you shake it out and drape it over his torso and legs. You don’t look at him, just loosely tucking him in before walking back to the couch, pulling your own blanket around yourself and sinking into the uncomfortable cushion.

You don’t notice his eye on you. You don’t notice anything else as you welcome the pitch black of dreamless sleep. You send out a little prayer that by morning, somehow all of this will be over and you will wake up in bed, wrapped up in your husband’s warm arms.

You’re wrong, sadly. There is nothing but cold.

He’s exactly where you left him before drifting off. He stares into the distance, looking disconnected until you shift and his eye catches the movement. You wince at the crick in your neck, somehow even more tired than you were before sleeping. You sigh and rub your eyes.

“Did you sleep?” You ask.

No response.

You leave him on the couch, opting to putter to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. You eye the cabinet against the far wall, staring at the bottles inside and the amber liquid that gleams in them. A glance at the clock tells you it’s barely noon.

Fuck this.

Seungcheol doesn’t react in any way when you walk into the living room with a bottle of whiskey and a glass that’s too big for a drink like that. He just watches you from the corner of his eye as you sit back on the couch and pour yourself a concerning amount, wincing when your throat protests against the first sip.

“You would not approve of this at all.” You chuckle humorlessly. “You’d be appalled, I think. Drinking this early? Whiskey of all things? That was never my drink. I didn’t have the tolerance for it. You’re the whiskey guy.”

He doesn’t interrupt. You take another sip and stare at the glass. Already, on an empty stomach, you can feel your senses dimming.

“Sometimes I think,” you whisper, “you would really hate the person I’ve become.”

His head lolls in your direction, the only part of his body he can control. His eye meets yours and you feel your heart squeeze.

“I don’t know you.”

His voice is hoarse, a little crack in it from disuse. But it’s his voice, the voice you’ve yearned to hear for so long. You remember laying in your bed at night, wishing you could hear him whisper one last time, maybe even just the sound of your name from his lips, just once more, to hold you over. Your breath hitches, and you can feel your vision blur under newly formed tears.

“I’m your wife.”

“You’re my target.”

You stand abruptly, walking closer to where he sits, or rather, lays sprawled out under the blanket you draped over him. You tug it aside, eye the yellow lines of light that pass over his bionic limbs. You reach down to run a finger over the chip you attached to his bicep.

“If I pull this off you right now,” you stare directly into his eye. “Would you kill me?”

A small silence. Then he nods.

You let out a shaky breath, standing back up. The air is tense, and by now, you’re sick of it. You need to get away from him for a bit, no matter how badly that very thought pains you. Whiskey ignored on the coffee table, you walk to the door to tug your shoes on. You eye the back of his blond head with your hand on the doorknob, feeling a certain sense of defeat.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” You mumble, but he hears you. “You’re the one who created that chip.”

The door closes softly behind you.

……………………………………

There is a mess in his head. A tangled web of wires. He doesn’t know how to begin unraveling it. He can’t even find a single free end to tug on.

In the quiet of the room he is sitting in, he can hear warped voices from inside his own thoughts. He can’t make out any words, only tones, soft and loud both, some conversational, some that sound like laughter. He knows the voice, can recognise it. It’s the woman whose armchair he is sitting on.

Something presses on his temple, like a weighted force, insistent, as if urging him to listen more closely. But he can’t, because it makes pain bloom between his eyebrows, pain so severe it makes his eye water.

Every now and then, he feels intense heat, a kind that’s less uncomfortable and more painful. As suddenly as it comes, it goes away, and the blanket draped over him does nothing but elevate the sensation of it. He sits in the quiet, with the floating voices, the laughter, the weight on his head, the pain between his eyebrows, and the bursts of painful heat that bloom on his skin.

His ears perk when he hears the front door clink open after what seems like hours. He can’t turn himself around to look, so he just listens to the stumbling and mumbled cursing, shuffling and then a soft thud of cloth hitting the ground. Bare footsteps, a quiet sound, and then the woman from before enters his line of sight.

You’re clearly inebriated. He has stalked enough victims before ending their lives to know what alcohol intoxication looks like. He eyes you carefully as you putter around the living room, not doing anything in particular. Then, you look straight at him.

“I don’t know what to do.” You finally speak, and the words are less slurred than he expected them to be. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

He doesn’t reply. You move closer to him, and his face, the only thing he can move, tenses when you pull the blanket back and sink onto the chair by his side. He can feel the press of you against his skin, even if he can’t move. Your shoulder fits under his arm, you head on his collarbone. You drape the blanket over your joined bodies.

“Let’s just pretend everything is okay.” You whisper, your voice cracking slightly. Your arm drapes over his torso. “Just for right now. Just one night.”

He stares at the wall, his side warming quickly under the added weight. It’s different from the heat he felt before, stinging and sudden, disconcerting. It’s different from anything he has felt in a long time. No one touches him. No one has been near him for years, except the people he has taken the lives of, or the scientists that fitted his limbs. This heat right now, it is dull but constant, like how the sun feels on your skin. He hears laughter again, but this time it’s clearer, and it sounds familiar, like something he has heard before. In another life.

He stares at the far wall as your breathing evens out. Your weight doesn’t feel very uncomfortable anymore as time passes. The clock ticks softly, and the rise and fall of your chest is rhythmic. He can feel your heartbeat against his ribcage. There is a whisper in his head. A name. His own. In a voice that is quickly becoming familiar.

He’s tired, but he doesn’t sleep. He can’t remember the last time he slept.

…………………………..

Going into work becomes out of the question immediately, since you can’t leave a brainwashed assassin on your couch unattended for a whole day. Joshua pays you a visit with some stuff that needs taking a look, but otherwise, you sit on the couch, your laptop in front of you, and get through meetings and daily logistics that way. As you work, you think out loud, talking to Seungcheol about random tasks that come up, some hiccup at work you’re fretting over, and how your head of accounting keeps pissing you off. It’s mundane stuff, but it is exactly the things that you used to talk about on the daily. You loved debriefing with your husband, especially because he worked in the same place as you, so he knew all these people just as well, and knew what you were talking about.

Now, he doesn’t respond much. But you’re okay with that. You’re just glad he is here, and not dead like you had assumed for the last five years.

After your moment of inebriated weakness, spending the night curled up in his warmth, you suddenly feel some semblance of hope again. You had heard his heart beat, had felt the twitch and shift of his skin under your touch. He is still your Seungcheol, even if half of him is cold and unfamiliar, you are certain that he is somewhere in there, deep inside. And you’re convinced that if he didn’t remember at all, he wouldn’t have let you sleep on him the way that he did.

(Granted, he had no choice since he was paralysed. But you choose to ignore that reality.)

Joshua has been very wary of this quiet, motionless version of Seungcheol. He steers clear when he visits, not engaging in any way and just choosing to finish up on work with you and leaving. One night, you ask him to stay for dinner, and for the first time, he hesitates. You see his eyes flick to where Seungcheol is sitting, and you sigh in irritation.

“He’s not a piece of furniture, Josh.” You mutter. “He’s still my husband.”

“Is he?” He counters, dryly. “Because it’s been weeks and there’s been nothing. I assumed if he was really in there, we would’ve seen something by-”

“He’s there.” You hiss, cutting him off. Joshua blinks at your harsh tone. “I’ve been here with him every second of every day. I see it in his eyes. He isn’t gone yet-”

The crack in your voice cuts you off. You take a deep breath, blinking vigorously to keep your tears at bay. Joshua has fallen silent, eyeing you with a forlorn expression. After a few seconds, when he realises you won’t continue, he simply nods.

That night, after Joshua has gone, you still have his uncertainty on your mind. You eye the back of Seungcheol’s head, and remember the last few weeks. A seed has been planted in your head, plaguing your brain with doubt and pain. And once again, you feel that bone deep exhaustion that comes and goes frequently these days.

You make up your mind quickly, and your body follows in resignation.

Slowly, you walk back to the living room where Seungcheol sits. You walk closer to him, reaching for his flesh arm, the thick, metal cuff on his wrist. It sizzles a bit, recognises your thumbprint, and clicks, loosening. You don’t look at Seungcheol, despite the fact that he is eyeing you in surprise. You simply kneel down to quickly do the same to the cuff around his ankle before standing up again.

He moves with a little hesitation, stretching his leg and flexing his arm, his fingers. The limbs are stiff, and you’re sure weeks of no activity have left them sore. His bionic arm, and his pants clad leg, both still glow with pale, yellow light, the symbol of your and Wonwoo’s control of them. You reach forward, and yank the chip on his arm hard, disconnecting it. The yellow vanishes, leaving only gleaming, silver metal.

The chip is warm inside your palm. You step back, blinking away tears of what feels like a chapter closing.

“You can leave if you want.” You mumble. “Or kill me, since that’s your mission.”

Slowly, Seungcheol stands. His metal attachments click and whir, buzzing with life again as he twists and moves them, feeling them out. You take a deep breath and realise you can’t stand to look at him anymore. So you head to the kitchen.

You shuffle around mindlessly, just waiting to hear the front door open and close, or maybe you wait for searing pain from wherever he chooses to attack you. You can’t predict what he will do anymore. There was once a time you knew him so well, you could even count his breaths in your head, could mimic the rise and fall of his chest under your palm. Now, you feel like you are lost at sea and he’s nowhere to be found.

There’s shuffling behind you, but you don’t turn around.

“I don’t know you.” He says, and the words hurt just as much as they did when he first spoke them weeks ago. You grit your teeth hard.

“But,” he continues. Hesitates, “I did know you. In another time.”

You feel yourself stiffen, turning just enough to look at him. He fills the doorway, but his figure is hunched, uncertain. You wonder if he is just as tired as you. If he can feel it tug on his limbs like you do, like it’s anchoring him to the floor. How has he felt, watching you for weeks and weeks, nowhere to go but to sit and listen to any word that falls out of your mouth?

“I want to know.” He continues. “I want to remember.”

You stare at him for a long time before you finally move to where he stands. He doesn’t step back, doesn’t react at all, even when you stop just inches from his face. His human eye, brown like the earth, flicks with something you can’t place, and the metal that covers the other half, plain grey, cold and distant. Just where the metal meets his face, the skin is raw and red. Up close, you can see how angry it looks, and you wonder how careless the person was who put him together.

Your heart aches.

“Okay.” You say simply. No promises, no guarantees. Only a commitment, and a hope to see it succeed.

…………………………

It’s a little strange to settle into a routine with this new version of Seungcheol.

For one, he doesn’t do most things humans would. He eats very little, maybe one meal a day, and sleeps even less. He spends a lot of time to himself, mostly silent rumination, something that wasn’t part of his personality at all before. He’s always been loud and jovial, so this change takes some adjusting. You suspect there is a lot about him, maybe all of it, that isn’t the same anymore. The thought hurts you, so you try not to dwell.

You open your spare bedroom for him, since lounging in your living room day and night can’t really be comfortable. You still have his old clothes, whatever you managed to salvage after the explosion in your shared home. He is deeply intrigued by them, and asks, in a low voice, what other belongings of his you held on to.

The answer is: everything.

You make a trip to the storage unit you bought before you moved to your new, drab apartment. You lug back boxes of Seungcheol’s incomplete inventions, designs he was working on at the time, little contraptions that were half functioning, his diaries, his notes. You even bring back his absurdly large collection of watches, every brand and every new, cool tech that existed in the market.

“They were your one vice.” You smile at the memory as he opens the gigantic box. “You actually designed a few yourself too. This one-”

You point to a shiny, square shaped one in the corner. Seungcheol eyes it closely.

“This one was connected to me. You installed something in it that links to the one I wear, and it clicks at the same rhythm as my heartbeat. So it’s not really for telling time.” You shrug.

“I made this?” He asks, lifting the watch from its snug case. It’s not functional anymore, probably out of battery after so many years. It’s strange, because it has no hands and no numbers. There is an engraving of your initials just under the glass, over a black background.

You nod. “You said it made you feel like I was by your side all the time.”

Your voice is low. It almost cracks. He doesn’t say anything more.

You stick to working from home for a prolonged amount of time now, which isn’t difficult, since you’re mostly confined to your office when you go into work anyway. A week or so after Seungcheol asked you if he could stay, you’re due for a site visit. And you offer for him to come with you.

He hesitates.

“No one is going to recognise you.” You reassure him. “For one, it’s an all new staff. And for another, you’re blond now. And short haired.”

He subconsciously runs a hand over his head, his lips pulling together in what can only be a ghost of one of his infamous pouts.

“It doesn’t look bad.” He mumbles.

“I never said it does.” You reply, holding back a smile as you put a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. You tilt your head as you appraise his hair. He’s trying to flatten it down on his head.

“No, don’t do that.” You swat away his hand, running your fingers through the short but soft locks and lifting them up a bit. You mess around with it, distressing it a bit more. You know he’s watching you. It makes your cheeks heat a bit. You try to ignore the feeling.

“There.” You withdraw your hands. “It looks so nice now.”

When your eyes meet his, you realise his ears are tinged pink, and so is the back of his neck. You try to ignore the racing of your heart.

Wonwoo meets you on site, and he’s a little taken aback by Seungcheol being there. His face is covered with a mask, but the metal eye gives it away. After some stumbling, Wonwoo elects to ignore Seungcheol’s presence in favor of just getting work done, and you become immersed in it as well.

“This is where the problem is.” Wonwoo points, handing you the tablet. “There is definitely something wrong, but I can’t tell if it’s because I messed up the configuration or not. I’ve been trying a few different options but they all haven’t worked so far.”

Just over your shoulder, you feel Seungcheol lean in to look at the screen in your hand. You try not to think about him being so close.

“Maybe request a consultation.” You respond. “There is a reason we have engineers on call-”

“The configuration isn’t the problem.” A voice speaks from behind you. “Your base algorithm is wrong.”

You blink and turn your head, eyeing Seungcheol’s human eye, which is right beside you. Wonwoo frowns and steps closer, looking down at the tablet.

“How so?”

You tune it out, only registering his voice and not his words, watching as he points and explains where to make the change. You’re reminded of a time where Seungcheol would do this every day, and you would step back to let him do his thing. You can feel him now, right at your shoulder, his warmth so close you can almost perceive it. As you eye the side of his face, you fight the urge to kiss him. Or hug him. Anything. Your fingers twitch with it. Your heart yearns for it.

It’s over too quickly. And then he steps back.

Wonwoo is already taking the tablet from you, making adjustments as he thanks Seungcheol. You send him a little smile as he walks away, turning to look at the man on your side.

“That was very nice of you.” You say. He just nods a little sheepishly.

“It was an obvious solution.”

You shake your head, patting his arm as you move to walk past him. The metal is rigid and unforgiving under your fingers.

“Don’t be so modest. You were born for this.”

Seungcheol seems to be in a particularly good mood after that.

……………………….

Things get smoother as time goes by.

Something about going into work with you that one time clicks with Seungcheol. With all the material from your storage room, he starts tinkering with his old things again. There’s so many notes and designs, complete and incomplete blueprints keeping him occupied. He does it mostly in the living room, which you don’t mind. You’re glad he isn’t confined to his room. You like seeing him putter around the house or sit crosslegged on the floor, his metal arm whirring and clicking with every turn and movement. Sometimes, he sits out on the balcony when the weather is nice, and you join him with some tea or coffee. You don’t understand most of what he does, you never have, but you listen to him anyway. You bask in the way it lightens his voice, injects life into it. Sometimes, when he has come up with a new idea, he almost sounds exactly like he did before.

Your hope is increasing, tightening around your chest in a way that warms you up but traps you as well. Fear lingers, that this will all go away, that you’re balancing on a poorly strung tightrope and soon enough, you will fall.

And then that moment comes, the inevitable snap.

It’s a bright day, and you’re out for some groceries because you didn’t anticipate living with another person again, and your pantry is getting dangerously empty. You’re actually considering fresh produce instead of all the prepackaged crap you’ve been eating for so long. Seungcheol barely eats one meal a day, so it seems unfair if that one meal comes out of a box.

You’re considering which veggies to buy, lightly squeezing a tomato in your hand, when you feel something at your shoulder. It almost makes you jump, because it feels ominous, and your intuition is correct when you turn your head and come face to face with Yoon Jeonghan.

He’s in a black trenchcoat that nearly swallows his frame, a black cap on his head with dark strands poking out from under it. He looks particularly unassuming, just a casual shopper alongside you. His eyes are not on you, his lips pursed in what looks like consideration as he picks up another tomato, turns it around in his hand.

“This one is firmer.” He finally says, and his voice sounds jovial, casual, like it always does. “It will rot slower. You should get this.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” You grit out, your voice low to make sure no one hears you. One look around the aisle tells you that it’s empty. It’s just him and you. Your nerves are on high alert.

Jeonghan tuts, finally looking at you from the corner of his eye. “Is that any way to talk to a peer? You’ve become so rude, Y/N.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Sarcasm drips from your voice. “I didn’t realise I still had to extend common courtesy to you after you’ve tried to kill me. Twice.”

Jeonghan winces, then chuckles. “Yeah, that was my bad.”

You blink, waiting for him to continue. He doesn’t. He drops the tomato in his hand, picking up and inspecting another.

“That’s it?” You scoff. “‘My bad’? You try to get me killed by turning my husband into a half human killing machine and your response is ‘my bad’?”

“Well, you got him back, no?” He responds. “I would say that’s a huge improvement on whatever sad, bachelorette life you’ve been living all this time.”

You scoff, incredulous. “You’re so…. you’re-”

No words come. You just shake your head. Jeonghan looks at you again, this time, a sly smile crosses his face.

“How about a truce? I don’t try to kill you again, and I don’t demand my asset back from you. Consider it an apology for the attempts on your life.”

You glare at him, feeling anger bubble in you again. “Asset?”

He blinks, like he’s surprised. “Well, yes. Do you know how much Yoon Tech invested in developing him? It wasn’t easy. But it’s fine. I’ve made a lot of progress on bionic weaponry since then. So you can keep him.”

Your rage is boiling over at the way he is speaking of Seungcheol, but you know there’s a reason Jeonghan decided to ‘run into’ you at a public place. You can’t react the way you want to, which is the intense need to strangle him where he stands.

You know there’s nothing you can do about anything Jeonghan has attempted. His company is a mammoth, that and his military contract make him basically untouchable. The only proof you have of his doing is Seungcheol’s own person, and you don’t want to drag him into the legal mess that would ensue. Here Jeonghan stands, offering you a truce because he thinks he has won already, which is new bionic weapons branch going over so well and elevating him to a status no one else would dare to achieve. To him, you are not a threat anymore, and so he is discarding you just like he does with everyone else.

Considering all your options, you think being discarded by him might be the best case scenario here.

“Fine.” You finally relent, watching him smile and step back, almost in finality.

“Great. See you around, Y/N. You should attend next year’s New York expo. I’ve got great things lined up, you know? Maybe it will inspire something in you too.”

He winks and walks a few steps backward, that characteristic smirk on his face still, before turning around and sauntering away, the basket in his head still empty. You watch his back as he leaves, feeling some sense of resolution, no matter how bittersweet it may be.

People like Jeonghan never get justice, because they are too valuable to lose. He has made himself indispensable, which means he will continue to achieve new heights despite whatever operations he conducts in the dark. That’s the reality you live in.

The only saving grace here is that it’s not Seungcheol who will have to do his dirty work going forward.

………………………………….

You’re not really here, Seungcheol can tell.

There’s a distant look in your eyes, like you’re lost deep in thought, as you stir the pot sizzling on the stove. You’ve been like this since you got back with groceries, not greeting him with that usual sweet tone you always use. It’s a little detached, even though he can see that you're clearly attempting to appear normal. He offers to help make dinner, and you take him up on it, so he is quick to begin chopping vegetables as you prepare the rice. You work quietly, which is unlike you. Usually, you don’t stop talking, something he’s grown quite fond of.

The truth is, Seungcheol remembers you, in bits and pieces.

Voices and pictures pass through his brain, like flash cards being held up in front of him. There’s no rhyme and reason to them, no chronological order, like a CD stopping and starting at random intervals. You’re there in so many of them, right by his side, watching him, talking to him, touching him in places he wouldn’t dare let anyone touch. His fingers twitch when he feels it, like a ghost caressing his skin. Sometimes, he thinks he can feel you in his bones, coursing through his veins, and he wonders if he is connected to you in some way.

It scares him.

There’s nothing tangible there, no memory he can reach for and grab. As soon as he tries, it scatters like whisps. He knows he has lived a life, but he has no idea how that life went beyond rusty recollections that come and go. It sets him on edge, and so he never brings them up. He can’t, not when he knows for certain that you will cling onto them with unyielding hope. And he can’t have that burden on him when he already feels like he’s a shell of what he once was.

The only thing solid is you. But today, you’re far away as well.

“Something is bothering you.” He finally says when you’re eating at the kitchen island an hour later. There are dirty pots and pans in the sink. You will clean up after dinner. Right now, you move your food around absentmindedly, and Seungcheol doesn’t like this distance.

You blink and look at him, giving him a small smile that barely reaches your eyes. “Sorry, I’m just thinking about some stuff. Don’t worry about it.”

But he worries. He always worries, because you are all he has. So he pushes.

“Maybe I can help.”

You look a little surprised, and very touched, so your smile this time is more genuine.

“Thank you, Seungcheol, but really, I’m fine. The situation has resolved itself, I’m just going over it. There’s nothing to do.”

Seungcheol hesitates, but his intuition urges him to speak. “Is it Yoon Jeonghan?”

Your shocked expression tells him that he hit the nail on the head.

“How did you know?”

Seungcheol shrugs. He didn’t know, not for certain, but he had a feeling that Jeonghan wouldn’t just give up without one final attack, be it physical or psychological. It appears it was the latter.

“I’ve spent a long time with him.” He replies, pointedly ignoring your stare. “He’s- there’s a lot to him. Most of it isn’t good. I assumed he wouldn’t just leave this alone.”

Your chest rises and falls with a deep breath. “That’s just it, actually. He kind of has.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows furrow. He listens intently as you finally open up, telling him about the encounter you had with the man at the grocery store. He lets the story linger for a bit after you’re done, absorbing the words.

“So, that’s it.” He finally says, but there’s uncertainty in his voice. He knows you hear it too. You sigh.

“I think, in his head, he’s still won because you’re not who you once were.” You add, turning back to your plate to push your food around. You don’t meet his eye. “He doesn’t think you’re a threat to him anymore because you have no memory. So by extension, I’m not a threat anymore either. I’m sure that to him, you’re-”

You pause, avoiding his stare. “You’re more like something he’s dumped on me. Because you’re not who you once were.”

You immediately look up as you say it, your eyes harder now, more resolute. “Which is not true. You’re still Seungcheol, even if you don’t remember. And I’m so happy you’re here with me, because I thought I would never see you again. Even with half of you still gone, you’re worth ten of him.”

Seungcheol’s heart squeezes, a feeling that is foreign to him, as he takes in the heated determination in your eyes. He realises that his fear, the sense of self he lacks, is not something that is well founded. You wouldn’t care that he remembers just snippets. You’re willing to accept him even as an empty husk.

He makes up his mind.

“You used to pour water into your half full shampoo bottle.” His throat tightens as he speaks. You blink, taken aback. “When we were in college. Because you had to make it last until your next paycheque.”

“And you liked those animal print socks. The pink panther ones. They were so warm. I was pretty annoyed that they wouldn’t fit me. So you got me black panther ones my size so we could match. I loved those so much. Every winter, I had to be careful how often I wore them because I didn’t want them to fray.”

You’re watching him speak, a thin layer of tears is shining in your eyes, and Seungcheol tries to soldier on.

“You got a bird clock for our first apartment that chirped every hour. God, I hated that thing. But you loved it so I never said anything.”

“I knew.” You speak, finally, your voice higher and breaking at the end. “You always got the most annoyed look on your face when it chirped. I thought it was funny to see how long you could take it.”

You let out a wet laugh. Seungcheol gives you a bitter smile.

“It’s only bits and pieces.” He explains, trying not to let guilt overwhelm him. “I don’t remember a lot. It’s just the little things that come to me.”

“It’s enough.” Tears make tracks down your cheeks. You reach forward, and Seungcheol feels the warmth of your hand as it curls around his human one. The contact makes something sizzle. It’s familiar. He remembers this clear as crystal. “It’s more than enough.”

He doesn’t let go. You don’t pull away.

………………………….

Things feel different. They are different now. The hope that felt like a noose around your neck, ready to tighten and kill you, is a much warmer feeling, blooming in your chest and transforming into a joy you haven’t felt in a really long time. You think Seungcheol has noticed. He notices more than you were previously giving him credit for. And it looks like he welcomes the change too.

Despite not eating much, Seungcheol busies himself with making you breakfast every morning. You tell him he doesn’t have to, but he shoots it down.

“I’m not sleeping anyway.” He retorts. “Besides, I used to do this before, didn’t I?”

You nod, smiling as you watch him scramble eggs in a pan. It was always this way back then. He would take care of breakfast, you would have lunch at the office, and then you would do dinner and he would clean up after. The domesticity of it, the harmony, is returning. Sometimes, when you’re getting ready to go into work in the morning and you can hear him hum in the kitchen, it’s almost like nothing has changed. Then, you take in the massive metal arm under his sleeveless tank top, and you’re reminded of what he has been through, and what you two have lost.

Sometimes late at night, you wonder what he would feel like. You wonder if he would let you touch him.

It’s hard being so close to Seungcheol but not being able to physically be too near him. Casual intimacy was always a part of your relationship, and you aren’t used to a version of Seungcheol you have to hold back from. When he often picks up on your moods, like being tired after work or being frustrated when something isn’t going right, you wonder if he can pick up on this, the intense yearning need you have to just feel his cheek on the crown of your head, or his hand curling over your hip like it used to all the time. Or his lips, always so soft and inviting, pressing delicately to yours.

You wonder if he knows. You wonder if he remembers, because he seems to remember so much these days.

A few days later, you ask Seungcheol if he feels at all ready to come back to work. The suggestion catches him off guard.

“Are you sure?”

You nod, shovelling large helpings of chicken into your mouth. You’re usually ravenously hungry by dinner time, and Seungcheol is always amused by it.

“Everything you’re doing at home, working on projects, improving on previous work, you used to do the same things at work. Project Development is all you, and after you helped Wonwoo work out that little algorithm problem, he’s been wanting to work with you more.”

You give him a smile, and it’s more teasing this time. “I don’t know if you remember this, but you were kind of a legend in tech circles before.”

Seungcheol huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “I don’t remember, but that thought makes me feel a little nauseous.”

You laugh, nudging his shin under the table. Seungcheol has always been shy about attention, but you know he secretly loves being recognised. He’s ambitious, even though he worries often, and acknowledgement from peers and juniors always affirms to him that he’s on the right path.

The next day, he’s getting ready to go into work as well.

He’s nervous, more so about his appearance than anything else. Bionic prostheses aren’t exactly common yet, even if they are getting more talked about recently. You know he’s conscious about the stares he will get, you can see the troubled expression on his face from a mile away.

“We don’t have to tell them you’re my husband. We can tell them you’re an employee.” You offer on the drive there. “From overseas. We’ll make up a story or something.”

His lip quirks up in a half smile.

“You think that's why I'm nervous?” He asks. You shrug.

“That’s the one thing I was never worried about.” He supplies.

Your heart flutters. You try to calm it down. It doesn’t mean anything, you try to tell yourself. But every word from him, every action, weighs so heavy with you. It always has. He’s the most important person in your life.

Seungcheol is relieved when the first person he sees at work is Wonwoo, the one face that is familiar to him. You know he is nervous, but he doesn’t show it a lot. That’s always been him, confident in stature, sure in his stance. All his little worries and doubts would only be reserved for you, and some part of you is elated that you still hold that position.

Unfortunately, you have to leave him for the day when Joshua finally catches up to you with the daily agenda. You’re swept up in work, but he’s always on the back of your mind. You’re just considering making a trip down to PD when a knock sounds on your door. A head of spiky blond hair pops in, and Seungcheol looks a little sheepish as he speaks.

“Lunch?”

For a second, you can’t breathe, swept up in memory after memory of him doing this exact thing since the day you started your company, when it was nothing but two rooms and a dinky office space. It’s so mundane, almost a negligible occurrence, but it was always the highlight of your work day. For five years, you would eat cold lunch at your desk on Joshua’s insistence, or you wouldn’t eat at all, because you no longer had someone to share that precious hour with. But he’s here now, part of his face reconstructed, but he’s here, and it feels like every second of your grief is washed away with one little word he says.

“Hey.” His soft voice breaks you from your thoughts. You blink, realising that your face feels wet. He has stepped inside the room, his face more cautious now.

“Sorry.” He sounds somber. “Did I do something wrong?”

You immediately shake your head, wiping your face hastily. “Not at all.”

Your voice wobbles. You elect to ignore it, standing up and quickly straightening yourself before walking to him. “Come on, let’s go eat.”

Seungcheol’s hand on your arm stops you from walking past him. He holds it softly, pulling you back so you can face him. You’re embarrassed at losing your composure like this. You don’t want to freak him out, or make him worry. You realise that in your happiness of having him back, you haven’t processed at all how overwhelming it is to have the love of your life come back from the dead, half of what he used to be.

It seems that he understands that as well.

Slowly, at an almost glacial pace, Seungcheol’s hand loosens its grip, but it doesn’t move away. Instead, he wraps it around you. His other arm follows, and while the juxtaposition of his arms is noticeable, one warm and forgiving, the other cold and stiff, you barely register it, because you can feel his heartbeat against where your ear presses to his chest. You feel yourself giving into his embrace. You’re starved for anything that is Seungcheol, you’ve been without him for too long. Your face crumples, and the tears come again.

You don’t stop them this time.

………………………………..

“It doesn’t look right.”

“It looks exactly like it should.”

“No, it doesn’t. Look again, I think you went wrong somewhere-”

“If you’re not going to be supportive, get the hell out. I don’t need this energy.”

“I’m just saying, if you had just gone to the store-”

“And I told you, she likes it better this way.”

“Right. And we’re supposed to trust your half-fried brain.”

“Man, fuck you.”

You try to tamp down the laugh bubbling in your throat, but it’s hard to do that when the bickering coming from your kitchen is so amusing. You resolutely keep your eyes on your laptop screen, because you promised not to intervene. But Seungcheol and Joshua keep getting louder the longer they work on baking this cake, and by the sound of it, Joshua is not impressed.

“You’re seriously going to serve this turd-pile to your wife? On her birthday?”

“It’s a turd-pile made with love.”

You know why Joshua keeps nagging Seungcheol. This is an age-old tradition. Seungcheol is not much of a baker, but you’re decent at it. You make all his birthday cakes because you know what flavors and icings he likes. And because you love doing it. Seungcheol always wants to return the favor, no matter how bad he is at it, and it always ends with a spectacularly dense or horrendous looking cake. The difference this time is Joshua dropping in to wish you a happy birthday and give you your present. Unfortunately, that was the exact moment Seungcheol started icing the cake, hence the racket in your kitchen.

But you don’t mind. In fact, you love it. You love that he keeps trying, every single year, and that he blocks off so many hours just to do it. When he had suggested it this time, you were taken aback. While you and Seungcheol had made steady progress in your relationship so far, you didn’t anticipate that he would remember this little tradition of yours. He holds your hand sometimes, he hugs you when he can. You both talk and talk, about previous memories, and about making new ones. You tell him often that you missed him badly, that you love him so much, and that you’re okay with him not saying it back, but you need to tell him because you always felt like you should have said it more before he was gone. Seungcheol is soft with you, careful, letting you explore your emotions as you let him explore his. Now that he’s with you again, you often feel like you have all the time in the world to just be in his presence.

Is it enough for you? Not by a long shot. Do you want to kiss him senseless? Every second of every day. But you will get there eventually. You have faith.

Joshua stays for the cake reveal, and when you gush over it, he merely lets out a pained sigh. You know it’s all an act. He is unbelievably happy for you, but you like it when he teases Seungcheol, baits him enough to irritate, even anger him. He excuses himself pretty quickly afterward, even when you offer for him to stay and have a slice.

“No offense, but I would rather chop off two limbs and let myself get brainwashed than taste whatever this is.”

“That was really offensive, actually.” Seungcheol replies dryly. You laugh, dipping your finger in the frosting to taste it. Coffee. Your favorite.

The cake is dense, almost inedible, but you love it regardless. You eat two whole slices, even though Seungcheol himself can stomach only one. He gives you a pained look.

“Well, you’re always going on about how you love the things about me that are the same as before. Are you glad I’m still a shit baker?”

You giggle and stand up, carrying your dirty plate to the sink. Then you walk over to him and give him a hug, wrapping your arms around his torso. He immediately returns it, and you can physically feel yourself relax.

“I love it even more.” You reply. You can feel his chest shake with a tiny laugh, and you feel his lips on the crown of your head.

“Happy birthday, baby.” He whispers. Your breath hitches at the petname, your old favorite, and you look up at him, your chin on his chest. He’s watching you, eye like a warm pool, soft and inviting. His human hand reaches up, caressing your cheek. You wish, for a split second, that he would just lean down and…..

He does.

When his lips meet yours, they’re hesitant. It’s barely there, like a ghost of a sensation, but you melt into it, pushing up on your toes a little so you can feel him more as you kiss him back. He melts into it, sighing into your mouth, his grip around your waist tightening when he registers your enthusiasm. The metal of his left arm feels solid, and it almost leaves you immobile, but you love it, because it presses every line of your body to every plane of his. Your hands find his neck, his jaw, slipping back to run over the tiny strands over the back of his head. It makes him shiver. You feel it. Your lower stomach stirs.

The kiss gets firmer, hotter. Seungcheol tilts his head, slots his lips deeper into yours. You feel his tongue against the cushion of your bottom lip, and your mouth opens almost out of instinct. You let out your first moan when his tongue slides hot and wet against yours.

“We should-” His voice cracks. Your head spins. “We should slow down.”

He kisses you again, fiercely. Your thighs are already crushing together for relief.

“Yeah.” You agree, pulling him down more by the shoulders, wanting him to curl and wrap around you. He complies immediately, hands sliding lower until he’s tugging on the backs of your thighs and lifting you up onto the kitchen island. You’re level with his face now, not willing to stop kissing him, not willing to take even a breath that doesn’t come straight from his mouth. You tug hard on the hair at the top of his head, the ones long enough to grip. He groans, and the sound makes your hips jerk hard into his.

“Fuck, don’t do that.” He rasps.

You do it again, grinding slower this time, your legs around his waist keeping him in place. He hisses. You can feel the bulge in his jeans, and you clench around nothing, registering how hard he already is. You need him so badly that it makes you dizzy. If he stops now, you think you might cry.

“Cheol-” You gasp, your hands digging into his shirt and tugging hard. You need it off, you need to feel all of him, properly, and it feels like he’s on the same page, because he’s reaching back, pulling the shirt off his shoulders until it’s gone. His hands are quick, sliding under your blouse until it’s bunching up, making you raise your arms. He pulls it off.

Finally, you see him.

Seungcheol was always well built. Broad in all the right places, thick neck, wide shoulders, the large expanse of his chest, his abs. Now, he’s even more cut, and you wonder if it has to do with the life he was living for the last five years. Your eye catches his bionic arm, right at the junction where it meets his skin. Your hands, idly running over his bare skin, follow your gaze, stop just where the skin looks more pink.

“Does it hurt?” You ask, voice low. Seungcheol shakes his head, watching you intently.

“It used to, when it was new. But it’s more numb now than anything.” He mutters. He flexes the arm, the plates click and whir, a low, metallic sound that echoes in the silence of the kitchen. You let your thumb run over the skin, right at the edge. Seungcheol doesn’t react as he watches your fingers except with a tiny laugh.

“I guess if they were more careful, it might have looked a little better.” He mumbles, eyes still on your movements. His own run absentmindedly over your bare waist. You shrug.

“I don’t know, it’s pretty hot.”

He looks up at you, his single eyebrow shooting up in surprise. He barks out a laugh, shaking his head.

“Freak.”

You hum and tighten your legs around his waist again, pulling him closer. “You used to love it.”

Something in his eye gleams, a mischievous little twinkle. The white, flat circle on the other side seems to turn and shift, almost like it’s gleaming too. You wonder what he sees through it. His lip ticks up in a tiny smirk. “Oh, I know.”

He leans down, running his lips over the side of your neck. His hands are more purposeful now, sliding up to fiddle with the buckle of your bra. He unhooks it smoothly, letting his touch float up your arms so he can pull the straps down. You sigh when his tongue runs over your skin, nipping just under your ear, the spot that has always made you shiver.

“I remember a lot of things.” He rasps. “More and more as the days go by. And I like to go over them sometimes, when I lay in bed at night, or when you walk around in just that large shirt of mine you wear when you sleep. You think I don’t know what you’re doing, baby? Goading me, baiting me, testing me.”

“I’m- I’m not-” But your brain is melting at the moment his teeth dig a little harder into your skin. He’s going to leave a mark, not that you give a fuck, and all it’s doing is making you even more lightheaded.

He hums. You know he doesn’t believe you. His hands are already circling around, kneading softly on your breasts, making you sigh. He thumbs over your nipples, nipping at your neck a little harder when they peak under his touch. His touch sends shivers down your spine, one hand soft and warm, the other hard and cold. You’re not used to the contrast, but it feels wonderful. You wonder how it will feel in all the other places you want him to touch, and your impatience grows.

“Cheol, take me inside.” You whimper, clenching around nothing again and feeling your desperation grow. He doesn’t respond verbally, but his hands find your hips, gripping tightly to lift you up. You wrap yourself around him, using that moment to tongue at his neck as he walks you both down the hall to your bedroom. He has been inside only a handful of times, since he still sleeps on his own, but you know that’s about to change today. You’re never letting him leave again.

He doesn’t separate from you for even a second, laying you down on the mattress and joining you on it at the same moment, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that is even more heated, but not any less exploratory. His weight on you feels familiar, glorious, and you bask in the feeling of being pressed down. His tongue runs over any crevice of your mouth it can reach, saliva mixing with his in a way that makes you shiver all over. When you run your hands over his back and feel the familiar muscle shift and tense under your touch, you remember how much you missed this, and it makes your breath hitch.

You want him completely naked against you, and the need feels as urgent as air entering your lungs.

Your shirt and bra are already gone, but his clothes and the rest of yours now quickly follow. He kisses any part of you he can in between every article that gets tugged off by you or by him. Your right calf presses against the cold metal of his leg, and it shocks you back into reality a little bit. You’re aware that while you’ve done this countless times with him, it’s different now. You slow down the kisses, nibbling more indulgently at the plush on his bottom lip.

“Are you okay with this?” You whisper. “I know this is a lot-”

“I was going to ask you that.” He chuckles into your mouth. His eye flutters open, and it has softened, shining with reverence. Your lips twitch up into a smile.

“I’ve wanted this for so long.” You reach up, running a gentle hand through his hair. His metal ear feels rigid and cool. “I’ve missed you more than I can say. I didn’t-”

Your voice catches. Seungcheol waits with all the patience in the world.

“I didn’t think I could ever have this again.”

His forehead rests gently against yours, and your eyes flutter when you feel your breaths mix where your lips touch.

“I know I’m not all the way there.” He whispers. “I know there’s so much missing. And some days, it’s so difficult to reconcile the older version of me with this new reality. But I’m getting better every day. And I…. I miss you too. I miss what we had and who I used to be.”

Your eyes cloud. Seungcheol carefully thumbs under them, not letting the tears spill. When he kisses you again, it feels far more meaningful, like parts of you and him are coming to an understanding together. It’s easy to build up the heat again, and there’s an underlying layer of need in it now that has you writhing and moaning under him in no time.

“Easy, princess.” He hums, carefully running his hands up your thighs before fitting his hips between them. “I’ve got you.”

Princess. You whine. That’s an old favorite bedroom nickname of his. Seungcheol loved to spoil you. He’s a giver at heart, so the name is apt, and one he used to shower you with frequently. He grinds on your core, and you can feel the slide of his hard shaft through your wet folds. It makes you gasp, the slow drag making you feel each and every ridge of him. Your opening clenches hard, you arch into him, and your nails dig into the skin of his back.

“Don’t-” Your chest rattles with your inhale. “Don’t tease me. Please, I’ve waited so long, Cheolie. Don’t make me wait even more-”

When his head catches against your opening on the next grind, you moan low, eyelids fluttering. His nose brushes yours, you know he’s watching, and you bask in the feeling of his gaze on you. He pushes a little more, breaching you, and takes his glorious time sliding in at a snail’s pace. Your walls struggle with his girth, not used to being penetrated, left empty for too long, but you think at this point, Seungcheol is embedded in your DNA. Your body knows him, recognises him, like it’s an old, dormant instinct. You open up for him like he’s meant for you, and when he groans in shaky approval, you know he feels it too.

“Made for me, aren’t you?” He whispers into your mouth, taking advantage of your moaning to lick over your lips, nipping and sucking at them. “Taking me like you’re meant for me. Haven’t fucked you in years, but your little pussy still knows me, right?”

God, he needs to stop talking like that. So vulgar, coming from his mouth, but so sexy that it makes you dizzy. The ceiling is spinning, half from the feel of him, and half from the words he is whispering right past your lips. He bottoms out finally, and stills, throbbing and twitching inside you. You can feel it, it tugs on your walls, sending little sparks shooting through your core.

“Love how tight you are, baby.” He continues, pulling away from you to sit back a bit. You almost whine in protest, but then his thumb finds your clit and rubs tight little circles over it. You sigh, toes curling. “But I need you to loosen up a little bit, okay? Need to fuck you properly and I can’t do that when you’re gripping me like this.”

It’s a combination of his words and the waves of pleasure traveling up from your clit, but he finally feels enough give to rock back and forth, his back undulating with every stroke. He starts off slow, both of you just enjoying the delicious drag of him in and out. Every movement makes him brush up teasingly against your sweet spot, makes stars burst in your vision. You feel like you’re already on the brink, and he has barely started.

“Fuck.” He chokes, and you can see his throat bob as he swallows. A thin layer of sweat coats his porcelain skin, making the light of your bedside lamp shift over him. His hair, not almost fully brown with just the tips of the blond remaining, is matted on his forehead. His eye is closed, eyelid fluttering, mouth slightly parted as his breath rattles in and out. He grunts quietly every few strokes, his abs clenching, his neck and chest flushed a pretty pink.

You could come just looking at him like this.

He picks up the pace finally, and you gasp at the change, arching into him a little. He’s watching you now, but you’re too busy registering how good he feels, the perfect, tight drag of him, now more forceful, hitting every spot that sends pleasurable shocks up your spine. The bed groans, his thrusts get harder. On either side of your head, his fingers fist the bedsheet. Beneath the moans and sighs, you can hear the very low but distinct whir of metal emanating from his moving limbs.

Your brain stutters, and your hands move before you can think about it too much. They find his metal wrist, circling around it slowly and lifting it to place it right at the base of your throat. Seungcheol’s eye widens.

“You’re sure?” He asks. You nod.

“Please.”

Your skin is so heated that the cool contrast of his hand feels relieving and glorious. Something in his wrist clicks, and then his hold on your throat tightens just a bit. Your eyes flutter, mouth dropping open. You whine.

Seungcheol groans and his thrusts get harder, hips now slamming into yours over and over, the tip just gently kissing the cervix in the way that lights your lower stomach on fire. His grip is unrelenting, just tight enough to make you a little light headed and every movement feel even more intense than it usually does. You can’t speak, can’t warn him as your orgasm comes barrelling into you at full speed. You can only clench hard and cry out as it washes over you. Seungcheol doesn’t slow, but watches you with something akin to awe and unbridled lust in his eyes. His hand loosens only as you come down, letting you take in a long gulp of air.

“That was so sexy, baby, fuck.” He sounds as wrecked as you feel. He’s grinding into your pussy, pushed all the way in to the base, letting you feel every inch of him. “Can’t believe I didn’t do this sooner. Could’ve had you under me every night looking like that.”

You find the sides of his neck, tugging him down to kiss him fiercely. “Get your fill now, Cheolie. Make up for lost time.”

Your words spur him on. He pulls out abruptly, but he doesn’t let you miss him for too long, tugging your leg to maneuver you so you’re on your stomach, arms folded under your head, and his body draped over your back, warming your sweat-cooling skin. His knees frame your thighs. He nudges your legs apart just enough to slide inside, and the shift in angle has your jaw going slack. You feel his grip on your hips, one soft, one hard, holding you in place as he immediately sets a brutal pace. You don’t mind, you’ve always loved it when Seungcheol uses all that impressive muscle he has built to manhandle and use you like this. It’s unbelievably hot to you. This position feels even more intense, leaves you even more boneless, and your previous high has left you so sensitive that this one builds up in no time.

His thrusts are getting sloppy, less precise and more like he just wants to plop you into the mattress. His moans are more uninhibited now, his grip tighter to the point you know he will leave bruises that you will wear proudly. His breath hits the back of your neck. He reaches down, biting into your shoulder at the exact moment he groans loud and empties himself in you. The warmth of him, the grind of his head into your walls, is what sends you over the edge for a second time. Both your bodies writhe on the mattress, him pressing you into it until you feel like you are melting into him. He curses low in your ear as his body relaxes, and the sound makes you shiver.

You lay like that for what feels like an eternity, letting the rise and fall of his chest guide your own breathing. When he finally moves, detaching himself, you grumble in protest.

“I was warm.” You complain. You can hear him laugh a little.

“I’ll warm you up again, baby, don’t worry. Come on.”

Your interest is piqued, and you turn your head to the side to peer at him. His whole face seems to have smoothed, soft and glowing in a way you haven’t seen him in a while. It makes a smile tug on your lips, and you turn over slowly to face him. He doesn’t waste any time in lifting you up, another sensation that will take some getting used to. His human arm is warm on your back, but his metal one digs just under your knees. You don’t mind, not at all, it’s part of him, something he got involuntarily but made his own. He has used it to inflict pain in the past, but from now on, he will do nothing but good with it.

You watch him with heavy eyes as he places you on the bathroom vanity and gets to running a warm bath. You admire his back, soft and pale, smattered with little freckles, and slightly pink at the edges where skin meets metal. The plates dig into the skin, and you know he said it doesn’t feel like anything now, but you wonder if it hurts even just a little.

The slightest hint of his pain, even a negligible smidge of it, is unacceptable to you. You make a mental note to ask Wonwoo if he can look into bionic prostheses. Not weapons, like Jeonghan has developed. You have no interest in that. He can have his military contracts and his glory. There’s nothing in it for you.

Everything you want is in this tiny bathroom, dipping his metal fingers into the water to check the temperature, only to realise he can’t feel with that limb. You collapse into giggles and he smiles sheepishly, ears turning red, using his other hand as a toothy grin takes over his face.

“Hey baby, you looking for a good time?” A sleazy voice called out when you walked past; the heavy unpleasant smell of booze, piss, old oil, and cigarette smoke heavily coming from that direction. It made your lips curl in disgust when the mixture met your nose and kept your eyes forward.

Pulling the large thick trench coat tighter around your body, you hoped that it would hide away the little outfit you wore to work and took the chance to inhale the comforting scent of your boyfriend that lingered on the fabric. Keeping you grounded and giving you the strength to bite your tongue.

You ignored the man and his friend yelling insults at your back as you continued your journey through the near empty streets of the Shadow District, back home. With one hand gripping the knife under the thick sleeves, one that Wonwoo had insisted you carry for protection. Luckily, you were able to go another day without having to use it, with the most those men could do was yell out names at your back as you disappear in the crowd.

Even with how early it was, or late depending on the person, the streets were still filled with people. Stores opening their doors to sell synthetically processed foods and supplements to help curve your hunger or thirst, groups of people still enjoying the night life despite the sky glowing grey with smog and sunrise, or those hiding in the shadows, waiting for someone to approach them for the drugs they had in their pockets.

Eagerly waiting for the next victim to get hooked and keep coming back for more.

That was life here in Huimang, named with the intentions of being a City of Hope, but hope was not even a luxury that many people could have. You being one of them, but this was still your home.

The apartment was quiet when you got in, with the grey morning light peeking through the blinds and violet lights that Wonwoo left for you. He was long asleep in your bedroom, greeted by golden eyes and soft meows from your shared cat instead. Her soft dark fur feeling comforting against your leg, and you were quick to shed the coat to pick her up.

“Hello to you too, Doodle Bug.” You cooed at the small feline, scratching the side of her head as you made your way into the small kitchen. Wiggling free, Doodle jumped from your arms to the floor, only to look back at you to meow and it brought a smile to your face, “Didn’t your dad feed you before he went to bed?”

This earned another meow from her, and you chuckled. “Alright, alright. You win. Early breakfast it is.”

After feeding the cat a can of her favorite food, you made sure her water bowl was full before making your way to the bathroom to clean up. The boots you switched to after work kicked off to a random corner of the small living room, the revealing top thrown over the back of the sofa, and your shorts that felt more like underwear left on the ground by the bathroom. You didn’t care that you would need to pick up everything later.

The shower felt amazing on your skin, the hot water washing away everything that had clung to you from working that night—sweat, spilled booze, tobacco smoke, the disgusting things that had been said to you, and the ghost of hands that tried to touch you as you tried to serve drinks.

It left the stripped away version of you. The real version of you, or what was left of it from years of running and trying to survive.

When you emerged from the steamy shower, the cold air of the apartment bit at your damp skin and a shiver ran through you. You were ready to slip into the warmth of your bed, into the warmth of Wonwoo. The shower may have washed everything away, but it also made you aware of how sore your muscles were, and how tired you were. Each day growing heavier on you, no matter how many hot showers you took.

You didn’t bother putting on any pajamas, just slipping onto the old worn bed, with your boyfriend sleeping on his side. His back faces you as you settled under the bedding and moved to mold your body against it, pressing your lips against his bare shoulder.

“How was work?” His voice was deeper than usual, rough with sleep, taking one of your hands that rested against his stomach. The sound and gesture making your lips upturn against his skin.

“The usual. Rich, drunk and high assholes that don’t know how to or even capable of keeping their hands too themselves. Thinking that flaunting their wealth, and expensive body mods will impress anyone enough to sleep with them.” You let out a soft sigh, eyes closed while you welcome the warmth of your boyfriend, feeling his thumb run over the back of your hand.

Wonwoo stopped before he shifted himself to sit up, causing you to lift your head in confusion. There was some dried drool at the corner of his mouth, his black hair a tangled mess from sleep, and a frown on his lips. He had taken his left eye out to sleep, so only his right one was opened and trained on you with concern.

Just looking at him made your heart flutter still after years together, still the most beautiful person you ever laid eyes on. You couldn’t stop from thinking of how lucky you were to have him love you and be in your corner. Your missing piece.

“They touched you?” He asked calmly, that sleepy rasp was now gone and something dangerous took center stage. “And Seungcheol did nothing about this?”

“Seungcheol wasn’t there tonight. You know if he was, or any of us said something, they would be out on their asses. Their credits aren’t any good there if they fuck with the servers, no matter how rich they claim to be.” You answer, rolling onto your back, trying to not giggle when his eye dropped to your bare breasts when they moved. You reached out to run your hand over his arm, giving him a reassuring smile. “It’s not anything I can’t handle, baby. They eventually get bored when they realized that I wouldn’t let them fuck me in the bathroom.”

“I should kill them for touching you.” His words sounded more like a growl while he leaned over you. His gaze slid over your frame before it returned to your face. “Only I can touch you.”

“As lovely as that sounds, I rather keep you next to me and not behind a glass window.” The hand that had been resting on his arm moved up to his neck so you could pull him into a kiss.

Wonwoo didn’t resist your pull, leaning down to find your lips, tasting the minty flavor of the teeth cleaning tablet still fresh on your tongue. The kiss was brief, but it still ignited a fire in you, your body warming, and it seeped to your core. You found yourself chasing his lips when he pulled back, the soft whine that left you earned a smirk from your boyfriend.

“Only I’m allowed to touch you.” He repeated, his mouth brushing against yours, slipping on top of you and his hips pushing your thighs open without any resistance from you. He didn’t wear clothes to bed, so when he pressed down, there was no barriers against his hardening cock and your own bare heat. Another moan escaped you, as your hips instinctually moved as if you would be able to catch the tip of his thick length just the right way. “Only I can fuck you in those bathrooms.”

“Is that so?” You teased, trying to not let your lashes flutter at the way Wonwoo’s strong hand grabbed your hips, holding it there with more pressure than needed, but you didn’t mind his possessiveness over you. He pulled his face back to give you a look, knowing that bratty but aroused smirk all too well, and had to hold back a very vocal groan feeling your cunt getting slicker against the underneath of his cock.

“Last I checked, I am in charge of who touches me, and where I get fucked.”

Wonwoo’s mouth latched onto yours, this time his kiss hungry to taste you again, relishing that you returned that same hunger. You were tired, your body desperate for sleep, but you could never pass up a moment like this; especially when you know letting him fuck you would help you sleep better.

His hands moved down your body, caressing your breasts and teased your hardened peaks, while his tongue took claim of yours. Teasing and sucking on it, each of you swallowing moans his hips moving against yours, his cock sliding through your slit teasingly. Letting himself be coated by your arousal, teasing you.

“You want to play a little, or just want me to fuck you?” Wonwoo asked, pulling from the kiss, his eye looking over your face, a lazy smirk playing over his lips. The question made you laugh because it didn’t sound the least bit romantic or intimate, but at the same time, neither of you were aiming for that. Except you weren’t going to miss a chance to pick on him. “What?”

“You sure know how to romance a…oooh.” The words were lost when he shifted his hips back so that he could slip a hand between your legs, slender fingertips slipping between your folds and found your clit with practiced ease. “Fuck… Wonwoo…”

“If you want me to be romantic…” His voice was soft, his touch matched it in movement. Slow, gentle circles around your sensitive bud, teasing and earned whimpers from you. He was doing this on purpose. His lips barely brushed against your as he spoke again. “Then you’re out of luck.” You went to roll your eyes, but instead they rolled back when two fingers pushed into you, a little gasp leaving you while a groan left him. “Always so wet for me. This is why only I can fuck you.”

“Then do it, you dick.” You snapped, though there was no punch behind it, only to earn a chuckle from him. His fingers were going at a slow agonizing pace, like he hadn’t just woken from a deep sleep, and you didn’t just spend all night working. Taking his time like it wasn’t early hours in the morning.

“You’re demanding.”

“But you love me and will listen anyways.” And he did listen, withdrawing his fingers so he could line himself up; the thick tip barely pressed into you making you groan in a mix of frustration and anticipation. He may have listened, but he sure as hell was going to torture you a bit and pulled back when you would try to roll your hips. “Wonwoo!”

He did this to you a few more times before finally sinking into you, earning a moan of pleasure and relief as he took a quick inhale of breath. Your inner walls squeezed and molding to him in such a delicious way that he had to clear his head or he was going to cum right then.

“Fuck baby…” He groaned, stilling after he filled you completely, his forehead pressed against yours and both eyes squeezed shut this time. Your own body was shaking, relishing in the feel of him on top of you and inside you, fitting together like missing pieces.

When he finally started to move, Wonwoo created a tantalizing pace with his thrusts, making sure not only you felt every inch of his length but for his own enjoyment as well. He wasn’t in a rush, but neither of you were going to last long.

“I love you.” You moaned out, clinging to him in need to feel him over every inch of your skin. You needed to feel the weight of him on you, to be grounded, to know he’s still real, that you were still alive. Wonwoo’s mouth was hot on your collarbone, one hand holding onto your hip using his strength to keep you where he wanted you while the other massaged one of your breasts, leaving marks where it would be hard to hide.

“I love you too, fuck. I love you so fucking much,” His words came out labored, the deep vibrations of his voice sending waves over you with his words, his thrusts started to get sloppy quickly. Too lost in the feeling of you and exhaustion that still clung to him.

He was getting close to his release; except he refused to let go first. He had to make you come undone around him before he could. Wonwoo was a lot of things in life, but he was never a selfish lover; at least he never was one with you.

The hand that was massaging the fatty flesh of your breast slipped between you to give you a bit of help to get to your release. He smirked against your skin, gently pressing his lips to a fresh mark, when you let out a small cry when he started to tease your clit. Your nails raked down his back and left red scratch marks down his back.

You weren’t sure if you were just sensitive from the hot shower, and exhaustion but the mixture of his cock plunging into your warmth and his quick finger movements was just enough to push you over the edge. Your body shaking as your release washed over you, any moans and gasps leaving you were now swallowed up by Wonwoo. His mouth was hot against your lips, tongue eagerly licking the inside of your mouth; his moans turning into soft whines.

You were already snug around him, but when you came it was like you were squeezing the life from him. Wonwoo tried to hold out a little longer, until your hands moved down his body to grab his ass, pushing his hips into you to grind and that was it for him. Letting himself go inside you, filling you until he couldn’t give any more.

Neither of you moved for a moment, his kiss now slowing to a gentle make out and a hand cupping your cheek. The room dim and quiet, letting you both forget that there was a dark world out the confides of your little apartment. When that moment passed, Wonwoo pulled himself out with a sensitive wince and rolled himself off you with a groan.

“You are going to be the death of me.” He muttered, now on his back and pulling you to his side. Giving you enough time to move so you were facing him before you were pressed against his slick skin.

“You’re the one who started it.” You mumbled, still attempting to catch your breath as your eyes closed. Your body is completely relaxed, and exhaustion had finally taken you under.

Barely awake, you said in a sleepy tone, “We need to clean up.”

“No we don’t.” Wonwoo grumbled, sleep taking back over him, turning his head to press a kiss to your hairline. “We need to sleep.”

The excessive knocking started to turn into pounding and finally ripped you from your deep sleep. An annoyed groan left your lips as you rolled onto Wonwoo’s side of the bed, empty and feeling cool against your skin. Showing he had been up and gone for a while.

“Fuck off…” You mumbled, but whoever was at your door was persistent, and you couldn’t ignore it any longer. Getting up, you stumbled through the room to find clothes since you weren’t going to answer naked. Luckily, you found a pair of shorts and a shirt of Wonwoo’s, and whoever it was now full on pounding at the door. Causing you to exhaustedly yell, “Fucking stop it! I’m coming!”

Padding through the small apartment, you were tempted to grab a knife from the kitchen once you realized who it was. Especially when the pounding turned into some kind of beat since this asshole thought he was clever.

Ripping the door open, you were met with the bane of your existence leaning against the door frame; acting like he didn’t just use your door as his personal beat box. His attention on his cybernetic hand that he currently had out as a claw. To the Shadow District, he was Hoshi, but to you and a small group of people, he was Kwon Soonyoung. Your best friend by force more times than choice at this point.

“Finally. Thought I was going to have to claw this door down.” He mused, turning his sharp eyes on you with his tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek.

“And if I don’t kill you for it, Wonwoo definitely will.” You snapped, turning from open door to walk to the kitchen. Pushing off the frame, Soonyoung grabbed a plastic bag that was resting at his feet before sauntering into the apartment and closed the door behind him. “It’s too early for this.”

“It’s almost two in the afternoon.” He pointed out, and you shot him a dirty look over your shoulder.

“I worked late last night, you idiot.” You grumbled, and this made him chuckle, retracting his tiger claws so it was normal metal hand. “What are you doing here anyways? Besides pissing me off while the sun is still out.”

“Was able to get my hands one some fresh fruits, like fresh from a farm type. Wanted to share them with one of my bestest friends.” Soonyoung watched as you froze, turning toward him slowly with interest. Your eyes dropped to the plastic bag in his hand filled with strawberries, oranges, and peaches dangling from his normal hand, only for you to look back up at his face. Seeing right through him, and from the look on his face, he knew it too. “Aaaannnddd maybe some credits.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You no longer felt sleepy or even tired anymore, instead you felt a rush of anger through you. You knew that he was using the fruit to attempt to butter you up. “Why didn’t you use the credits you used on the fruit?”

“Didn’t pay for these. I actually called in a favor from a friend. Figured bring an offering to sweeten the passing of credits.”

You groaned in frustration as you snatched the bag from him. He didn’t put up a fight, instead diverting toward the sofa while you moved to the small kitchen to clean and have some of the fruit for breakfast. Frustrated that he’d known you would take the fruit, but he didn’t know you weren’t going to give him a single credit.

“Go away, Soonyoung. Come back around when you’re not wanting something from us.” You told him, waving your hand dismissively in the air. “I told you before, I am not supporting your addiction anymore. Me and Wonwoo are barely making ends meet as it is.”

The blond tsked before he said your name in a slow and condescending tone, one that made your stomach turn uncomfortably, his sharp eyes looking in your direction. Taking in that your hair was still sleep ridden, Wonwoo’s shirt was actually inside out, and your shorts peeking from under just enough to show you rushed to get dressed. Analyzing you and your blatant lie.

“See… you and I both know that is a lie.” He went to say more, but Doodle had distracted him by jumping onto the sofa, meowing, knowing perfectly well that Soonyoung would give her the attention that she was ‘desperate’ for. Reaching out to pet the feline, he finally continued. “If I’m not mistaken, but isn’t your mother still sending you your monthly allowance? With an extra two thousand credits to convince you to leave Wonwoo and come home.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” You huffed out, knowing that the only reason your friend was bringing that up was because he was fiending; needing another hit to numb himself like everyone else in this city.

Tears started to sting your eyes, because you hated this side of him. The Soonyoung you once knew wouldn’t do this to you, he would never resort to blackmail, but the fiend version of him would and does with no remorse.

“Oh, we both know you do.” He responded in a calm voice, a wide smile on Soonyoung’s face as he played with Doodle. “What better way to say, ‘fuck you Mom’ than letting me use the credits to buy drugs and you can continue to live with Wonwoo and he can stay blissfully unaware of that little account.”

“Fuck you, Soonyoung.” There was a silence between you, a tense one with the only sound was Doodle’s little chirps. “Get out.”

“I guess, you’re right.” He leaned forward to peck the top of your cat’s head, with her meeting his lips with a soft headbutt. Standing, Soonyoung adjusted his ridiculously baggy pants and his compression shirt. “Wonwoo should be at the docks, right? Him and Gyu doing some recon by helping unload some freight? Maybe I should pay him a bit of a visit, see how him and that deliciously muscular man are doing.” He started toward the door, stopping as he reached for the handle, “Would be such a shame if I happen to let it slip that you’ve been hiding who you were before coming to the Shadow District… or well… ran away to it. I am pretty sure he wouldn’t like knowing the person he loves and trusts isn’t who he thought she was and is hiding a dark secret.”

“You’re a real piece of fucking work, you know that right?”

“I know, one of a kind. No one else like me. So a thousand credits sound good?” Soonyoung then turned around, crossing his arms and leaned against the door. The triumphant smile that graced his lips made your nose scrunch in disgust.

“Not a chance.” You shook your head and the smirk he was wearing started to twitch. “I can give you fifty credits.”

“Now, that isn’t going to work, but I’ll bump it down.” Soonyoung scratched his chin like he was thinking of a new total, before snapping his fingers. “Seven hundred.”

“No. Fifty credits.”

“Listen, I brought you fresh fruit!” He dropped his arms to his sides and stomped his feet childishly, but you didn’t miss the way his cybernetic fingers started to lengthen in claws. “This shit is hard to get.”

“Hard to get fresh fruit, that you didn’t pay for.” You could see the way his eyes were darkening dangerously, but you couldn’t give him the amount he wanted. You didn’t have it, and that account he referenced was one you refused to touch or even acknowledge. “I can do seventy five right now if you leave my fucking apartment.”

“You know you drive a hard bargain.” That smirk was back, and he took a few steps toward you, flexing the now clawed adorned hand. “I’ll take that seventy five, and then I am going to stroll down to those docks.” He held it up when you went to speak, and you closed your mouth. “Now, if you don’t want that, then I will gladly take two hundred credits now and your secret stays safe with me.”

“You’re an asshole.” You answered in defeat, turning away from him to wipe away a stray tear from your cheek and went to find your phone to send the credits. You didn’t want him to see you cry, knowing that this Soonyoung wouldn’t feel an ounce of guilt for it, nor did you want to see the way he bounced excitedly. “Don’t come back around after this, because I’m not giving you another fucking thing. Just take the credits and leave me alone.”

“Yeah, sure.” He didn’t believe you when you said this, he never did. Hell, you didn’t even believe the words that came out of your mouth. “You and I both know that you can’t live without your best friend.”

“You’re not my best friend.” You told him, your stomach sick as you sent the credits through the thin device. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes to push back any more tears and attempted to calm yourself before you threw a knife at his head. With a slow breath out, you turned to look at the stranger where Soonyoung once stood. “My best friend died the moment he got hooked on that shit. You’re just the scum that came out of the ashes.”

“Ah, haven’t been referred to as a Phoenix before. I think I prefer tigers still.” He was able to hear the hurt in your voice, he was able to see the pain in your eyes, but he didn’t care. He was too excited that he was able to get high on your credits. “Pleasure doing business with you. Let me know how Wonwoo likes the strawberries. Made sure to grab those for him.”

“Just leave.” You looked away from him, your words felt more like a plea then a demand, one that he actually listened to. But only cause he had what he wanted.

You heard the door open, and his heavy boots walk through the threshold, but you didn’t hear the door close.

“Oh, I forgot to mention.” He spoke slowly, his voice still smug, but there was something softer to it. Like for a moment, your best friend was trying to push past the fiend. “Seokmin saw notices on Holiday. Eviction notices.” Your back stiffened at those words, that sick feeling in your stomach turned into acid in your throat, but you didn’t look back at him. Holiday was a street right before the Shadow District. “I think you and I both know what that means.”

You knew perfectly well what that meant.

“Guess you can’t run from your mom or Skyfall forever.” And with that, Soonyoung closed the door behind him. Leaving you to stand there, next to the counter filled with the fruits he brought.

Tainted with blackmail and betrayal, but that was nothing compared to the anger and fear that you were feeling by his parting words. You felt like you were thrown off kilter, your body no longer felt like yours but the intense emotions that coursed through you.

After all these years that you lied to yourself that the Shadow District wouldn’t be touched by the filthy hands of those rich bastards. Convincing yourself that the home you found here with Wonwoo, with your friends, didn’t always have a looming threat at your door. That you could go a lifetime without seeing her.

It had been years since you ran, but it was still not enough time. It was never enough time to stay away.

The frustrated scream that left you didn’t sound like you, it was raw and from somewhere deep inside you, as you angrily swiped the fruit off the counter and onto the ground. Forgetting that you had pulled out a knife to cut them up and sliced your hand.

“Fuck!” You grasped your wrist, blood starting to come out of the cut, more tears breaking through. Sinking to the ground, you let out a wail as your cried. You were in pain, you were hurting deeper than pain, you were scared.

You were naïve to think that anywhere was safe. Safe from her, safe from Skyfall Industries, safe from the suffocating feeling of greed that came to be a constant in this greedy city.

You lied to Wonwoo when he came home that day, told him that you cut yourself slicing up the fruit Soonyoung had dropped off. Worked it in a way that you wanted him to believe that you had bought them from him, refused to say what happened during your former best friend’s visit, but adamant that the cut happened after he left.

You tried not to look at him when his left eye lens flickered as he scanned your body but failed. Allowing him to read your vitals, take any changes in them, but he didn’t question you further despite of what he’d seen. He didn’t even need to scan you though, unable to hide your distress. That something had happened with Soonyoung, and something deadly started to stir.

He could’ve easily leave, find Soonyoung and put a knife to his throat for upsetting you, for making you feel like you needed to lie to him, but he didn’t. Wonwoo was the quick tempered type, and he had no problem punching or stabbing someone instead of talking it out or walk away, especially when it came to you. But Wonwoo also knew that there was some things that he couldn’t resolve with violence.

Soonyoung, unfortunately, was one of those some things. You were too protective over him, no matter how much the fiend hurt you, but he knew that there was more to it. And whatever that fiend had over you, it kept you from cutting him off. It kept you from telling him.

“Earth to Wonwoo,” Vernon spoke up, pulling the older man from his thoughts and turned his attention back to the conversation at hand. The younger man was sitting on a filing cabinet that was in the corner of Jihoon’s office, one arm resting on his knee while his head leaned back against the wall. “I know it sucks down here, but we are talking business.”

“Sorry.” Wonwoo answered with a sigh, his eyes moved toward the other two men in the room. Jihoon was sitting at his desk chair, his attention on the tablet in his hands and not on the rest on the room. Mingyu was leaning against the wall next to the door, and his attention on his best friend, sensing something was up the moment he saw him. “What was the question again?”

“What did you see in the boxes from the dock yesterday?” Jihoon repeated, and a scoff left Vernon when he did. “Mingyu said you saw something in some of the boxes.”

“It wasn’t what I saw, it was what I didn’t see.” Wonwoo could hear Mingyu murmuring an apology for getting it wrong and leaned forward to rest his chin on his hand. This made Jihoon finally look at him. “That and where they were going.”

“What you mean you couldn’t see?” It was Vernon who spoke, another scoff leaving him as he looked for a pack of cigarettes in the pockets of his jumpsuit, not caring that he received a dark look. “Thought that hacked ass eye of yours could see through shit. You know through thermal scans or some shit.”

“I am not above putting a knife through your own fucking eye. Make you just like me.” Wonwoo warned, which only earned another cocky laugh. The cybernetic-free punk ass knew that he wasn’t joking or bluffing, but they just didn’t give a shit, making his hand twitch toward the knife that he kept hidden away.

“Just get to it.” Jihoon snapped, shooting his own dark look toward both of them. “Why couldn’t you see?”

“Most the boxes, easy to scan and act like I am verifying cargo, but there was about three or four large ones. Couldn’t get a reading at all.” Adjusting in his seat, Wonwoo continued to speak. “Boxes came up empty, but they were definitely not.”

“Took ten of us just to move one onto the truck.” Mingyu grumbled, sounding annoyed that he had to be reminded of the labor he had to do. “No way we were going to be able to move those with the forklift.”

“Well, where are they taking them?” Vernon asked, while Jihoon looked between the two men before them.

“The Factory.” Mingyu answered. The Factory was a warehouse on the dock, typically a storage unit for parts until they are shipped to facilities to build or specialize in installing them on people.  

“Why is that so weird? Everything goes there.” Jihoon sat the tablet down onto his desk to stand, a low grimace sketched over his face, his hand reaching down to massage his leg only to be met with metal. The rest of the group watched in silence as Jihoon schooled his expression and cautiously took steps away from his desk.

“That’s their first stop. The next stop is an address on Holiday. Skyfall Cybernetics Shop, but the address is a set of apartments right now.” This brought an uncomfortable silence over them, one that even Vernon was part of. This was too close to home, and none of them wanted to actually say what it could mean. After a heartbeat of silence, Wonwoo was the one to say it, “This is becoming more than stealing parts.”

“You’re right.” Jihoon nodded, not looking toward anyone as he tried to pace but only manage an awkward limp. Without thinking, Wonwoo’s left eye flickered behind his glasses, scanning his friend and boss to analyze him. Checked for anything different in his vitals.

Jihoon may have been good at keeping himself levelheaded in front of his crew, he never liked showing his worry nor when he was in pain, but he couldn’t hide it away from Wonwoo. And it wasn’t like it was something he typically did, he wouldn’t just scan his friends unless he felt like he needed to, but something told him to do it, and he was right to. Not only was his friend in pain, but he could tell by the increased vitals that there was more than that.

This was more than a simple heist job, this was more than stealing a few parts for a few thousand credits to split. They could easily still go on with the job, focus on the parts on the list and ignore the large boxes since they weren’t what they were looking for. But if Skyfall Industries took the steps to make it where not even scanners could penetrate the boxes, then that possibly meant more security so their usual ways weren’t going to cut it.

It caused the unspoken question hang heavy among the four of them. Was taking this job a good idea after all?

A familiar rhythmic knock broke through the silence that had followed Jihoon’s words, causing the four of them to look toward the opening door. It was Soonyoung, practically skipping into the room with wide eyes, pupils completely blown out, and his skin had a glow to it. His blond hair spiked up, and it was a surprise that the corner of his lips weren’t splitting from the size of his shit eating grin he wore.

The fucking fiend was on a high, and it was obvious to the rest of the people in the room. No scan was needed for this.

“Why hello there gentlemen. Lovely day isn’t it?” He said with a chirpy voice, shooting a smug look toward Wonwoo as he went to close the door. Like he was rubbing something into his face without saying what it was, and that deadly feeling started to stir inside again.

His thoughts went back to when he had come home to you, your hand wrapped in gauze and a few droplets of blood that you missed on the floor. He thought back to how you wouldn’t look at him when you told him that you did it while cutting fruit, the fruit that you ‘bought’ off Soonyoung, and the way your voice was raspy but still full of tears. You made him promise to not go and off the fiend, that he had nothing to do with your hand or your state.

And Wonwoo tried to keep his promise to you, even though he didn’t believe you, because you were so protective over Soonyoung. But that smug look on that mother fucker’s face, while your teary and sad look was burned into his brain, snapped something in him. He was out of his seat before he could stop himself.

A hiss of pain left Soonyoung when Wonwoo slammed him against the door, the doorknob jabbing into his back while a knife was pressed to his throat. Pinning him to the office door and made the three other men yell in surprise.

“You got some fucking nerve showing your face around me right now.” Wonwoo hissed, pressing his sharp knife to Soonyoung’s jugular, more than willing to slice his neck open. “Not after how you left my girl yesterday.”

“Oh that…” Soonyoung sighed dramatically, his cybernetic hand resting on Wonwoo’s arm with the tips of the metal fingers lengthened to sharp claws. A warning from the fiend, but Wonwoo didn’t care. He was seeing so much red that it triggered his fake eye to turn the bright color behind his glasses, and Soonyoung’s smug look turned sadistic. Wonwoo wanted to end him right then and there, ready to watch him bleed out on Jihoon’s office floor. “You’re being so dramatic, all I did was sell her some fruit.”

“You drugged up mother fucker.” The words came out like venom which switched something in Soonyoung, because his blown out eyes flashed and the claws of his hand started to rip the sleeves of his coat. His unserious warning now turning deadly in its own right. Either of them could kill the other right then and there easily.

Neither man would do it though. Wonwoo wouldn’t because he would lose you for good if he did, while there was still shards of the old Soonyoung inside the fiend somewhere that stopped him. Except it didn’t stop them from wanting to, and that was enough to have the other men on them quickly.

Mingyu’s tight grip on Soonyoung’s metal wrist, attempting to loosen his hold on him while Vernon and Jihoon attempted to pull Wonwoo away. Especially the hand that held the knife to the fiend’s throat.

“Let go of him.” Jihoon commanded, while the three men struggled to pull them apart. “Do you think she would be happy with you if you killed him?”

“Yeah, Wonwoo baby.” That smug look was back, but this time there was something sinister and wild to it. He was getting off on this, and it only made Wonwoo’s grip tighten on his knife. “Be a good boy and listen to Jihoonie. Don’t want your princess unhappy with you, do you?”

“Soonyoung shut up, or we will let him kill you and help him lie about what happened to you.” Jihoon scowled, then leaned closer toward Wonwoo. His voice softer in hopes that will help defuse the situation. “Come on, he’s trying to get you to do something stupid. He’s not worth it.”

“Wonwoo…” Mingyu also tried to reason with him, his dark eyes on the older man and were filled with concern.

After a moment, Wonwoo finally pulled the knife away and stepping back while Soonyoung released his grip. The metal claws retracting back to fingers, while his human hand went to his neck to run over the skin where the knife was pressed into him, checking to see if blood was drawn. Only to be disappointed to find that Wonwoo didn’t leave any nicks on him, unable to find a reason to villainize him.

“You should thank her.” Wonwoo told the fiend flatly, more distance created as the two youngest of the group stepped between them. Vernon’s eyes on Soonyoung and Mingyu’s on Wonwoo, both wearing unsure looks on their faces. Neither trusted the fiend or Wonwoo to go back after each other. “If it wasn’t for her, I would have killed you long ago.”

“How generous of you.” Soonyoung was dry with his words, smoothing out the wrinkles of his shirt. The claws were completely put away, but his sharp eyes were still wild and shining with dare. Daring Wonwoo to come at him again.

“Enough.” Jihoon demanded, a hiss of pain followed when he took unsteady steps back from the situation. With a hand planted on the desk, the shorter man shifted on his feet to take pressure of his cybernetic leg. “What are you doing here, Soonyoung? We’re not interested in your bullshit today.”

“Jihoonie. My baby, the love of my life, the sparkle to my eye…”

“I am none of those things to you.” Jihoon sneered while Soonyoung clutched his chest as he changed the sweet talk to hurt.

“…You wound my heart. You wound my soul.” Soonyoung let out an over exaggerated wail, and the rest of the men in the room rolled their eyes. When he wasn’t going to get any other reaction out of them, Soonyoung just sighed and crossed his arms. “I came by just to see my favorite boytoy…”

“Not your boytoy.”

“…But I couldn’t help but overhear when opening the door that you guys were talking about Holiday.” The way the fiend’s lip twitched into a smirk, and it was clear that he found a way to take advantage for his own gain. “I think I may have some information that may benefit you.”

“I’m not paying you shit for whatever you have.” Jihoon saw right through him, just like the rest did. Wonwoo found his place back in his chair, more slouched as he glared at the fiend while the two younger went back to their places in the office. Though Mingyu was standing closer toward Soonyoung, ready to grab him if needed. “I don’t have some promise to not kill you going, so you can either tell me, or I’ll shoot you in the shin.”

“That’s one way to get me on my knees for you baby, but for a few credits, I’ll do it without the bullet.” He went to take a step further into the office, but with a sharp nod from Jihoon, he was stopped by Mingyu. Keeping him by the door and acted as the line in the sand.

“Just get with it.” It was Vernon who spoke, perched back on the filing cabinet, and sounding just as fed up the rest of them. “You’re not going to extort us like you do others. With us, aside from wiped boy over here,” He smirked when he earned a dirty look and a finger from Wonwoo, “you’ll either tell us, you keep your mouth shut, or the next parts you get will not be cosmetic.”

“Whatever you say, pretty boy.” Soonyoung scoffed, crossing his arms and rolled his eyes. “Fine…I’ll tell you…”

Growing up, you’d always heard about the Shadow District from the people around you. To the adults in your life, it was seen as a cesspool of filth and crime. They viewed the people who resided there as criminals and low life individuals with no hope or place in their future society. The area was supposedly so bad that not even your mother or the rest of the elites at Skyfall wanted to set foot in or even want to touch.

They viewed it as a lost cause and ordered others around your age to stay away.

To your peers, they had shared the same view as the adults, that only criminals and low lives lived there but that didn’t stop many of them from venturing over. Mostly to buy the drugs that were offer, addicting and fun party favors to take to the parties they would throw in their empty penthouse apartments, try to sneak into the roughest bars and clubs, or whatever else teens did to cause problems. They saw going into the district as a challenge, when really all it was were cries of attention that their parents would never give.

To Soonyoung, the boy whose mom raised you more than your own mother did, it was home. He was the only person you knew that would talk about the Shadow District in a positive light, making sure you knew that was still beauty beyond the stories that others would tell you. That deep past the crime and poverty, it had a community stronger than anywhere else in the city.

People weren’t fake as the ones in West Hills Parkway where you grew up, or any other rich area in Huimang. Good but guarded people, even if many lost their way in their fight to survive because of the elites running the rest of the city. They were all more than just stolen cybernetics, drugs that would numb them enough to live another day or had to break laws to make ends meet.

He would always talk about taking you there, so he could show you that beauty behind the ugly. Even joking that he was sure you would find a sense of belonging there instead of the world you grew up in and was expected to assimilate to what everyone else expected you to be.

Because in the Shadow District, no one expected you to behave a certain way, no one expected you to be perfect there. No one cared enough, because they all had their own shit to worry about. There you could be anyone you wanted, disappear and become a completely different person than who you were. It was a reality you dreamt to be in, no matter how dark it was, and at one point those jokes stopped being just jokes.

So, the first time Soonyoung took you there, you had finally ran away from your old life and a version of you that wasn’t real. You ran away from the expectations that were laid before you, the evils that were behind the closed doors of Skyfall, left behind a last name that never felt was yours, and changing yourself to someone different.

You became someone else, just another soul trying to survive like everyone else around you.

It hadn’t been easy by any means. You weren’t proud of some of the things that you did along the way, having to adapt and change to survive, but you were happier. Eventually you met Wonwoo, someone who wasn’t meant to be anything more than a dick to ride and a bed to sleep in for the night and fell in love. It was still hard, but together you made it work with him giving you love and shelter while you returned that love and made that shelter a place you both could call home.

You lost a lot over the years for your choices, family and friends, but you also gained just as many. You were free to be who you were and free from your mother’s control, her demands. You were struggling, but you were happy.

But that all came crashing down after Soonyoung’s recent visit, pulling out that flicker of fear you hid away by everything else. The fear that Skyfall would decide that the Shadow District and its real estate was worth their attention. Now, you had to face the reality.

The reality that your past is catching up to you, the reality that Wonwoo will learn of the who you used to be and ran from. Find out that you’ve lied to him for so long. It distracted you, it clouded your thoughts, made you keep looking over your shoulder as you walked to work and was late. The night didn’t get any better either.

Chan snapped his fingers to bring you out of your thoughts, bringing back to Cherries’ busy bar and the full tray of drinks waiting for one of your tables. He raised his brow to you, silently questioning where your head was that night, and all you could do was force a smile at him. It was meant to be your way of telling him you were fine, but your lips felt tight over your teeth. You could only hope that he bought it or didn’t care enough to believe it.

The only response you got from Chan was a shrug, moving away from you to tend to the other customers and servers waiting for their drinks. You picked up the full tray of drinks and carefully balanced them as you made your way through the crowded club. Easily maneuvering through the groups of people standing together, too focused on not bumping into anyone and get to the table with their order, so you weren’t paying attention to the faces of the people around you.

So when a hand reached out and caught you by the hip, it startled you and nearly caused you to drop the tray. Rebalancing yourself, you twisted your head where the hand that held onto you came from, a frown playing over your features. The owner was a smug business type at one of the booths, sleek expensive clothes, hair styled back that people like to see as ‘professional’, and the cybernetics weren’t for because he needed it. They purely for aesthetic and status purposes.

Especially with the type of metal that was used, the highest of qualities that was buffed to shine. It would have looked nice with the flashing lights hitting it, had it been on anyone else and they didn’t touch you like you were a toy to grab. With a jerk of your hips, you pulled yourself away from his touch as a sickening feeling crept up you from where his hand was. Like you just touched poison.

“I will be right back with you.” You yelled over the music, taking a step away from the table to your destination when they spoke your name. You froze on the spot.

It wasn’t because he called you by your first name, most of the patrons here knew it. It was the last name. Your old last name. Your mother’s last name.

“It’s you isn’t it?” He had stood from his seat, you felt him take a step toward you and reach for you again.

“No.” You responded, shooting him a dirty look and pushed forward through the crowd. Blood rushed through your ears, not liking that he still had that smug look on his face, a mixture of anger and panic coursing through you.

You don’t recognize him, it had been so long since you’d seen anyone from your past that they all became nothing but blur of faces and metals, so you couldn’t think of his name or what family he was from. Except he recognized you. You were cybernetic free and looked nearly the same as you did when you ran, just older, more mature, and signs of you learning to survive. He recognized you and called you out by your old name.

As you got closer to the table you were serving, you decided that you were going to circle back to the bar from the other side of the club and get one of the other girls to help him and his table. Maybe even avoid this side for the rest of the night.

It all happened quickly after that. You were so lost in your plans that you missed a girl taking a step back, and you collided right into her. The tray full of drinks flew through the air, splashing the people sitting at the table and everyone standing around them while you landed on the ground with a thud.

The girl who had tripped you was quick to help you up, apologizing to you as you apologized profusely to the people at the table. Your hands moved quickly to grab all the spilled glasses and rush to the bar to get towels from Chan; who was already had a stack of small of them on the bar to help clean up. His expression unreadable, with a new set of glasses already out so he could remake their drinks.

You cleaned up the mess the best you could and was able to get the new drinks to them, while Seungkwan, your manager, tried to placate one of the girls in the group. She was the only one who didn’t get hit with alcohol, but she made a fuss and complained to him about you. Not giving a single damn if she was being truthful or that you were still standing there.

“Go get some air,” Seungkwan spoke to you at one point, cutting off the girl to do so and she looked like she was ready to explode. “I will talk to you when I am done here.”

With a solemn nod, you turned to head to the back of the club. With a glance toward the bar, you saw Chan give you a sympathetic look but was quick to return back to his job, so he wasn’t joining you in getting yelled at. You couldn’t blame him for that, because you didn’t want to be in this position either.

The back of the club was a private alley, one that was fenced off by Cherries’ owner Seungcheol so that not only was there no issues with inventory deliveries, but so his staff had somewhere to hide away. It stopped them from being harassed when they would go smoke or be able to take a breather away from a busy night. It was the only club in the area that did this, and you were grateful that you worked there and not anywhere else.

The cool night air felt like a relief to your hot and sweat covered skin, instantly relaxing you as you breathed in the smell of rain and a permanent smell of oil. It grounded you, giving you the chance to center yourself and remind yourself that you were better than this.

The sound of the back door opening caused you to twist around as Seungkwan walked out with a cigarette in his hand. Leaning against the wall, he took his time lighting the wrapped tobacco and let the heavy door shut before speaking.

“You going to tell me what happened in there?” He asked, blowing a cloud of smoke in the air before his tongue pressed against his cheek, and the brief respite you had was taken away. “I had to comp two rounds of drinks just now, and not to mention, Chan has been saying you been acting strange all night.” He took another drag of his cigarette, his eyes narrowed. “Are you on something?”

“What? No, of course not.” You answered tensely, not liking that he accused you of that. “I just have a lot on my mind. I wasn’t paying attention as well as I should have.” Looking down at your hands, purposely leaving out your encounter with the nameless guy. No one here knew you by that name, and you couldn’t afford it getting out. “I’m sorry. I will do better.”

There was a beat of silence, and you cast your gaze nervously up toward Seungkwan, only to see his eyes were on his cigarette and not you, his expression hard to read. Which made your stomach churn uncomfortably since your manager was an expressive man, always wearing his heart on his sleeve. He made sure that he said what was on his mind, even if it got him in trouble or hurt someone’s feelings.

“Listen…” He finally spoke as he blew out another cloud of smoke then licked his lips. “The first rule at Cherries is plain and simple, whatever shit you have going on in your life is left at the door. You’re here to work, not fucking worry about shit that has nothing to do with this place.”

“I know, Kwan. I am…”

“Sorry. Yeah, I know. You guys always are.” A scoff left him as he said this, taking a final drag of his cigarette then dropped it into a small rain puddle next to him. “You’re paying for all the drinks I had to comp tonight, Chan's tallying it all up now and will be taking it from your tips and earnings tonight.”

Hearing these words made you feel sick, that churning turned sour and felt like bile was already creeping up. After Soonyoung’s blackmail, you couldn’t have this happen since those credits you just lost was needed to recover that loss and for rent. You couldn’t afford to lose another credit, not when you weren’t sure what the payoff was for the job Jihoon had Wonwoo doing.

And you refused to touch that account your mother had for you.

“Understood.” You told him after a long moment of silence on your part, forced to accept this fate of yours. There was no point in arguing with Seungkwan without giving too much away, without giving yourself away. You were in a lose/lose situation here.

“I know that it seems unfair, but you got lucky here since we have fired others for less.” Seungkwan went to grab the door handle to go back inside, before stopping and looking at you with a resigned expression. “Guess is pays that Cheol has a soft spot for Wonwoo, or you wouldn’t just be paying for those drinks, you’d be looking for another job. Take a few minutes to get your head right and then get back in here. We need you tonight, or I would’ve sent your ass home.”

With that, he disappeared through the large metal door. His words echoed through your brain, the contempt he had when he mentioned your boyfriend’s name and his pull with the Cherries’ owner. And by proxy you as well.

You took that few minutes before returning to your job and managed to finish the night with no further mistakes, but you were not able to push your thoughts away. After what happened that night, that nameless guy who knew you by your old name, and Skyfall Industries finally deciding that the Shadow District was worthy for their development, you couldn’t ignore the crushing realization that the two worlds you knew were colliding.

It was early in the morning when you got home and was surprised to see Wonwoo already up and in the kitchen making coffee. With his hair sticking up in different directions, one eye barely open while the other stayed shut, his face still had the indents of his pillow, and sleep still heavy on him. He wasn't in anything more than a pair of dark grey boxers, giving you a perfect view of the rest of his body.

A lean muscular frame with naturally broad shoulders, long legs, and strong arms that was normally hidden away by dark heavy clothes due to the scars that littered on different places on his body. Old wounds from fights he got into over the years, from the accident that caused him to lose his left eye, and from other stupid shit he did. You were seeing one of the barest version of him, a version that only you see, and it was your favorite.

When he looked at you, it made your heart squeeze when a sleepy smile broke across his lips, and a hand reach out to you. One that you reached for without hesitation, your body moving without needing to think too much about it, just ready to be in his presence.

"Hey baby." His voice was rough, his fingers interlocking with yours to pull you into him, before his lips found the top of your head. Pressing them against your hair, before breathing you in. "You smell good."

"I smell gross." You giggle softly, tilting your head so that his lips could find yours. The soft press of his lips helped loosen some of the tension that was clinging to you, but not enough to help you forget. You still had to tell him about that you lose money instead of bringing any home.

"I don't think so." He shook his head, before pressed another kiss to your lips. When he pulled away, his brows then furrowed when he saw your face. "What's wrong? Did something happen at work?"

"Just had a shitty night. Spilled a tray of alcohol all over a table full of people, and Seungkwan was not happy because he had to comp two rounds of drinks." You answered with a small voice and attempted to turn away from him but one of his hands grasped your face to stop you. It hurt to see that smile gone, and concern shine through his eye. "I ended up having to pay for the drinks that we lost today and was told I am lucky that I wasn’t fired." You let out a shaky sigh, "We needed those credits."

You earned silence from your boyfriend, the frown deepened and his eye stayed on you. The sleep that was still clinging to him when you walked in gone, with only the physical signs left. The arm that was wrapped possessively around your waist had tightened, pressing you more against his near bare frame, while the hand on your face held you there. His expression was dark, and it made you slightly nervous.

"I'm sorry…" Your voice sounded small, and this earned a dark laugh from Wonwoo, his thumb brushing against your cheek affectionately. "I'll talk to Seungcheol when he's in next and see if I can get an extra shift to make up for what I lost today."

"Don't worry about it. Shit happens." Wonwoo shook his head, though his expression didn’t changed and his tone was sharper. You knew that he was pissed with you, it wasn't hard to read him when he was like this, but he was holding himself back.

A fight wasn’t something either of you needed, and it left a heavy tension between you both. You avoided his gaze that was searching your face, threatening to pull your secrets that now lingered under the surface than buried deep without the help of his eye. With one look, he would know everything you hid from him, and you would lose everything. You couldn’t have that.

“I love you.” You finally said after a long beat of silence, your fingers brushing against the back of the hand that held your face as you pressed yourself against him. Your eyes flicked up toward his, wanting to be sure that he saw the tip of your tongue run over your bottom lip before you leaned forward to kiss the curve of his collarbone.

“I love you too, but what’s going on? You haven’t—fuck.” A soft groan left him when your mouth moved to his neck, kissing the kiss as your free hand moved down between you. Your hand slid over the fabric of his underwear, cupping his hardened cock through the thin material.

You weren't proud of what you were doing, but it was the only way to distract him. You weren't ready for it all to come out. You weren't ready for him to walk away and hate you.

"Everything is fine, don’t worry." You lied, grateful that he didn't have his left eye in, or he would’ve seen right through you, and used it to your advantage, pulling from his hold to move your mouth over his chest. You earned a moan from him when your teeth grazed his skin, massaging the twitching bulge with your hand, and gave the thick member a gentle squeeze.

"Don't… ah… think I don't know what you're doing." Wonwoo managed to get out with effort, his right eye watching as you slipped down onto your knees. Not caring that you were still in the deep red dress that you had worn that night for work, because you were on a mission. You left a reminder of yourself on his hip, fingers hooking the band of his underwear to pull down. Freeing his cock from its confides.

You chose to not respond, your thighs pressed together at the sight of him, so easily ready for you. His fingers brushed against your hairline, and you looked up to him while your own wrapped around his length, catching the way his face contorted in pleasure when you tentatively stroked him. Mouth slightly opened, with breathy moans escaped while he tried to keep his one eye open to take in the way you looked for him.

Wonwoo went to speak you name in a stern voice, but it was lost when your mouth brushed the tip of his cock before planting an open mouth kiss on it. Pulling back, you gathered some spit in your mouth to dribble it onto his length, coating it with your hand so it easier to stroke what you couldn't fit into your mouth.

The hand that had been brushing your hairline now was going to grip at your hair when you finally took him between your lips, taking nearly half of him in one go and ignored the need to gag when it hit the back of your throat. Wonwoo's head dropped back, no longer concerned over anything exchanged between the two of you, already lost in you. Too lost in the wet heat of your mouth and your tongue pressed against his underneath.

Your hand moved in sync of your mouth, at a pace that he liked, and took him as far down your throat as you could go. It left your boyfriend a mess before you, his grip on your hair tightened but wouldn't take control. The sight of him from this angle made you clench around nothing, your already wet underwear stick to your cunt uncomfortably. To relief the feeling, you slipped a free hand between your thighs.

The feeling of your touch over the covered heat caused you do a quick inhale through your nose that was followed by a whimper. The sound made Wonwoo's head to snap forward, prying open his eye to take in the sight of you. Your mouth stretched over his cock, lips red, and eyes glossed over. Your red dress pushed up your hips and giving him view of one of your hands between your legs, touching yourself while you pleasured him.

The sight made him twitch in your mouth, and found himself quickly near the edge, but Wonwoo was a greedy man. He wanted his as well as yours and watching as you touched yourself as you worked to give him his own was not enough. He needed to feel it himself, he felt like a fiend needing their fix.

With a firm tug of your hair, Wonwoo pulled you off his cock, a groan left his lips when he saw a string of spit trail from your mouth to his cock.

"Get up." He commanded, releasing your hair to help you stand. His own hands rough as he moved you how he wanted you, and you let him. Loving the way he would handle you and took control.

The smell of coffee and sex filled the small apartment as you rested your arms onto the kitchen counter while Wonwoo took his place behind you. He pushed the dress up so that it was now at your waist, and your ruined underwear pulled down. The cook air of the apartment had sent shivers through you when it meat your wet head, leaving you to be the one whimpering.

"Wonwoo…" You weren't sure what you were going to say after this, his name felt right on your tongue in that moment. Especially when you felt the thick head of his cock tease your wet slit, catching your opening just right and you attempted to push your hips back. "Please."

"You know, I have to leave soon…" The words were slightly muffled, Wonwoo's mouth pressed against your shoulder. He continued to tease you, knowing that it would make you lose your mind. "I am supposed to meet Vernon out on the dock today." You found it funny that he said this while he took his time, wording it like it's your fault. It was, but you only intended to suck him off. "Good thing that fucking prick is always late."

You went to respond, only for your mouth to drop when he sunk his teeth into your shoulder and filled you completely in one thrust. It made your eyes roll, the stretch was enough to numb your own mind of everything that was playing in it. This may have started to distract him, but the way he filled you and the way his body enveloped you, maybe you needed this yourself.

Wonwoo didn't stay still too long, pulling back until he was only half out, before snapping his hips forward. The force of the thrust jerked you into the counter, causing your grip to tighten on the counter’s edge to steady yourself. A soft cry left you as you attempted to meet his thrusts but his grip on your hips stopped you. It left you to take what he gave you.

His breath hot against your shoulder as he fucked you in the middle of your shared kitchen, each thrust felt rougher than the last. Filling the apartment with the sounds of skin slapping, the moans that left you both, and the slick sounds of his cock plunging into your cunt. Every time you squeezed around him a string of curses left him, loosening his grip on your hips enough to adjust and pulled you to an upright position.

Your back pressed against his chest, while his mouth was on your neck, running his tongue over the sweat that was starting to collect from your activities. His hands roamed your body as one of your own reached back to grab his hair, trying to find an anchor at the new angle of his thrusts. No longer was he the only mess in this, you were too.

"Wonwoo." You whimpered out his name, with tears pricking at your eyes at the feeling your release almost within reach. Slipping a hand between your legs, you started to desperately rubbing your clit to help him push you over.

Your release hit you harder than you expected, your knees nearly buckled and was more than grateful that you were being held up in that moment. Wonwoo's release quickly followed with a low groan in your ear, and kept you anchored against him. Your breathing labored as you came down from your highs.

Dropping your head back against his shoulder, your boyfriend pressed a kiss to your temple.

"Don't worry too much about the money right now," He murmured against your skin, pulling out of you after a few moments and turned you to face him. Skin flushed, sweat falling from his brow, breathing came out in slight pants, as he looked at you with one eye. "This job that Jihoon is having us do will bring in a decent amount of credits each and bring more parts to the district." He smiled softly. "It'll be enough to keep us comfortable for a while, and maybe even enough to get you, me, and Doodle out of the city. Start over somewhere new."

It was something he always said when Jihoon had him do a job, it was a promise that he kept trying to speak into fruition. It would bring you hope every time he would say it, but this time, it only brought back that uncomfortable twist in your stomach.

“I don’t see why we’re still trying to do this job.” Vernon muttered, blowing smoke from his cigarette, and looked like he wanted to be anywhere but at the dock with Wonwoo. The two had been tasked to stake out the Factory and report back to Jihoon, “Look at the fucking place. Covered in guards that look more like cyborgs than human. What the fuck do they have that needs that much security?”

“Whatever was in those boxes.” Wonwoo answered, declining the pack of cigarettes the younger had offered him. He was tempted, but he didn’t want to pull his mask down as his eyes stayed trained on the building. His eye flickered every so often as he took photos of the large warehouse and the guards that patrolled it, while making sure to notes any patterns he caught. “Jihoon wants us to get photos and videos of everything.”

“Better be so that he can demand more credits if they really want us to do this.” Vernon scoffed as a set of cars pulled up to the Factory’s entrance. Sleek vehicles that screamed status and money. “Hazard pay or whatever the fuck it’s called.”

“That and he’s brought the Angel in to help. If these guards are more parts than human, then we’ll need his help and insight on this.”

“We’re definitely fucked if he had to bring that asshole in.” Vernon grumbled as he pulled his beanie further onto his head and Wonwoo let out a huff of a laugh. They watched one of the car doors open so a woman could get out.

She was older, dark red suit, hair perfectly styled, and a heavy aura of power that clung to her like a second skin. It was clear she was someone important as she was greeted by one of the guards, something that he made sure to note. Then she briefly looked in their direction, and Wonwoo felt a sudden familiarity to her.

The woman was then joined by two more men from the other car, all talking with the guard before making their way into the building. Not before Wonwoo’s eye was able to zoom in and get some photos of all of them. Included in them was a good shot of the woman’s face, and it was then he started to realize that she looked like you, but an older version. There was subtle differences, but it was like he was seeing you over twenty years in the future.

“That woman looks like Y/N.” Vernon pointed out, not looking in Wonwoo’s direction to see that he was having a moment himself. “But like older, richer, and probably a bigger bitch.” The older man shot him a look that Vernon caught. “What? I ain’t saying she’s a bitch all the time, but the girl bites.”

“Don’t I know it.” Wonwoo answered, the photo of the woman still on the screen of his eye. Analyzing her features and matching them to  you with something unsettling in his stomach. He had known you weren’t a native to the Shadow District when he met you, but he remembered you  telling him that you had no family and the closest to family you had was Soonyoung.

He didn’t have a reason to not believe you, it was just sex. It wasn’t important at the time, and the subject of your family had been a sore spot for you. Now looking at this woman, her likeness to you, it made him wonder if you had lied to him.

“How much longer do we have to be here?” Vernon’s bored tone tore Wonwoo from his thoughts, as well as his attention from the building to look in his direction to see he had lit another cigarette.

“I’m sorry, but do you have some other plans that you need to get to?” The words came out harsher than he intended, which earned a sneer from Vernon. “You haven’t shut the fuck up since we got here.”

“Well seeing as this shit keeps getting more complicated, not to mention the looming reality that Skyfall is kicking people out of their homes for whatever ‘redevelopment’ bullshit they have going on. I would say that my bitching and lack of wanting to be on a fucking suicide mission is reasonable.” Vernon waved his hand toward Wonwoo. “I honestly don’t see what this is supposed to accomplish having us fucking sit here? This place fucking stinks of fish and oil, and all that’s going on is you’re taking pictures with that fuck ass eye of yours.” The laugh that left him was bitter. “This surveillance we are doing isn’t going to do shit for us when those fucking things are guarding this shit.”

“Jihoon isn’t holding a gun to your head to do this, you know that right? You don’t have to be part of this.”

“Nah, I rather get the credits.” This answer made Wonwoo roll his eyes, before shaking his head. “I am going to take off though. This shit doesn’t need both of us.” Vernon then pushed off the set of boxes they’d been perched on since early that morning and gave him a nod. “I’d say it was a pleasure, but you annoy the shit out of me, so bye.”

“Yeah, go fuck yourself.” Despite the harsh words, the two did a weird handshake before Vernon was gone. Leaving Wonwoo to finish getting a few more shots and videos, and when he looked back to the building, he caught the woman had excited to go back to her car. As if she was able to feel his eyes on her, she looked in his direction and made eye contact with him.

Wonwoo had his face hidden pretty well, with a mask covering most of his face and his glasses covering the other half. His beanie and thick hood covered his hair, so she had no idea what he looked like, but it didn’t feel that way with the way she looked at him. Like she knew exactly who he was.

He didn’t look away either, taking several more photos of her with his eyes; ones of her head on. No longer caring what he was there for as the realization that she was someone to you, and from the similarities, family, hit him hard.

She then smirked at him before she slipped into the back of the car, letting the driver close the door behind her. Wonwoo didn’t move, catching images of the plates of as the vehicle left the docks.

 Several blocks from the docks, you couldn’t sleep no matter how hard you tried. After sex with Wonwoo didn’t work, you tried to take a hot shower, drank some tea that you were saving, read, laid in silence, laid with a window open so you could hear the street below, but sleep still didn’t happen. You ended up giving up and found yourself on the sofa, wrapped up in your boyfriend’s clothes that smelled like him, and Doodle laid on your lap purring softly.

The comforting feeling of his Wonwoo’s clothes, his smell, and the soft purrs of your pet grounded you, but it didn’t settle anything. You weren’t sure if you wanted to scream and cry in despair and worry or throw and punch things in anger and rage. Nor were you sure where to direct it all.

At life. At your mother and Skyfall Industries. Or at yourself for making this worse by keeping this secret from Wonwoo as long as you did.

The knock at the door and Doodle rushing off the sofa in a panic startled you. The feline stopped once one the floor to look at the door, her eyes wide and pupils dilated in fear before disappearing when another knock came. Her reaction was unusual and didn’t sit right with you as you slipped off the sofa.

When you reached the door, you cautiously looked through the peephole to see who was there, and your mouth went dry. Standing there was a woman with an annoyed and mildly disgusted look on her face and looked like she would rather be anywhere else. The sight of her stirred emotions that you remembered feeling every day growing up.

“I would recommend opening up.” She sighed as she adjusted her expensive designer bag onto her other arm. “I know you are there, and this is no way to treat your mother after all these years.” You didn’t move, or say anything in response, that earned another sigh from her as she spoke your name. “I think it would be wise to open this door, or I will have my men pick up that boyfriend of yours for sniffing around the Factory.”

She knew that would get what she wanted when you ripped open the door with a snarl to your lips.

“You touch him, and I will kill you without a second though.” You seethed to your uncaring mother, who just laughed and shook her head. “What do you want?”

“I wasn’t going to be in the area and pass up a chance to see my daughter.” She pushed past you, her shoulder bumping against yours while she took in the sight of the small apartment. Her eyes moved from the old furniture to the run down cat tree in one corner of the living room, then to the small kitchen that had a few dishes in the sink before they landed on you. The look on her face the same judgmental one that you knew all too well. “I can see that you are putting your monthly allowance to good use.”

“We both know I don’t touch those credits. I don’t need them.”

“Oh, I am aware and sure you don’t.” She waved you off, stopping herself from setting her bag down at the sight of Doodle’s cat hair. “This place screams it.”

“You’re not welcomed here.” You crossed your arms as you said this to her, trying to not visibly flinch when her sharp gaze turned on you. A look that reduced you back to that child she never thought was good enough. “Not in the Shadow District, and sure as hell not in my apartment.”

“Skyfall Industries owns the entire city, foolish girl. And as a member of the board of directors, I am welcome wherever I so please. And that includes…” Your mother then gestured toward the apartment, gold cybernetic metal shining in the low light of your apartment. “…your apartment.”

“Get the fuck out.” You snapped right before her hand connected with your cheek and your head jerked to the side. The metal on her hand sliced your cheek deep, drawing blood and a bruise was quick to follow.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that.” The older woman hissed, her anger turning palatable when you didn’t move for a moment. Your eyes closed as you slowly breathed through your nose, trying to control the familiar shake that would come with this. That anger and fear toward this woman mixing inside you.

Fear tried to reduce you back to that girl that she once controlled near perfectly, and the anger reminded you of the person you had to become because of that control.

“Why are you even here?” You asked coldly. The question was simple as you turned to look at her again, your hand slow to pull the hair that was stuck to the blood on your face. “Thought no one wanted to touch the Shadow District. It didn’t fit your project model for a perfect city. Needing a place to house the lower classes that would bring you your precious cybernetics.”

“You are such a stupid child.” She didn’t seem to care that your expression was dark and cold, or that you refused to wipe away the blood from your cut cheek. A dark bruise quickly formed around it from the force of the slap. Your fists clenched, with your anger started to take over and you had to fight to contain it. “It was always in the plan, it was always going to be redeveloped, but considering that I’m a generous mother…”

“To who?” You asked, your words venom, but she ignored you.

“I managed to keep the project at bay so you could have your little rebellious phase, let you playhouse with this one eye criminal before you finally came home and this place is bulldozed to the ground.” It was then that she reached out and cupped the cheek that she didn’t strike, a soft smile playing over her lips. It was meant to be loving, and if you were still that little girl, you’d be tricked by it like always. “I held it off as long as I could but not only is this disgusting stain on the city getting the makeover it desperately needs. I finally can bring you back home.”

“Had it ever occurred to you that I don’t want to go back? That my real phase was trying to be that perfect model child for you all those years, willing to do anything to earn your love, or your approval.” Your words caused that fake smile to crack, her hand dropping when you recoiled from her touch. “I am home, mom. This is my home, and that one eyed criminal is my family and have been for years. We actually love each other.”

“He loves the lie that you fed him.” She responded, making you look at her in shock and confusion. “You think I don’t know? You don’t think that I don’t know that you been lying to him about who you are and where you came from? Buried me with your father.”

“Don’t you dare bring Dad into this.”

“You don’t get to talk to me like that, or act like this life is so much better when it’s built on a lie.” Your mother smile then turned dangerous, and that left you rooted to the spot. “I thought I taught you better than this and actually feel bad for the pathetic fool.”

You watched as she opened a purse and pulled out an envelope. You knew what was inside it, an eviction notice.

“It’s time to end this foolishness and come back home. Your position is still waiting for you at Skyfall, and I have a lovely gentleman who is willing to look passed the… things you did while out here.” Her voice was smug as you took the envelope from her and she gestured to the apartment then to your appearance. Wonwoo’s clothes, hair a mess, dark circles under your eyes, and the bruise she gave you. Your hand was still wrapped from when you cut it and trembled holding the envelope. “I mean, it’ll be the only place you will have to go in thirty days. Which is more than what the rest of these people are being given.”

“You’re not getting the Shadow District.” You told her with confidence. The laugh that left her would have left you terrified years ago, but now it only fueled the anger inside you. “We won’t let you.”

“Who is this we? You? Your boyfriend and that little gang he’s part of? That fiend that fed your head with all that nonsense?” Smoothing out her suit, your mother regarded you. “You don’t have a choice in this matter. It’s time to wake up and face reality, stupid girl. Your time for fun is up.”

“We aren’t going down without a fight.”

“Of course you will.” Her shoulder hit yours as she passed and made her way toward the apartment door. “It’s evitable. Just like your place at Skyfall with me.”

“I rather die than go back to any kind of life with you.” You yelled as your turned toward her and the door, only for your whole body to freeze. Because standing at the doorway was Wonwoo. His face was still covered so you could not see his expression, but by his posture, he had heard it all.

“Looks like I should be expecting you back sooner.” Her satisfactory tone in her voice made you feel sick and that anger building turned to deep rage.

You lunged toward her, a high pitch angry cry ripping through you, but Wonwoo was already there to pull you back. Holding you to him as you thrashed in his arms, wanting to wrap your hands around your mother’s throat.

With a final look of satisfaction, your mother clothes the door behind her. Leaving you to continue to struggle to free yourself from your boyfriend’s arms, the tears that had been burning behind your eyes finally broke through.

Your mother was sorely mistaken if she thought she could snap her fingers and you would fall in line easily. You weren’t the same person as you were all those years ago, and you weren’t going to leave Wonwoo or the life you had.

And you sure as hell won’t let them take the Shadow District.

The argument is absurd, really — over a restaurant. Your monthsary dinner, to be exact. Every single time, without fail, Jay insists on the same overpriced venue with the same underwhelming menu: three kinds of salad, a charcuterie board that tastes like cardboard, and a wine list longer than the actual food options. A new place had opened across the district, equally elegant, actually varied, garlic bread that supposedly redefined the concept, and you'd simply suggested switching things up.

Jay had said no. Not because he had a real reason, but because that was his default. No was his reflex, and everyone in his life had always caved right after.

You hadn't caved.

So here he was, spiraling.

You continued walking, pacing circles through the ground floor of the house, not even granting him the courtesy of eye contact. That made it worse. Jay's jaw tightened as he trailed you from the kitchen to the living room, back to the kitchen, then into the hallway.

"Y/N, seriously?" He huffed, running a hand through his dark hair. "I'll take your silence as a yes then. That solves the problem. We're going to the usual place."

You stopped. Turned. Looked at him with a gaze so flat it could've smoothed granite.

"God damn it, Jongseong. Just give me a moment, can't you? You're way too stubborn for a lot to be coming out of your mouth."

Jongseong? Jongseong. Not Jay. His real name, the one you only used when you were genuinely agitated, and it landed like a slap. His lips parted, something flickering behind his eyes, shock, maybe, that you weren't folding, that you weren't apologizing the way everyone else always did. His family, his friends, his staff, they all gave in. You never did. That was why he loved you, though he was currently too bratty to remember it.

"Me? Stubborn?" He let out a disbelieving laugh, gesturing at you with both hands. "Please. You're the stubborn one here. We wouldn't even be arguing if you just caved. It's tradition, Y/N. We always go there. Why mess with something that works?"

"It doesn't work. You just don't like change." You turned on your heel and walked toward the stairs. "Because nobody's ever made you deal with it."

"That's not—" He followed you, footsteps quickening. "That's not fair. I'm not some spoiled brat, I just—Y/N, come on. Can you stop walking away from me?"

No response. You climbed the stairs, one deliberate step at a time, and his voice climbed with you, gaining pitch and desperation. He rambled about tradition, about how the other restaurant probably wasn't even that good, about how you were being unreasonable, about how he always compromised — laughable, really, given that he'd never once compromised anything in his entire privileged life.

You reached the hallway. The bedroom door was ajar.

Then something in you simply snapped. Not with anger. With resolve. Enough was enough.

You turned, caught his wrist mid-stride, and pulled. Jay stumbled forward with a startled yelp, and you walked him the remaining steps to the bed, pressing a palm against his chest and pushing. He fell back onto the mattress with a soft thud, not hard, not violent, but firm enough that his eyes went wide, mouth opening and closing like a fish pulled from water. He stared up at you from the sheets, hair fanning across the pillow, chest rising and falling faster than it had any right to.

"Y/N, what—"

"Shut up." You climbed onto the bed, onto him, knees bracketing his hips, and planted both hands flat against his chest. Beneath your palms, his heartbeat was already racing. "You've been following me around this house for an hour, Jongseong, whining like a child who got his toy taken away. Has anyone ever told you no before? Has anyone ever not given you what you wanted?"

His throat bobbed. "I—"

"That was rhetorical." You leaned down, close enough that your breath fanned across his lips. His eyelashes fluttered. "You're used to people bending for you. Apologizing. Folding the second you pout. That's not how this works. You don't get to bulldoze over me because you've never heard the word no before."

"I wasn't—I wasn't trying to—"

"You were." You shifted your weight, pressing your hips down against his, and the sound that escaped him, a broken and breathy thing, made heat pool low in your stomach. Already. Just from this. From you barely touching him. "You were trying to wear me down until I gave in. That's what you do, isn't it? Push and push until people just hand you what you want because it's easier than fighting you."

He didn't answer. Couldn't, maybe. His hands had found your thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of your shorts, and his chest was heaving like he'd run a marathon.

"You're pathetic," you murmured, and the word landed soft and devastating. "A spoiled, bratty, pathetic boy who can't handle being told no. And look at you now." You rolled your hips — a slow grind that dragged the seam of your shorts directly against the growing hardness in his sweats. "You're already this hard? From me just telling you off?"

A whimper. Actual, honest-to-god whimper, high and thready, his head pressing back into the pillow.

"That worked up after just me grinding on your pathetic dick?" You ground down again, harder, watching his face contort, eyebrows drawing together, lips parting, a moan slipping free before he could catch it. "This is what gets you going, isn't it? Someone finally not putting up with your shit?"

"Baby—" His voice cracked. "Y/N, please—"

"Please what? What am I gonna do with that please of yours? Use your words, Jongseong. You had plenty of them downstairs." Another grind, slower, torturous, and his hips bucked up involuntarily, chasing friction that you immediately denied by lifting yourself just out of reach. He let out a shattered exhale, fingers tightening on your thighs. "What do you want?"

"You. I want—please touch me."

"I am touching you." You slid one hand from his chest to his jaw, gripping it firm, angling his face so he couldn't look away. "You mean you want more. Say it properly."

His eyes were glassy, overwhelmed, and his lower lip trembled. "I want more. Please, Y/N. I'm sorry—I'm sorry for being—"

"Sorry for being what?" You tilted your head, pressing your hips back down, resuming that maddening grind. The friction made your own pulse throb, but you kept your expression cool, controlled. "Say it."

"Sorry for being—a brat. For—fuck—" He swallowed thickly as you picked up the pace, rolling against him in deep, rhythmic waves. "For always needing to get my way. I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry, please—"

"Good." You released his jaw and reached for the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and off in one motion. His torso was lean, flushed pink from his collarbones down to his stomach, muscles tensing under your gaze. Pretty. He was so pretty, and even prettier like this, undone, desperate, trembling beneath you like you hadn't already given him everything he'd ever asked for. "You know, Jongseong," you said, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, watching goosebumps rise in their wake, "I think you needed this. Someone to put you back in your place."

He nodded frantically, a mess of ragged breath and half-formed sounds.

You leaned down and kissed him, hard and bruising, all teeth and tongue, swallowing the moan that poured from his mouth. Your hands found his sweats, yanking the waistband down along with his boxers, and his cock sprang free, flushed and leaking at the tip, straining against nothing. You pulled back from the kiss just to look at it, then at him, and let out a low, mocking laugh.

"You're dripping, baby. That's adorable." You wrapped your fingers around him, just barely, just enough to feel the heat and the way he throbbed against your palm, and his hips jerked up, a choked sound ripping from his throat. "So needy. So desperate. And for what? A little grinding and some mean words? That's all it takes?"

"Y/N—" His hand flew to your wrist, not pushing or pulling, just holding, like he didn't know what to do with himself.

You tightened your grip and stroked him once, slow, base to tip, swiping your thumb over the head and smearing the precum there. His back arched off the mattress, a whine ripping through the air, loud and unabashed.

"Look at you," you said softly, almost tender, which made it worse. "Whining and squirming like you've never been touched before. Tell me something, Jongseong." You stroked him again, setting a pace that was deliberately unhurried, grip just firm enough to feel good but too loose to satisfy. "You've had people before me, right? Of course, a pretty boy like you would have always had. Rich, charming. Probably had them lining up."

He nodded, biting his lip so hard it turned white.

"And how often did you actually finish with them?"

His eyes squeezed shut. A tremor ran through his thighs. "N-not—not often," he admitted, barely audible.

"Not often," you repeated, mocking. "Poor thing. Everyone is so busy worshiping you they forgot to actually take you apart, hmm?" You twisted your wrist on the upstroke, and his mouth fell open, a strangled moan echoing through the room. "No wonder you're like this. You've been half-satisfied your whole life and you didn't even know it."

"Only you—" He was gasping now, chest heaving, fingers clenching and unclenching in the sheets. "Only you can—make me—fuck, Y/N, please—"

"What? Only I can do what? Make you cum?" You slowed your hand to a crawl, and the sound he made was guttural. "Not yet. You don't get to cum until I say so. Do you understand?"

"I—I understand, please—"

"Good boy." The phrase hit him like a drug. His whole body shuddered, cock twitching violently in your hand, and you felt another bead of precum slide against your fingers. "Oh, you like that. You like being good for me."

He nodded again, frantic, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, not from sadness but from sheer, overwhelming sensation. You leaned down, kissing the corner of his mouth, his jaw, the spot below his ear that made him whimper, and then you began to move south.

Your lips traced a path down his neck, his collarbone, his chest, pausing to drag your tongue over one nipple, then the other, making him jolt and cry out, and further, over the trembling plane of his stomach, until your face hovered above his cock. It stood angry and flushed, twitching with every exhale you let fall against it.

You looked up at him through your lashes. He was staring down at you, wrecked — hair a mess, cheeks crimson, chest rising and falling like he'd forgotten how to breathe.

"Hold my hair," you said.

He reached down with shaking hands, gathering your hair into a loose grip at the back of your head, and you took him into your mouth.

The sound he made was broken. Your lips wrapped around the head, tongue swirling, tasting salt and skin, and you sank down inch by inch, letting the heat and wetness consume him. His hips stuttered up, greedy and desperate, and you pulled off immediately, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to his cock.

"What did I just say about being patient?" Your voice was cool, but your eyes were sharp.

"Sorry—sorry, baby, I'm sorry—"

"Be good." You took him again, deeper this time, flattening your tongue along the underside, and set a rhythm that was designed to ruin. Wet sounds filled the room as you bobbed your head, hollowing your cheeks, taking him as far as you could without gagging. His fingers tightened in your hair, a warning, and you felt him try to push you down, try to make you take more, and you responded by dragging your nails down his thigh.

"Ah—fuck—sorry, sorry—" he stammered, but his grip stayed, trembling, barely holding back. You pulled off again with a slick pop, and the look you gave him was pure ice.

"You want me to deepthroat, Jongseong? You ask."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and he meant it, his voice fracturing on the second word. "Please—I'll be good—please keep going—"

You took him back into your mouth, and this time you relaxed your throat, swallowing around him, taking him deep, deep, until your nose pressed against his pelvis and he screamed, a shattered sound that bounced off the walls. His hips canted up involuntarily again but he caught himself this time, forcing himself still even as his thighs shook violently around you. Good. He was learning.

You set a brutal pace then, fucking your own throat on his cock, hollowing your cheeks, dragging suction that had him writhing and crying out in a mess of syllables — your name, baby, please, oh god, more, please more. His cock throbbed against your tongue, heavy and hot, and you could feel him getting close, his stomach tightening, his moans climbing higher, his hands trembling in your hair.

You pulled off.

"No—" The word ripped out of him, desperate, almost angry. "Y/N, no, I was—right—fuck—"

"Calm down, I know." You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, calm as anything, while he stared at you with wild, tear-glazed eyes. "You were close. And?"

"And I—please let me cum, please, I need it—"

"You need it?" You wrapped your hand around him again, slick with your own spit, and started stroking, slowly, so slowly, feeling every ridge and vein, every pulse of his racing heartbeat echoing through his cock. "You need it, but you've been a brat all day. Why should I let you?"

"I said I was sorry—I am sorry—" He was babbling now, words tumbling over each other, hips rocking up into your fist in tiny, uncontrollable thrusts. "I won't—I won't do it again, I'll listen, I'll go to whatever restaurant you want, I'll—ah—"

"Whatever restaurant I want," you repeated, amused. "You'd agree to anything right now, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," he gasped. "Anything. Anything you want, Y/N, just—please don't stop—"

You didn't stop. You kept stroking, kept that same torturous pace, watching him climb higher and higher. His abs clenched, his toes curled, his breath came in short, ragged huffs, and his cock jumped in your grip, once, twice, right at the edge.

And you felt it. That telltale tensing, the way his thighs locked up, the way his mouth opened in a silent cry.

"Oh?" You tilted your head, voice dripping with faux surprise, your hand never faltering. "You're about to cum already? Just like that?"

"I—yes—please, Y/N, let me—"

"Do I make you that needy?" You squeezed the base of his cock, and he actually sobbed. "All those people before me, and none of them could get you there, could they? But I can. Just my hand, just my mouth, and you're already falling apart."

"Only you," he choked out, and the words were so raw, so honest, that something in your chest clenched. "Only you, Y/N, nobody else—nobody's ever made me feel like this—please, I'm right there, I'm so close, please let me cum—"

"You're close," you echoed, and your voice softened, just a fraction, just enough for the air to shift. You stroked him steadily now, grip tight, pace deliberate, leaning down so your face was inches from his. "You've been so good, Jongseong. So good for me. Taking what I give you. Learning."

His eyes searched yours, wet and pleading and so impossibly open.

"You deserve it," you said quietly. "Cum for me."

And he would have, right then, right there, with those words, but you had something else in mind.

You let go of him.

His eyes flew wide with panic, but before he could protest, you were standing, shucking your shorts and underwear in one motion, and then you were back on him, straddling his hips, and you reached between your bodies to position him at your entrance.

"You want to cum inside me, baby?" You asked, and your voice had dropped low, rough, almost as affected as his.

"Yes," he breathed. "Please—"

You sank down.

The noise he made wasn't human. A full-body shudder wracked through him as you took him to the hilt, your own breath catching at the stretch, the fullness, the way he filled you so completely that your vision blurred at the edges. You gave yourself a moment, just one, to adjust, to feel the desperate throb of him inside you, and then you moved.

You bounced on him, once, twice, three times, deep, forceful strokes that had him hitting spots that made your thighs tremble. Your hand found his hair, fingers threading through the dark strands, and you gripped, firm and possessive, tugging his head back so he had no choice but to look at you.

"Eyes on me," you commanded. "Don't you dare look away."

He didn't. He couldn't. His gaze was locked on yours, glassy and worshipful, tears spilling freely now down his temples, mouth open in a silent, endless moan. You rode him hard, those few strokes enough to undo everything you'd built and broken and built again, and on the fourth bounce, he shattered.

His orgasm hit like a wrecking ball. He came with a sound that was barely a word and you felt him pulse inside you, hot and thick, filling you in waves that seemed to go on and on. His hips jerked up helplessly, overstimulated, and you kept moving, kept riding him through it, chasing the pressure that had been building in your own core since the moment you first ground against him.

It didn't take long. You were already so close, had been close through all of it, the power, the control, the way he looked at you like you were the center of his universe, and within a handful of strokes, your own orgasm crashed through you. Your walls clenched around him, milking his cock in pulses that drew a weak whimper from his throat, and your spine curved as pleasure whited out every thought in your head.

Then silence. Or something close to it, just the sound of two people breathing, ragged and uneven, slowly coming back to earth.

You collapsed forward.

Your face fell into the curve of his neck, his shoulder, and his arms came around you immediately, instinctive, warm, wrapping you up like you were something precious. His cock was still inside you, softening, and neither of you moved to change that. His hand found the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair, and he ruffled it softly, tenderly, the way you'd grip him when you were commanding him. A mirror. A response. His other arm banded around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.

For a long moment, you just breathed.

Then your chest hitched.

It wasn't supposed to happen. You'd been in control, composed, untouchable — but now, in the quiet aftermath, with his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek and his hands so impossibly gentle on your body, something cracked open inside you. A wave of tenderness so acute it hurt, and tangled up in it was guilt, the sharp, stinging kind that came from the realization that you'd been cruel. You'd called him pathetic. Degraded him. Treated him like he was less than, even if he'd liked it, even if he'd asked for it with every whimper and whine.

Your eyes burned.

"Baby?" Jay's voice was soft, concerned, the brattiness entirely gone. He shifted, trying to see your face, but you buried it deeper into his neck. "Hey. Y/N. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you mumbled, but your voice cracked, and you hated it. "I'm fine."

"You're not." He pulled back just enough to look at you, and his thumb found your cheek, catching the tear that had just begun to slide down your face, one single tear, the only one that escaped before you clamped down. He wiped it away with more care than you deserved, his touch feather-light. "Why are you crying?"

"Because I was mean to you," you whispered, and the admission felt like pulling off a bandage. "I didn't—I didn't want to be that harsh, I just—you were driving me crazy, and I—"

"Hey. Hey." He cupped your face in both hands, tilting it up so you had to meet his eyes. They were warm. So warm it made your throat ache. "You weren't mean. You were exactly what I needed." A small, breathy laugh escaped him. "I've never… Y/N, I've never felt like that before. Ever. You're the only person who doesn't just give me whatever I want, and I need that. I need you."

"But I—"

"You put me in my place," he said simply. "And I probably needed it a long time ago." His thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone, sweeping away the dampness there, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, soft, lingering, nothing like the bruising kiss from earlier. "I'm sorry for being a brat. I'll try harder. Okay?"

"I'm sorry too," you breathed against his mouth.

"Don't be." He smiled, the one that crinkled his eyes and made him look younger, softer, stripped of all the privilege and pretense. "And for the record—we can go to the new restaurant. I was being stupid."

A wet laugh escaped you, and he caught it with another kiss, pulling you tighter against him, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other traced lazy patterns on your spine.

You melted into him, every hard edge, every sharp word, every ounce of dominance dissolving into something small, soft, and fiercely tender.

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🎹 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ഒ west coast by lana del ray

✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !

ANDROID J05HU9 AND THE HACKER

You haven't lived your whole life in the city of Chroma Nexus. Your life started out very differently than it is now. Your childhood was the stuff of dreams. You grew up in a luxurious city away from this neon hell city has become. You were raised with a silver spoon in your mouth. Your father worked at a bank that handled money for huge companies like FleXeon. Everything shifted when you were freshly seventeen, after a late night at business dinner you lost both your parents in a tragic car accident.

That night shifted everything for you. The house you had grown up in left you feeling haunted. Selling it was the only way you could escape the ghost of your past.

Taking the bullet train to Chroma Nexion changed your life. You realized with the money from your inheritance and your excellent programming skills, you had the ability to never work a mundane regular job.

Meeting Seungcheol made you realize that you could hack just about anything. He took you under his wing and you joined the team that he’s made. You learned Seungcheol had one goal in life, it was to rob the rich and give to people who truly needed the money.

On one of his missions you snuck into a tech corporation. In the basement you were searching around with Wonwoo. You found an android who looked to be a test robot of some sort. With Wonwoo's help, you brought the android to your home that night.

The side of his neck had "J05HU9" tattooed on his human-like skin. It took you two days to fully reprogram him and get him up and running.

Joshua is probably the greatest thing you've ever programmed. From the moment he rebooted you instantly had a connection with your new android.

CYBER SEX

The neon turquoise glow radiates off his pristine skin. You wish you could thank the engineer who crafted him for making him look this beautiful.

Seungcheol has you out a couple blocks down from the FleXeon lab. You're sitting at a computer in the back of a van that Seungcheol set up and Joshua is playing look out with Wonwoo. You've been looking into the FleXeon server nonstop, trying to find errors in their security programming. Seungcheol's goal is to bring down and expose FleXeon and their CEO for their creation of Lavender Haze, and their legal ways of acquiring money.

Whoever designed their security programming is good. Everything is well protected, and their files are fully encrypted. You lucked out and found a kink in their almost impenetrable armor. You were able to access a pretty high up employees’ emails. Sorting through them, you found employee identification information and mentions of blue dust and lavender haze. Reaching into your bag you grab the drive Seungcheol gave you.

You start uploading everything as quickly as possible. Being so close to the FleXeon building you know they have a security sweep in about five more minutes.

Tapping your fingers you watch as the data transfers. The moment it's finished, you hit the door of the van twice. The driver side opens and Wonwoo jumps in. The back door slides open and Joshua joins you in the back.

"Did you get it?" Wonwoo asks.

"Yeah."

"Good job, Starry." It's rare these days for anyone to call you by your actual name. You have a birth on your shoulder that looks like a star, which led to mostly everyone calling you Starry. Joshua is different, occasionally he'll call you Starry, but he mostly calls you his starlight.

"I'll drop you guys off at your place, so you can take your more subtle bike to meet Soonyoung and Jeonghan." Wonwoo says.

"Where are they?" Joshua asks.

"Dumb and dumber went to the lights district." Wonwoo says, rolling his eyes.

The lights district is the scummy part of town. The morally gray and corrupt tend to hang out there. The district is filled with clubs, and even more drugs. You already know why they went there. Soonyoung wants to get blue dust, and he knows a guy who sells it there.

Arriving at your place, you and Joshua quickly jump out of the van. Joshua was smart enough to bring both your helmets.

"I wish we could just take this to Minghao ourselves." Joshua hates when you go to the lights district.

"I would love that too, but you know how Cheol works. He said I have to pass it off to these two."

He helps you put on your jacket and fasten your helmet. He starts the bike with you sitting on the back holding on to him.

Joshua pulls out of the garage. You look at the sky to see it's raining just like it always seems to do these days. Luckily, motorcycle gear works for the rain.

The twenty minute drive to the lights district in the rain isn't pleasant. Arriving at the club you know you would find them at, Joshua parks the bike. He locks your helmets on to the bike. He grabs your hand as you walk up to the crowded club. The bass is booming as EDM music rattles the place.

This place is filled to the brim with people either drunk on Pop Rocks, or high on blue dust. Pushing your way through the crowd you find Soonyoung and Jeonghan in the back. Soonyoung has his tongue shoved down the throat of some girl with pink hair, while Jeonghan is sitting on the couch whispering to a girl with icy white hair. You let out a heavy sigh. This day has been too damn long. You spent hours jumping around locations, trying to get into the FleXeon system and now you're dealing with two of Seungcheol's highest ranked men, who thought it was a good idea to get high out of their minds on Blue Dust.

"Stay back here." You tell Joshua. Him and Soonyoung already butt heads. You don't want anything to unfold between them tonight.

"Soonyoung." You yell, leaving Joshua a few feet behind you leaning on the wall.

He smiles, peeling himself away from the pink haired girl. "Starry, you came!" He shouts. By the wild look in his eyes, and with how blown his pupils are you immediately know he's high.

Soonyoung yelling catches Jeonghan's attention. He pulls himself away from his girl and stands up. His eyes are just as blown as Soonyoung's.

"You guys couldn't make this easy on me, could you?" You huff.

"You're being dramatic." Soonyoung laughs.

You knit your brows glaring at them. They could have been somewhere closer. Instead, you and Joshua had to drive all this way in the rain, after working for hours. These two are already giving you a headache and it's only been a few minutes.

"I'm not being dramatic, you're being inconsiderate." You roll your eyes.

"Ouch, Starry is more sensitive than normal." Jeonghan holds his chest like he's wounded.

"You're just being bigger assholes than normal." You can feel Joshua's eyes burning into the back of you.

"You seem more irritated than normal." Soonyoung points out.

Joshua pushes himself away from the wall, he's already irritated with Soonyoung and his nonsense.

Jeonghan barks out a laugh. "Starry, maybe if you got laid you wouldn't want to kill us all the time."

"She's fucking lover bot over there, getting laid isn't her issue." Soonyoung laughs.

Joshua pushes himself off the wall. This is going to escalate quickly if you don't shut down these idiots.

"Maybe she needs some cock from someone who isn't a machine." Soonyoung laughs. He's definitely trying to get punched. If you knew Cheol wouldn't ring your neck, you would break Soonyoung's nose right now.

"Shut the fuck up. You're just jealous you haven't seen any pussy in months." You poke Soonyoung in the chest. "My issue is that I'm trying to drop off something extremely important and you and Hannie are out of your minds on blue dust."

You reach into your pocket grabbing the drive. "Here." You shove the drive into Soonyoung’s jacket pocket.

"Cheol is gonna fucking love the fact that his edgesunner, and right hand man are high off blue dust is scummy club in the lights district."

Soonyoung reaches for your hand. "Starry, don't be like that."

"Don't touch her." Joshua is standing by your side instantly.

Soonyoung holds his hands up and steps back. "Chill, lover boy. I'm not going to do anything to her. You and I both know I tease her but I love her."

Joshua laces his fingers with yours pulling you back from Soonyoung.

"Starry, I'm sorry." Jeonghan says, sounding sincere.

"I think we should go. I better not hear that Minghao and Cheol didn't get that drive."

"We'll go now." Jeonghan says.

Tugging on Joshua's hand, you lead him through the cramped club. Stepping outside, you're hit with the cold breeze. It seems the rain stopped. Releasing Joshua's hand, you zip up your motorcycle jacket. He walks over to your bike, grabbing both your helmets. He steps in front of you, helping you put your helmet on. He buckles the bottom strap before kissing the tip of your nose. Reaching up he slides your visor down before putting on his own helmet.

"Are we going home?" He asks, walking towards you. You push your visor back up. His eyes are shifting around. You know him well enough to know he's upset. Silently, you nod.

You follow him to the bike. He stops in front of it and pauses. You don't want him to drive while he's upset. "Shua?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't worry about Soonyoung. I'm not interested in human men."

"Who are you interested in?"

"An android." You reach up, sliding the visor back down.

Joshua gets on the bike, and holds his hand out. You hop onto the back, wrapping your arms around his stomach. He gives your thigh three pats. Even if he won't say it out loud, you know that's his way of saying "I love you."

He revs the engine before he takes off down the dark alley. The asphalt below blows with the neon lights from above. The drive out the lights district takes about twenty minutes before you're back in the hub of the city.

Driving through, you look around at the video boards that line the tall sky scrapers. There's a clip of the president of FleXeon playing on repeat. That man is corrupt and helps run production of the drug known as lavender haze dust. His side company that people don’t know about. made an extra synthetic blue dust that's extra potent. Seungcheol is disgusted by drugs and will be pissed if he finds out any of you touched it.

Towards the east side of the hub, the less luxurious side, is where your apartment is located. Pulling into the underground apartment, Joshua parks the bike. You hop off and take off your helmet. Joshua takes off his own, and pulls your bag from the side compartment.

The parking garage has a low turquoise haze to it. The light near the elevator hums as it flickers.

Clicking the button you wait silently next to Joshua. Your neighbor who lives three doors down gets out of her small beat up two door car. She's a sweet older lady who works at the hospital on the edge of the hub.

"Late night out for you two love birds?" She's always in such a good mood. You don't understand it sometimes. She sees so much pain and destruction in that hospital and yet, she still smiles.

"Hello, Mrs. Opal. We wanted to go out for a late night ride." Joshua lifts his helmet to show her.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. You step back until your back is against the cold metal wall. Joshua presses the thirteenth floor button and stands next to you.

"When are you two kids going to get married and have some beautiful babies?" If only she knew that your lover is an android. Marriage and babies aren't something the two of you can necessarily have.

Joshua is one of the most humanoid androids you have ever encountered. His mannerisms and looks make him seem fully human. His tattoo on the side of his neck could be a give away, but most people don't know that the ink on his skin is a model number. You made the choice immediately not to make it common knowledge that he's an android. The last thing you need is people snooping around or trying to hack his programming. Or worse trying to steal him from you.

"Maybe one day, Mrs. Opal."

She looks at you and gives you a sweet smile. "Darling, you're lucky you found such a great man." If only she knew that you quite literally found him, and fixed him.

"I'm very lucky." You finally speak.

The elevator dings signaling your arrival to your floor. Joshua grabs your hand leading you down the hall towards your apartment.

"Have a good night you two." She says.

"Goodnight, Mrs Opal." He responds.

He stops at the door and types in the pin. Stepping inside, you're greeted by the turquoise neon glow of the city outside. You didn't bother closing the curtains to the floor to ceiling window that looks out into the dark city. You live in a one bedroom apartment. It's spacious enough for the two of you to live comfortably together. The high ceiling with exposed metal venting, makes the space look larger than it is.

Joshua grabs your helmet from you, along with your bag and places it on the table that sits by the door. He drops down to his knees to help you remove your boots.

"I need a shower." You sigh.

"Go shower and I'll make you something to eat." For someone who doesn't need food to survive, he's really good at cooking. He often eats with you even though his body just burns up everything.

Heading off to the bedroom, you grab a pair of panties and baggy shirt. Walking into the bathroom, you take your time stripping away your clothes. Your bathroom isn't huge by any means and your lighting is terrible, but the water pressure in the shower is perfect. Your whole apartment has a radiant haze to it, just like the rest of the city.

Opening the glass door, you crank the water on. It's scorching hot the moment you step in. After missions you always feel gross, maybe that's your self-conscious telling you what you're doing is illegal. Closing your eyes, you tilt your head forward, letting the hot water relax your tensing muscles. You were hoping Joshua would join you, but you know he's more worried about making sure you eat.

You're not sure what your life would be like if you didn't have him. Being with him has made your life worth living again. He's sunshine in this dark city with a fluorescent glow, and you're the midnight rain.

Getting out of the shower, you dry off and put on just a thong and a baggy shirt. Looking in the mirror, you realize how tired you look.

Walking out into the living area, you're greeted by the smell of ramyeon. Joshua is busy dishing two bowls. Your bare feet pad across the cold hardwood floor.

Sitting down at the small table near the kitchen area, you watch as he brings over food. While you were showering, he must have changed. He's now shirtless, wearing just a pair of sweatpants that are sitting low on his hips. It's clear he's not wearing anything underneath them.

He sits down across from you. He raises his brow, watching you pick up your chopsticks.

"Are you going to power down tonight?" This is the same question you ask him every single night.

"No." He picks up his own chopsticks.

You let out a heavy sigh, and rub your eyes with your free hand. This conversation is always so frustrating.

"Josh, you need to power down occasionally."

"Why?" He's annoyed by this conversation just like you.

"Because when you turn back on, it reboots. That will help get out any kinks in your system. I have to do the same thing with my tablet."

He puffs out a disgusted sound. "So I'm just like your tablet."

You set your chopsticks down. "Don't do that. Don't act like I'm calling you a robot or a device."

"But you are." His tone is pointed.

"From the first time I powered you on and fixed your software to give you emotions, I have never treated you like a robot. I have always and will always treat you like a human."

His brows soften, he leans back in his chair. A look of defeat plays across his face. "Powering down reminds me that I'm never going to be a human. I'm just an android."

You can't say anything, you just stare at him. You know how desperately he wishes he was a human.

"I sometimes forget that I'm not real."

"You're very real. You might not be human. But you're real, and you matter to me. So that's all that fucking matters." Your emotions are high after today and you know you should have just left this alone tonight.

"I'll power down tomorrow night. I don't want to do it after we just had a fight." It's probably best he doesn't do it tonight. The last thing you need to do is go to bed upset while he's rebooting.

"Okay."

You both eat in silence. You've both forgiven each other but there isn't much left to say about your fight. The food Joshua made is delicious, just like it always is. You get up to do the dishes, but he doesn't let you. He grabs the dish and heads over to the sink.

Standing at the window that overlooks the city you stand there wondering what the people are up to down below. The city is still pretty lively for it being close to four in the morning.

You hear him walking up behind you, but you don't move. His arms wrap around your stomach, pulling you back against him.

His hand taps your stomach three times. Closing your eyes, you rest your hand on his thigh and give it three taps.

"I'm sorry." He rests his chin on top of your head.

"I'm sorry too."

"It's been a long day." He sighs.

"I want to go to bed, but I just want to be with you." You desperately crave being close to him.

"I'm all yours, baby."

Pulling away from him, you turn around. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him closer to you. You don't want to think anymore. You want him to fuck every logical thought out of your brain.

Leaning up, you press your lips to his for a heated kiss. You don't need to explain to him what you want, he understands you completely. His hand slips under your shirt, running across the bare skin of your back. His hand roams lower down to the fleshy cheek of your ass. Your lips don't stop moving together. He kisses you like he's trying to say he's sorry a million times over.

Pulling away, you tug on his bottom lip. "Please just fuck me."

He backs you up until your back is pressed against the cold glass window. Pulling back a little, he looks down at you. "Do you want me to take you to bed?"

"No. Fuck me here."

He grabs your hips, spinning you back around. Your chest is pressed up against the cold glass window. Your thin shirt does nothing to prevent your nipples from hardening.

Pushing your hips back against his crotch, you can already feel him hardening. Joshua’s anatomy is very much like human man's. His body reacts the same as anyone else when he's sexually aroused. Technically, his anatomy is different then the average male. Whoever created him, blessed him with a massive cock. You know deep down inside they created him to be a sex bot.

His hand dips down to your core. He pulls your thong to the side. Two of his fingers rub your sensitive clit.

With his lips near your ear, he rasps, "you're already so wet."

He slides his fingers down to your needy core hole. He dips two of them in with ease. You're so desperate for him, you're pretty sure you could take his massive size without any prep.

The palm of his hand ruts against your clit, and he works his two fingers in and out of you. Gasps leave your lips as your head rolls back against his shoulder. One of your hands grip his sweatpants while the other grips the arm that's wrapped around your stomach, holding you against him.

Your high is rapidly approaching. Your body tenses, as you struggle to breathe for a moment.

"So good for me." He moans in your ear.

Your high breaks, and your walls flutter like a heartbeat squeezing his fingers. He rubs your clits, helping you ride out your high.

"Oh—" you pant.

"You sound so pretty." He whispers against your ear.

"Fuck me."

You push your hips back against the erection that's straining against his sweatpants. He presses you fully against the window. He pulls back just enough to push his sweatpants down below his butt. He pulls out his cock, pumping it slowly a few times. Another blessing from his engineer is that his "precum" works as the perfect lubricant.

"Keep your chest against the window, and push your hips back towards me." He grabs your hip and puts you into position.

With his cock in his hand, he runs it through your folds a few times. Each time he brushes your clit, you can't help but moan.

"Please." You have no problem begging him.

The rosy mushroom tip nudges at your weeping entrance. He pushes an inch in and pulls it out. He does it a few times, teasing you. You push your hips back, causing him to slip in further.

"Naughty girl." He gives your ass a quick swat.

"Please, Shua."

He lets out a little laugh. He grips your hips with both hands. He pushes his hips in slowly. He feels you completely, he's so big you can feel every single ridge of his cock. He starts at a slow but deep pace.

Your cheek rests against the cold glass. You could care less if anyone in the sky scrapers that line the sky can see you. Joshua is fucking you so hard, your brain has stopped working. The only thing you can process is the tip of his cock, kissing your cervix over and over again.

You rock your hips back, helping meet him with each thrust. The groans that leave his lips sound sinful. Leaning forward he starts kissing the side of your neck.

"Are you close?" He rasps.

"Yes." You whine.

Without saying a word, he pulls out of you. You can't even react before he’s flipping you around. He uses his enhanced strength to lift you up, as if you weigh nothing. He pulls your panties to the side before sliding you down his massive length. Closing your eyes, you lean your head back against the window. He's hitting a completely different angle in this position.

He thrust into you at a quick pace. His sweats slip further down his thigh with each thrust. Your back knocks against the glass over and over. His lips are anywhere they can reach. He starts by kissing your jaw and then moves down your neck.

Your fingers tangle in his dark hair. Tugging his head back, you desperately want to look at him. His lips part slightly as quiet moans pass his lips.

"Shua—" his name never sounds as sweet as it does falling from your lips in the haze of an orgasm.

His hips don't stop moving. He helps you ride out your high as your walls flutter against his cock.

Your hand talons into his shoulder, lost in a cock drunk haze.

His thrusts get sloppier as he rapidly approaches the edge. He moans your name like a sinful prayer. Similar to humans, he releases a cum like substance when he orgasms. He fills you to the brim, holding you flush against him. Leaning forward, he rests his head against your shoulder.

You're scared if he puts you down, you jelly legs won't work. He leaves a few open mouth kisses against your shoulder before he pulls away.

Slowly he pulls out of you. Gently, he sits your feet on the ground. Your legs feel like they're made of jello. He tugs your thong back over your core that's starting to drip out his release. He leaves you there just long enough for him to pull his pants up and to tuck his softening cock back inside them.

He lifts you up bridal style and carries you to the bathroom. He sits you down on the cold concrete counter. You immediately shiver at the feeling.

"Can you take off your panties?" Your eyes go wide. You aren't sure your abused core can take another orgasm tonight.

"I'm not going to fuck you anymore. I need to clean up my cum."

Lifting your hips you pull off your thong. You hold it out and he grabs it before tossing it in the hamper behind him. He reaches under the cabinet for a cloth.

You take this as your sign to spread your legs. A playful smile tugs at your lips. Dipping your fingers through your sensitive core, you collect some of his release. His cum like substance looks exactly like human cum. It’s thick and milky, but instead of being salty and sometimes unpleasant, his is sweet. It reminds you almost of a subtle simple syrup. Sticking your fingers in your mouth you taste his sweet cum.

Joshua gives you a smile as he shakes his head at you. He runs the cloth under warm water before stepping between your spread legs. He gently cleans up the mess he's made of you.

Before pulling you off the counter, he stands between your legs and leans of kisses across your face. He has one hand on your butt and the other on your cheek. The hand that's on your cheek, he taps three times before pulling back.

"It's almost five, you need to sleep."

He pulls you off the counter and carries you to your room. He lays you down gently on the bed. Crawling under the covers, you wait for him to join you. He's over by the window that looks out into the city. He pulls back the curtains to block a little of the morning sun that will soon be rising.

He joins you in bed and pulls your body close to his. You're laying on your side with him firmly pressed behind you. You smile at the fact that you're no longer wearing panties and just a shirt.

"Sweet Dreams, Starlight."

GLITCHES AND STATIC

It's a night where you finally don't have to work. You contemplated staying in all night and just spending time with Joshua. Somehow Mingyu and Wonwoo convinced you to go out with them. They seem to be the only two that don't cause problems when they go out. Sitting in a bar near your place, Joshua comes over holding a bottle of beer and a weird lime green looking drink.

He slides in next to you. Wonwoo was telling you about a motorcycle he was looking to get soon. Mingyu slides in next to him, holding the same two drinks as Joshua.

"Why did you bring over battery acid?" Wonwoo asks, picking up and examining the drink.

"It's called luminescent." Mingyu responds.

"Please tell me someone didn't make a new drug." You sigh.

"The bartender said it's like PopRocks but more citrusy." Joshua chimes in.

"PopRocks makes me incredibly drunk after one." You've blacked out too many times because of that potent sparkly pink drink.

"I think Starry should drink the beer." Mingyu says. It's the best idea, Joshua can't actually get drunk. He really only drinks to blend in socially.

"What about us?" Wonwoo looks at the fluorescent green drink.

"I'll drink it, you can drive us home." Luckily Wonwoo and Mingyu are roommates and rode here together.

Joshua goes to move his hand to grab his drink, and you immediately catch his hand twitching and locking up. You definitely haven't seen that happen before. Resting your hand on his thigh, you give it a squeeze. He glances at you, moving his hand to his lap. Taking his wrist in your hand you rub slow circles into the underside where his skin is delicate.

Wonwoo and Mingyu are oblivious to what is happening as Mingyu is talks about some cute bartender he met.

Joshua keeps trying to squeeze his hand. Slowly, the glitch works its way out. He grabs your hand, bringing the top of it to his lips for a gentle kiss.

You give him a knowing smile.

"Shua, you need to try this luminescent drink."

"Alright." With his other hand, he picks up the glass filled with the electric liquid.

Soon a very buzzed Mingyu has convinced Wonwoo that they should play darts. You and Joshua are given a moment alone at the table.

Running your finger along the side of the beer bottle, you're mindlessly playing with the condensation. Joshua is still slowly sipping on the electric drink. He opted not to chug it like Mingyu did.

"Is the glitch with your hand new?"

"Kind of." He sighs, flexing the hand that glitched.

"How long has this been going on?" You hate that he didn't tell you the first time it happened.

"About two weeks ago." He looks down at the table, embarrassed. He absolutely hates anything like this that reminds him he's not human.

"Two weeks and you didn't tell me." You stare at the side of his head.

"Yeah. It's fine. It will work itself out." He looks at you and gives you a smile. As if he's trying to convince both of you that it's fine.

"No, it won't. I need to look at your software and fix it."

Mingyu lets out a cheer, catching both your attention. Joshua grabs his drink, taking a big gulp to help cut the tension.

He sets the glass down on the table. "Can we talk about this later?"

"Sure." This isn't a conversation that you want other people to hear necessarily. You don't want the team finding out about him glitching. Seungcheol might not be happy if one of his enforcers are having processing errors and glitches.

After Mingyu's poor decision to drink a beer after the luminescent drink, Joshua helps move a very drunk Mingyu to Wonwoo's car outside. You stand by the bike, watching everything unfold. Wonwoo reaches into the glove compartment and grabs a packet of jolt. It's a sweet substance that helps sober people up from alcohol and blue dust.

Wonwoo pulls the substance into his best friend’s mouth and slaps his cheek. Mingyu shakes his head and from a distance you can see he's already sobering up.

Joshua closes the car door and walks over to your bike. You hold out his helmet for him.

The ride back to your place doesn't take too long. Arriving back at your home, Joshua immediately heads off to the bathroom. You head off to the bedroom and grab something to change into. Opening the bathroom door, you're instantly greeted by steam and the sound of Joshua humming a song.

Stripping away your clothes, you toss them in the hamper. Opening the glass door, you step inside. Nothing is said as Joshua steps aside, giving you room for the water. You stand there, facing the facet. The hot water feels cleaning.

Joshua presses himself against you, wrapping his arms around your stomach. Neither of you say anything as he holds you.

He pulls away and grabs your strawberry scented body wash. He takes his time washing your body, making sure to massage your tense shoulders.

Getting out of the shower, you both take your time drying yourself off. You don't bother getting dressed.

"Why did you not tell me?" You finally break the screaming silence.

"Because I didn't want you to worry."

"Shua, we don't keep secrets." Since the moment you turned him on, you never hid anything from him. Long before you were romantically involved, he was still your friend and your companion. You promised him from the very beginning you would never keep secrets from him.

"I know and I'm sorry."

"Let me look at your software and upgrade you."

"It's fine? If it gets worse you can." You can tell by the look on his face this is a losing battle tonight.

"Fine." You grab your clothes off the counter. You pull on a baggy thin tshirt, and a lacy pink thong, this is the usual attire you walk around at home and sleep in.

You can feel Joshua's eye burning into you as you walk out of the bathroom. You head off to the kitchen. You need a glass of water. You don't want to go to bed upset and you just need a moment to cool off.

Leaning against the counter, you look out at the bright city. You hear Joshua before you see him. You look up and find him dressed in just his tight boxer-briefs.

"I don't want to go to bed mad." He says, stopping in front of you.

"I'm not mad." You're not lying to him. You aren't mad, you're more stressed than anything. "I'm just worried."

"I know you are, and I'm worried too." You both know deep down inside he should at least shut down for the night so he can reboot slowly.

You sit the water down on the counter. Holding your hand out, you wait for him to come close to you. He grabs your hand, stepping right in front of you. He places your hand on his chest. If he was human, you would be able to feel his heart beating.

You drum your finger three times right above the void of where his heart should be.

"It would beat for you." In a perfect world, Joshua wouldn't struggle with feeling inadequate about not being human. Him being an android changes nothing for you. You don't love him any less because of it.

You tap his chest three times again. "Mine beats only for you."

You lean against the counter. You take a moment focusing on him. Recently, he seems to be more emotional. The only reason that could possibly be is he's worried about something going wrong with his programming.

He places his hands on either side of you, caging you in against the counter.

"I'm sorry."

Things between you haven't always been like this. It wasn't until last year when Joshua started fighting shutting down a few times a week at night. He's been with you for about three years and you have been romantically involved since six months after you found him. Things between you have always been intense, but in the last year and half, you noticed how much Joshua struggles with the idea of not being a human.

"We're okay." You whisper.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull his face closer to yours. Your lips touch, and the only thing your brain can think of is getting as close as possible to him. His hand grabs your hips, pulling you far enough away for him to slide his hand down your back, and to grab you butt.

You moan into his mouth, rolling your body towards him. He pulls away and immediately picks you up sitting you on the edge of the counter.

Instinctively, you spread your legs, and pull your panties to the side. He dips down and starts kissing your knee, making his way across your inner thigh. He kisses the top of your mound as he drags two fingers through your wet folds.

He focuses on licking your clit over and over again. Two of his fingers pump in and out of you, helping to stretch you out.

Your fingers tangle in his dark locks, hold his face close to your core. Looking down, you find him looking up at you through his lashes.

He eats you out like you're water in a blazing hot sun. Pushing your hips towards his face, you're growing desperate for your release. You just want him inside you, but you know he won't until you've came at least once.

He moves his fingers in a come hither motion, touching that spot inside of you that has you seeing stars.

The tidal wave hits you hard. Tugging on his hair, you try to anchor yourself. Your walls tug on his fingers and he keeps brushing your g spot.

"Fuck— Shua—" your words are nothing more than a broken plea.

He pulls back smiling. He dips his two fingers in his mouth, cleaning up your release.

"You sound so pretty when you moan." He steps back and takes off his boxers.

He pumps his massive erection, helping to lube it up before he stretches you out. Your kitchen counters sit at the perfect height for him to be able to fuck you while you sit on them.

He leans in close, giving you a wicked grin before kissing you. You moan into his mouth as he runs the tip of his cock through your folds.

He always likes to tease you with just the tip a few times before he slowly pushes his whole length in.

Your legs wrap around him, pulling him fully inside. His rose tip kisses your cervix as he bottoms out.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you crash your lips into his. He pushes his hips into yours at a slow and deep pace.

Time doesn't seem to exist when you're with Joshua like this. All that matters is just the two of you.

Leaning back, you look down at where you're connected, watching as he stretches you.

"Baby, take your shirt off." He tugs on the bottom of the thin fabric.

Pulling your shirt off and tossing it on the ground, you're left completely bare except for your panties he has pulled to the side.

Reaching forward, he grabs one of your breasts, groping it before he tweaks your nipple.

"Fuck—" you moan.

Leaning back on your hands, you push your hips to the furthest edge of the counter. One of Joshua's hands rests on your core. His thumb rubs circles on your clit. He picks up his pace, thrusting into you.

He lifts your leg up over his shoulder. The new position has him hitting different areas then before.

"I'm close." You moan.

He’s rubbing your clit harder, helping to push you over the edge.

"Oh fuck." Your eyes squeeze shut, and your head rolls back. Your orgasm hits hard. He doesn't stop thrusting or working on your clit. Unfamiliar pressure builds in your core. One specifically hard thrust makes you see stars, and liquid sprays from you, covering his crotch.

He gets a solid two thrust in before he fills you to the brim with his synthetic cum. He stops moving fully. Releasing your leg, he pulls you close to him. Your body is absolutely spent. Your head is resting on his shoulder. His large hand is running up and down your back, helping you soothe you.

"You've never done that before." He finally speaks.

"I don't think my legs can work."

"Let me clean you up and I'll carry you to bed."

Sitting on the counter, Joshua takes his time cleaning up the mess he made between your legs. He lifts you with ease, taking you to the bedroom.

It's not long before you're sound asleep in his arms.

-

It's another late night job. Minghao has a drive for you to look at. There is a meeting on the north side of the hub.

Soonyoung is already with Minghao, and Jeonghan is coming along to make sure no one is following you.

Minghao picked a better meeting place than Soonyoung is known to pick. You're at a little hole in the wall family restaurant. There is a flicking neon open sign at the door.

You're greeted by an older man who just gives you and Minghao a nod. He tends to like to come to this place for meetings. This sweet old lady is used to Minghao and his crew showing up.

He’s at one of those L shaped booths in the back corner. He's got a sea of plates on the table. Soonyoung is next to him, eating from a plate of noodles.

Minghao is tapping away on his tablet. Jeonghan slides into the booth next to Soonyoung. You follow next to him. Joshua sits on the edge keeping guard.

"Jeonghan, did you come just for the food?" Minghao quips not looking up from the tablet.

"No, Cheol sent me."

"Does Cheol not trust us?" Soonyoung responds.

"Well, he knows we have a taste for blue dust, and he threatened to end all of us if we touch it while working." Jeonghan reached for an empty plate.

"You two idiots are the ones who did dust while you were working." You glare at him.

"How did Cheol find out about that?" Soonyoung asks, glancing up.

"I told him." You don't care that you snitched on them. Them being high is a liability.

"Then why did he send you to babysit, you were also high?" Minghao says glancing up from the tablet.

"Because he knows I'll stop it from happening again. He already threatened to throw me off the FleXeon tower if I fuck up again." The thing about Seungcheol is that he's the ring leader and the man in charge, and all of your group loves and respects him, but you all know he's a very capable man and should be feared.

"He’s trying to get into Cheol's good graces by babysitting." You respond. You know Seungcheol is tough on Jeonghan but he cares about him the most.

Jeonghan starts dishing a plate of food. Him and Soonyoung start talking about the noodles.

Joshua reaches into his bag and pulls out your tablet. Minghao set down his chopsticks. Reaching into his jacket pocket he pulls out a drive. With a firm push, he slides it across the table.

Picking up the drive, you connect it to your tablet. Opening the files, you see something unexpected. You open a drive called "the wife", your brows knit together as you scroll through evidence of an affair unfolding.