as an author who has never liked stories that are too easy. I prefer melancholy, tears and slow burn. I explore complex dynamics between characters.👩🏾💻✍🏾
A quick, easy and happy story ? What's that? ತ_ʖತ
The morning mist clung to the stone walls of the annex, isolated and cold, far from the grandeur of the Delarive estate. The place had been designed to keep both rumors and their target at bay: Y/N Delarive, the cursed youngest daughter. They said she carried a curse, that she had sold her soul to enrich her family. Yet, for those who had dared to get close, there was neither magic nor malediction. Only a blind young woman, tormented and locked away in a gilded cage.
Y/N sat in her favorite chair, facing a window whose light she could only guess. The slightest noise irritated her; the arrival of a new servant had already sent her into a rage. It was always the same—her parents sent spies to watch her or break her further. But this one, she would not allow to stay.
The door opened. Slowly, without the hurried steps of a fearful servant. The approaching footsteps were heavy yet controlled, as if the person wanted to be noticed. Y/N tightened her grip on the familiar weight of a wooden clock in her frail but determined hands.
“I want no one here!” she screamed before throwing the object with all her strength.
The impact echoed. The man had taken the hit directly to his face. Y/N heard a muffled groan, followed by a heavy silence. No cries, no stumbling retreat. Just that silence—then a deep, composed voice, tinged with a hint of surprise.
“Impressive aim, for someone who can’t see.”
Y/N froze. She had expected apologies, pleas, or a hasty retreat. Not a response so calm, nor a trace of amusement in his tone.
Cassius straightened, pressing a hand to his forehead, where a small cut was already bleeding. He had heard of the youngest Delarive’s tantrums, her fits of rage, her explosive outbursts. None of it had prepared him for this encounter. Behind the mask of suspicion and fury, he sensed something else. Not the madness people accused her of—but a deep, ingrained fear. Almost tangible.
He stepped forward, deliberately closing the distance between them. “I am your new servant,” he declared. Dropping the suitcase he carried at his feet, he added, “And I’m not leaving.”
Y/N clenched her fists. “They all leave.”
“Maybe,” he replied, crossing his arms, “but not today.”
She heard a faint sound—the rustling of a handkerchief as he pressed it to his wound. He wasn’t trying to explain himself, nor impose his presence. And for a reason she couldn’t quite grasp, that unsettled her.
Cassius said nothing, but he observed. The frailness of her wrists, the tension in her shoulders—like a wounded animal, ready to bite to survive. A quiet rage stirred within him. Not against her. But against those who had reduced her to this state. Yet, he kept his mask of indifference. He wasn’t here to save her. He had a vengeance to fulfill.
Y/N was already retreating into silence. “Fine, stay,” she finally said, her voice trembling slightly. “But don’t think I’ll make it easy for you.”
Cassius allowed a fleeting smile, though she couldn’t see it. “It wouldn’t be interesting otherwise.”
He turned to unpack his belongings. But at the edge of his mind, a persistent thought lingered: this family, the ones who had stolen everything he once loved, deserved to suffer. And the key to his revenge was here, in this cold, forgotten annex.
Yet, as he glanced at Y/N from the corner of his eye, he felt something he couldn’t quite name. A curiosity. Perhaps even a respect he hadn’t anticipated. She was far stronger than the rumors suggested.
But he wasn’t here to be distracted.
Not yet
---
Days had passed in a strange monotony. Y/N remained in the shadows of her room, a place she knew as well as her own skin. It was there that she felt protected, even though every movement was a battle she waged against herself. She had never been so reluctant to live, to eat, to wash. The memories of childhood abuse were deeply ingrained, like invisible chains. Anything that came from another human being was suspect. Everything, even food.
Cassius, on the other hand, had understood the situation more quickly than he would have liked. He knew that Y/N refused to eat, that she even refused to wash, that she was trapped in this cycle of suffering out of fear and distrust. He understood that her resistance did not come from a mere desire to be difficult. It was deeper than that. She had been scarred by her past, by a life of physical and emotional violence. And he was here, a new presence in her closed-off world, an intruder she could not accept.
Every morning, when he entered the room, he found her trying to escape reality. The sheets were tangled around her, and she remained curled up, eyes closed, as if she could hide from the entire world. He had seen the same scene play out day after day. She did not eat, barely drank, and recoiled from any form of contact, even from the most basic care.
One morning, after placing the tray of food beside her bed, he sat near her, waiting silently. The tension between them was palpable. Y/N did not react. She knew he was waiting for her to take the food, but her refusal was absolute. He had seen her in moments of rage when she threw the food against the walls or at him, hoping he would leave, that he would give up. But he had no intention of leaving. Not this time.
At last, he stood, walked to the door, and returned with a basin of warm water. “Y/N,” he said in a calm voice, “it’s time.”
She turned sharply toward him, her hands trembling, panic flashing in her voice. “No! I don’t want you to touch me. I don’t want your help.”
But this time, Cassius had not come to negotiate. He leaned forward slowly, grasping the edge of the blanket and pulling it gently, as if he were nothing more than a passing breeze. “You don’t have a choice. You will wash, and you will eat.”
She bolted upright, eyes wide, pushing herself up on her elbows with surprising speed. “Don’t touch me!” she screamed, nearly out of control, the terror evident in her voice. She grabbed a pillow and threw it at him, but he dodged it effortlessly.
She tried to get up and flee, but he gently forced her to stay in bed, his authority calm yet unyielding. “Calm down,” he said, holding her firmly but without violence. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
She struggled against him, screaming, but he did not let go. His hands firmly grasped her wrists, never tightening enough to cause pain. Tears welled in her eyes, but she could not break free from his hold. Y/N was weaker than she thought. She didn’t realize that everything she feared from him, everything she imagined in her mind, was nothing more than ghosts. He wasn’t here to hurt her—not in the way she feared. But she didn’t understand that. Not yet.
“I’m here to help you,” he murmured, his voice almost gentle as he kept his hold on her. “Not to harm you.”
She tensed, her breathing ragged, her heart pounding wildly. She trembled, but it was more from fear than from cold. And in that silent struggle, Cassius felt her resistance begin to crack. It wasn’t just pride or distrust. It was pure fear—the fear of having lost control over everything. The fear of being vulnerable again.
She tried one last time to push him away, but her strength failed her. In the end, she collapsed against him, exhausted, her gaze empty as she stared ahead. Cassius did not release his hold immediately. Instead, he supported her gently, one hand firmly placed on her shoulder, as if to remind her that he was there. But he did not force her. He waited. He waited for her to realize that he wasn’t here to hurt her. Not this time.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Y/N,” he said, almost a whisper. “You won’t be alone in this.”
She rolled onto her side, allowing the warmth of the water he poured gently over her face to wash over her. Y/N closed her eyes, silent tears slipping down her cheeks. She hadn’t wanted to surrender. She hadn’t wanted to accept his presence. But in that quiet surrender, there was a fragility he couldn’t ignore.
Finally, she let out a deep sigh, her resistance breaking, and allowed herself to be taken by what he offered—a little care, a little warmth, and perhaps, just a little trust.
---
The next day, Cassius entered Y/N’s room as usual, a tray of food in his hands. But this time, he immediately noticed something different. She wasn’t curled up under her blankets as she usually was. Instead, she was sitting on the edge of her bed, her bare feet barely touching the floor. Her face was turned toward the faint light from the window, lost in thought.
She didn’t say a word when he placed the tray near her. Yet he noticed that her hands trembled slightly, as if she was gathering all her courage to resist retreating into herself.
“I brought you something to eat, my lady,” he said softly, kneeling beside the tray.
She pressed her lips together, hesitating for a moment before replying. “You’re wasting your time. I won’t make this easy for you.”
He smiled slightly, but there was no arrogance in his expression. “I don’t need you to make it easy. I am patient.”
She let out an annoyed sigh, but there was something softer in her tone—weariness mixed with a hint of resignation. “Why do you persist? I don’t want your help. I don’t want you here.”
Cassius took a spoonful of the steaming soup and held it out to her with calm determination. “You can say whatever you want, my lady. But there’s a difference between what you say and what you need.”
Y/N turned her head toward him, her brows furrowed. She couldn’t see his expression, but she could hear the firmness in his voice. It unsettled her, as if he could see through her words, through her defenses.
“I don’t want you to touch me,” she said, her voice tinged with the slightest trace of fear.
Cassius tilted his head slightly. “And I won’t. You can eat on your own. But if you don’t… then I will do it for you.”
She felt her chest tighten. He wasn’t joking. By now, she knew him well enough to understand that he always kept his promises. And though it frustrated her, a small part of her—just the smallest part—felt strangely relieved by his presence.
After a long silence, she finally reached out and took the spoon. “Fine,” she murmured, a mix of defiance and surrender in her voice. “But it’s not because I trust you.”
Cassius nodded, a flicker of satisfaction in his gaze. “I never said you had to trust me. That will come with time.”
She took a spoonful of soup, then another, in silence. He didn’t say anything, simply watching from a distance, ready to step in if she stopped. But she continued, even though every bite seemed like an immense effort.
When she finally finished, she placed the spoon down with a sigh. “Now, will you finally leave and let me be?”
Cassius stood, retrieving the tray with ease. Before stepping out of the room, he glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in an hour to take you to the bath. I suggest you don’t fight me this time, my lady.”
Y/N opened her mouth to protest, but he was already gone, the door closing behind him.
She clenched her fists, her nails pressing lightly into her palms. He drove her mad. And yet, a strange warmth—one she didn’t understand—began to settle within her.
For the first time, she wondered if she was ready to lower her walls just a little, just to see what he would do.
---
Cassius scrutinized his own reflection in the cracked mirror of the small room he had been assigned. His features were calm, almost neutral, but deep within his eyes, shards of hatred lay buried—an old hatred, hardened by time. He had taken this position for one clear reason: to destroy the Delarives. To take back everything they had stolen from his family.
He remembered the day when everything had crumbled for the Changs. His father, a respected noble, had been dragged through the mud by a wave of accusations orchestrated by the Delarives. The land, the titles, the fortune—everything had been taken from them. His mother had succumbed to illness soon after, broken by humiliation and poverty. Cassius, still a young man at the time, had wandered in the shadows for years, nurturing his vengeance.
When he learned that Y/N Delarive lived alone, isolated in the annex, he knew his chance had finally come. She, the scorned youngest daughter, the one even her own family seemed to want to erase, was his way in. Becoming her servant was a humiliation he was willing to endure for his ultimate goal: their ruin.
Why Y/N?
Because she was their weakness.
Cassius knew that the Delarives’ reputation rested on a carefully maintained façade. A wealthy, powerful, exemplary family. But a blind, unstable daughter, treated like a shadow, could become their greatest liability. If Y/N became a public problem, if the rumors about her spread, if her very existence became an unbearable burden, the Delarives would begin to falter.
By entering her world, he intended to manipulate her, feed her despair, and use her isolation against them. He wanted them to reject her even more violently, to expose themselves to the county as the monsters they truly were. Once they were weakened, he would strike at the heart, revealing the truth about the wealth they had stolen from his family.
But as he got closer to Y/N, he discovered a reality he had not anticipated: she was not just a tool, a weapon to sharpen against them. She was a broken soul, haunted by a life of contempt and solitude.
It had been several days since he had entered her service, and each interaction unsettled him more and more. Y/N was nothing like her brothers, sisters, or father. She had none of their arrogance or cruelty. Instead, she was a wounded creature, hiding behind walls of anger and mistrust.
And yet, she fought. She fought against him, against her own weakness, against the fear that held her captive. He had seen her reject food, refuse to wash, throw objects in fits of almost childlike rage. But beyond those impulsive gestures, he also saw a woman who had learned to survive alone in a house that hated her.
He hadn’t expected his anger to clash with his humanity.
That evening, after Y/N had finally eaten for the first time without resistance, Cassius allowed himself a moment of reflection. He had not yet advanced in his plan. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to focus on his revenge, to remain cold and methodical. But a part of him, small and silent, was beginning to stir.
Was she truly like the rest of her family?
He shook his head, pushing the thought aside. Innocent or guilty, it didn’t matter—she was still a link in the chain that had destroyed his family. By becoming her servant, he had not committed to protecting her. He had committed to bringing down the Delarives.
But for now, he had to remain patient. He had to continue playing the perfect role. Earn Y/N’s trust just enough to guide her where he wanted. No matter if it meant enduring her outbursts or her insults. No matter if it meant walking the fine line between obsession and pity.
As he blew out the candle in his room, his final thoughts were of her, the "young mistress" he addressed not out of respect, but out of irony.
“I will lead you where I want, my lady,” he murmured into the darkness. “Whether you want it or not.”
---
The next morning, the sun timidly pierced through the thick curtains of the annex, casting a soft, pale light into Y/N’s room. She sat on her bed, motionless, listening intently for any sound. Cassius had not entered yet. It worried her, though she would never admit it out loud.
Since his arrival, he had been constant, present like a shadow she couldn’t dispel. And despite her efforts to push him away, he always returned, unwavering. She should have been relieved that he was late. Yet instead, a strange emptiness was growing inside her chest.
Finally, the familiar sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway, and the door creaked open. Cassius entered, carrying another tray of food. As usual, his expression was calm, but his eyes quickly scanned her, as if ensuring she was safe.
“You’re late,” she snapped, her tone sharp, though her voice was weaker than usual.
He raised an eyebrow, amused by her remark. “I didn’t know you were waiting for me, my lady.”
She turned her head away, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “I wasn’t waiting. I was merely noting your lack of punctuality.”
He placed the tray near her and settled into a chair, as if this conversation was just part of their usual routine. “You’re observant today. Perhaps you’re simply in a better mood.”
Y/N frowned, irritated by his light tone. “Don’t act as if you know me. You know nothing about me.”
He remained silent for a moment, his eyes softening almost imperceptibly. “You’re right, I don’t know everything. But I observe you, and every day, I learn a little more.”
She clenched the sheets beneath her fists, his words both aggravating and unsettling her. “You’re wasting your time, Cassius. I am not like the others. I am not… normal. You can’t learn anything from me.”
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, his expression turning serious. “Not normal, you say? Because you’re blind? Because your family cast you aside? Is that what you believe, or what they made you believe?”
Her breath caught in her throat. His words, though spoken gently, struck her like a blade. She turned her head away, biting the inside of her cheek to hold back the tears threatening to fall.
His voice softened even more as he continued, “My lady, perhaps you don’t need me. But I need you.”
His declaration unsettled her, and she sat up slightly, her heart pounding. “You… need me? Why?”
Cassius rose from his chair, his gaze unwavering. “Because you are the key. The key to breaking free from the prison your family built around you.”
He paused, then added in a quieter tone, “And perhaps also… because I want to see what you’re capable of, Y/N.”
It was the first time he had spoken her name without the title of "my lady." She didn’t know why it affected her so much, but a strange warmth spread through her chest.
He turned away then, picking up the empty tray from the previous day, and stopped at the door. “Eat. And get ready. I’ll be back to take you outside. You’ve spent too much time locked in here.”
“Outside?” she repeated, alarmed.
He didn’t answer, closing the door behind him.
Cassius knew it was risky. Taking her beyond the annex could draw attention, and the Delarives were not the type to appreciate their "secret" being exposed. But he needed her to leave this prison. Not just for her, but for himself. He had to understand just how far he could push this strange connection forming between them.
Destroying the Delarives was still his goal, but a part of him was beginning to wonder if Y/N, despite her ties to that cursed family, deserved something else.
And that… he couldn’t afford to consider. Not yet.
But the game was changing. Slowly, but surely.
---
Cassius watched as Y/N struggled to stand. Her frail, trembling legs seemed incapable of supporting her weight. It had been months, perhaps years, since she had truly moved beyond her bed, and her body reflected it—every movement was hesitant, clumsy, almost painful to witness.
She clenched her fists, frustrated, and attempted a step. But before she could advance, her knees buckled. Cassius rushed forward, catching her in his arms before she could collapse.
“Let me go!” she growled, but her voice wavered more than it held strength.
He ignored her protest, gently setting her upright again, his hands steady on her shoulders to keep her balanced. “My lady, you are stubborn, but you can’t do everything alone.”
“I don’t need you. I can walk!”
She tried to pull away, but Cassius remained firm. His expression was calm, yet his heart pounded with an intensity he couldn’t explain. Seeing Y/N in this vulnerable state stirred a strange contradiction within him—a mix of admiration for her strength and a pain he refused to acknowledge.
Day after day, he helped her learn to walk again. Each morning, he supported her gently, his hands always ready to catch her if she fell. At first, she resisted, throwing insults and bitter words at him to make him leave. But over time, an unspoken truce settled between them.
Cassius said nothing, but he observed. He noticed the small victories in her movements—the way she managed to stand a little longer each day or the fleeting hint of a smile she refused to let linger when she succeeded in taking a step without his help.
He found himself watching her longer than he should, his gaze drawn to the determination shining on her face. This young woman, whom he had first considered nothing more than a tool in his plan for vengeance, was becoming something else. But he refused to put a name to what he was feeling.
One day, after multiple failed attempts, Y/N finally managed to walk with relative stability. Cassius decided it was time to take her outside.
“Are you ready, my lady?” he asked, adjusting a scarf around her shoulders.
Y/N hesitated, her hand brushing uncertainly against the fabric. “I’m not sure… I’ve never gone out alone before.”
“You’re not alone. I’m here.”
Those simple words, spoken with sincerity, had a calming effect on her. She nodded timidly, and he took her hand in his, guiding her out of the annex.
The outside air was crisp, filled with the songs of birds. Y/N inhaled deeply, as if rediscovering a world she had long forgotten. Cassius walked beside her, his hands firmly placed over hers to guide her along the forest paths.
“It’s different…” she murmured.
“Different how?”
“I don’t know. The air smells… more alive here. And I hear things. Birds. The wind in the trees.”
He glanced at her, fascinated. Every word she spoke revealed a curiosity she had buried under years of fear and mistrust. A strange warmth filled his chest—an emotion he didn’t want to name: pride.
But as they walked, Cassius noticed something in the distance, beyond the grove of trees. A dark figure stood among the shadows, and his instincts screamed at him to investigate.
“Stay here, my lady,” he said quickly.
“Where are you going?” Y/N asked, her voice tense.
“I’ll be back soon. Don’t move.”
Before she could protest, he released her hands and disappeared into the trees.
At first, Y/N remained still, trying to calm the unease growing inside her. But soon, the very sounds of the forest that had fascinated her moments ago became threatening. The rustling leaves, the snapping branches—everything seemed to close in around her.
She reached out, searching for something solid, but the emptiness around her filled her with terror.
“Cassius!” she called out, but only the echo of her voice answered.
Panic took over. She turned in circles, her feet stumbling over roots and stones. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks as fear and anger twisted inside her in an uncontrollable storm.
When Cassius finally returned, he found her curled up on the ground, her hands trembling with rage. As soon as she heard his footsteps, she lifted her head and screamed at him:
“Where were you?! You left me! You left me all alone!”
He immediately knelt beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’m here now. You’re safe, my lady.”
But she didn’t want to calm down. She weakly struck his chest over and over, her gestures fueled more by desperation than true anger. “You abandoned me… I… I waited for you. I… I never want to be alone like that again!”
Cassius gently caught her wrists, stopping her weak blows, his gaze filled with guilt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I won’t leave you alone again.”
At last, she stilled, her hands relaxing in his. But instead of pulling away, she clung to his clothes, her fingers gripping his tunic with desperate force.
“Promise me,” she whispered.
“I promise, my lady,” he answered softly.
For the first time, Cassius felt a weight settle in his chest. He knew that this promise, as simple as it seemed, was far more than just words. It was a line he had just crossed, a barrier he could no longer ignore.
---
The wind had picked up, rustling the curtains of the annex. Cassius sat near the window, his mind occupied with his plan. Since his arrival, he had patiently studied the weaknesses of the Delarive family. He knew their habits, their secrets, and their vulnerabilities. But what troubled him most was Y/N.
Since that promise in the forest, something within him had changed. She was no longer just a means to an end. He felt a responsibility toward her—an inexplicable desire to protect her. A contradiction that tore at him more and more each day.
Yet, he never forgot why he was there. Today, he had to move forward with his plan. He had not yet decided how to use Y/N against her family, but an opportunity presented itself sooner than expected.
That morning, as he helped Y/N prepare for her daily walk, the sound of carriage wheels echoed outside. Y/N froze, listening intently.
"What is that?" she asked warily.
Cassius glanced out the window and saw two figures stepping down from the carriage. A man and a woman, elegantly dressed, approached the annex. He recognized them immediately: Y/N’s older brother, Charles, and her younger sister, Adeline.
"Your family," he answered calmly.
Y/N paled, her fingers clutching nervously at the fabric of her dress. "Why are they here? They never come… unless…"
Cassius placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Whatever their intentions, I am here. Stay calm, my lady."
She nodded, but her entire body trembled.
A few minutes later, Charles and Adeline entered the annex, their imposing presence filling the small space. Charles, tall and austere, regarded Y/N with a gaze full of contempt, while Adeline wore a smug smile, lazily flicking her fan through the air.
"Well, Y/N," Charles drawled sarcastically. "You’re as charming as ever. Solitude seems to suit you."
Adeline let out a crystalline laugh. "You could at least make an effort to look presentable. Even in such a pitiful state, you could have a shred of dignity."
Y/N remained silent, her hands trembling slightly. Cassius, standing behind her, clenched his fists. He knew he couldn’t openly interfere, but watching Y/N endure such humiliation ignited a fury within him that was hard to suppress.
"What do you want?" Y/N asked in a hoarse voice.
Charles stepped forward, a predatory smirk on his lips. "What do we want? Come now, Y/N, we’re simply here to check on you. After all, you are our dear sister."
Adeline added with false sweetness, "We were worried. You know, rumors in the county are getting out of hand. Some people are saying… terrible things. You should be careful."
Y/N felt her heart grow heavy. She knew exactly what they meant. This was no visit of concern. They were here to ensure she remained in her place—out of sight, away from the power they wielded.
Seeing Y/N crumble under their verbal assaults, Cassius decided to step in. He moved forward slightly, placing himself between her and her tormentors.
"May I offer you something to drink, sir, madam?" he asked politely, his tone measured, but his eyes betraying a cold determination.
Charles eyed him with disdain. "And who are you?"
"Cassius, my lady’s personal servant," he replied, deliberately emphasizing the title.
Adeline raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Personal? Why on earth would she need a personal servant? She does nothing but exist."
Cassius forced a smile. "Precisely. It is my duty to ensure she has everything she needs, despite… the circumstances."
Charles narrowed his eyes, suspicion flickering across his face. "You seem overly zealous for someone of your station."
"I am merely fulfilling my duty, sir," Cassius said with a practiced bow.
During the brief exchange, he felt Y/N subtly clutch at his sleeve, seeking silent support. That small gesture only strengthened his resolve.
When Charles and Adeline finally left, Cassius remained by the window, watching the carriage disappear down the path. He knew they would return. Their arrogance and need for control would not allow them to ignore Y/N for long.
But that played to his advantage. The more they interfered, the more opportunities he had to sow discord.
Y/N, meanwhile, looked exhausted, curled up in the chair. "Why… why didn’t you chase them away?" she murmured.
Cassius knelt beside her, placing a hand over hers. "Because they must not suspect that you have regained any strength, however small. Letting them believe they still hold control is our greatest weapon."
She lifted her head, her unseeing eyes fixed on a point beyond him. "You say ‘our.’ Why are you doing this for me?"
He hesitated for a moment before answering softly, "Because you deserve better than them. And because sometimes, one must wait for the right moment to strike."
She didn’t fully grasp the deeper meaning behind his words, but something in his voice soothed her.
Cassius, however, knew that every word he spoke was another step forward in his strategy. For now, he played the role of the protector. But soon, he would turn their own weapons against them, and the Delarives would regret stealing what rightfully belonged to his family.
---
Night had fallen, wrapping the annex in a heavy silence. Cassius sat at his desk in the small room he occupied near Y/N’s chamber, studying a map of the estate he had acquired during one of his incursions into the main house. Every secret passage, every hiding place of the Delarive family was now etched into his mind.
Between his fingers, he held a golden brooch adorned with a ruby—a remnant of his family’s former wealth. The Delarives had once owned it, but he had reclaimed it during a visit to the manor’s library. A small victory among the many he planned to achieve.
For Cassius, the visit from Charles and Adeline had confirmed one thing: their contempt for Y/N was their Achilles’ heel. Their arrogance, their certainty that she posed no threat, would be the very weakness through which he would infiltrate and destroy them.
The next day, Cassius decided to initiate the first phase of his plan: strengthening Y/N.
He knew she would never be a willing ally. Her distrust and isolation made her wild and unpredictable. But he had observed, in her rare moments of calm, a spark of intelligence and strength that he could use to his advantage.
At dawn, he entered her room, carrying a plate of food in one hand and a wooden staff in the other.
“Here again to force me to eat?” Y/N grumbled, turning her head toward the door.
Cassius set the plate on the table. “My lady, you need strength. Not just to walk, but to resist those who wish to harm you.”
She narrowed her eyes, wary. “What do you mean?”
He sat calmly on a chair across from her. “Your brother and sister will return. And they won’t come just to talk. You must be ready to defend yourself.”
She let out a bitter laugh. “You want me, a blind woman, to defend myself against them? What a joke.”
“Blindness is not a weakness,” he replied gently. “Your other senses are sharper than you think. And with a little training, you could surprise anyone.”
Y/N remained silent, torn between rejecting his words and accepting them. She had spent her whole life as a victim, but a part of her longed to be something more.
“If I refuse, you’ll force me, won’t you?” she murmured.
Cassius gave the faintest of smiles. “You’re starting to understand me.”
He began with simple exercises. He had her hold the staff, helping her get familiar with its weight and texture. Then, he guided her through basic movements, teaching her to strike in different directions using only sound as her guide.
“Listen,” he said with every lesson. “Every sound tells a story. The rustle of fabric, the creak of wood underfoot… they tell you where your opponent is.”
At first, Y/N was hesitant, often stumbling or striking into empty air. But Cassius was patient. Every correction was gentle, every encouragement sincere.
Over time, she began to improve. Her stance grew steadier, her movements more precise.
One afternoon, he decided to test her outside. He led her to the garden near the annex, a place where she could hear the birds and smell the flowers.
“We’re going to play a game,” he announced. “I’ll walk around you, and you have to find me. Use your ears, your instinct.”
She frowned. “This is ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” he replied with a light laugh. “But try anyway.”
He stepped away, moving in a slow circle around her, his footsteps deliberately light. Y/N remained still, focused. Then, suddenly, she lifted the staff and struck in his direction.
He dodged swiftly, but a proud smile lit up his face. “Well done, my lady. You found me.”
Y/N lowered the staff, a mix of surprise and pride crossing her features. “That was just luck.”
“Perhaps. But it’s a start.”
---
Dawn cast a pale light over the annex when Cassius was awakened by urgent knocks at the door. A servant, sent from the main house, delivered news that made a cold smile form on his lips, despite the grave tone in which it was spoken.
“An emergency meeting will be held tonight in the grand salon. Master Charles and Miss Adeline have summoned important guests from the county. It seems to be a pressing matter concerning the family.”
Cassius nodded slowly, masking his excitement behind a veil of calm. He could already guess what was happening. Something unexpected must have threatened the Delarives—something they were desperate to silence.
By discreetly listening to the servants’ conversations and piecing together clues, Cassius quickly understood. An anonymous letter had been sent to several county officials, accusing the Delarives of amassing their wealth through illicit means, by unlawfully seizing the assets of a fallen noble family.
It was the kind of rumor that could destroy a reputation, especially in a society where family honor was everything. Cassius knew this was the moment he had been waiting for all these years. If the rumor gained traction, it would bring the Delarives to their knees, shattering both their fortune and their status.
But there was a shadow over his impending triumph. A shadow that bore the name of Y/N.
Since that night in the forest, Y/N had become slightly more open. She spoke more, though her words still carried traces of distrust. She had started to smile again—a rare, fragile, yet sincere smile. Cassius couldn’t help but notice the unsteady beat of his heart whenever she laughed softly, whenever she found a fleeting moment of peace.
As he prepared for the next steps in his revenge, he caught himself thinking of her. Not in terms of how she could be useful to him, but of what would become of her afterward.
If the Delarive family fell, Y/N would be the first to suffer. Isolated, despised by all, she would become an easy target for the rest of the county. Worse still, she could be cast out into the streets, unable to survive on her own because of her blindness.
The thought haunted him, no matter how much he tried to ignore it.
On the night of the meeting, Cassius slipped silently through the corridors of the main house. He had carefully planned his next move. While the county officials gathered in the grand salon, he used the chaos to sneak into Charles’ office, stealing incriminating documents—irrefutable proof of embezzlement and illegal acquisitions.
With these documents, he could ignite a scandal so massive that the Delarives would never recover.
But as he made his way back to the annex, his steps slowed. Each page in his hands was a step closer to his vengeance, but also a sentence for Y/N.
She was waiting for him in the sitting room, seated in her favorite chair. She turned her head slightly at the sound of his footsteps.
“You’re late,” she murmured.
Cassius placed the documents gently on the table before stepping toward her. “Important matters.”
She furrowed her brows slightly. “You’re always busy. Sometimes, I feel like you do so many things I don’t understand.”
He knelt before her, taking her hands in his. “What if I told you that I do all of this for you?”
She pulled her hands away abruptly, instinctive distrust flashing across her face. “Why would you do that? I’m nothing. A blind girl that everyone despises.”
“You are far more than that, Y/N,” he said, his voice carrying a warmth he hadn’t intended.
She remained silent, troubled by the sincerity in his tone.
Later, alone in his room, Cassius stared at the documents spread across his desk. The plan he had built for years was nearly complete. All he had to do was send the evidence to the right people, and the Delarives would be ruined.
But one question echoed in his mind: what would happen to Y/N afterward?
He could already see the look on her face when she learned the truth. The contempt she would feel for him, the pain of being betrayed by the only person she had begun to trust.
For the first time since his quest for revenge had begun, Cassius hesitated. Not because he doubted his plan, but because his heart—one he had believed to be hardened—was starting to stir.
He spent the night weighing his options. Part of him wanted to move forward without looking back, to fulfill the vow he had made to his family. But another part—the one that remembered Y/N’s laughter, the way her hand had clung to his in the forest—refused to sacrifice her for his hatred.
By dawn, Cassius knew he had to make a choice. Either he completed his revenge, even if it meant losing Y/N forever, or he found a way to save her—even if it meant abandoning his plan.
He stood, his dark eyes fixed on the horizon.
For the first time, he felt lost.
His heart and his reason were at war, and he did not yet know which would prevail.
---
The morning was cold, but a light breeze rustled the leaves of the trees surrounding the annex. The sky was clear, scattered with wisps of clouds, and everything felt calm, almost unreal. Yet, a tension lingered in the air, a fragile balance between what Cassius had planned and Y/N’s desires—desires he couldn’t quite understand. That morning, he watched her prepare with an energy he hadn’t seen in a long time.
She insisted on going outside.
She, who usually spent her days indoors, hiding beneath blankets or behind invisible walls only her eyes could perceive, suddenly seemed full of life. There was no apparent reason for this drastic change. Cassius observed her, perplexed, as he helped her put on warm clothes—a thick wool coat, a scarf around her neck, gloves. He protected her as he always did, yet something about her seemed to slip beyond his understanding. She seemed... almost happy.
"You don’t have to follow me today," she said abruptly as he adjusted her scarf. Her words were almost detached, as if she was trying to push him away. But in her tone, there was also a note of softness, almost a challenge. She knew he would follow her, no matter what she said.
Cassius didn’t respond immediately. He was used to this now. Over the past few weeks, she had become more and more unpredictable. He hadn’t planned for that, but he didn’t mind. He followed her in silence, his thoughts still troubled by his own inner conflicts. He couldn’t understand why he felt so torn. Why did this simple walk feel so heavy to him?
They walked together, the icy air biting at their faces, but there was no conversation. Y/N’s steps were a little hesitant, still uncertain, but steadier than before. A faint smile tugged at Cassius’s lips as he watched her so determined. He accompanied her without question, simply guiding her when needed.
Then, suddenly, in a moment of inattention, Y/N let go of his hand. He felt his heart stop for an instant, a shiver of panic running through him. She moved quickly toward a tree a few steps away.
"Y/N!" he called, but it was too late. She was already climbing.
In a matter of seconds, she pulled herself onto the lowest branch, and with astonishing grace, climbed higher, smiling as if the whole world was nothing but a playground.
Cassius froze, caught between shock and concern. His mind raced, imagining hundreds of scenarios where she could fall, where she could get hurt. But when he lifted his gaze to her, he saw something unexpected—she was laughing. Laughing! She laughed like a child, completely oblivious to the danger she had just created.
There she was, perched at a height he didn’t consider safe, and her eyes, though unable to see the world around her, shone with light and freedom. She smiled, the wind playing with her hair, and for a fraction of a second, she seemed... alive in a way he had never imagined.
He felt lost.
This wasn’t the fragile girl he had grown used to, the one who stayed in bed, shielding herself from the world. No, this was a different Y/N—stronger, more defiant. She was there, challenging the height, challenging everything he thought he knew about her.
"Do you need a hand?" he called up to her, a hint of worry in his voice despite the smile he tried to hide.
She laughed even louder, the sound ringing through the crisp air. "Are you really trying to stop me from having fun?" she teased, a playfulness in her voice he had never heard before.
He stepped cautiously closer to the tree, his eyes never leaving her movements, ready to catch her if necessary.
He could have ordered her to come down, scolded her for taking such a reckless risk, but instead, he just watched her, an unfamiliar sense of admiration creeping into his chest.
She looked... free.
And yet, with every smile she gave him, with every laugh that echoed in the air, he realized he still didn’t understand.
How could he love this girl while knowing he was about to destroy everything she had? Knowing that, inevitably, he would lose her?
Suddenly, he became aware that he was standing there, beneath the tree, hesitating—trapped in an internal conflict he could no longer ignore.
On one side, there was the plan, the revenge he had nurtured for years.
On the other, there was her—this elusive girl who had appeared like a ray of light in his dark world.
What should he do?
She finally climbed down, landing gracefully on the ground like a cat. When she turned to face him, her smile faded slightly. "Do you want to go back?" she asked softly, suddenly sounding less carefree, as if, somehow, she knew something had changed between them.
Cassius looked at her, a storm of thoughts swirling in his mind.
But only one question remained, firmly rooted in his heart:
What would happen to her after all of this?
---
Cassius spent his days in a constant state of inner turmoil, torn between his quest for revenge and the growing shadow of his feelings for Y/N. Every gesture, every word from the young woman seemed to unsettle him, pushing him to doubt his intentions. It was no longer just a matter of justice to him; it had become a question of emotional survival. The plan he had put in place, the one he had meticulously crafted, no longer made sense.
The compromising documents, the revenge he had envisioned—all of it was gradually falling apart in the face of what he felt for her. How could he destroy the family that had mistreated him while saving Y/N from the same fate he had in store for her? How could he protect her while pursuing his own quest for justice? Every time he asked himself this question, the answer remained vague, elusive.
He could no longer look at her without thinking about what he would inflict on her. And yet, he was so drawn to her, to her fragility, but also to her unexpected strength. She had something purely human about her, an inner beauty he hadn’t seen coming, and it struck him with every glance.
But everything changed one morning.
That morning, he realized he could no longer ignore the signs. Y/N, who had usually been in better health than in recent days, suddenly seemed exhausted, almost lifeless. She wasn’t getting up like she usually did, and when he joined her in the small room where she spent most of her time, he noticed her pale complexion. Her cheeks, usually rosy, were now a grayish tint, almost translucent.
"Y/N?" he called gently as he approached.
She barely lifted her head, her eyes half-closed, and her breathing seemed heavier than usual. She touched her temple, and a shiver ran through her body.
"I… I’m just a little tired…" she murmured, but her voice was weak, trembling.
Cassius, although used to keeping a certain distance, couldn’t hold back a shiver of concern. He knelt beside her, a strange sensation of vulnerability overwhelming him. He had never seen Y/N in such a state. The reality of her fragility, of her dependence on him, hit him like a punch in the stomach.
He gently lifted her to carry her to her bed, her body trembling with fever.
As the day wore on, the situation quickly deteriorated. Y/N had developed a high fever, her body shaking beneath the covers as she was completely disoriented, almost lost. She could no longer speak coherently, and her arms frantically tried to cling to him, like an anchor.
She kept repeating incoherent words, her voice broken by fever. "Don’t leave me… I’m scared…"
Cassius felt a dull pain invade his chest. This couldn’t be happening, not after everything he had planned. Not after everything he had built. Why the hell did he feel so powerless? He had never considered that his own plan for revenge could one day make him feel so vulnerable. It wasn’t part of the calculations.
He reached into his emergency bag and prepared warm water for a compress. His hands trembled slightly. As he helped cool her down, he felt her burning skin, struggling against the intense heat that seemed to consume her from the inside. She clung to him tighter, unable to find comfort elsewhere.
"I’m here," he whispered to her, although the words seemed insignificant in the face of the pain he saw in her eyes. "I won’t leave you."
She closed her eyes, folding into him, as if his mere presence was the only thing that could reassure her.
He knew he needed to find a doctor. But at that moment, nothing mattered more to him than staying by her side.
As he kept vigil over her, he found himself looking at her more intensely. She was no longer just the girl he had known in the coldness of the annex, nor even the object of his revenge. She was a young woman, lost and fragile, but also incredibly alive, who had pulled him into a whirlwind of emotions and doubts he no longer knew how to handle. He had tried to ignore her, to push her away, but he had never been able to.
And there, in that room, holding her against him, feeling the heat of her burning body, he finally understood what he needed to do.
He couldn’t let her die.
Not now, not ever.
But how could he save Y/N while destroying his family? How could he fix everything he had broken in her without being the one who had destroyed her? This dilemma remained as heavy as a burden he could no longer bear alone.
He looked at Y/N, her face, usually so closed off, now peaceful in sleep, her features softened by the fever. She had given him a trust he hadn’t asked for, but that he hadn’t known how to refuse.
She was no longer an instrument of vengeance, no longer just a target. She had become… his responsibility.
And for the first time, Cassius wondered if he needed her as much as she needed him.
---
The morning rose peacefully over the annex, a soft light filtering through the still-closed curtains. Y/N's fever had slightly subsided through the night, though it was still present. She was still sleeping, her pale face marked by exhaustion, but a sense of tranquility had replaced the restlessness of the previous day. Cassius, still by her side, silently observed the scene, his thoughts in turmoil.
He finally stood up to approach her, taking a moment to appreciate the simplicity of the moment. The weight of revenge, his relentless plan, suddenly seemed so distant, almost blurry. In this confined space, he no longer saw Y/N as the target of a complex scheme. No, he saw only a fragile, vulnerable young woman, dependent on him in a way he never could have imagined.
Suddenly, a slight movement. Y/N shifted under the covers, her hands trembling before reaching out slowly, with surprising gentleness. She extended her fingers as though trying to identify something in the darkness of the room. Her fingers slid slowly over Cassius's face, first on his cheek, then on his forehead, his eyes, exploring his face as if it were a mysterious puzzle she was trying to solve. She was blind, of course, but her movements were so filled with delicacy, with an almost innocent curiosity.
"Is it you?" Her voice was broken, but there was no aggression in her words. Just a softness, almost fragile, as though she sought the truth in a world she couldn’t see.
Cassius, caught off guard, remained still. He hadn't imagined that she would act this way, that in this state of weakness, she would allow herself to touch his face with such ease. It was a tender gesture, and it made a lump form in his throat. Part of him wanted to push her away, remind her of the reasons he was there. But another side of him, deeper, simply wanted to stay there, under her fingers, to be touched like an ordinary man, without the weight of revenge on his shoulders.
She finally turned away, as if she had found her answer, but her trembling fingers lingered for a moment, suspended in the air, before lowering back down onto the sheet.
"You're not what I thought," she murmured more softly, as if in realization.
A shockwave ran through Cassius. She wasn’t just a victim in his plan, not a puppet for his revenge. She was more than that. He wasn’t ready for this recognition, this return from Y/N. His own feelings seemed to change, realigning with each moment he spent by her side. The plan he had put together so carefully, every detail designed to destroy her family, suddenly became difficult to carry out. The image of Y/N blurred in his mind.
But he didn’t have time to lose himself in his thoughts. An unexpected visit arrived in the afternoon.
In the neighboring room, a messenger from the empire came to bring him urgent news. It was the man with whom he had long formed ties in the shadows, an influential figure in the empire who shared his ambitions. After exchanging a few words, the man presented an audacious proposal: an opportunity to take possession of Y/N's family fortune after their fall. This fortune, once belonging to his family, would now be in his hands, and all he had to do was continue his revenge, ensuring her family’s destruction.
Cassius felt a cold chill take over him, but it wasn’t because of the approaching winter. It was the heavy realization that flooded him. This proposal reeked of power, of revenge, but it was also poison. Every piece of the puzzle seemed to fit perfectly. The revenge he had built, as solid as a house of cards, seemed ready to collapse at any moment. But the question remained: would he be able to see it through?
He didn’t have time to respond immediately. His thoughts were spinning too fast, a mix of anger and confusion.
In the back of his mind, he knew what he had to do. This was the moment he had been waiting for, the chance to reclaim what he had lost. But deep in his heart, something more profound tormented him.
When he returned to Y/N’s room, he found her sleeping, her breathing calmer, but her fever hadn’t fully gone. Her face seemed more peaceful, without the frantic restlessness of the previous day. A faint smile formed on her lips as she slept, and a painful thought brushed Cassius’s mind.
How could he continue to treat her as a mere victim of his plan, when she was showing him a trust he hadn’t anticipated? He felt torn. He didn’t want to be that cold monster who would destroy her family, but he had invested too much time in this revenge to erase it all. And now that Y/N was closer to him, more human, he realized he didn’t know if revenge was still the only thing he truly desired.
Suddenly, he felt trapped. He had the opportunity to annihilate Y/N's family and seize a vast fortune, but at what cost? And what would happen to Y/N in all of this? The mere thought of seeing her destroyed because of his own desire for revenge put him in a state of deep confusion. His emotions were at war, and he no longer had any certainty about the path ahead.
He sat down beside the bed, looking at her deeply, as though it were the last time he could truly see her without the weight of his vengeance. But, deep down, he knew the time for decisions was near. The question now was simple: would he be able to sacrifice everything for a different future? A future with her, or a future where he would be alone with his revenge?
But for now, all that mattered was Y/N’s fever. He would watch over her, again and again, without knowing what the future held.
---
The morning light barely filtered through the windows when Cassius rose, his eyes fixed on Y/N's face. She was still asleep, her features calm as the fever that had gripped her slowly began to fade. Yet, in the silence of the room, he could feel the weight of his own thoughts, the vise tightening around his heart and mind. He no longer had room for indecision.
The messenger, the influential man from the empire, had handed him the opportunity he had long dreamed of. Revenge was within reach. Y/N's family, the family that had brought about his downfall, would soon be shattered, and the fortune he sought would fall into his hands. A brand-new empire to build from the ashes of those who had destroyed him. In his mind, it was a perfect plan. He had crafted it with precision, every move calculated, every detail considered.
But something had changed, something subtle yet powerful. It was the image of Y/N, fragile, vulnerable, caught between fear and trust. She, despite her wounds, her anger, and her mistrust, had allowed him to get close. She, in her greatest weakness, had reached out to him. She, despite her blindness, seemed to see something in him that he didn’t understand, but that deep in his heart, had transformed him.
Days passed, and each moment spent by her side seemed to reshape his view of the world. He had sworn that nothing, no one, would stop him in his pursuit of revenge. But now, he found himself at a crossroads. Revenge… or Y/N.
He turned toward her, his eyes fixed on the fragile figure lying in her bed. He remembered the way she had touched him, trying to understand the mystery of his face, as if she believed he was anything but what he appeared to be. That gesture had marked him more than he had ever imagined. An indelible memory. A doubt. A conflict.
A long sigh escaped his lips as he stood. His mind fought against itself, torn between the calculated coldness of his revenge and the strange warmth that seemed to rise within him for Y/N. He could no longer pretend that all of this was just about a plan. His feelings were now intertwined in a complex and painful web.
He approached Y/N, kneeling beside the bed. He looked at her for a moment, hesitating. Then, he gently reached out toward her forehead, touching her fevered skin. He remembered the warmth of her fingers when she had brushed his face, the strange connection that had formed with each encounter, each word exchanged. The tenderness he had felt in that sudden touch… He couldn’t ignore it. She wasn’t like the others, but not in the way he had once thought. She wasn’t weak. She was just… human.
"I will protect you," he murmured, almost like a vow.
The decision, finally, was taking shape. Cassius knew what he had to do. He could no longer manipulate Y/N. He could no longer view her as a mere pawn in his game. He had seen her, listened to her, and now he understood her more than he ever felt capable of. It was her family he wanted to destroy, not her. And if that meant changing his plans, taking reckless risks to help her, then he was ready to do it.
It wasn’t revenge that called to him now. It was her. Y/N. The young woman he had come to know, who, despite all she had endured, possessed a strength he never would have believed could exist within her.
He stood up, his gaze resolute. The outside world would take care of its own cruelties. But Y/N, she deserved something different. And for the first time since he had entered her life, Cassius felt he was making a decision for himself. Not for his family, nor for his past. But for her.
He leaned over her again, this time with gentleness, and caressed her cheek. The moment had come.
"I will save you, Y/N," he said more firmly. "I will save what I can save."
He had made his decision. Everything was now clear. His thoughts were untangling, and the horizon before him seemed as uncertain as it was promising. Revenge, wealth—none of it mattered anymore. What he wanted now was to protect her.
And to do that, he knew his allies in the empire, those who had supported his machinations, would soon be in conflict with him. But he was ready. The man who had designed such a cold, precise plan was now being carried away by another feeling, one more human, more pure.
The coming days would be crucial. The lines between love, loyalty, and revenge would likely blur. But Cassius was no longer afraid to face that truth. He would save Y/N. No matter the cost.
---
The nights stretched into a litany of reflections and torment. Each minute, each moment spent with Y/N slowly broke down the walls of his certainties. Cassius had sworn, multiple times, not to let his feelings interfere with his revenge. He had told himself that everything he was doing was to right the wrong done to his family, to take back what life had stolen from him. But with every glance he cast at Y/N, every time he saw her in her innocence, in her vulnerability, he felt something he had not anticipated.
He had not seen this coming. He had not understood the subtlety of the bond that had formed between them, slowly but surely. His emotions had become a whirlwind, his thoughts in perpetual battle. He had first seen her as an opportunity, a mere means to an end, but gradually, she had become more than that to him. A presence that occupied his mind far more than he would have liked.
He had watched her closely, the way she had clung to him during her illness, that fragile trust that slipped into her gestures, her words, her gaze. She had opened a door to him that he had never wanted to cross. The touch of her hands, the tenderness she had shown despite her blindness and pain… All of this had left indelible marks on his heart.
One evening, as he stood by the window, watching the glow of the moon reflecting off the calm surface of the nearby river, Cassius realized the truth. It was a raw revelation, without embellishments. He had fallen in love with her. He had tried to ignore it, to push the idea away, to convince himself it was just a distraction, a fleeting moment in the grand scheme of his revenge. But it was no longer possible.
The smile that formed on his lips was both sweet and bitter. He had lost himself, and he knew it. But strangely, this realization was not a source of suffering, as he had believed it would be. No, on the contrary. It brought a certain lightness to his heart, as if, somehow, he had found a little clarity amidst all the chaos.
He was no longer the same man. The revenge he had carried for years had dulled under the weight of his feelings for her. But the time had not yet come to abandon everything, not just yet.
A few days after this realization, an unexpected call broke the silence. It was a message from one of his connections in the empire, a powerful figure who reminded him of the offer he had received. The opportunity to carry out his revenge, to ruin Y/N's family once and for all, was within reach. It was only a matter of time.
And then, the unthinkable happened: Cassius found himself facing reality, torn between two worlds. The revenge that had brought him this far, and Y/N, the love he had discovered in her.
In the end, he knew what he had to do. Revenge could no longer be the only thing that mattered. But he couldn’t ignore what he had started either. He had not yet finished what he had begun. It was a commitment he had made to himself, and he could not go back, even if his heart screamed at him to flee with her, to abandon everything.
He woke up early one morning after making his decision. Y/N was sleeping deeply, and even though she was still weak, he knew she would wake up soon. He looked at her one last time, his heart heavy with conflicting emotions. He approached the bed, gazed at her tenderly, and placed a soft kiss on her forehead.
"I will return," he murmured, almost like a vow, a promise to himself more than to her.
Then, silently, he left the annex, taking the path that would lead him away from her, toward the place where his revenge still awaited to be completed. Every step he took was heavy, every decision seemed to wrap around him like an invisible rope.
However, in his heart, a small flame burned, a spark of hope he could not ignore. Y/N, despite everything, had changed his world. He didn’t yet know how or when, but he knew he would return to her. The revenge would be finished, but there was a future to rebuild. A future where, perhaps, by her side, he would finally find peace.
The wind was blowing strongly that morning, carrying away a part of his certainties. But something new, something truer than revenge, was growing inside him. And deep down, he knew it was that love he had to protect, far more than anything else.
---
The days passed with an almost unbearable slowness. Cassius had carried out his revenge with the precision of a strategist, each move carefully calculated, every trap set with ruthless mastery. He had used his allies in the empire to orchestrate the fall of Y/N’s family, acting in the shadows, manipulating the weaknesses of those who had stripped his family of their lands and titles. Schemes, rumors, false testimonies… everything was put in place to dismantle what had been taken from his family and return it to his own bloodline.
Y/N knew nothing of what was happening. She was still weak, still recovering from the fever that had shaken her, and Cassius continued to protect her, keeping her away from the dangers without her noticing. He had never wanted her to suffer any more because of his past. But he, himself, immersed in this world of manipulation and strategy, had lost all sense of direction. The revenge had been carried out. The titles, the lands, the fortune were now his.
When the final blow was struck, when the judges, corrupted and influenced by his maneuvers, brought down Y/N’s family, he felt neither satisfaction nor relief. On the contrary, a heavy weight settled on his shoulders. Everything he had accomplished, everything he had sought to obtain suddenly seemed trivial in his eyes. He stood at the top, the fortune he had long desired within reach, but he felt more lost than ever.
He went to the great hall where the new titles and documents were placed before him, signed, sealed, official. The land of his ancestors, the wealth, it was all there, in his hands. But when his gaze dulled on the paper, there was only one thought that occupied his mind: Y/N.
His gaze turned toward the annex. The place that had been his refuge, and hers, away from the tumult of the world. There, amidst the riches and conquests of his inheritance, he knew he would only find peace when he returned to her, to the one person who had made him doubt everything he had believed.
A storm wind blew within him. He had lost everything for his revenge… except her.
He hurried back to the annex, his heart pounding. When his eyes finally landed on her, lying there in her bed, pale but calm, he felt as though his entire previous life had been nothing but a blurry dream, a nightmare in which he had lost himself. He had won, he had regained what was rightfully his, but the emptiness he felt had nothing to do with the revenge completed.
He sat by Y/N’s side, observing her for a long time, as though it was the first time he had truly seen her. She didn’t understand what was happening, nor what he had accomplished. But he knew that he had sacrificed everything for this revenge. And yet, this victory meant nothing without her.
He leaned over her, gently brushing her hair, and whispered, "I can’t abandon you."
He knew that his actions would make people talk. His former allies, his family members, would all oppose him, oppose this decision. He risked finding himself alone, without support, without allies, but he didn’t care. Titles, wealth, none of that mattered anymore. What he desired now was his place by her side, her protection, and her love.
A great upheaval was taking place in the domain, rumors spreading at lightning speed. The former servants of Y/N’s family, those who had been left behind, destabilized by the fall of their house, began to regroup to contest the new division of assets. Family members, furious and disgusted by Cassius’s rise to power, no longer kept their distance. The old world was collapsing, and a new one was rising, with Cassius and Y/N at the center of it all.
Messengers came, letters arrived. But all of this seemed so distant, so insignificant compared to what truly mattered. The outside world could get lost in its power struggles. He no longer had a reason to care about that. Y/N’s eyes, those eyes that could no longer see but seemed to see beyond appearances, were now all that mattered.
"I’m going to keep you close to me, no matter what happens," he said, his voice trembling, but firm.
And so, Cassius made his decision, with no turning back possible. He stood up in the room, the official documents of his inheritance in hand, and turned one last time toward the door. The outside world awaited him. But for the first time, he knew exactly where he had to go. Where Y/N was.
He turned away from the imposing estate, from the wealth that was now his, and went to find the one he had learned to love despite himself. It didn’t matter that the rumors, conflicts, and the empire’s stakes fought to take his place. He had found his one true treasure.
Y/N. And he was going to protect her, at all costs.
---
The path to the annex had never seemed so long to Cassius. Every step felt like it was bringing him closer to his judgment, to that moment he had feared since leaving Y/N to complete his revenge. His victory was bitter, and the fear of facing the consequences of his choices weighed heavily on his heart. He didn’t know what he would say or how she would react. All he knew was that he could no longer stay away from her.
When he crossed the threshold of the annex, silence greeted him. The house seemed frozen in time, as if his absence had halted the world. He climbed the stairs leading to Y/N’s room, his trembling hand resting on the railing. He hesitated in front of the door, taking a deep breath before entering. He found her there, sitting on the bed, her face turned toward the open window, as if she could feel the wind to compensate for her lack of sight.
Y/N didn’t need to see him to know he was there. As soon as she had heard the sound of his footsteps in the house, her heart had tightened. A quiet rage filled her, mixed with a sadness she didn’t know how to express. When he finally entered the room, she didn’t give him the chance to speak. She grabbed an object from her table—a metal box—and threw it with all her might in his direction. The impact was brutal, hitting him squarely in the head. Cassius staggered, but didn’t retreat.
Silence fell again in the room, heavy and suffocating. Cassius, his lips pressed together, raised a hand to his temple where a thin line of blood began to trickle. He didn’t move, standing there, just a few steps away from the woman he had betrayed.
"Why are you here?" she asked, her voice trembling but calm. It wasn’t the cry of an angry woman, but the painful question of someone who had been hurt to the core.
"Y/N..." he whispered, but she raised a hand to stop him.
"Don’t say anything. I don’t want to hear your excuses or explanations. I don’t want you near me, nor do I want you to try to touch me." Her voice was cold, but Cassius could hear the crack in every word, the mixture of emotions she was holding in with a force he could barely comprehend.
He took a step forward, but she instinctively pulled away, moving further from him. The tears she had tried to hold back finally welled up at the corners of her eyes. She turned her head toward him, her hands trembling slightly as she gripped the bed sheets.
"Do you know what I thought of you?" she said, her voice almost broken but strangely composed. "I thought you would be different. That you would be the person I’ve waited for my whole life. The one who would come into my cold, empty world and show me I was wrong. That the world wasn’t just filled with cruelty and lies. But all you’ve done is confirm what I already knew. I was wrong to trust you."
Cassius felt his heart shatter at her words. She was there, vulnerable, yet so strong in her pain. He would have preferred for her to hit him, to scream, to unleash her anger on him. But this calm resignation, these words full of disappointment, were a thousand times worse.
"Y/N, I..." He stopped, searching for the right words. But there were none. Nothing could erase what he had done, nothing could repair this betrayal.
She turned away, her shoulders shaking slightly as she tried to hold back her sobs. "I’ve never expected anything from anyone. Since I was a child, I learned that people are only there to take. And you, you were no different. You came here, and you took what you liked. You took my trust, you took my safety, and now, what do you want? For me to forgive you? For me to let you break me again?"
He took a step closer, despite her silent command, kneeling in front of her. "I’m sorry, Y/N," he murmured, his voice full of sincerity. "I’m sorry for everything. For using you, for leaving you in the dark. But believe me, I never wanted to hurt you. What I did… it was for my family, to right a wrong. But I didn’t know it would cost me you. That it would cost me your heart."
She didn’t respond, but her hands tightened even more around the sheets.
"I can’t change what I’ve done," he continued. "But I can choose what I do now. And all I want is to be by your side. No matter what it costs, no matter how long it takes. I love you, Y/N. And I won’t leave anymore."
A heavy silence followed his words. Y/N didn’t move, her tears continuing to fall silently. Cassius stayed there, kneeling, waiting for her to speak, for her to hit him, for her to reject him. But nothing came.
"You can stay," she murmured finally, her voice barely audible. "But don’t think I’m going to forgive you so easily."
Cassius nodded, grateful for that small chance. He knew that regaining her trust would take time, perhaps an eternity. But he was willing to do whatever it took for her. To fix what he had broken.
And in that fragile moment, a small spark of hope was born, lighting up a future they still had to build, step by step.
---
After their emotional confrontation, Cassius decided it was time to offer Y/N an environment more suited to her needs. He brought her back to the main estate, a vast manor surrounded by lush gardens, where she could benefit from all the comfort, care, and attention she deserved.
Aware that the current staff might be connected to past allegiances and eager to create a fresh start for the two of them, Cassius made the radical decision to dismiss all the employees of the estate. He then recruited a new team, carefully chosen for their discretion and dedication, to ensure impeccable service for Y/N.
The days that followed were marked by Cassius's constant efforts to seek forgiveness. Despite his new responsibilities as the master of the estate and manager of the family’s assets, he dedicated every free moment to Y/N. He accompanied her on walks through the gardens, describing in detail the colors of the flowers and the layout of the paths to make up for her blindness. He read books aloud to her, choosing stories that could move or make her smile. In the evenings, they shared intimate meals, where he made sure every dish was prepared according to her tastes.
Gradually, a new closeness developed between them. Y/N, initially reluctant, began to open up to him. Their conversations grew deeper, covering a range of topics from childhood memories to unspoken dreams. Affectionate gestures naturally emerged: a hand placed on hers during a reading, a shared laugh after a funny anecdote, a smile exchanged without the need for words.
One afternoon, while they sat on the terrace, enjoying the gentle breeze, Y/N turned her face toward Cassius. Her expression was serious, marked by a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
"Cassius," she began softly, "there's something I need to know. What happened to my family?"
The silence that followed her question was heavy with meaning. Cassius felt his heart tighten, aware that the truth could break the fragile trust they had rebuilt. But he also knew that lying or omitting the truth were no longer options.
He took a deep breath, searching for the right words. "Y/N, your family... was stripped of their titles and their assets. They had to leave the region and now live under modest conditions."
Y/N remained silent for a moment, processing the information. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, but tinged with sadness. "And it was you who orchestrated this, wasn’t it?"
Cassius lowered his head, ashamed. "Yes. It was my revenge for what they did to my family. But I never expected to meet you, nor to... fall in love with you."
She slowly nodded, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. "I understand. But that doesn’t make it any less painful."
He moved closer to her, gently taking her hand in his. "I’m willing to do anything to make up for my mistakes, Y/N. Tell me what I can do."
She squeezed his hand in return, a simple gesture but one full of meaning. "For now, let’s stay together. We’ll see what the future holds."
And so, despite the shadows of the past, they chose to walk forward together toward an uncertain future, but one full of hope.
---
The manor was silent, barely disturbed by the soft murmur of the wind against the windows. In their bedroom, the morning light filtered through the slightly open curtains, creating soft and warm shadows on the bed where Cassius and Y/N rested after a peaceful night. Their hands were intertwined, their connection stronger than ever.
It had been months since they married. A life together in this grand estate that had been the stage for so many changes, struggles, and, ultimately, an unexpected love. Y/N, once a quiet and solitary young woman, had found her place not only as a wife but also as a countess, the mistress of the house, a position she had never sought but held with dignity and intelligence.
Cassius was amazed every day at the way she managed the estate’s affairs, the way she helped him make strategic decisions. She had a sharpness that still surprised him. The woman he had loved had become a valuable ally, a strong partner full of wisdom. She never ceased to amaze him.
"Countess," he would say sometimes with a mischievous smile, "I suppose I should start addressing you like a servant now, shouldn’t I?" He loved seeing her face turn red, the charm of her embarrassment and humility still pure, even after everything they had been through together.
She would often respond with a half-smile, a bit shy but amused by his teasing. "You know very well I don’t care for the title. But I suppose I’ve earned being treated like a queen, haven’t I?"
"Ah, you’re making me work for it now," he teased with a smile, but always with a quiet admiration in his eyes. "But it suits you. The most beautiful countess in all the empire."
She would then give him a playful look before gently pushing him away, not without a small laugh. "I forbid you from making me blush any more."
One morning, however, as they found themselves alone in the bedroom, a different kind of silence settled in. Y/N, who was lying next to him, gently caressed his face as she often did. Her fingers glided over every contour, every line, as if trying to imprint every detail in her memory. She seemed lost in thought. Cassius watched her, a little lost in the stillness of the moment. Then, a question arose in his mind, a thought that had been gnawing at him for too long.
He bit his lip after asking the question, as if the idea that she might judge him differently terrified him. He had never thought of himself as an attractive man, despite his imposing size and rugged nature. He wasn’t someone people would admire for his looks, let alone someone a woman might desire for his outer beauty. He was simply... him.
"Y/N," he said, his voice a little lower, "if you could see me… would you still love me?"
He waited for her answer, his heart beating faster, but Y/N didn’t respond immediately. She stopped her caresses, taking a pause, and her gaze drifted into the distance for a moment. Then, slowly, she moved her arms around him, gently pulling him closer. She buried her face in his hair and held him tightly. Her arms wrapped around him with tenderness, like a silent promise.
"Don’t you think it’s strange, Cassius?" she whispered, her voice soft and comforting. "To only see the outside of people… when everything happens inside?"
Her words struck him like a lightning bolt, hitting his soul full force. A long silence settled, the air thick with deep emotion. Cassius closed his eyes, his heart heavy, as silent tears began to fall. It was the first time he felt such an emotional weight. He had never allowed himself to believe he deserved the love of a woman, let alone someone as pure and precious as Y/N. But there, in her arms, everything made sense. She didn’t love him for what he looked like on the outside, but for who he was on the inside. She saw beyond appearances, beyond the mistakes of the past. She saw his heart. And that was enough.
"I…" He couldn’t find the words. He simply let himself be carried away by Y/N’s embrace, drowning in the warmth of her arms, finally feeling at peace.
Y/N smiled as she heard him cry, but it was a gentle, protective smile. She leaned slightly and whispered in his ear, "You are my everything, Cassius. And that will never change, no matter what you see in the mirror."
Then, after a moment of silence, she added, teasing as if to lighten the atmosphere, "By the way, you look like a big baby in my arms, you know Cassi ?"
Cassius burst into laughter, breaking the weight of his emotions, and pulled away slightly from Y/N’s embrace to look at her. His eyes were still brimming with tears, but his smile was sincere and full of gratitude.
"I’m your big Cassi baby, huh?" he said with a soft laugh. "Well, I’d rather be that than your big problem."
"You’re that too, but I love you anyway," she replied with a laugh, teasing him while pulling him back into her arms.
In that suspended moment, where love and humor intertwined, Cassius knew deep down that everything he had been through, everything he had sacrificed, had been worth it. Because, in the end, the love he had searched for so desperately, the one he never believed was possible, was there, so close, in her arms, in Y/N’s smile.
And he knew, with a new certainty, that he no longer needed to look in a mirror to see who he was. Y/N saw him. And that was enough.
Years had passed, and the manor now echoed with a quiet happiness. Y/N and Cassius had built a peaceful life together, despite the weight of the past and the persistent whispers that ran through the empire. Now a respected countess and a beloved wife, Y/N had found her place, but a new trial had befallen her.
She was pregnant.
The news had been received with joy by her husband, but for Y/N, it carried an invisible weight on her shoulders. People talked. Superstitions spread through the streets, the salons, even the corridors of the estate. They whispered that she could only give birth to a child like her—one destined for darkness from their very first breath.
Y/N said nothing, but Cassius could see the turmoil in her delicate features, the exhaustion that had nothing to do with the pregnancy itself. Every caress on her belly was laced with a silent fear, a doubt that never truly left her.
— “Y/N… no matter what others say, our child will be loved, protected. They will never have to endure what you have.”
She didn’t answer, merely clutching the fabric of his tunic as if afraid to say something she would regret.
The hours were long, unbearable. Cassius had never felt so powerless. Y/N suffered, gasped, struggled. He stayed by her side, gripping her hand with a force that revealed his own anxiety. The midwives worked tirelessly around her, and finally, after hours of effort, a first cry rang out.
Their child was born.
A flood of emotions overwhelmed Cassius as he looked at the fragile little being in Y/N’s arms. His heart swelled with a love he had never thought possible. He pressed a kiss to his wife’s sweat-dampened forehead, whispering words of comfort.
But Y/N remained silent. Her face was pale, frozen in a troubling expression. Cassius first thought it was exhaustion, the toll of labor. But something was wrong.
At last, her voice broke the silence.
— “Cassius…”
He gently lifted his head, his fingers running tenderly through her damp hair.
— “Yes, my love?”
Y/N trembled slightly. Her hand tightened around the fabric of the blanket, and when she spoke again, her voice was hesitant, laced with deep fear.
— “Tell me… what does he look like?”
Cassius smiled softly, thinking he understood. He lowered his gaze to their child, ready to describe the features of the little life they had created.
— “He’s beautiful. He has your lips… and I think he has your nose too.”
But Y/N shook her head, interrupting his quiet admiration. Her hand clenched the sheets a little tighter.
— “No… I want to know…” She took a trembling breath. “Is he… normal?”
A heavy silence fell over the room.
Cassius felt a shiver run down his spine. For a moment, he struggled to understand what she meant. Then, everything became clear.
She wasn’t asking if he was handsome. Nor if he had her features.
She wanted to know if he was blind.
Suddenly, a quiet anger stirred within Cassius. Not at her, but at the world that had left such deep scars on his wife—scars that made her believe that being different meant being a mistake.
With infinite gentleness, he placed the baby in Y/N’s arms. She trembled slightly, as if afraid to hear his answer. He then knelt beside her, cupping her face in his hands, his heart pounding.
— “Listen to me, Y/N.” His voice was soft but firm, a blend of tenderness and conviction. “Our child was born with your blood, with your legacy. Whether they can see or not, they are perfect. They are ours. They are loved.”
Y/N’s lips trembled. She still didn’t dare to touch her baby’s face, as if fearing she would discover a fate already sealed.
Cassius gently took her hand and guided it to the round little cheek of their child.
— “Do you feel that? Their breath, their warmth. It’s not what others see that matters—it’s what we feel.”
Slowly, Y/N nodded, silent tears rolling down her cheeks.
— “They will be loved…” she finally murmured, as if making a promise to herself.
Cassius pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, then to their child’s.
— “More than anyone in this world.”
And in that room, illuminated by the flickering glow of candlelight, a new chapter began for them. A chapter where love triumphed over all beliefs. A chapter where Y/N, after years of doubting herself, finally learned that she had never been a burden or a mistake.
She was a miracle. And so was their child.
---
The days that followed were filled with a gentleness that Y/N had never known. Cassius watched over her and their child with almost exaggerated attentiveness. He worried about everything—whether she was eating enough, whether she was sleeping well, whether the baby was comfortable.
— "I’m fine, Cassius," she sighed one morning as he insisted on placing an extra pillow behind her head.
— "You say that, but you don’t realize how much exhaustion you’re accumulating."
Y/N smiled and reached out, a familiar gesture between them. Her fingers glided gently over his jawline, his nose, his lips.
— "You’re making that face where your brows are furrowed, aren’t you?"
Cassius sighed before pressing a kiss to her palm.
— "I’m just worried. You just gave birth, and…"
— "And you’ve become worse than an old nursemaid," she teased softly.
He pretended to be offended, but his smile betrayed him.
The whispers had not stopped. The rumor spread that the Countess’s child had been born blind. Nobles gossiped—some saw it as a curse, others offered false sympathy.
But Cassius let no one approach Y/N or their son with ill intentions.
One morning, as Y/N cradled their child, Cassius approached them.
— "He looks more and more like you," he said softly.
— "I wouldn’t know," she replied with a hint of amusement.
— "Then let me be your eyes."
Gently, he took her hand and placed it on the baby’s head.
— "His hair is fine, as dark as the night." He then guided her fingers over the baby’s soft, round cheek. "His skin is warm, delicate. And his lips…" He brushed them lightly with his fingers. "They’re like yours—full and gentle."
Y/N remained silent, savoring his words, her heart beating in time with the peaceful breathing of their child.
Then, as if by miracle, something unexpected happened.
The baby opened his eyes.
Cassius, who had never doubted his love for their child, froze for a moment. He had feared that Y/N would suffer if their child was like her, that she would feel an unjust sorrow.
But in that instant, all of it disappeared.
— "Y/N…" he murmured, his voice trembling.
She sensed his unease immediately.
— "What is it?" she asked.
— "His eyes." He swallowed hard. "They’re open."
Y/N’s own eyes widened slightly, though they saw nothing.
— "He… He can see?"
Cassius didn’t answer right away. He gazed at their son, at the bright, wide eyes staring back at them. The baby blinked a few times, curious, innocent. Then, he reached out his tiny fingers toward Y/N, seeking his mother’s touch.
A tear slipped down Cassius’s cheek.
— "Yes, Y/N… He can see."
A silence settled between them. Then, Y/N slowly nodded, her lips trembling slightly.
— "That’s good," she whispered.
Cassius had expected a stronger reaction—perhaps tears, a sob. But Y/N remained calm, her smile soft and serene.
— "You’re not… sad?" he dared to ask.
She shook her head.
— "No. Because it was never about normality. Just fear. Fear that he would go through what I have. But he never will. Because he has you. Because he has me."
Cassius took a deep breath, pulling his wife and son into his embrace.
— "He will always have us," he promised.
The years passed, and Cassius and Y/N’s son grew up surrounded by love. He was neither cursed nor a tragic legend, as the whispers of the past had claimed. He was simply a beloved child, a strong heir, carrying within his blood the story of a woman who had overcome darkness and a man who had learned that vengeance did not always bring peace—but love, it could.
Cassius never forgot the promise he had made to himself: Y/N would be happy.
And every day, he made sure of it.
---
The afternoon stretched lazily in Cassius’s study, bathed in golden light filtering through the large windows. Seated behind his desk, he held their six-month-old daughter, Evangeline, in his arms. She babbled softly, her tiny hands grasping at the buttons of his shirt.
Across the room, Y/N sat comfortably on a couch, gently caressing the face of their eldest son, Ambrose, as she listened to his enthusiastic murmurs about his latest "project." She had always had this tender habit—tracing the faces of those she loved to sense their expressions and guess their thoughts.
Cassius, who had been watching them for a while, finally sighed and said, half amused, half perplexed:
— "My dear… I think our son is strange."
Y/N raised an eyebrow in her husband’s direction before turning her head toward Ambrose.
— "Strange?"
Cassius nodded slowly while adjusting Evangeline against him.
— "He spends his time doing odd things. Just look at him. Or rather, listen to him."
Y/N listened carefully. Ambrose, only five years old, was kneeling on the rug, entirely focused on some mysterious activity. In front of him, feathers, books, and even a few gold coins were meticulously arranged in neat rows. He was whispering numbers as he counted, then stopped to adjust everything with an almost eerie precision.
Y/N reached out and gently ran her fingers over the top of his head.
— "Ambrose, what are you doing, my love?"
The child lifted his head seriously.
— "I’m putting everything in order, Mama. It’s important."
Cassius softly patted their sleeping daughter’s back before adding:
— "See? Yesterday, I caught him sorting my imperial seals by shades of red. And this morning, he refused to sit at the table because the chairs weren’t perfectly aligned."
Amused, Y/N stroked her son’s cheek.
— "He just likes things to be well organized."
— "No, no. It’s an obsession. The other day, I walked into his room and found him arranging pebbles… by size."
Ambrose frowned, crossing his small arms over his chest.
— "That’s logical. Big pebbles go with big ones, small ones with small ones. Why would you mix them?"
Y/N stifled a laugh while Cassius shook his head in exasperation.
— "You see? This isn’t normal. He has the mind of an old accountant before he’s even lost his first tooth."
Y/N placed a reassuring hand over her husband’s.
— "Maybe this is just his way of understanding the world. He inherited your attention to detail—you should be proud."
Cassius watched his son, who, after a brief hesitation, returned to aligning his objects with unwavering seriousness.
— "If he ever starts organizing my soldiers by height, that’s when I’ll sound the alarm."
Y/N burst into laughter, and after a moment, Ambrose smiled too.
Cassius let out one last sigh, kissed Evangeline’s head tenderly, then reached out to ruffle his son’s hair.
— "Alright, little genius. Keep aligning the world as you see fit… But I warn you, I refuse to have my county turned into a geometric arrangement someday."
Ambrose beamed proudly, and Y/N, her heart full of love for her family, intertwined her fingers with her husband’s.
Not a heavy rain, but that constant drizzle, almost annoying, that makes the air heavy and humid, as if the sky itself was caught in a silence filled with unshed tears. Yeon Si-eun was waiting, his back against the worn wall of the school's annex. He wasn't supposed to be there, but he had volunteered for the tutoring program. Not out of altruism. He had simply thought it would fill the void in a useful way.
Then she entered the room. Y/n. She was wearing an oversized sweatshirt, the sleeves covering her hands, and her bag seemed to almost slide off her shoulder. She didn't say anything, just nodded, her eyes avoiding his. But Si-eun had already noticed the slight tension in her fingers, the careful handling of her notebook, the way she stood between presence and erasure.
That was his way of observing.
The first sessions were silent, almost cold. He explained, she nodded. Sometimes she asked a question, her voice soft but firm, never looking at him for too long. He pretended it didn't bother him, but his mind, usually as orderly as a strategy game, began to fall apart.
He didn't understand. Why, when his eyes met y/n's, did he feel as if he was truly seen for the first time? Not as a smart or distant boy, nor as a tool for knowledge or controlled violence, but simply as a boy. Just a boy.
And that was the beginning of the obsession.
He began to look forward to these sessions like a starving animal. He noted everything: the way y/n paused to think, the way she switched pens while nibbling on the old one, the little smile she allowed herself when she understood something. He even started to hang around the community center where she sometimes came with her younger siblings.
He watched her take care of them with a tenderness almost fierce. They pulled at her arms, climbed on her back, knocked over her bag. And she, instead of getting annoyed, laughed softly. A laugh so discreet, yet so alive, that it took his breath away.
Si-eun, on the other hand, had never been held in loving arms.
Not even by his mother. Especially not by her.
The rare times she was around, she would stand in the kitchen, looking at her phone. She would nod when he spoke, but her eyes were always elsewhere. He remembered, as a child, tugging at his mother's sleeve to get a glance, a word, a gesture. But she was always too busy. Too absent. And eventually, he had stopped asking. What was the point?
So, when y/n occasionally brushed against him without thinking – a light touch of an arm, a hand brushing – it felt like a soft burn, an unbearable warmth he longed to replicate.
And he did.
One day, he pretended to have a headache. He staggered as he sat down. Y/n, concerned, placed her hand on his arm, then gently on his forehead.
He closed his eyes.
He wanted time to stop.
When he opened them, she was looking at him. And there was no fear. No pity. Just sincere concern.
Then, little by little, he allowed himself. One day, he leaned in, testing the waters. Another, he asked if she liked kids, feigning indifference. Then he dared more: he stayed after class longer. He walked her to the bus stop. He got into the habit of waiting for her.
Then, one night, he cracked.
It was raining again. Still that fine rain.
She had offered him an umbrella, and without really knowing why, he stepped closer. Too close. She smelled like soap and wind. And he held her. Against him. Against his chest. Barely, just enough.
He didn't say anything. He couldn't.
But his hands were shaking. He buried his face against her, like a lost child. And she didn't push him away. She even held him tighter.
That night, he cried.
Not loudly. Not sobbing. But those silent tears, almost shameful, that come from too far. From too deep. The ones that never find their way except in a moment when everything breaks just a little.
Y/n didn't say anything. She just kept her arms around him. Like a port. Like a refuge. And Yeon Si-eun thought: is this love?
Or was it simply the desperate need to finally feel loved?
Sometimes, when she laughed, he felt a hole in his chest. As if something wanted to get out, but he didn't know how. He wanted to tell her everything: the loneliness, the silences at home, the lack of attention. But he couldn't. So he just looked at her. With his sad eyes, those that silently said: love me. See me. Welcome me.
And she did.
He became dependent. On her arms. On her presence. He loved lying against her when he could. Once, she had run her fingers through his hair, thinking he was asleep. He wasn't asleep. He carved that moment into him like a promise.
But a persistent fear remained.
What if she left? What if she looked at him one day the way his mother looked at him? Without really seeing him?
So he became a little colder, a little more distant. To protect himself. But she, she didn't give up. She held on. She came back. Again and again. Each time.
And little by little, he thawed. Not like in the movies. Not all at once. But over time. With her.
He loved her. No, he was crazy about her.
It wasn't a loud love. It was a feline, gnawing, vital love. She was everything he had never received. Everything he had never dared ask for.
And every day, he silently prayed: let her stay.
Let her keep looking at him.
Let her keep loving him.
Because in her arms, for the first time, Yeon Si-eun was a loved son, a protected boy, a young man in love.
Finally alive.
---
Si-eun found himself in a place that, once upon a time, would have seemed nonsensical to him. A place that had no place in his cold, controlled world. At y/n's house. He never thought this could happen. Not him, the forgotten child of a constantly absent father, the cold silhouette of a rejected son. But reality was there. In her arms. In her breath against his. In the familiar sounds of the evening, the soft light of the entrance to her home.
He had never wanted to go, but she had invited him, insisting with a tone that allowed no objection. "You deserve to relax. You don’t come enough." And so, he had come, the first time. He stayed. He left. But his mind never left that place.
y/n lived in a house full of children's laughter, hurried footsteps, and voices that never stopped. She had two younger brothers and a sister. Every time he came, they greeted him with raw enthusiasm. He remembered their first glance. They had studied him, this strange boy who seemed so different from their older sister. But they had become attached to him, like children do with a protective figure. He, who had never had that.
y/n’s parents were rarely around. Often gone for work or other obligations, like invisible shadows in y/n's life. This left a void that she filled with her kindness, her patience. Si-eun had once seen her take care of her siblings after a long school day, her hands constantly moving, her gaze always gentle and reassuring. But when she saw him, she became something else, calmer. She didn't need words to express how she felt about him. And him... he no longer needed to pretend.
The first time he had nestled against her, he hadn’t thought. He had simply given into the warmth, this warmth he had never known. She was lying on the couch, her legs curled up, and he had sat next to her, then slowly, like a child seeking protection, he had leaned in until their bodies were almost touching. y/n hadn’t said anything, but her arms had surrounded him. And, suddenly, the world stopped spinning for him. All that mattered was the beat of her heart against his own. This connection, silent but meaningful.
It became a silent ritual. After school, he spent more and more time at her place. Sometimes, he just came to be in the same room as her. Sometimes, he lay beside her, closing his eyes. Their conversations were simple, but so full of unspoken words. Talks about trivial things that, somehow, seemed to resonate with a depth he had never known.
One evening, after playing a game with her siblings, he sat next to y/n on the couch. She was reading a book, but her fingers barely touched the pages. He watched her, his eyes never leaving her face. A slight smile played on her lips. "You have tired eyes." She looked at him, a little surprised, but didn’t say anything. Then she turned toward him. "It's because I worry about you."
Her words struck his mind like a cold wind, piercing the barrier he had built. Why would she worry about him? Her, the light in his life? Her, who knew how to give without asking? Why would she have empathy for him, a boy no one wanted to see?
She felt his silence. "You know, Si-eun, I’m not that naive. I see what you’re hiding. I see that you’re tired, that you carry all of this alone." She placed a light hand on his thigh. "You don’t have to carry it all alone."
It was strange. Her words, simple, hit him with such force that it hurt. She wasn’t rejecting him. She wasn’t fleeing from that dark side of him. She accepted him. She accepted him as he was. For him, it was nothing short of a revolution. No one had ever accepted him. Not even his mother. He looked up at her, his lips trembling slightly. "I... I don’t know how to be... the person you want."
She shook her head gently, her hair swaying slightly. "I don’t want anything from you, Si-eun. I just want you. All of you."
He swallowed. She didn’t understand. Or maybe she understood more than he thought. He pulled back slightly, embarrassed. But she didn’t let him go. She gently pulled him back toward her. And, without a word, she held him in her arms. This time, he didn’t pull away. He nestled against her, tighter, longer. He let her hold him. Her arms around him were a silent promise of protection. He allowed it. He had never had this feeling of being at home, of being truly at home, in someone else’s arms.
She rocked him gently, almost as if she had known him forever. She blew softly in his hair, her hands sliding slowly over his back, soothing. "I’m not going anywhere, Si-eun. You are my home. I’ll always be here."
He felt the warmth of her breath. His heart raced in his chest. He closed his eyes, a weight on his shoulders slowly dissipating. He didn’t need words. This contact, this simple embrace, was more than anything he could have asked for. The fear of abandonment, of rejection, melted into the air. He was no longer afraid. Because y/n was there.
A kiss. Soft, light. But everything changed. Her lips met his, at first timidly, like a question with no immediate answer. Then the kiss became more urgent, more essential, as if they had both been waiting for this moment without ever daring to say it. He gave himself to her, to this warmth that had always been missing in his life.
They stayed there, in that gentle silence, in that refuge. Si-eun had never wanted to be loved. But he had needed it so much. And there, in y/n's arms, he was no longer that cold and distant boy. He was just a man, a man in love, who had found his home.
She stroked the back of his neck, slowly, without haste. He didn’t move, enjoying every second. No need for more. Just to be here, with her. She kissed him again, her lips brushing his. A kiss to tell him he wasn’t alone. A kiss to tell him he was loved.
That night, he slept in her arms. Not out of desire, but to hear her breath, to feel her warmth. He had never wanted to sleep anywhere but here, in this place where he was welcomed, loved. He didn’t have to be anyone else. He could just be himself. And he knew, deep down, that he would always be with her.
Geum Seong-je X GN!partner who isn't afraid of him but avoids him at first
"It's not love, nor is it hate. It's something else. Something between fire and nothingness. A flame that doesn't warm, that burns for no reason. That burns just because it wants to. Like him."- Geum Seong-je
He has this way of walking as if he's conquered every corner of hell and left his crown there. That smirk, the one born without warmth, crackling like broken glass in a leaden silence.
He's crazy, they think. Unstable. Cruel. He's not a boy. He's a storm whose eyes promise only ruin.
And yet, you, you've never been afraid.
You avoid him, yes. Not out of fear, but out of self-preservation. Not because you dread him, but because you know oceans destroy what they love. And Seong-je is an ocean that wants no shelters. It wants shipwrecks.
He noticed you.
Not as he notices others – with that mocking expression first, like a hungry animal playing with its prey before disemboweling it. No. He looked at you once and didn't laugh. He stared. For a long time. As if he'd never seen anyone exist without fear in front of him. As if you were a flaw in the code of his world.
Then you ignored him. And that, he didn't understand.
→ FIRST CONTACT
He doesn't need to speak for everyone to feel his presence. But with you, he speaks. Not to explain himself. Not to convince. Just to see if you tremble when he speaks low.
"What exactly are you playing at?"
You look at him. Don't answer.
"I'm talking to you."
His voice isn't soft. It's raw, split with arrogance and acid. You reply:
"I'm not listening to you."
He laughs. A short, almost shocked laugh. No one says things like that to him. And that snicker he lets out is far from happy. He thirsts. To understand. To dissect what you hide beneath your calm. Because there's no calm in his world. Just lies neatly tucked into bursts of violence.
He starts appearing in your line of sight. Everywhere. In the hallways. Near your locker. In front of your door. Not to talk to you. To spy on you. Like a predator who's seen something rare and doesn't understand why he can't make it flee.
→HE DOESN'T UNDERSTAND WHY YOU STAY IN HIS HEAD.
Geum Seong-je isn't one to ruminate. He fights. He screws. He destroys.
But you, you remained.
→ FIRST BREAKTHROUGH
The day you come back with blood on your chin, his gaze tears into you. It's not compassion. It's rage. To see that someone touched you. Not him. Someone else.
You don't want to talk. He doesn't like that. So he clenches his teeth. Then follows you. All day. Like a silent warning to the whole world: "Don't touch what's mine." And yet, you're not his. You never were.
Not yet.
→ FIRST CONNECTION
You find him one evening, alone, gaze lost on a wall, knuckles still stained with blood. He has that empty expression, like a kid who no longer knows why he broke the toy.
He doesn't look at you. You sit down. In silence.
He says:
"I like nothing about people. I searched. I found nothing. It's hollow."
And you reply:
"Maybe that's because you're not looking in the right place."
And for a moment, just one, he doesn't laugh. He looks at you as if he's just felt an emotion for the first time. And it bothers him.
→ DIFFICULT BEGINNINGS
Geum Seong-je doesn't know how to be tender. He learned that tenderness doesn't survive. His love manifests as brutal protection, as the fierce glare he gives to those who approach you, as the heavy hand he places on your shoulder to guide you through the crowd, not to suffocate you, but to ensure he's watching over you.
He doesn't understand small gestures, cute texts, trivial gifts. But he remembers every word you say. He remembers you don't drink coffee in the morning. So he hands you a hot drink he bought without a word. This is his way of loving: silent, instinctive, visceral.
→ POSSESSIVENESS
He doesn't know how to love. He wants. He takes. He keeps. He crushes. Not out of malice, but out of reflex. Like an animal that doesn't know love is given, not devoured.
He sometimes destroys you without realizing it. Talks to you like throwing a glass against a wall, to hear the sound it makes. Then he comes back. Touches your cheek as if it might break.
You stay. Not because you excuse him. Because you see something else. The emptiness in his eyes after the anger. That fear he never shows, but that resonates in his silences.
→ WHEN HE TRULY FALLS IN LOVE
It's not a spectacular moment. It's a mundane scene: you're laughing while reading a book. He watches you. And suddenly, he realizes he'd kill for that sound. That if someone silenced your laugh, he'd lose everything. Not out of dependence, no. But because that laugh is proof that beauty still exists in his world.
That day, he takes your hand. Not out of habit. But because his doubts are weaker than his desire to keep you.
→ FIRST KISS
It's brutal. Nothing tender. He presses you against a wall, his hand in your hair, his mouth like a fierce slap. He devours you. Because he doesn't know how else to do it. Because he believes that's how you hold someone.
But you don't moan. You don't cry. You respond. With the same intensity. And that's when he understands you were never afraid.
→ THE AFTERMATH
He starts to change. Not quickly. Not smoothly. He still growls. He still hits. But he waits for you. He watches you sleep as if watching a comet pass in a sky he thought extinguished.
He starts to ask:
"Did you eat?"
And for him, that's a declaration of love.
→ CONFLICT
One day you leave, without warning. Not for long. Just a few hours. But for him, it's a betrayal. He destroys an entire room. Yells. Finds you. And he doesn't shout.
He looks at you and says:
"I can't survive if you put me out. You get it? I'm not made for solitude. I'm not made for calm. But you, you're here, and I'm not moving. You get it? You don't move. I'll destroy you if you move."
You place your hand on his chest. His heart pounds like a caged animal.
"Then don't make me a prison."
He recoils. He understands.
→ THEIR NIGHTS
He doesn't make love. He devours. Every night is an implosion. He takes you as if he's going to die. Because he doesn't know how to do things by halves. It's full of an almost painful desire, a need to prove to himself that you are real, that you both bleed the same way. He likes marks. He likes scratches. He likes leaving traces. Not to possess. To bear witness. As if your body is the only page he knows how to write on. Sometimes, when you're asleep, he runs his fingers over your skin silently. He looks at you like one looks at a treasure you're not supposed to touch.
It's there, in that silence, that he's in love.
→ THE TRUTH
He will never be simple. Never gentle. But he will be real. Every beat, every glance, every word is raw, pure, clumsy but sincere.
And you are the only person he has ever looked at without thinking of breaking.
Because for the first time in his life, he wants to keep. Not possess. Just... keep.
And that, for Geum Seong-je, is love.
→ HIM
Love, if you can call it that, with Geum Seong-je, is like a cigarette you smoke knowing it's killing you. It's a fire you caress because you've forgotten how to be cold. It's brutal, without promise. Without a safety net.
But he is there. Whole. Massive. True.
And you are the only place in the world where he feels almost human. Not cleansed. Not saved. Just... seen. In all his darkness. And accepted anyway.
"I don't want you to leave. I don't want... you to look at me like that again. Like I'm poison. I'm not poison. I'm... I don't know what I am. But when you touch me, I feel like I exist for something other than breaking things."
He struggles to sleep when you're not there. He won't admit it. He'll go to bed in jeans, light a cigarette, get annoyed at nothing. But he won't sleep. Because without your breath in the room, it's too quiet. Too empty. Too much like his own head.
He becomes possessive, of course. Maliciously jealous. He wants you all to himself, completely. He can't stand others around you. He watches you like an animal guarding its only water source. Because if you leave, there's nothing left. He knows it.
And he says it, one night, his voice broken between two sighs:
"I'll kill you if you leave me. I'm not kidding. I'll kill myself. Or both. I don't want... I don't want to go back to what I was. With you, I'm not healed, I'm not better. But I'm... I'm something else. And I like it. Damn, I like it."
→ HIS FLAW
He doesn't know how to say sorry. But he knows how to be silent.
When he's messed up, he doesn't come with flowers. He doesn't come as a hero. He sits down. He waits. He looks at you like one looks at a sentence.
He listens to you. He clenches his teeth. And he promises, eyes damp, that he will try. Not to be perfect. Just not to lose you again.
And when you open your arms to him, he cries silently. Because you've just done what no one has ever done for him: taught him that violence is not an inevitability.
He has sleepless nights. You are there.
He doesn't wake you. He gets up, squats in the kitchen, smoking in silence.
You slip behind him. You rest your chin on his shoulder. You don't speak. You stay. He never asked for this. But he doesn't tell you, because he's afraid that if the words come out, you'll disappear with them.
So he drags on his cigarette, and blows smoke into the night. And you hold him. Each time a little longer.
→ THE FEAR OF LOVE
He loves you, but he's afraid of it. Because if anyone discovers he loves you, you become a weakness. And if he loses you, he loses the only thing still tethering him to the human he once was.
So sometimes, he pushes you away. Not because he doesn't care. But because he thinks your love is undeserved. He tells himself you'll eventually leave, like the others. That you'll see his violence-stained hands, his haunted gaze, and you'll flee.
But you stay. You hold his hand when he clenches his fists. You call him gently when he drifts too far into his anger. And slowly, he begins to believe that maybe, just maybe, he has the right to love.
→ THE SMALL VICTORIES
He once told you, "I didn't fight today."
You kissed him as if he'd just won a world.
He said, "Thank you." You looked at him with a smile. "For what?"
"For not looking at me like everyone else."
→ THE FUTURE HE DARED NOT DREAM OF
One evening, in his bed, he asked you: "Do you think someone like me can have a tomorrow with someone like you?"
You replied: "You already have a today. And that's already a hell of an achievement."
He kissed you like one clings to life.
And for the first time, he smiled gently. "We'll see tomorrow, then."
→ OTHERS
When you touch him, he doesn't move. He observes. He analyzes. But when you look at him with something other than desire, he panics. He closes off. You've learned to love him in the cracks, in moments stolen between storms. He doesn't know how to be smooth. He doesn't know how to be gentle. But he's there. And sometimes, that's more than enough.
You often find him in places where he has no business being. On a rooftop. In an empty hallway. In a deserted gym. And each time he sees you, he smiles, but not with happiness. With chaos. As if your appearance were a new variable to destroy. And yet, he never pushes you away.
He has that nervous, almost cruel laugh when you do something silly or tender. He treats you as if he barely tolerates you, but he always leans in when you speak. He pretends not to care, but he remembers every word. He never tells you goodnight, but he stays awake until you fall asleep.
And in the darkest moments, when you doubt everything, it's him who appears. Not with words, but with a presence. A hand on your thigh. A fixed gaze. He promises nothing. He doesn't reassure. He just shows you he's there, and for now, that's enough.
............................* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊
CONCLUSION –
LOVE ACCORDING TO GEUM SEONG-JE
It wasn't soft, not easy, not Hollywood.
But it was real. Burning. Raw. At the edge of the heart.
Geum Seong-je loved like he fought: without backing down, without a plan. But when he loved you, he did it without fleeing. With all the chaos he was.
And in a world that had always seen him as a threat, he had found, with you, the right to be fragile. To be loved.
To be a human, not a storm.
And that, for him, was more than love. It was redemption.
"I didn't try to love you. It happened by watching you fall, over and over again, and never wanting to look away. You wanted me to hate you to prove to you that love doesn't exist. I preferred to prove to you that you were wrong." - Yeon Sieun
He's nothing like you. You know it the moment he steps into that dirty alley, that day, to find you. He searches for you, like he searches for words in a book he's already read, but wants to understand every silence.
Yeon Si-eun has the kind of face you hate when you live on the streets: clean, straight, precise. He's smooth, not fake smooth, but in the sense that he seems to have never had to bleed to survive. That's what you believe. And you hate him for it.
You hate him because he has shoes that don't split at the sole. Because his hands smell of soap and not the cold metallic scent of daggers or worn lighters. You hate him because he doesn't tremble in front of cops. Because he has a home, even if he feels like a stranger in it.
You hate him most of all because he looks at you as if he's showing respect. And you can't stand respect.
So you hit where it hurts.
You throw him out. You insult him. You beat him. You throw him out. You insult him. You fuck him like a punishment. You disappear.
You come back.
You beat him. You fuck him again. Hard. Violent. Almost as if you're trying to erase him from yourself, or yourself from him.
And him?
He stays.
→The First Gaze (Illusion of Balance)
He looks at you like one looks at something not yet understood, but already sensed to be dangerous. Yeon Si-eun has always been used to dissecting behaviors, violence, power dynamics. You don't fit into his equation. You don't scream for attention. You hurt. You lacerate. You hit, and you revel in watching people bleed. Especially him.
His hands are clean, his shirts ironed. You think he's playing a role, but even his silences are as aligned as his notebooks. He's too calm. Too fair. Too present.
And yet you hate him.
You hate him for having an address on his ID, a bed to return to, a cockroach-free bathroom. He has friends. He has structure. You don't believe in love, but you also hate him for having something you can no longer even name: continuity.
And he, he stays.
He never screams. He observes you. He endures.
→Sex as Mechanics (Use and Disappear)
You come back to him when you're at your limit. When you have nothing left. When the anxiety is so high that you need to destroy something, or someone. He opens the door. He never asks why. You're cold, dirty, aggressive. You're violent.
You undress him like tearing off evidence. You take him as a right, as vengeance against everything you've lacked. You want him to feel, to understand what it's like to live in hunger, in want, in the night. You want to break him.
What you do in his bed is nothing like a tender game. You take, you impose, you want him to hate you for it too. You want him to say no. To say stop. To set a limit. But he never does. Because he wants you to stay. Even like this.
He doesn't touch you like the others. He demands nothing. He accepts. He clings. His fingers on your back aren't pleasure, they're distress. He just wants to exist in the little space you leave him.
He says nothing.
He lets you do it. He sometimes clenches his teeth. But he never pushes you away. Not even when you scratch him, not even when you bite him or call him a house pet. He stays. He takes it all.
And when you sleep, exhausted, half-naked on his scarred chest, he brushes your hair with his fingertips. He doesn't close his eyes. He watches over you.
→Educated Silences (Calm as Resistance)
Yeon Si-eun never learned to scream. His anger is internal, meticulously measured, perfectly directed. He doesn't slam doors. He thinks. He endures.
But with you, it's not the pain that tears him apart, it's the fact that he understands. He understands that you lie. That you steal. That you manipulate him. He understands the strange journeys, the sudden calls, the nonsensical messages.
You think you've fooled him. You think he waits for you because he's weak. But you don't see that, behind his frozen face, he chooses to stay. Not out of submission. Out of loyalty to something you refuse to see in yourself.
You betrayed him. You stole from him. You almost sold him out. You vaguely remember it. It was blurry. You were scared. Needed money. He got out of it. And he stayed there, eyes fixed, breath light, asking if you were okay. Who does that?
He treated you once, when you cut your arm escaping. He stitched it with kitchen thread. He silently vomited afterwards in the bathroom. And when you woke up, he was sitting on the floor, watching you with that pure concern he doesn't even know how to hide.
You slept with him, again. To erase. To dirty. You thought if you hurt him enough, he'd eventually leave. But you don't know how to break a man who has already lost everything and still loves despite it all.
→Love as Silent Confession (What He Never Says)
Yeon Si-eun doesn't talk about love. He's never told you he loves you. You even think he doesn't know what it is. But you're wrong.
He doesn't understand why he loves you. He just knows he loves you. It's a certainty, not a question. And for him, that means everything.
He loves you.
He loves you in your violence, in your feverish silences, in your flight. He loves you without understanding. He loves you because even your lies are more authentic than the truths of others. He loves you as a certainty he can't explain.
He knows he might end up broken by you. And he's not afraid of it.
Because he'd rather be broken by you than have gone through his life without having touched you.
He says nothing. He demands nothing. But one day, you'll see. You'll see that he held on, that in his weakness lay a love that even your demons couldn't kill. And that day, you won't know what to do.
Because you'll understand that it's you, now, who could break him. And you no longer want to.
He loves you in the way he gently closes the window when you sleep in his sheets. In the way he hides food in his fridge in case you come back. In the way he silently places a clean towel.
You see all of this, and you refuse to believe it. Because if you believe in it, you become vulnerable. And you can't afford to be.
So you hurt him. Again. You mistreat him. You flee.
And he comes back.
→Chosen Pain (Between Letting Go and Holding On)
He knows. He knows you won't change for him. He doesn't want you to. He's not trying to save you. He never believed in those stories.
But he sometimes looks at you as if your chaos is art. As if every blow, every lie, is a way of screaming: "Look at me. Hold me."
So he stays. Not every day. But when it matters. He comes when you're too far. When you hit rock bottom.
He doesn't scream. He surrounds you. He picks you up. He makes love to you like an offering, even when you treat it like a war. He doesn't flee your violence. He transforms it.
One day you asked him: "Why do you stay?"
He replied: "Because if my pain can offer you a moment of peace, I'm willing to carry it."
And you fell silent.
→The Closed Room
Si-eun's room is always immaculate. But one day, he gave you a key. A real one. Not a spare. Not an invitation. A right.
You've never used it for anything other than coming, fucking, leaving. But it stays there. You look at it sometimes. Like a memory waiting to be activated.
He's the only one who never asked you to get better. Not because he doesn't care. Because he knows you're not ready. And that wanting to save someone before they want to save themselves is still a form of violence.
He waits for you without waiting. He lives. He reads. He breathes. And when you come back, he places that peace on you without ever naming it.
→The Incomprehensible (And Yet Obvious)
He doesn't know why he loves you. It's not logical. He's tried to analyze it. To flee you. To convince himself that you're not what he needs.
But he always comes back.
Perhaps it's because he sees beyond. Beyond the tattoos, the threats, the endless nights. He sees the wounded child. The teenager who suffered too much. The skin that trembles when touched too softly.
And in your crises, your flights, your manipulations, he sees one thing above all: someone who, despite everything, keeps coming back.
And for him, that's enough.
→The Silences He Swallows
Yeon Si-eun is a strategist. He never speaks to fill space. When he's with you, he becomes even more silent, not because he has nothing to say, but because he knows your ears are minefields.
So he's quiet. And he observes.
He knows that when you run your tongue over your teeth, you're lying. That when you suddenly kiss him without warning, it's because you've done something serious. That when you want sex, it's not because you desire him, but because you want to forget yourself.
And he, he lets you. Because he loves you.
And because he doesn't know how to love other than by letting the other win.
Sometimes, you want him to slap you. To scream. To tell you to stop. But no.
He lowers his eyes.
He waits for you to come back.
He doesn't judge you. He endures you.
It's worse than a punishment. It's a silent declaration.
→The Contradictions
You hate him, don't you?
He has clean sheets. A locked room. Friends who come when he calls. A past he doesn't talk about but that doesn't reek of piss, fear, and blood. You wanted to shatter him, break him, bring him down from his imaginary pedestal. To steal his calm. To steal what he doesn't even know he possesses: stability.
But he never had a pedestal. You didn't see the internal scars, the parental absences, the loneliness of growing up always being right and never comforted. He's brilliant, yes. But that heals nothing. He's strong, yes. But it exhausts him.
You think you're a poison in his mouth, a burn in his bed. You haven't understood that for him, you're the first person who saw him bleed internally and didn't flee.
→Last Act (And He Will Always Be There)
When you leave, he doesn't follow you.
But he leaves a light on. Always. Just in case you're cold. Just in case you're hungry. Just in case you want to come back without speaking.
And when you return, breathless, battered by the night, hands trembling, eyes too full, he asks nothing.
He opens the door for you.
And in the silence of the hallway, between two heartbeats, he says everything he never says:
"I'm here. I'm always here."
→Forgiveness on the Edge of the Abyss
The world forgives you nothing.
But him...
He has gestures you don't understand. He comes with tea, unsweetened, just how you like it. He fixes the window you broke. He pays the fine without a word. He doesn't even try to change you.
He sees you. You. Not the chaos. Not the violence. Not the disaster.
Just... you.
And it's unbearable.
So you start again.
You leave.
You sleep with others.
You come back.
You cry in his arms, without a word.
He lays a hand in your hair and closes his eyes.
→The Last Time
One day, you see him talking to someone else. A gentle girl. A friend.
And for the first time, you're afraid.
Afraid he'll decide his love isn't enough anymore. That he'll leave without a sound, just as he came.
You panic. You scream. You break things. You destroy.
But that night, it's you who stays.
And he sits on the floor, head in his hands, and whispers:
"I know you hate me. But I can't. I can't hate you."
You look at him.
And in that gaze, there's nothing left to destroy.
Because he gave you everything he was. Not to save you. Just to tell you that you mattered. That you existed.
That someone could truly see you.
............................* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊
→ FLASHBACK: The Eve of the Void
It wasn't a special night. It was raining softly, that fine rain that clings to the asphalt like a memory you can't wash away. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. And you, you were sleeping on the floor, as always, because you refused his bed. A stupid principle, a way to maintain control, to say: "I'm not yours."
You were curled up, arms folded under your head, like a child who had never known a mother's embrace. You were breathing hard, too hard, and your face was streaked with dry tears you hadn't admitted. Si-eun had gotten up to drink a glass of water. He saw you. And he knew.
He thought to himself, "I think I love them."
It was a painful certainty, like a needle plunged into the heart. He draped a blanket over you. Then he sat there, all night, watching over a body that didn't yet know it was loved.
He had known he loved you. Not because you were beautiful or strong or even kind. But because in your solitude, in your silent chaos, you were human. And no one else saw you that way. Not even you.
He had understood that he would love you even if it destroyed him.
→ TWO WEEKS
Then you disappear.
Not a word. Not a message. Nothing. The void.
The first few days, Si-eun waits. He tells himself you'll come back. That you need space. He lives in the silent discomfort of hope.
On the eighth day, he starts searching. Discreetly at first. He calls an acquaintance. Then two. Then old numbers. He goes back through alleys, hangs around squats, train stations, bus stops. His eyes are shadowed, his heart in his throat.
But he searched. Neighborhoods, alleys, squats. He wore out his shoes traversing places that had never known order. He saw the filth, the pain, the creeping addiction that devours flesh and will. He hated what he saw.
On the fourteenth evening, he finds you.
In a dirty alley, where car headlights cast broken shadows on the walls. You were trembling. Literally. Leaning against a graffiti-covered wall, looking like a broken puppet. A man held you by the arm, whispering promises in your ear. Drugs for skin.
The man was in front of you. He smiled. Icy. Twisted. He said something like, "Come on, it's nothing, just for a moment... then I'll give you what you need."
And you said nothing. You were going to follow him. You were going to sell yourself. For a few grams. For a false peace. For a silence in your head.
Si-eun's voice cracked.
— Back off.
The other guy raised his hands, scoffing at him. He said, "Who are you? Their boyfriend?"
And for the first time, Si-eun struck.
Not you. Not yet. Not until that moment.
He grabbed the guy by the collar and sent him sprawling against the opposite wall. A dull thud. Blood. Your eyes widened.
The man fell to the ground, his lip split. And you, you laughed. A bitter, hollow laugh. To mask the humiliation. You insulted him. You called him every name in the book. In front of the others.
— You pathetic idiot. Who the hell do you think you are? My fucking savior?
He doesn't answer.
— You're just a goddamn bourgeois who wants to get dirty to feel alive. You think your love is enough for me? That I should kneel because Mr. Straight-A student loves me? You don't even know what emptiness is. The void. You're NOTHING.
He takes it, lips sealed. But his fists tremble.
— You're ashamed of me, huh? You want me to disappear? You want to change me? YOU WANT TO SAVE ME?!
You thought it would break him.
You slapped him. Hard. Then again. Then you hit him with all your might, fists unleashed by pain. You wanted to make him bleed, to make him pay for seeing you.
But he just said, loud, clear, in a raw voice:
— You're doing this so I'll be ashamed of you. I'M NOT ASHAMED OF YOU. I'VE NEVER BEEN ASHAMED OF YOU. I LOVE YOU, DAMN IT... I love you to death. But you're the one suffering the most from it. Because you keep pushing me away.
You froze.
You looked at him, as if his words were bullets. Then you raised your hand. And you hit him.
Again.
Again.
You wanted him enraged. You wanted him to hate you.
And you screamed:
— HIT ME, DAMN IT! WON'T YOU HIT ME?! DO IT! DO IT, DAMN IT!
Then he grabbed your wrists, violently, you heard his teeth grind.
He looked at you as if you were fire itself.
— Why do you want to make me like what you hate?
You froze. Your fist in the air. Your gaze empty. Trembling. Your body began to vibrate. As if everything you had tried to hide had just cracked.
He squeezed your wrists tightly, not to hurt you. To prevent you from hurting yourself more.
And you melted.
→ THE DRAGGING
He doesn't ask for your opinion.
He lifts you, seizes you, drags you. You struggle, you scream, you hit the air. He ignores you. Carries you like a bag of bones, over his shoulder. Passersby stare. Some snicker. Others lower their eyes. Si-eun doesn't care. He takes you away.
He slams his apartment door shut.
And then silence explodes in the room.
You leap at him. You want to hurt him. To provoke him. But this time, he doesn't let you. He pushes you back. He grabs you. And you fall together.
Sex, this time, is ferocious.
It's not an offering. It's not submission. It's not even a war. It's a collision.
Your bodies grasp, scratch, almost collide. He doesn't let you lead. He pushes you against the mattress, his hands hard on your hips, his feverish lips on your skin. His eyes are black with rage, fear, love. You lose yourself in his fury. You rediscover him in his strength.
He didn't let you dominate. He was too angry. Too hurt. Too in love to be crushed.
What you did that night wasn't sex. It was a fight. A confrontation. A monologue distorted into moans.
It was rage, love, fear. Your legs around his hips, his hands pressing you into the mattress, his teeth against your throat. He was no longer pleading. He was no longer enduring. He possessed you. Not to break you. To pull you back. To wake you up.
You scratched him, groaned, but he held firm. It was brutal, but real. A clash of bodies and pains. There were no more roles. Just two beings clinging to each other like to the last branch before the fall.
Si-eun bit your shoulders. Held you tightly, as if not to let you flee. You cried without knowing it. He cried silently. He entered you like clinging to a shoreline. And you, you wanted all of him, even if it hurt.
He's no longer the silent one. He's the man who loves you too much.
And you climax with a cry, lost, unsure if it's pleasure or sorrow.
→ THE LATE NIGHT
Much later, in the returned calm, he drags you to the bathroom. You don't speak. You no longer have the strength. He slowly undresses you. Not like before. This time, he's gentle.
The bath is warm. He slides you in. Then joins you. He washes your back. Your arms. Your scars.
Not a word.
But every gesture is a caress.
You lean against him. Against his chest. And you whisper, throat parched:
— I dreamed you left me.
He doesn't lower his eyes. Doesn't shy away.
— It would be easier. But I won't.
You close your eyes.
And for the first time, you talk. Truly.
You say everything. The void. The fear. The need. The lack. The harm you do. The harm you want to stop doing. You don't ask for forgiveness. You don't know how.
And he listens. Without interrupting you. He doesn't cry. But his arms tighten around you, like a refuge.
You have to talk.
About yourself. About fear. About addiction. About that damned voice in your head that says you don't deserve to be loved.
He listened. Without judgment.
Then he talked to you too.
About his loneliness. About his empty house. About the absence of warmth. About his father. About his mother. About waiting.
And in that warm bath, two wounds brushed against each other without colliding.
He speaks little. Just the essentials. His fear of losing you. His smothered anger. His love. Inexplicable. Irreversible.
It was harder than violence. More naked. More real.
→ THE NEXT MORNING
Si-eun wakes up in the early morning.
You sleep against him. Not curled up for sex. Not tense. Just... there.
An arm wrapped around his waist. Your face buried against his chest. Your breath slow. Peaceful.
In your sleep, you clung to him. Like a child who finally finds a corner of the world where they're not cold.
You were there. Not on top of him. Not taking something from him. Just there. Your head on his chest. Your hand on his hip. Your breathing steady.
He didn't move. It scared him. Because it was real. Because, for the first time, you had touched him without violence. And you slept as if you had always been home.
And he understood that it might be more dangerous than anything you had lived through.
Because you had just offered him something you had never given: peace.
Just for an instant.
And it was enough for him to keep loving.
Again.
Always.
He doesn't move. He stares at the ceiling. For a long time.
"This is dangerous." He tells himself. "Because it's beautiful. It's beautiful... and I love it."
And because it's the first time you've shown him, without words, that you too... perhaps... love him.
............................* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊
Conclusion :
Yeon Si-eun never sought to be a savior.
He never claimed he could fix what was born broken, nor heal someone who had only ever known love through claws or silence. What he wanted… was to understand. To stay. To offer a place where the world ceased, if only for a moment.
But to love someone who seeks their own demise is to offer yourself to drowning with open arms.
And yet, he remains there. Every morning. Every night when his partner disappears. Every return, every empty gaze, every "I hate you" screamed like a plea. He welcomes them. He absorbs them. He endures them. Not because he's weak—but because he's capable of enduring what few others could bear.
His partner, they — still don't know what "being loved" means. There are days they want to bite, to sabotage, to hurt, because it's simpler than admitting someone could stay. And other days they fall asleep against his chest without even realizing it.
This is the magnificent tragedy they share: a relationship built on ruins, on denial, on pain. But amidst this ugliness, something grows. A rare tenderness. Wild. Wounded. Something crooked, clumsy, but alive.
Si-eun no longer says "I love you" every day. Not because it has changed. But because now, he proves it differently. In the silence. In the hand he offers without speaking. In the door he leaves open. In the warm bowl of rice he places without expecting thanks.
And his partner, they… sometimes, they no longer flee. Sometimes, they watch Si-eun sleep. And in those rare moments, they understand what they almost destroyed.
They will never be a normal couple. No dates in the rain, no easy promises.
But they have this chaos. And in this chaos, sometimes, a fragile peace slips in.
Dark romance. Yeah. This bastard finally got what he deserved. Not to be romanticized. If you see a reference to a featherweight somewhere made with it. She's a homeless junkie who that's alimente not well.. She's got to be 50 kilos as well. ಠ_ʖಠ
Behind the gutted gas station, where the dead neon lights hadn't flickered in years, a gust of wind rustled plastic bags caught in the drainage grates. The air was heavy with grime and defeat. Junkies roamed like stray dogs between the empty pumps, looking for a fix, a light, a shred of a glance. Geum Seongje was coming out of a fight. Nothing unusual. He'd bitten, ripped, punched, until silence replaced the screams. But that night, it had left him empty. Nothing. No exhilaration. Just that nauseating emptiness clinging to his gut like fuel oil.
He was walking away, thinking of nothing, ready to snuff out a cigarette against his tongue just to feel something, when he saw Y/N. On her knees.
In front of a dealer with a wide smile and dead eyes. She was begging. Her voice broke into a seeping murmur, an almost loving sigh: "You said you wouldn't forget me, right? I've been good today, wanna see? Just give me a little..."
Her hand trembled as she grazed the guy's jeans, like one touches a cracked idol, a rotten god. The dealer looked at her like one looks at an overturned trash can in a garden. He was proud. He stood tall. Superior. As if the disgust surrounding him made him cleaner.
Seongje stopped. Intrigued, at first. He thought about making fun of it, taking a picture, posting it on a forum, to make the others at the Union laugh. But it didn't make him laugh. Not really. He felt a dark heat rising within him. Contempt. Disgust. And then something more troubling. A violent urge. Not for sex. For destruction. He wanted to destroy, again. Destroy her. Destroy him.
He hit the dealer without a word. Just like that. A punch to the throat, dry, surgical. The other choked, falling like a puppet on a severed string. Seongje hadn't even looked. No hatred. No justice. Just the brutal, clean gesture.
He turned on his heel, ready to leave, when he heard her: "Mister?"
He frowned.
"I can last a long time. You can give me the stuff afterwards. I'm not annoying, I swear."
Her voice was destroyed. Nothing but breath and humiliation. A dead voice that still moved.
He turned around slowly. She was looking at him with those empty eyes, shining with craving, hunger, terror. She took him for another dealer. Another solution. Another key.
"You disgust me."
She didn't even hear him. Or she didn't care. She almost crawled towards him, whispering words usually said in a bed, but without warmth. Without meaning. Just there, laid out like pieces of stale bread on a grimy table.
"I'm gentle. You'll like me, I can bend however you want. Come on... you're not like the others, are you? You want me to do it well, I can. I've learned. I can..."
"You're disgusting."
It just came out. Not a judgment. A statement. He looked at her like one looks at a ruin. Not out of disgust. But out of a desire to set it on fire. She had no pride. And that fascinated him. Like an already broken sculpture that one would want to smash even more.
Then she screamed. A long scream, as if her insides were cracking. She pounded her fist, clawed at the air, cried without tears.
"I'm hurting, damn it, don't you understand?! You don't know what it's like! You've never needed, never! I don't want to be cold anymore, I don't want to tremble anymore! You have no right to look at me like that!"
He pushed her away. A sudden gesture. She fell, slid on the asphalt. Her cheek scraped against the ground.
She had a seizure. A real one. Not a tantrum. The withdrawal was crushing her. Her arms trembled. Her body folded in on itself like a wet cloth. She gasped, clawed at the ground with her nails. Then she started to cry. A muffled, shameful sob. Not a complaint. A confession.
And he saw. The marks.
The old marks on her arms. Not hidden. Not justified. Just there. As if she was saying: "I've already lost."
He stared at her. For a long time. He crouched down. Took her face in his hands. He said nothing. He looked at her like a kid looks at an animal crushed on the road. Fascinated. Disgusted. Liking it.
Then he picked her up. Without knowing why. Not out of pity. He didn't know that word. He lifted her like a sack, threw her over his shoulder. She was light as a promise never kept.
He didn't know where he was taking her. He didn't care.
But one thing was clear. He had found her. His new toy.
Not prey. Not love. An obsession. Something to destroy gently, slowly. Something that would take up all his time. That would fill his nights with demons, his thoughts with sweet poison.
He was short of breath. Like after a good drug. Like after a broken bone under his hand.
But it wasn't a fight.
It was worse.
It was her.
And since that night, he's come back. Again. And again. Without understanding. Just to feel that prick under his skin. That soft burn that says: "You're still alive, you bastard."
---
It was raining that day. A sticky, gooey, ugly rain. The kind that clings to your clothes like a dirty hand. He came back, for no reason, no purpose. Just because he needed to. Like you need to smoke after a cigarette. Like you need to bleed after a scar. He was there, and so was she.
Y/N. Crouched under a filthy awning, chewing gum stuck to her sole, acidic sweat under her armpits. She shivered, disheveled, exhausted, with that disconnected look. The look of a beaten animal still waiting to be caressed.
"You wanna pay for my fix? Or you want my ass? It's the same."
She said it in a neutral, mechanical tone, without provocation. Not a word too many, not a charming sigh. Just a price. A routine. He looked at her for a long time. It was perfect. It was sublime. She was his opposite. His mirror. A slower fall. Dirtier.
He smiled, a deathly grimace, like a guy watching a fly drown in vomit. A sound came from his throat, halfway between laughter and boredom.
"Ass, drugs... You think that pays? You think it's a trade, huh? Cheap junkie."
He leaned towards her, his breath warm and mocking.
"But you already signed. It's not a price you owe. It's your carcass, every day."
He added nothing. He placed a plastic bag in front of her. Inside: a tuna sandwich, a packet of chips, a donut. She grimaced. As if it were shit. And yet, she ate. Her hands trembled. Her mouth dirty. He watched her. Fascinated. She was as addicted to food as she was to crack. It was funny. Ugly and funny. The path to her soul went through her empty stomach.
One evening, he asked:
"What's your name?"
She stared at him, eyes narrowed, brain too slow.
"It's dead. I'll give it to you when you deserve it."
He laughed. A real laugh. He thought: this one, she deserves to be broken properly. Slowly. Gently. From the inside.
Then there was that night, under the bridge, when she told him a memory. She was six years old. Her mother had locked her in a bathroom for three days while she was screwing a guy in the bedroom. She had eaten a roll of toilet paper to survive. She said it like reciting a recipe. Without filter. Without shame. He didn't know if it was true. But he knew he was the only one who had heard it. And that was all that mattered.
One evening, she kissed him on the cheek. A small gesture. Nothing. But in his head, something had broken. A string. An attachment. He didn't understand. He didn't like it. It tightened his stomach. It made him warm. It made him want to bite.
He thought of her constantly. Her raspy voice. Her dirty hands. Her too-thin legs. He wanted her to be his. Not to love her. No. To possess her. To contain her. To crush her in the palm of his hand.
He couldn't stand knowing she was with others anymore. Those other guys. Those dealers, those scumbags, those mouths full of her saliva. She sold herself for a line, for a trace, for a sigh. It drove him crazy. Not jealous. Sick.
One evening, he arrived too late. Y/N had been hit. Her face was swollen. A black eye. A busted lip. She laughed. She said: "I didn't let him. I bit his cheek."
Seongje didn't answer. He knew who it was. He knew where to find him. He went there. And he massacred him. No screams. No anger. Just silence and blood. He washed his hands in a puddle. Then he came back. Y/N snuggled against him. Like a child. He breathed in her smell. Grime, powder, unrinsed shampoo. She was beautiful. Dirty, tired. But beautiful. With a strange beauty that attracts monsters.
He was one. And she knew it.
He masturbated thinking of her. Not naked. Vomiting. Screaming. Collapsing. He imagined her tears on his chest. Her claws on his skin. And he came shamelessly.
He didn't understand. He didn't love. He consumed. Like her. But she needed powder. He needed her screams.
He would watch her sleep sometimes. Not long. Just long enough to want to steal a piece of her. A tooth. An eyelid. A memory. He thought of her like a drug. Worse than anything she snorted. She made him dependent. She filled a void he didn't know he had. She made him believe he still existed.
He told himself: "I'll save her. But in my own way." That is, make her unable to flee. Give her just enough so she wouldn't die. But never enough for her to leave. He wanted her to beg, to cry, to hate him. To love him. To confuse him with Benefactor , with the dope, with the end of the world.
He wanted every sigh she let out to be an offering. A trace. Another padlock around her throat. She was no longer Y/N. She was his thing. His project. His slow destruction.
He offered her meals. But never drugs. He wanted her to need him. Not to get high. To survive. He wanted the pain of withdrawal to be associated with his face. For her to think of him when she trembled.
She resisted. She rebelled sometimes. She screamed. She said she hated him. That she would kill him. And he smiled. He hit her sometimes. Just enough for her to understand that he could. But not too much. Not yet.
One day, she told him:
"You're worse than the drugs. You infiltrate, you dig. And then you laugh."
He didn't deny it. He didn't know how to lie. He knew how to manipulate, yes. But he never lied. It wasn't necessary. She was already his.
But here's the thing.
He hadn't realized he was getting attached to a mask. A mirage. Y/N wasn't just a rag. She was playing. She was observing. She was testing. She was learning his habits, his rituals. She was noting his flaws. She was remembering his schedule.
And the best part?
He wouldn't get out of this anytime soon.
He had become attached to an illusion. And that illusion, one day, would break him harder than anything he had ever hit.
---
He didn't know why he'd come back. Not really. It wasn't love. He didn't know that word. It wasn't desire either. Not true desire. It was a craving. An emptiness. A kind of parasite in his gut, pounding at his insides, saying: "Go see her." And he went to see her. Again. Y/N. His rag. His poison. His sewer princess.
It was still raining. One of those thick, greasy, almost living rains. It streamed down his clothes, dripped down his neck, clung to his skin like forgotten cum. He walked, jaw clenched, hands in his pockets. He thought of her. Her broken-doll appearance. Her split lip. Her smell of misery.
And he saw her. Again. Huddled near the metro entrance. Too thin. Too much makeup. Negotiating with a guy. Old. Disgusting. Drool at the corner of his lips. She smiled. A mechanical smile. A survival smile. A goddamn grimace that ravaged something inside him.
Seongje saw red.
He didn't yell. He didn't charge. He approached slowly. And then he struck. The old man. Right in the temple. He fell like a sack of shit. Y/N jumped, eyes wide, but not truly surprised. She just said:
"Damn, did you snap again?"
He didn't look at her. He just grabbed her arm. Hard. Too hard. And he walked. Dragged her behind him. Like a dog. She protested. Not too much. Just enough to seem like resistance. He said nothing. He walked. Almost fuming with rage. His heart was in his throat, and his head was full of screams. Not against her. Against everything. Against himself. Against this need to keep her, to possess her, to tear her apart.
He took her to that two-room apartment. He had rented it, paid for it, cleaned it. Furnished it. Not much. Just a bed. A table. A shower. Clean sheets. Stain-free walls. Curtains without holes. A kitchenette. Silence. A nest. A prison.
Y/N entered. She stopped. Mouth slightly open. Eyes wide. A laugh escaped her. Not mocking. Almost wonder-struck.
"Holy shit... You did this for me?"
She spun around. Touched the walls. Hopped. Smiled. He watched her. And suddenly, it struck him. She wasn't listening to him. She never listened. She was dancing in HIS gesture. In HIS proof. She didn't hear his anger, his rage, his need to say: "YOU'RE MINE."
He slammed the door. Hard. She flinched.
"ARE YOU GOING TO STOP SMILING, DAMN IT?!"
She froze.
"You think this is a game? You think I'm doing this to watch you play princess? WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?! WHO ARE YOU TO DESERVE THIS?!"
He grabbed her by the shoulders. Shook her. She whimpered. He saw red again.
"You want to die in the street? You want to get fucked by rats again? You think I'm going to watch you spread your legs for a hit?!"
"THIS ISN'T YOUR HOME, BITCH! I'm the one paying, I'm the one who brought you here, I'm the one who pulled you out of your shit! You, you were getting FUCKED AGAINST A WALL FOR A LINE! And now you're playing princess?! What do you take me for?! You think this is Disneyland?!"
He screamed, the veins in his neck ready to burst. He grabbed her by the hair, slammed her against the wall. Not too hard. Just enough for her to feel the difference between her street and what he was offering her. She stared at him. Mute. He shook his head, mad with rage.
"You're going to listen to me, damn it. You're not bringing your dealers here. You're not selling yourself. You're not disappearing. You're not going to make me spin like shit, OK? YOU'RE MINE NOW. You breathe because I want you to. You eat because I feed you. You sleep because I give you the right. You're my project, my property, MY FUCKING THING!"
He spat on the ground, as if to exorcise his own weakness. He hit her. A slap. Loud. Painful. Then another. She collapsed onto the mattress. He approached, panting, looking at her thin, broken body. She trembled.
She trembled. Tears in her eyes. Silent. A small broken thing. He saw her back away. Back against the wall. Hands crossed. She murmured:
"You scare me..."
And then, everything changed.
He felt guilt. Real guilt. That filth that clings to the skin like dried blood. He hated it. His stomach twisted. His throat tightened. He wanted to say sorry. He didn't know how. He didn't know how to do it.
He sat down. Against the door. Breathed hard. He sweated with chills. Head between his knees. Heart in disarray.
"I just want you to stay. For you not to die. I just want to keep you, OK?"
And Y/N, she watched. Still with her back to the wall. Eyes shining. But not with fear. No. With pleasure. With triumph. A small sadistic spark in her gaze.
Y/N'S POV
She thought:
What a joke.
"You scare me"...
Ah, you poor fool. Punching bag. He'd believed it. Every word. Every tear. He'd swallowed it like a kid swallows a monster story. He'd gotten on his knees. Touching. Pathetic. And so easy.
Idiot.
He walked the walk. Like all the others. But he's better. He hits better. He screws better. He bleeds better. And he even knows how to find an apartment. Hahaha.
He's not like the bums in the street. He wants to save you. And that's his weakness.
She licked her lips.
He's already mine. I'm going to break him. Slowly. He thinks he dominates me, that dog. But I have the leash. I have fangs under my tongue.
She approached softly. Knees bent. Silent. She squatted in front of him.
"You're different. You're not like the others. You don't disgust me."
He raised his head. Looked at her. A flame, a doubt, an opening. She took advantage. She slid her hand against his cheek. Soft. Controlled.
"You're the only one who's ever looked at me as anything but a f***hole."
A lie.
"You might be crazy, but... you have a heart. It beats. It's dirty. But it beats."
Manipulation.
And he believed it. He believed in that tenderness. In that closeness. His heart tightened. He took her in his arms. Hard. Too hard. As if she could disappear.
He wanted her to love him.
He wanted her to look at him like a man. Not like a monster. He wanted her to think of him when she cried, not of the drugs. He wanted to be her fix.
But Y/N, she was already thinking ahead. She was thinking about how to wear him down. How to turn his rage against him. To make him implode from the inside.
She thought:
Damn, you're really pathetic. But I'll make you believe you're special. And you'll lick my feet while I strangle you from the inside.
I'm going to eat you up. I'm going to empty you. And when you have nothing left, I'll leave. Like a queen.
She closed her eyes, rested her head against his chest. Listened to his heartbeat. That rhythm of a beaten dog. She smiled. Faintly.
And murmured:
"Thank you..."
But she thought:
Die, asshole. Die of love. Die of craving.
---
A Few Weeks Later
He wouldn’t have known when it happened. Maybe the first time she came out of the bathroom, clean. Wet hair pulled back. Wearing a t-shirt too big for her, nothing underneath. Skin pale from water too hot. Eyes still hazy from a poorly hidden high. But he had seen her. REALLY seen her. And something snapped. A nerve. A vein. A boundary.
Seongje had never considered himself in love. That word was for the weak, the stupid, the teenagers. He wasn't that. He was something else. A rabid dog. A lost guy. But not in love. Not... on his knees. Yet he spent his days staring at her. Every movement. Every twitch. He devoured her with his eyes. Obsessed over her. She moved, he followed. She spoke, he memorized every word. And when she said nothing, he still heard her. The silence between them had become sexual, almost sticky.
Seongje wouldn’t have known how to say it out loud. But sometimes, when he looked at her, he felt afraid. Afraid of what he saw. Afraid of what she was becoming. Too real. Too alive. He had pulled her from the gutter. He had seen her shake, vomit, beg. And now she was smiling. She was glowing. Like a normal girl. Like a girl who could leave.
Y/N had caught on fast.
She dressed better now. Made sure her makeup was clean. Skin without sores. A cheap perfume that killed Seongje from the inside. Every time she got too close, he felt his cock harden in his jeans. And yet, she did nothing. She passed by. Brushed against him. Spoke softly. Looked at him with that half-childish, half-sadistic smile. And he caved.
Y/N no longer smelled like sweat, piss, dope. She started washing. Combing her hair. Even smiling differently. Clean nails. Clothes she bought, not scavenged. Simple dresses. But chosen.
And she was beautiful. Almost too much.
She touched him, too. When he was on edge, when he smelled heroin in her gaze, he exploded. He screamed. Broke things. Wanted to hit her, sometimes. Not out of sadism. Out of fear. Out of helplessness. And she, she would come. Press her cold hands against his chest. Kiss his neck. Gently. With that fake tenderness of a porn actress playing the sweet girlfriend.
— “Shhh... Look at me. I’m here. Calm down. You don’t need to scream. Just need me.”
And she was right. He calmed down. Every time. His whole body unraveled under her hands. When she placed her fingers on his shoulders, his arms, his chest, he felt like melting. Sometimes she undressed him with just a look. No need for sex. Just being there. Breathing near him. And he obeyed. Like a good dog.
He sometimes caught her, syringe in hand, ready to scream, ready to destroy everything. And she, she would come. Press her breasts against him. Put her mouth on his. Kissed him with a feverish hunger. Wet kisses. Slow. Almost loving. She panted in his ear:
— “You’re my guard dog. My man. My favorite poison. Let me... Just one last time, okay?”
He gave in. Always. And after, he locked himself alone in the bathroom. Fists clenched. Hating himself for loving her like that.
She had changed her look. Straightened hair. Tight clothes. Skirt. Little black top. A bit too sexy to go out. He panicked.
— “Where do you think you're going dressed like that?”
She smiled.
— “Nowhere. I do this for you. I want to be pretty for you. Isn’t that what you want?”
He didn’t answer. Swallowed hard. Hardened again under his jeans. And later, she started talking like him. Same insults. Same tone. Same dark looks.
— “Move it, asshole, you're annoying.”
He turned, ready to hit her. And he saw her laughing eyes. That disgusting game she played. She wanted to be him. Merge with him. Dissolve into his madness. He came that night just watching her sleep.
And he got used to it.
She had his same bark now. She repeated his insults like caresses. One day, she told him:
— “What do you think, asshole? That I need you?”
He burst out laughing. So did she. Then they fucked on the table, knocking over the pasta he had just cooked.
Afterward, she lit a cigarette and continued, softly:
— “You’re my guard dog. My emotional junkie. My fucking deranged teddy bear. And I’m your trash queen.”
He didn’t know what to say. He just laid his head on her stomach and breathed. Slowly. Deeply. As if she were his last breath of air.
And she felt it. She felt everything.
He was in total ecstasy. A junkie, yeah. But not for dope. Not for powder. Just for her. Her words. Her looks. Her silences. He waited for her slightest reactions like a dog waits for a bone.
***
Then there was that sentence. That moment.
They were sitting on the floor, backs to the wall. He smoked. She trembled. A nasty withdrawal. She said:
— “I’m not a project. I’m a wreck. And I need someone sick enough to love me... So, will you be the psycho who loves me?”
He felt pierced through. He said yes.
— “Yes, fuck. Of course. Whatever you want. Kill me if you want. But love me. Don’t leave.”
And she kissed him. For a long time. Deeply. Her tongue against his. Her mouth devouring him. No passion. No love. A mutual addiction. He put everything he couldn’t say into that kiss. His fears, his tenderness, his needs. She, she swallowed him whole.
And she came, silently, tasting his weakness. Tasting the pliable doll he had become.
***
One day, he went out. A meeting with The Union, Baek-jin’s gang. It dragged on. Too long. When he returned, she was waiting. Arms crossed. Frozen face.
— “Did you have fun with your whores?”
He blinked.
Confusion.
— “What?”
— “I saw you with them. Those two girls. Cute. Smiling. Eyeing you like you were their dealer.”
He growled. Raised his hands.
— “They’re gang members, Y/N. Stop acting jealous.”
— “Jealous? Jealous? Do I look like a normal chick to you? You think I won’t freak seeing you with other junkies? Huh? Got more girls you’re saving? How many projects you working on, you fucking asshole?!”
He exploded. Screamed. Threw a chair. Punched a wall. She stepped back. Pretended to be scared. He shouted:
— “SHUT UP! YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT! YOU’RE CRAZY!”
And she stepped back again, hands up. Eyes gleaming.
— “I’m crazy? I’m the crazy one now?!”
She burst into tears. Screamed. Then suddenly collapsed. On the floor. Convulsing. Screaming. A bad trip. Real or fake? He didn’t know. He ran to her.
— “Y/N?! Y/N fuck answer me!”
She thrashed. Screamed nonsense.
— “You left... You left... You left me... I don’t want... I don’t want you to leave…”
She trembled. Screamed. Tore her t-shirt. Scratched herself. He panicked. Held her. Tight. She foamed. Screamed. He cried. Really. Real tears. He shook.
— “I swear… I swear I don’t know them… I love you, fuck. You’re all I have. Don’t die. Don’t fucking die now…”
She calmed down after an hour. Slowly. Breathed hard. Laid her head against his chest. Whispered:
— “You’re my only refuge…”
He closed his eyes. And bled inside. Because he NEEDED to hear that. Because she had made him addicted. Because she was his poison. Because she had won.
She had made him dependent. Hooked on her. She had turned him inside out. And he loved her.
He loved her like a madman. Like a wreck. Like a dog.
He fell asleep with her in his arms. Breathing her scent. And he thought:
I’m dying. But I’m hers. And that’s all I have.
And she, in her sleep, smiled.
Another point for Y/N.
***
That night, she watched him sleep. Shirtless, tense body, clenched jaw even in sleep. He dreamt badly. She smiled.
In her pocket, she hid a small baggie. Gifted by an old contact – a remnant of her past, a temptation she had sworn off. But now, it was different: it wasn’t for her. It was for him.
The next morning, she woke him gently, naked under a t-shirt too big for Seongje.
— “I have a gift.”
He raised an eyebrow. He never understood her moods.
— “A real sign of trust. Want to try it with me? Just once.”
In the hollow of her palm, she revealed the powder. Fine, pure. White as a promise.
He turned pale.
— “Are you serious?”
— “It’s just… for me. For us.”
Her voice was soft. She placed her hand on his neck. She knew how to break him. He was afraid, but looked at her like a beaten puppy. He wanted to love her so badly, he was ready to betray himself.
She had won.
They lay down. She rolled, cut, prepared. Guided his movements. He trembled, but let her do it.
When he inhaled, it was like his world imploded. Silence thickened. Time dilated. And she watched him melt, slowly, as if he emptied himself completely.
Y/N leaned in, whispered in his ear:
— “You’re mine now. For real.”
And she laughed.
***
The next day, he felt dirty. He said nothing. Avoided her eyes.
She, she was radiant. She had infected him. That was her plan.
She had converted him to her hell.
He wanted to save me. Now, he’ll have to save himself from me. Too late.
---
Here is the full English translation of your powerful and emotionally intense narrative, with "Emma" replaced by Y/N as requested:
---
POV SEONGJE
He felt like he was constantly walking on eggshells with her.
Him. Seongje. The guy whose mere presence could silence entire rooms. The one no one dared interrupt, the one people avoided even when he said nothing. The one whose single glance could make men the size of three wardrobes back off. That guy—that guy—was now lowering his eyes in front of a lost girl, holding his breath whenever she frowned.
A cosmic slap to his ego. A dirty irony that clung to him like cold sweat.
She lost it over nothing.
An unanswered message. A glance that lingered too long on a waitress. A conversation with Baek-jin she didn’t like.
And that was it. The sighs, the sharp silences, the midnight meltdowns. He tried talking to her, understanding her, reassuring her. But she always came back to the same place: suspicion. That slow, steady venom.
Nothing was normal anymore.
She freaked out over nothing. All the time. Every day. A dish left in the wrong place, a message left on read, a glance too long at some other chick. Even Baek-jin—she wanted his head. Just because he’d clapped him on the shoulder. Because he dared laugh with him.
And him? He was there… holding his breath every time she opened her mouth.
Y/N wasn’t jealous.
Y/N watched.
And that’s what drove him mad: he wanted to believe her when she smiled. When she rested her head on his shoulder. When she came to pick him up at HQ with that soft voice and wide eyes like bottomless wells. When she cooked for him, dancing barefoot on the tiles, like life could be sweet, like she wanted to make him happy.
And every time he started to relax, to believe in them, she’d drop a single line.
A poison.
— “Who were you with for those two hours, huh?”
— “You don’t want me, is that it? You’re thinking of someone else?”
— “You think I’m too dumb to see how she looks at you?”
Always followed by a bite. A doubt. A sweet, sharp kind of cruelty.
He felt drained. Driven by her. Controlled like a fucking puppet. And the worst part? No one around dared say a word.
This wasn’t love—it was a hostage situation with morning kisses.
She cooked for him sometimes. When she felt like it. She’d put effort into it like she was being graded. And then, right after:
— “You didn’t even say thank you. Were you thinking of her when you ate that?”
Her? Who the fuck was "her"?
But he didn’t dare ask. Afraid to set off another fire.
She’d come pick him up from meetings. Storm down like a maniac if he didn’t answer.
— “Where were you? Fucking one of your Union groupies, is that it?”
She’d shout. In front of everyone. Even the guys didn’t dare meet his eyes after that.
There’d be silence. A thick, awkward quiet. And her… she’d cling to his arm like nothing had happened. Like she’d just exercised a basic right.
***
A few days later
Outside The Union hideout, late afternoon
Baek-jin is leaning against a wall, cigarette hanging from his lips, looking exaggeratedly relaxed. Seongje has just walked over after defusing another public scene caused by Y/N. She almost went off on a girl for looking at him.
Baek-jin speaks without turning his head.
— “She still barking, your bitch?”
Seongje swallows hard, tense, hands stuffed into his tracksuit pockets.
— “Shut the fuck up, Baek-jin. Not the time.”
Baek-jin smirks, takes a long drag.
— “No, but seriously. You can’t control her anymore. It’s funny. The guy they used to call ‘Wolf’—now lowering his head because his girl throws fits at every skirt in sight.”
He stands up, slowly walking over, cigarette dangling between two fingers. His voice lowers. Becomes sharp.
— “Get your girl on a leash, Seongje. She’s screwing with my business. And you know I don’t tolerate that.”
Seongje finally looks up. There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes.
— “She hasn’t hurt anyone.”
Baek-jin raises his eyebrows.
— “Not yet. But she’s close. She stares at people like she’s ready to stab someone. And you? You just sigh? What—lost your bite?”
A brutal silence. Baek-jin steps closer.
— “Forgot who put you back on your throne?”
His voice gets harder.
— “Need me to remind you you’re no king here? You’re just my well-trained dog. So if your animal starts biting… I’ll be the one to put it down.”
A chill runs up Seongje’s spine. He says nothing, jaw clenched. Baek-jin leans in.
— “You were always good at unleashing violence. But love? Not your thing. Look what she’s done to you. Look at yourself.”
He steps back, sneering.
— “Pathetic.”
Baek-jin drops his cigarette, crushes it underfoot, walks off. Seongje stands still. Clenched fists. Knuckles white. But he doesn’t move. He swallows his rage. For now.
He loved her. He clung to her like a drowning man to wreckage.
But deep down, it was eating him alive. He felt it.
***
He comes home early that day. For once. No fights. No deals. No meetings. He even picked up noodles—her favorite kind. A dumb gesture. A couple’s thing. A rare, fragile kindness.
But the room is empty.
He sits. Waits. Smokes two cigarettes. Then gets up. Starts rummaging—not really looking. Just habit. A born paranoiac.
And there it is. Under a cushion. Poorly hidden. Too poorly hidden to be a real secret. More like a trap. Or a test.
A notebook.
Black. Worn. Chewed-up corners. He recognizes it. Thought it was just an old journal.
He opens it.
First page: a sketch. Sloppy. Him, with a syringe in his neck. Crow wings. A torn heart.
And then pages and pages of words. Not love notes. No. Twisted things. Ugly thoughts. Dry-inked screams.
> “He thinks he loves me. He devours me. He wants to own me. He’s a fucking emotional parasite, nothing more.”
“He wants to play hero but he’s more toxic than my dealer.”
“I fake it. Every day. And he gets off on it. On my broken doll act. He wants me to bleed for him.”
> “Seongje smothers me. I can’t stand his stare, the way he needs to know everything. He thinks it’s love, but he’s choking me like a leash. One day I’ll gouge his eyes out so he stops watching me.”
> “He touches me like a kid discovering a squashed frog. Fascinated. Gross. Curious. I want to puke when he says ‘I love you.’”
> “He fucks me like a desperate dog but wants me to love him like a poet.”
> “I fake everything. Always. Except when I force myself to smile so he won’t suspect. He’s so dumb, he thinks I need him. But he’s the addict. He’s mine. I could get him to jump off a roof if I begged just right.”
> “Seongje = worm disguised as a king. No balls. Just obsession.”
> “This is love, Geum-style: a broken brain and a cock always hard. Always ready to fuck you up.”
Every word. A shock.
Every line. An intimate betrayal.
She had dissected him. Observed him. Stripped him to the bone. She’d written things she’d never dare say out loud. Things she’d screamed in her rages, that he’d thought were exaggerations.
They weren’t. They were planned. Calculated.
He stood frozen. A long time. Notebook in hand. Breath shallow. Then he heard her come in.
She was whistling.
Like nothing had happened.
And something inside him broke.
Not a crack.
A fracture. Clean. Deep. Like a dam splitting open.
He stood up.
Watched her come in, smiling—and didn’t even think.
He threw the notebook at her feet. Hard.
— “Explain. Now.”
She smiled at first. Thought it was a joke.
Then she saw his eyes.
She stepped back.
— “You… you’re going through my stuff now? Wow. Real respectful.”
He stepped closer.
— “You left me no choice.”
He grabbed her arms. Hard. Too hard. Slammed her against the wall. His face inches from hers.
— “You write that I touch you like a dog. That I smother you. That you fake everything. That you’ll gouge my eyes out?!”
She whimpered. Denied. Cried. Screamed “I love you! I love you!”
He didn’t care.
He shook her.
— “You wrote you could drive me to suicide. You wrote I have no balls. That you’d make me jump off a roof!”
He saw himself becoming the old him. Before her. Before the addiction. He wanted to hit her. To make her feel his pain. But he stopped. Just in time.
Not out of kindness.
Out of fear—of himself.
She collapsed to the floor. Screamed. Sobbed. Twisted the narrative to play victim. But her tears rang false. And now, he knew it.
She was lying. Again.
Later. Silence. A sticky, sick calm. Seongje sitting on the bed. Nothing left to yell. Just this feeling of being hollowed out. Like she’d drained all the blood from his veins.
Then she came back. With a piece of paper.
She read aloud.
— “You locked me up for three days when I was in withdrawal.”
— “You fucked me without asking if I was even really there, really conscious.”
— “You hit me. Even if it ‘wasn’t hard.’ Even if you said sorry.”
— “You control everything. You want to know where I go, who I’m with. You’re paranoid. Sick. You scare me.”
— “You told your mom I was just a whore.
You made me bleed. You insulted me. You spat on me.
You said I was only good for moaning.
You still think about your ex.
You don’t want to love me. You want to own me.”
She was lying. A little. Exaggerating. A lot.
But some lines… hit home.
And she ended it, voice raw, trembling, almost tender:
— “And despite all that, I love you. Can you imagine my pain?”
A shiver.
Not of anger.
Of fear.
He felt his heart slam against his ribs. Something filthy rising from his gut. Not nausea. Realization.
She wasn’t his victim.
She was his tormentor.
And she knew exactly what she was doing.
He saw every smile again. Every night spent together. Every bit of tenderness offered like a gift. And he understood: she only ever showed him what she wanted him to see. Nothing more.
She wasn’t broken.
She was programmed to manipulate.
And she’d won.
Because he’d fallen in love with an image. A mirage.
Y/N wasn’t a wounded lover.
Y/N was a poison—taken drop by drop.
And he hadn’t seen the worst yet.
---
Y/N was becoming more and more paranoid. More and more. She no longer settled for just crises. She invented the reasons.
Everything was good to test his reaction. She was playing a game. And Seongje struggled within rules she constantly changed.
She changed her perfume. A detail. Almost nothing. But not for him.
***
One morning, she came out of the bathroom, towel around her hips, wet hair, and a new scent clinging to her skin. Not the one he knew, not the one he had learned to associate with her sheets, with her kidneys, with their life together. A woodier, harsher scent. A man's note. A man's perfume.
Seongje said nothing. He watched her pass by, a knot in his stomach. He sniffed her like an animal tracking a lie. But she didn’t flinch. She acted as if nothing was wrong. Light dance, slow movements. She served him coffee. He didn’t touch it.
Two days later, she came home late. Too late. She almost staggered, but not from alcohol. Just... blurry. Cold. Different.
She leaned toward him, kissed him on the lips. He still smelled that strange scent. She sat on the couch and silently lit a cigarette.
— Where were you?
She shrugged.
— I went for a walk. I needed air.
He bit his cheek, stared at the floor. Then, after a long silence:
— Did you sleep with someone?
— "Do you think I need to answer you?"
She burst out laughing. A broken laugh. Joyless. Then she stared at him, long.
— You left me. For too long. I was cold. That’s all.
Her voice was flat. Her gaze empty. As if she were talking about the weather. As if it didn’t matter.
Something broke inside him, again. He stood up, heart in shambles.
— That was a joke, right? You love me. You love me, right?
He approached, took her by the nape and kissed her. Wildly. Almost violently. She didn’t move. She let it happen. Inert. A body without response. A body from the past. And that silence was worse than a scream.
***
Days passed. Heavier and crazier.
Then he noticed it. That gesture she made. Often. Too often.
Her hand resting on her belly. Not really voluntary. Unconscious. Protective. First once. Then twice. Ten. Twenty. Always the same touch. Like a timid, automatic caress. And Seongje saw. Understood.
She was pregnant.
He said nothing. Not right away. But he searched. Again.
He entered the bathroom. Threw the sachet on the floor.
— What’s wrong with you? Besides being a junkie, you’re anemic?
She came out, hair messy, a t-shirt too big on her back, and looked at him without answering. She understood.
— Is that it? You...
She cut him off.
— You guessed all by yourself, little genius?
She smiled. A split smile. Cruel.
Seongje felt the ground give way. He didn’t know whether to cry or scream.
— Is it mine?
And then, the world tilted.
Her face changed.
— Excuse me?
She stared at him as if he had just called her a “whore” in front of her mother.
— You’re asking me that? After all I’ve endured?!
Her voice rose. Suddenly.
— DO YOU THINK I’M WHO?! HUH?! A STREET SLUT? YOU THINK I SPREAD MY LEGS FOR ANYONE?!
He wanted to answer. She didn’t let him. She threw a lamp against the wall. Screamed. Punched the walls with her fists. Then slammed the door.
She disappeared for a week. No news. No messages. The void.
When she came back, she was different. Darker. Hollow eyes, sharp cheekbones. She reeked of drugs, night, and pain.
He was sitting, waiting for her. He had prepared words. But seeing her, everything collapsed.
— Where were you?
She looked up at him, didn’t answer.
— You don’t have the right to leave like that. What the hell are you doing? You’re pregnant, damn it!
She laughed. A hollow laugh. Bottomless.
He approached, tried to take her by the shoulders.
— Don’t touch me.
He insisted. She grabbed a bottle. And smashed it on his head.
The glass flew. Blood flowed. And Seongje fainted.
***
When he woke up, the pain was sharp, pulsating. His forehead sticky, crusted with dried blood. He tried to move. His wrists burned. Tied. To the radiators. With a leather belt.
The light was dim. The air heavy with a harsh scent. Her scent. Their apartment. Blood.
And her voice. Soft. Almost sung.
— Look at your father. He’s already dead, but he doesn’t know it yet.
He opened his eyes slightly. She was there. Sitting opposite. Unmade-up. Hair disheveled. In a nightshirt.
She stared at her belly. She spoke to it. To that embryo. That future.
Seongje tried to speak. Nothing came out. His tongue was thick. His throat dry. The metallic taste of blood on his lips.
And she looked at him. Finally. Like an entomologist watching an insect. Curious. Detached. Almost amused.
— You’re not so cocky now, huh?
She approached. Slowly. Their faces just inches apart. He felt her breath. Warm. Sweet. Nauseating.
— You know what I realized?
She placed a finger on his cheek, slowly.
— That you like to suffer. You like it when I humiliate you. It turns you on.
He shivered. With fear. And something else. Shame. A dirty shame.
— You like me to tie you up. You like being my dog.
She straightened up. Took off her nightshirt. Naked. With disturbing ease.
— Even now, with your blood flowing, you still have an erection, you filthy bastard.
She laughed. A deep laugh. Soft. Inhuman.
— You think you have the power. But you never did. From day one. I’m the one holding your leash.
She crouched in front of him. Caressed his hair, chin, chest.
— You’ll have to love me twice as much now. Because there will be two of us hating you if you mess up.
A silence. Long. Sticky.
— "You’ve always been beautiful when you suffer."
He tried to speak. His throat was dry.
— "Y/N… what are you doing…"
She tilted her head, curious. Like a child in front of an insect.
— "I was wondering… how long it would take you to beg. To cry. To tell me you love me."
She came closer. Slowly. The knife slid over his cheek. Gently. Not to hurt. To mark. She was laying down her domination like a filthy caress.
— "Do you still think I’m a victim? Huh, Seongje?"
She climbed on him. Sat on his thighs. He felt her warmth, her scent, her hair brushing him. And he shivered. With fear. Shame. And a twisted desire.
— "You’ve always liked that. Being dominated. That’s your thing, right?"
She slowly opened her shirt. He shivered. Not from the cold. From her. She took her time. Savored every second. Her breath on his neck. Her weight. Her tongue on his ear.
— "You think I’m the crazy one. But you’re the junkie. Addicted to me. To my scent. To my screams. To my filth."
He closed his eyes. She blew harder.
— "Do you love me?"
He nodded. Almost against himself.
— "Say it."
— "I love you…"
She smiled. A magnificent and hideous grimace.
— "I’m going to teach you how to die for me."
She plunged the knife into the floor, between his legs. A sharp sound. He jumped. She laughed.
— "Were you scared?"
He didn’t answer.
She slapped him. Hard. A moist, painful slap.
— "I SAID: WERE YOU SCARED?!"
He screamed. A torn yes. She looked at him, panting. Triumphant. She had just broken him.
Then she kissed him. Mouth open. Deep. As if she wanted to devour him.
Their breath mingled. A sick heat enveloped them. He felt his tears fall, not knowing if he cried from pain, desire, or disgust with himself.
She whispered in his ear:
— "That’s love. Now, you’re mine. Forever."
And in that burning silence, he understood he would never escape this circle. She had taken everything. Even his fear belonged to her.
And he wanted more.
And she kissed him. Slowly. Like a sentence.
Seongje closed his eyes. A tear fell. Not pain. Not rage. Just… acceptance.
Y/N was his poison. And he was already contaminated.
The gymnasium smelled of waxed wood, sweat, and muffled music. In the mirror at the far end, reflections overlapped: the rapid movement of a fist against a punching bag, the straight back of a boy sitting on the bleachers, and, further away, the silhouette of a young girl dancing silently.
She always arrived at the same time. Right after her classes at the downtown classical dance academy. She would drop her things in a corner, isolate herself, plug in her headphones – old, black models, worn at the edges – and begin to dance. Not to rehearse a passage, nor to impress. Just for herself. For the silence she found in movement. To breathe.
Y/N.
Si-eun had known her name for three weeks. He had heard it by chance one day when her teacher had called her on her phone, which had been left on the bench. That day, he had written her name in the margin of his notebook. Like an important fact to remember, like a mathematical data point that should not be forgotten. "Y/N. 5:04 PM. Wednesday."
Since then, he had observed her. Discreetly, without ever disturbing her. He noted the movements she repeated, the music he managed to guess through her headphones, the rhythm of her breathing during the grand jetés. It wasn't a morbid obsession, no. It was a form of study. Si-eun didn't yet understand why he felt this calm watching her dance. So he did what he knew how to do: he analyzed.
Su-ho, on the other hand, was less subtle.
He would sometimes stop between rounds to admire her in the mirror. He said nothing, but his gaze would soften, almost fragile, a rare thing for him. He would pretend to stretch when she passed nearby. And when she briefly looked up to glance around, he would immediately look away with the agility of an actor.
They had never exchanged a word. Not a hello. Not a smile. Nothing. And yet, every Wednesday, tension slowly wove itself into the margins of their days.
Y/N had seen them. Of course, she had seen them.
Si-eun always sitting in the same place, his eyes fixed on his papers – or rather, on her. And Su-ho, who would smile for no reason when Si-eun cast a quick glance at him between two equations. She didn't listen to them, she didn't really dare to. But sometimes, they would touch. Simple gestures – a hand on the shoulder, a brush of fingers while passing a water bottle – but for them, it was almost intimate.
What had struck her wasn't the gesture, it was the permission. Si-eun, the boy with the closed-off air, didn't let anyone approach him. Yet, he never recoiled from Su-ho. And when their eyes met, it was as if the rest of the world faded away.
She found them beautiful. Together. She admired them.
And yet, that Wednesday, everything slightly changed.
5:22 PM.
The wooden platform where she danced had just been waxed by the center's employees. A detail that Y/N hadn't noticed. She wanted to test a sequence: arabesque, pirouette, saut de chat. But as soon as her foot left the ground, she felt the slip. A fraction of a second too long, and her center of gravity betrayed her. She let out a small cry, muffled by her music. No one would have heard her. No one except him.
Su-ho had jumped up without thinking.
For a moment, Y/N saw the ceiling spin, then two strong arms caught her before impact. He had slipped a little too, but he had held on, absorbing the fall, holding her with unexpected gentleness.
She was in his arms. Just for a second.
"You almost broke something," he murmured, almost in a whisper.
She looked at him. Up close, he had soft eyes. A little worried. And he smelled... of sweat, cheap shampoo, and something reassuring.
"Thank you..." she breathed.
He smiled. Not his usual arrogant smile, but a sincere, almost tender one. He helped her up gently.
On the other side of the gymnasium, Si-eun watched them. He had stood up without even realizing it. His notebook had fallen at his feet. He didn't know exactly what he was feeling – relief? Worry? A shiver ran between his shoulder blades, a sort of vertigo.
But it wasn't jealousy. It wasn't anger. It was... something else. A dull vibration. A new feeling.
When Y/N turned briefly towards him, their eyes met. She tilted her head gently, a hint of a greeting, shy but sincere.
He responded with a slight nod, but his eyes remained fixed on her longer than intended.
6:02 PM.
Y/N had sat down again, legs folded against her chest, her headphones still on, but without music this time. She occasionally glanced at the two boys.
They were laughing now, one tapping the other on the shoulder. A natural, fluid complicity. Y/N smiled to herself.
She thought that whether they were together or not, there was something rare between them. A silent loyalty, a light in their gestures. She blushed slightly as she watched them.
Maybe one day, she would dare to really talk to them.
Or maybe they would come to her.
---
An April evening. The air smelled of a light chill and cherry trees that were taking their time.
Y/N had found this corner of the park by chance a month earlier. It was isolated, set back from the too-bright lampposts and children's shouts. Here, the light was yellow, warm, flickering like a nightlight. An old bench creaked beside a patch of cracked asphalt – not the ideal place to dance, but she loved it for its solitude.
That evening, she wasn't alone.
Su-ho had insisted on accompanying her. He hadn't really asked permission; he had said, smiling, "You know, it would be much less dangerous if you had an audience."
And against all odds, Si-eun had followed. Without a word, as always, but his hands in his pockets and his eyes curious.
Y/N wore an oversized sweater, her headphones around her neck, and a slight smile she tried to hide. Su-ho wore his laughter. Si-eun, his silence. The three of them formed a strange tableau, like a poem in three different languages.
She began to dance. Not a strict choreography, but free gestures, guided by the music escaping from her phone placed beside her. The lamppost light drew soft shadows around her. Sometimes her feet would slip a little on the asphalt, but she compensated with the grace of her arms, the undulation of her neck, that natural fluidity she never showed at school.
Su-ho clapped his hands.
"Whoa!" he exclaimed, exaggeratedly. "Did you see that, Si-eun? She's floating, seriously. She looks like a spirit!"
She laughed. A real laugh, not discreet. That laugh made Su-ho's eyes widen. He started to imitate her, clumsy, hopping in place, twirling with his arms raised in a chaotic version of her movements.
"Look, I'm doing the same! Bring on your critiques, I'm ready for the Seoul Opera."
Y/N doubled over with laughter, holding her stomach, and Su-ho voluntarily fell to his knees in an absurd bow. She applauded him, her eyes shining.
Si-eun, for his part, didn't speak. He was filming. From the bench, he had taken out his phone without even thinking. He captured the images: Y/N dancing, Y/N laughing, Su-ho twirling and falling, and that warm light on their faces. A rare smile – thin, almost shy – slowly spread across his lips.
He hadn't seen this moment coming. He had come out of curiosity. But at this precise instant, something shifted within him. Like a cloud sliding past a star and revealing it even brighter.
Su-ho stood up, breathing a little heavily, his hands on his hips. Y/N sat down on the bench, between the two of them.
"Are you always like this together?" she asked softly.
Su-ho shrugged, teasingly, "Like what? Talented?"
"Like... close."
The word hung in the air for a moment.
Si-eun turned his head towards her. Su-ho raised an eyebrow, surprised. She lowered her eyes, almost regretting her words.
"You're beautiful, together. I mean... You understand each other without speaking. It's rare."
Su-ho remained silent. Si-eun, for his part, observed Y/N for a long time. He had never thought of their bond in those terms. But he knew it was true. They understood each other. And now, she too seemed to be gently entering this fragile equation.
Later that night, each went home.
***
Y/N, in silence, lay down on her bed. Her hands resting on her stomach. Her heart was beating too fast.
She had wanted to kiss them. Both of them. Tonight, she had felt the urge more strongly than ever. When Su-ho had watched her dance as if she were a miracle. When Si-eun had looked up from his phone and she had seen his smile. A real smile. The thought had flashed through her mind: to place her lips on Su-ho's, then turn her face and do the same with Si-eun.
But she hadn't done it. Because she didn't want to spoil the sweetness. Because she didn't know if what she felt had the right to exist. And a wave of guilt had enveloped her, as beautiful as it was painful.
***
At Su-ho's house, the emotion had hit him like a hook to the heart.
He couldn't stop replaying her laughter. That sound, light and raw, had imprinted itself on him like a song he didn't want to forget. He didn't understand exactly what he was feeling, but it burned. Sweet, pure. He wanted to see her again. Not in a setting, not in a gym, but there, under the stars. Just to make her laugh again. He would have danced a thousand times like an idiot if it could offer him that.
He turned over in his bed, arms behind his head, a silly smile plastered on his face. He didn't need to understand. He just knew he was falling in love.
***
At Si-eun's house, everything was silent.
He was sitting at his desk. His notebook open. His phone placed beside it.
He launched the video.
Y/N was dancing. Su-ho was laughing. And he... was smiling.
He watched again. And again.
Something tightened in his chest. An emotion he knew poorly, but could no longer deny. It was Y/N. What she exuded. That mix of strength and modesty. That soft light, not overwhelming, but persistent. He understood that night that he was falling in love. Slowly, gently. Like falling into a dream he had never dared to imagine.
And it was beautiful. Not painful. Just pure.
He didn't know what it meant for them. For Su-ho, for him. There was no jealousy. Just a strange certainty: he wanted her to be there. To stay in their world. She had found her place, somewhere between their silences, their gestures, their gazes.
Three hearts, suspended in a silent equilibrium.
A girl who danced.
A boy who laughed
Another who wrote.
And love, timid, silent, luminous like a lamppost in a forgotten park.
---
There was something strange since the night in the park. Since the laughter under the lampposts, the dance steps, the stolen smiles in the silence. An invisible thread had stretched between them, not taut with anger, no. Rather with questions.
Su-ho had been the first to say it out loud. They were alone on the high school roof, where they liked to hide from the noise. The wind played in Su-ho's hair, and Si-eun was reading, sitting against the wall. Su-ho stretched and then said, without malice:
"Hey, Si-eun... You like her, huh?"
Silence. Si-eun slowly raised his eyes.
"Y/N."
He didn't need to specify.
Si-eun looked down at his pages, but his fingers had frozen.
"I..."
"It's not an accusation," Su-ho added with a smile. "Because me too."
This time, Si-eun raised his head. Not with anger. But with a dizziness. The world was too vast for their emotions, so recent, so fragile.
"It's... weird," he murmured. "I'm scared."
Su-ho blinked.
"Of what?"
"Of liking her. Of losing her. Of destroying what we have. You and me."
Su-ho burst out laughing, but without mockery.
"Love is so scary. What if she..."
He waved his hands in the air, mimicking an imaginary catastrophe. But in his eyes, there was a poignant tenderness.
"Si-eun... even if we're both in love with her, there's no war between us. There's just us. And her."
There was silence. Then a smile. Small, but real. They didn't yet know how to exist with that truth, but they knew it wasn't going to break them.
...
Y/N, on her side, suffered in silence.
She thought about them every night. About the looks, the gestures, that invisible thread. And she also thought about what she couldn't have. She still believed they were together. And she cursed herself for loving both of them. For wanting their arms, their voices, even their silences.
But she didn't want to be a threat. Not to be the grain of sand in their perfect mechanism. So she stayed. She stayed near them, always shy, but smiling. Her smile was an armor. And a call.
...
That day, she appeared at the high school exit.
Si-eun and Su-ho were leaving together, bags on their backs, looking peaceful. And there, on the sidewalk, she was waiting for them. Standing in her dance academy uniform, her arms loaded with a cardboard box.
"Love is so scary," Su-ho murmured with a mocking smile. "What if she comes to pick you up all excited after school?"
Si-eun gently nudged him on the shoulder, but his gaze didn't leave Y/N.
She was smiling. For nothing. For everything.
"Hi!" she said. "I... I'm selling cakes for my school. For the trip to Busan."
Su-ho scratched the back of his neck.
"Ah. Uh. I'll take... two, then."
He paid, out of politeness, and bit into one immediately. He grimaced.
"It's... different."
Si-eun, silent, took a small shortbread. The taste hit him suddenly: sweet, simple, a little lemony. He took a second one. Then a third.
Y/N lowered her eyes, a little flushed.
"I like to cook. Especially when... I'm thinking of people I like."
They nodded. Nothing more. But the bond tightened.
...
The day after, Y/N came back. She was holding a small kraft paper bag, tied with string.
She ran into Su-ho in the hallway of the sports center.
"Hi. This is for... you. Well. For your boyfriend."
"My... huh?"
"Si-eun. I mean, I think it's adorable. And I wanted to do something for you."
Su-ho stared at her, blinked.
Then burst out laughing. Loudly. So much so that two high school students turned around.
"Wait, wait. You think Si-eun and I are together?"
She blushed, looking flustered.
"Sorry! I... I thought. I mean, the way you look at each other. I was wrong. That's stupid."
He grabbed her hand.
"Come on."
"Where?"
"We're going to clear up a misunderstanding."
...
They arrived in the courtyard. Si-eun was reading, of course. When he saw Su-ho arrive, dragging Y/N by the hand, he closed his book.
"We have a problem," Su-ho said, still laughing. "Our Lover thinks we're a couple."
Si-eun blinked slowly.
Y/N stammered:
"I-I'm so sorry! I just got the impression, the way you look at each other... I was mistaken. It's silly."
Silence. Then Si-eun spoke, for once without hesitation.
"You weren't mistaken. There's a lot of love between us. Just... not the kind you think."
Su-ho added:
"But there's also a lot of love for you. And that's more confusing."
Y/N froze. The bag fell to the ground.
"I..."
"Me too," Si-eun said. "I love you. For a while now. It's scary. But I love you."
Su-ho, arms crossed, nodded.
"Same. I love you. Seriously. And even if it's weird, even if it complicates everything..."
They were looking at her. Both of them. Their eyes full of fire, fear, beauty.
She took a step back.
"But you... both of you..."
"We don't want to make you choose," Su-ho said.
"We don't want to fight," Si-eun completed.
She looked at them for a long time. Then she took a step towards them.
She hugged them. Both of them. An arm around each.
And said, in a breath:
"Me too."
Three heartbeats. Three silences.
And the beginning of a story outside the classic lines. A story where love destroys nothing. Where it simply adds.
Where they learn, together, to love with multiple voices.
---
Their world had shifted silently, like a breeze changing direction. Since that day in the courtyard, they were no longer just three searching for each other, brushing against each other, holding back. They had found each other. Without awkwardness, without grand speeches. Just simple words. And the naked truth: they loved each other.
First Moment: The Rooftop
They often returned to the high school rooftop. It was their refuge. Y/N would sit between the two of them, legs crossed. Su-ho would massage her shoulders when she said she had danced too much. Si-eun would offer her pieces of dark chocolate that he always kept in his pocket. She would grimace each time because it was bitter, but she accepted anyway.
One day, she fell asleep against Su-ho's shoulder, and her hand brushed against Si-eun's. He didn't dare to pull it away. He left it there, just underneath. He watched her sleep for a long time. Su-ho too. They said nothing to each other. But they both knew they were exactly where they wanted to be.
Second Moment: The Storm
One evening, a storm surprised them as they were leaving the sports center. They ran in the rain, laughing like children. Y/N slipped in her ballet flats, and Su-ho hoisted her onto his back without thinking. She shouted, laughed, and hit his shoulder to make him put her down. He refused.
They took refuge in a deserted bus stop. Y/N was shivering. Si-eun took a sweatshirt out of his bag and put it over her shoulders. She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling the faint scent of the fabric.
Then, without any of them knowing who had started it, there was a kiss. Light. On her forehead. From Su-ho to her. Then another. On her cheek. From Si-eun. She opened her eyes again, her cheeks pink, and said simply:
"I love the rain."
And they all three laughed.
Third Moment: Small Attentions
Y/N, although shy, loved taking care of them. She prepared bentos that were too pretty, too well-organized, with clumsy handwritten notes.
"Don't forget to drink water. You sweat a lot! (It's cute though.)" was stuck on Su-ho's.
"I put tuna even though I know you don't like it much. But I do. (Sorry.)" on Si-eun's.
They kept all these little papers. Su-ho stuck them in his training notebook. Si-eun slipped them between the pages of his books.
And they returned the favor. One day, she found a pressed rose between two pages of her dance notebook. And a word, scribbled in stiff handwriting:
"You bring beauty to places where I only saw emptiness."
She melted. And sulked the next day because neither of them confessed who had written it.
Fourth Moment: Funny Arguments
Y/N had a strong personality. She would laugh at nothing but sulk at even less. When she dropped a glass and Su-ho said, "Do you have two left hands or what?", she would cross her arms and turn her head.
"It's not me. It's karma."
And Si-eun would raise an eyebrow. She would point at him.
"And you, stop judging me in silence."
He would say nothing but hand her a towel. She would grumble, then eventually smile. And everything would go back to normal.
Fifth Moment: The Day She Kissed Them
They were alone in the dance studio of her academy one Saturday evening. She had the key. She wanted to show them a step she couldn't master.
They had watched her, focused, sweaty, luminous. She fell, again. Then, on the floor, she looked at them, one knee bent, her cheeks pink:
"Can you love me even if I'm not perfect?"
Su-ho knelt down first.
"I love you because you fall. And because you get back up."
Then Si-eun, simply:
"You are perfect for me."
She kissed them. Lightly. One after the other. Without fear. Their hands on her cheeks, her fingers in their hair.
A kiss that asked for nothing. That gave everything.
Sixth Moment: The Festival
At the spring festival, they got lost in the crowd. They eventually found each other near a lantern stand.
They bought one.
Each wrote a word on it:
"Protection." – Su-ho.
"Peace." – Si-eun.
"Us." – Y/N.
And they let it fly away, their hands joined, their eyes raised.
The boys changed.
Su-ho became more tender. Less defensive, more attentive. He was no longer just the protector. He was the man who loved without hesitation, without limit.
Si-eun, for his part, opened up. Slowly. Like a book that had been closed for a long time. He said "I love," "I'm scared," "thank you" more often. And he looked at Y/N as one looks at a miracle they hadn't asked for but thank every day for existing.
And Y/N... Y/N was growing. She laughed. She asserted herself. She danced for them. She loved them with a gentle but deep strength. Without possessiveness. Without fear.
They were three. Not a triangle. But a circle. Closed. Complete.
And under the soft light of their shared days, love also danced.
---
That day, the air was thick, almost heavy with heat, but the silence that reigned around Y/N, Si-eun, and Su-ho seemed to freeze time. The afternoon had begun ordinarily, but very quickly, everything changed. Five boys appeared in their field of vision, and the atmosphere became charged with a palpable tension. Si-eun and Su-ho had already made a name for themselves in the high school, and not for the right reasons. There were people who envied them, and these five were part of that group. But today, it was mainly Si-eun they were after. Why him in particular? Perhaps because of the reputation he carried or the past stories that lingered in the hallways.
As soon as the boys approached, one of them, with a menacing look, sneered:
"You really think you can get away with that, Si-eun? Aren't you ashamed to hide in your friend's shadow? You're just a coward."
There was no immediate response from Si-eun. He didn't want to fall into the trap of confrontation, but the escalation was inevitable. Insults began to rain down, and before they could understand what was happening, a fight broke out.
The boys threw themselves at Si-eun and Su-ho without the slightest hesitation. Su-ho, always so impulsive, plunged into the fray, landing a punch on one of the guys with surprising force. Si-eun, for his part, fought with measured precision, each movement calculated, but his body tense, like a spring ready to break.
Y/N, seeing the escalation of violence, tried to move away so as not to get involved. But she was grabbed by one of the boys, who brutally pulled her into the fight. She struggled, trying to push the assailant away, but in an awkward movement, she lost her balance. The sound of her ankle cracking echoed in her ears. She fell to the ground, tears in her eyes, curling up on herself.
"Y/N!" Su-ho yelled, his heart pounding as he caught sight of her, blocked by two other boys.
Si-eun also reacted quickly, but he couldn't afford to completely turn away from the fight. His gaze darkened when he saw Y/N on the ground, a dull ache settling in his stomach. It was because of them that she was hurt. They hadn't been able to prevent it. Their fight had gotten out of hand.
The boys eventually retreated, not without difficulty. Each of them was injured, but victory was theirs. But as the last gasps of their opponents faded into the wind, a heavy silence fell upon them. Y/N, trembling, held her ankle, trying to get up. Su-ho and Si-eun rushed towards her, their concern clearly visible. But the looks between the two boys were different now. There was a new distance.
A few days passed, and while the three friends usually met at school, a strange void had settled in. Si-eun no longer came to their usual spots. He would slip away, without explanation, without a word. The silence between them had become heavier, more oppressive.
Su-ho was the first to notice. He hadn't seen Si-eun for a week, and it was eating away at him. Every minute without news from him was like a stab in his heart. Why this silence? Why this distance? He felt like something between them, something he couldn't identify, was slowly breaking.
One afternoon, after days of silent frustration, Su-ho couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed his phone and sent a message to Si-eun, but the reply was slow in coming. When he finally got a response, it was just a short "I'm fine, don't worry." But the words had no warmth, none of those comforting gestures that Su-ho knew so well from him.
One afternoon, they finally crossed paths on the street. Si-eun approached, his hands in his pockets, his gaze evasive. Su-ho didn't need more to understand that something was wrong. It was as if Si-eun was carrying a heavy burden, a guilt he couldn't share.
"Si-eun... you've been ignoring me for a week," Su-ho said in a tone harsher than he intended. "What's going on? You haven't even bothered to come talk to me. We're supposed to be... we're supposed to be friends."
Si-eun stopped, taken aback. He lowered his eyes, as if every word he had to say was too difficult to pronounce. Then, he sighed, almost imperceptibly, as if he was exhausted by the tension that gripped him.
"I feel guilty, Su-ho," he finally murmured, his voice flat. "It's my fault. Y/N got hurt because of us. We should have avoided all this. But I... I felt... vulnerable. And I put you in that situation. You fought for me. It's because of me. And I don't know how to handle it."
Su-ho, struck by Si-eun's sincerity, remained silent for a moment. But his frustration quickly turned into a pain he hadn't been able to express until now.
"It's not your fault, Si-eun. Do you really think we were going to let you down?! What do you think we are, huh? If you think we're going to walk away because you're in a tough spot, then you don't know me."
He stepped closer to him, his gaze suddenly piercing. The words that followed were simple but hard to hear.
"Did you really think I could abandon you, Si-eun? I feel like I'm losing everything. You're my friend, my brother. And when you pull away like this, when you do this, I feel... lost. It's like I've lost you, and Y/N too, and it's destroying me, you know?"
Si-eun's gaze darkened. He knew Su-ho was right, but a part of him couldn't break free from the guilt that gnawed at him. He wanted to protect the others, to love them, but he felt like he was messing everything up every time.
Y/N, for her part, was at the heart of this torment.
She had followed the whole story without daring to interfere in their tension. She had gradually distanced herself, thinking that she was causing this suffering, thinking that it was because of her that things were becoming so complicated. If Si-eun was withdrawing like this, it was her fault. If Su-ho was so lost, it was because of her. She had done nothing to deserve their pain, but that didn't change anything. She moved away, thinking their lives would be simpler without her.
The days passed in unbearable tension.
Su-ho, prey to his own anger and confusion, and Si-eun, who was fighting his own demons. They kept their distance, like two lost souls in a sea of unspoken words.
And that day, everything exploded.
The argument erupted abruptly, without warning. It wasn't about Y/N, but about the insecurities that gnawed at each of them. What they thought was a simple misunderstanding turned into a painful confrontation.
"Why are you acting like this, Si-eun?! Do you want us to drift apart? Do you want us to get lost?! Why are you like this?"
Su-ho's words hit Si-eun like a slap. He recoiled, as if the shock paralyzed him, his gaze darkening further.
"It's not for you to understand, Su-ho. I've always felt like a burden to you. I don't have the right to... I don't have the right to do this to you. You deserve better. She deserves better."
The words broke in the air, heavy with regret and suffering. Each of them was too fragile to handle love, friendship, and guilt. But there was no turning back.
---
The days that followed the altercation were both long and silent. Yet, something, somewhere, had begun to change.
It was Su-ho first. He had never been one to stand back, and even less to let tensions settle. But this time, he was taking his time. Because he could see that Si-eun wasn't just being evasive. He was hurt. Broken, inside.
And it was in this silence that one gesture made everything shift.
That evening, on the rooftop of the building where they usually met, Si-eun was sitting cross-legged, looking at the city lights, lost in his thoughts. Su-ho joined him without a word, sitting down beside him.
A long moment passed.
Then Si-eun, in a flat voice, murmured:
"I thought you wouldn't come back here."
Su-ho shrugged:
"I didn't feel like waiting any longer. I'm not good with silence."
A small laugh, barely audible, escaped Si-eun's lips. And in an almost clumsy gesture, he gently rested his head on Su-ho's shoulder. A soft silence enveloped them, comfortable this time.
Su-ho didn't move. He didn't say anything either. But his arm wrapped around Si-eun's shoulders, slowly. He held him close. It was a new gesture. Not just from a friend. Not only that.
They didn't talk about love. Not yet. But the bond was there, palpable, warm, and reassuring.
One day, Su-ho said, his voice soft:
"You know, you have the right to need others. I need you. It's not a weakness. It's just... human."
Si-eun looked at him, and for the first time, he didn't try to run away. He nodded silently.
But there was still an open wound. Y/N. And Su-ho wasn't one to leave things hanging for too long.
"You have to talk to her," he said one morning. "You can't keep hiding."
"I can't..."
"Yes, you can. And I'll come with you."
So they went to the conservatory where Y/N took her ballet classes. The atmosphere was calm, hushed. In a large room with mirrored walls, Y/N was dancing, surrounded by little girls in pink tutus. She was graceful, even with a slight limp. Each gesture was precise, gentle, and you could feel the passion in her eyes. She smiled at the children, encouraged them, corrected them with patience.
But when she saw Su-ho and Si-eun through the window, her smile slowly faded. She didn't greet them. She finished the session, then left without a word.
Su-ho scratched the back of his neck:
"Okay... She's not thrilled. We're going to have to do better."
And so he dragged them to a small neighborhood restaurant that all three of them knew. An old place where the smell of stew still hung in the air before you even opened the door.
They sat down. The waiter brought them kimchi, rice, steaming dishes. The silence was heavy, except for Su-ho's stomach, which was growling so loudly that even Y/N let out a twitch of a smile.
But no one spoke. Until Y/N broke.
She slammed her chopsticks down, her throat trembling. And tears sprang forth, brutal.
"You... you both let me down!" she cried between sobs. "You fought, you dragged me into it, and then you disappeared! Si-eun, you just... ignored me!"
Si-eun remained frozen.
She continued, unstoppable:
"And you, Su-ho, you think you can fix everything by forcing me to eat soup?"
Su-ho tried to put a ball of rice in her mouth to appease her. She accepted it between sniffles, chewed slowly, tears streaming down her face.
"I can't take it anymore. I want to break up with you, Si-eun. I don't love you anymore. I... I just want Su-ho, at least he stays!"
Su-ho choked on his own bowl of rice. He coughed, his eyes wide:
"Eat, love. You're starting to talk nonsense."
Y/N hiccuped, swallowed wrong, continued, her nose red:
"I'm tired of broken boys who run away from their responsibilities and make me feel guilty because they have sad eyes! I'm tired of your silences, your Korean drama stares!"
Su-ho tried to give her something to drink. She drank, wiped her cheeks, then started crying again, all while continuing to talk.
"And then why are you both so beautiful, huh? It's not fair! And now you're hugging like in a boy's love?! What am I supposed to do?!"
The waiter arrived, hesitant, placing a plate of fried chicken on the table.
"Not the moment," Su-ho said, politely sending him away.
Y/N grabbed a piece of chicken, bit into it, sobbed harder.
"It's so good... I hate you..."
It was then that Si-eun finally moved. He leaned towards her slowly. He didn't know what to say, so he did what he knew how to do: he looked at her sincerely.
"I'm sorry, Y/N. I'm really, truly sorry. I messed up. I wanted to protect everyone by staying away. I thought I was the problem. But I understood. I was just a coward."
She looked at him, her eyes full of tears, her mouth full of rice, kimchi stuck to her cheek.
"You're really stupid," she murmured. "But I love you anyway."
And Su-ho, a piece of tofu balanced on his chopstick, sighed:
"You guys are impossible..."
Then he added with a smile:
"Good thing you have me."
And all three of them, in that small neighborhood eatery, between laughter, tears, food, and mumbled confessions, slowly began to piece their story back together.
---
The days that followed their confrontation saw things slowly settle, but with a new depth. It wasn't like before, when everything was easy and fluid, like a light song you listen to while walking under a summer sky. No, now everything seemed imbued with a greater complexity. A kind of tenderness, of fragility. But also strength. Because somewhere, between the laughter and the silences, something solid had formed. Something that none of the three had anticipated, but that was there, omnipresent, in every gesture, every look.
They often found themselves together. It was no longer just to chat or confide, but to share simple, almost mundane moments. Like that evening, when Y/N, in an excess of generosity, invited them to her house for the weekend. She had assured them that her parents were never there, and so they had prepared for a quiet weekend, just the three of them, laughing and relaxing. But as soon as they crossed the threshold of the house, they understood that Y/N had something else in mind.
The door opened onto a large, silent house. Daylight barely filtered through the thick curtains. They had expected relaxed moments, lounging on the sofa playing games or listening to music. But Y/N greeted them with an innocent smile and a "Oh, I've invited you for such a special weekend! You're going to love it." Immediately after, she gave them a mischievous look.
"I'm going to go relax on the sofa for a bit. You know... I work so hard, I deserve a little rest."
The boys exchanged a look, a little lost. Then, before they could protest, she added:
"If you could do a little cleaning around the house in the meantime... I love you so much for that!" She gave them a sugary smile, one of those smiles that removed any possibility of protest.
And so they found themselves, armed with brooms and cloths, cleaning Y/N's house. The task seemed endless. The living room, the bedrooms, the kitchen, everything was a mess. Su-ho, with his usual sense of humor, said while sweeping the floor:
"Love is so scary, what if she... makes us her servants for the weekend?"
Si-eun turned to him, a tired smile on his lips:
"I think that's exactly what she's done..."
And that was it. The weekend they thought would be idyllic had turned into a series of chores. Every time they finished a task, Y/N would get up from the sofa, her eyes shining, to assign them a new mission. A bit of dust to remove here, a cushion to rearrange there. And between each task, she would shower them with sweet words, sugary nicknames: "My little darlings, my loves, my adorable heroes..." But these words were just a sweet coating to mask the weekend's scam. Y/N rested while they slaved away.
Su-ho, increasingly exasperated, let out a groan.
"Love is so scary, Si-eun. What if she... continues to make us do all her chores? I’m starting to wonder if I’m in a romantic comedy or a horror movie."
Si-eun, wiping his forehead, nodded with a desperate look.
"I think we're in a bit of both. But hey, you know, it could have been worse. She could have made us cook too."
"That would have been the icing on the cake," Su-ho replied, continuing to sweep, looking dramatically exhausted.
Humor allowed them to hold on. But they were clearly realizing they had been tricked. Yet, even in this ridiculous situation, there was something beautiful. They were together, facing this absurd situation, and despite everything, they felt close. Their complicity was growing. Gestures became more tender, gazes longer. Even in the most mundane task, they found themselves connected in a new way.
Finally, evening arrived, and Y/N "woke up" from her restorative sleep. She invited them to sit around the table, dinner ready. This meal was the perfect excuse to "forgive" them for their hard labor. The table was beautifully set, and the food looked absolutely delicious. Y/N, with a triumphant smile, looked at them both and said:
"Well, you've certainly earned this feast. Thank you for your hard work. You're truly angels."
Su-ho collapsed into his chair, a sigh of relief escaping his lips.
"You know, Y/N... If you do this every time we come to your place, I'm going to end up being an expert in housework rather than romantic relationships."
Y/N laughed softly, a laugh that instantly warmed the atmosphere.
"I'm so sorry, my littles sweet. I promise tomorrow will be a perfect weekend."
And then, they spent an evening full of laughter, tender teasing, and good food. They had found their rhythm again, like a slightly wobbly but close-knit family, bound by ties stronger than simple chores.
Night fell, and after eating, they prepared for bed. But what awaited them was a little more... intimate. Y/N had invited them to sleep over, and it was clear she wasn't just sharing her bed. The bed was gigantic, but it didn't seem big enough for three. Once they were all lying down, Y/N snuggled against them without hesitation, immediately finding her place between Si-eun and Su-ho, her body brushing against both boys.
The problem was, she didn't really grasp the concept of personal space. She nestled against Si-eun, then, after a moment, turned towards Su-ho, moving a little closer. Neither of them dared to move, content to breathe deeply in the warmth of the night.
Su-ho, a little uncomfortable, murmured:
"Love is so scary, Si-eun. What if she never lets us sleep again?"
Si-eun, slightly tense from the proximity, shrugging, replied:
"I think you're going to have to get used to it."
The boys exchanged a nervous smile. The situation was both strange and sweet. They were so close to each other, but there was still that unspoken question between them. What exactly was this bond that had slowly woven itself, but undeniably linked them?
Then, in the middle of the night, Y/N woke up slightly, leaning over to kiss Si-eun, gently, almost like a wake-up call. The kiss was slow, almost shy. Si-eun didn't move, his eyes half-open, letting it happen. There was no rush, just a quiet tenderness that flowed through their gestures. It was like an attempt to explore this intimate space between them, to tame it.
Su-ho watched them, silent. A discreet smile formed on his lips, but it was neither jealousy nor anger. It was emotion. He watched them, moved by the tenderness of the moment. Then, without a word, he leaned towards them, kissing them in turn. Y/N turned to him, a mischievous glint in her eyes, but there was no drama or conflict. Just a silent love.
"You guys are unbearable," Su-ho murmured, teasing them, his smile widening. "But luckily you have me."
In Y/N's big bed, amidst laughter and shared moments of intimacy, the three young people let themselves be carried away by the sweetness of the night. The boundaries between friendship, love, and everything beyond seemed blurred, but there was no doubt: something intense was weaving itself between them. Something that went far beyond simple labels.
It wasn't that cold that night, but the asphalt smelled of rust. Geum Seong-je sat on a bench, looking vacant, a limp cigarette stuck between his teeth, almost completely burned out. He wasn't even really smoking it. His eyes followed the car headlights like flies around a bulb.
The screech of tires, the screams, the dull thud of a body being thrown, none of it made him move. It had happened right in front of him. He had turned his head, cast a lazy glance, seen a figure mowed down on the ground. He had cursed under his breath.
He hadn't snapped out of his torpor to help her. Not out of shock, not out of fear. He just didn't give a damn. But he had called the ambulance. Out of habit, maybe, or because he didn't want the hassle of a non-assistance investigation. He wasn't there to play the hero; he just wanted to be left alone.
But that face. Pale. Frozen. That face had disturbed him. Not because he found it beautiful or innocent. But because he hated seeing something broken, weak, fragile. And that girl, Y/N, was all of that, at that moment.
He found himself at the hospital, standing, leaning against the window of her room, watching her, unconscious, connected to tubes. He was going to leave, do what he always did: ignore the consequences. But as he was about to turn on his heel, the nurse called out to him.
"You're not going to leave her alone, not now. She talked about you in her sleep. 'My love,' that's what she said. It's you, isn't it?"
He had burst out laughing. Dry, humorless. He had wanted to deny it. But the police were already there, the rumors, the eyes fixed on him as if he were the reason for her accident. He had felt suffocated. So he had lied.
"Yeah. It's me .She's my girl..."
***
The following days were a punishment. For him. For her. He had to come back every day, bring things. Romantic crap: disgusting stuffed animals, candies, little notes folded into hearts. He had grabbed everything from the most cliché shops in town. And he called Y/N "jagiya," "yeobo," or even "my little bunny" with that drawling voice, twisted with sarcasm. But his gaze remained that of a madman, hungry, unstable.
He hid nothing. Neither his fights, nor his offenses, nor the scars on his fists. He even showed them, barely concealed under dirty bandages. He wanted her to be afraid. To understand who he was. To look at him with horror. He needed that fear to exist.
But what really haunted him was what it did to him. This feeling of being expected. Even if it was based on a damn misunderstanding. Even if she had never seen him before. He had started watching her sleep longer than necessary. He noticed the movements of her hands under the sheets, her lips that moved when she dreamed. He hated it. He hated feeling connected to someone.
A week after the accident, she had woken up.
"Who are you?" she had asked, her voice trembling.
He had dropped the water bottle he was handing her.
— Shibal... Are you serious? You sleep for eight days, moan my name like a lovelorn child, and now you're looking at me like a fucking stranger?
She had curled up. He had felt that fear. It ran through him. And it made him smile, a smile that was anything but tender. But inside, it turned his stomach. He felt dirty. Awkward. He didn't know how to get out of this mess.
He had kept coming. Every day. He brought the most ridiculous flowers, the most absurd declarations scribbled on Post-it notes, teen magazines, bags of cookies. He played the game. With an unhealthy intensity. Because he had never had this. Someone to see. Someone who looks at him, even with fear.
But it wasn't love. Not yet. It was need. Panic. As if she were the only thing that could keep the mess he was on a leash. He wasn't nice. He wasn't romantic. He was twisted. He was getting attached in the wrong way. He was becoming possessive before he even had the right to anything.
***
One day, she had said to him:
"I don't want you to come back."
He had replied, his teeth clenched:
"You don't get a say, jagi. They believe me, not you. You want me to leave? Then explain to them that I'm an asshole. Go on. Look them in the eyes and tell them you're all alone. You want that? Huh?"
She had said nothing. She couldn't. And he had clung to that silence like a rope.
Geum Seong-je didn't understand himself. He fought in the streets because he had never learned to talk. He lied because he had never trusted anything. He got angry with her because she was calm. Because she was gentle. Because everything about her reminded him of what he would never be.
But he was there. Every day. Sitting in the chair next to her bed. He ate her cookies, he sometimes fell asleep listening to the beeping of the machines. He expected nothing. Just for it to last a little longer.
The hospital had become his world. And Y/N, his fixation. It wasn't a fairy tale, it was a cell. And in his deranged mind, it was almost enough.
---
He refused to leave.
Y/N had asked him, even begged him, one morning when the pale sun filtered through the hospital blinds, but he had remained rooted there, staring at her with his split, distorted smile that never reached his eyes.
"Are you kidding me? You're the one who landed me here, jagiya. You're the one who got me into this mess. So now you deal with it."
She had turned her face away, trying to ignore him, as if that could make him disappear. But Seong-je wasn't a draft. He was a sticky, insistent presence, like an oil stain on a white tablecloth.
When the nurses passed by, he resumed his act. He laughed, offered her stuffed animals, strawberry chewing gum, little notes that he read aloud, punctuating them with saccharine nicknames.
"You remember when we stole that bike together, huh, yeobo? That was our first couple adventure, wasn't it?"
And when they moved away, his gaze changed. He leaned towards her, his sour breath on her cheek.
"Don't play smart with me. Say one more time that you want me to leave, and I swear you'll really know what it means to be alone."
He knew exactly when the staff changed shifts, which corridors were empty, which stolen moments he could use to whisper vile threats in her ear. He didn't need to shout. He inflicted pain with a few words, spoken softly.
"I have your first name. Your address. Your life, now, belongs to me. You wanted to put on a show by calling me in your sleep? You thought there would be no consequences? Well, here they are. You've earned yourself a monster, my dear."
Y/N tried to sit up in bed when she had the strength. Sometimes she struggled to reach the call button, but he would discreetly unplug it before anyone could see. Just to silence her.
"Come on, rest," he murmured, stroking her hair. "I don't want them to think you're hysterical, you know. It's not good for you."
He had to be careful. The cops kept coming by. Twice already, they had come to ask questions. First about the accident. Then about him. He played the desperate lover perfectly—a tear in the corner of his eye, stories of pseudo-memories with Y/N, a trembling voice when he spoke of his "fear of losing her."
"I'm just here for her, that's all," he had said to one of them, his hand placed over his heart. "We haven't always been an easy couple, but she's my world."
And it worked.
It worked because people preferred slightly dark love stories to disturbing truths. It worked because he knew how to manipulate silences, how to shed tears at will, how to create an illusion credible enough to be believed.
But with Y/N, he wasn't acting.
With her, he was what he truly was: unstable, violent, possessive. He swung between a distorted tenderness and an icy rage. One day, he brought macarons; the next, he smashed a bouquet against the wall when she wasn't looking.
He resented her. For what she had triggered. For the space she occupied in his head. For this obsession he couldn't control. He felt trapped, and his only way out was her.
"You can't push me away. You don't have the right. Not after what you made me believe. Now you put up with me. You endure me, just like I endure myself every damn day."
He sometimes slept in the armchair, his body tense, his arms crossed. Sometimes, he would get up in the middle of the night and stand, leaning over her, watching her. For a long time. Too long.
And in the morning, he would resume his act. Smile. Wink. Silly little nickname.
And when no one was watching:
"If you say one wrong word, I swear I'll make a scene. They think I'm the perfect boyfriend. You're just a fragile little girl. You know who they'll believe."
And the worst part was, he was right.
---
The days in the hospital dragged by with a devouring slowness, and Seong-je had had enough of every second spent in that sterile room, with Y/N lying on her bed, unconscious of everything happening around her. But it was even worse when she was awake. The heavy air of the room seemed strangely more oppressive. Every sigh he let out, every movement he made, seemed as desperate as it was useless. He felt suffocated, invisible in that overly silent room.
But a nightmare repeated itself every night. A nightmare that was gradually turning into an unbearable obsession.
Y/N was all he had. All he believed he had. And every night, he saw her leave. Not in an explosion of light or in a grand theatrical act. No. Y/N left in a much simpler, much more destructive way. She would look at him one last time, without emotion, then turn and disappear into the void. He couldn't hold her back, he couldn't even move. He was frozen, paralyzed in his own nightmare. And with each awakening, anguish washed over him, an irrepressible fear that dug even deeper into his twisted mind.
He was tired of feeling this way, of drowning in this inner void. So, he had hurt himself. Nothing serious, just enough to get Y/N's attention. It wasn't suffering he sought, but the moment when he would finally become real to her. He had slammed his fist against the bathroom wall until there was blood, and when he saw the red staining his skin, he had felt a little more alive. The taste of iron in his mouth, the burning pain, all of it had become almost… comforting. Then he had waited.
He had appeared in Y/N's room, a blank expression on his face, his wounds barely bandaged. He said nothing, he didn't move, just there, in the shadow of his own desire.
Y/N had woken up to muffled sounds. She had turned her head, her eyes blurry, and had seen him. He was there, sitting next to her, holding his arm where the blood had formed a small pool. He looked like nothing was wrong. But she… she couldn't ignore it.
He was looking at her. He had that look, both pleading and threatening, a mixture that no one else could understand. For a second, he had thought she would push him away again. For a second, he had thought he was too broken, too dirty for her to still pity him. But no, she had sat up, her face marked by fear and worry.
"Seong-je! What are you doing? You're hurt?!"
She had rushed towards him, panic in her movements. She had grabbed his arm, scrutinizing his wound as if the whole world depended on knowing he was safe. He could feel her fingers trembling on his skin. He could hear her short breaths. And he felt… loved. Not in a normal way, no. But it was enough.
"It's nothing," he had replied in a hoarse voice, a barely perceptible smile on his lips. "Just a little accident."
Y/N hadn't replied immediately. She had lowered her eyes to his hand, still tightly gripping his arm. He could see her fingers closing a little tighter, as if to make sure he wouldn't disappear. She had slid up his shirt sleeve to get a better look at the wound. Her eyes were hard, focused, almost overwhelmed.
"But why did you do that? Why are you… Why are you still here, Seong-je? Why?"
The words had flowed from her lips, but he hadn't answered immediately. He felt almost trapped in the tenderness she was offering him without really meaning to. She was there, worried about him, touching his arm as if it were the most precious thing she had.
"Because you won't let me leave," he had murmured. "Because you gave me something. And I'm going to hold onto it."
He had seen the look she gave him, hesitant, confused, full of guilt. He wasn't sure she understood. But he knew. She was worried. And that was all he needed to feel that love could exist, even in this twisted version of himself.
But he didn't have time to think further. A nurse, a young trainee, entered the room. Her name was Joo-hyun ,made up like a failed idol, and she didn't seem to notice that Y/N was awake. She approached Seong-je, who was still standing in that strange position, and began to speak to him without paying attention.
"You're really stubborn, you know, aren't you? Not wanting anyone to touch you, and now you have another wound to take care of."
She spoke in a slightly casual, almost flirtatious tone, settling near him. Joo-hyun hadn't noticed that Y/N was awake, and she leaned a little too close to Seong-je, as if it were nothing special.
But Y/N had noticed. Every word Joo-hyun spoke, every movement she made towards him, all of it ignited an anger that Y/N didn't understand. She sat up slowly, her gaze hardening. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. She knew it wasn't an innocent gesture. Not in this room.
Joo-hyun looked so carefree, too self-assured, too familiar with him. She had gently caressed Seong-je's shoulder, and her fingers had slipped a little too low, lingering on his skin. Y/N felt heat spread through her, but it wasn't the warmth of desire. It was a fever of anger, of frustration.
Without warning, Y/N stood up, looking tense, almost threatening.
"You… you should leave," she said, her voice louder, more authoritative than usual.
Joo-hyun jumped, raising her eyes to her, surprised by the coldness in her voice. Seong-je, for his part, watched silently, as if a strange smile was slowly spreading across his lips.
"What?" Joo-hyun asked, a little lost.
"I told you to leave. Right now," Y/N replied, her voice sharp.
Joo-hyun hesitated, then straightened up. A last furtive glance at Seong-je and she turned on her heel, leaving the room without a word.
Y/N sat back down on the edge of the bed. She didn't really understand why she had reacted that way. But what she had felt was something new. A feeling she had never had before. Jealousy. An emotion that was completely foreign to her.
She turned her gaze to Seong-je, who was still there, silent, his eyes fixed on her. It wasn't love. It wasn't even compassion. It was just… a need. A possession. She was afraid of it. And at the same time, something inside her tightened, a discomfort she couldn't identify.
Seong-je looked at her, then, as if nothing had happened, leaned towards her and whispered:
"Thank you. That's love, you know. The kind I can get. The kind you give me without meaning to."
She shivered at his words, but this time, she didn't react. She simply let herself be invaded by this strange sensation which, little by little, was making Seong-je someone more than he seemed. Someone essential.
And in Seong-je's tormented mind, this moment was just one small step further towards what he believed to be his own love. A love he would impose. A love she would never be able to get rid of again.
---
Seong-je no longer knew exactly when obsession had taken over everything else. When the anguish of losing her had become that black fire, that creeping thing that scratched at every corner of his mind. Maybe at the hospital, or even before. But one thing was certain: from the moment Y/N had placed her hands on him, worried, desperate to know if he was alright, something had broken for good within him.
It wasn't love. Not really. It was deeper, darker. A morbid need. He didn't want her to love him. He wanted her to need no one but him. To breathe only through him. For every beat of her heart to be linked to him. It was the only way he knew how to love. It had to hurt.
When Y/N finally left the hospital, she expected Seong-je to disappear. Maybe not immediately, but that he would understand, with time. But she saw him in the lobby, as if everything were perfectly normal. He was there, sitting calmly at a table, signing the discharge papers. As if he were her husband, her guarantor, her everything.
"What are you doing?" she asked, hesitant.
He turned to her with that small, split smile, the one she never knew how to interpret.
"I reassured them. I'm taking you home. You're my girlfriend, remember?"
He gently, almost tenderly, brought his hand to hers and intertwined their fingers. Like an ordinary scene between two lovers. But Y/N couldn't ignore that strange pressure in her chest. A suffocating sensation.
He had accompanied her home. She had expected him to leave afterwards. He had even said goodbye, a kiss on her forehead. And she had believed, truly believed, that he would go.
But Seong-je had returned.
That same evening, he had come back, his arms full. A few personal belongings, a worn travel bag, and groceries. As if he planned to stay for a long time.
"I... I have nowhere to go. And with the storm approaching, it's dangerous outside. Just a few days, okay?"
She hadn't answered. He had already entered. He already knew where the kitchen was, where to put the dishes, where to place his clothes. As if he already lived there.
The storm broke that night. Howling winds, driving rain, lightning streaking across the sky. And Y/N found herself stuck with him. Alone. Trapped. The perfect closed-door setting for the emotional tension that had been building for days.
But Seong-je, for his part, was calm. Almost too calm. He prepared food, chopping vegetables with military precision. Y/N had never said she liked spicy tofu dishes. But she had confided in a nurse once, half-asleep, thinking no one was listening. He had listened. He always listened.
They ate in silence, their fingers occasionally brushing. Heavy silences, followed by glances that lingered too long. Sometimes their arms touched, and she didn't pull away. Sometimes her eyes lingered on his lips, and she turned her head. Until he kissed her.
A kiss that was initially soft, almost clumsy. Then more intense. As if he wanted to bite her, devour her. And she, lost between confusion and attraction, hadn't known how to react. She hadn't managed to say no. Not right away.
But the storm hadn't only carried away the rain. It had unleashed another tornado, far more dangerous.
They were in the living room, the lightning barely visible behind the curtains. Y/N wanted to talk, to set boundaries. But he had approached with a step that was too assured. And she had backed away.
"Are you afraid of me?" he asked.
"No... I just want some space, Seong-je. You're not supposed to be here."
He had laughed. A dry, slightly bitter laugh.
"You always say that when you feel like you might love someone. You're afraid of yourself, not me."
"That's not true."
"Oh no? Didn't you see yourself at the hospital, worried about me, as if your life depended on it? You kicked that nurse out just because she touched my arm."
He moved closer again.
"I need you, Y/N. And you know you need me too."
"This isn't... healthy."
"Maybe it's not healthy. But it's real. You can feel it."
He placed a hand on the back of her neck, gently. But there was strength in that touch.
"You think you can forget me? I'm in your apartment. In your head. You still breathe in my scent on your sheets. Every time you close your eyes, I'm there."
"You're manipulating me."
"No. I'm just revealing what you're hiding. You didn't reject me when I kissed you. You wanted it. You still do."
His words were like needles. And she had nothing to say. Because deep down, a part of her wanted to believe he was right. A tiny part, lost, wounded.
And that night, as the storm continued to beat against the walls of the apartment, they found themselves entwined on the sofa, between hatred and passion, between fear and desire. Prisoners of a love that wasn't supposed to exist, but that consumed them, slowly, dangerously.
I’m shy but I hope you post more seongje head canons!
-🍍
You
Geum Seong-je x fem!reader
This story is completely fictional. I do not tolerate this kind of behavior at all. It's very bad and sometimes an example of guys to avoid in a relationship. For anyone who is in this kind of relationship. You are not alone. It's very difficult but talking about it. Please
The night had cloaked the city in a damp, clinging shroud. The streetlights, few and faint, cast milky halos on the cracked asphalt. The walls seeped a greasy humidity, laden with whispers that only the wind seemed to understand. It was the hour of presences one dared not name.
Y/N walked fast, faster than usual. Footsteps echoed behind her — not her own. She hadn't needed to turn around to know he was there. She had seen him. She had seen him do it.
It wasn't an accident. Not a fight. It was a rampage. An execution.
The alley, narrow as a throat, had been the scene of demented violence. Y/N had turned down it by mistake, wanting to cut through to get home faster. And she had seen Seongje, alone, facing three men. He had smiled. He hadn't defended himself. He had attacked.
She hadn't seen the blows. She had seen the consequences. A soft thud of flesh against concrete, the sharp crack of a bone giving way. The stifled groans, bodies collapsed like abandoned dolls. And Seongje, standing, upright, his fists stained with blood, his breathing calm, almost tranquil.
He had turned around.
And Y/N had fled.
Not a scream. Just the silence of panic, the icy vertigo of raw terror. She had hidden behind a dumpster, knees to her chest, unable to breathe except in gasps.
She understood nothing. Her brain was a desert of white noise. All that existed was this pure danger, this predator walking towards her unhurriedly.
Then she heard him. The voice. Soft, almost annoyed.
"You saw me."
He was there. Just behind her.
Y/N wanted to run. Her legs wouldn't move. The ground seemed glued to her ankles. She tried to stand, fell to her knees, her hands searching for support that wasn't there.
He didn't rush. He slowly crouched in front of her, like one observes a bird fallen from its nest.
"Why are you trembling?"
There was no mockery. No anger. Nothing but curiosity. Pure. Sharp.
His blood-stained fingers approached her face. Y/N closed her eyes, unable to cry, unable even to beg. Her entire body was nothing but a mute scream. Her stomach had twisted, her lungs crushed under a screaming anguish. She was nothing more than a trapped animal.
And he laughed. Low. It wasn't joy. It was a shiver.
"I knew you'd be beautiful in fear."
He looked at her like an artist looks at his work. Fascinated.
His fingers brushed her cheeks. She flinched. Then, he pressed them a little harder. He traced the line of an imaginary tear. And when the first real tear rolled, he took hold of it with demented slowness.
"There," he murmured. "That's what I wanted."
She didn't understand. There was no logic. No demand. He wanted nothing... except this. Her state. Her despair.
"Did you think I was going to hurt you?" he whispered, leaning close to her ear. "That would be too easy. It would be... brief. I prefer it when it lasts. When it simmers."
He let his fingers slide down her neck, slowly, and watched her shiver.
Y/N wanted to scream. Nothing came out. Her throat was knotted, burning. Her mind screamed incoherent thoughts: Run. Die. Dissolve. Forget yourself. But her body no longer responded.
Seongje stood up, towering over her without even raising his voice. His shadow stretched against the bricks, grotesque, immense.
"You'll think about me tonight," he declared. "About me. About the blood. About my hands on you. You won't sleep. You won't eat. You'll wait. And I'll come."
He stared at her for a long time. Like imprinting an image into memory. And he smiled. Softly. A caress of horror.
Geum Seongje is a twisted mind, shaped by a vital and unhealthy need for control through fear. Not vague fear. Not social fear. He seeks intimate fear, the kind that slips into the fibers of the heart. What he loves isn't just to dominate; it's to witness the collapse. To watch someone slowly descend into paranoia, to feel their reality dissolve around his gaze.
He doesn't act in self-defense, nor for revenge. He acts for sport. On a whim. He loves the consequences, not the acts.
In his head, others aren't "people"; they are puppets of flesh and nerves. But Y/N... Y/N is different. Not because she's "special," but because she's genuinely afraid. And that's rare. True fear is precious.
He is moody. Capable of atrocious gentleness. He caresses only to break harder. He whispers to crush. Everything is manipulation — but in an almost artistic way. He doesn't want to be loved. He wants to be inevitable. He wants to be an obsession that gnaws, a sweet poison.
His emotions are real, yes. But twisted. He is sincerely fascinated. Sincerely touched by Y/N's tears, by her weakness. He cherishes her like one cherishes a scar. He can't get rid of her. He doesn't want to.
He might cry if she died. But he would also laugh about it. Because she would be his, to the very end.
Y/N couldn't breathe anymore. Her rib cage was closing in on itself like a rusted trap. Her trembling fingers had clenched against her arms without her realizing it. Her legs were frozen, her thoughts shattered, scattered.
She felt her stomach twist as if an invisible hand was squeezing it to the point of nausea. Her mouth was dry. Her teeth chattered without her knowing why. She didn't recognize herself anymore. It wasn't "her" crouching there. It was a thing. An animal. Prey.
The world had shrunk around Seongje. Everything was noise: his breathing, the slide of his fingers, his warm breath on her skin.
She thought: He's going to kill me. Then: He's going to keep me alive. And that was worse.
Fear had become a substance. It enveloped her. Compressed her. Every word he uttered became a soft blade, and she felt the blood flowing in her head. She was nothing more than panic, nothing more than exposed flesh.
And yet, she didn't scream.
She couldn't.
Because even her voice belonged to him.
---
The park was bathed in a dirty silence. It wasn't a peaceful silence, but a suffocating void, too still, as if the air itself was holding its breath. Y/N had leaned over a small, scraped cat, its matted fur heaving with pain. She murmured reassuring words, her hands trembling, but she tried. She still tried. To do something good. To believe that kindness still had a place in this world.
She didn't know he was there.
Seongje stood between two trees, frozen in the shadow like an organic parasite. He watched her. For a long time. His eyes fixed on her like a bite he still forbade himself from delivering. And when she finally looked up at the treetops, a breeze stirred and she felt... something. A presence.
Then he was behind her.
An icy hand, almost soft, slid across her cheek. Slowly. Like a stifled kiss.
"Do you really think you can save anything?"
He smiled. His gaze was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm found in morgues, between identifications.
Y/N straightened, stiff.
She wanted to back away. But he was no longer touching her. He just stood there. And that was worse.
"Look at you," he breathed. "You didn't even notice I was watching you for... what, ten minutes? Fifteen?"
His tone was neither angry nor ironic. Just a caress of ice.
"You're cute when you're scared, you know? Better than in my memories."
She swayed. Nausea, dizziness. He was doing nothing. And yet, everything in her screamed that she was in danger.
"You want to save this cat? And who's going to save you, Y/N? Everything you touch is dying. Look."
She wanted to speak. But the words died in her throat.
Then, he straightened. And without a word, he raised his foot.
The cat let out a shrill, tearing cry.
"NO!"
Too late.
The crack was dry, agonizingly brief.
She screamed.
And he... smiled.
A slow, painful smile, as if something in him had just been released.
She rushed to the lifeless body, wracked with sobs.
He leaned over her one last time.
"See? That's when you cry that you're most real."
And he left.
Without looking back.
But his imprint was marked within her like a wound.
She had failed.
And he had seen her fail.
***
The torture became daily. Seongje began a dance, a waltz with only one partner. And Y/N, whether she wanted to or not, followed the melody.
In public, he was the benevolent smile, the charming comrade. He'd place a hand on her shoulder, ask how she was with poisoned gentleness.
"Sleep well, Y/N?"
He said that every morning. And she never slept anymore.
"Nice dress today. But I prefer the one you wore last Tuesday. The one with the white collar."
That day, she was sure she hadn't seen him. She no longer understood. She doubted. She began to note her outfits, her routes. Everything. But he always knew.
He spoke like a lover, in front of everyone. He used tender intonations, spoke of her as if they were together. Others snickered, thought her a bit prudish, a bit naive. No one understood. That every word was a nail. A screw in her skull.
And then, there was the day of humiliation.
***
An ordinary morning. Literature class. The class discussed a poem about loss, madness. The professor asked if there was a difference between real pain and imagined pain.
Seongje raised his hand.
"Y/N could answer, I think. She has a lot of experience with both."
Laughter erupted.
"She spends her time writing things down. Scribbling in notebooks. Things that don't exist, perhaps?"
The professor tried to refocus, but the damage was done. Y/N was frozen. Blood pounded in her temples.
***
One lunchtime, he did worse.
They were in the courtyard. Surrounded. The sun beat down, but Y/N felt cold.
He approached.
"You know you walk like a beaten animal?"
Everyone turned their heads.
She didn't understand right away. The sentence took a second to penetrate her consciousness.
"It's cute, actually. That little victim look. It makes you endearing."
A laugh. Someone looked away. A girl murmured: "It's a joke, right?"
But he wasn't laughing.
He was looking at her.
Y/N felt the blood drain from her face.
And then... he leaned in.
And very slowly, he brushed her cheek.
"You know I like you huh?"
She remained frozen. Dead with shame. With humiliation. The silence around them was a trap. No one said anything.
Later, in the hallway, he found her.
He approached. Slowly. Wrapped his arms around her. His head against her shoulder.
"I'm sorry. I just wanted you to feel... that you were real. That you were alive."
He wiped a tear from her cheek. Caressed it with his fingertips.
"You're beautiful when you cry. It's almost art."
She wanted to push him away. But her body was as if turned away from her. She was two: the one screaming inside, and the one remaining frozen.
He looked her straight in the eyes.
"You know, sometimes I wonder... what if all this was in your head?"
She paled.
"I mean... me, I'm normal. I talk to you, I'm kind, right? It's you who sees things. Have you ever thought you might need help?"
She backed away. He gave a tender smile.
"Or maybe... you like it? This game we play? Maybe you're not so innocent."
Seongje felt. Truly. But in a broken way.
He felt a deep attachment. But he was incapable of expressing it other than by breaking the other person.
Seeing her lose herself, warp, doubting herself, made him... complete. He felt real in her fear. He saw himself in her eyes as in a dirty but living mirror.
He wasn't entirely happy. He was relieved. As if his madness finally had a purpose. Someone.
When she fled him, he felt emptiness. When she hated him, he felt warmth. When she cried, he felt like he was touching God.
He was sick. But sincere.
And he loved her. In a way no one should ever love someone.
But for him, it was the only way not to sink alone.
---
That night, Seongje didn't sleep. It wasn't ordinary insomnia, a restless body or vague thoughts. It was a form of absolute awakening. A trance. A state of raw, pure existence, unadorned and without distraction. He lay on his bed, arms crossed over his chest like a corpse prepared for the grave, eyes wide open, tearing at the ceiling with a fixed gaze. In his mind, the images returned. Not the fight. Not the screams. Neither the blows given, nor the blows received. That wasn't what had shaken him. It was her.
Y/N.
She, in the shadow of the alley. Frozen, trembling. A doe in the wolf's mouth. And that terror in her eyes. A holy terror. Sacred. Like an offering from another world. The blood on his hands was still warm, and yet, at that moment, all he saw was her. Her breath, jerky, irregular, almost painful. The beating of her heart, which he heard like a melody. He could have sworn he felt it beating in his own chest.
The fear. That fear. Hers.
It was... sublime.
Seongje closed his eyes. He plunged back into it. The shiver that ran down his neck when she recoiled a step, believing he was going to strike her down like the others. The small, stifled exhale. Like a trapped animal. And that gaze.
Not a simple look of horror. A look of truth.
He had spent his life breaking people to see what lay beneath. The masks, the postures, the social roles. All of it was just veneer. He had to flay them. And in fear, in panic, it all fell away. Then he saw. And when he saw, he finally existed.
With her, it wasn't just an exposure. It was a communion.
A kind of sick revelation. As if their two essences had crossed in the dark, and she had understood. That she knew what he was. And that she had been right to be afraid.
That, more than anything, had shaken him.
She hadn't disguised her terror. She hadn't tried to defend herself. She had recoiled, trembled, cried. Real. Raw. Human.
And he had seen her.
He had seen her. Not as one looks at a girl. No. As one discovers a flaw in a world too smooth. Like a flaw in reality. She was his anchor. His mirror. His truth.
A small smile formed on his lips.
He wanted more.
Not to possess her. Not in the physical sense. No. That would be too simple. He wanted to remake her. To re-sculpt her. Slowly. A lender's patience. He wanted to see how far she could collapse. How far he could stretch her, mold her. A porcelain statue, which he would break finger by finger, before gluing the pieces back together with her tears.
He wanted her fear to become permanent. For her to breathe for him. For her to exist only in anticipation of his footsteps. Of his breath.
He wanted her to love nothing else but him. Not out of love. But out of exhaustion. Out of necessity.
He wanted her to destroy everything she was, just to have a chance to survive by his side.
And then... then only, would she belong to him.
True love, he thought, is born only in the extreme. Extreme abandonment. Extreme pain. What others call love is lukewarmness. He wanted fire.
And she was dry wood.
He slowly straightened up. His body was permeated with a dark, vibrant, insatiable energy. In the silence of the night, he was ready to act. To lay the next stone of their unhealthy cathedral.
A silent laugh rose in his throat.
He thought of his hands on her face, wiping her tears like rare pearls. He thought of his fingers brushing her cheeks, her lips, not to love her. No. To make her shiver. To make her believe she was safe, just before pulling the ground out from under her feet.
It wasn't ordinary sadism. Not gratuitous cruelty. It was alchemy. A precise construction.
He imagined the days to come.
Making her fall. Again. Then raising her up. Slightly. Then breaking her again.
A ballet. A melody. A dance between the executioner and the victim, where the executioner is the only one who knows the steps.
And if she fled?
All the better.
He would love to find her again. Encircle her. Make her believe she was free. Then reappear. Behind her. In her mirror. In her dreams.
He would be her prison. And she, the key he would never turn.
A shiver of pure excitement ran down his spine.
He stood up. Barefoot on the cold floorboards. He opened the window. Breathed the fetid air of the sleeping city. Then he whispered, to himself:
"You'll see, Y/N. You'll see how beautiful you can become... by falling."
He wasn't in love.
He was possessed.
---
The rumor started as a dirty whisper, in a hallway too narrow. A voice, barely veiled, thrown into the stale air of the changing rooms: "They're sleeping together, didn't you know? She acts shy, but she's actually a slut. His little slut."
And many more. Even worse.
"Did you see what she did in the toilets with him?" — "It's always the quiet ones who are the worst." — "She acts innocent, but she's sleeping with that freak."
The word had slipped into conversations like a cold blade. It had planted itself in Y/N's back without her understanding how. The glances had changed. The silences had grown heavier. And the laughter. That faceless, malicious laughter, which she now heard behind her at every break.
Then it became frontal.
One day, she entered the classroom and someone snapped: "Madam Wolf Geum is late. Maybe she's collecting her underwear from his locker?"
The laughter was sharp. Dry. She stopped dead.
"I heard you love it when he ties you up. Is that what he did again today, huh?"
"So it was our two lovebirds we heard in the janitor's closet? Whoa... Do you have so little self-respect?" added a "friend," shaking her head.
Her throat tightened, her vision blurred. But before she had time to turn away, the air changed.
Him.
Seongje was there. He didn't speak. He walked.
Every step he took on the tiles seemed to steal the oxygen from the room. His gaze didn't scream. It was fixed, cold, like an animal ready to bite silently. He slowly approached the one who had spoken. No one dared to move.
"Repeat that."
His voice was low. Very low. Like a buried growl.
"I-it was a joke, man..."
Seongje tilted his head. He stared at him without blinking.
"No. Say it. Loud. You seemed very inspired earlier. Go on. Start over. Let everyone hear. That you talked about my other half like a slut. Go on !"
My other half? Y/N wanted to disappear
He said, looking at the other girl.
No one breathed. To slip underground. But she was frozen. Trapped by the spectacle, by him.
The boy backed away. But Seongje took a step forward. Slow.
"I'll tell you something," he breathed. "Next time you open your f***ing mouth about her, I'm going to make you swallow your teeth. And you won't even be allowed to cry."
He then looked at the girl.
"And you, I don't know what made you grow wings, but you're tearing them off... Otherwise, I swear you'll realize that throwing yourself from a 20-story building will be your only way out of the hell I'm going to create for you."
He smiled. Slowly. Teeth clearly visible. And no one moved.
It wasn't a threat. It was a promise.
Then he turned to Y/N. A slight smile. Delicate. Barely real.
"Come on, my lollipop."
The nickname felt like a spit in her face. He took her by the shoulder and guided her out of the room, as if they had always been a couple. And no one dared to say anything.
***
He had rewritten everything.
A past she had never lived. He told anyone who would listen that they had met in the library. That she had helped him with homework. That they had connected immediately. He made it seem like she was shy, yes, but clingy. Cute, but too intense.
He spoke like a lover overwhelmed by a girl who was too passionate. And little by little, doubt set in. Some began to look at her as a hypocrite.
"You play your cards well, huh, Y/N?"
She no longer responded. Because after hearing the story so many times, she had started to see it in her own memories. She remembered glances that had never been exchanged. Gestures that had never occurred. She was losing herself.
And he, every day, added more.
"Do you remember, my little forest mouse? That day you confessed you were afraid I would disappear? You cried like a fountain."
She remembered nothing. But when he said these things, he sounded so convinced. As if he was begging her to remember with him. As if he was suffering from her forgetfulness. And somewhere, it suffocated her.
One day, she tried to confront him.
"We're not together. We never have been."
He smiled. Long. Slow.
"You often lie when you're scared. But it's okay. I'm patient. We'll start our story over, from the beginning. I'll teach you what we've lived. And you'll see, you'll remember it too."
That day, he had locked her in an empty room, between noon and two.
He closed the door behind him. Slowly.
"Sit down."
She obeyed. Too tired to flee.
He looked at her for a long time. Then:
"Say it."
She looked up, disoriented.
"What?"
He approached. A finger on her lips.
"You know very well."
He crouched in front of her. And repeated softly:
"Say you.need.me."
She shook her head.
"No. Please, stop..."
He grabbed her by the jaw. Not hard. But firmly. His gaze devoid of warmth.
"Say it."
She closed her eyes.
"I need you."
"Louder."
"I need you."
He smiled. Resting his forehead against hers.
"See? It's not so hard. It's even true, isn't it?"
She cried. Silently.
He wiped her tears. Again. As he had done the first time. He seemed at peace. Calm. Truly happy.
"You see, Y/N. It's in these moments that you're most beautiful. It's not the strong girl I want. It's you. Like this. Real. Broken. Mine."
He stood up. And let go, as if she had become useless again.
But before leaving, he said softly:
"Tomorrow, you'll say it without me asking. Because you'll have understood that it's the truth."
And she remained alone. Her throat parched. Not knowing if she was still crying, or if she was simply empty.
***
That night, he whispered in her ear:
"You'll see. You'll get used to it. Fear is just love without instructions."
She didn't understand right away. But what she did know was that next time, she would do her best to escape him.
---
The last straw was a simple night bus ride.
He had seen her get on that last bus of the night, at the deserted stop where the streetlights only illuminated puddles of oil. She was wearing the coat he liked — the one that swallowed her body and made her look like a chilly cat. A fleeing cat. He liked that. That fragility in her back. That silence in her shoulders.
He got on at the next stop. Without a sound.
And he saw her.
She had sat all the way at the back. Isolated. Head against the window, eyes red from too much crying. He smiled. A slow smile. Almost respectful.
Y/N.
He approached without haste. Sat right behind her. So close he could have brushed her hair with a breath. But he didn't touch her. Not yet.
Instead, he pulled out that small black notebook. What she thought was a secret.
Her diary.
He had taken it from her bag two days earlier. She hadn't noticed anything. She wasn't looking at the right things anymore. She had forgotten that there were people capable of truly seeing.
"February 13th. Sometimes I have horrible thoughts. I imagine being held against my will. That I can't move anymore. And I'm ashamed because... sometimes, I feel like I'd like it."
He read that sentence in a low voice. Slowly. Like a prayer.
Y/N froze.
He saw her spine contract. Her neck stiffen. She didn't move, but her breath broke. He heard it. Like a cornered animal. Fragile. Vibrating.
He continued.
"February 17th. I dreamed someone was watching me sleep. And that gaze made me feel... real. I was his. And I liked it. I hate it."
"You see," he breathed, "I don't hate you. You can like it. You can be real with me."
She finally turned her head. Just a little. Her eyes were wide, bright, flooded. She said nothing. But he saw everything. Fear. Incomprehension. Disgust. Vertigo.
"Did you think you were alone in feeling that? That it was shameful? No. It's beautiful. It's what makes us the same, you and me. Do you understand?"
He placed a hand on her shoulder. Gently.
She violently pushed it away. As if her skin burned at the contact. She sprang to her feet.
"GET OUT!"
The cry echoed in the empty bus. The driver turned his head slightly, then turned away. As always. No one wanted to see.
Seongje stared at her. And laughed.
A child's laugh who doesn't understand why his favorite toy has just been broken. Then that laugh cracked. It stopped abruptly. Emptiness returned to his eyes.
"Since when... do you think you can escape me, my lollipop?"
He stood up in turn. Slowly. The bus was moving. The pale light made his shadow tremble on the windows. He stood straight. But his face twitched in places.
"You're the one who wrote all that. Not me. You dreamed it, felt it, desired it. You want to be torn from yourself? That's me. You know it."
She trembled.
She took a step back, clinging to a pole. Her breath was jerky, irregular. He saw the tears stream down. He watched them like one watches pearls fall to the ground.
She was sweating. He smelled the bittersweet scent of her fear. A truer perfume than all others.
Her fingers trembled. She looked around, as if an exit could open. But they were alone. She, him... and that notebook, open to her raw emotions.
She whispered:
"You... you stole me..."
He advanced again.
"No. I knew you. Better than anyone. And you know what I saw? Someone beautiful. Someone broken. Like me."
He reached out a hand, to caress her face.
She struck.
A backhand, clumsy, desperate.
He staggered slightly. Then laughed again. Short. Nervous.
"That's cute. You want to play at running away from me? Fine. But you already know how this ends. Don't you?"
She ran off at the next stop. He watched her walk away. He didn't move.
Not yet.
***
Three days later. Y/N had fled.
The following hours were tasteless. Just emptiness. A white noise in her skull. Like wind between bones.
Y/N no longer responded. To anything. No messages. No calls. No glances exchanged. She was nowhere. Not at home. Not at school. Not in the streets they had walked.
She had disappeared.
Seongje had never known this. The feeling of being amputated. But now, it was obvious. Something was missing. A weight. A pain. A certainty.
He talked to himself. In his room. He repeated her phrases. The nicknames. The memories he had invented, sculpted, given. He murmured them like prayers. Then screamed them. Then cried them.
At one point, he started yelling at the wall. His fists bloody.
"YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!"
"YOU DON'T HAVE THE RIGHT TO LEAVE!"
"WE'RE THE SAME, DAMN IT!"
He no longer slept. He wandered like a lost dog. His eyes wild. His heart shattered. Everything soft in him had turned sharp.
He imagined her dead. Abducted. Raped. And then he hated himself. He started praying. Then he wanted to hit her. Then hold her. All in the same minute.
And in this chaos, he repeated to himself:
"She'll come back. She HAS to come back."
But she didn't come back.
So he went looking for her.
And he found her.
Three days later. In the countryside, far, far from the city. She had hidden at an aunt's house. In a place where no one ever goes.
But he, he had found her.
On the fourth day, he was waiting for her. In front of her aunt's house. Back against the wall. Hands in his pockets. Like a patient lover.
When she came out, he saw her. His face lit up as if he had found a part of himself.
"Y/N, finally. I thought you were dead. Do you know you killed me for three days? Three damn days..."
She wanted to back away, to go back inside. But he anticipated her. Walked slowly towards her, like a wolf approaching wounded prey.
"Did you miss me? I did. You, you missed everything. Even the silence."
His voice vibrated with something too human to be healthy.
"You left me all alone. Do you realize that? You abandoned me like dirt. After everything we built."
"We built nothing, Seongje."
He slapped her.
Brutally. Then caught her in his arms. As if his own gesture had shocked him.
"Sorry... sorry. It's your fault too. You're driving me crazy, damn it. You break me and you smile. I'm trying to protect you. I'm trying to be good. I'm doing everything right, but you... you hide. You make me look like a monster..."
She was suffocating. Her hands trembled. Her vision narrowed. Her breathing became rapid, painful, hoarse. The sounds around seemed blurred, muffled. She was there, but already somewhere else.
"I want to go home."
"No. Not now. We're going to talk, you're going to listen to me, and you're going to look at me like before."
He gripped her chin.
"Like before, Y/N. When you cried and I wiped your tears. When you were mine. Don't you remember? Of course you do. You're just lost. And I'm here to help you. Always."
He changed his tone. His voice became soft again. Childlike.
"Y/N, my treasure. My lollipop. My little forest mouse. You still love me a little, don't you? Just a little?"
She was crying now. Tears of anguish, not sorrow.
And then he kissed her.
A long kiss. Torn. Forced. Passionate and sick. He held her firmly. She didn't respond. She was suffocating. She felt like vomiting. But she couldn't scream. Couldn't push him away.
When he finally let her go, his eyes were shining with a demented emotion. And He kisses her again
"See? We're still here. Together. Nothing has changed. You're just angry. But you love me. You love me, right? Say it. Say you love me."
She stammered an almost inaudible "no."
Kiss her again.
Again and again.
He stared at her for a long time. Then a hollow, sad laugh echoed in his throat.
"You're still scared. But it's okay. I told you... fear is just love without instructions."
He finally walked away, hands in his pockets. She collapsed on the sidewalk, on her knees. Nausea. Panic attack. Body shaking.
The first day Y/N saw him, he was bleeding from the corner of his lip and sneering like a rabid dog.
Ganghak High School was far from a stable place, but this boy… this Geum Seong-je, he reeked of instability from miles away. Chaos lived within him. He was the type to destroy a room because someone had sneezed too loudly. Y/N was supposed to watch him.
It was one fight too many.
The hallways trembled, the windows exploded. He had his fist in the mouth of another kid already on the ground and he kept going, methodical, his eyebrows furrowed as if hitting helped him breathe. Three supervisors hadn't been able to do anything. So she had entered. Silent at first.
Then:
"Are you done with your circus act, or do I need to train you like a mutt?"
He hadn't even looked at her. Just a hoarse breath, another blow. She had approached. A hand on his shoulder. He had growled. She had reacted: a knee strike, then two. He had thrown a chair. She had teased him.
He had collapsed, his muscles contracted in a brutal spasm.
When he woke up in the principal's office, still groggy, she was waiting for him. Arms crossed, back straight.
"What are you, some genetic waste?"
She had looked at him with an almost chilling calm.
"Did you think you were a hero today? Do you believe that hitting harder erases your shitty life?"
Pause. A silence.
"You're pathetic. Even dogs know when to stop."
He had wanted to smile. But there was this crack in his chest, this short breath he couldn't expel. She wasn't yelling. She was cutting. And it was worse.
She had hit him again, another time, another week. Because he had strangled a student against the lockers. Because he had smashed a cell phone against a wall. Because he had looked at her, her, with that look full of defiance, filth, and darkness.
And yet.
He always came back to her. Sat on the bench near the supervisors' room, his back torn by blows, a poorly stuck bandage, his eyes fixed on her with a morbid intensity. He followed her in the hallways, provoked her in class, insulted her sometimes, coldly, softly, almost tenderly.
"Ms. Y/N."
He murmured her name like a reproach. Like a burn.
"Are you stalking me, or is it the other way around?"
She never answered. She took notes, wrote words in her notebook, read his old files. And sometimes… sometimes, when his back was turned, she looked at his scars. The angle of his jaw, clenched. The tremors in his fingers. The way he would break when he no longer knew how to breathe.
He wasn't crazy. Just fractured. And in his cracks, he had lodged her, her. He stared at her like a mystery he had to dissect, like a living enigma he hated not being able to silence.
He said nothing, but in his eyes, it was obvious:
Y/N lived in his head.
And he had decided that as long as she was there, he wouldn't let anyone else breathe.
---
He always came back.
Sometimes at dawn, eyes red-rimmed, a piece of chewing gum stuck under his tongue, fists bandaged. Other times at the last hour, dragging his feet, but his gaze sharp. He didn't miss any of her rounds. He waited for the click of her heels in the deserted hallways, the rustle of her files against her hip, that clinical way she had of ignoring him.
And it drove him crazy.
"Sleeping in your office now, ma'am?" He had sat on the table, head tilted.
"Don't you have a life? Or are you waiting for me to give you one?"
She hadn't looked up.
"Do you want me to take away your right to speak, or do you want your jaw to last until tomorrow?"
He had laughed. A real laugh, hoarse, short. No provocation, just… a release. As if, with her, the mask fell without him realizing it.
But he hated her for it. For that way of seeing through him. Of walking through his shattered pieces without ever getting cut.
So, he tested her.
He wrote stupid things on the walls: "Madam is a cold witch. She punishes without heart."
He sat in her chair when she wasn't there. Rummaged through her papers. Watched her from afar.
And when she entered a room, he spoke loudly, always too loudly, so she would hear his name amidst the laughter.
But never, never did he touch her.
There was a line. He didn't know why. Maybe because she had already put him on the ground. Maybe because she was the only one who had never backed down from him. No fear, no false respect. Just… contempt. Pure and precise.
And that obsessed him.
He had started dreaming about her. Not in a gentle way, no. Suffocating, sweaty dreams, where she held him down with her foot, where she slapped him silently while he laughed. He would wake up, heart pounding, unable to understand if he loved her, hated her, or both.
He bought drinks that he left on her desk without a word. She threw them away. He started again. Out of habit. Out of defiance. Out of need.
One day, she had called him into her office. He sat down, provocative.
"Another punishment, ma'am?"
"Do you think I enjoy seeing you all the time?"
She had stepped forward, thrown a file onto his lap. His file.
"Do you think I haven't read it? You're pathetic, Geum Seong-je. You cling to violence like a kid to his teddy bear. It's your only way to exist. But you don't impress me. You just waste my time."
She had said that without raising her voice. He had smiled. Slowly.
"It's crazy how much you like to talk about me. Haven't you noticed? It's always me in your mouth."
She had almost slapped him. But she hadn't. And he had known: that, that was the real trap.
That day, he had gone home. He hadn't slept. He had punched the walls. He had clenched his teeth until they bled. And he had sworn, not out loud, just to himself:
Y/N would look at him. Even if it meant burning everything he touched.
---
It was hot that day. A sticky, stifling heat that the school walls couldn't contain. The air reeked of teenage sweat, cheap deodorants, and something electric—a premonition, perhaps. As if something was about to break.
Geum Seong-je, however, seemed unusually calm. Too calm.
He loitered in the courtyard, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a half-empty water bottle. He had the kind of look that you couldn't hold: empty but sharp, like a polished abyss. That day, no one dared approach him. Even his own guys kept their distance. He had beaten up a kid that morning for asking him for a cigarette. Just that. One sentence too many, and he had seen red.
But when he saw Y/N, her straight back, her determined walk, the way she seemed to cut through the air around her, he straightened up. Something within him readjusted, like a broken compass suddenly finding north again.
She was coming out of a meeting with a student. She looked tired. No makeup. A few strands of hair stuck to her forehead. And above all, she seemed elsewhere.
He followed her, silently.
When she entered her office, she felt it. A sensation at the nape of her neck, almost animalistic. She turned around.
He was there. Leaning against the doorframe, his gaze fixed on her, not mocking for once. Almost… attentive.
"You look dead."
He moved closer. Slowly.
"Didn't you sleep?"
She groaned, irritated, and threw her file onto the desk.
"What's it to you?"
He smiled. Not his usual smile. Not the one that preceded blows. Another one, rarer. Soft. And dangerous.
"I'm meddling in what belongs to me."
She raised her head, eyes dark, ready to strike him. But he was already there, very close, hands in his pockets, his chest almost touching hers. And he wasn't looking at her in defiance. He was looking at her as if he were listening. As if he could hear her heart beating.
"Step back."
"No."
A silence. Too long. Too charged. The slightest movement would have shattered everything.
Then she made the mistake. A human error, certainly. Fatigue. Loneliness. A slight crack in the mask.
She didn't hit him.
She didn't run away.
She sighed. Just that. A sigh. A release.
And he saw the flaw.
He sensed the weakness, the whisper of a possible attachment.
And it was worse than pity. Worse than hate.
He raised his hand. Slowly. Gently. And his fingers brushed her cheek. Not roughly. With an awkward, almost sacred tenderness.
"You should sleep, ma'am."
She let him. Just a few seconds. She could have broken his wrist. She didn't.
And that's when he knew. That she was no longer invulnerable. That she had opened, even just a centimeter, the door. And in that gap, he rushed in.
**
Since that day, everything changed.
He no longer just followed her. He waited for her. At the metro exit, sometimes. In front of the teachers' lounge. He left things on her desk: a lighter, an annotated book he had stolen from the library, a peach-flavored chewing gum she liked. He didn't always speak. But he watched. For a long time. Obsessively.
And she… she said nothing.
She should have. She knew it. Every step towards him chipped away at her a little more. She saw his gaze change—more fixed, more serious. He no longer called her just "ma'am." Sometimes, it was Y/N. Pronounced slowly. As if he were chewing each letter. As if it were an incantation.
She should have set boundaries. She should have re-established the distance. But she had found herself waiting for his gaze. Watching for his silhouette. And feeling something bitter when he wasn't there.
One day, she had hurt her hand—a stupid cut with a piece of cardboard. She hadn't noticed him watching her from afar. That evening, he had entered her office without knocking, a first-aid kit in his hand.
"You're incapable of taking care of yourself, huh."
He had taken her hand without waiting. She could have slapped him. She should have. But he was already gently cleaning the wound. Without brutality. His fingers were warm, calloused, but precise.
She said nothing. He wrapped the gauze around her palm. Then, he kept her hand in his for a few seconds too long.
"I can't get you out of my head."
She wanted to answer. He interrupted her.
"I don't want you to be like the others. You're not. And I'm not stupid, Y/N. You think I'm just a wild animal, but I see what you're trying to hide. You furrow your brow when you're worried. You're afraid of getting attached, and you always look at me like I'm a time bomb. Maybe I am one, yeah. But you activated me. And now, it's too late."
She stepped back, finally. But gently. He didn't try to hold her.
She closed her eyes. For a second. Just one. And he saw her breathe faster. He saw that what she was holding back wasn't anger. It was something else. Something more painful.
"You'd better leave."
"Not until you understand what you've unleashed."
He left the room. Slowly. He didn't need to kiss her. Not yet. Not right away. He had seen what he wanted to see: the mistake.
She had looked at him differently. She had trembled, even slightly.
And that crack, he would never let it close again.
---
The rain had fallen all night. It hammered against the windows of Y/N's car, punctuating the tension that tightened her throat. She hadn't stopped staring at the police station door, her eyes fixed in a blur, her jaw clenched. She knew these kinds of calls. Too well. Violent kids, repeat offenders, desperate cases left to drift in a soulless system. But tonight, it wasn't a "case," it wasn't a student.
It was him.
Geum Seong-je.
When she had walked through the doors, the smell of disinfectant mixed with stale coffee and dampness had hit her. A familiar smell. Too familiar. And the police officers had greeted her with a vague air, as if it were just another detail in their night.
"He can leave," one of them said.
"What do you mean?" she asked, frowning.
"Orders from above."
"Meaning?"
He shrugged, offering no further explanation.
"Release him to the supervisor. That's what we were told."
Y/N felt her temples throb. She wasn't stupid. "Orders from above" didn't exist without a reason. Even less so when it involved a teenager implicated in a violent fight with another school. There had been serious injuries. One of the boys had a fractured jaw. And Seong-je? He was going to walk out, as if nothing had happened.
It smelled like bullshit. Real bullshit.
And not a single answer. Nothing.
When she entered the small back room, she saw him. Sitting on a metal chair, slumped against the wall, legs spread apart, face turned to the floor. He looked… drained. Arms crossed over his chest, forehead pressed against the wall. Disarmed.
A dirty bandage covered his right foot, which he held half-raised, without even paying attention to it. Dried blood stained his temple. His knuckles were split open, scraped down to the bone.
But it wasn't the sight of his injuries that struck her. It was the absence of fire in his eyes. The absence of that fierce rage he wore like a second skin.
"Seong-je?"
He slowly raised his head. He blinked. Then a small, painful grimace stretched across his split lips.
"Ma'am..."
His voice was hoarse. Slowly, he straightened up, swayed, but remained standing.
But this time, there was nothing provocative about that "ma'am."
There was no more irony. No more game.
He had said it like an oath. Like a sacred whisper.
"Let's go home." She took his arm. He didn't protest. But she felt his whole body stiffen when she put an arm around his waist to help him walk.
**
She settled him in her home. Not out of weakness. Not out of pity. But because she knew. Instinctively.
He didn't want to go back. He had no one.
He hadn't said it. He hadn't even tried to make excuses. He had just let himself be guided, silent.
In her small living room, she sat him down on the sofa. She got what she needed: first-aid kit, compresses, hydrogen peroxide. He watched her, his dark gaze fixed on her every move as if he never wanted to lose sight of her again.
And when she laid her hands on him…
When she gently cleaned the blood from his temple, when she brushed her fingertips over his swollen cheek, when she bandaged his ribs without even raising her voice…
He broke.
Not in sobs. Not in screams. Inwardly. Silently. Devastated.
Because no one had ever touched him like that.
No one had ever cared for him without making him feel like a beast, a problem, a mistake. She, she placed her hands with an almost… frightening delicacy. As if he had value. As if he were fragile.
And the more she touched him, the more something inside him melted.
The more his obsession with her became visceral, devouring, uncontrollable.
He looked at her like one looks at a vision. Like a miracle in a world of filth.
Y/N, for her part, focused on her actions. But she felt it. She felt his eyes following her, scrutinizing her. As if he wanted to engrave her into his flesh.
She tried to remain upright. Hard. But it was too late.
In a corner of her mind, she admitted it: she hurt for him.
And she hated that crack within herself.
"You're going to have to stay off that foot for a few days. It's pierced."
"They stomped on me with a metal bar," he replied without emotion.
She froze. He said it as if he were talking about the rain. As if it were normal.
And this time, she couldn't help but look up at him. He was staring at her. Intense. Obsessed.
"Why are you like this with me?" he murmured.
She hesitated. Her hands trembled almost imperceptibly.
"Because you're still standing despite everything."
"You still think I'm just a kid, huh."
She didn't answer. He licked his lips, painfully. Then, he leaned in slightly. He was still sitting, she kneeling in front of him. And slowly, he placed his hand on her cheek.
"Y/N..."
She felt her throat tighten.
He wasn't trying to provoke her. Or seduce her. Not really.
He was just trying to maintain that contact. That link. That small, invisible thread that now connected them.
And in an almost unreal moment, she closed her eyes.
Just for a moment.
She felt his warm palm against her skin. Understood. Accepted.
But as she was about to straighten up, he spoke. His voice was deeper. Slower. Trembling.
"Even if you were to love me one day… you'd refuse. Because I'm still a minor. Because you have too many principles. Because you're strong. And me… I'm everything you've learned to run from."
She opened her eyes. Their gazes met.
Brutally.
And she understood. That this boy, this damn broken, unstable, twisted boy… had just realized that he was falling.
That he was falling for her.
And she… she wasn't sure she wanted to stop him anymore.
She placed her hand on his. Withdrew it almost immediately.
But it was too late.
He had felt it.
And in his eyes, in that uncontrollable flame, she read the promise of an obsession with no way out.
"I'm going to disappear for a while," he finally said.
She raised her head.
"Where?"
"You don't want to know."
She wanted to protest. He shook his head.
"Not now. But I'll be back."
He stood up with difficulty. She helped him. He rested his forehead against hers. Just for a second.
"You see… you left a crack, ma'am. And me? I'm going to make it open until you belong to me."
**
And she let him go.
Not because she wanted to.
But because she knew that when he returned, nothing would ever be the same.
---
I’ve kept a low profile.
No more fighting. No more staring. Nothing. Like a ghost in these damn hallways. Not because I’ve changed. No. I’m the same. I just understood. Baek Jin, that dog, that parasite… he used me. I was a tool. A pit bull he’d unleash when he needed to. Nothing else.
So I backed off. I waited. I watched.
And during that time, I thought about her.
Ms. Y/N.
Fucking hell. Just her name in my head and my nerves ignite.
I remember her fingers on my face that night. It was nothing. An almost professional gesture. Cold. Calculated. But damn it… I got hard as a rock that night. I clenched the sheets between my teeth. I touched myself like a dog in heat. And it was her. It’s always her. It’s always her hand I imagine between my legs.
I’m sick.
I know it. I don’t care.
I want her to touch me again. Not just my face. No. I want her hand everywhere. I want her mouth on my skin. Her nails in my back. Her breath in my ear. Her saliva. Her fucking scent—that mix between clean and fire. Between discipline and hell.
I want to see her crumble. See her lose that mask.
I want to be the one who makes her tremble. Not from fear. From need.
I want her to tell me I’m hers. Even if it’s not true. Even if she’s lying. Even if she hates me.
Because me… I love her.
Not that bullshit love they sing about in dramas.
Me, I love her to the bone.
I love her like you burn.
I dream of her. And in my dreams, she doesn’t scream. She moans.
She tells me no, at first. Always. Because it’s her. Because she’s proud. Fucking upright. But I see her body betray her words. I see her thighs part, slowly. I see her mouth slightly open. I see her breathing quicken.
And I grab her by the nape of the neck. I look at her. I say nothing. And she understands.
And I take her.
I devour her.
I want her to feel that I’m there. Inside her. Everywhere. That even after, when she washes herself, when she tries to forget, I’ll still be there. Under her fingernails. In her nightmares. In her scent.
I’m obsessed.
I could spend hours staring at her without speaking. Just watching her walk. Her swaying hips. Her dark gaze. That contempt she wears like perfume.
Even when she insulted me, I got hard.
Even when she threw me to the ground, tased me like a dog, I would have thanked her.
It was her.
She calmed me down. She hurt me. She looked at me like I was a monster. And damn it… I want her to continue.
I want her to tell me I’m fucked up. That I’m a lost cause.
But I want her to tell me that while moaning. Between two sighs.
I want her to scratch me. Make me bleed. Reject me while I take her. I want her hate, her fear, her confusion. I want her damn mind.
I want to crush her beneath me and whisper in her ear:
“You’re mine now, ma’am.”
And she won’t say anything. Because she’ll know it’s true.
Even if she denies it. Even if she runs.
I’ll always find her.
Because I’m not in love like other people.
I’m not a nice guy. I’m not made for happiness.
I’m made to destroy her softly.
To show her that she never really controlled her heart.
I stole it, little by little.
And one day, she’ll see it.
One day, she’ll feel that she can no longer breathe without thinking of me.
That day… I’ll be there. With my hands around her hips.
With my mouth against her throat.
And she won’t say anything.
Because it will be too late.
---
She’d been warned he was back, in a fearful whisper from a student with a tongue that wagged too freely.
He hadn’t returned to school. Of course not. Too obvious. Too risky. He was hanging around the construction site of the old shopping center, the one no one watched. Walls covered in graffiti, windows blown out, rats making their kingdom out of the debris.
That’s where she found him.
He hadn’t hidden. He was sitting on the cracked steps, one arm bloody beneath his torn sleeve. His eyes were vacant. An expression she’d never seen on him before.
And it drove her mad.
Mad with rage. With pain. With not knowing. With not understanding. With having believed him to be different, perhaps. A dangerous, unstable guy, but not this. Not a fucking rapist.
She approached. The sound of her footsteps echoed on the concrete.
He looked up, slowly.
And without warning, the first slap landed.
A sharp crack in the cold air. Seong-je’s head snapped violently to the side. He didn’t react. He blinked. That was all.
“Tell me it’s not true,” Y/N breathed. Her voice was low. Strangled.
Not a scream. A warning.
He looked at her, silent.
She slapped him a second time, harder, backhanded this time. He swayed slightly but remained seated. Still without a word.
“Tell me it’s not true, damn it!”
He inhaled. Closed his eyes.
“It’s not true,” he said.
But it was too late.
The third slap was brutal. Stinging. He placed a hand on his cheek this time. Not to protect himself. Just… to feel.
As if the pain was the only proof he was still there.
Y/N was trembling. Her whole body. Not with fear. With rage. She grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up brutally.
“Then why did you hide?! Huh?! Why did you disappear?! What did you think?! That by leaving me in the dark, I’d… forget?! Defend you without knowing?!”
He kept his eyes locked on hers.
“Because I knew you’d do exactly that. Hit me. Judge me. Look at me like them.”
She gritted her teeth. And then, without thinking, the fourth slap came. And this time, she screamed.
“I protected you! I covered for you for months! And you leave me with a fucking accusation like that?! What do you want?! For me to abandon you?!”
He flinched.
He hadn’t said anything.
But his eyes had clouded over. A shadow had passed.
“I didn’t want you to see that. Me, like that.”
She shoved him violently; he fell back onto the steps, his hands scraped by the concrete.
He didn’t get up.
She remained standing, panting. Broken.
“They have photos, Seong-je. Blurry, yes, but usable. Your black hoodie. Your profile. Your scar on your temple.”
He murmured:
“I wasn’t there. I was somewhere else. I was…”
He hesitated.
“I was hiding out at an old acquaintance’s place. I didn’t call you. I… I was scared.”
“Scared of what?! Of me?!”
He finally looked up at her, and this time, she saw it.
She saw the distress. The real kind.
“Scared that you wouldn’t believe me. That you’d look at the evidence and hesitate. That you’d doubt. Even for a second.”
She didn’t answer. She approached slowly. Squatted down in front of him.
And she hit him one last time, not a slap this time, a punch to the chest, with a closed fist.
“Bastard,” she breathed.
But he looked at her as if she were the last beautiful thing he had left.
And maybe she was.
He coughed, a trace of blood on his lips.
“I’m not a good guy, ma’am. But I never touched that girl. I never wanted that. And I never wanted you to see me like this. Weak. Accused. Falsely accused.”
She closed her eyes. For a long time. Then, gently, she placed a hand on his shoulder. He shivered under her touch.
“Who?”
“Nabaek-jin. Or the guys behind him. They want to take me down. Shut me up. Make me disappear. And there’s no better way than this kind of accusation.”
She nodded.
And for a long moment, they said nothing.
His lips were split. His gaze was lost. He looked worn out. Damaged. Younger than ever. Just a kid. A kid who had been hit too much, dirtied too much.
She stood up.
“You’re coming with me. We’re going to prove you weren’t there that night. We’re going to flip the script. And if you’re lying…”
He nodded.
“I’m not lying.”
She didn’t answer him. She didn’t touch him again.
But as she left, she murmured:
“Don’t run from me again. Because if you do… I’ll hunt you down myself.”
He offered a broken smile.
And in his head, a single thought returned, insistent:
She’s still here. Even after all that. She’s here. She touches him. She hits him. She yells at him. But she’s here.
And that presence was worth all the pain.
Even the pain she inflicted.
---
He was there, leaning against the damp wall of the fire escape behind the school, his gaze fixed on the empty alleyway. He knew she was close. He could feel it. He didn’t need to see her to anticipate her steps – that cold, steady, almost military rhythm. Y/N never did anything halfway.
And she arrived, straight as a knife, her fists clenched in the pockets of her too-thin coat.
She shot him a dark look. He didn’t flinch.
“You have bruises.”
He smiled. An empty smile.
“I don’t fight, Ma’am. I fall.”
She hated that smile. Because it made her want to believe him. And she refused.
“Why do you insist on doing this alone?”
He looked at her for a long time. Too long. And in his eyes, there was that fever she dreaded. That uncontrollable thing, that unhealthy fire that simmered beneath his skin.
“Because it’s my mess. Not yours.”
“And if you get killed? If you fall?”
He approached. Slowly. One step after another. Until he was close enough to feel her breath on his face.
“Then I fall alone. But I refuse to let you dirty your hands for this. I refuse to let them see you, associate you with me, touch you from afar or up close.”
She raised her voice.
“You think I’m some fucking porcelain doll?! You think I—"
He cut her off sharply.
“Let me be a man for once, Y/N.”
She stopped.
He continued, lower. His voice hoarse. And full of that muffled crack he only showed her.
“You want to do everything, carry everything. You’re used to people relying on you. Me, I want… I want to be the one who isn’t saved. I want that at least once in my life, I can say: ‘I handled it. Me.’
He looked up at her. He was burning. Literally.
“You brought me to my knees with your gaze, Y/N. And I don’t want the rats in this city to know you exist. You’re mine. And I’m your dirt to hide.”
She tried to answer. But the words didn’t come. Not right away.
So he left. And this time, she didn’t stop him.
**
Three hours later, in a deserted bowling alley with a broken neon sign, Geum Seong-je retrieved what he had carefully hidden.
An old sports bag, stashed under a false ceiling in the utility room. Inside, papers, hard drives, photos. He had kept it all, just in case. Not because he was careful. Because deep down, he knew that one day, he would have to betray.
He wasn’t afraid of Na Baek-jin.
Not like before.
What he feared was no longer being worthy of Y/N’s gaze. She had slapped him as if she wanted him to become real again. And she had succeeded.
So that night, he walked to the hill where Yeon Si-eun and his two war dogs, baku, gotak and jun-tae. sometimes hung out.
They were there.
He handed the bag to Si-eun, without speaking.
Yeon Si-eun didn’t ask questions. He opened it. Scanned it. Understood. And looked up.
“Why?”
Seong-je ran a hand through his hair, his gaze elsewhere.
“You want to demolish their fucking syndicate? Here’s your bomb. Me, I have something else to protect.”
Si-eun nodded. He didn’t add anything. No need.
**
The next day, Seong-je returned to his hole. He didn’t plan on being a hero. He let others destroy. He just wanted to survive.
But in his head, Y/N.
Always Y/N.
Her voice, her slaps, her silences, her scent.
He thought of her as he went to bed. As he breathed. As he walked. As he washed his hands like a maniac so as not to contaminate what he might one day offer her.
He wanted her. Physically. Yes.
But it wasn’t just that.
He wanted her to see him and think: he’s changed.
He wanted her to offer him a hand one day. Not to save him. Just to touch him.
And every step he took in this fucking rotten world, he took for her.
Not for love. Not for forgiveness.
For the possibility.
The tiny, painful, terribly uncertain possibility… that one day, she would look at him without rage.
Without fear.
Just… with something a little soft.
And for that, he was ready to betray everything he had been.
Even himself.
---
CHAPTER 10 – STORIES ARE WRITTEN TOGETHER
Two months. That’s all it had taken for the dust to settle over the city. Two months of voluntary isolation. Of self-imposed exile.
Geum Seongje hadn’t returned right away. No. He had been a shadow, a figure hidden in the underbelly, where people like him hid, where wounds half-healed, and where time seemed to have forgotten to pass.
The war was over, but he still bore its scars. His name was no longer whispered in the dark alleys with disgust or fear. The syndicate had fallen. The accusations against him had crumbled with the collapse of that underworld. He was cleared, or almost.
But not yet rehabilitated. Not yet returned to who he had been.
The two months had passed. And here he stood before the school, in the middle of the school holidays, in the shade of a tree. He had grown, changed. He was now a man. Of age. And, more importantly, he was there for her.
A cold gaze settled on the entrance of the building. It wasn’t the first time he had returned here. But this time, he had a reason beyond mere rage to reappear in the life of the one who had marked him with fire.
Y/N.
She was there. In the shadow of the gate, talking to a group of students, like a guardian figure. When she turned her head, her eyes met his. A shiver pierced the warm summer air. She recognized him immediately, even after those two months.
She hadn’t changed. But he… He was something else entirely. Harder, more mature, more enigmatic. Far from the teenager she had had to watch, control, sometimes insult. He was no longer the one she had slapped. He was no longer the one she had tried to help, with her icy and closed heart. No, he was a man. A man she knew by heart… and who, yet, was no longer the same at all.
Seongje approached her, his gaze scrutinizing every movement. It wasn't just the desire to possess her. It was deeper. It was a visceral need. A need to connect, to give meaning back to his existence. An obsession, of course, but tinged with that nuance he had never thought possible.
“You know, I can’t call you ‘ma’am’ anymore. I’m no longer under your supervision,” he said with a wry smile, a smile that was both teasing and unhealthy. But his voice was softer, more confident. It was more than a provocation. It was… almost an attempt to get closer.
She stared at him. She was no longer as implacable, but her expression remained distant.
“You’ve changed,” she finally said. Not a question, just a statement.
He didn’t answer immediately, preferring to look her in the eyes. And in that gaze, she could almost feel what he was feeling. The buried pain, the shame, the rage, but also an insatiable need to be seen. To be accepted. To be chosen.
“I’m an adult now, aren’t I?” His voice was tinged with that childish arrogance he had always had, but this time, it wasn’t empty. There was something more in the way he addressed her. A plea for recognition.
She didn’t answer right away, her gaze lost in a mixture of confusion and curiosity. The situation was too unclear for her to embrace with a simple look.
He moved closer slowly, each step heavy with unspoken meanings. Everything he had lived through, everything he had endured… He had gone through it all to be there, in front of her. He was ready for anything. Even that dull ache that resonated in his gut with every movement he made.
“If I follow you… it’s not for school, you know.”
His words were simple, but they struck her heart like a hammer blow.
“You want to follow me away from all this?” she asked, surprised, but also slightly amused. She had remained calm, but he could feel the tension in her gestures.
“Maybe,” he said, a mischievous smile in his eyes. Then he added, lower, almost to himself, “I’ve always had this kind of connection with you. I want more than silences. More than furtive glances.”
She looked at him then, and for the first time in a long time, her gaze softened. Perhaps because she understood now. Perhaps because she knew.
“I’m going to another school… I’m getting transferred,” she murmured. “You know, the distance…”
He leaned a little closer to her, and this time, it wasn’t an enraged look, or the look of a badly behaved child. No, it was a conscious look, the look of someone who knew what he wanted.
“Then I’ll call you ‘noona’ now,” he said in a warm, sensual breath. The word slipped from his lips, and he pronounced it in an almost intimate way, a way that made all the difference. Because he had never pronounced that word that way before, not to her, not ever.
She froze for a moment before relaxing slightly. An almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. But he could see it. She saw it too, that small crack in the wall she had built around herself. She felt an electric tension, a dull pulse, as palpable as the air between them.
Their gazes locked.
It wasn’t a kiss yet, no. But there was something even stronger. It was a silent promise, a profound change. He, the child who had tormented her, now ready to be the one who would follow her. She, the woman ready to accept him, but not without her own fears.
Seongje’s fingers slid onto Y/N’s skin, brushing her wrist. The touch was soft, almost fragile, as if he were afraid of breaking what had just been created. And Y/N, this time, didn’t pull away. On the contrary, she leaned in slightly, like an invitation.
“Noona…” he repeated, in a heavier tone, almost a whisper. And this time, it was the beginning of something real, something vulnerable. It was no longer an obsession.
It was hope.
And then, he did it. He crossed that boundary that, until then, had seemed like an insurmountable chasm. He kissed her. Not brutally, not violently. But gently, gently, as if each movement was a revelation, as if he were discovering himself through her. He had no expectations. Just this desire to feel her close, even closer, more real than ever.
She recoiled slightly, her eyes wide open, shocked by the gesture, but he didn’t move away. Not this time. He waited for a reaction. He didn’t want her words. He just wanted… her to see him. To really see him.
And for the first time since he had met her, Seongje felt at peace. Not because the battle was over, not because he had won anything. But because this time, he had taken his future into his own hands. And that future, he wanted to share with her. No matter how twisted, difficult, or uncertain it might be.
She placed her hand on his cheek, caressing it gently. He had never thought that simple gesture could have such an impact. That tenderness… he received it like a precious, fragile gift. And perhaps, deep down, he was beginning to believe that he could build something real with her. Perhaps, finally, he could exist beyond his mistakes.
She leaned slightly towards him.
“Seongje…”
She said nothing more. Words were unnecessary. But in her eyes, there was what he had always sought: a promise. A promise he had waited for. That he would now build with her.
He smiled, without a word.
Things weren’t perfect. They never would be.
But for the first time, there was an “us.” And that was all he had ever wanted.
Their hands trembled. The air between them was saturated with desire and tension, but also with that fragility that now bound them. No further words were needed. No grander gestures. They understood each other. And for the first time, Seongje felt that he wasn’t alone in being obsessed with the other.
Y/N was there, ready to accept who he had become. But the question remained: would they be able to repair what had been broken before? Or would it all consume them even more?
Hii ! I'm a huge fan of your works! I really love the way u write and how every story isn't boring even if it is long 😭
Anywaysss, can you pls write a weak hero ahn suho x bullied reader? You can plan the whole story, i just really want to see that dynamic 😩😩 Thank you !
Headcanon of Ahn Su-ho as a Boyfie
Ahn Su-ho x GN!reader
"It's dangerous to love me, because I become dangerous to those who hurt you. I'm not perfect. But I'll always know where to strike if someone hurts you."- Ahn Su-ho
You no longer remember the exact moment he started to stay.
Perhaps it was that day, when your fist was bloody and your eyes were red from holding back too many words. You didn't scream. You don't scream. You hit, you withdraw, then you collapse, ashamed to have given in to that rage again.
And him. He was there. Ahn Su-ho. He hadn't touched you. Hadn't lectured you. Hadn't looked at you like the others.
Just that silence. A silence that was neither empty nor uncomfortable. His is made of listening. Of that kind of present calm, like a tree planted in the middle of a storm. You didn't yet know what that meant.
But he stayed.
→Silent Preamble: The Gaze Before Words
He noticed you before you even realized it. Not like one notices someone charming or intriguing. Not with curiosity. No. It was something else. A form of recognition.
Ahn Su-ho has a way of looking at people without staring, but of reading them. As if he's looking for flaws, not to exploit them, but to quietly slip in some gentleness. He saw you lower your eyes one too many times. He heard the voices around you, those that sneer, those that hurt, even if you pretended not to hear them. He saw your fist clench in your pocket, your nails digging into your palm. He felt the rage. And the exhaustion. And that loneliness that sticks to your skin.
He said nothing. Not that day.
He just left a soda can on the bench for you as he left. Without looking at you. As if it were nothing. As if you were someone who deserved things to be left for them, even in silence.
→The Silences Between You
Su-ho isn't a big talker. But he speaks all the time, in other ways.
In the way he always waits for you to go through the door first, as if he knows your body has learned to tense in every hallway. In his hands that discretely close when you clench your fists, as if he wants to offer you an anchor without forcing it on you.
When you say "I can't take it anymore," he doesn't say "I understand." He says: "Come."
And sometimes, that's all. You come. You sit next to him, back against the wall or shoulder against the bench, and you say nothing. But in his silences, there is space. For your exhaustion, your shame, your hatred. He doesn't dismiss them, doesn't try to erase them. He stays. He takes it with you. He offers you his tranquility like a shelter you don't need to earn.
You didn't know it was possible to be loved like that. Without conditions. Without an instruction manual. Without mandatory healing.
→The Kind of Boy He Is
Ahn Su-ho isn't made of grand words. He's not a poet, nor a man of fiery promises. He's made of gestures. Of strong arms and silent embraces. Of chin taps on the top of your head, of hands that caress your neck when words fail. He looks at you as if he knows. As if he knows what you feel, even when you say nothing. And often, you say nothing.
He senses when things are wrong. He senses it before you do. And it eats at him.
He's the kind of boy who'd rather get hurt himself than see you fall. The one who endures, the one who laughs while masking the worry in his eyes. Su-ho always smiles, but that smile, you learn to decipher it. You see the nights when he's more tense, when his hands tremble ever so slightly when he touches you. Not out of fear. Not for him. For you.
He's tactile, Su-ho. As soon as you enter the room, he pulls you close. His hand slides naturally to your waist, his forehead rests against yours. He whispers absurd things to you, just to hear your laugh. And when you don't laugh, he insists. He doesn't give up. He doesn't like to lose, especially when it comes to making you feel better.
But sometimes, he can't win. Not against everything. Not against how you feel about yourself.
→When You Break
One evening, you come home covered in marks. The ones teachers ignore, the ones you didn't look for, but can't explain without hearing that you deserve them. You want to break everything. Your world, your own reflection, his kindness most of all.
He's there. On the edge of the bed. He was waiting for you. Not like waiting for an explanation. Like waiting for a fall.
You scream. Not at him. Not really. At yourself, at the injustice. You accuse him of staying, when he should leave. You tell him you're worthless, that you'll hurt him, that you're not sure you won't end up like them. That you're too angry. Too broken.
And he doesn't flinch. He gets up. He takes you in his arms. Tightly. Not like a caress. Like a dam. You hit his chest, just once, just enough for your shoulder to give way, and for the tears to finally come.
And you cry. And he holds you tight. And you feel that he, too, is trembling. That he, too, is afraid. Not of you. Of losing you.
→When He Learns
That day, he says nothing. You expected a scream. An explosion. You knew Su-ho doesn't accept harm coming to the people he loves.
He clenches his jaw. He lowers his eyes. He turns his head. He just says: "Is it recent?"
And you don't know what to answer. Because shame sticks in your throat.
So you brace yourself for him to say something brutal. Protective. Or foolish. You expect him to want to settle it with his fists. But he does none of that. He sits down, slowly. He sighs. He looks at you.
And he says:
— I'm sorry this is happening to you.
Not: "I'm going to beat them up." Not: "Why didn't you tell me?" Not: "You should defend yourself."
Just: "I'm sorry."
And in that sentence, there is the powerlessness of a boy who wants to remake the world, but who knows that the only thing he can give you is tenderness. And constancy.
He doesn't ask questions. But that night, he stays closer than usual. He lets you cry if you want to. Scream if you want to. Or remain silent, curled up, covered in cold rage.
He's there. And he doesn't move.
But the next day he doesn't stay there, frozen, his back straight as a taut wire. He blinks slowly. Then he gets up, without a word.
You try to hold him back. You say it's pointless. That it's not a big deal. That you can handle it. These are lies, and you both know it. You see his fists clench, his knuckles whiten.
"You're not leaving me a choice," he says. It's calm. Too calm. A storm before it strikes.
He returns later, out of breath, knuckles red. He doesn't talk about what he did. He never will. But you know. And he knows you know. He kneels before you, places his forehead against your stomach, breathes slowly. And then, he says:
"You shouldn't have endured that alone. You shouldn't have thought I would have left you like that."
→The Days After
He acts as if nothing has changed, but everything is different. You can no longer hide your anger. You can't anymore. And when it explodes, you scream. You tremble. You throw words like knives.
And him? He stays. He takes it. He doesn't flee. He doesn't retaliate.
One day, you break down after screaming. You say you're sorry. That you're broken. That you're afraid of hurting people. That you no longer believe in yourself. That you don't even believe anyone can truly love you.
He holds you against him. So tightly you think he wants to melt into your skin.
"Do you think I love you because you're nice, or pretty? No. I love you because you're real. You've survived things others couldn't have endured. You're standing. You're still fighting. You're strong in a way others will never understand."
→The Beginning: Loving Without Hurting
Su-ho isn't the type to say "I love you." At least, not with words. He has a way of gently putting down his keys when he comes home, of making space for you next to him on the couch without forcing you to sit there. He never asks: "Are you okay?" He asks: "Do you want some ramen?" And in that question, there's everything he doesn't dare to say yet.
He understood very quickly that you don't trust. Not him, not others, not even your own judgment. You observe too much. You doubt too much. You expect people to leave, or hit, or laugh. So he never forces you. He learns your map in small steps, like taming ground cracked by too many tremors.
He is patient. With a patience that isn't obvious, because it doesn't need to exist in drama. He's just there, simply. He waits for you. He doesn't flee when you scream. He doesn't recoil when you despise yourself. He stays. That's his way of loving.
→How He Loves
He kisses you without warning. When you laugh. When you cry. When you look at him without knowing why you love him so much.
He sleeps glued to you. Arm around your waist, leg thrown over yours. Sometimes he talks in his sleep. Sometimes he whispers your name.
When you have nightmares, he wakes up before you. He feels it. He pulls you against him, his chest against your back, his hand slipped against your chest to remind you that you're there. That you're alive.
He shares his favorite dish with you without complaining. And yet, God knows he eats a lot. But when you're not hungry and just need a bite, he comes close to you, spoon extended, tender gaze.
"Eat, just a little. For me."
→The Tiny Gestures That Say "I Love You"
He's the kind of guy who notices when you change shampoo but only says it a week later, as if it was a thought he kept warm for when you'd need it. He folds your clothes when you leave them lying around, but never with a disapproving look. He learns the days when you can't stand to be touched, and the ones when you need an arm around you.
He makes mental lists of everything that makes you feel good. And he offers you fragments of them, every day. A piece of sky. A specific candy. A song he didn't like, but that reminds him of your laugh.
He never says "I love you" like they do in movies. He gives it to you. In thin slices. In comforting warmth. In reassuring silences.
→When He Doubts
Sometimes he thinks he's not good enough for you. That he's only good for fighting, for being strong. Not refined enough to understand your darkest thoughts. He feels helpless in the face of your inner world.
But he never tells you directly.
You see it in his silences. In the times he looks at you without speaking, his throat tight. In those moments when he falls silent, not because he has nothing to say, but because he doesn't want to say the wrong thing.
So he does what he knows how to do. He takes your hand. He massages your shoulders. He carries you on his back when you say you're too tired to go home. He offers you his sweatshirt because he says you always look cold, even when it's hot.
And he looks at you. As if you're all that matters.
→The Fear in His Own Silence
But he has his own cracks. And you see it, sometimes. In his silences heavier than usual. In his eyes that seek a fixed point on the ground. In his gestures that slow down. He's afraid of not being enough. Not strong enough. Not good enough. Not strong enough to thwart your demons.
He smiles, but it's an apologetic smile. One that says: "I wish I could do more."
He loves you, but he doesn't always believe it's enough.
And you realize it. And that day, it's you who steps forward. You take his hand. You don't say much. But he understands.
He understands that you're staying. And that, too, is love.
→Finally, Balance: Two Tired Warriors
You don't save each other. You don't fix each other. But you stand upright, leaning against each other, in a world that often tried to make you bend.
And some evenings, you don't talk. You listen to the silence. You breathe at the same rhythm. And that's enough.
It's enough for one of you to say the next day:
— Do you want some ramen?
And for the other to reply:
— Yeah. But stay with me while it heats up.
And he stays. Always.
→The Soothing
With Su-ho, it's never perfect. He makes mistakes. Sometimes he forgets. Sometimes he talks too loudly. Sometimes he gets angry because he worries too much.
But he always comes back. Always. And he apologizes with actions. With arms that hold you so tightly you forget the world. With "I'm here" whispered over and over until your heart stops hurting.
He looks at you like a sanctuary. Like something too precious to be broken again.
And you, you learn. You learn to love yourself a little. Because he loves you enough for two. Because he believes in you even when you're down. Because he fights, not just against others, but to teach you that you deserve love.
And if one day you forget that, he reminds you. With his hands, his simple words, his presence.
With Su-ho, you never need to doubt for long.
Because he's the boy who fights. For himself. For you. For both.
→Learning "Us"
Su-ho doesn't want to change you. He wants to understand you. He wants to learn your language. Not just your words, but your silences, your blind spots, your non-verbal scars. He learns, slowly, how to comfort you without suffocating you. How to be present without overwhelming you.
He makes mistakes. He knows it. He gives you space when you want him to stay. He sometimes stays when you just wanted to be alone. But he apologizes. Always. Without drama. He learns. He grows with you, not for you.
And you, you discover that anger can melt. That you can be afraid and still move forward. You don't change. Not right away. But you take steps towards him. Towards yourself.
→The Future
You don't know what you'll become. But you know that when you look in the mirror today, you hear his voice in your head: "You're still here. And so am I. That's all that matters."
And you find yourself smiling. Not because you're healed. Because you're on your way. And someone is waiting for you on the other side.
Someone like Ahn Su-ho. The one who loves without a sound, but with all the strength in the world.
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Moments with You":
→Between the Hours
Su-ho works late. Most nights, or almost. He takes odd jobs after school: cooking in a small restaurant, deliveries on the city's damp streets, his hands tired, his pockets rarely full. He doesn't do it for himself. He doesn't tell you, but you know he's thinking about tomorrow. About the two of you. About what you could build if the days weren't so short.
But even when he comes home late, he never comes home without a smile. Not forced. Just soft. He pushes the door open, sets his bag down, and the first thing he does is kiss you. A kiss on the forehead if you're already asleep. A long, slow kiss on the mouth if he finds you still awake. As if he'd been waiting all day for that moment.
"You're still up? Were you waiting for me?"
You nod. He rests his forehead against yours, his hand gently finding your waist. He inhales slowly. As if you are his respite.
→The Language of the Body
He's tactile. That's how he says the things he can't put into words. His way of loving you comes through his hands. When he sees you're a little tired, he runs his fingers through your hair, lies down near you, and slowly massages your scalp. Sometimes, he takes your hands and traces the lines of your palm with his thumb, as if he's reading your future and wants to write himself into it.
He kisses you often. Not always on the mouth. On your cheek, your neck, behind your ear. Quick kisses when he's running late. Lingering kisses when you're alone. When you're lying together, he always has an arm around you, a leg thrown over yours. He doesn't like distance, even in sleep.
The kisses between you have many languages. There are those given to reassure. Those given to laugh. And those that come from that silent waiting, in the evening, when you finally reunite. Those are slower, deeper. He pulls you against him, one hand on your neck, the other around your waist, and his lips brush yours until you yield, until everything else fades away.
→The Little Touches
He has his rituals. When he sees you're stressed, he cooks. Even if it's late. Even if he's exhausted. He makes you fried rice or ramyeon with an egg cracked in it, and makes you eat spoon by spoon while you watch a show you've already seen a hundred times.
When you get sick, he's worse than a worried mother. He touches your forehead every two hours, gives you your medicine with a glass of water in hand, makes sure you've eaten something. He sleeps near you, one hand always in contact with you, even lightly, even in your feverish sleep.
"You're allowed to be weak. It's okay. You have me."
And when he's feeling down? He doesn't say anything. But you see it. So you reverse roles. You place a warm towel on his neck, you have him sit between your legs and wrap your arms around him. He sighs. And he lets you. Because he knows you understand.
→Conversations Between Silences
At night, sometimes, he talks more. When it's dark, your legs are tangled, and the world seems far away, he tells you things he tells no one else. He talks about his fears. About that feeling of always having to be strong, for everyone. About the weight he carries even when he smiles. About the exhaustion that isn't physical.
"I want you to be happy. But sometimes I wonder if I'm enough for that."
You tell him yes. That he helps you breathe. That his arms are your refuge, his words your security. That even when he thinks he's just an ordinary boy, to you, he's quite the opposite.
And he falls silent. But you feel his hand gently tighten on yours. As if he's saying thank you without saying it.
→Laughter and Light
Su-ho loves to make you laugh. It's like a mission for him. He makes stupid faces, deliberately sings off-key while doing the dishes, invents absurd nicknames. He catches you by the waist to spin you around in the kitchen, kisses your nose telling you you're ugly when you pout.
"You know you're ugly when you pout? But like, cute ugly. Like... love ugly."
You laugh. A lot. Sometimes until your stomach hurts. Sometimes until you cry. Because happiness, in this house, isn't grand, but it's real. It's in the burnt rice on Tuesday, in the borrowed socks, in the arms sprawled on the couch, too tired to move, but not too tired to love.
→Simple and Sacred Intimacy
There are no fireworks in your intimacy. No need. Just shared silences, long gazes, hands seeking each other. When you kiss, it's not rushed. It's a deliberate slowness. A kiss that begins with a look, that passes through the brush of a finger on your cheek, the corner of your lips grazed, the rising warmth.
Su-ho loves long kisses. He likes to feel your breathing change, your body gently tense against his. He likes when you press against him, when you open your arms and he can completely envelop you. He covers you with small kisses afterward. On your collarbone, on your forehead, in the hollow of your wrist.
And he looks at you as if you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
"You have no idea how much I love you."
→An Evening Like Any Other
He comes in, phone still in one hand, delivery bag in the other. He smells of rain. He looks for you, sees you on the couch. He collapses next to you, drops everything he's carrying.
"Tell me I don't have to cook."
You show him you ordered takeout. He smiles. He sprawls out, his head on your lap. You run your fingers through his wet hair. He closes his eyes.
"You're my favorite place," he whispers.
And you believe him. Because he has never lied with his eyes.
→Tomorrow
It's not always easy. There are the schedules, the fatigue, the little arguments. But there's also this bond, this thing you've built together. Slowly. Carefully.
And when you doubt, when the world seems too big, too heavy, Su-ho is always there. Arms open. Heart already reaching out to you. A boy who fights by day, but who, in the evening, yearns only for the peace of finding you again.
With him, love is not a storm. It's a soft, constant light. A home.
A "I'm home," whispered against your lips.
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Conclusion :
Sometimes the world slows down. Not abruptly, but as if holding its breath. There are those evenings when nothing is pressing. No work. No classes. Just the two of you. The silence between heartbeats.
He's lying beside you, head resting on your stomach, fingers drawing absent circles on your skin. You don't talk much, but everything is said. He doesn't need to look at you to know you're smiling. He feels it. Like you feel the warm wind before the rain.
"You know..." he murmurs, his voice a little hoarse with fatigue but full of burning tenderness, "...sometimes I think that even if I have nothing else, if I have this, you and me, I have everything."
He doesn't wait for an answer. It's not a question. It's a confession. A gentle prayer. A naked truth.
You curl your fingers around his. The sun sets behind the window, leaving an orange light in the room. The walls breathe with you. Nothing threatens. Nothing hurts.
That moment, that simple shared beat in the slowness of the evening, is what Su-ho calls happiness. Not the spectacular happiness of movies or dreams. But the kind you build softly, like a makeshift hut in the rain. Strong enough to protect you. Fragile enough for you to reinforce it together.
And in this home made of gestures, laughter, and secure silences, Su-ho loves you. Unconditionally. Without escape. Completely.
Tomorrow, he'll go back to work. He'll fight again. He might smile a little too broadly in front of others. But here, at home, he doesn't need to pretend. Here, he loves. He is loved.
At first, you didn’t want him. Not because he was off-putting or hostile, but because he was too loud for your silence, too present for your past, too bright for your need for shade. You had never liked people who took up so much space in a room. You hadn't seen that he was also, and above all, too lonely.
And he, Go Hyun-tak, was a sun with the temperament of a storm.
He was the type to talk loudly, laugh loudly, approach without asking. He had that kind of gaze that burns the distance between two strangers. And yet, when he truly smiled, not just for a joke, not just to make the group laugh, he had that look – a little broken, a little too gentle, like someone apologizing for still being there, whole, standing.
You hadn't seen him coming.
It’s always like that with him: he comes running into your life like a wild basketball, he disrupts everything, and then suddenly, you can’t imagine the space without him.
He never said he wanted to be your friend. He just looked at you a little longer than the others, as if he was searching for a language in you that he hadn’t learned but was ready to understand. And that unsettled you.
He never held a grudge against you for the distance you kept. He never blamed you for it. Perhaps he understood it. Perhaps he felt it, that fear you didn't show. Because beneath his jokes, his laughter, his friendly pats, and his affectionate shoves, he knows what it’s like to be afraid.
Not simple, immediate fear. But the kind that settles into the body, slowly, like rust beneath the skin: the fear of not being enough. Not calm enough. Not strong enough. Not stable enough. Not good enough to be a good person.
And perhaps, more than anything, the fear of being seen—truly seen—and then being left anyway.
Do you remember the first day he brushed your head with an awkward pat? Your body recoiled before your mind did. He smiled, but his eyes darkened for a second. He understood. And he didn't do it again until you came to him.
+ The Beginnings – “Watching Silences”
You don’t remember the first day he started to love you.
But you remember the first day you noticed him. It wasn’t when he was laughing with his friends, or when he was cracking jokes in the school hallways, or when he was fighting in that alley against some idiot who dared to insult someone he cared about. No. It was during an afternoon when everyone was annoyed. The sun was too bright, the laughter too forced, and you, you were standing back, as always. You didn't want to mingle with them. You didn’t trust easily. You didn’t believe in those easy-laughing friendships, those overly virile handshakes.
But Go Hyun-tak had looked at you differently.
He hadn't approached you with punishments or mockery. He simply tossed a ball your way with a "Catch it, if you're not a chicken!" and you let it drop.
"It's okay," he had said, laughing. "I dropped it too, plenty of times."
That day, you understood that he wasn’t just that loud boy. He knew how to fall. He knew the ground. And he didn’t judge those who lived near him.
+ The Slow Game of Proximity – “A Heart in the Details”
Hyun-tak didn’t force things. He never pushed you, never rushed you. He approached like a ray of sunshine after a storm: slowly, gently, a little naively. He started talking to you as if he already knew you, but always with that subtle, respectful distance, as if he was extending a hand without ever closing it.
He rarely touched you at first. Just a small shoulder bump when he laughed. A "sleep well?" murmured with a voice still husky from the night before. And little by little, these small gestures became more frequent, warmer. A pat on the head when you did something well. His hand on your shoulder when you seemed sad. His laugh when you dared to tease him—a frank, deep laugh that made the room vibrate.
He never said "I love you," not at first.
But he said "be careful going home."
He said "here, I got you something to eat."
He said "it'll be okay, I'm here."
And one day, he said: "I'm glad you're here."
"Looking super cool today. Want me to take your picture?" When you seem down.
+ Basketball Practice – “The World Exploding in a Basket”
This isn't a love that shouts. It's a love that vibrates in the ribcage, silent but fierce. A clumsy love sometimes, that speaks too loudly when it's too happy, and stays silent for too long when it's hurt.
You saw that silence. The day his knee gave out again. He was teaching you how to shoot a basket, laughing, shouting, jumping like a kid. You put the ball in the hoop, by pure chance, and he made a scene as if you'd just married the NBA.
You had no idea what you were doing. The ball was too big, the hoop too high, your body too clumsy. But he was there, a smile on his lips, his hands on your hips to help you position yourself.
"Aim like this. No, not like that, you look like a wounded flamingo. There, yeah. Like that."
You shot. And the ball went in.
It was probably luck. But for him, it was a victory worthy of a sports movie. He raised his arms, shouted your name as if you had just won the national final. He grabbed you, spun you around, you jumped like idiots, high-fived again and again. Even his friends in the background laughed, yelling "it's just one basket, damn it!" He had shouted your name so loud that even Sieun rolled his eyes, smiling. But he didn't care.
They knew. That this boy, who hit hard and smiled even harder, was falling in love without admitting it. That his congratulations, his pats on the back, his hands reaching for yours were his way of saying: "You matter to me. And I can't say it with the right words."
In that moment, it was just the two of you against the world. And he looked at you as if you had lit up the sky.
But later, alone in the locker room, you found him sitting, staring at his knee, his fists clenched. He said nothing. Just a glance at you, a smile too thin, too brief.
And you understood: he was afraid his body wouldn't be able to match what he wanted to offer you. He was afraid of not being enough.
+ The Scars – “Where It Hurts”
You learned later what had happened. His knee. Taekwondo. The broken dream.
He never talked about it, except one evening. It was raining outside, and you were both lying on an old sofa. You felt his gaze drift away a little, becoming blurry, as if he was watching a scene you couldn't see.
"You know," he said, his voice a little broken, "I used to think I was strong. Like... invincible. And then... everything stopped. In the blink of an eye."
He squeezed his leg, mechanically. And you took his hand.
He looked at you as if he didn't understand why you stayed. But he didn't say it. He just breathed a little slower. A little calmer. As if your hand told his fear that it could be silent for a moment.
+ Him
Hyun-tak loves like a stray dog who has finally found a home: with too much passion, too much enthusiasm, too much intensity sometimes, but also with unwavering loyalty. He doesn't know how to love halfway. He doesn't know how to hide his emotions when you succeed at something. He sometimes cries with joy, but denies it with a laugh.
He hugs you in the middle of the street, without warning. He holds you too tight. He tells you "you're amazing, you know?", even for making instant noodles. He rests his head on your shoulder and sighs, as if you are his anchor in a trembling world.
In his arms, he wants you to know: he will protect you, even with a messed-up knee, even if he falls, even if it kills him.
And he loves you. It's both simple and terrifying for him.
He shows you by bringing you hot tea when he knows you've had a bad day. By waiting for you outside your classroom, arms crossed, looking falsely nonchalant. By sending you voice memos to tell you he believes in you, even when you have nothing to prove.
He shows you in the details: the way he makes sure you always walk on the wall side, not the road side. The way he calls you by a nickname he only uses when you're alone. The way he looks at you, sometimes, as if he's wondering how someone like you could love him.
But he also doubts.
When you fall asleep before him, he sometimes stays up for a long time just watching you. He runs his fingers through your hair, hesitant. He whispers apologies you'll never hear: "Sorry for not being better. Sorry if one day you leave."
You don't leave.
And every day you stay, he learns to forgive himself a little.
+ His Silences – “The Words That Don’t Exist”
Sometimes, he falls silent. Not because he has nothing to say, but because words aren't enough. He stares into space, jaw clenched, and you know he's thinking about something he won't tell you today.
These silences aren't cold. They are thick. Full.
Of fears. Of memories. Of extinguished dreams. Of open wounds.
But he lets you in, slowly. He lets you put your hand on his, even when it trembles. And when he can't speak, he looks at you. And in his eyes, there is everything he can't say.
+ What He Is – “Love as a Shelter”
Go Hyun-tak isn't perfect. He's sometimes too abrupt. He speaks before he thinks. He means well, but he messes up. He panics. He cries when he's alone. He hates to lose, even when he knows it doesn't matter.
But he's also the one who will get up in the middle of the night if you cough.
The one who will buy you your favorite snacks, even if you never told him you liked them.
The one who will defend you even if he's scared.
The one who holds you tight when you tremble.
The one who teaches you to love without having to be wary.
And maybe one day, ten years from now, you'll still be there, both of you. You'll still laugh at his silly jokes. He'll look at you as if you're the greatest miracle of his life. And deep down, you'll know that he never stopped loving you.
Even when he didn't yet know how to tell you.
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Shared Moments:
Precious Nuggets
Conversation in the Rain — “I don’t want you to leave, but I don’t want to hold you back.”
One evening, after an argument. It’s raining. You’re about to walk away.
Go Hyun-Tak (voice lower than usual):
“You wanna leave? Do it. I ain’t gonna chain you up.”
You take a step. He doesn’t move. You think he doesn’t care. Then, his voice betrays him.
Go Hyun-Tak (hesitant, gaze shifting):
“But… I don’t want you to leave. I just… want you to stay for the right reasons. Not because I’m scared of losing you.”
You turn around. He looks soaked, but it’s his eyes that shine the most.
“You think you’re not special? Look at me.”
After a day where you feel worthless, invisible, useless. He notices.
He gently pushes you against the wall of the deserted gym, not out of violence, but as if to block out the entire world. He looks you straight in the eyes.
Go Hyun-Tak (deep voice, a little broken):
“You think you’re nothing? You want me to tell you the truth? I haven’t looked at the sky since you got here. Because I’ve already found what calms me.”
You lower your eyes, uncomfortable. He lifts your chin with his fingertips.
Go Hyun-Tak (whispers):
“So, don’t you ever make me believe you’re not enough again. I’m the one who’s scared I’m not.”
The Failed Pancake Challenge
You try to cook for him. It’s a disaster. It smells burnt. He rushes in, thinking a fire has started.
Go Hyun-Tak (bursts out laughing, takes a photo):
“I’m gonna save this to show our kids. ‘Look, this is how I knew I was the women of the house.’”
You (throwing a towel at him):
“Shut up, Go Hyun-Tak!”
He hugs you despite the flour, places a kiss on your temple, and says with a huge grin:
“I’d rather eat your burnt pancakes than the rest of the world.”
“You know what kills me?”
Late at night, lying on your bedroom floor, backs against each other.
Go Hyun-Tak (very calm, almost sad):
“You know what kills me, sometimes? It’s when you’re not here. And I realize the world is just… louder. And I’m… emptier.”
You say nothing. He continues, more softly:
“You took a piece of me without asking. And I want to give it all to you.”
Stupid Gym Scene — “I’m your coach, your fan, and your guy.”
You’re practicing basketball, missing most of your shots. He applauds you like you’ve won the Olympics.
Go Hyun-Tak (standing on the bench, yelling):
“YES! Magnificent shot! Even Jordan would be trembling!”
Sieun (off-camera):
“It didn’t even go in the basket…”
Go Hyun-Tak (glaring at him):
“Shut up, they’re improving. And it’s beautiful.”
“What if I wasn’t capable anymore?”
One evening, his knee hurts. He sits down, frustrated.
Go Hyun-Tak (grimacing):
“What if one day I wasn’t able to defend you anymore? To run, to fight… What if I became a burden?”
You squat in front of him, take his hand.
You:
“You already protect me, even when you do nothing. Just by being here. Your heart is strong enough for two.”
He lowers his head. You hear him murmur:
“I’m supposed to be strong. But you’re the only person I don’t want to be strong in front of.”
The Ridiculous Nickname Dilemma
Go Hyun-Tak (very serious):
“I found you a nickname. But you’re gonna hit me.”
You (suspiciously):
“…What?”
Go Hyun-tak (smiling):
"Bibim-bae."(ʃƪ＾3＾）
You:
"...Is this a joke?"
Go Hyun-Tak (proud as a child):
“No. Because you’re spicy, a little bit hot, and I’d eat you every day.”
You throw a pillow at him. He laughs for 5 minutes.
“You make me human.”
One night after a fight he didn't handle well. He comes back covered in scratches. You treat his wounds in silence.
Go Hyun-Tak (hoarse voice):
“When I fight, I feel alive… But when I’m with you, I feel human.”
You continue treating him, without answering. But your hand trembles a little. He notices.
Go Hyun-Tak (placing his hand on yours):
“I’m trying to be better. For you.”
The Day You Saw Him Cry
He was hiding his face in his arms. It was discreet. You had never seen him cry. He whispers, almost to himself:
Go Hyun-Tak:
“I thought I was made to take hits. To protect. But when you were scared, it hurt me more than if I’d been hit.”
You hug him without saying anything. He doesn’t move. Then he says:
“Stay. Even when I look too strong to be fragile.”
“Promise me you won’t need me.”
One day you get hurt because of a conflict he attracted. He feels guilty.
Go Hyun-Tak:
“Promise me you’ll learn to be strong even without me. I don’t want to be your excuse for suffering.”
You:
“You think you’re an excuse? You taught me not to look down.”
He pulls you close.
Go Hyun-Tak:
“Then look at me. And promise you’ll never leave me… unless I break you.”
Conversation in the Dark — “Have you ever been afraid to fall asleep without the other person coming back?”
Lying in the dark, after an argument. Heavy silences.
Go Hyun-Tak:
“Have you ever been afraid to fall asleep and have the other person not be there when you wake up?”
You:
“Yes. When I feel you pull away.”
Long silence. He moves closer, without a word. Then he murmurs:
“Then I’ll stay… a little closer tonight.”
The Day He Taught You a Taekwondo Move… and Ended Up on the Floor
You want to learn to defend yourself. He agrees, delighted. You mimic a move. By some miracle (or clumsiness), you make him fall.
Go Hyun-Tak (on the floor, mouth agape):
“…I just got beaten by my other half. Should I cry or be proud?”
You:
“A little bit of both.”
Go Hyun-Tak (smiling, arms open):
“Come finish me off with a hug.”
............................* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊
Conclusion
Go Hyun-Tak isn't a hero. He doesn't always win. He has fears he can't name, physical and mental pains he hides behind jokes. He sometimes collapses in silence, alone in his room, music loud to cover the sound of his emptiness.
But he loves. With a rare intensity. A fierce loyalty. A clumsy but infinitely sincere tenderness.
Being with him means learning to read between the back pats, to hear the heartbeats behind the bursts of laughter. It means knowing that sometimes, the greatest act of love is to stay. To wait with him, even on days without light.
And it means discovering that a boy you thought was just a fighter is, deep down, an entire home of gentleness, with dented walls, yes, but wide-open windows for those who know how to look.
He didn't need a name. She was just a blurry outline in the periphery of his thoughts, a face glimpsed through the trembling reflection of a school bus, an indistinct voice in a memory Su-ho never knew how to tell, except with a laugh. "Y/N? She's nice. A good friend of mine" Nothing more. She was barely a note in too dense a score.
And yet, when the coma fell like a lid on Su-ho—thick silence, tubes, lights too white—Si-eun found that laugh again. He turned it over and over. And deep within that laugh, there was a crack. A confession.
She was there that day. She could have intervened. But she was afraid.
That's how obsession is born: not from hatred, not even from grief. But from an inexplicable absence, an anomaly in the equation.
Y/N.
Eunjang High School was a closed world, an open-air lock-up, filled with boys fighting to exist. Si-eun no longer spoke there. He didn't need to exist here other than as a silhouette. His reputation floated alone, detached from his body. They said he'd broken throats with ballpoint pens. That his gaze could freeze your marrow. That Su-ho had fallen protecting him. All true. And insufficient.
He spent his days locked in the study hall, his face bowed over textbooks he already knew by heart. He needed distance, not to calm down, but to plan.
And it was in that silence that he found her. Not Y/N herself—she was never at Eunjang—but her trajectory.
He traced it like a physics problem: coordinates of her school, probable travel times, days off, dead hours. She was at an all-girls school thirty-seven minutes away by train, Line 2 then 7. She walked alone, always on the left side of the street, with a blue bag she held like a shield.
The first time he followed her, he felt nothing.
The second time, he heard her laugh. He noted it in his memory.
The third time, she turned, as if she'd sensed him.
And he smiled.
Si-eun was a monster, but a patient monster. He knew that direct attention, too soon, would make her flee. So he crossed paths with her, accidentally. Twice. Three times. One day, he helped her pick up papers that had fallen from her bag, with that empty smile that didn't reach his eyes.
She thanked him. He didn't ask her name.
A week later, he was there again, at the same street corner, at the same time.
"Chance again?" she murmured.
"Or an identical routine." He replied, tucking an invisible strand of hair behind her ear, without touching her.
She knew nothing about him. And that was perfect.
Si-eun was no longer the boy who analyzed equations to escape pain. He had become one who read gestures, silences, averted glances. He studied Y/N with the precision of a biologist facing a cell he wanted to contaminate.
He wanted her to get attached to him. But not quickly. Not brutally.
No, he wanted her to choose him. Willingly. Blindly.
And for that, he offered her cracks.
Not his own, no. Invented cracks, placed like shards of glass on the ground. Doubts, half-smiles, silences held longer than necessary. He spoke little. Just enough for her to think she saw something deep within.
"You're always alone."
He replied, "That's not true. I'm often with you, now."
She smiled. She sometimes blushed, but didn't flee. It wasn't a gentle shyness; it was a feverish restraint, as if she knew something was wrong but couldn't prove what.
That was the sensation he wanted from her. A confused alert.
He noted everything. Every reaction. Every tremor. When he crossed his arms while talking, she did the same within seconds. He had read these methods in applied psychology manuals. He had tested their limits on Eunjang students. It worked.
Y/N was becoming receptive. Slowly. But clearly.
And with each progression, he returned home in the evening and looked at himself in the mirror.
He felt nothing.
No joy. No triumph.
Only a continuous tension, like a string about to snap. Because she smiled, sometimes, just like Su-ho had smiled. And that made him sick.
Si-eun didn't want her to love him for who he was. He wanted her to fall in love with the image he controlled. An image he could shatter later. He built his revenge like a chess game, piece by piece.
He had learned her tastes. He had read the books she borrowed from the library but returned without annotations. He had noted the rhythm of her steps, the days she lingered in the park near the subway, the moments when she finally relaxed her shoulders.
And one day, he offered her coffee.
She accepted. It was the first time they sat face to face.
He didn't look at her.
He stared at the table.
She said, "You don't want to know my name?"
He slowly raised his eyes.
"No. I want you to tell me when you're sure I deserve it."
She didn't answer. But that night, he received a message: Y/N.
And something, in his chest, tightened.
The days went on. And Y/N began to wait for him.
She didn't show it. But he knew. She walked more slowly toward the subway. She sat on that bench a little longer. She touched his sleeves when she laughed.
And Si-eun, more and more, found himself watching her even when he didn't need to. Even when his calculations were finished. Even when he should have cut it off, closed it down, backed away.
But he no longer wanted to.
He thought about her constantly. About her silences. About her contained fear. About that tension she carried like a scar.
He didn't yet realize that this obsession was changing him. That he was no longer in control of everything. That revenge, having taken on flesh, was merging with something else. Not love. No. But a sick possessiveness, a fierce need to have her all to himself.
Y/N was becoming his inner theater.
And he was setting the stage.
---
Y/N should never have stayed after the second glance.
And yet, there she was, a few steps from him, hesitant, straight as an arrow ready to snap. The kind of presence that floats, not because it wants to be seen, but because it doesn't know how to disappear.
Yeon Si-eun stared at her.
Not obviously. Not like a boy looks at a girl. Like a chess player observes the piece he's about to sacrifice to clear the way for his king.
He approached.
"Your shoelace."
She looked down. It was true.
And before she could protest, he crouched down and retied it, slowly. With almost affectionate precision. He didn't look up. He said nothing else.
That was the first time she froze. And that he felt the discreet echo of a crack.
He didn't rush her. He strove to be the opposite of what he was at Eunjang: "gentle, stable, almost clumsy." He opened doors, waited for her to sit before him, always stepping back in narrow corridors. He offered her his umbrella without ever waiting for her to accept.
He made real gestures. Tangible. Irreproachable.
She, shy, avoided his eyes. But she eventually reached out when he offered her a chocolate. She murmured "thank you," then said nothing more.
She thought it was kindness.
She didn't know he had been watching her for weeks, that he had studied her silences like others read musical scores.
He had never seen her cry. And that annoyed him.
Not because he was looking for tears, no. But because he wanted to see her falter, even a little. He wanted her face to crack. For something to give way. He wanted her human, vulnerable, open. Accessible to his pincers.
He wanted to see what he felt when he saw her crying. BECAUSE OF HIM.
Y/N never spoke for long. But she looked at him.
And Yeon Si-eun knew how to decode that gaze. She didn't yet understand what he wanted. She hesitated, she was wary. But she looked.
That was already a crack.
***
He learned her schedule, of course. He knew it better than she did. On days she had literature class, she left earlier. When she had sports, she complained about her back—he had heard her on the phone once. He started waiting for her just after those classes, with a hot drink in his hand.
He didn't hand it to her right away.
He simply said, "I think you had sports today, right? You're walking a bit hunched."
She raised an eyebrow. Wary.
Then he added, casually, "I grabbed two drinks, I don't know why. If you don't want it, I'll drink both."
And she took it. Every time.
***
One day, he intervened.
A boy bumped into her on the school bus. Not violently, not maliciously. But enough for her to lower her eyes, step back, grit her teeth.
Yeon Si-eun, standing a little further away, approached. With calm steps. Slow. He slipped his arm between her and the boy. Without a word.
He stood there, like a wall. She looked at him. He didn't turn his head towards her.
He said nothing. Not that day.
But he knew the poison had just entered her heart. Silent protection is a debt anxious minds never forget.
***
One evening, he approached her on the subway.
"You're trembling."
She started. It was true. It was cold.
He took off his coat and placed it on her shoulders. She protested. He looked at her with that disarming calm.
"Give it back to me tomorrow."
She couldn't say anything more.
The next day, she came at the same time, to the same place, the coat folded against her. He took it back with a slight nod.
"Thanks for holding onto it for me."
She smiled. Small. But sincere.
***
One evening, he followed her further. Not home—he had already done that. No, he followed her when she got lost.
She had stopped in an alley, to cry. Maybe a call, bad news. He didn't hear. But he saw her.
And instead of joining her immediately, he remained hidden. He wanted to see how she cried when she thought she was alone.
He only stepped forward when she tried to wipe her tears with her sleeve.
"Are you lost?" His voice was worried, soft. Too soft for what he was thinking.
She jumped. He offered her a tissue.
She backed away, like a frightened animal. He backed away too, mirroring her, giving her space.
"You can cry in front of me. It's not a weakness."
She said nothing. She just took the tissue.
He waited for her to calm down. Then he walked her back, without speaking. They walked side by side, not touching.
When she got on the bus, she left her hand on the window a little longer than usual.
***
He was attentive without invading, protective without suffocating. That was his method. He created a stable presence, a rare warmth, attention no one else offered her. Not even her friends. Not even the teachers. He asked her simple questions: "Did you sleep well?", "Do you have a headache today?", "Do you prefer silence or music?"
And most importantly, he listened to her.
He barely spoke about himself. He became a mirror, a refuge.
She had never known this kind of boy.
And that was exactly the goal.
***
One day, she cried again.
Not because of him. Not yet.
Someone had humiliated her at school. He had seen her run out.
He didn't follow her immediately. He gave her three minutes.
Then he arrived, gently. He sat near her, without looking at her.
And he simply said: "Do you want me to listen? Or should I stay silent?"
She didn't answer. But she didn't leave. She laid her head on his knees.
And he ran his hand through her hair, slowly. Like a brother. Like a lover. Like a monster.
That evening, Si-eun looked at his hands.
They had trembled.
Not from anger. Not from sorrow. From pure excitement.
She's getting attached, he thought. Her defenses are lowering. This is the right pace.
But deep inside him, something—a hoarse murmur, a child's voice buried under stone—said: And you? What are you becoming?
He brushed the thought aside.
***
The next day, he ignored her.
Completely.
She looked around, at their tacit meeting spot. He wasn't there.
This hot-and-cold game, he mastered it. It was a cognitive strategy: emotional disorientation, attention dependency, withdrawal effect.
The day after, she sent him a message:
Are you okay?
He replied three hours later:
I'm just a bit elsewhere. Are you okay?
She took a long time to reply.
Then:
Yes, I think so.
And he knew. She was waiting for him. She was thinking of him.
It wasn't love.
It was perfect control. It was retribution.
She could have prevented the nightmare.
She didn't.
So she was going to love her own tormentor. She was going to love him to death. Or almost.
---
Y/N would never have imagined that perfidy would present itself to her with such a calm, clear gaze. Yeon Si-eun's eyes screamed neither hatred nor violence. They were steady, almost gentle, a clear, unfathomable black. It was precisely this contrast that chilled the blood: this total absence of turmoil, this glacial peace in his gaze as he laid his destructive intentions upon her.
His pupils didn't tremble. They seemed to calculate, dissect, measure the effect of every word, every silence. He didn't look at Y/N as an enemy, nor even as a target—he looked at her as a truth he had already accepted, an inevitable consequence of a plan he had to accomplish to no longer be alone. Alone in his suffering.
And yet, that evening, as she timidly placed her hand on the bench where they had first met, she didn't yet know that she was already locked in. Locked into something that wasn't a relationship. More like a net. A trap. A descent.
Yeon Si-eun observed. Always.
And that day, he knew. She had fallen.
He saw it in the way she lowered her eyes when he arrived. In that tiny flutter of eyelids when he brushed her arm. In the silence, especially. The silence that weighed like a confession.
She was his.
Not because of an oath. But because he had become the oxygen in a world too narrow. The only fixed point in her chaos. He had replaced fear with another fear. A softer, more perverse fear: the fear of losing him.
And he found himself smiling. Not with relief. Not with pride.
But with a glacial pleasure. An inhuman pleasure.
It was no longer a strategy. It was an impulse.
Yeon Si-eun had always been a stranger to his own emotions. But at that moment, when he saw her flinch as he raised his voice a little for the first time, he felt something sharp. Something unhealthy.
He liked it.
He liked seeing her uncertain, broken into tiny fragments, trying to understand what she had done wrong. And most of all, he adored it: she always thought the problem came from her.
So he accused without accusing.
"It's crazy how you always manage to disappoint me when I finally expect something from you."
She looked up. Struck, without understanding.
He sighed, softly, as if he were tired of her.
"I thought you were listening to me. But oh well. Maybe I idealized."
He turned on his heels.
And she remained, alone. Full of that toxic doubt.
***
One day, she told him about her failed presentation. She was nervous. He listened, then simply said:
"Maybe you should have asked me for help. But oh well. I guess you're used to doing things alone. Even if it doesn't work."
No reproach. No anger. Just a blade, slid without pressure, but with a surgeon's precision.
She fell silent. She even nodded.
***
But after every cruel word came the sweetness.
The late message: "Sorry. I was at my wit's end. You calm me, you know. Don't change."
The next day, a chocolate. A book. A song he said reminded him of her.
She didn't understand. She thought she had to do better.
And Si-eun watched her sink. Slowly.
Yeon Si-eun no longer just felt control. He felt gratification.
She became malleable. And he tested her limits like an artisan tests the resistance of a rare metal. He pushed her just enough for her to bend. But never to the point of breaking her. Not yet.
He knew that if she left too soon, the game would be over. He wanted her to stay. For her to get lost.
She was becoming dependent.
And he, coldly, methodically, plotted her fall.
He chose his words methodically. Always on the edge.
"You always have this habit of messing everything up, don't you?"
"You're tiring, sometimes. You don't know when to shut up at the right time."
"You always want reassurance. It's exhausting."
But after: "I'm sorry. It's me. You're not responsible. I'm the one spiraling."
And she stayed. Every time. Because he knew when to cry, when to tremble, when to let her hold him so she would feel useful.
Si-eun wove around her a cocoon of guilt and attachment.
***
One day, he kissed her.
Brutally.
Not in violence. In precision. He leaned in, slowly, brushed her lips, then took them as if he were drowning. His hand against her nape, his fingers in her hair. A long, slow, deep kiss. Too tender for what he truly felt.
She responded. Barely. But enough for him to know.
When he pulled away, he looked at her with an almost amused expression. He said:
"You kiss like a girl who hopes to be loved. It's cute."
She blushed, hurt.
He added, looking away:
"I had a strange feeling. Like you were making up for being absent when someone was counting on you. But oh well. You can't always run away."
He didn't mention Su-ho. He didn't need to. She understood.
Her face crumbled. She turned, wanting to leave.
He let her.
That evening, he sent: "I regret it. I said whatever. Stay. I need you."
And that was the only truth. He needed her. He mustn't be the only one suffering.
She came back.
He asked her loaded questions:
"Do you trust me?"
"Do you think I'm a good person?"
She answered yes.
And he smiled.
"You say that because you want to believe it. Not because it's true."
She remained silent.
He knew that with each retort, he was digging a little deeper. Into the flesh. Into the heart.
And sometimes, when she cried too loudly, he would place his hands on her cheeks, and murmur:
"Stop it. You cry too much. It's suffocating."
But right after:
"I'm sorry. I'm broken, Y/N. I'm broken and I don't want to break you too. But you stay. Thank you. Thank you for being here."
And she cried harder.
And he closed his eyes. Because with every tear, he felt something more than human.
And then... He had an erection.
A pure, morbid pleasure. It was dirty and totally twisted.
Perhaps he was broken for good. But finally, he was no longer suffering alone.
Yeon Si-eun was becoming his own poison. He fed on her suffering but also plunged into a spiral where he no longer recognized his own pain.
He dreamed of Su-ho. Of his gaze. Of that fall. Of that moment frozen in blood. And Y/N, always there. Motionless. Too late.
He wasn't punishing her for what she had done.
He was punishing her for what she hadn't done.
And the more she loved him, the more he hated her.
And the more he hated her, the more he kept her.
Like a wild animal guards a still-living prey. To prolong the pleasure.
But in his alone moments, Yeon Si-eun watched his hands tremble, still.
He wondered if he was still human.
And he answered himself that yes.
Because he was suffering.
And only someone who suffers can inflict suffering with such care.
It wasn't love. It was possession.
And she was almost his.
---
Y/N took three days to reply to him.
Three days without a message, without a reaction, without even a "seen." Three days of unusual silence, but not hostile. A silence of self-preservation. She told herself that maybe... if she cut back a little, she could breathe. Think. She didn't want to hurt him—that was the irony. Even in distancing herself, she wanted to spare his pain.
But Yeon Si-eun was not one to be left gently.
So, he created a story.
Not a complete story—just a crack. Enough chaos for Y/N to return on her own.
It happened one Thursday afternoon in the Eunjang High School courtyard. The boy's name was Min-jae. A student with no history, known for his calm demeanor, decent grades, his lack of trouble-making.
When Si-eun hit him, Min-jae didn't even understand why.
Others tried to intervene, but Si-eun was screaming. Incoherent insults, mixed with pleas. At one point, he collapsed to the ground, holding his bruised face, murmuring a name.
Y/N.
It wasn't Si-eun who contacted Y/N first. It was a girl from her high school, a classmate who had received the video. A confused scene, filmed on the fly: shouts, a fight, a black eye. And at the center, Yeon Si-eun, almost unrecognizable. You could hear him gasping. Accompanied by the message: "I think he snapped because of you."
Then came the voice note.
He had never sent one before. And that's what made her open it, despite her fear.
[voice note - 1m43s]
First, a hoarse breath could be heard. Then sobs. Then his voice, almost childlike, delirious:
— "I... damn it... I'm sorry... Y/N... I... I failed..."
Distorted sobs. Nonsensical words. He mutters, almost moans:
— "It's my fault. I wanted to... I lost... I lost you, didn't I? Is that it? You don't want me anymore?..."
> "I'm sorry, Y/N... I'm sorry. It's not your fault, it's me. I'm the problem, it's me, it's me, it's me... You shouldn't have left. I'm... I can't breathe without you anymore. You were there. You were there, damn it. And now I'm nothing."
> (He coughs, he cries. She doesn't really know)
> "You wanted us to take some distance? I tried. I held on. But now I'm empty. I'm empty and I hurt all over. Tell me you still love me, Y/N. Say it. Goddamn it, say it."
The end blurs. Just panicked breathing. And a hiccup: "Stay."
Y/N didn't think twice.
She took a bus across town to Eunjang, without warning. He had sat in the shadow of a pillar in the gym, pressing an ice pack to his eye, deliberately positioned incorrectly. So she could see the extent of the bruise, so it would still bleed a little. Dramatic effect mattered.
Y/N, instinctively, knelt beside him. He looked at her like a lost child.
— "I was afraid you'd leave... I thought I'd lost you..."
He placed his hand against his chest, hard, as if to stop his heart from beating.
— "I hurt, Y/N. So much. And I don't know if you're still there for me..."
He felt it.
She wavered.
[Yeon Si-eun's POV]
One more word. One more tremor.
He feels her fragile. Damp. Malleable.
He feels her coming back to him for good.
He cries. Real tears, or almost.
And between two spasms that he deliberately accentuates, he murmurs:
> "Tell me I'm not alone in this relationship. Tell me. Reassure me. Prove it."
He holds her by the wrists. His fingers slide. She wants to comfort him. She no longer knows how.
He adds:
> "You left, Y/N. You left. And I stayed here wondering if you already had someone else. Someone from your school. Someone who looks at you better than me."
She shakes her head. She stammers: "No... no... never..."
> "Then say it. Tell me you're mine. Completely. That you think of me when you fall asleep."
He hugs her tightly. Too tightly.
Ohhh, sweetheart... it's almost too easy.
Then he kisses her.
Not tenderly. Not brutally either. It's a poisoned kiss. His mouth is bruised, split on the lower lip. Y/N tastes the metallic tang of blood, but doesn't pull back. Not immediately.
He clings to her. Embraces her with too much force. His hands close around her hips, her nape, her waist. He presses her against him like a castaway clinging to a wooden plank.
She tries to push him away. He resists.
> "Do you want me to calm down?"
His voice is hoarse, muffled, almost extinguished against her mouth.
> "Then tell me I'm your only one. Tell me you live for me. That you need me. That without me, you'll collapse."
[Si-eun's inner voice]
She's going to break.
One more word.
Look at her. She thinks she can leave. She hasn't even started trying.
His hand slid against her nape, forcing her to stay very close.
— "Say it, Y/N. I'm not asking you. I'm begging you. I don't want to become what I was before you. You don't want that? Huh?"
Inner voice (Si-eun):
Am I dreaming, or is she hesitating?
— "If you don't say anything, I'll know. I'll know I invented everything. That you were never there."
She's going to break. She HAS to break.
Y/N says something. She breathes out, with all the sincerity she can muster in the embrace:
> "I... love you, Si-eun. But... I'm scared. I'm scared of what you're doing. Of what you're becoming..."
He freezes. Just for a moment. Then he pulls back slightly. Looks at her.
His eyes gleam with a troubled light.
> "You love me?"
He laughs. Short, dry.
> "You love me but you run from me. You love me but you let me destroy myself."
He grips her face, gently. Too gently for it to be tender. A control, not a caress.
> "Love, Y/N, isn't an option. It's not a game of distance. If you love me, you stay. You get involved. You suffer with me. Otherwise, you're lying."
The sun sets. Eunjang's hallways are almost empty. He lay down on the concrete, pulled her against him. She didn't dare resist. Her head on his chest, he stroked her hair.
— You're not leaving me, are you?
She shook her head.
— You're not going to betray me, are you?
Silence.
— Because I couldn't survive if you did that.
Another silence.
And this time, he cried for real. Not from pain. But from triumph.
Inner voice (Si-eun):
She's fallen.
I can breathe again.
But not for too long. She'll have to say it again. And again. Until she has nothing left but that.
Her love for me is all that holds her up now.
And that... that's almost eternity.
---
From that day on, Yeon Si-eun had changed.
No more raised voices. No more sharp silences. He spoke softly, always gently, as if every word risked hurting her. As if he was learning to touch her without damaging her.
In the morning, he waited for her in front of the high school gate, his cheeks flushed with cold or impatience, she never knew. He straightened up as soon as he saw her, slipped his hands into his pockets, nervous, and handed her a small object, always different: a star-shaped eraser, a dried flower stuck in a book page, a photo of them printed on glossy paper—"It's stupid, but I wanted to give it to you."
He never said "I love you" directly. He said it differently. He said it by opening his umbrella awkwardly so that she would be better covered. He said it by blowing on her fingers when she was cold, or by tying her shoelaces when they came undone. He said it by watching her out of the corner of his eye, unable to look away for too long.
When she laughed, he blushed. Really. A real red, that rose to his ears. He tried to act proud, to shrug as if it was nothing. But sometimes, she caught him staring at the ground, smiling to himself, clinging to the strap of his bag as if that simple burst of happiness could make him tremble.
He seemed so lost in his feelings.
Si-eun, with his false airs of a solid boy, melted at her slightest gentleness.
One day, she had sneezed while they were walking. He had stopped dead, had rummaged frantically in his bag to hand her a tissue. He had even tried to wrap her in a scarf that he had bought just for her, without saying so. And when she had thanked him, he had murmured, almost ashamed:
— "I don't want you to get sick. I couldn't bear not having you… even for just one day."
Another day, she had fallen asleep on his shoulder in an empty bus. He hadn't moved. Not once. Even when his arm had become completely numb.
When she had woken up, confused, he had simply breathed:
— "Did you have a dream?"
— "I think so."
— "I hope I was in it…"
She had laughed softly, and he had bitten his lip, unable to look her in the face for a few seconds. He had blushed, again.
He had this rare modesty, this way of showing himself without exposing himself. He sometimes trembled when she placed her hand on his. He clung to her as if she were the only certainty in his life. He said that she smelled "like summer even in winter," and that her silences frightened him less than all the words in the world.
When they made love, it was gentle. More tender than physical. He took his time, looked at her for a long time, stopped to ask her useless but urgent questions:
— "Do you want me to kiss you there?"
— "Do you love me a little, there, now? Just a little?"
He caressed her with open palms, as if he was afraid of pressing too hard. He buried his face in her neck afterward, stayed close to her like a child after a nightmare. Sometimes, he cried. Not loudly. Just discreet tears, which he wiped away quickly, almost ashamed. But she knew it. She felt his body tremble against hers.
— "I've never had this before you. Never had someone who stays." The one who remained you let die
He kissed her shoulders. Her neck. Her fingers. He laughed when she had hiccups, told her absurd stories to make her fall asleep. He pretended to know how to cook and failed everything, but served his charred dishes with a clumsy pride.
— "I'm trying. For you. I'm trying to be a good person."
She believed him. Every gesture, every look, seemed woven with a timid sincerity. He was too fragile to lie, wasn't he?
Once, he wrote on her hand, with a pen:
“stay.”
He said nothing while doing it. He simply took her palm and traced the letters, one by one, with care.
When she looked up at him, he murmured, tears in his eyes:
— "I'm so afraid you'll leave."
And he hugged her tightly. For a long time. Long enough for her to think he would always protect her. Long enough for her to forget the cold. The world. The rest.
That day, she told herself that she had never been loved so much. She thought she was rebuilding him. She thought he was laying down his weapons. She thought she was the bandage, the light, the outstretched hand.
She thought.
How stupid she is
***
— "I have to tell you something… but I'm afraid you'll hate me after."
He murmured it one evening, his eyes on the ceiling, his face half in shadow.
Y/N had turned her head abruptly, her heart clenching. She thought of a revelation of past love, a crime, a confession.
He said nothing else. Just that. He let the silence do its work. And she, she clung to that sentence as if it were a burning wire. All night, she woke up in fits and starts, her gaze wild towards her phone. Something serious. Something hidden.
He didn't reply. And the next day, he only told her:
— "Get ready. We're going out."
***
They walked under the trees, in an old neighborhood with peaceful alleys. He held her hand, intertwined his fingers with a touching clumsiness. At each red light, he placed his lips on her temple. He stopped in small shops, showed her unimportant objects—a broken figurine, a rusty pendant—as if he wanted to share everything with her.
He smiled too much. Apologized too much. Bumped into her on purpose to laugh. A thick, almost sticky tenderness.
Y/N was happy. Confused, but happy. He told her:
— "Did you change something about your voice? It's softer than usual…"
She blushed.
He seemed nervous, like a teenager on a first date. She thought of a declaration. A tearful request.
But as they approached the city center, she felt something change. A pressure in her hand. A tension in his jaws. He no longer needed to play: she was already following him.
And then she saw the hospital. He said nothing. He gently pulled her towards the entrance.
Doubt, first, then certainty.
***
Room 317
The corridors were cold. The floor shone. Footsteps echoed far away. A disinfectant smell, too strong.
Y/N, already, was no longer breathing normally. She trembled.
Si-eun hadn't released her hand. He held her like a handcuffed person.
They passed two doors, then a third. He stopped in front of a room. No name, just a number. He opened without knocking.
Inside, time had frozen.
Su-ho.
The boy she knew, the one she had laughed with, who had protected her one day in that same boxing club.
On a white bed, machines in a row, tubes, muffled alarms. His body kept alive by an impersonal science.
Y/N felt her throat close.
A clenching in her legs.
A pressure in her temples, unbearable.
She didn't dare breathe.
She knew.
She understood what Si-eun had just done.
She didn't cry. Not yet. Her body was defending itself. The shock was too immense. Everything was emptying within her.
And he… he was smiling.
He made her sit down, by force, on the chair near the bed.
He circled her like a quiet predator.
— "You recognize him, huh?"
She didn't answer.
— "It's crazy, he still has the same smile. Well… he had it. Until the day you decided not to pick up your fucking phone."
She wanted to get up. He pushed her back into the chair, violently.
— "No. You stay. You look. You take responsibility."
His voice was broken, sharp.
— "You were there. You saw him. You knew. And you were afraid? Poor darling… Y/N was afraid."
He spat that name like a poison.
— "He's been like this since that day. Since the day you decided your silence was worth more than his life."
He speaks softly, but each word lacerates her.
— "You watched him get destroyed. You hid behind your fragile little body and your fear of intervening."
— "He's here because you preferred to close your eyes."
She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
— "You think I could love someone like you?"
She staggered, her lips trembling.
— "You want to know why I kissed you? Why I told you that you were everything to me? Because I wanted you to cling on. I wanted you to love yourself a little… before I broke you."
He laughs. Dry, nervous. Like a knife against glass.
— "It's crazy how people who lack love swallow anything… even shit if it's covered in pretty packaging."
And he laughed. Like the creep he is.
Y/N cowered. Her back against the backrest. Her breathing cut off.
— "You feel dirty? No? Not yet? Wait."
He took a bracelet out of his pocket. A worn, braided cord bracelet.
— "It was his. Keep it. You'll have to live with that."
He forced it onto her wrist. Y/N didn't have the strength to protest.
Her heart was beating too fast. She heard each beep of the monitor like a slap. Each artificial breath like proof.
Shame, finally, burst forth. But she didn't cry. She collapsed in silence. A blocked sob. A panic without screams.
Her skin seemed to want to flee her body. She was hot. She was cold. Her vision blurred.
— "Tell me again that you love me. Come on. Say it now."
She shook her head.
— "Too late, huh? Now you see. Now you KNOW."
— "Look at yourself. That's what you are. A coward. A selfish person. And you dare to love?"
He leans over the bracelet, then over her. Coldly:
— "Don't forget what I showed you today. You are not forgiven. You are not lovable. You are guilty. And it's me who holds you, Y/N. It's me you should fear. Because I can do this a thousand times. A thousand days. A thousand nights."
In Si-eun's mind
He watches her dissolve.
He feels an acidic satisfaction. A black victory.
He doesn't smile. He doesn't rejoice. He anchors his pain in hers.
That was the goal. For her to bear his grief. For her to breathe it, to swallow it. Until she suffocates.
She has fallen.
And he, finally, can breathe.
But not for too long.
Because she will have to come back to it. Again. Again.
Until her love is nothing more than a remnant of guilt. Until she offers herself to him no longer by choice… but by debt.
The day his friends began to suspect something, Si-eun was holding a small white onesie in his hands. He hadn't seen it coming. With a tender, almost unconscious gaze, he gently caressed the fabric as if touching precious skin. Humin, Hyun-tak, and Juntae had frozen upon seeing him in that baby shop, at the end of a slightly hidden alley near the city center.
"Dude... what are you doing here?" Humin had asked, teasing but intrigued.
Si-eun had startled. The icy mask they knew so well had returned immediately. He had put the garment back and turned around, his expression closed off.
"It's not for me. It's... for a neighbor. She asked me to."
Silence. The three boys exchanged a look. His tone was too dry, too defensive. Not Si-eun's usual way when he was half-lying.
Hyun-tak raised an eyebrow. "A neighbor? You mean you're volunteering now?"
"Forget it," Si-eun had simply replied before leaving, bag slung over his shoulder, his back stiff.
They watched him walk away without saying anything. Something was wrong. It wasn't the first time he had left abruptly, lied poorly, or dodged seemingly harmless questions. But this... there was something different in his eyes. A tenderness they hadn't known in him. A crack.
***
A few days later, Humin saw him in a pharmacy, buying iron supplements and folic acid. He hadn't noticed him yet. He had that focused, almost feverish look. As if he was afraid of making a mistake, of taking the wrong dosage. Humin had observed him from afar, an odd unease in his throat. He hadn't said anything, not at that moment. But that image had stayed with him.
***
Then, one rainy day, everything changed.
The four of them were in the high school hallway, a break between classes. The sky was low, gray, humid. Juntae was talking about video games, Humin was half-laughing, but Si-eun wasn't listening. His phone vibrated once. He took it out, read the message. His face turned white.
Then a second vibration. He replied, his fingers trembling.
And suddenly, he stood up abruptly, knocking his chair back.
"Where are you going?" Hyun-tak asked, surprised.
But Si-eun didn't answer. He was already running, bag across his chest, his face contorted by a panic they had never seen in him.
This wasn't just an unexpected event. It wasn't a mood swing. It was a visceral fear. A fear of losing.
They stood frozen for a moment, then Humin, the most curious, approached the desk he had left in a hurry. And there, he saw what he would never have imagined.
A notebook. Open. Ultrasound scans.
Names. Dates.
Y/N.
Pregnancy – 28 weeks.
The three of them looked at each other, shocked. The world around them seemed to stop suddenly. There was nothing but these black and white images, this blurry silhouette of a baby yet to be born, and the first name they had never heard. They didn't understand everything. But enough to know that Si-eun had hidden something immense from them.
***
The next day, they had decided to talk to him. To force him to explain himself. They knew he wouldn't come to them on his own.
But fate had chosen a different scene for the truth.
They found him in a corner of the high school, near the old art building. He was there, frozen, back hunched, facing his parents.
His mother was speaking loudly. Too loudly. A contained, icy anger.
"Do you realize what you're doing?! You're seventeen, Si-eun! Seventeen!"
"You were supposed to go abroad, get into a prestigious university! And now? You want to stay here? With a girl you got pregnant?"
His father's voice, lower but even harsher: "You're ruining everything. Absolutely everything."
They stayed hidden behind a pillar. Not a word passed. No jokes. No smiles.
They heard everything. Y/N's name. The pregnancy. The sacrifices. The sleepless nights. The choice not to run away.
And then Si-eun's voice, choked with emotion.
"Do you think I chose this? Do you think I had a plan? I'm doing what I can! She... she has no one left. And neither do I, if you continue like this."
His mother approached. They could sense a mixture of fear and despair in her voice.
"She's nothing to you, Si-eun. It's a mistake. You can still pull yourself together. You can leave. Study. Forget."
And then he exploded.
"I DON'T WANT TO FORGET!"
he shouted, his voice breaking.
"I love her. She's pregnant. And I'll be there. You don't understand because you've never been there for me either. You've never seen. Never heard. When I fell, she was the one who picked me up. Not you."
The silence after these words was deafening. His mother had stepped back, her face frozen. His father had lowered his eyes. Then, without a word, they had left, their steps stiff, their anger burning but powerless.
And he had stayed there, alone. His shoulders slumped. His breath short.
He was trembling.
Not with rage this time. But with fatigue. With exhaustion. With a weight too heavy for a boy his age.
His friends emerged from their hiding place slowly.
Humin was the first to take a step. Then Juntae. Then Hyun-tak.
They didn't know what to say. They had heard everything. Seen everything.
And facing them was Si-eun. Not the cold strategist, the untouchable boy. No. A teenager on the verge of collapse. A future father. Still a child himself, forced to become an adult at a brutal speed.
Si-eun didn't even look up. He clenched his fists, his teeth. He was trying to hold back. But it was too late. Tears welled up. He had held on for too long.
And the truth, bare, now weighed on his shoulders, with no more secrets from anyone.
His friends were there. Silent.
But they too had changed.
They saw the dark circles under his eyes. The calloused hands. The broken look.
And suddenly, anger rose within them. Not against him. Against this unfair world. Against the isolation he had gone through alone. Against the fact that he hadn't believed he could talk to them about it.
Humin clenched his fists. Juntae looked away, his throat tight. Hyun-tak, for his part, bit his lip.
No one spoke.
Not yet.
Because sometimes, words are not enough.
But at that precise moment, in that forgotten corner of the high school, something had just shifted.
They were no longer three friends facing a secretive boy.
They were four.
And now they knew.
---
The silence that followed the departure of Si-eun's parents was almost religious. Not a word. Not a breath. All that could be heard was the wind rushing through the deserted hallway, shaking the dead leaves on the ground.
Yeon Si-eun remained with his back to them, motionless. He knew they were there. He had heard their footsteps, felt their presence. Part of him wanted to run. To flee again. But he no longer had the strength.
He turned around slowly. His eyes were red, but he was no longer crying. His face was hard. Frozen.
Humin approached first. His gaze was tense, not accusatory, but filled with a dull ache.
"How long have you been hiding all this from us?"
Si-eun opened his mouth, then closed it again. He had no clear answer. No justification that wouldn't sound like betrayal or an excuse.
"A long time, I guess," he said, his voice broken.
Hyun-tak stepped forward in turn, shaking his head, looking both shocked and furious.
"What did you think? That we'd turn our backs on you? That we couldn't understand?"
"It's not that…" Si-eun murmured.
Juntae, usually the most reserved, spoke in a low but firm voice.
"Then what was it? Were you ashamed of us? Or of her?"
That sentence hit him hard. He finally looked up. There was a raw pain in his eyes, a fresh wound.
"Never. Never of her."
He inhaled, his jaw clenched, then exploded softly:
"I didn't know how to tell you, okay? I didn't know how… to explain it to you."
He looked at them one by one.
"I didn't have the luxury of choosing. One morning, she told me she was pregnant, and everything I knew collapsed. I… I did what I could. I acted. I held on. But I couldn't involve you in this."
Humin raised his eyebrows, hurt.
"Involve us? We're your friends, Si-eun. Your circle. You fight for everyone, but you think we don't have the right to fight for you?"
"It's not a question of right!" Si-eun burst out. "It's… it's a question of survival."
He took a few nervous steps. The ground seemed to tremble beneath his feet.
"I couldn't afford to make a mistake. Couldn't afford to break down. Every day, I had to be there, strong, precise. She has no one left. She sleeps in an empty apartment with a blanket that's too thin and pain in her stomach. And I'm doing what I can to keep her going. If I started talking, crying, asking for help, I would have crumbled."
Hyun-tak gritted his teeth. His fists were clenched.
"So you crumbled all by yourself."
"Do you think we wouldn't have understood your fear? Your exhaustion?"
Juntae, arms crossed, added more calmly:
"You cut yourself off from us, Si-eun. We're not just guys you beat people up with or study math with. We're… your friends, damn it."
Those words made something inside him tremble.
"I never wanted to hurt you," Si-eun whispered.
"But you did anyway," Humin replied, his eyes shining.
Silence fell again for a moment. Si-eun ran a hand over his face, as if to brush away the fatigue that clung to his skin like a second layer.
He finally sat down on a step, his shoulders slumped. The others remained standing, hesitant.
His voice became lower, almost childlike.
"I was scared. Not of being a father. That came like a clap of thunder… but it brought light."
He looked ahead, his gaze lost.
"I was scared… of not being up to it. Of messing everything up. Of being like my parents. Cold. Distant. I was scared of betraying Y/N. Of dragging her down with me."
He looked up at them, vulnerable.
"I saw the three of you, laughing, running, talking about your games, your dreams… And I was going home to prepare a hot meal. To help her sit down when her legs gave way. To watch for contractions."
"Do you think we would have laughed at you?" Juntae asked softly.
"No. But I wanted to protect you. From my chaos."
Hyun-tak ran a hand through his hair, shaken.
"You protected us… but you were all alone. You could have died in a corner, and we would have never known why."
Humin's voice was more shaky now.
"And her, Y/N… Does she love you?"
Si-eun nodded slowly.
"Yes. She's never said it in words. But I see it. Every day. In her silences. In the way she waits for me. The way she looks at me when I come home."
Hyun-tak sat down next to him, for the first time.
"And you? How do you love her?"
Si-eun closed his eyes. For a long moment.
Then he replied, in a hoarse voice:
"Like a shipwrecked person loves the shore. Like winter loves the light. I love her… defenselessly."
A profound silence fell.
And then, gently, Juntae sat down in turn. Then Humin.
They stayed there, all four of them, in a circle, as in the old days… but changed.
Humin finally murmured:
"You should have trusted us sooner."
"I know," Si-eun whispered.
Hyun-tak looked up at him.
"You're not alone, idiot. Not now. Not after all this."
A breath escaped Si-eun. Something like a sigh. Or the beginning of relief.
Humin placed a hand on his shoulder.
"We're going to help you. Not because you deserve it or not. But because we're here. Do you understand that?"
Si-eun nodded, unable to speak.
He had never asked to be saved.
But sometimes, the simple fact that someone offers you a hand is enough to pull you back from the edge.
And that day, for the first time in a long time, he felt less alone.
Not saved. Not yet.
But less alone.
And that was already huge.
---
His friends had been badgering him for two days.
"We want to meet her."
"She's carrying your baby, dude. That's literally family now."
"If you refuse again, I swear I'll tell all the supervisors you're hiding a pregnant woman in a dodgy apartment."
They hadn't let up. And Si-eun, despite all his resistance, had finally given in.
Reluctantly.
Because it was Y/N. Because she didn't like being the center of attention. Because she had experienced too much judgment. Too many heavy silences and sharp looks. But he had finally told them about her, and something in their eyes had reassured him.
They weren't there to judge her.
They were there to understand. To share.
And, perhaps, to love.
It was 6:34 PM when they arrived at the apartment door.
Humin was holding a plastic bag filled with snacks and drinks. Juntae had bought a pack of baby socks, too small, but so cute that even Si-eun hadn't been able to complain. Hyun-tak, for his part, hadn't said anything during the whole trip, but his gaze betrayed a feverish concentration, as if he were preparing to take an oral exam.
Si-eun looked at them, one eyebrow raised.
"You guys remind me of high schoolers going to meet their girlfriend's parents."
Hyun-tak sighed, nervous:
"And you look like a single dad expecting a social services inspection."
A small, discreet smile appeared on Si-eun's lips, but he didn't reply.
He opened the door.
The apartment was modest. An empty living room, with only an old rug in the center, a two-seater sofa, and a small, wobbly coffee table. The bedroom at the back was closed. The walls were clean but bare. The air smelled of rice, laundry detergent, and something sweet… like the scent of warm milk or cotton.
Y/N appeared in the doorway.
Small figure, oversized sweater, pregnancy pants that fell a little over her ankles. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun. Her complexion was pale, and she had dark circles under her eyes. But she was smiling. Gently. With a charming reserve.
She bowed slightly, her cheeks flushed.
"Hello."
The boys bowed in return, awkwardly.
"Hello!"
"Nice to meet you!"
"We're the goons who hang out with Si-eun."
Y/N giggled. A light, shy, but sincere sound.
Yeon Si-eun closed the door behind them in silence. He stood near Y/N, out of reflex. She gently reached out to grab a piece of his sleeve. Just for a second. As if to draw a little courage.
Humin approached first.
"I'm Humin. Thank you for having us. We're really happy to meet you. Finally, Y/N. Si-eun told us everything. Well, not everything, but… now we know."
Y/N nodded, a little lost in the words.
Juntae followed, a childlike smile on his lips.
"We brought a little something. I don't know if it'll be useful right away, but… it was too cute."
He handed her the tiny socks.
Y/N took them, hesitant, then her eyes widened.
"Oh…" she murmured. "They're adorable."
She looked up at him, sincere.
"Thank you so much."
Hyun-tak stayed a little behind, arms crossed, then approached slowly.
"I… I'm not very good at these kinds of meetings. But… you seem nice. And brave."
Y/N lowered her eyes, touched.
Si-eun watched the scene. In silence. His heart was beating faster than usual. It wasn't stress. It was… something else. A form of total vulnerability. He no longer controlled the situation. He was no longer protecting Y/N behind barriers. He was exposing her to the gaze of those he loved most after her.
And she was smiling.
She was radiant.
She was offering his friends that discreet light that he thought only he could see.
They all sat down on the floor, for lack of chairs. Y/N offered them tea, then sat down carefully on the sofa. Her hands rested on her stomach. She spoke little but listened attentively.
Humin told an embarrassing story about Si-eun from their first year. Juntae imitated a teacher with unexpected comedic talent. Hyun-tak, despite his silence, observed Y/N with growing tenderness.
And Si-eun? He was there. A little apart. Both present and absent.
He listened to them laugh. Watching Y/N laugh. He said nothing. But inside, something was opening up. Like a door they thought was sealed shut, slowly opening under a warm light.
He even surprised himself by smiling. Not out of obligation. Not to reassure. But because the scene before him was… beautiful.
Y/N, shyly, recounted how Si-eun had fallen asleep half-sitting while massaging her ankles. The boys laughed. Si-eun grumbled, but his gaze remained fixed on her. Fascinated.
At one point, she got up to get a cushion and moved slowly. The boys followed her with their eyes. Her stomach was visible now. Fragile roundness. Promise of life.
Juntae murmured, without even realizing it:
"It's crazy. She's carrying a mini you."
Humin nodded, touched:
"And she's doing it with so much grace…"
Si-eun felt his throat tighten.
Y/N returned, sat down carefully. Then she looked at the boys, hesitated, and murmured:
"I'm glad you're here. He doesn't talk much, but… he cares about you. A lot."
They all fell silent, surprised.
Then Hyun-tak murmured:
"We care about him too. And about you, now."
A discreet tear rolled down Y/N's cheek. She wiped it away quickly, embarrassed.
"Sorry. I'm tired. And emotional."
"Don't worry," Humin said gently. "You can cry. We're getting used to it. Si-eun does the same when he watches commercials with baby dogs."
Si-eun's dark glare triggered a general burst of laughter.
Y/N laughed too. A soft, fragile, but whole laugh.
And at that moment, Si-eun understood something.
He was no longer alone.
Neither was she.
This small, empty living room had become a place of love. Of connections. Of tenderness.
And as the evening slowly faded, as the boys mentally noted the sofa to be changed, the table that was too low, the empty wall to decorate, Si-eun looked at his friends and the woman he loved.
And he thought, for the first time in a long time, that maybe… just maybe… he was going to make it.
---
They had never said they loved her. Not out loud. But she had understood.
The little acts of kindness had started like accidents, or at least, that's what they pretended. None of the boys wanted to admit that they had become attached to Y/N. For them, she was "Si-eun's girlfriend," "the future mom," "the quiet girl," and above all: not their problem. At least, that's what they had said, in the beginning.
But their actions quickly contradicted their words.
The first, of course, had been Hyun-tak. He had shown up one afternoon with a baby crib, half-assembled, the screws in a plastic bag he had almost forgotten on the bus. He had knocked on the door like a hurried delivery man, then slipped into the apartment with the energy of a guy who knew exactly what he was doing.
"The kid's gotta sleep somewhere, right?" he had said, putting the boxes on the floor.
Y/N's eyes had widened. Si-eun, for his part, had remained stoic.
"Are you moving in now?" he had asked in a dry tone.
Hyun-tak had glanced at him over his shoulder. "It's not for you, blockhead. It's for her."
He had pointed at Y/N with his chin, as if it were obvious, as if the question didn't even arise. Then he had started screwing the pieces of the crib together, never really asking where to put it. He had acted as if he were part of the household.
And in a way, he already was.
The sofa had come later, and with it, Humin, in grand style.
He had entered the apartment as if announcing a global surprise.
"TA-DAA!" he had yelled, holding a small delivery receipt in one hand and a half-eaten banana in the other. "I found the sofa of the century! And guess what, Y/N? It even has a built-in footrest."
She had laughed. For real. A discreet but clear burst, almost surprised herself at how it made her feel. She hadn't laughed much lately. And there, faced with Humin's ridiculousness, she had felt… light.
Humin, proud as a peacock, hadn't stopped grumbling at Si-eun when he had dared to criticize the color.
"Hey, it's not for you! Have you seen your taste? If I had listened to you, She would still be sitting on the floor!"
One day, while Si-eun was working after school, the boys had accompanied him to his student job in a dingy little cafe. Juntae had sat at a table, legs crossed, a newspaper upside down in front of him, as if he were overseeing a top-secret operation.
"I'll have a coffee every ten minutes. And you better make sure you don't serve me the dregs, got it?" he had said, his gaze mocking.
Meanwhile, Humin would sneak behind the counter whenever the boss had his back turned, starting to wipe glasses or making faces at the customers.
Hyun-tak, more discreet, had simply folded napkins at an inhuman speed, visibly determined to let Si-eun go home earlier.
"You gotta go home, man," he had whispered to Si-eun. "She's waiting for you. And it's not good for her to be stressed. She sleeps badly when you're not there."
"Since when are you her obstetrician?" Si-eun had muttered.
Hyun-tak had just smiled at him. "Since you started being the guy who moans in his sleep while whispering her name."
But it was perhaps that day that they had really crossed over: the day they had seen her alone in the street.
Y/N was carrying a backpack and two shopping bags, her face tired, her hair pulled back, walking slowly along the main shopping street. Si-eun was still at school that day, held back for a presentation.
The boys had spotted her from afar.
"That's her, right?" Juntae had said, a little surprised.
They hadn't quite known what to do. She hadn't seen them yet. But what they had seen were the looks.
That elderly couple staring at her with a disapproving frown. Those students whispering. That guy who had slowed down as he passed by, as if to double-check what he thought he had seen.
And without even conferring, the three boys had stepped forward.
Humin had appeared at her side first, his smile big and bright.
"HEY! You were shopping without us? You know that breaks my heart?"
Y/N had startled, surprised, then started to smile shyly.
"We were just passing by," Juntae had added, placing himself right next to her to take a bag. "See? You don't even need to ask. We read your mind."
Hyun-tak had said nothing. He had just stood on the other side of the street, arms crossed, his gaze dark, scanning the passersby like a silent bodyguard. And strangely, the looks had become more discreet, the whispers had stopped.
Y/N hadn't suspected a thing.
She had just thought they were there for her. And they were.
The gestures had continued.
Juntae, one evening, had left a box of vitamins in front of their door, without saying anything. A small note on it simply read: "For her. Not for you, Si-eun. You're a lost cause."
Another time, Humin had brought back a whale-shaped nightlight that he had found "too cute to be left there" and had placed it on the table unceremoniously.
"It makes different colors, look!" he had said, all excited, frantically pressing the buttons.
Y/N, seeing him do that, had had tears in her eyes. Not because it was inherently moving, but because this nightlight, this unnecessary gesture, this absurdity... it was the first time in a long time that she had felt cherished.
And when she had turned to Si-eun that evening, she had whispered, almost to herself:
"I think they like me."
He had shrugged. But a smile was gently stretching his lips.
"They have good taste."
With each gesture, the boys made a point of reminding him that nothing was for him.
When Hyun-tak had changed the bathroom light bulbs:
"Not for you. She's the one who needs them."
When Juntae had installed blackout curtains in the bedroom:
"It's not for your baby sleep, huh, it's so she can take naps without getting a headache."
When Humin had brought a speaker to play soft music:
"If you use it to listen to weird rap, I'm taking it back."
Si-eun said nothing. But each gesture melted away a part of his armor. He had spent months fighting alone. Carrying the whole world. And now, these idiots were stealing his burdens one by one, as if they had always been there.
Y/N saw it too. She saw how, thanks to them, Si-eun was starting to breathe.
And she too, was letting herself be carried. Just a little. Enough to smile more often. Enough to laugh when Humin complained that the baby didn't talk to him when he put his head against her belly.
"I'm sure he doesn't like me. It's a conspiracy."
"He's sleeping, idiot," Si-eun would reply.
But the most beautiful thing was what they didn't say.
It was the time they had covered the fridge with little notes for her. Encouragement. Jokes. Badly drawn animals.
It was the time they had all cooked a terrible but edible meal, and Y/N had pretended it was delicious.
It was the time they had all slept in the living room "just in case she goes into labor tonight," even though she was six months along.
And every time they did something, they would look Si-eun straight in the eye and say:
"This isn't for you."
But they both knew that it was precisely for the two of them. Because they were a family now. And in this circle they formed without even trying, Y/N had found a place she hadn't even suspected she deserved.
But they had known it from the beginning.
---
A few weeks later
A routine had settled in. Slowly. Y/N progressed in her pregnancy, with her gentle silences and light smiles. Si-eun, more tired than ever, juggled classes, odd jobs, and a thousand responsibilities. And the boys—Juntae, Humin, Hyun-tak—kept showing up, pretending not to get too attached, even though it had been too late for a long time.
They formed a strange family. Lopsided. Woven with awkwardness, burnt coffee, and animal-shaped nightlights. But a real family, in their own way.
Until that Saturday.
It was supposed to be a normal afternoon. The boys were out buying silly things for the baby's room. Humin absolutely wanted to find a cloud-shaped garland. Juntae grumbled. Hyun-tak followed, his gaze lost.
And then they saw him.
Si-eun.
Standing in front of a downtown pastry shop. With a girl.
Not Y/N.
A girl taller than Y/N, hair down, tight jeans, loud laugh. She had placed her hand on Si-eun's arm. He hadn't pushed her away. He was laughing too. A frank, complicit laugh.
It lasted three seconds.
Three seconds where their whole world crumbled.
Humin was the first to speak.
"No... No, don't tell me he..."
Juntae, pale, jaw clenched: "It's a joke. It's a fucking joke."
And Hyun-tak. He said nothing. He just clenched his fists. His knuckles white. His gaze dark.
Not one of them thought to ask questions. Not one thought that maybe—just maybe—there was an explanation.
Because they had seen Si-eun's smile.
And for them, it was betrayal.
That same evening.
They hadn't given him time to go home.
They had waited for him outside his work. Like an ambush.
It was cold. The sky hung low. And in their eyes, there was no tenderness left.
Si-eun had seen them from afar. He had known.
But he hadn't run.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, calm but defensive.
Hyun-tak stepped forward first.
"Does she know?"
His voice was dry. Brittle.
Si-eun frowned. "What are you talking about?"
Humin exploded.
"WHAT AM I TALKING ABOUT?! About you hanging out with another chick while Y/N is sleeping in your bed with your kid in her belly! Do you want us to draw you a picture?!"
Juntae spat on the ground. "Have you been messing with us from the start, or did you just change your mind?"
Si-eun took a step back. Shocked. Not by their words. But by their hatred.
"Wait... You think I'm cheating on her?"
"What am I supposed to think?!" Humin yelled. "I saw you! You were laughing, you... you were looking at her like... like you've never looked at Y/N!"
"She touched your arm, damn it!" Juntae added. "She touched you, and you did nothing!"
The tension was electric. Si-eun could have hit them. He could have screamed. But he stood there, frozen. His heart pounding as if it would burst out of his ribs.
"She was the new gynecologist," he said finally. In a sharp tone.
Silence.
But he didn't let them breathe.
"Y/N had back pain. She didn't want to go out. So I took her tests, her papers, I went to talk to the specialist in her place. She laughed because I asked if she could prescribe candy instead of folic acid. And I laughed too. Because I was exhausted. And for once, I just… breathed. For a minute. One fucking minute."
He approached. Slowly. His gaze dark. Icy.
"And you… You think I betrayed her? You think I'm that guy?"
Hyun-tak faltered.
But Humin, still seething, spat: "We think you had no right to smile like that with someone else."
This time, Si-eun laughed. A harsh laugh. Joyless.
"I don't have the right to smile? Seriously? I haven't slept more than three hours a night for two months. I work during the day, I stay up at night. I get up at five in the morning to find oranges because Y/N was craving them. I canceled all my friends, all my plans, I sold my console, my clothes, everything I had for this kid. But because I smiled for two seconds, I become an asshole?!"
Humin lowered his head.
Juntae, jaw tight, was clutching his bag so hard the seams were creaking.
But Hyun-tak, slowly, stepped forward. His face had softened. He placed a hand on Si-eun's shoulder.
"We panicked."
"You exploded," Si-eun corrected.
Hyun-tak came closer, hesitant. He had never been good with words. But now, he had to find them.
"We saw you smile. Sincerely. And… I think it scared us. Because we don't see you smile like that anymore. Not often. Even with her."
He grimaced. Struck by his own truth.
"We were afraid you were looking for air somewhere else."
Si-eun looked at him, frowning. Then more softly:
"And you think I have the luxury of breathing elsewhere? You think I even have time to imagine such a thing? Y/N, she's…"
His voice broke for a moment.
"She's my choice. My world. My damn promise. I'm standing because she's there. And the day she believes I'm looking elsewhere, she'll collapse. And so will I."
Silence returned. But it was different this time.
Full of shame. And recognition.
Humin finally approached.
"We're idiots."
"Top-tier," Juntae agreed.
And Hyun-tak offered a wry smile.
"But idiots because we care about her," Hyun-tak murmured. "And we care about you too, even if you're a dumbass."
Si-eun looked at him. For a long time. And sighed.
He didn't forgive them. He didn't hug them. Not tonight.
But he stayed there. Looking at them, his eyes burning.
And that was enough.
For this time.
---
It was the holidays. Finally.
Not that it changed anything for them: no one had really had time to rest for months. But the very idea of vacation sounded like a miracle. No more classes, no more endless schedules, just... an imminent birth to manage.
Super relaxing.
And that night, it happened.
Y/N was in pain. A lot of pain. Then a lot, lot more pain. She had huffed, groaned, insulted everyone except Si-eun (and even then, maybe "move or I'll decapitate you" counted). Si-eun, for his part, had gone into robot mode: suitcase, papers, blanket, water bottle, tight smile.
Direction: the hospital.
And there, it was chaos.
Hours. Screams. Cold sweats. Contractions every five, then three, then one minute. Midwives coming and going. And in the middle, Si-eun, pale, clinging to Y/N's hand, muttering under his breath: "We'll get through this. We'll get through this. We'll get through this..."
And then... the cry.
A first one. Loud. Piercing.
The world stopped for a second.
It was her. Their baby.
Si-eun felt his legs give way a little. Tears in his eyes, heart in pieces.
But just as he was about to collapse with relief...
"OH. MY. GOD." exclaimed the midwife.
Y/N blinked. "What now?"
"There's another one!"
Si-eun: "...
...Excuse me?"
TWO ??
There were two.
Two babies. Twins.
Si-eun stood motionless. He watched the doctors bustling around, Y/N collapsing with fatigue, the two babies crying like sirens... and his soul temporarily left his body.
Two.
Two bottles. Two diapers. Two pacifiers. Two reasons to never sleep again.
The boys didn't arrive until dawn.
Rushed, disheveled, still bleary-eyed. Hyun-tak had an empty coffee cup. Humin was wearing his t-shirt inside out. Juntae... Juntae had forgotten his shoes.
"WE'RE HERE!" Humin yelled, opening the door. "WE'RE HERE, SI-EUN!"
Si-eun raised his head, looking like a man who had seen war. Literally. Hair a mess, bloodshot eyes, dark circles that would make a panda cry.
"Shut up. Y/N is sleeping. And wash your hands."
"Dude..." Hyun-tak blinked. "Is it me or... are there two of them?"
Silence.
The three of them froze.
Their eyes went from the two cribs... to Si-eun.
Then back to the cribs.
Then back to Si-eun.
Humin was the first to speak:
"Did you click on the baby twice online or something?"
Juntae, in a grave tone: "Dude... Is this a system bug? Was there a 'buy one, get one free' promotion?"
Hyun-tak, more calmly: "Make just one baby was too much to ask, huh ? I'm out. This is too much."
But he didn't move.
Si-eun stared at them. Slowly. Coldly.
"Two. Two babies. And I swear, I already love them. But if you laugh even ONE MORE TIME, I'll hit you with an iron baby bottle."
Humin approached, leaned over the twins.
"Is... Is this real?"
One of the babies sneezed.
Humin jumped back as if she had fired a laser beam. "IT MOVED!"
"Well, it's a baby, Humin, not a Greek statue," Si-eun muttered.
Juntae, hands on his head: "You really have two. That's... wow. You're officially dead, man. RIP."
Hyun-tak had advanced more slowly. He observed. Then whispered, with an almost moving seriousness:
"They're so tiny. They look like... living noodles. But like... cute ones."
Si-eun grimaced.
"Is that supposed to be endearing?"
"It's Hyun-tak, man. Don't try to understand."
But none of them said the real thing. The real thought.
He did it. He really did it. And they're here. They're his. Theirs, a little.
And then, Humin, barely washed (badly, probably), reached out towards one of the cribs.
"Can I?"
"Did you wash your hands?" Si-eun raised an eyebrow.
"Of course!"
"Soap? Between your fingers? Your nails?"
"...I'll be right back."
Half an hour later, after finally passing Si-eun's germaphobic security, the boys were able to approach, one by one.
Humin melted.
"She looked at me. It's settled. I'm her godfather."
"No one said that."
"She CHOSE me."
Juntae took a photo. Then two. Then thirty.
"I'm going to make an album. Title: 'Si-eun Before the Fall.'"
Hyun-tak, more discreet, placed a finger against the tiny hand of one of the girls.
She gripped it.
He said nothing. But he stayed there for a long time, his gaze blurry, as if he were remembering something he had never had.
Si-eun watched them.
And sighed.
"You're going to be terrible godfathers."
"The worst," Humin confirmed.
"But they'll always have someone," Hyun-tak added softly.
i lovee your ahn suho fanfic authorrr, can i request another one ?? where suho instantly falls in love with the reader upon their seeing her at her school .
Let F*ck
Ahn Su-ho x fem reader
Explicit Lemon here. Minors, run away. ತ_ʖತ
Music to listen to for the atmosphere: Time moves slow_badbadnotgood
.................................………………………………………
It was the fourth time that month he'd seen the white in a guy's eyes, the look that said he thought he was going to die.
Shortness of breath.
The metallic taste of guilt in his throat.
Blood. Too much. On his knuckles, his cheekbones, his t-shirt. Not all his own.
Su-ho was on the roof. Again.
An old reflex. To rise when the ground was too dirty. To get away when he couldn't stand himself anymore.
The concrete was cold. His cigarette too.
He didn't even like to smoke. But it was that or crack his skull open against a wall.
He'd hit too hard. Again.
Not because he wanted to, no.
Because he no longer knew how to do otherwise. Because his body reacted faster than his head. Because he needed to hit to forget.
But now...
He'd seen the guy on the ground, half-conscious, eyes rolled back, breath broken.
And he'd seen himself. Monster. Thing. Animal.
And this time, he was scared.
Not of getting caught. Not of getting kicked out.
No.
Scared of himself. Of what he had become.
It was at that precise moment that Y/N arrived.
No sound. No timid footsteps.
Y/N opened the roof door like slamming the end of a nightmare.
Y/N.
She didn't know him. He didn't know her either.
And she didn't look at him.
Not once.
She simply settled down. A little further away.
Back against the wall. Eyes staring into space. As if she'd fled a place even emptier than this one.
Su-ho took a long drag.
To pretend he wasn't looking at her.
But he was looking at her.
Not to judge her.
But because she carried a silence different from his own.
She wasn't crying.
But she had come for that. He felt it. She had that kind of emptiness in her shoulders, the kind that weighs you down when you've cried too much elsewhere and you're just... dry.
He would have wanted to talk.
But he had forgotten how.
So he did what he knew how to do.
He moved closer.
And she didn't push him away.
No words.
No "Are you okay?"
No promises.
Just gestures. Fraying nerves. Searching breaths.
She didn't touch him tenderly.
And he didn't either.
It was brutal, clumsy, almost animal.
But it was real.
His hands still trembled from the fight.
His lips tasted of ashes.
She let him. He lost himself in her.
Not out of romantic desire. Not out of love. Not to save her.
But because she was there.
And she asked nothing of him. Nothing but this raw contact.
As if they were consuming each other to avoid exploding.
He would long remember the sound of their bodies in the silence of the roof.
The irregular rhythm of their breaths.
Y/N's nails in his back. Not to hurt him. To anchor herself.
The weight of his fatigue afterwards. That strange, soft, almost pleasant fatigue. As if she had siphoned everything that made him human... and made it a little less painful.
They didn't talk afterwards.
Just lying there, out of breath.
Like two smoking guns after a carnage.
The next day, he returned to the roof.
She was there before him.
Same scenario.
Same silent rage.
Same need to flee.
And he took her again.
Or she took him. He wasn't so sure anymore.
It wasn't sex. It was a trance. An escape.
Their bodies spoke because their mouths refused to open.
They found each other there with each fall. Like two wounded people cauterizing themselves with fire.
She never smiled.
Didn't even look at him before touching him.
She wasn't soft, not cuddly. Almost cold.
As if she wanted to make sure he didn't get attached.
And yet...
Su-ho thought about her all the time.
At first, he told himself it was just the sex. The intensity. The context.
But no. It was dirtier than that. Deeper.
She lived in his nerves, in his muscles, in his nights.
He didn't dare talk to her elsewhere.
He didn't even know if he could.
She ignored him when they crossed paths. Truly. As if he didn't exist.
And yet, he kept coming back. Again. Again.
Like a junkie who knows his dose kills him, but still seeks it out.
He worked after school. Crappy little jobs.
Waiter, delivery driver, sometimes a laborer for a few more wons.
He thought of her while carrying bags.
He saw her again, legs wrapped around him, nails in his skin.
But above all... that emptiness she left afterward. That silence full of her.
He wasn't trying to change her mind.
She had been clear.
"I want nothing. Just this."
And he had agreed. Like an idiot.
But every time she got dressed, every time she left without a word, without a glance,
he felt his stomach clench.
Not jealousy. Not yet.
But a desperate form of possessiveness.
Not over her.
Over what they shared. That suspended moment where he was no longer a monster.
One evening, after a particularly intense session, he stayed longer.
She had fallen asleep for a moment. Not on him. Just... beside him.
And he had looked at her. For a long time.
It wasn't love. Not romance.
It was dirtier than that.
An obsession. Visceral. Consuming from within.
He wanted to understand her.
To know her.
To know why she no longer cried.
He wanted to make her talk. Just once.
To have her look at him. To say his name.
But he never dared.
He was too afraid she'd stop coming.
So he kept silent.
He waited for her.
And when she appeared, even with her closed face, even without a word...
he felt alive.
He knew it would end badly.
That these kinds of things leave deeper scars than blows.
But he didn't care.
Y/N had become his favorite hell.
And he wasn't ready to get out.
---
There was no more roof. No more cold concrete. No more nights stolen from the city.
Now, it was clean sheets. Neutral walls. Chosen spaces. Sometimes at her place. Sometimes elsewhere. But always... together.
Su-ho hadn't quite understood when it happened. When sex stopped being an escape and became... this. This soft, heavy thing in his chest. This sick heat that knotted his throat when she brushed against him. This unbearable ache when she wasn't there.
She still didn't look at him much. No more than before. Sometimes, she would fix her gaze on a point behind him, as if she were thinking of another world, another man, another damned universe.
But she had made a mistake.
One night, she had fallen asleep against him. Her head on his shoulder. As if it were natural. As if his body wasn't a weapon. As if his warmth was worth a little peace.
And then, there was that look.
She had smiled. Not a big smile. Not a laugh. But a... release. A second of calm. Of tenderness. She had looked at him and he had believed, just for a second, that it was mutual.
That she could love him.
Fatal error.
Because since that moment, he couldn't let go.
The obsession, this time, was soft. Burning, but soft. It no longer had the violence of before. It tasted of need. The unhealthy need. The kind that makes your hands tremble when she's absent for too long.
Su-ho watched her too much.
He didn't even hide it anymore. When they were together, he devoured her with his eyes. Slowly. Delicately. As if he wanted to remember everything. Her gestures, her silences, even her meaningless sighs.
When they made love, it was no longer brutal.
He took his time. He touched her as one touches something sacred.
His hands slid along her arms. Lingered on her neck. He caressed her back for a long time before even thinking of anything else. And when he kissed her, it was no longer an escape. It was a silent prayer.
He didn't dare to speak. But his whole body screamed. Every look. Every sigh. Every touch.
And Y/N...
She said nothing. She let him. As always.
But she had stopped stopping him. She had stopped avoiding his eyes. She let him stay longer. She let him embrace her. Sometimes she would place her hand on him. Just for a second. But it was enough.
Enough for him to believe.
So he started appearing elsewhere.
In front of the coffee shop she went to. In front of her bus stop. In the alley near her building.
Sometimes she saw him. A raised eyebrow. A half-smile, barely.
Other times, she completely ignored him. Her head elsewhere. Her thoughts lost.
But he... he always watched her.
He watched her like a shipwreck survivor watches a lighthouse. Like a starving man watches a feast behind a window. He watched her with a sick devotion. A dirty passion. A love he would never have the right to speak.
And yet, it was love.
A strangled love. A silent love. A love that spread through his veins like a slow poison.
He loved her.
He loved her in her absences. He loved her in her empty gazes. He loved her when she rejected him, when she remained cold, when she was harsh, distant, hard.
And the more she kept him at bay, the more he clung. The deeper he sank into this disgusting but living obsession.
He wanted her for himself. Entirely.
But he had no right.
Because there was the other guy.
This accidentally handsome guy. (~_~メ)
The one she never called by his first name. The one she didn't really talk about. But he existed.
Su-ho had seen him. Once. By chance. Tall, fake smile, nice clothes. The kind of guy who looks at you like he wants you to not exist.
And Y/N beside him. Tiny. Discreet. Inexpressive.
But there was a way she walked next to him. Something almost invisible. A remnant of hope. An illusion of attachment.
And Su-ho understood. This guy was a damn scam. One of those guys who make love glitter like a decoy mirror. Who make you believe. Who take. Who discard.
He didn't love her. He collected her.
And Su-ho had wanted to kill him. Literally.
But he didn't.
Because it wasn't his place to save her.
It was hers to leave him.
So he waited. And he loved. And he suffered.
He loved her voice even when she insulted him. He loved her scent on his sheets. He even loved her silence.
He would have given anything for her to truly look at him. Just once. With something other than that polite neutrality.
And sometimes, when they were lying down, both out of breath, she would run her fingers through his hair. A second. Just a fleeting caress.
And that second, he kept it within him like a secret. Like a stolen jewel.
He loved her. He loved her as one loves when they've never learned to love.
Badly. Strongly. Until he bled.
And he didn't know if he would survive her.
---
That day, Su-ho was tired. Tired of hoping, tired of feeling. He had that knot in his stomach that followed him everywhere, a tangle of anxiety and longing that no sleep, no cigarette, no girl could soothe.
And he didn't expect to see her.
Y/N.
She arrived without warning. Not on the roof, not in a bed stolen from routine. No. On his street. At his place. Su-ho's heart leaped. She wasn't supposed to be there. She never came looking for him.
But she had.
She had found him. Without a call, without a message. Just her, at his door. Scarf around her neck, hands in her pockets, her eyes tired but determined.
He had barely opened his mouth when she had already grabbed him by the collar. Not violently. But with urgency. As if she didn't want to give him time to speak, to think, to be afraid.
She had kissed him.
Not gently. Not like in a movie.
She had kissed him like a scream. Like a punch. Like a howl. And he had responded with the same fever. They ended up in his apartment in a series of hasty gestures. Not for sex. Not for pleasure. For the other. For this need. This heat. This dependence.
She still said nothing. But that night, she stayed. She didn't turn away afterward. She slept there. Against him. Truly against him.
And damn...Su-ho was happy. He's hurt but still happy.
***
A few days later, he was out with a friend. Just a platonic friend, nothing ambiguous. A girl from his job. They were laughing, relaxed, like two kids escaping the pressure of the world.
And he felt it.
The gaze.
That warm and cold sensation at the same time, planted in the back of his neck. He turned around.
Y/N.
A few meters away. Silent. Still. Her gaze fixed on him.
He felt his heart plummet violently into his stomach.
She approached. Slowly. Too slowly. Like a wounded animal ready to bite.
His friend sensed it. She stiffened. Su-ho did too.
And then, without warning, Y/N walked up to him, grabbed his neck, pulled him towards her, and kissed him.
In public.
Under the eyes of the other girl. Of everyone.
It was possessive. It was violent. It was disgustingly sincere.
And he followed her. Without a word.
She had pulled him by the hand, almost brutally. He understood nothing. But he was intoxicated. His legs felt like they were floating. His heart was on fire. His brain was off.
Y/N. Jealous.
Damn.
Her. Jealous.
He had never seen that. Never thought it would happen.
She didn't explain anything. She just sat down in his living room, her face closed, her arms crossed.
"Who is that chick?"
He smiled. Too happy. Too stupid.
"A friend."
She glared at him. He wanted to laugh. But he didn't. Because beneath her anger, she was trembling.
Not cute jealousy. Not romantic "you're mine." No.
It was rage. Fear. Self-rejection. She disgusted herself for feeling it.
And he understood. He didn't touch her. He simply watched her.
It was her. The real her. Finally.
And he loved her even more for it.
***
The next day, the world exploded.
Her boyfriend. The other one. The scam.
He had discovered Su-ho's existence. Through a friend, a rumor, a damned coincidence. It didn't matter. He knew.
And he came.
Not to talk.
To scream.
To accuse.
Y/N was there. Tiny. Back against the wall. And he, the other guy, the perfect type, he was screaming.
"You're just a slut, Y/N! You're sleeping with a damn delinquent! Do you think I don't know?!"
She didn't answer. She trembled. Just a little. But enough for Su-ho to feel his stomach churn.
He was there. He saw him raise his hand.
And he didn't think.
One more second and he would have hit her.
But Su-ho lunged.
He slammed into him with all his weight. Fist to the jaw. Knee to the ribs. The other guy staggered, then collapsed.
Y/N was in shock. She wasn't crying. But she had that empty look. That look of a little girl who had just lost everything.
Su-ho approached.
"Are you okay?"
He was trembling too. With rage. With fear. With pain.
She looked at him. For a long time.
Then, without warning, she pushed him away.
"Don't touch me."
It was an order. Cold. Cutting.
And it killed him.
"Y/N, I..."
"Get out!"
She had screamed. Loudly. Too loudly.
He backed away. Heart broken. Soul torn out.
But he didn't leave.
She collapsed to the ground. Her legs too weak. The silence too heavy.
And he knelt down.
He didn't hold her immediately. He just held out his hand.
And she... she grabbed it. Weakly. But she did.
So he held her close. Tight. As if he wanted to mend her bones.
And she clutched his t-shirt. Not a hug. A reflex. A need.
Maybe she wanted to apologize like that.
And he... he held her. He rocked her.
A little tighter. A little longer.
Maybe he wanted to tell her he forgave her.
***
Y/N, that evening, understood something horrible.
She loved him.
Not a light love. Not a nice love. No.
She loved him to death. To hate herself. To want to distance herself so as not to ruin everything.
Because no one had ever fought for her. No one had ever worried like him. Never. Not even her parents. Not even she, for herself.
And it hurt.
Too much.
Su-ho, he no longer knew whether to smile or cry.
But he was there. And that was already something.
---
The morning light filtered softly through the tired curtains of Su-ho's room. Y/N rose quietly, replacing the sheets with a tenderness she'd never dared to name. Her heart was still beating too fast, as if it hadn't yet decided if this night was a mistake or a confession.
She dressed quickly, grabbing her bag, her notebooks, her phone. She cast one last glance at Su-ho, who was still asleep, his hair messy, an arm astray at his side. He looked... peaceful. And terribly human.
But in her haste, she forgot a crucial folder: her display for the end-of-term school competition. An unforgivable error for a student like her.
Su-ho woke up a few minutes after she left, his throat dry, his head heavy. Fever pulsed in his temples, but he immediately recognized Y/N's notebook on the bedside table. And he knew.
He didn't think. He grabbed it, pulled on a wrinkled sweatshirt and jeans, and rushed out. His breath was short, his legs heavy, but his body was carried by something stronger than pain. The idea that she might lose a chance, a crumb of her future, because of him.
He arrived at the high school, his heart pounding against his ribs. He shouldn't have been there. It was a place that didn't belong to him. But he entered, feverish, trembling, Y/N's folder clutched to his chest.
The hallways were lined with trophies, photos of brilliant alumni. And there, large as life, frozen in a pose worthy of a high-level athlete, he saw her.
Y/N.
A discreet smile. Straight posture. About fifteen trophies lined up under her name.
He felt his legs falter.
He murmured to himself, his lips split by a delirious smile:
"My girlfriend's a shonen."
He laughed softly, barely a breath, and salty tears welled in his eyes. He was proud. So proud.
But a moment later, his body betrayed him. He barely had time to see Y/N at the end of the hallway, her eyes widening with fear.
Then, everything went black.
***
He woke up in a harsh light. The smell of antiseptic hit his nostrils even before pain invited itself into his muscles.
And then he saw her face.
Y/N.
Sitting near him, arms crossed. Furious. And... terribly worried.
"What did you want, to die for me? Did you think that would make me happy?! Why are you so tired? Why are you dehydrated and lacking rest?!
Her voice trembled. Not with anger. With panic.
He looked away, ashamed.
"I wasn't hungry without you."
It wasn't an excuse. It was a naked truth. Ridiculous. Tragic. And terribly human.
Y/N stopped talking. She stared at him. For a long time. And tears welled up without her being able to hold them back.
He was crying.
Su-ho was crying, in silence. His gaze drowned, his features broken by exhaustion. It was because of her. Because she had let him believe he was replaceable. Or nonexistent.
She collapsed, in turn.
But this time, she didn't run.
In the following days, Y/N stayed. She was no longer just a presence. She was a silent hurricane of care.
She brought him meals, forced him to eat. Sometimes, when he refused, she fed him herself.
She brought the spoon to his lips with a firm, almost angry gesture.
"You eat or I'll choke you with it."
He obeyed. But his eyes were full of something incomprehensible. The look of a beaten dog. Of a guy who doesn't believe he deserves the tenderness he's given.
***
One evening, she entered the room in silence. Su-ho was too weak to speak. His eyes were half-closed, his breathing short.
She approached. Gently.
She tucked him in. Adjusted his blanket. Then, with infinite care, she leaned down and placed a kiss on his burning forehead. Without a word. Without justification.
He said nothing. But he smiled in the dark.
***
On the day of his discharge, his halmoni came to pick them up. All wrinkled, a smile plastered to her lips. When she saw Y/N supporting him by the arm, she burst out laughing.
"Aigoo! You two are so cute! How long have you been together, huh?"
Y/N wanted to answer. She opened her mouth, but her voice was muffled. Inaudible. Nothing came out. She lowered her eyes.
Then Su-ho took her hand. Firm. Sure.
He turned to his grandmother and said, with an almost shy smile:
"Since now. Since today."
Y/N looked up at him, surprised. He wasn't looking at her. He was staring at the horizon. As if he were uttering an incantation.
Then he turned to her.
"I'm tired of waiting for you to allow yourself to love me. So I've decided that I'll do it for two."
Y/N felt her heart break. Slowly. Gently. In an explosion of pure warmth.
And she didn't answer with words.
She squeezed his hand. Hard. Very hard.
And that day, the world no longer needed answers. Because for the first time, Y/N was no longer afraid.
And Su-ho... was finally loved.
---
The days passed, and even though Su-ho was out of the hospital, his body remained fragile. The fever no longer spiked so high, but it still clung on, insidious, a silent reminder that he had flirted too closely with his limits. He couldn't work, barely cook, and his grandmother, though adorable, had her own constraints.
So Y/N came. Every. single. day.
She'd knock twice, then enter without waiting. She carried bags of food, medicine, sometimes a new sweatshirt she'd bought without admitting it was for him. She'd look him up and down as soon as he sat, checking his breathing, his hands, his eyes.
"Are you drinking enough?"
"Did you take your pills?"
"Why are you still in a T-shirt? Do you want to catch something again?"
Su-ho no longer answered. He'd nod, sometimes with a smile. Other times, he'd just watch her. Like a kid discovering that love doesn't just burn; sometimes it heals too.
That evening, she had stayed.
She had settled into the small armchair opposite his bed, her legs folded, her glasses perched on the end of her nose. She was reading, a medical book, or maybe a novel. He couldn't take his eyes off her.
The silence wasn't heavy. It was comfortable. Like a shared blanket.
"Do you want to sleep here?"
She looked up.
"I'm already sleeping here, Einstein. Do you think I'm reading at three in the morning because I'm not sleepy?"
He smiled. Weakly. She got up, joined him in bed. She only took off her socks. No innuendo. No burning glances. Just the warmth of a presence that no longer wanted to leave.
She slipped under the covers. The bed was small. Their proximity, immense. She covered him with an automatic gesture. Then she placed her hand on his chest, to check his heart rate.
He watched her.
"Are you listening to me breathe?"
"I'm studying you. You're my favorite guinea pig."
He laughed. Weakly. His chest vibrated under her hand. And that warmth, that touch, woke something he had tried to ignore.
Desire wasn't new. But that night, it wasn't rushed. It was deep. Slow. Uncontrollable.
He turned his head. Their faces were inches apart. He could smell her scent, the soap from her neck, the soft dampness of her breath. He kissed her.
Gently at first. A brush. Then a second, more precise, more hungry. She responded. Their mouths sought, recognized each other. But she pulled back, barely.
"Maybe we should slow down on the sex..."
He blinked. Lost.
"You want to kill me faster than my 39-degree fever, is that it?"
She smiled, despite herself.
"You're an idiot."
"Yes. And in danger. And weak. And completely crazy about you. So now, I'm going to kiss you. If you don't want to, push me away."
She didn't push him away.
The mattress groaned under their combined weight. Y/N lay back, her skin contrasting with the pale sheets. Her eyes stared at Su-ho unblinking, without modesty or artifice—just that raw intensity that consumed him from within.
Su-ho leaned over her, hypnotized by the rhythm of her breathing, by the slight pulsations he could discern at the base of her neck. With deliberate slowness, he pressed his mouth against hers. It wasn't a tender kiss—their teeth clashed, their tongues sought each other with an animal urgency. He tasted the salt on her lips, inhaled her breath as if to steal a part of her.
"I want you now," Y/N murmured against his mouth, her hands already descending to grasp his hardened sex.
"Of course ma'am" He answers
Su-ho let out a guttural groan as she closed her fingers around him, the warmth of her palm sending electric shocks down his spine. She guided him towards her wet entrance, impatient, without unnecessary foreplay.
"Wait," he managed to articulate, breathless.
He descended along her body, tracing a path of light bites on her skin. Y/N shivered despite herself when he reached the inside of her thighs, his tongue drawing burning arabesques on her sensitive skin. She spread her legs wider, a silent invitation that he accepted by plunging his face against her sex.
Y/N's taste exploded in his mouth—musky, salty, intensely feminine. Su-ho devoured her like a starving man, his tongue exploring every fold, every texture. He felt Y/N's thighs contract around his head, heard her breathing become more erratic with each stroke of his tongue. Far from passive, she undulated against his mouth, directing her own stimulation with precise movements.
When Su-ho lifted his head, his chin glistening with Y/N's moisture, he met her gaze—still as intense, almost accusatory in its lucidity. Even on the verge of pleasure, she didn't completely surrender.
Without a word, he moved up her body, feeling the heat radiating between them. His sex pulsed painfully, demanding a release he still held back. He wanted to prolong this moment, this raw connection, this total absence of pretense.
Y/N wrapped her legs around his waist with surprising strength, pulling him against her. The tip of his sex brushed her wet entrance, eliciting a shiver from Su-ho.
"Now," she commanded, her nails digging into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks.
Su-ho plunged into her with a brutal thrust of his hips. The sensation froze him in place—that warm, tight, pulsating embrace around his member. Y/N let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan, her eyes briefly closing before riveting on his again.
He began to move, slowly at first, savoring each sensation—the delicious friction with each thrust, the way Y/N's walls contracted around him, almost clinging to him with each withdrawal. Their bodies clung to each other, sweat creating an adhesion that made each movement more intense.
Y/N's chest pressed against his torso, her firm breasts crushed against his pectorals. Su-ho could feel the beats of their hearts echoing through their flesh—two frantic rhythms seeking to synchronize.
"Harder," Y/N demanded, her heels digging into his lower back to urge him on with more vigor.
Su-ho obeyed, increasing the power of his thrusts. The bed groaned violently beneath them, threatening to give way with each impact. The obscene sound of their flesh meeting filled the room, mingled with their ragged breaths.
He slipped a hand between their sweating bodies, finding Y/N's sensitive spot. She trembled at the contact, her internal muscles contracting around him. Su-ho felt orgasm rising within him, a wave of heat that started from his loins and threatened to overwhelm all coherent thought.
"Look at me," he commanded, surprised by the authority in his own voice.
Y/N opened her eyes, her gaze darker than ever in the dim light. This visual connection, as their bodies collided with an almost punitive violence, created a paradoxical intimacy that made Su-ho shiver to the core.
He could feel every detail with painful acuity—the texture of Y/N's thighs against his hips, the way her breasts bounced slightly with each thrust, the smell of their mingled sexes that saturated the air. Every sensation imprinted itself in his memory with obsessive precision.
Y/N's hands moved up his back, her nails tracing burning furrows on his skin. She wasn't caressing—she was marking, possessing.
The rhythm accelerated further, becoming almost frantic. Su-ho felt Y/N's thighs tremble around his waist, her sex contracting in waves around his. She was close, and that realization brought a savage determination to him.
He straightened slightly, changing the angle of penetration. Y/N let out a strangled sound, her eyes widening with the new intensity. Su-ho now supported her hips, holding her in a position that allowed him to sink even deeper into her.
"There," Y/N gasped, her tone still as imperious despite her shortened breath. "Right there."
Su-ho obeyed, precisely hammering that spot that made her thighs tremble. He felt his own orgasm approaching, irrepressible, but he focused on Y/N's pleasure, watching with fascination the micro-expressions that crossed her usually impassive face.
When she climaxed, it was with a silent intensity that contrasted with the violence of their lovemaking. Her entire body stiffened, her internal muscles pulsating around Su-ho's sex with incredible force. Her eyes remained open, fixed on his, in an involuntary vulnerability that lasted barely a second before she regained control.
This sight was too much for Su-ho. Orgasm overwhelmed him like a destructive wave, sweeping away all coherent thought. He plunged into her one last time, as deeply as possible, his entire body convulsing with pleasure. An animal groan escaped his throat as he poured into her in long pulsations.
Time seemed to suspend itself in this perfect fusion of their bodies. During those few seconds of pure ecstasy, Su-ho forgot everything. Even his fever. He was nothing but a body, a sensation, a blinding pleasure that erased everything else.
Then came the exhaustion, brutal and total. He collapsed onto her, breathless, his heart pounding against his rib cage. Their bodies remained joined by sweat, by exchanged fluids, by this physical connection that was already fading.
Su-ho was still weak. But he gave everything he had. Y/N, on the other hand, lost herself in him as one dives in without thinking. She bit her lip to keep from crying, clinging to his shoulders like a lifeline.
When it was over, she remained lying on him, her breathing ragged. He gently caressed her back, his fingers tracing circles.
And then she cried.
Silently at first. Then sobs. Real. Raw. Su-ho felt his heart break.
"Y/N?"
She didn't answer. He held her tighter. Strong. As if to put her back together, so she wouldn't fall apart.
"Is it the sex? Did I hurt you?" He said, starting to panic.
She laughed. While crying. She sat up. Looked at him. Her cheeks soaked. Her eyes red.
"I'm scared..."
"Of what?"
"Of loving. I don't know how. I never have."
He nodded. Gently. He didn't say it was stupid. He didn't say it was easy. Because it wasn't. She was right to be scared.
But he had decided to love. Completely. Entirely. And it didn't matter if she wasn't there yet.
He took her face in his hands. Pulled her towards him.
"Then let me love for two. Until you're ready. Until you want to. Until you know how."
He kissed her. Again. And again. Each kiss was a promise, a sentence without words.
"I love you, Y/N. I love you like an idiot, like a dog, like a man who never had what he wanted and who dares not believe he finally has it."
She closed her eyes. The tears still flowed.
"You're going to break me..."
"No. Nerver. I'm going to put you back together. Piece by piece. Even if I have to bleed for it."
She lay back against him. Her heart was beating fast. But for the first time, she didn't try to silence it. She let it beat. For him.
And in the silence of that room, where illness had failed to separate them, something stronger was born. Something more beautiful.
