Euphoria

On my kpop bullshit Inactive writer srry :,) ‘01 liner Main acc: @ahhhhhhhhhghh

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Zombie Apocalypse dream team

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Haikyuu boys as songs on my playlist

Nekoma + College job

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Karasuno First year + how they sleep

~Requests are open

[mingiatz]

Everyone at university says Park Seonghwa and his friend group are dangerous rich kids no one should get close to. Y/N believes it too, until one terrible day leads her into an animal shelter where she finds Seonghwa holding a bunny with the softest smile she has ever seen. From that moment on, she becomes the only person who sees the truth behind his cold reputation.

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Reader

Tropes: cold boy x soft girl, Misunderstood male lead, Soft seonghwa, Strangers to friends to lovers, Emotional healing, Found family, Protective friend group, Wrong first impression, Reputation vs reality

Genre: romance, slow burn romance, university au, hurt/comfort, slice of life

Featuring: ateez as seonghwa’s friend group, roommate!soomin

Main Masterlist | Seonghwas Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | [Part 4?]

This is Part 2

Seonghwa considered not going to lecture.

The thought came to him the second he opened his eyes.

It sat there, heavy and tempting, while the pale morning light filtered through the gap in his curtains and painted a quiet stripe across the floor of his bedroom. For a few still seconds, he simply lay there staring at the ceiling and imagined the relief of staying exactly where he was.

If he stayed in bed, he would not have to wonder whether Y/N would be there.

If he stayed in bed, he would not have to think about the possibility of seeing her look at him with hurt again.

If he stayed in bed, he could postpone the problem for one more day.

It was not a particularly noble instinct, but it was honest.

Unfortunately, honesty had never been much protection against the people he lived with.

A sharp knock hit his bedroom door.

Then another.

Then Hongjoong's voice came through the wood with maddening calm.

"If you are pretending to be dead to avoid adulthood, it is not working."

Seonghwa closed his eyes briefly.

"I'm awake."

"Good. Then get up."

He turned his head toward the clock.

Too early.

Far too early for this level of accountability.

He sat up slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. He had barely managed to get his feet onto the floor before the door opened anyway.

Hongjoong leaned against the frame, already dressed, coffee in one hand and judgment in the other.

"You look terrible," he said.

"Thank you."

"You are welcome. Lecture starts in forty minutes."

Seonghwa looked at him flatly. "I know when lecture starts."

"And yet you are still sitting there like a Victorian heroine with consumption."

That earned the smallest twitch at the corner of Seonghwa's mouth, but not much more.

Hongjoong watched him for a beat. Some of the teasing faded.

"You were thinking about skipping."

It was not phrased like a question.

Seonghwa exhaled. "Maybe."

Hongjoong took a sip of coffee. "No."

Seonghwa stared.

"No?" he repeated.

"No," Hongjoong said again. "You do not get to hide in this apartment because you feel guilty."

"I was not hiding."

"That is exactly what you were doing."

From somewhere behind Hongjoong came Yunho's voice.

"Is he still in bed?"

"Yes."

A second later Yunho appeared too, all easy warmth and far too much morning energy, peering around Hongjoong into the room.

"Oh, wow. He really does look bad."

Seonghwa picked up the nearest pillow and threw it.

Yunho laughed and dodged out of the way.

"Violent rich kid behavior," he announced to no one in particular.

That phrase, stupidly enough, made Seonghwa's stomach tighten.

Rumors.

Whispers.

All the things people thought they knew.

He pushed himself to his feet before the others could say anything else.

"Fine," he muttered. "I'm going."

Hongjoong stepped aside immediately, victorious in the quiet irritating way only he could be.

"Good."

By the time Seonghwa had showered, dressed, and forced himself into a state resembling presentability, the apartment was fully awake.

Which meant the kitchen looked like a disaster zone.

Wooyoung was trying to toast two bagels while simultaneously arguing with Mingi over something so stupid that Seonghwa could not even follow it properly. San was perched on the counter eating fruit and contributing comments designed purely to make Wooyoung more dramatic. Jongho stood by the sink calmly making tea as though there were not three separate arguments happening around him. Yeosang sat at the island scrolling through his phone in complete serenity, somehow untouched by the volume of the room.

And Soomin, apparently there again, was sitting on one of the stools with her chin in her hand, watching them all with the expression of someone who had long ago accepted her brother's social circle as a traveling circus.

The moment she saw Seonghwa, she narrowed her eyes.

"Are you going to class," she asked, "or are you planning to continue your tragic brooding."

"He's going," Hongjoong answered before Seonghwa could.

Soomin hummed. "Good. Growth."

Seonghwa ignored that and reached for the coffee pot.

As he poured himself a cup, Wooyoung looked over and said, "You should wear something especially intimidating today."

Mingi snorted. "Why."

Wooyoung gestured vaguely. "For the rumors. Give the people what they want."

"I think they manage to invent enough on their own," Jongho said.

That, annoyingly, was true.

They left the apartment together twenty minutes later, moving through the city in the loose formation they always did, too used to one another to need much coordination. On mornings like this, when all eight of them were headed to campus at once, the effect was apparently enough to fuel half the mythology students kept spinning around them.

Seonghwa noticed it even before they stepped through the main gates.

The looks.

The lowered voices.

The way conversations shifted when they passed.

He had lived with it for long enough that it usually slid off him without much effort. Let them whisper. Let them make up stories. None of it changed anything real.

Today it felt sharper.

Maybe because he had spent the entire night thinking about Y/N and the way assumptions could bruise. Maybe because he had heard Soomin describe her coming home crying and had been unable to shake the image since.

As they crossed the courtyard, two girls standing near the fountain glanced their way and immediately leaned closer together.

Seonghwa did not catch every word, only fragments.

"That one is definitely the scariest..."

"...heard they got into a fight off campus..."

"...my friend said one of them has family connections to the mafia..."

He looked away before he could hear the rest.

Beside him, Yeosang slid his hands into his pockets.

"I hate mornings," he said mildly.

Seonghwa glanced at him.

Yeosang's expression was calm, but Seonghwa knew him well enough to hear the subtext.

Not mornings.

This.

The constant theater of other people's imaginations.

Ahead of them, Wooyoung had apparently overheard something too, because he turned halfway around and muttered, "I swear one day I'm going to start telling them we secretly run an underground knitting ring just to see if that becomes campus lore."

"It would," Yunho said cheerfully.

Hongjoong did not even look up from his phone. "Do not encourage the rumors."

"I was going to make them worse on purpose."

"That is still encouraging them."

San laughed under his breath.

Seonghwa stayed quiet.

He could not stand it today.

The whispers clung harder than usual. He could feel them following at his back, bending around him, trying to turn living people into stories that were easier to consume.

And people believed what they wanted to believe.

That was the part that always got under his skin if he let himself dwell on it too long.

Not because any of the rumors were especially creative. Most of them were embarrassingly obvious. Rich boys. Private schools. Nice apartment. Expensive watches. Reserved expressions. It did not take much for people to build the rest.

No, what bothered him was how little proof anyone needed once a narrative made them feel satisfied.

He had done the same thing yesterday.

He had looked at Y/N in the shelter doorway and decided what she must be there for before she had even managed to get a full sentence out.

He had believed what fit easiest.

The realization made his jaw tighten as they entered the main building and headed for the lecture hall.

Inside, the room buzzed with the usual low pre-class energy. Students talked in clusters, shuffled papers, scrolled through phones. The professor had not arrived yet.

Seonghwa followed the others toward the back rows automatically.

He did not look for Y/N at first.

Or rather, he told himself he was not looking for her.

But almost immediately, his attention snagged on the corner near the front where she always sat.

And then stayed there.

For a second, he thought he had the wrong seat.

He slowed.

There was someone there, yes. A girl sitting with her notebook already open, shoulders slightly rounded inward the way he recognized. But the bright colors were gone.

No yellow.

No blue.

No embroidered flowers.

Just black jeans. A plain gray sweater. A dark bag on the floor beside her that was not the bright pink one she usually carried.

Seonghwa stopped fully in the aisle.

Hongjoong nearly walked into him.

"What," Hongjoong muttered.

Seonghwa did not answer.

He was still looking at Y/N.

She looked smaller somehow without the colors.

That was not logical. Clothing did not change a person's shape. And yet the girl sitting quietly in that seat seemed dimmed in a way he could not ignore, as if someone had taken a highlighter to her and rubbed all the brightness away.

His stomach sank.

He knew, rationally, that one outfit could mean nothing. People wore muted clothes all the time. A gray sweater was not a tragedy. Black jeans were not a cry for help.

And yet.

After what Yeosang had told him last night.

After what he himself had said.

The absence of color felt pointed enough to bruise.

He took his seat more slowly than usual.

Y/N did not look back once.

Maybe she had not noticed him come in. Maybe she had and was determined to ignore him. Both options felt deserved.

The lecture began.

Seonghwa heard almost none of it.

The professor talked through graphs and projections in a dry measured voice, but the words barely stayed in Seonghwa's head long enough to form meaning. His focus kept drifting downward toward that gray sweater near the front and the neat way Y/N wrote notes, never once turning around.

He noticed stupid things.

How she tucked a loose strand of hair behind one ear three times in the span of ten minutes.

How her pencil paused whenever someone near her laughed, like she was checking if the sound had anything to do with her.

How the new bag slumped differently against her chair than the pink one had, less bright even in shape somehow.

He hated that he noticed any of it.

Or maybe he hated what it said about him that he had not noticed before.

Around him, the others were quieter than usual, likely because even they had enough sense not to create chaos in the middle of a lecture. Still, he could feel the occasional flick of attention his way from Hongjoong, who had almost certainly already realized that Seonghwa was paying more attention to a girl in a gray sweater than to anything being written on the board.

Near the end of the class, when the professor had turned to erase part of the whiteboard and half the room had started mentally checking out already, Seonghwa heard the two guys seated in the row in front of him start whispering.

Normally he would not have cared.

Students whispered all the time.

But then one of them glanced toward the front corner, and Seonghwa knew exactly who they were looking at before either of them said her name.

"She actually looks kind of hot today."

Seonghwa's eyes sharpened.

The second guy leaned slightly to get a better look. "Y/N?"

"Yeah."

A short laugh.

"Guess the kindergarten look really was the problem."

Something cold moved through Seonghwa's chest.

The first guy continued, apparently unaware that the person directly behind him had gone very still.

"I mean, seriously. Without all those childish colors, she's cute."

The second one hummed, considering. "Should I ask her out?"

His friend smirked. "Maybe. She's probably the type who'd fall in love just because someone was nice to her once."

That did it.

Seonghwa's expression hardened before he could stop it.

There was something especially repulsive in the casual entitlement of it. In the way they had stripped her down in two directions at once. Mocked her when she dressed in ways that made her happy, then immediately decided she was more desirable now that she looked plainer. As if her value had become visible only once she made herself easier for them to consume.

And the worst part was that Y/N sat close enough to them that there was every chance she could hear.

Maybe not every word.

Maybe enough.

He was already on his feet before he had fully decided to stand.

The movement was abrupt enough that several heads turned.

The professor, halfway through a sentence, paused.

Even the two boys in front of him glanced back, startled.

Seonghwa barely noticed.

He stepped into the aisle and started down toward the front.

The room went oddly quiet.

Not silent. Pens still scratched. A chair creaked somewhere. But the kind of quiet produced when a hundred small curiosities suddenly align.

Students watched him.

Of course they did.

Park Seonghwa did not stand up in the middle of lecture and walk toward the front for no reason.

At the back, he was vaguely aware of Wooyoung leaning toward Hongjoong with an expression that probably meant this would become a whole discussion later.

The professor opened his mouth as if to ask what Seonghwa thought he was doing, then apparently thought better of it and simply stared.

Seonghwa kept walking.

Y/N did not notice him until he stopped beside her desk.

When she finally looked up, she jolted so visibly that guilt and frustration twisted together in his chest.

Her eyes widened.

For one suspended second she just stared at him, clearly too shocked to react.

Up close, the gray sweater looked even softer and sadder.

Ridiculous thought.

He ignored it.

"Come with me," he said quietly.

Her lips parted.

The color in her face changed too fast, surprise running straight into alarm.

He could practically see the panic build.

Not because of the words themselves, maybe, but because he had spoken to her in the lecture hall. In public. In front of everyone.

Around them, he could feel attention gathering like static.

Y/N looked stricken.

She glanced around once, maybe realizing how many people were watching, and then back up at him with the kind of helpless uncertainty that made something in him feel suddenly vicious toward the entire room.

"I..." she started.

Her voice was barely there.

He softened his own without thinking. "Come on."

She still did not move.

Of course she did not.

He had given her every reason yesterday to distrust any request that came from him.

Behind them, the professor cleared his throat in confusion. No one else spoke.

Seonghwa did the only thing he could think of in the moment, which was perhaps not the best decision but was already happening before he could reconsider it.

He reached down and took her gently by the arm.

Not hard.

Just enough to urge her up from the chair.

She made a tiny startled sound and stood immediately, more out of shock than agreement.

The movement sent her pencil rolling across the desk.

For one second, Seonghwa thought she might yank her arm away or tell him to leave her alone.

Instead she looked up at him, shaken and pink-cheeked, and whispered, "I need my stuff."

The words were so small he almost missed them.

He blinked.

Then, to her visible surprise, he let go of her arm at once and reached for her notebook.

The lecture hall remained deeply, painfully attentive.

He ignored it.

Y/N stared as he closed the notebook, gathered the loose handouts into a stack, capped her pen, and slid everything carefully into her bag with much more precision than he usually applied to objects that were not his own.

Her eyes only grew wider.

He picked up the bag from beside her chair and held it out.

For a moment she just looked at it, as if this simple act had broken her ability to predict him even further.

Then she took it with both hands.

"Th-thank you," she whispered.

The stammer hit him strangely hard.

He stepped back enough to let her move around the chair.

"Let's go."

This time she followed.

The room tracked them the entire way.

Seonghwa could feel it on his shoulders, a hundred silent questions crackling in the air as he led her up the aisle and out of the lecture hall with Y/N clutching her bag strap tightly enough to whiten her knuckles.

The second the door shut behind them, the noise of the room dulled to a muffled blur.

The hallway outside was quieter, emptier, sunlit through tall windows. Their footsteps echoed faintly against the floor.

Y/N stopped walking first.

Seonghwa turned.

She stood a few feet away from him, bag held against her chest almost like a shield. Her face was pale beneath the flush in her cheeks, and her eyes were huge.

For one second neither of them spoke.

Then she asked, very softly, "Why did you do that?"

The question was not angry.

If anything, that made it harder.

It was frightened and confused and exhausted in a way that made him suddenly, acutely aware of how this must look from her side. Yesterday he had accused her of following him. Today he had walked across a lecture hall and pulled her out of class in front of everyone.

Excellent work, Seonghwa.

He exhaled slowly.

He had thought only of getting her away from those boys before they could say anything else. He had not thought enough about how abrupt and alarming his method would feel to someone already anxious around him.

She shifted her weight, still watching him like she was bracing for impact.

Seonghwa looked at her for a long moment.

The gray sweater.

The dark bag.

The careful way she held herself, like she was trying not to spill out of her own edges.

And beneath all of it, the memory of her in yellow and blue, bright enough that even he had noticed.

He swallowed once.

"I need to talk to you," he said.

Her fingers tightened on the bag strap.

"About yesterday."

At those words, something fragile changed in her expression.

Not surprise.

Not exactly fear either.

Something more like resignation.

As if she had known, on some level, that whatever had started in the shelter had not truly ended there.

Seonghwa looked at her standing in that quiet hallway and had the sudden impossible realization that apologizing might actually be harder than anything else he had done this week.

Not because he did not mean it.

But because Y/N already looked like someone expecting to be hurt again.

Y/N followed him because she did not know how not to.

And somehow he was going to have to convince her that this time, he had come for the opposite reason.

That was the simplest and most embarrassing truth of it.

One second she had been sitting in lecture, trying very hard to make herself small in her plain gray sweater while pretending not to notice the people around her, and the next Park Seonghwa had appeared beside her desk like something out of a fever dream and told her to come with him.

Then he had touched her arm.

Then he had packed her things for her.

Now she was walking behind him through the hallway, clutching her bag strap so tightly that her fingers ached, and trying not to let the panic building in her chest show too clearly on her face.

She did not know what he wanted.

That was the part making everything worse.

If he had wanted to insult her again, surely he would not have dragged her out of lecture for it. Not in front of everyone. That would be too strange, even for him.

If he wanted to accuse her about something again, why had he looked so serious?

If he wanted to tell her she had misunderstood yesterday somehow, that would almost be worse, because she had not misunderstood at all.

Her mind spun itself in circles as she walked.

The sound of their footsteps echoed softly through the corridor. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows in pale strips, making the polished floor glow. Students passed at the far end of the hall without looking at them closely, but Y/N still felt exposed, acutely aware of how odd they must have looked.

Seonghwa in front, tall and quiet and impossible to ignore.

Her behind him, nervous enough that her stomach had become one tight knot.

She kept looking at his back because she did not know where else to put her eyes.

He wore dark clothes again today. Of course he did. Everything about him still looked exactly the way it should have from the outside. Elegant. Severe. Untouchable. The kind of person people stepped around without being asked.

But now Y/N had seen him in a rabbit room with a soft smile and a carrot in his hand.

That image had ruined the simplicity of him.

It had made things confusing in a way she deeply resented.

He turned down the stairs leading toward the side entrance of the building. Y/N followed automatically, trying not to trip over her own feet while also trying not to stare too obviously at the back of his neck.

What if he was taking her somewhere to tell her off properly?

What if he was angry that she had cried yesterday and made the whole thing awkward?

What if he was about to say that he did not want her talking about what she had seen in the shelter?

That last thought made her chest tighten.

Did he think that of her still?

She had told herself all evening that it should not matter what he thought. Her roommate had said the same. But his opinion had lodged itself somewhere uncomfortable anyway, probably because he had caught her at the worst possible moment and now his words seemed tangled with all the other ones from yesterday.

Weird.

Ridiculous.

Childish.

Y/N swallowed and adjusted the strap of her dark bag higher on her shoulder.

She missed her pink one.

That thought came suddenly and stupidly.

Not because the black bag was ugly. It was perfectly nice. Plain. Practical. Easy. Her roommate had once bought it for her as a backup in case she needed something that matched everything.

Today, it matched too well.

Seonghwa pushed open the side door and stepped out into the crisp morning air. Y/N followed a beat later, blinking in the sudden brightness.

He did not stop walking.

The campus spread around them in soft noise and movement. Students crossed the paths in clusters, some hurrying toward class, others lingering on benches. A breeze stirred the trees lining the outer walkways, lifting strands of hair against Y/N’s cheeks.

She thought about asking where they were going.

She thought about asking what he wanted.

She thought about a lot of things and said none of them, because Seonghwa was still walking with a kind of quiet purpose that made interruption feel impossible.

Then, without looking back at her, he asked, „Do you like coffee?“

Y/N blinked.

Of all the questions she had expected, that had not even made the list.

„What?“

This time he did glance over his shoulder slightly, slowing half a step. „Coffee.“

She stared at him.

Her brain, already overworked, struggled to catch up.

„No,“ she said at last, a little too confused to sound properly cautious. „I don’t like coffee.“

Seonghwa looked forward again. „Tea?“

Y/N frowned faintly.

„No.“

Now he stopped walking.

She nearly walked into him.

He turned properly this time, expression unreadable but somehow less severe than it had been in the hallway. „You don’t like coffee or tea.“

It sounded less like a question and more like he was recalculating something.

Y/N’s face warmed.

Why did this feel like she was failing a test she had not known she was taking?

„I just…“ She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked anywhere but directly at him. „I don’t really drink either.“

He studied her for one quiet second.

Then he asked, „What’s your favorite drink?“

That was somehow worse.

Not because it was rude. Quite the opposite. It was such a simple, ordinary question that it threw her off balance completely. She had expected confrontation. Sharpness. Some carefully controlled version of whatever this was.

She had not expected to be asked about drinks.

Y/N shifted her weight, bag still held close against her body.

„Hot chocolate,“ she admitted softly.

The moment the words left her mouth, she wanted to hide.

Hot chocolate sounded childish now that she had said it aloud. Too sweet. Too obvious. The kind of answer someone might laugh at if they were already inclined to find you ridiculous.

But to her surprise, Seonghwa smiled.

Only a little.

Only for a second.

Still, it changed his face enough to make her heart stumble awkwardly in her chest.

The smile was small and quiet, more something that softened his features than a full expression. But it was there.

„Okay,“ he said.

Then, as if that settled something important, he started walking again.

Y/N stared after him for half a beat before hurrying to keep up.

„Okay?“ she repeated faintly.

He looked at her this time. „Follow me.“

That was all.

As though she was not already doing exactly that.

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek and obeyed.

They left the main campus behind and crossed the street toward a quieter row of shops and cafés that mostly catered to students with more money than she had ever really felt comfortable spending. She had passed them before but rarely gone inside. The windows were always clean and polished, the interiors all warm wood and artful lighting and tiny pastries that cost enough to make her flinch.

Seonghwa headed directly toward one of the prettiest ones.

Of course he did.

The café sat on a corner beneath cream-colored awnings, ist front windows framed with little potted plants and handwritten menu boards. Through the glass, Y/N could see warm lighting, marble-topped tables, and people seated with laptops beside cups that looked far too elegant to contain anything as ordinary as coffee.

She slowed automatically.

This was the sort of place where people wore expensive coats and never spilled on themselves.

Seonghwa opened the door.

The smell hit her immediately. Chocolate, roasted beans, baked pastries, warm milk, cinnamon.

It was lovely.

It was also terrifying.

He held the door open for her without comment.

Y/N stepped inside carefully, suddenly very conscious of her sneakers and the fact that she still felt like a half-finished human being pretending to know how to exist in public.

The café was quiet in the polished way certain expensive places always were. Soft music drifted through the room. Cups clinked gently against saucers. The low murmur of conversation never rose loud enough to disturb the atmosphere.

Seonghwa glanced around once and then looked at her.

„Find a table.“

She blinked.

„What?“

„A table for us.“ His voice stayed calm. „I’ll order.“

Then he stepped away toward the counter before she could say anything else.

Y/N stood frozen for a second in the middle of the café, bag hanging awkwardly from her shoulder, and had the immediate irrational feeling that everyone in the room could tell she did not belong there.

Find a table.

That should not have been such a difficult instruction.

There were plenty of tables. Small round ones near the windows, a few tucked farther back against the wall, two larger ones in the center occupied by groups of students pretending not to eavesdrop on each other.

Still, she hesitated.

What kind of table did he want?

Something private?

Something near the exit?

Something by the window?

Did this matter? Was there a correct answer? Would choosing wrong somehow make this whole strange morning worse?

Stop it, she told herself.

It is just a table.

Even so, her heart kept beating too fast as she made her way toward a small one near the side wall. Not too exposed. Not too hidden. Two chairs. A little vase with dried flowers in the center.

Safe enough.

She sat down carefully and set her bag on the chair beside her before immediately second-guessing that too and moving it to the floor so she would not look as though she were guarding the empty seat from him.

Then she folded her hands in her lap.

Then unfolded them.

Then pretended to be interested in the menu card propped against the sugar jar even though her eyes kept drifting toward the counter where Seonghwa stood waiting to order.

He did not look out of place here at all.

Of course he did not.

He stood with one hand in the pocket of his dark coat, speaking to the barista in a low voice while the warm lighting caught along the line of his profile. He looked exactly like the kind of person who belonged in expensive cafés and knew what everything on the menu meant.

Y/N, meanwhile, felt like she had wandered into an alternate reality.

Why had he brought her here?

That question kept circling without answer.

Maybe he wanted to apologize privately.

Maybe he wanted to say something difficult where she was less likely to run away.

Maybe he thought buying her a drink would soften whatever came next.

That thought made her stomach twist.

What if he was only being polite now because he felt guilty, and the apology itself would be cold and formal and leave her even more unsure what to do with him afterward?

She stared down at the tabletop.

It was a beautiful table. Smooth pale stone veined with faint gray lines. A tiny chip near the edge that made it feel less intimidating.

She pressed her fingertips lightly to it and tried to breathe normally.

Yesterday he had made her cry.

Today he had walked across a lecture hall, taken her out in front of everyone, asked her about drinks, and brought her to a café that probably sold hot chocolate in cups more expensive than her weekly grocery budget.

None of this felt real.

A small movement in her peripheral vision made her glance up.

Seonghwa was coming back toward the table with a tray in his hands.

Her spine straightened instinctively.

On the tray sat a dark cup of coffee, a glass of water, and a large ceramic mug topped with a cloud of whipped cream dusted lightly with cocoa.

He set the tray down carefully.

Then, to Y/N’s confusion, he placed the hot chocolate in front of her without saying anything.

She stared at it.

Steam curled up from the surface in soft spirals. The whipped cream looked impossibly soft, already melting slightly into the chocolate beneath. There were little shaved chocolate curls scattered over the top too, because apparently even the hot chocolate here had better styling than most people.

Her eyes lifted to Seonghwa’s face.

„This is for me?“

He sat down across from her. „You said you like hot chocolate.“

„Yes, but…“

She trailed off.

But why.

Seonghwa picked up his coffee cup. „Drink a little.“

Y/N blinked again. The request was so matter-of-fact that she obeyed before she could overthink it. Carefully, she wrapped both hands around the mug. It was warm enough to sink pleasantly into her palms. She leaned forward and took a tentative sip.

And then everything in her face changed before she could stop it.

It was delicious.

Not just good. Not just acceptable. Delicious in a way that felt almost unfair. Rich and warm and perfectly sweet without being too heavy, the chocolate deep and smooth with some hint of vanilla she could not place. The whipped cream melted into it at exactly the right speed, softening each sip into something that tasted like comfort had been distilled into a drink.

Her eyes widened.

Without thinking, she looked up at him, all caution slipping for one bright second.

„This is really good.“

The words came out in a rush, enthusiastic and entirely unguarded.

„It tastes like…“ She took another tiny sip as if to confirm it. „It tastes like melted cake in the best way. Oh wow.“

Seonghwa actually looked surprised.

Not offended. Not confused exactly.

Just slightly caught off guard, as if he had not expected her face to light up so fully over a mug of hot chocolate.

That realization hit Y/N a second too late.

The warmth drained from her expression almost immediately.

What are you doing, her brain shrieked.

She lowered the mug too fast, cheeks heating.

„Sorry,“ she murmured, retreating into herself with painful speed. „I just meant… it’s nice.“

Why had she said oh wow.

Why had she compared it to melted cake.

Why was she like this.

The old anxious coil wound back into place in her chest. She stared down into the mug and wished, not for the first time, that there were some magical middle ground between awkward silence and blurting out every genuine reaction too brightly.

Across from her, Seonghwa did not speak for a moment.

When Y/N finally looked up again, his expression had changed.

The sharpness was gone.

He set his coffee cup down carefully on the saucer.

Then he looked directly at her and said, „I owe you an apology.“

The words settled between them, quiet but heavy.

Y/N went still.

She had expected this, somehow. Ever since he stopped her in the hallway and said he needed to talk about yesterday. Still, actually hearing it made her stomach flutter uncertainly.

Seonghwa’s gaze did not leave her face.

„What I said at the shelter was wrong,“ he said.

There was no hesitation in it. No defensive edge. Just clear, even honesty.

„I made assumptions about you that I shouldn’t have made.“

Y/N’s fingers tightened slightly around the mug.

The café faded a little at the edges. The soft music, the clink of dishes, the conversations at other tables. All of it seemed to blur behind the low, steady sound of his voice.

„I thought you had followed me,“ he continued. „And instead of asking you properly, I spoke to you like I had already decided who you were.“

Y/N swallowed.

No one had ever apologized to her like this before.

Not really.

People usually did one of two things. They either pretended nothing had happened and expected her to smooth it over, or they gave those vague little apologies that felt more like a request to stop being upset than any real acknowledgment.

This was different.

He looked as though he meant every word, and somehow that made it harder to know what to do with her own face.

Seonghwa glanced briefly down at the table, then back at her.

„And what I said about your clothes…“ His mouth tightened, just a little. „That was cruel.“

The word itself seemed to land heavily on him.

Y/N looked at the whipped cream slowly sinking into her drink.

A strange ache moved through her chest.

Because yes, it had been cruel.

And because hearing him say it aloud made the hurt from yesterday feel suddenly more real, not less.

He went on quietly, „I found out afterward that other people had already said things like that to you earlier.“

Her head lifted.

For a second she forgot to be careful.

„How do you know that?“

„Yeosang told me, he knew it from Soomin.“ Seonghwa paused.

Y/N blinked in surprise.

Still, the fact that this somehow connected back to Seonghwa made the world feel unnervingly small.

Of course. Her roommate had said she knew Yeosang. Y/N had never thought too much about it beyond that.

He continued before she could say anything.

„I didn’t know at the time. But that doesn’t change what I said.“ His voice stayed steady. „And it doesn’t excuse that I made you hear something hurtful twice in one day.“

Y/N stared at him.

Her emotions felt tangled and messy and much too large for a café table.

He looked sorry.

Truly, unmistakably sorry.

The version of him sitting across from her now did not fit neatly with the one from yesterday any more than the boy with the rabbit had.

And that should have made her more wary.

Instead it just made her tired in a way that softened her edges.

She looked back down at the hot chocolate.

Her reflection shivered faintly in the dark surface beneath the whipped cream.

„I didn’t follow you,“ she said quietly.

„I know.“

His answer came so fast that her eyes lifted again.

There was no doubt in his face this time. No guarded suspicion. Just certainty.

Something in her chest loosened a fraction.

She had not realized how much that mattered until then.

For one long second they just looked at each other.

Then Seonghwa said, more softly, „You didn’t deserve how I spoke to you.“

Y/N’s throat tightened.

The words should not have felt so devastating. They were simple. True. Nothing more.

But after a day and a half of feeling scraped thin by judgment, hearing someone say that she had not deserved it pressed unexpectedly against something fragile inside her.

She glanced away first, toward the window where students moved along the sidewalk outside in blurred little groups.

„I cried really easily,“ she admitted in a low voice. „That was embarrassing.“

When she looked back, his expression had shifted again, something faintly pained moving beneath the calm.

„No,“ he said. „It wasn’t.“

Y/N almost laughed at that, though there was no humor in it.

„It felt embarrassing.“

„I understand that.“ He paused. „But it wasn’t embarrassing.“

The certainty in his tone made her fingertips go warm against the mug.

She did not know what to say to that.

So she took another small sip of the hot chocolate instead.

It was still delicious.

Still rich and warm and annoyingly comforting.

She could feel Seonghwa watching her, not in a harsh way, just waiting. Giving her space to answer in her own time.

That, more than anything else, unsettled her.

Because people usually rushed to fill silence around her.

They mistook her quiet for permission to decide what she meant.

Seonghwa, for all his strangeness, was not doing that now.

Y/N set the mug down carefully.

„I heard them in the cafeteria yesterday,“ she said at last. „My group partners.“

She did not know why she was telling him.

Maybe because he already seemed to know half of it.

Maybe because the hot chocolate was warm in her hands and his apology had opened something that made honesty feel less impossible than usual.

„They were talking when I came back from the bathroom.“ She tried to keep her voice even. „They said I was weird. And childish. And that my clothes looked stupid.“

Her mouth twisted a little at the memory.

„I tried to act like I didn’t hear.“

Seonghwa’s jaw tightened very slightly.

Y/N noticed because she was watching him too carefully now.

„So when you said it…“ She looked back down at the table. „I think it just felt bigger than it should have.“

His voice, when it came, was very quiet.

„It wasn’t smaller because I said it second.“

The sentence made her glance up again.

There was no self-protection in it. No attempt to lessen his role.

He was not trying to be forgiven cheaply.

Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, Y/N felt her fear shift into something stranger.

Not comfort exactly.

Not trust, not yet.

But maybe the beginning of being less afraid.

She wrapped both hands around the mug again.

The whipped cream had melted almost completely now, leaving pale swirls through the dark chocolate.

„It really is very good,“ she said before she could stop herself.

The corner of Seonghwa’s mouth lifted again.

That tiny smile.

It was even more disarming the second time.

„I’m glad.“

Y/N looked at him over the rim of her mug and had the oddest fleeting thought that maybe this version of him was the real dangerous one.

Not the cold one people whispered about.

This one.

The one who noticed things, bought good hot chocolate, and apologized with the kind of sincerity that made a person feel seen against their will.

She took another sip before she could think too hard about that.

Across from her, Seonghwa sat quietly with his coffee untouched for the moment, waiting as if he had decided that whatever came next would be hers to set.

In the weeks after the café, nothing happened.

And for the first time since he had appeared at her desk in the lecture hall, Y/N did not feel quite so much like running away.

And somehow, that became ist own kind of happening.

Not in the dramatic way Y/N might have expected if this were someone else’s story. There were no sudden declarations. No strange messages. No scene in the middle of campus where Park Seonghwa decided to become a completely different person overnight.

Instead, everything shifted in small, quiet ways that made her question herself more than once.

He smiled at her sometimes.

Not fully. Not easily. And never in a way anyone else would have noticed unless they were looking for it.

But Y/N noticed.

She noticed the slight awkward lift at the corner of his mouth when their eyes met by accident in lecture. The almost hesitant softness that appeared and vanished so quickly it often felt like she might have imagined it afterward.

She noticed the times he held the door open for her when they reached a building entrance at the same moment.

He never made a big thing of it. Never called attention to it. Never said anything.

Just stepped aside a little, one hand on the door, his face composed in that same unreadable way until she passed. Then, sometimes, when she looked back over her shoulder and murmured a small thank you, there would be that tiny flicker again.

A quiet smile.

Awkward.

Careful.

Almost shy, if she let herself be very reckless with her interpretation.

But he never spoke to her directly again.

Not after the café.

That part remained strangely fixed.

If they happened to arrive to class near the same time, he did not walk with her. If they crossed paths outside the library or in the courtyard, he did not stop her. He did not ask how she was. He did not bring up the shelter. He did not apologize again or try to explain himself further.

He simply existed near her differently than before.

Less sharp.

More aware.

And because Y/N was Y/N, this somehow made everything ten times more confusing.

At first, she told herself it meant nothing.

He had apologized. That was done. He was probably just trying to be polite now. Maybe he had felt guilty enough that he had become careful around her in the way people became careful around something fragile they did not want to break twice.

The thought made her chest feel odd every time it came.

She tried not to think about it too much.

That failed almost immediately.

Her project partners made sure of that.

The very next day after the lecture hall incident, they had cornered her before class with the kind of eager curiosity that made her want to vanish into the nearest wall.

„What was that about yesterday?“

„Why did Seonghwa pull you out of class?“

„Are you guys, like, secretly friends?“

The questions had come fast and layered over one another before she had even finished setting her bag down.

Y/N had stood there clutching her notebook with wide eyes and no prepared answer.

Because what was she supposed to say?

No, we are not friends. He made me cry in an animal shelter, bought me expensive hot chocolate, and then started holding doors for me like a strangely beautiful ghost with social issues.

That did not seem like an acceptable public explanation.

So she had done what she always did when overwhelmed.

She had smiled awkwardly and said, „It was nothing.“

Which had, of course, only made them more interested.

Nothing was never enough for people.

Still, they did not get much more out of her than that. Y/N kept her answers vague, quiet, and unhelpful until eventually one of them rolled their eyes and someone else muttered that she was being mysterious for no reason.

As if she even knew how to be mysterious.

After that, the questions spread in smaller ways.

A glance here. A pause in conversation there when she walked by. Two girls in the row behind her whispering during lecture and looking over at her before quickly looking away when she caught them.

Nothing direct.

Nothing she could point to and say yes, this is happening.

But enough that she became even more conscious of herself on campus than usual.

And through all of it, Seonghwa remained infuriatingly quiet.

Only the small things changed.

The awkward smiles.

The doors held open.

Once, in the library, she had reached for the last empty chair at a study table only to realize at the same moment that Seonghwa had been about to take it too. She had immediately pulled her hand back with an apology already forming on her lips, but instead of taking the seat, he had paused, looked at her for half a beat, and nudged the chair toward her.

She had stared.

He had looked away first.

Neither of them had spoken.

She had sat down with a heart beating far too fast for a chair-related interaction.

Ridiculous, she thought now, sitting cross-legged on the couch in her shared apartment three weeks later.

Absolutely ridiculous.

The apartment was warm with evening light and the soft hum of an old playlist her roommate had put on while cleaning the kitchen. Outside, the sky had turned pale gold, the last edges of sunset catching in the windows of the building across the street.

Y/N wore yellow sweatpants and a yellow-and-white striped jumper, her hair loosely clipped back, socks mismatched in a way she had only noticed an hour ago and then decided not to fix.

She had a mug of water in her hands, though she was not drinking it. Mostly she was turning it slowly between her palms while her roommate sat on the floor beside the coffee table folding laundry with the kind of dramatic seriousness she applied to every chore.

Y/N had been quiet for a while.

Too quiet, apparently.

Because after tossing a towel into the finished pile, her roommate looked up and narrowed her eyes.

„Okay,“ she said. „Out with it.“

Y/N blinked. „What?“

„You’ve been staring at that mug like it owes you money for ten minutes.“

„I have not.“

„You absolutely have.“

Y/N looked down at the mug in her hands as if it might confirm or deny this accusation.

It remained unhelpfully silent.

Her roommate sat back on her heels. „So. What is going on in that very noisy brain of yours.“

Y/N hesitated.

She had not actually told her everything.

Not properly.

There had been fragments after the shelter incident, of course. Enough for her roommate to be rightfully outraged and call Seonghwa an idiot several times in increasingly creative ways. Enough for tea, comfort, and threats of fictional hexes.

But the café part had come later and somehow never in full.

Then the smiles had started. The doors. The tiny wordless gestures that made no sense and therefore felt difficult to explain without sounding as though she were inventing meaning where none existed.

Her roommate watched her for a few more seconds and then gasped softly.

„Oh my god,“ she said. „This is about a boy.“

Y/N almost dropped the mug.

„It is not about a boy.“

Her roommate’s eyes widened theatrically. „It is absolutely about a boy. I know that face.“

„I do not have a face.“

„You have many. This one is the one where you are pretending to be normal while internally writing a ten-page report.“

Y/N opened her mouth to argue and then closed it again because, annoyingly, that was not entirely inaccurate.

Her roommate grinned. „Which boy.“

Y/N looked at her.

Her roommate looked right back.

Then realization dawned and the grin vanished into scandalized delight.

„No,“ she breathed. „Bunny man?“

Y/N hid half her face behind the mug. „Please never call him that again.“

„That means yes.“

Y/N made a small sound of despair.

Her roommate clapped once, laundry forgotten instantly. „Tell me everything.“

There was no escaping it now.

So Y/N did what she always did when cornered by someone safe enough to deserve honesty. She started talking, slowly and a little unevenly, but with less resistance than she might once have had.

She told her about the café properly this time. About how Seonghwa had taken her out of lecture and asked if she liked coffee, then tea, then what her favorite drink was. About the hot chocolate. About how good it had tasted and how he had looked at her when she got too enthusiastic about it. About the apology, and how sincere it had sounded, and how unfair that had felt in ist own way because people were much easier to dislike when they did not apologize well.

Her roommate listened with her chin in her hands, expression shifting through outrage, fascination, and smugness in roughly equal measure.

Then Y/N told her about the weeks after.

The smiles.

The doors.

The silence.

The chair in the library.

The way her project partners kept prodding her for answers she did not have.

When she finished, the apartment fell quiet for a moment except for the low music from the speaker in the kitchen.

Her roommate sighed.

Not dramatically this time. Almost fondly.

„Seonghwa really is an idiot,“ she said.

„No, but specifically.“ Her roommate pointed a rolled pair of socks at her for emphasis. „He is an idiot in a very particular way.“

Y/N let out a breath that might have become a laugh if she had not already been smiling a little.

Y/N tilted her head. „What does that mean.“

„It means he is anxious about people too.“

That made Y/N blink.

„What?“

Her roommate shrugged one shoulder and tossed the socks into the folded pile. „Just in a different way than you are.“

Y/N stared at her.

The sentence fit nowhere at first.

Anxious.

Seonghwa.

Those words did not belong together naturally in her head. One called up images of fluttering nerves, awkward silences, overthinking every expression. The other looked like pressed black shirts, unreadable stares, and the kind of person who could make an entire lecture hall hold ist breath by standing up once.

Her roommate must have seen the disbelief on her face, because she laughed softly.

„Yes, really. Some people get anxious and become quieter and shakier.“ She pointed lightly at Y/N. „You.“

Then she pointed vaguely outward, as though Seonghwa might materialize in the living room if summoned strongly enough.

„And some people get anxious and become colder and sharper because they want to protect themselves first.“

Y/N thought of the shelter.

Of the way his face had changed the second he saw her.

The softness shutting down. The suspicion. The assumption.

Then she thought of the apology afterward. The hot chocolate. The awkward smiles that seemed to arrive against his own will.

Something in her chest shifted uneasily.

Her roommate stood up all at once, energy changing so suddenly that Y/N nearly flinched.

„Okay,“ she announced.

Y/N looked up. „Okay what.“

„We are going on an adventure.“

Y/N stared. „No, we’re not.“

„Yes, we are.“

„I am in lounge clothes.“

Her roommate looked pointedly at the yellow sweatpants and striped jumper. „You look adorable.“

„That is not the problem.“

„It is for you, which is why I am ignoring it.“

Y/N set the mug down on the coffee table. „What adventure.“

But her roommate was already moving, grabbing her own bag off the chair by the door and shoving her feet into shoes with alarming efficiency.

„Get up.“

„That is not an answer.“

„It is the only one you are getting right now.“

Y/N remained very much seated.

Her roommate crossed the room, caught her by both wrists, and tugged.

„Come on.“

„Where are we going.“

„You’ll see.“

„I hate when people say that.“

„I know.“

Y/N groaned softly but allowed herself to be hauled to her feet anyway, because resisting her roommate in this kind of mood was about as useful as trying to negotiate with weather.

Ten minutes later she was outside in the cool evening air still wearing her yellow sweatpants, striped jumper, and mismatched socks hidden inside sneakers she had put on too quickly. Her hair was only half cooperating, and she had not had time to question any of this properly before being shepherded down the sidewalk at suspicious speed.

Her roommate looked entirely too pleased with herself.

Y/N, meanwhile, felt like a confused marshmallow.

„Can I at least know if this is a legal adventure,“ she asked as they crossed the street.

Her roommate gasped. „The disrespect.“

„That is not a no.“

„It is a very legal adventure.“

„That is exactly what someone says right before a moderately illegal one.“

Her roommate laughed and squeezed her hand once before letting go.

They walked through a part of the city Y/N only vaguely knew, where apartment buildings grew taller and newer and the storefronts below them looked expensive in that quiet polished way that made her instinctively straighten her posture.

Eventually they stopped in front of one particularly large building with glass doors, sleek stone walls, and soft lighting visible through a high-ceilinged lobby.

Y/N slowed.

„This is not an adventure,“ she said cautiously. „This is a rich person building.“

Her roommate did not deny it.

Which was already concerning.

She simply marched inside with the confidence of someone walking into her own kitchen, leaving Y/N no choice but to follow before the doors could shut them out.

The lobby was beautiful.

Of course it was.

Cream marble floors. Tall green plants in sculptural pots. A front desk made of dark wood behind which sat a perfectly dressed concierge who looked up the moment they entered.

Y/N had never in her life been in a building with a concierge.

She nearly turned back around out of reflex.

Then the man behind the desk smiled warmly at her roommate.

„Good evening, Ms. Kang.“

Y/N stopped so suddenly her roommate had to tug her forward again.

Ms. Kang.

The concierge knew her.

Not casually either. Not like a vague tenant’s friend. The way he said it sounded practiced. Familiar.

Her roommate, traitor that she was, only lifted a hand in greeting.

„Hi, Mr. Woo.“

Hi, Mr. Woo.

Y/N blinked rapidly and looked between them.

What.

Her roommate pressed the button for the elevator as though this were all perfectly normal.

Y/N moved after her in a daze.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and they stepped inside. Polished brass. Mirrored walls. Soft lighting again. Even the elevator was prettier than some hotel lobbies.

The doors shut.

Only then did Y/N turn properly toward her roommate.

„Why did he call you Ms. Kang.“

Her roommate leaned against the wall and crossed her arms.

For one terrible second, she actually looked sheepish.

That was never good.

„I may have forgotten to tell you something,“ she said.

Y/N stared harder.

„What.“

Her roommate smiled the kind of smile that usually preceded disaster.

„I never told you,“ she said, „but I’m Yeosang’s sister.“

For a second, Y/N heard the sentence perfectly clearly.

And for a second, it meant absolutely nothing.

Then it landed.

Yeosang.

Yeosang from lecture.

Yeosang from Seonghwa’s friend group.

Yeosang who had somehow known about the shelter incident.

Y/N’s mouth fell open.

Yeosang whose sister, was her roommate.

„What.“

The word came out in a tiny shocked breath.

Her roommate winced a little, then nodded.

„Yeah.“

Y/N just stared at her.

No coherent thought survived the impact.

Images crashed together in her mind with alarming speed.

Her roommate mentioning she knew someone on campus.

The way she had known too much about Seonghwa’s apology.

The absolute confidence with which she had dragged Y/N into a building that looked like rent probably cost more than Y/N’s entire yearly stress budget.

The concierge calling her Ms. Kang.

The elegant lobby.

The elevator.

Yeosang.

Her roommate raised both hands slightly. „In my defense, it just never came up in a way that felt dramatic enough.“

Y/N made a strangled noise of disbelief.

„It never came up.“

„You never asked.“

„Why would I ask if my roommate was secretly related to one of the intimidating rich boys from university.“

Her roommate grimaced. „That is, admittedly, a fair point.“

Y/N pressed both hands over her face for one second, then lowered them again because she needed to make sure this was still real.

It was.

Her roommate was still there.

Still looking mildly apologetic and not nearly embarrassed enough.

„You are Yeosang’s sister,“ Y/N repeated.

„Yes.“

„Yeosang.“

„That is usually how siblings work, yes.“

Y/N looked as though she might combust.

The elevator continued rising with graceful indifference to the crisis unfolding inside it.

Somewhere under the shock, another realization began to form.

If her roommate was Yeosang’s sister…

Then she knew the others.

All of them.

Which probably meant this whole so-called adventure had been planned far more specifically than Y/N had been told.

Her eyes widened further.

Her roommate saw it instantly and smiled in the most suspicious way possible.

„No,“ Y/N said at once, backing half a step into the mirrored wall. „Absolutely not. What is happening.“

The elevator kept climbing.

And Y/N, in yellow sweatpants and a striped jumper, could only stare at the person she lived with and realize with growing horror that whatever waited when those doors opened was almost certainly connected to Park Seonghwa.

Y/N had exactly enough time to panic three more times before the elevator doors opened.

Then Soomin caught her wrist and tugged her forward with the kind of determined energy that suggested escape was no longer an option.

„Come on,“ she said brightly.

Y/N, meanwhile, felt like her soul had separated from her body somewhere around the twelfth floor.

„This is a bad idea,“ she whispered.

„It is a very good idea.“

„I am wearing yellow sweatpants.“

„You say that like it is a crime.“

Soomin led her down a quiet hallway with soft lighting and expensive-looking rugs that probably cost more than Y/N’s laptop. At the very end stood a large apartment door in dark wood with a polished silver number beside it.

Y/N slowed immediately.

Soomin did not.

She marched right up to the door and rang the bell.

Before Y/N could decide whether to flee down the hallway, the door opened.

Y/N stared at her.

Yeosang stood there in a black long-sleeved shirt and gray sweatpants, one hand still on the handle. His expression was calm for exactly one second.

Then he looked at his sister and said, „Since when do you ring the bell instead of storming in?“

Y/N, acting entirely on instinct, stepped half behind Soomin.

Soomin smiled sweetly and reached up to pat Yeosang’s cheek.

„Since I brought a guest.“

Yeosang blinked once, then looked past her.

His gaze landed on Y/N immediately.

For one horrible second, she considered pretending to be part of the hallway decor.

Then, to her surprise, Yeosang smiled.

Not a big smile. Just a gentle one that softened his face in a way she had never seen in lecture.

„So you’re the mysterious roommate,“ he said, „my sister tells me so much about.“

Y/N’s face warmed instantly.

Mysterious roommate sounded far too dramatic for someone who had once cried in front of his friend in a rabbit shelter.

She gave a tiny nod.

„Hi.“

„Hi,“ Yeosang said back, still looking far too calm for someone whose sister apparently treated his apartment like a public venue.

Then Soomin, apparently deciding greetings had lasted long enough, pushed at both of them.

„Move. You’re blocking the entrance.“

Yeosang sighed softly and stepped aside.

Y/N barely had time to process the polished hallway inside before the sound hit her.

Noise.

Loud, layered, chaotic noise.

Not angry. Not dangerous. Just the kind of volume created when too many people with strong personalities existed in one place without supervision.

She stepped inside and immediately froze.

The apartment was beautiful in the way the lobby had already warned her it would be. Open, modern, warm lighting, huge windows along one side. And completely full of chaos.

Wooyoung and Mingi were in the middle of arguing across the living room about something so stupid Y/N could not even understand it at first.

„I said pineapple belongs on pizza if the pizza is emotionally prepared for it,“ Wooyoung was saying.

„What does that even mean,“ Mingi demanded.

„It means some pizzas can handle complexity and some cannot.“

„That is the dumbest sentence you have ever spoken and I have known you for years.“

On the couch, San was laughing into a cushion while Yunho leaned over the back of it looking delighted by the entire exchange. Hongjoong sat at the dining table with his laptop open, though from the expression on his face he had long since given up pretending to work. Jongho was in the kitchen pouring himself a drink with the calm air of someone entirely used to this level of nonsense.

And Seonghwa.

Y/N’s eyes found him almost by accident.

He sat at the kitchen island with a bowl in front of him, eating as though he had not expected company. Apparently very much not expecting company, because at that exact moment his cheeks were so full that he looked absurdly, almost impressively, overpacked with food.

For one startled heartbeat, Y/N just looked at him.

Then a tiny sound slipped out before she could stop it.

A laugh.

Small and soft, but real.

The effect was immediate.

The whole apartment froze.

Mingi stopped mid-gesture.

Wooyoung turned.

San lifted his head from the cushion.

Yunho straightened.

Hongjoong looked up from the laptop.

Jongho paused with his glass halfway to the counter.

And Seonghwa, still very much full-cheeked and caught in the act of trying to exist normally, went completely still.

Y/N’s laughter died instantly.

Heat rushed into her face.

Oh no.

She became aware of herself all at once. The yellow sweatpants. The striped jumper. Her hand still half clutching Soomin’s sleeve like a nervous child. The fact that she had just laughed in a room full of boys who were all now staring at her.

She wanted the floor to open.

Soomin, completely unbothered, clapped her hands once.

„Everyone, behave. This is Y/N.“

No one moved for half a second.

Then Seonghwa started coughing.

It happened suddenly and violently enough that Y/N took a startled step forward before stopping herself. He pressed a fist to his mouth, coughed again, and reached blindly for the glass of water beside him while trying, with visible difficulty, to swallow everything he had apparently decided to fit into his mouth at once.

Y/N stared.

Somewhere beside her, Yeosang muttered, „Amazing.“

Hongjoong closed his eyes briefly like a man enduring fate.

And then Wooyoung recovered first.

Of course he did.

He gasped, pointed dramatically at Seonghwa, then rushed across the room toward Y/N with the energy of someone greeting a long-lost hero.

„Y/N,“ he said, stopping right in front of her with both hands pressed over his heart, „I need you to know that I am forever thankful to you.“

Y/N blinked up at him, startled.

„What?“

Wooyoung looked deeply emotional.

„Because of you,“ he said solemnly, „we can call him bunny man now.“

Y/N stared.

From the kitchen island came another round of coughing.

Main Masterlist | Seonghwas Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | [Part 4?]

Taglist: @ninjakitty15 @dalsuwaha @likeejennie @starmee-lodurrson @luviebears @darjeelinglemontea @ffenjoyerdazme @moonlitcelestial @livonianmaia @m00njinnie @tinycloudz @whoreforjongho @shrimpwoo @soso59love-blog @armycarat2612 @yunhospinkyring @okiedokiespookie @lunaryoongie @firstdivisiongirl @autumnrainsings

[luckydraww]

Cinders

Fracture - Chapter 4

<<previous | M.List | Next>> Navi | intro i | intro ii | | Y/N intro

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Pairing: ot8 x Reader Word Count: 3.7k Chapter Warnings: PTSD, Flashbacks, Emotional Distress, Dissociation, Survivor's Guilt, Shame, Panic, Unreliable Narrator (trauma informed), Injury, Mentions of character death, Comfort if you squint Synopsis: Shame burns deeper than any wound, as control slips through your fingers like sand. Air is thin here, where feet never touch the ground and memories blur. Author's Note: Uni is absolutely kicking my ass time-wise, but hopefully with breaks coming up soon I'll have more time! Thank you to everyone for sticking around, and for being so sweet in the comments and DM's. I read each of them, even if I don't respond ❤

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You and Wooyoung turn in tandem at the sharp voice. Dark flight leathers, emblazoned with the wingleader insignia. Heavy purposeful steps radiate barely-contained fury.

Hongjoong.

With a furious gaze that could cut straight through dragon hide. He folds his hands behind his back calmly as he stops in front of you two, but everything about his expression suggests otherwise.

“I asked once, don’t make me ask again, cadets.” He hisses out, glancing between you both. 

“Hongjoong–” cuts in a softer voice, whom you think may be Yunho, but the wingleader holds up a hand. The words die quickly, a mumbled apology flying past you, as Hongjoong turns back to you two.

“One of you better speak up now. Either you settle this now, or this becomes a breach of codex, and I will not be advocating for either of you should this lead to a quorum.” Hongjoong tilts his head at you, dark eyes boring into your own.

Fear grips your chest, as your hands ball into fists. Nails bite into the skin of your palm, as you try to find the words to defend yourself. Hongjoong’s gaze doesn’t waver, as the flicker of a frown graces his face. 

Shoulders squared, he turns to glare down Wooyoung next, as he steps forward and crowds you both. Wooyoung at least has the decency to look guilty, hands fidgeting awkwardly as the last of the embers flicker on the ground. 

“Need I remind you, article three of the rider codex forbids a rider to harm another while under the supervision of a superior-ranking cadet? Because last I checked, there are at least two superior officers on this field, excluding myself. Now, you could talk this out now, and have your immediate superiors decide how to dole out punishments—or you can act ignorant and have them escalate your discipline to me. Speak.” 

“They started it.” Wooyoung blurts out petulantly, glowering at you. “They put their hands on me first. I was just defending myself-”

“With your signet, cadet Jung?” Hongjoong pushes back. “Last I checked, it was also unlawful to use your signet against another rider. So I wouldn’t be acting childish over this when you have more on the line than her.”

“But their dragon–”

Hongjoong clenches his jaw, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek for a moment, as a scoff escapes him. The ghost of a smirk–though you doubt it’s anything good–flits across his face before he’s staring Wooyoung down again. 

“Is still not an excuse. I’d suggest you shut up, cadet Jung, and address me properly. I am your wingleader first on this field, friend second. Understood?”

Wooyoung freezes, before he manages a stiff nod, eyes now downcast. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Cadet L/N?”

You feel dread wash over you, like you’ve just been plunged into the freezing cold rivers that skirt the grounds. Your throat feels dry suddenly, as you nod.

“Yes, sir?”

He glances you up and down for a moment, unreadable, before waving his hand dismissively at you.

“Get your ass to the healers quadrant. Yeosang or Yunho can decide on your punishment later. Get that burn seen to.”

You nod, though it feels automated. Your whole body feels like it’s burning with shame. The singed patch of skin on your arm is nothing close to the heat of shame licking your skin, or the acrid taste of bile in your throat as you shuffle away.

You chance a glance up to look for Dàn, finding her snarling and pacing the edge of the field, the slightly larger frame of Sidhe blocking her from approaching. A figure tries to approach you on your left, a hand reaching out for you.

Pulling away, you manage to register it as San for a split second. His hand drops down without a fight when you clearly don’t want to be bothered–but his face seems concerned. You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes.

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Your feet numbly carry you back down the hill, nearly tripping over the loose stones in your haste. The path splits off to the side as you reach the main campus–but you fail to take the turn towards the healer quadrant. You instead let yourself wander, letting your legs carry you wherever it is they deem fit.

Y/n. Where are you going? Interrupts Dàn, probing at your mind.

You mentally shove her away, but she’s persistant. Dàn pushes back, her energy flooding through you. You start to see lines criss-crossing your vision as she does so–your signet responding to the surge of energy.

“Not now.”

You’re not heading to the healers. It’s not a question. You know you aren’t. She knows too, even if you were to deny it. Her energy presses against your mind again, like she can convince you otherwise.

I’m going to snap that little parasites neck next I see him.

You don’t entertain her with a response. Instead you blink, trying to will the threads of your signet away. You don’t want to see all the threads connecting people. 

The buzz of the courtyards, chatter of other cadets, even the wind–all fade as you make your way to the edge of the grounds. Your feet steer you towards a spot in the valley, further down from the flight grounds. Paved walkways turn to loose gravel. Loose gravel to dirt paths.

The soles of your boots skid across loose dirt as you haphazardly scale down the side of a small precipice to the forest floor below. A willow tree, older than anyone you know, sits hidden in an alcove, swaying gently in the breeze as if to greet you.

Making your way down, you barely register that the burn of shame has slowly swallowed you whole. Your hands shake as you brush past the hanging tendrils, into the hidden cave behind it. 

Old magelights line the walls, flickering lethargically as they turn on for the first time in months. The wall on the side has initials scratched into it from riders past, while the entrance is lined with various rocks and knickknacks. An old card pack sits on a ledge, with several cards scattered across the floor. King of Hearts. Nine of Diamonds. Your foot nearly steps on a dusty Jack of clubs as you wander inside, but it’s the face down card next to it that you reach down to grab. Flipping it over, dusting it off—Ace of clubs. 

Laughter echoes as a figure slams down a card on the makeshift table, yelling victoriously. Another voice screeches about them being a cheater, followed by a wheezing laugh. 

Your hand crushes the card as the memory tears through you, placing it down on top of the table. Your arms feel weak as the adrenaline leeches from your body, and you lean against the table for a moment. The smooth worn stone is cool, a layer of grime coating it. It feels chalky as you pull your hand away, wiping it against your other arm’s flight leathers. A gray streak coats the side of the material, smudging across your squad patch. 

Your head pounds.

You wander back out, ducking once again under the branches of the willow–only to see Dàn standing patiently nearby.

I’ve been deprived of flight time with my rider. She says simply, as she dips down to level you with her gaze. 

Her tail flicks passively, as she gestures for you to get on.

You really shouldn’t. If your squad leaders find out you snuck off instead of heading to the healers, you might get in even more trouble…

But your body moves forward before you can stop yourself. Your hands run over her smooth scales, warm and familiar. You’re already pulling yourself up onto her shoulder’s, as Dàn unfurls her wings slowly and waits for you to situate yourself. 

With a quick snap, her wings kick up dirt and dust. The willow tree’s branches sway amd bend, as air rushes past you. It’s sinking down below you before you can even draw in a steadying breath.

The training fields, the academy grounds—they all shrink below as Dàn rockets you both into the sky. The flight area still has the rest of your squad’s dragons on it. They become blurs of color as you ascend, feeling the wind rush past your face. There’s only one red blur on the field–Wooyoung likely was removed from the field after you left. Tor and Sidhe also are missing. Hongjoong likely left punishment up to Yeosang as Executive Officer, if that’s the case. 

Dàn’s wings eventually level out, as she soars through the air. The cool evening atmosphere is biting at this elevation, burning with each inhale. It feels good. Cleansing, almost.

You don’t bother asking her where she’s headed. You’re content to finally be back on your dragon. Dàn seems to tense up for a moment, her head dipping down to scan the environment.

Hold on tight.

It’s the only warning you get, before she’s banking down sharply, nearly in a freefall. Your hands grip her scales, thighs burning as you brace yourself against her best you can. The speed has you squinting your eyes in pain, and as she levels out again, the force nearly gives you whiplash.

You’re now far closer to the ground, a grand valley stretches out ahead of you.

A familiar valley.

A sudden, sharp stabbing pain hits you in the head. Hands white knuckle as you try to fight it off–

High pitched ringing—then the screech of a dragon as it goes down in front of you. It’s rider yells out in surprise, as they plummet straight down into the rocks below. A rider to your left says something incomprehensible as you turn in alarm. The orange dragon they ride sharply dives, trying to catch up to the squadmate. Smoke. The sound of something blasting just past your ear–

Dàn snaps her wings open, lurching you forward against her shoulderblades. You nearly slam your nose against her from the sheer force.

“What the fuck, Dàn?” 

Focus. Is all she snaps at you, irritation rolling off of her in waves. You’re sure she’s just as tense and upset being back here.

She circles once, twice, then descends, The ground quakes as she lands. The plants wave with the burst of air, before settling down. She tilts, urging you to get off her shoulders.

Your hands slip for a moment as you climb off of her. Either from nerves or the adrenaline, you’re unsure. You just know one moment you’re climbing down, the next you’re falling flat on the ground as she chuffs.

Glancing around, you feel your chest squeeze painfully. The ground now is mostly devoid of any indication something happened here—but your heart knows better.

You manage a few steps across the clearing, before you’re dropping to your knees in pain. Your hands claw at the dirt, you feel like you’re being torn apart inside. Blinking through the pain, your signet surges again. Threads–discordant and unraveling. You see faint traces of one that extends from you, but it ends abruptly. The frayed edge is almost burnt, as it waves uselessly. Two more pop up. 

A memory tries to fight its way up in your mind, as you stare at a spot you’re pretty sure one of the blank white threads is trying to tie itself to. 

“You need to get up! We can’t keep standing here, Y/n. If we don’t leave now–” The voice is cut off by the sound of metal hitting rocks. Discordant. It screeches, causing you both to wince. The smell of smoke hits your nose, and you barely manage to duck in time as a green dragon shoots an arc of flames above your head. It’s eyes are red, glazed over. A mangled pained scream reaches your ears as you slam your eyes shut. A dull thud, you’re sure it’s–

The vision cuts off before you can remember the name. Why can’t you remember?

The thread wavers uselessly in your line of sight, tauntingly. Breaths come out shakier.

You feel bile rise in your throat as your stomach lurches. Hot tears are streaming down your face—when did that start?

“Dàn” Your voice scrapes out, hoarse and raw.

“I do not control the tides of your memory, little one.”

She stands beside you, but her head is dipped slightly. She may not say it, but she shares in your grief. A dull ache, echoing from both sides of your bond. A low rumble starts in her chest, an attempt to ground you the best way she knows how. Despite this, your lungs feel as if they’re collapsing in on themself. Your muscles burn like you’ve run a marathon, and you can’t bring yourself to stand.

“Why would you bring me back?” You choke out. Your nails cake with dirt as you grasp at roots and grass.

One of us needs to remember. We cannot avenge the fallen like this.” She responds, “My memory is as fragmented as yours, little one.”

Your hands trace blindly across the ground, trying to tell what is real and what is fake. You smell smoke–thick and suffocating. The sound of something crunching grates against your ears as it crashes into the cliffsides above. The burn on your arm stings, scraping across the ground in your frenzy. Soil smears across your arms and hands. It feels hot and wet, tinged a rusty color as you stare down at it now. Wholly unlike the dry, dark, brown earth you were grasping at a moment ago.

Is it real? Imagined?

“Dàn? Dàn??” You hear your own voice, trembling with confusion–but is it you?

“Focus!” Her snarl cuts through the air.

She’s in your face now. Eyes blazing. Fangs bared. A thread of cool silvery-blue hums between you, stretched taut. Your bond snaps and twists like a live current, flashing through anger, fear, even hopelessness. You can feel a panic not entirely your own rise in your chest. 

She’s scared for you. 

The blank threads—the ones that feel wrong—waver in the air again in front of you. They tug at you, like they’re hooking into your very being. 

It was a mistake bringing you back this soon. Her voice concludes, as she tries to nudge you to stand. Your hands glide over her scales like normal, but you don’t truly grasp what's going on. Your legs are shaky, you’re in no shape to ride like this. Hot tears streak down your face, and you feel like you’re floating out of your body. 

Dàn lets out a frustrated grumble, before a sudden crunch of dry grass and dirt sounds behind you. She has her wings flared and teeth bared, curling protectively around your form as you numbly look around. Dàn’s tail lashes in warning, ripping through the foliage behind her. A guttural growl rises deep in her, as she dips her head to cover your form better.

The sound is steady. Footfalls.

“Easy,” A voice cuts through the air. Steady but soft. “I’m not going to hurt her.”

You shake your head, blinking hard to try and dispel the confusing haze in your mind. The timbre of the voice is familiar. Smooth, low… but soft enough to be disorienting. 

We were followed. Dàn snarls in your mind, as you turn blankly to look at the owner of the voice. Your movements feel slow, like you’re wading through molasses. 

Black standard-issue boots. Riding leather stretched over black pants. A rider. Hands are held up placatingly towards Dàn. Your eyes follow the figure up, slow to register the name plate on his chest. A single silver stripe runs underneath it.

Yeosang.

He doesn’t look at you directly, keeping his eyes trained on the blue in front of him. One wrong move, and she could easily end him—even if Sidhe is only a few feet behind him in the forest. He takes a tentative step forward, ducking down slightly to look smaller.

Dàn bristles, her claws digging into the soft earth in warning. She doesn’t relax.

“Please, Dàn. She’s my squadmate now. I don’t gain anything from hurting her.” He pushes, taking another step forward. “I’ll give you a free shot at me if I do hurt her, even.” 

Dàn’s wing lowers slightly, giving him a better view of you. Her tail still flicks in warning, and her golden eyes are trained on Yeosang like a hawk…but he has just enough room to slowly approach. 

Yeosang gets close enough to kneel down in front of you, but doesn’t reach out. He tilts his head, brown eyes darting over you as he studies you intently, before he’s sighing. His voice is softer than usual—like he’s afraid you’re made of glass.

“Hey… Y/n? You there? Can you hear me?”

No response. You’re trembling like a leaf, body heavy with grief and guilt and shame.

“Y/n.” He repeats again, slower, but more firmly. 

You manage to drag your gaze to his face.

“Can you fly safely?” He asks, patiently waiting for a response.

You manage a stiff shake of your head. Yeosang sighs, kneeling lower to the ground to keep your gaze locked on his. He gently taps the ground to get your attention. 

“The grounds are too far to walk. We need to fly back. I’m not filling out paperwork for a dead cadet because you can’t balance on a dragon.” He says calmly.

You struggle to process his words. They aren’t orders, just facts. But facts are solid, they give you something to latch onto in your haze.

“We can talk about you running when you’re stable. Let's get you back to base safely. Can you stand?”

You try to push yourself up, legs shaking violently as you manage to get up to your knees. Grasping onto Dàn, you attempt to stand all the way. Yeosang ends up sliding his arms under yours, catching you as your knees buckle and collapse. He grunts, but otherwise is an anchor amidst the storm of feelings in your head.

“Easy, I’ve got you.” He murmurs softly, prompting you to lean against him.

His steps are slow and steady as he guides you. Sidhe finally appears at the edge of the clearing, golden eyes tracking you both as he waits a short distance away. Dàn huffs, baring her fangs at Sidhe as she circles protectively. Sidhe huffs back at her, lowering himself to the ground as you get closer–something most dragons would never do for their own rider, let alone another. .

“Careful. Don’t fall.” Yeosang steadies you, gesturing towards Sidhe’s back.

Your hands weakly grasp at Sidhe’s scales, as the blue lowers further to make the climb easier. Every movement is shaky; your muscles scream in protest. Yet, Yeosang’s hands never leave you. Not until you’re secure on top of Sidhe.

He follows you up far more gracefully, settling behind you. His arms come up and around your sides as he leans forward, keeping you safely caged as Sidhe slowly fans his wings out. Yeosang’s chest is warm against your back. A grounding force. His heartbeat is steady, as he braces both of you for Sidhe to take flight. 

“Ready?”

You manage a weak trembling murmur of agreement, and he hums in response.

Sidhe snaps his wings, unfurling them as you rocket into the sky. Yeosang keeps you snugly tucked against his chest as the world spirals away from you. Dàn takes off a moment later, following you both into the now darkening sky, as the fear slowly loosens from around your lungs. Not completely, but enough to breathe.

Your breathing slows, while the rhythmic sounds of Sidhe and Dàn flying calm you. The wind isn't so biting at this speed, and the breeze helps your face cool down from the hot tears that were streaming not that long ago. 

As Sidhe levels out, you notice a faint shimmer in the sky. Silvery and cold, like the morning light as it hits fresh snow. A thread. Yeosang’s. It shimmers delicately, branching out from his chest and wrapping around Sidhe. Smaller forks in the thread dance in the light, disappearing a few feet away as they stretch across the horizon, too far to see. Linking him to the squad, every person he’s ever cared about. Each connection pulses lightly, like a heartbeat. A network branching out from him, humming with soft energy. Symbols of trust. Loyalty. Care.

You admire them, tracing them each as they reach out to the distance—but one catches your eye. It curves softly, barely visible to your eyes. A new thread, one that doesn’t have the steady hum of the others, but is there all the same. The silver fades into a solid blue, dancing in the wind–before slowly curving back around to you. You pull away from it unconsciously, like it’ll hurt you, but it only shimmers in the dying light. Tethered, barely perceptible, but there.

“You’re shaking.” Yeosang murmurs, cutting into your train of thought. The soft rumble in his chest from speaking vibrates against your back. “Do we need to go slower?”

You swallow hard, shaking your head. Yeosang doesn’t say anything, and simply re-adjusts to make sure you’re still nestled securely against him. One arm wraps securely around you, as Sidhe banks softly to the side to adjust course. The new thread pulses faintly.

You try to will the sight of them away, watching as they flicker and fade, but don’t disappear. The cut cords, however, stay just as prominent in your sight. The frayed white threads flicker against the wind unnaturally, pulling to spots along the valley below. Remnants, you’re sure, of your old squad. You can feel them. The memories tug at the frayed ends. The cut cords probe, trying to connect things that should be there but aren’t. 

It’s disorienting, painful even. An ache that blooms behind your eyes, clawing down your spine and to the pit of your stomach. Broken threads shouldn’t feel this visceral. They don’t pulse like live bonds do, but they reach for you like they are. 

You flinch, when you swear one caresses against your calf, reaching for you like a hand through from the valley below. It’s gone as quickly as it appeared, but the phantom feeling remains. Your eyes stare down, the ground far below feeling more and more like a chasm bent on swallowing you whole. 

“Keep your eyes on the horizon.” Comes Yeosang’s deep voice, rising over the wind. His hand pulls you back upright on Sidhe firmly. “You’re tilting to the side.”

As the forest and valley disappear behind you, the frayed threads slowly disappear from your vision. The sense of wrongness disappears, and only two threads are left in your vision. One, a translucent blue, that connects you and Dàn. The other—a faint thread of silver. 

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Burn

Fracture - Chapter 3

<<previous | M.List | Next>> Navi | intro i | intro ii | | Y/N intro

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Pairing: ot8 x Reader Word Count: 4k Chapter Warnings: Emotional Distress, Anxiety, Insomnia mentioned/implied, Mild medical themes, Ostracism, Emotional Manipulation, Depictions of conflict and aggression. Also I rarely proof-read these so I'm sorry for typos... Synopsis: Unexpected comfort and harsh accusations arise, with demands for answers and unanswered questions rising. Author's Note: Happy Mingi Day! I didn't realize I was posting this on his birthday until now, but I hope you enjoy it despite the lack of Mingi </3

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You’re not sure how you found yourself here, but your hand hovers just above the heavy wooden door in front of you. It’s late in the evening, the buzz of the day already settling down as the sun slowly sinks on the horizon, painting it a gorgeous golden color. Warm, but fleeting. 

Just knock. The worst that can happen is you get sent away.

Your chest tightens, a shaky breath flows in and out of you. Just knock, you repeat to yourself like a mantra. 

Before you can muster the courage, however, the door swings open. A very surprised Seonghwa stands in the doorway, foot halfway across the threshold before he realizes you’re there. His hand tightens around the handle of the door for a moment.

“Can I help you, cadet?” He inquires, eyes scanning the hall behind you, before they return to your face. 

Words seem to leave your mind, as you stare blankly at him for a moment. Eyes dart between his as if his own steady gaze can explain back to you why you showed up at his door in the first place.

“Cadet?” He repeats, firmer.

You think of the first thing you can say, instead of what’s really eating at you. The loneliness.

“I don’t know,” you say, voice wavering slightly. “I just haven’t been able to sleep?”

Your voice rises ever so slightly in pitch, like you’re not even sure of what you’re saying.

He shifts his weight for a moment, glancing one more time behind you, before sighing. The wood of the floor creaks as he steps inside and gestures for you to go inside. 

When you don’t move forward, he huffs, somewhat miffed, before gesturing again.

“Anyday now, cadet.” 

You scramble inside, ducking your head slightly, cheeks warming in embarrassment as the door clicks shut behind you both.

His room is larger than yours, though that’s standard for anyone in the rider’s quadrant with a leadership role. His room isn’t highly decorated, to your surprise, but still had a quiet order to the few personal items he did have. Seonghwa’s bed, a dark navy, was tightly made and spotless. His desk looked just as tidy, with files in neat stacks along the edge. A single worn leather-bound notebook sits neatly in the middle, a pen laying atop it and ready for use.

Seonghwa opens a drawer in his desk, “You can sit on the bed. I have a report to finish writing up.” he says quietly. Casually. 

He pulls a folder from his desk drawer out. He opens it, scanning over the contents briefly as you sit down.

You teeter awkwardly on the edge of the bed as he turns and drops the folder in your lap. 

“Sort those alphabetically for me while I finish.”

You glance down at the folder. Not exactly what you expected when he ushered you into his room. Especially when he had looked ready to leave only a moment ago.

You know better than to argue with leadership, though. You nod silently, opening the folder to glance through it.

Seonghwa takes his coat back off, throwing it across the back of his chair as he sits down. His hands tap against the wood as he thinks for a moment, before he picks up the pen on his desk, pulls a file from the top of a neat stack in the corner, and starts writing. 

There’s a stillness that envelopes the room, with just the sound of pen against paper and the files being shuffled in your hands. Your breathing is slow and steady, the moment feels like you’re finally treading water after drowning in a sea of sorrow.

“I didn’t see you on the flight field earlier when I checked in on how drills were going.”

He says it cooly, not glancing up from the file on his desk he’s filling out. His hands brush over the parchment, black ink spilling from the pen in gorgeous looping letters. The light on his desk casts a soft glow on his face. He looks softer here, warmer than the usual section leader you’ve known.

Your eyes dart back down to the files in your folder, hands pausing as you glance over the paper once. Twice. Three times. You’re unsure how to respond.

“Were you sent off the field again?” He asks again.

He chances a glance up at you for a moment. His eyes hold more questions underneath, like he wants to pick you apart. Figure out what’s making you tick. 

When you don’t respond, he lets out the ghost of a breath, and reaches for the thermos on his desk. The smell of something earthy but floral wafts out, the steam rising from the container as he takes a sip. 

“It was a yes or no question, not an attack.” He sighs softly, placing the thermos down again. His movement is slower, thoughtful. The thermos barely makes a noise as it’s set down. 

He doesn’t push you further, just glances at you again from the corner of his eye, before going back to writing. The time is filled again with silence, though it demands nothing of you.

You slide the last file into the folder, before closing it.

Seonghwa is still focused on his own task, finishing another page to his report without looking.

You hesitate, unsure if you should interrupt his train of thought. If you should say something. Thank him. Apologize. Both.

Instead, he breaks the silence.

“Done?” 

You nod, before remembering he’s not looking at you.

“Yes, sir.”

A brief pause, as he finishes writing a sentence, before he’s putting the pen down.

You stand up off the edge of the bed, the frame creaks slightly as you do. A few steps, and you’re next to him, handing him the folder. His demeanor is what you’ve come to expect. Unreadable. Composed. 

He briefly glances through it, eyes skimming the pages, before he nods curtly. He shifts in the seat, leaning to the side, and places the files in a drawer.

“Looks good.” He comments, sitting back up to finally focus his eyes on you. 

You shift your weight, nodding, before glancing at the door. 

You shouldn’t linger.

You awkwardly take a step away, and towards the door. You’re nearly able to grab the doorknob, before his voice softly cuts through the air.

“Wait.”

He stands up, going around to the side of the desk where a small chest sits against the wall. It opens with a soft click, before he’s pulling out a small cloth-wrapped bundle. He inspects it for a moment, before standing up and striding over to you.

“Take these.” He says, holding the bundle out.

Reaching for the bundle, the cloth is soft and well-worn. Like a child’s comfort blanket, or a favorite sweater. A smell hits you as you take it from his hands. Green. Earthy. Floral.

“It helps sometimes.” He tries to explain, as you unwrap the cloth bundle.

Several little teabags sit inside of it. Green tea, from the look and smell of it.

“Better than those bitter tinctures they give you for sleep.” He adds on as you look down at them.

You glance up at him, but he’s already looking away from you, heading back to his desk.

“Thank you” you say softly. The words feel foreign on your tongue, but the warmth you feel in your chest says otherwise.

He hums, already picking the pen back up and waving you out the room.

“Don’t make this a habit, cadet.” 

But his voice is quieter. Careful, but not cold.

You take the hint, shuffling out of his room and back into the hallway. As you step over the threshold, the calm atmosphere breaks, and you feel the familiar tightness in your chest comes back as the door clicks behind you. Though, tonight, it doesn’t feel as painful. You hold the bundle closer, and feel like for a moment, you can breathe again. 

That night, you sleep without waking once. No nightmares haunt your rest. 

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Gravel crunches under your feet as you follow behind the squad up to the flight field. Ahead of you, the squad has formed a messy semi-circle around Yunho as they blabber about plans later in the day. You lag a bit behind on purpose, convinced that maybe they don’t want you too close.

The flight field is still a bit of a trek ahead and up the hill, and if it weren’t for Dan’s palpable presence in your mind at the prospect of flying after so long, you would’ve turned around and cited “medical” as a reason to miss out on today’s training. 

Lost in your own head, you barely notice when one of them breaks off from the group to walk beside you—at least until the silvery string of his bonds floats into your field of vision. If you could touch it, you have the feeling it would feel cool to the touch, but you don’t get to contemplate for long when his voice meets your ears, smooth and low, like he’s trying not to grab the others attention now that he’s speaking to you. 

. 

“You were cleared for flight drills.” Yeosang states, hands at his sides as he falls into step beside you.

It’s not a question, just an almost deadpan remark. A moment of silence. He keeps his eyes trained on ahead of you both—likely on San and Yunho rough-housing up ahead.

“You sure you’re good to fly?” He asks after a moment.

He turns his head to glance at you, the sunlight catching his hair just right for a moment to make it almost glow golden. It would be gorgeous—if not for the pit that forms in your stomach at his question. You can’t decide whether it feels like concern, or condemnation on his part. Does he not think you’re good to fly?

“Yes, sir. Healers said–”

“Healers said, but we all know they’re absolute shit when it comes to gauging mentality. I’m asking you, not the healer. Are you good to fly?” He cuts you off, a slight huff escaping his lips. 

Your lips twitch down just for a moment, but you can tell by how Yeosang’s gaze shifts slightly that he caught it. His eyes dart over your features, cataloging every little change. The tenseness in your jaw, the slight hike in your shoulders.

“Dan has been rather… restless lately. At least according to Sidhe.” He tilts his head, looking up to the sky. The sides of the canyon ahead loom, though the clouds above are near non-existent.

What does Sidhe know. He’d be restless too if he couldn’t see his rider. A voice snarks in your mind. Dàn.

“I don’t see how Dàn’s behavior would make you think I’m unfit to fly.” You shoot back, before remembering an important detail—He’s technically a superior.  “Sir.”

His face is entirely unreadable, and he seems lost in thought for a moment, before shrugging. 

“Just checking. I have a squad to monitor. You’re technically a part of that squad.” 

The way he says it makes your stomach twist. It’s not said coldly on purpose, but it does paint a clear picture of how he still views you. An outsider. 

“I’m just making sure the healer’s didn’t preemptively clear another rider for drills without doing a thorough check just because Hongjoong is being pushy. Last time that happened, we lost San for another two weeks.” He smoothly adds on, before looking back at you again. Just as indecipherable, prying for something under the surface. It’s infuriating, how his tone of voice and stance are so confusing. You can’t tell if it’s out of care, obligation, or if he really is just the kind to stand there and state facts. 

He turns his head away again, stepping away from you to catch up to the rest of the squad, where San is now warily glancing backwards between the two of you.Dark eyes look you up and down, then Yeosang, mild confusion darting across his face. He smiles awkwardly at Yeosang–and you, to your surprise—before turning back to Yunho. 

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Up on the flight field, you see a few dragon silhouettes already in the distance. They circle high above you, as they bank down to land on the field ahead of you. Shadows pass over the field, and the wind pushes you from the force their speed generates as they dip down low in the sky. 

Brùth—Yunho’s brown swordtail—lands first rather gracefully. Just behind him, flies the orange scorpiontail that belongs to Mingi, flanked by the reds that belong to San and Wooyung–One swordtail and one daggertail. Tùra, Mingi’s dragon, angles down first to land, her claws kicking up dirt as she lands rather messily nearby. The other two dragons splay their wings out to billow in the air as they slow themselves down to land next to her. Unlike the former, neither of the reds send gravel and dirt flying as they land. 

Another brown clubtail appears over the edge of the sheer cliffs, coppery scales catching light as she circles a few times before touching down a bit farther away. Jongho is already peeling away from the group to greet his dragon, as she strides towards the group. Cairn’s golden eyes focus on you for a moment, as she tilts her head to stare you down. After a moment of watching you, she lets out a puff of smoke, before lowering her head to look her own rider in the face.

Over the ridgeline on the horizon, two final shadows emerge. Wings carving through the air at the same pace, rising and falling like a single heartbeat. At this distance, they almost look like the same dragon. The same cobalt gleam along broad frames, same daggered tail slicing through the air behind them. As the sunlight hits them a bit clearer, their differences sharpen.

Dàn has a bit more power to each stroke, the muscles rippling, while Sidhe drives forwards far more deliberately. One a blade through the air, the other a force of nature. Sidhe’s scales are a stormy darker blue, while Dàn is a brighter steel-blue sheen. 

Sidhe trails just a hair behind Dàn, close enough to blur their size difference, like an echo chasing itself across the sky. Dàn banks down first, though Sidhe banks down in a sharper line. When both blues land, the ground shakes from the twin impact, sending dust curling through the air.

Just behind you, a low whistle from one of the other squad members catches your attention.

“Didn’t realize she’d be almost as big as Sangie’s.” Says a warm voice.

You turn your head to look at who’s speaking, only to see San looking at Dàn in the distance. His eyes hesitantly dart to you.

“Guess I should’ve paid more attention to others during threshing last year.” He says, cracking an awkward smile. 

He shifts his weight a few times, one foot to another and back. His fingers run through his hair for a moment like a nervous habit, before he lets out a soft laugh. 

“I can’t imagine how you—or him—could bond a blue like that.” he pauses, before letting out a puff of air and holding his hands up in surrender. “No offense. It’s impressive for sure–it’s just, you know…Blues are rare enough as it is. And daggertails? Both of you? Definitely something else.”

Before San can say more, a sharp voice cuts in.

“Seriously, San? It’s not impressive. It’s concerning. The fact she has a blue should be setting off alarm bells for you. A squad killer like her should’ve been sentenced to fire for breaking the codex—”

San’s eyes widen slightly, as he glances over at his best friend. The words hang heavily over you for a moment, as Wooyoung waltzes up and grabs San by the elbow to pull him away. San looks at you helplessly—almost apologetically—as his feet shuffle to follow.

Heat rises through your chest as you clench your hands so hard they shake. In the distance, Dàn’s head whips around to stare straight at you.

What is it little one? Her voice echos in your head, as she watches unblinkingly from her spot on the edge of the field.

“What did you just call me?”

The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. You can’t help it.

Squad Killer. It echos through your head, bouncing off the sides so hard you swear its reverberating through you. Your hands are shaking now, after all.

Their faces flash through your head briefly. The feeling of warmth and belonging. Of family. Their smiles and names bounce around your mind, laughter and screams mixing in a cacophony that makes it hard to think. 

“Squad. Killer.” Wooyoung shoots back unflinchingly. 

San blinks like he's shocked to hear this kind of tone from his friend, before his eyes are glancing around at the others on the field. His eyes find Mingi’s first, as Wooyoung continues.

“That’s what you are, right? A squad killer. Whole squads don’t just disappear into thin air.” Wooyoung prods.

Mingi nearby doesn’t move, and just lets out a soft amused scoff. San just glances between you two lost, unsure of what to do.

“I’m not a squad killer.”

“But you could be. No one else has proven otherwise—and I’m not trusting whatever narrative you're spinning either.” He scoffs, haughty. 

“And, even if you weren’t, you’d still be a bad luck charm. I’m sure your dead friends would agree.” Mingi cuts in, smirking as he crosses his arms from across the field as he stands with his dragon. Tùr looks almost amused by the tension, her eyes sparkling with an eerie glint. 

You feel like cold water is doused over you at his comment. Your breath chokes up for a second—

A low growl echoes across the field, as Dàn’s whole body tenses up. Her lips curl up slightly, as you feel her own anger and protectiveness flood your veins. In a stronger moment, you’d shut down the door that links you two, but the wounds being poked at are still much too raw to ignore. 

“Either way, you got your squad killed. Why else would you be the last one standing?” Wooyoung sneers, letting go of San so he can stalk towards you. His hand points at you threateningly.

“Awfully convenient you came out unscathed. Why were you on medical leave? You weren’t hurt.” He continues, getting into your face.

“Just because I’m unscathed physically doesn’t mean I didn’t fight! You think I’d leave my squad high and dry for my own sake?” You snap back. “Maybe you should stop assuming you know the best. You’re not as smart as you think, Wooyoung.” 

He narrows his eyes, jaws clenching.

“I’ve seen what happens when people like you show up,” His voice lowers. “And I’m not risking my squad because of some ‘survivor’ bullshit that no one believes. I don’t like this one’s attitude. Dàn snarls in your head.

You can’t tell whether it’s your own frustration, or Dàn’s now palpable anger flowing through you, but before you can think, your hands are harshly showing him away from you. 

“Of course you only believe what you want to believe.” 

He laughs–something bordering sinister, before his hands lunge for you.

His eyes are furious, and his signet flares not only across his palm, but all the way up his arms. He looks like fury incarnate.

The world feels like it slows for a moment. This isn’t a petty scrap. 

You don’t get the chance to freeze.

You manage to deflect him with a quick flick of your arm against his, short enough to avoid a burn, but long enough to feel heat lick up your side.

You whip around in a defensive stance just as he turns around himself. The air around him shimmering from the heat he’s radiating, as his fury climbs. The dry grass around his boots crackle, as his eyes lock in on you like a predator. 

You barely manage to sidestep when fire bursts from his palms and catches the ground next to you on fire. 

San lets out a noise of surprise, stepping back out of shock. Mingi nearby even freezes, eyes widening at Wooyoung’s blatant attack. 

I’m biting his puny head clean off. You hear Dàn’s voice seethe through your head, as she moves from the side of the field.

Wooyoung advances on you like a wildfire. Overwhelming, untamed, and and feral. 

“You’re a threat to this squad” He growls, sending another burst of flames and sparks at you. The flickering light paints his face in wild shadows, eyes burning with something far more dangerous than anger. “I’m not letting you bring us down.”

Your eyes dart around him, trying to calculate your next move. The maroon string that connects him and Las pulses with power, and you take that as your cue to dodge. You tumble through the dirt in a messy roll, managing to stand just as flame envelops the spot you were just standing. He’s not holding back.

“Wooyoung! You need to stop—” A shout cuts through the chaos, though you don’t have a chance to glance as Wooyoung advances.

His relentless attacks have you gasping for breath, as Dàn’s increasing rage floods your veins.

A thunderous roar shakes the ground, as a flash of red lunges towards you and Wooyoung—only for it to be intercepted by a blue blur crashing into it with such force that dust and gravel go flying like shrapnel.

You feel unfiltered, overwhelming rage flood your system for a moment, as you land a solid jab on Wooyoung, though it burns for the moment your hands connect to his skin.

Wooyoung stumbles backwards, before stumbling for a moment like the breath was knocked out of him. 

You watch as the maroon string over his heart tugs hard, as Las and Dàn snap their teeth at each other. The dragons tumble across the field, clawing and snarling. The ground gets torn up under them, as the other dragon’s on the field fold their wings closer and step closer to their respective riders.

Wooyoung’s anger dissipates quickly, as Las starts to lose against the larger blue.

“C-Call her off. Call her off!” He snaps, shaking off his momentary freeze to grab you by the shoulders. His hands, still warm, dig harshly into your shoulders. 

Dàn growls as she pins Las down to the ground, her jaws against his dragon’s neck. The red growls, staring Dàn down despite being trapped. Dàn responds by clenching her jaws down harder, the smaller red freezing in fear for a moment.

“CALL YOUR DAMN DRAGON OFF!” Wooyoung snaps, shoving you harshly. His eyes are wide with fear, feeling Las’ emotions flooding him the same way Dàn’s anger is flooding you. His hands shake as adrenaline hits his system. 

Dàn responds in kind by biting down even harder.

You freeze too, watching helplessly as Dàn threatens another cadet’s dragon. 

I’m going to make an example of this one. Dàn growls, her words echoing in your head. She’s more than willing to end Las’ life to prove a point… and in turn Wooyoung’s. After all, the bond between a dragon and rider is so strong, the rider dies if their dragon does.

Seems Dàn says the same thing to Las, as Wooyoung’s panic spirals.

“Y/N! CALL DAN OFF!” He shouts in your ear, his hands burning you as his own emotions get out of control, clawing against you.

“Y/n!” You hear a second cadet call, but you’re frozen.

You can’t be the reason a cadet dies. He was just worried for his squadmates–

“Dàn!” You finally scream, panic and guilt crashing in.

This squad needs a lesson. Her sharp reply.

Just before her jaws can clamp down completely—

Sidhe barrels in from the side, crashing into Dàn’s side. His jaws close around Dàn’s own neck, as he uses the momentum to rip her off the red. Both the blues go tumbling across the grass, as Las scrambles to sit up, wings puffed up defensively. 

Dàn snarls, wings flaring out angrily. Sidhe matches in perfect tandem, both of them snapping and growling at each other. Where the fight between Dàn and Las was clearly one-sided, this one is close. Blue scales thrash and twist across the field, their sheer size shaking the ground with every growl.

Eventually, Sidhe gains the upper hand. His jaws clamp down, as he forces Dàn’s head down into submission against the dirt. A deep growl reverberates through the air—both warning and correction. 

Dàn’s snarls falter, before she finally folds her wings and averts her gaze and surrenders to Sidhe’s display.

Only then does the growling finally cease, as the field falls into an uneasy silence. The other dragons on the field keep their heads low, folding their wings tightly against their body’s in deference to Sidhe. 

You feel the weight of everyone’s gazes turn to you. Fear, uncertainty, hesitation.

“Cadet L/N. Cadet Jung. Care to explain what the fuck just happened?” A voice snaps.

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luckydraww © 2025 - all rights reserved to luckydraww. Do not steal, plagiarize, or translate any of my work without prior permission.

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[luckydraww]

Spark

Fracture - Chapter 2

<<previous | M.List | Next>> Navi | intro i | intro ii | | Y/N intro

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Pairing: ot8 x Reader Word Count: 2k Chapter Warnings: Emotional Distress, Violence/Threats of Violence, Ostracization, Gaslighting, Implied Suicidal Ideation, Authority Conflict, Survivor's Guilt Synopsis: Eyes are all on you, even if you can't see them. Mounting suspicions erode already fragile trust, and lines are drawn in the sand.

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Daylight barely starts to stream in through your window, as you sit on the edge of the bed. You know you need to get up. Breakfast just started, and you didn’t eat much for dinner yesterday. Your appetite had been killed after you were forced to sit out after the first few rounds of sparring–but this morning your stomach feels like it’s gnawing at itself. 

Pulling yourself out of bed, you fix up your appearance in the mirror on your wall. Donning your boots, you ensure your daggers are strapped to your sides, running a hand over the cool steel for a moment before sheathing them. Today will be different.

You shove the bitter dark feelings in the pit of your stomach lower, as you open your door and step out into the hall. Better to not feel them at all. The walk to the food hall is relatively quiet, and it soothes some of the tension you feel in your shoulders. As you approach, there’s a few cadets milling about just outside. You walk past them through the doorway, and immediately get hit by both the smell of food and hundreds of shifting colors of threads. They criss-cross over the cafeteria, but coupled by the smells and noise it’s overwhelming. 

Taking a deep breath, and closing your eyes, you will the threads to dim. It feels like it takes more willpower to do today, but you manage. When you open your eyes, you see a familiar face staring you down across the cafeteria–Jongho.

He tilts his head curiously, stares you down for a solid few seconds, before blinking and turning back to his squadmates. Odd. 

You grab a honeyed biscuit and some fruit, opting for something a little lighter. Your stomach still feels a bit queasy from nerves or maybe grief–you’re not sure–but you doubt it’ll go away soon. Something is better than nothing, though. 

  Glancing around, most tables are pretty full. Yet again, your eyes catch Jongho’s. 

There’s no warmth nor hostility in his gaze, just pure intrigue. Like he’s trying to figure you out. This time, he doesn’t bother glancing away as quickly, his eyes darting down to the food in your hands, and back to your face. Something unreadable passes across his face, before his attention is forced back to the table by San wrapping an arm around his shoulder and laughing at something.

An uneasy feeling settles in your stomach. Why was he staring? It feel like something about you is being logged. He’s observant—almost too much. Whatever he’s looking for, he seems to be close to finding it. If he hasn’t already.

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Drills are basically the same, though when it comes to flight maneuvers you find yourself kicking at dirt. The sun shines down, the shadows of your squad and their dragons passing over you from far above. Well, most of your squad. 

One other squad member stays grounded with you, though it seems more like he took it upon himself to hover nearby than by a direct order.

Mingi has his arms crossed, seemingly bored out of his mind. His eyes are following the squad’s individual dragons in the air, though occasionally glances at you. He watches as you kick yet another rock around in frustration. 

You should be up there, too.

Mingi lets out a soft scoff, a very obvious eye-roll gracing his face.

“You’re acting like a first year. It’s just a probation period. You’ll be back in the air eventually. Stop pouting.”

A flood of irritation hits your system. 

“I’m not acting like a first year. I’m just annoyed I’m grounded for no real reason.” You try to argue, foot connecting to another rock on the ground. Dust flies up from the spot.

Mingi stays quiet for a moment, before glancing back up at the dragons in the air.

“Squad leaders and Wing leaders don’t just ground random cadets on a whim. Given your…circumstances… I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a good reason.” His eyes fall down to your signet patch. 

Your hand instinctively reaches up to cover your signet patch, as if hiding it could make him forget. His gaze seems to burn through your hand regardless, before his eyes finally meet yours. They’re intense, burning, like he’s trying to pry into something he knows damn well he has no excuse to. 

“Hiding it doesn’t make you any less suspicious.”

Mingi lets out a slow exhale through his nose, shifting his stance. The woosh of wings high above slicing through the air is the only sound that meets your ears for a moment, before he speaks again.

“Some of the others may not say it outloud, but you’re a risk to the squad. None of us know what happened to your old squad. Hell, even Yunho hasn’t let anything slip, if he does know something.” Mingi’s hand goes to his waist idly, ghosting over what you assume is a knife hidden in his flight leathers.

Behind the both of you, Mingi’s dragon touches down, sending gravel and debris finding from how hard she lands. You feel a lick of heat ghost up your spine, as Tur lets out a warning huff of smoke against you. Your feet dig into the dirt under your boots, standing your ground.

“Are you trying to imply something?”

“Imply? No. It’s a warning, plain and simple. Stay down. Don’t cause trouble. I’m not the only one with an issue.” Mingi replies cooly.

Silence stretches out for a few moments, thick as smoke. The kind that clings to your throat and lungs and makes it hard to breathe. Tur’s presence behind you is still, like a snake waiting for you to give her any reason to strike.

“I don’t owe you answers for your own comfort.”

Mingi’s lips are ghosted with a smirk, as he takes out the knife his hand hovered over. He twirls it in his hands easily, the metal shining ominously in the light.

“No,” His hand tosses the knife up, “you don’t.”

Like two cogs in a very well oiled machine, Tur’s flames arc over his head, heating the knife up, and as it arcs down, a single well timed flick and the knife is whizzing past your face to embed in the tree just behind you. 

Mingi smiles, like he didn’t just hint at the fact him and his dragon are more than willing to end your life in a second. He turns towards Tur, mounting with a practiced ease. Though Mingi doesn’t bother looking back at you, Tur’s Golden eyes pierce through you, untrusting and hostile. As Mingi gets a grip, Tur launches into the air, her wings sending waves of air that buffet against you and whip at your loose hair.

You don’t flinch. Don’t move. They already think you a weak link, no need to make yourself more of a target.

You chance a glance up, and see Tur and Mingi already high in the sky, practiving maneuvers alongside the reds in your squad. San and Wooyung. 

You hear a distant cackle, and then one of the reds–the daggertail–tilts just enough in the air for her rider to look down below at you. The smug face of Wooyoung looks down at you, before Las is already course correcting and leveling out.

You let out a shaky breath, some of the adrenaline finally hitting your system. You feel Dan prod again, but you quickly cut off the stream in your head before she can question what happened. The last thing you need is Dan to come flying in pissed to high heaven, and get you in even more trouble.

Turning to the tree, the blade Mingi sent sailing towards your head is sunk down near to the hilt, the metal still glowing faintly from the heat. The tree chars slightly, the smell hitting your nose.

Stepping closer, you really finally see just how close the shot was. One half-step to the left, and the blade would’ve taken your eye.

A warning shot.

Your hands move before you can stop yourself, already wrapping around the blade to yank it free. The heat burns your palms, but you hold it regardless. A moment, a single breath. Just to feel some pain that's simple. Clean. Uncomplicated.

You drop it a moment later, when the burn gets a bit too overwhelming. You flex your hand, hissing in pain.

One last glance at the knife on the ground.

A reminder.

Or maybe it’s a challenge.

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A shadow passes over you again from high above, and you glance up to see a giant black dragon blot out the sun for a moment. 

Tor.

Hongjoong’s dragon.

Even from the ground, hundreds of feet below, his dragon’s form causes unease to coil through your gut. Massive, with obsidian scales that seem to swallow light. Wings that span further than your own Blue’s ever could. Torv is all intimidation and power. Nothing like Dan.

Dan is wind and mystery, thinly veiled fire and ice. But Torv? Torv is a predator, built in silence, power, and precision. Just like his rider.

He hovers in the air, next to the Brown Swordtail that Yunho rides. A Blue Daggertail banks down to meet them both. Sidhe and Yeosang. They hover midair for a few moments, before Yunho and Yeosang separate away from Hongjoong, the rest of your squad falling in line behind them. 

As they depart, Hongjoong and Torv descend downwards. He circles once, slow and calculating, before his eyes hone in on you. Torv lands far more gracefully than he should, wings billowing out to soften a landing as his claws touch down on the soft earth.

Torv stays still as a statue as Hongjoong dismounts. No need for theatrics or extra motion. His stature speaks enough.

Hongjoong’s boots crunch on the gravel as he lands, observing you and the area with an unreadable expression. His eyes dance across your figure, to your hand that’s still red and irritated from the blade, to the knife still hot on the ground. They settle on your face with the same cold calculating gaze he gives all cadets.

“He could’ve taken your eye.” He says flatly. “Or your life.”

He pauses again, eyes assessing you closely. You don’t dare speak.

Hongjoong looks down at the knife, stepping close to retrieve it from the ground. He turns it over in his palm, assessing the warmth of it still radiating. Torv’s golden eyes settle on you as Hongjoong’s are preoccupied.

“You let it fly.” The knife turns over again in his hand, glinting in the sunlight.

It’s not an accusation, nor is it a question. 

It’s disappointment. 

Your throat suddenly feels dry and scratchy. You clench your hand a few times, before responding. 

“I wasn’t going to dodge. I knew he wasn’t going to-”

“No. You froze.” He turns his gaze away from the knife in his hand to you. “You’re lucky he didn’t aim to kill.”

You feel a chill run up your spine. The way he says those words–it’s like he knows something more. Like he’s seen something darker in your squadmate. 

“Drills are over for you for the day.” He turns back to Torv, already slipping the knife into his pocket.

Frustration wells up again. You keep being benched from practices, and you inhale sharply. 

“I can keep going.”

“No,” he says over you, not turning back. “You think you can. I’m not sending a cadet out to active training or the front lines when they’re suicidal.”

He mounts Torv, the dragon spreading its massive wings to lift off.

“Get yourself together cadet. Your squad won’t wait on you.”

A beat later, and he’s gone, and you’re left in silence on a now empty training lot.

Your hand throbs, your pride is wounded. You’re damn sure now that the other cadets have it out for you.

Unsure if today was a warning, a lesson, or something worse, you heave out a shaky breath.

Next time, you may not have the luxury of freezing.

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luckydraww © 2025 - all rights reserved to luckydraww. Do not steal, plagiarize, or translate any of my work without prior permission.

Taglist: @euphoricem, @asweetblueberry2, @Addi-3, @juicyjaxxy

[mrakobesss]

deep sleep 🐶🐱

[leirastar]

New World | Chapter 15

Pairing: Ot8 Ateez x reader AU: fantasy AU | stranger -> mates Summary: In Hala, a house of eight kingdoms, each boasting its own wonders, you never imagined that amidst the pain, you would also fall—this time, in love. Word Count: 1.6k | 7 mins Warning: none

Yeosang.

He doesn’t speak.

He doesn’t ask what happened or why you came barreling through the garden like a storm with no direction. He doesn’t question the tears on your face or the way your breath trembles like something broken.

He just stands there—hands still steady on your arms, gaze steady on you.

His eyes are calm, but not cold. Like the surface of a deep, still lake. Like he’s waiting for you to find the words you’ve lost.

You step back slightly, just enough for his hands to fall away, and wipe at your face with a sleeve that’s already damp. “Sorry,” you mutter, trying to compose yourself. “I didn’t mean to…”

Yeosang shakes his head once, slow and quiet. “Don’t apologize.”

His voice is soft. Steady. Like it always is with him. The kind of softness that doesn’t ask for permission—it just makes space.

And for some reason, that kindness makes your throat tighten all over again.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you admit, the words barely a whisper.

He doesn’t hesitate. “You did the right thing.”

That stops you.

There’s no judgment in his tone, no expectation. Just quiet certainty. Like no matter how messy you are right now, it’s okay that you ended up here. With him.

He studies you for a long moment, then gestures toward the path behind him. “Come with me.”

You don’t ask where. You just nod.

Because maybe you don’t want to be alone anymore.

He leads you through the quiet halls, the soft click of your footsteps swallowed by the thick carpets. Soon, you arrive at his private study. He settles you into a familiar armchair in the far corner, the one near the ornate globe and the deep burgundy velvet throw that looks impossibly soft.

Without a word, Yeosang disappears for a moment, returning with a delicate porcelain cup filled with tea. The warm steam curls lazily above it.

You take the cup, feeling the gentle heat seep into your palms, and study him carefully.

“Thank you.”

Yeosang offers a small, almost imperceptible nod before settling into the chair opposite you. His eyes flick to the cup in your hands, then back to your face, as if gauging your reaction.

You take a slow sip, the tea’s subtle floral notes mingling with a hint of mint and lavender. It’s soothing—almost like a balm for the restless thoughts swirling inside you.

Your eyes wander around the study, taking in the heavy shelves lined with ancient books and the scattered scrolls resting on the desk. The quiet dignity of the room makes you wonder about the workings behind the scenes.

“Do all of you have a private office here?” you ask cautiously, your voice gentle as you search his face for an answer.

“I mean, given that this is Caius, I’m curious how the responsibilities are divided—do you each have your own space here to manage your duties?” The question slips out, driven by a mix of genuine curiosity and the subtle urge to understand more about the power dynamics within these walls.

Yeosang remains silent for a moment. The quiet stretches, and you can’t help but wonder if your presence is little more than an obligation—something to keep you from running away from this castle.

Then, slowly, he moves.

His hand lifts—not abrupt, not unsure, just… deliberate. Gentle.

Fingertips brushing against your cheek, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is feather-light, but it lands like a promise. His knuckles linger at your jaw for the briefest moment, warm and steady, before falling away—leaving behind a trail of heat and something you don’t dare name.

Your breath stutters.

You’re not sure why that single touch feels so intimate. So devastatingly kind. But it settles deep in your chest, like an anchor—something to hold onto in the quiet.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low and steady. “We all have one. It was passed down.”

His eyes meet yours, steady and sure, as if sharing a secret in the midst of the quiet study. In that moment, the castle doesn’t feel quite so cold or unfamiliar—like you’re beginning to glimpse the roots that hold this place together.

“You’ll be safe here,” he says quietly, his eyes steady on yours. “No one is allowed to enter—this place is off-limits. This room belongs solely to Satriya.”

“Oh—” The quiet settles again, thick and calming. Somehow, in this moment, you realize he’s the only comfort you can find when the weight of everything feels too heavy.

Then, without a word, he hands you the scroll he’d been writing.

You blink down at it, surprised. The parchment is thick, textured, the ink still slightly wet at the edges—evidence of how recently his hand had touched it. The lettering is sharp but elegant, like it’s been written with intention. With care.

“What’s this?” you ask, voice quiet.

“Read,” Yeosang says simply, leaning back in his chair.

You hesitate, then carefully unroll the scroll. Your eyes catch on the first line, and something in you stills.

The title is written in a language you don’t recognize—not immediately, at least. The script is unlike anything you’ve seen before: sweeping curves and sharp angles, inked with precision and purpose. Ancient. Almost melodic in appearance, like the letters themselves had once been sung instead of spoken.

“Lar wening.”

You sound it out slowly under your breath.

The words tug at something in the back of your mind—a story, maybe, or a dream long forgotten. It feels familiar in a way you can’t explain, like hearing a lullaby from a childhood you never had.

“What does it mean?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, eyes still tracing the ancient script on the parchment.

Yeosang doesn’t answer at first. Instead, he reaches beside him—calm, precise—and hands you a book. Your breath catches the second you see it.

It’s that book.

The one you had taken without asking. The one that he had taken from your arms, its pages unreadable, cloaked in a language you couldn’t decipher. Bound in worn, deep blue leather. The title is still there, etched in delicate silver lettering that shimmers in the light, untouched by time. The letters are archaic, curling like smoke, sharp at the ends like thorns. Beautiful. Foreign.

You look up at him, confused. But he only nods toward the scroll in your hands.

“Silent Wings,” he utters.

And that’s when it hits you.

The breath rushes from your lungs like you’ve been struck. Your hands tremble around the parchment as the realization sinks in, slow and staggering.

He’s translated it.

The whole thing.

Every page. Every word. He has taken that old, unreadable text—the one you had kept wondering about like some stolen secret—and poured time into it. Patience. Care. Not just copied, but translated. Word for word.

Your throat tightens. Your vision blurs at the edges.

“You… you translated it,” you say, disbelieving, like if you say it aloud it will make more sense.

Yeosang’s gaze doesn’t leave yours. Calm. Steady. His voice, when it comes, is quiet. Almost too gentle for how much it breaks something open in you.

“You said you wished you could read it,” he murmurs.

“So I made sure you could.”

You have no words.

Just a storm swelling in your chest—grief, gratitude, disbelief, something dangerously close to affection. All tangled up in a silence too big to name.

You look back down at the parchment, running your fingers over the ink like it might burn you. And maybe it does.

“It’s an old tongue,” he adds. “One only used in high Satriyan scripture and war treaties. Few outside the inner circles of our bloodlines can read it anymore.”

You glance back at the scroll, something like reverence creeping into your chest. “Why give it to me?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches you, his expression unreadable.

Finally, he says, “Because it should belong to you.”

The words hang in the air between you, simple but heavy—like a promise, or maybe a confession.

You feel the weight of everything you’ve been carrying—the walls you’ve built, the doubts you’ve nursed, the ache of feeling unseen—begin to crack, if only a little.

His eyes hold no expectation, no demand. Just quiet understanding, like he sees past the armor you wear and finds something worth holding onto beneath.

For a moment, the room feels warmer, less cold and distant. A fragile thread of something fragile and real stretches between you, delicate but unbreakable.

You want to say thank you, to say so much more. But the words catch in your throat, tangled with a sudden rush of hope and fear.

Instead, you just nod, clutching the scroll like it’s more than paper—like it’s a piece of a future you hadn’t dared imagine until now.

“Study,” Yeosang says softly, rising from his chair with a quiet finality.

You blink, watching him stand. For a moment, you feel a pang of surprise, like you’re not quite ready for him to leave—not yet.

“Where are you going?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, almost afraid of the answer.

He pauses, glancing toward the window as if weighing how much to share. “The summit is days away. I’m needed.”

His words hang in the room, distant and official—but all you can feel is the sudden emptiness where his presence had been. The steady calm he brought with him, the small warmth in the quiet corners of the study, feels like it’s being pulled away too soon.

You swallow hard, not wanting to show how much you wish he’d stay just a little longer. Your fingers tighten around the scroll, as if holding onto it could somehow keep him here.

Then, out of nowhere, he looks back at you, eyes softening, and says, “Same time tomorrow.”

The words hang between you, simple yet profound, like an unspoken promise that this moment isn’t the last—that you won’t be left alone in this cold castle after all.

You stare at him, your breath catching in your throat. “Same time tomorrow,” you repeat, tasting the hope wrapped inside those words.

And then, for a fleeting moment—quick and almost too fragile to hold—a thought slips through the storm inside you.

I want to make this work.

It isn’t a loud or certain feeling, more like a whisper, a small spark in the darkness. But it’s real.

And maybe, just maybe, this is your reason to stay.

Masterlist

fourteen | sixteen

A/n: taglist are open for the spin off here! you don't have to add yourself if you are already apart of the main new world taglist! im so sorry for the late update, ive been a mess recently. i'll start posting regularly in june since it will be my summer break and look forward to the first character to be published in kings! have a good day my loves

Taglist (CLOSED):

@pinkpearlstar @deltamoon666 @kyra1205 @hecateslittlewitchlingdumplingsyum @caratiny-latte @seongwars @halloweenbyphoebebridgers @angelqueendom

@ffenjoyerdazme @lostxxgirl @xh01bri @neemaxx @furfoxsake22 @Thejentheredhead @soulphoenix1618 @pixie0627

@laurtiny112 @innocygnet @the-first-mate @miniverse-zen @katyeongs @nuggiesnuggetdog04 @sweetmoonlight9 @staytinyluv @bluesiebirdie @kaqua @ateezaddict24 @bamdoe @kandy108 @pixie0627 @bunnii-dolls @kheartost @xlilehx @lalelol @Tiny2018 @salnovna @roryy95 @fairylover68 @meowmeeps @awkward-fucking-thing @blackandgreenandblue @moniesmoon @skteezcursed

[luckydraww]

Ashes

Fracture - Chapter 1

<<previous | M.List | Next>> Navi | intro i | intro ii | | Y/N intro

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Pairing: ot8 x Reader Word Count: 5.6k Chapter Warnings: PTSD, Survivor's Guilt, Mentions of character death, Verbal Harassment, Isolation, Panic, Dissociation, Emotional Supression, Self-Doubt, Unreliable Narrator (trauma informed). Synopsis: You navigate the newly-found discomfort that comes with being an outsider, haunted by trauma and loss. Tensions start rise as fresh wounds are poked at.

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The next morning…

The bed underneath your hands is far too stiff. Devoid of blankets, with only a flimsy cover, it feels just as apathetic as the facility. You miss the feeling of a proper bed, or a proper room. One unbothered by the constant checks from medical staff and the incessant scribbling of the scribes that pop in and out without warning.

The overpowering smell of medicinal herbs and tinctures sting your nose, as you stare at the bag the healer left on the table in your room. There’s several packets in it, consisting of different blends they think might help your insomnia. You hate the taste. You hate how they cloud your mind. How they make memories of the fallen slip away through your fingers like sand.

A quick glance around the room reveals nothing new, it’s the same dull room you’ve been staying in for the past two weeks. At least it has some decor, unlike the isolation room you were originally placed in when you were found. A flower vase sits on the table side bed, holding a handful of little blue flowers with yellow centers. They’d be gorgeous, if they weren’t already half wilted. A petal detaches, driftung pitifully to the table. 

A knock at the door. Your eyes snap up and away from the bag to it, only to see the doorknob already turning. You tense up, hands twitching as you instinctively reach for your dagger—only to remember it’s not on your person. You twist and reach for the small vase instead, only to freeze when you recognize the voice that greets you.

“Planning on using that against your Wing Leader of all people?” 

You finally glance over to see your Wing Leader, Hongjoong. His expression is relatively neutral as he glances you over, though his eyes seem to pierce your soul. It’s like he’s logging every little reaction you make in his mind for future reference. 

“Get up, grab your bag. I trust the healer already went over your discharges with you.” He says, hand still on the doorknob. It’s not a question. 

He doesn’t wait for you to get up, already turning on his heel to leave the room. You quickly get up, reaching for the bag full of herbal mixes and slinging it across your back as you follow him out into the hallway. The mage lights in the room slowly dim, and you find yourself falling in step behind him as he heads towards— wherever it is you’re going.

“You’re being reassigned to Squad 3. The paperwork was finished yesterday but medical wanted you to stay one more night before discharge. The items that the recovery team were able to find have been sent to your new room already, though I’d double check to see if anything’s missing. Your room will be on the second floor with the other cadets in your new squad. You haven’t been cleared for much past basic training exercises, and Dàn is still grounded until she’s cleared—“

He cuts himself off when you let out a scoff. Dàn has to be cleared for flight maneuvers? Since when did they get to decide what you do or don’t do with your own dragon?

“Is there something wrong, cadet?”

“No sir.” Comes your quick reply, rolling off your tongue before you can make things worse.

Hongjoong stops and stares at you for a moment, before continuing down the hall and out the door towards the bridge that connects the healers quadrant to the rider quadrant across the canyon. His entire demeanor is distant. This is the wingleader in his element. Cold. Efficient.

There’s only a second of silence before he comments.

“The tension in your shoulders would suggest otherwise.” He comments, as you step into the hallway. Add on observant.

The hallway has small windows that line the walls, letting you look out and down to the valley below. The thud of Hongjoong’s footfalls ahead of you keep you moving forward, though your eyes are trained to the distance below. It’s sunny outside, and the valley below is relatively green and lush. Normally, you’d be able to appreciate the beauty, the serenity the valley and its view can bring. However, today is not the day. 

Instead, a swirling of a chaotic mess of apprehension, anger, loneliness, and grief eat away at your stomach. You miss your squad mates, but you can’t get the visions of that day out of your head. A stray flower growing off the cliff side—yellow and vibrant— seems to taunt you. 

“Can you think any louder, little one? I almost didn’t hear you.” Comes a snarky, slightly irritated comment from Dàn.

“You decide to comment on that after being basically MIA for the past three days?” You counter. 

“I had matters to attend to.” Comes her cryptic reply.

The cool, pearlescent bond between you and Dàn had felt stifled the past few days. Where the bond typically felt like clear, silvery-blue water, it instead was a dried up creek. A trickle instead of a steady stream.

“Right.” You think at her bitterly, hoping to portray even a fraction of your hurt and anger.

“It was not a slight against you.” She growls in your head, her own irritation reverbing in your skull. “I am simply covering my bases. You were safe.”

You cut the connection off, not wanting to hear her lecture for today. She could likely crash through your barriers if she pleased, though it seems today she’s more lenient than normal. You can feel her hovering at the edges of your mind, before her presence ultimately fades to the normal hum. 

“— and he’ll be the room to your left. I expect to see you on the mat later today. I’ll ensure you have a sparring opponent, since you were likely left off the roster today dud to your stay in the infirmary.” Hongjoong’s voice grabs your attention again. He looks at you expectantly, awaiting a reply. You must’ve missed something—not that you’re willing to admit.

You nod, trying to be as believable as you can be, as he leads you to the dorm rooms for second years and up.

“This one’s yours. If there’s any issues, bring it up with your squad leader. Also,“ he reaches into his pocket, handing you a patch. “Swap out your signet patch for now.”

You turn the patch over to look at it, noticing it’s the same compass design he wears on his own jacket. You furrow your brows, glancing at him silently in question.

“Your signet has been escalated to tier three. Classified.” He explains smoothly.

As you open your mouth to ask why, he holds a hand up and shakes his head.

“I also believe that keeping you off of training is poor judgment from the medical staff, seeing as you’ve already been off training for the past two weeks, so you are going to sparring today. I have a meeting to get to with the other leadership, though, but I trust you’ll find the training room just fine considering you’re a second year. Just make sure you swap out the patches. I expect to see you after lunch, on the mats.” He says, before whipping around and heading towards the exit. The thuds of his boots against the floors fades away slowly as he strides away, leaving you with more questions than answers. 

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Your new room is bare. Functional, but lifeless.

It has the basic furniture, a desk, chair, bed, armoire, and bedside table. A small mage light sits on the bedside table. The walls are bare, save for the standard issue clock seen in every cadet’s room.

The bed is simple, but notably the blankets have changed. The color is different, navy instead of black. A small, inconsequential change, but it unsettles you nonetheless. They may have just run out of the black blankets when they were assigning you a new room, but you already miss your old blankets. On the bed are several standard issue sets of folded leisure wear.

You turn your attention to the armoire, opening its creaky wooden doors to peer inside. Several sets of your flight leathers sit inside, though you note that the squad patch on all your uniforms has been replaced with a different number. You feel dizziness take hold as you stare at the flame with a “III” embroidered inside, instead of the “I” you’ve known the past two years. 

The floor spins. It’s somehow too loud, too quiet, too fast and slow at the same time as your breathing picks up. 

Laughter. Smiles. Celebration. Tears. Pain. Anguish.

Memories of your fallen squad mates threaten to overwhelm you in the moment, and your spiral is only relieved when you realize you’re digging your nails into your palms.

“Little one.” Comes Dàn’s concerned voice in your head. Her constant presence seems to flood you momentarily, as her vigilance pokes at the edges of your mental walls.

You let out a shaky breath, glancing down at your hands. In. Out. In. Out. You take a moment to try and calm your breathing, before glancing down at the patch still in your hands. You still need to put it on your uniforms.

Except, you can’t get them out your head. You try your best to block it out, shoving it deep down, but it somehow comes back stronger. Your chest feels heavy as a creeping sensation of dread and fear climbs up, threatening to choke you, rob you of your voice.

“Little One.” Comes Dàn’s voice again, much sterner than earlier. “your breath stutters. Focus.”

You close your eyes, focusing on the shimmery silvery-blue thread that connects you and Dàn. It’s hard, and you find yourself fighting off the memories and echoes of your old squad’s final moments.

“You’re reacting to shadows, not steel. You are spiraling. Anchor yourself.”

“We were fine, Dàn. I—we were laughing. I looked straight at them. They looked at me like—like I wasn’t—“ You respond, but Dàn cuts you off again.

“They were compromised. That is not your fault.”

“But—“

“No. They were taken by something vile. You cannot mourn what they were in the end— cannot let it haunt you. Not when it wasn’t truly them.”

You feel a lump rise in your throat, as you clench your jaw in an attempt to ground yourself. You feel pitiful, losing out over ghosts of all things. A rider reduced to a coward in seconds, simply because of a patch.

“Lean on me. Endure. Remembering the dead keeps them here. Let them rest, little one. Do not let the darkness drag you down to join them. You can worry about the useless patch later.”

You exhale, shakily backing up to sit on the edge of the bed, sinking into the soft mattress. Your hands grip the signet patch in your hands harshly, but your breathing evens slightly. After a few moments, the worst of the feeling ebbs, leaving you tired but slightly more composed. Dàn goes back to being silent, though her presence is still felt.

“You should get some rest. Lunch hour is soon, and afterwards you’re expected on the mat for sparring. Don’t let your emotions cloud your abilities.”

You nod, putting the patch down on the pile of folded clothes on the edge of the bed, before moving it all onto the bedside table. You pull back the blanket, sliding in under it and yanking it up close to your chest. You lay your head down for a quick nap, unsure if sleep will bring peace—or ghosts of familiar faces.

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The waking world calls you back far sooner than you’d like.

For a fleeting moment, it’s blissful. Then reality comes crashing back down. The sheets are navy, not black. There’s no little carving on the headboard. Not yours.

You take the opportunity to shove your heart into a little box before it can overtake you. You are not weak, you remind yourself.

Blankets fall off the bed as it dips under your weight when you shift to sit up. You could care less, as you get up and stretch the ache in your neck and back. Must’ve slept awkwardly.

You reach for the armoire. Your hand pauses to hover over the handle, frozen in hesitation. Then, gripping it with more force than necessary, you open the door to snatch the first set of leathers within reach.

Your eyes catch the silver stars — second year. An open eye, encircled by a starburst. Your old signet patch, tier two. Vague enough to hide what you actually see. Above those two— A winged emblem with a two emblazoned on it, your name and rank nestled right under it. Cdt. L/N Y/N, Second Wing. Finally, a flame for your sections Except it’s wrong. You stare at it, as if glaring might burn away the “III” and bring back what’s supposed to be there. It doesn’t.

Throwing the leathers on your bed, you reach for the new signet patch sitting on the bedside table. The patch is a simple compass, though its meaning implies—to most cadets at least—that you’re likely far more dangerous than you seem. A frown graces your face as you start to pick at your old patch, ripping the stitching off to remove it. Your movements are a bit agitated, though from what you can’t tell. Once the final piece of string is pulled and discarded, you press the patch against the leather, trying not to think about its implications. Changed. Watched. Dangerous.

Once you deem it passable, you throw the old patch onto your table, and start to shrug on the uniform. You give yourself a cursory glance, ensuring it’s on properly, before reaching into the bag of things the recovery team had found. After a moment of rustling, your hand finally meets steel—your daggers. You pull them free, the cool weight grounding you. Familiar. Steady. You slide them into their sheaths. 

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Finally feeling somewhat ready, you reach for the door and head out the room to the food hall. The walk there, the hallways are relatively devoid of people aside from the occasional cadet passing by. It gives you a moment to mentally prepare.

Reaching the door, your hand rests against the smooth wood as you steady yourself. Here goes nothing.

Opening the door, you’re met with the sounds of a busy hall. Cadets chattering, sharing meals, memories. The sound of something clatters to the floor, followed by a high pitched laugh. It’s overwhelming—but not nearly as much as the crisscrossing filaments you see between everyone. They shimmer with every color under the sun, creating an intricate spiderweb over the entire room. 

Blinking your eyes rapidly, you will the colorful threads to dim. The faintest of outlines of them linger on the edges of your vision, but it’s much less overwhelming now.

You turn your attention to the side of the room, picking up one of the trays as you round the corner. The food line up seems lackluster today, you end up grabbing one of the dry turkey sandwiches. A cup of water finds itself onto your tray, along with a mush medley of vegetables. 

Your feet steer you to the table you used to share with your squadmates on instinct. The lack of people sitting there wrenches something in you painfully. This is wrong. There’s no laughter or life here. The table is too clean and untouched. There’s no messy crumbs, or spilled water. No papers flung haphazardly to the side by your squad leader.

And yet? You still sit. Almost in denial, like you expect one of them to pop up and say it was all a joke. A hand on your shoulder, a tray dropping loudly next to you. Anything. Where are they? Why aren’t they here yet? 

A lump forms in your throat as you stare down at your food. You’re suddenly not hungry, if you ever were. The sandwich, normally unappetizing, looks downright sickening. Your eyes sting, and you can’t stop your vision from blurring as unshed tears gather. Biting your tongue, you reach to at least take a sip of the water. The cup is paper and flimsy, while the contents are borderline metallic. The taste has you setting the cup down again, unwilling to take another sip. Hands grip it tightly, and you feel it crush in your hand, water overflowing. It drips down your hands and fingers, onto the table, but all you can think of is the memory it evokes. Blood. Warm, and horribly sticky. Bile rises in your throat, but you push it back down. Just an hour. You didn’t need to eat anyways.

That’s what you tell yourself, but every minute feels like an eternity. You feel like you’re stuck in a bubble, wanting to scream. Even if you did—no one would hear. Or care. 

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Lunch was more performative than anything. You managed a bite of your sandwich, but it makes you feel queasy. The table drank more of your water than you did, the liquid having seeped into the wood and floor underneath. Most of your tray ended up in the trash.

Gathering your things, which really isn’t much, you get up to head to the training room. As you exit the lunch hall, a handful of cadets stand hovering just outside. Mostly first years in squad 2, their faces and names evade you. A glance at them reveals that they’re staring straight back at you. One of them leans in to another, whispering something in their ear, causing a gasp to escape as the first year glances back at you. Ignorong them, you hurry past them without a second glance.

Entering the training room, you notice most of the second years in squad two and three are already there. Your eyes dart over the groups, letting the threads flood back into your vision for a moment. The vividness of your new squad’s threads hit you hard. Vibrant reds and yellows, blues and greens. It’s almost intimidating, how closely knit they are. Their threads weave together in a complex net, overlapping and shifting constantly. Squad two’s on the other side of the room look dull in comparison.

You stand awkwardly by the entrance, unsure if you should approach—until a a head looks up and away from the group at you. Warm brown eyes meet yours, and a smile breaks out across his face. Yunho. Your new Squad Leader.

“Over here!” He calls, beckoning you over. “We’re about to start.”

You square your shoulders and walk over before the anxiety can say otherwise. The rest of the group parts to let your through, though most of them already look less than pleased by your arrival. 

One of them eyes you up and down—as if searching for something. A taller cadet, next to him smiles at you, but the smile is more taunting than welcoming. 

Yunho pats a hand on your shoulder, and attempts to pull you closer to look at the list in his hands. You stiffen, sidestepping away to create space again. The man seems utterly unbothered by the cold shoulder, and just angles the paper for you to see.

“Today you’ll be paired up with Jongho—“ he starts, but a scoff cuts him off.

“No. I want to go against her. Me and Jongho can switch.”

Yunho looks up from the paper, smile faltering for a second. You can practically see his mind rapidly sorting through thoughts as he shakes his head at the cadet.

“No. I was asked to pair her against Jongho, Woo.”

The cadet—who’s name clicks as Wooyoung—crosses his arms.

“By who? Because last I checked, you’re the one that makes the spar matchups. Professor could give less of a shit about second years pairing.”

Yunho shakes his head again.

“No. That’s final. If we have time after matches, maybe, but-“

“Good,” Wooyoung interjects, his eyes finding yours, “Jongho, you better kick her ass.”

The cadet he looks at as he says that—Jongho— shrugs. He looks utterly unbothered. Either he doesn’t care what Wooyoung thinks, or had that much faith in his abilities.

Yunho turns to you again, and claps his hands together. 

“So— Y/N, correct? This is Squad Three. I’m the Squad Leader, so if you have any questions or concerns feel free to bring them up to me!” He starts, beaming.

As he introduces the squad, you can’t help but feel a bit removed. He refers to each member so warmly, the threads between them practically hum with unspoken devotion. When it comes to you, however, there’s nothing. No bond. No thread. The way he refers to the squad as separate from you rubs you the wrong way. Like his personality is directly at odds with how he truly feels. The Squad. No welcome. No acknowledgement that he’s your squad leader now.

“Anyways, this is Jongho, he’ll be your sparring partner for today.” 

You glance at the cadet Yunho gestures to again. His expression is neutral, but he regards you with mild curiosity. His eyes dart down to your patches, where his eyes linger. Likely the flame patch marking your new squad number. That is, until you realize he’s staring at the signet patch. The compass. Unknown. Dangerous. His face for the briefest of moments looks wary, before it’s back to unreadable.

“If you need me, I’ll be sparring with San. Wooyoung?”

Wooyoung glances back to his squad leader.

“You’ll be sparring with Mingi. No funnny business like last time. Understood?” Yunho asks.

Wooyoung rolls his eyes, but mumbles out the faintest “yes sir”.

“Good. Yeosang, you’ll be on standby babysitting. We’ll rotate out whoever finishes their spars first.”

The quiet one in the back—who’s been staring at you this entire time— nods. You assume that’s Yeosang, based on his and Yunho’s reaction.  As your gaze shifts back to Yunho, you do a double take. A single stripe falls just below Yeosang’s name plate. 

Executive officer. 

You didn’t realize this squad had one.

When your eyes wander back up to his face, he has the faintest smirk on his face, but it quickly dissipates.

“Right. We all know the rules. Pick a mat, and get started.“

The squad disperses, picking mats and laughing while you’re left standing awkwardly next to Jongho. He waits for everyone else to pick mats, before zeroing in on a open one. He nods his head towards it silently, indicating where to go.

Getting into position comes easily. You’ve drilled these hundreds of times before. The room sounds die down as you all wait for the start call. Trying to gauge the man before you, you’re only met with the same unreadable expression. 

“Start!” Yeosang calls out.

The sound of the other scuffles starting echoes through the room. Squeaks of shoes against the floor, sounds of cadets dodging and weaving. Yet, Jongho doesn’t move immediately. He meets your eyes for a moment, dark brown, unreadable. Then it sharpens into something more. Focus. There’s no arrogance. No taunts, no feints. Just calm, unshakeable readiness. Healthy caution.

It rattles you more than if he had underestimated you.

You take the first move, finally breaking the eye contact. Where you’re good, he’s great. His moves are clean. Efficient. He’s infuriatingly composed, and moves as if he can almost see your thought process. He parries every move, counters every strike. There’s no hesitation, just calculation and unwavering determination. 

It only takes one wrong move—one wrong misstep. Your legs are swept out from underneath you, and you’re face-first on the mat below. His hand is square in the middle of your back, the rest of him pinning your lower half down.

You tap the mat, indicating you yield, cheeks burning with humiliation. First day with the squad, and you’re barely holding your own. 

”Good form.” He offers hesitantly, before he’s leaning back. 

You nod, your voice stuck in your throat. You’ve never been beat that fast. You don’t think you’ve seen any other cadet tap out at that speed for that matter. You don’t offer a thanks, your pride too wounded already. Sitting up, and taking a breath, you rub where you got kicked on the leg.

“Guess surviving doesn’t always mean you know how to fight.” A voice rings out across the room, drawing everyone’s attention. 

Wooyoung.

He’s standing off to the side of his mat, arms crossed. His hair is messy, the tie holding it back seemingly having snapped during his own spar with Mingi. He tilts his head, as a smile spread across his face, but there’s something darker to it. Something sharp. Suspicious. 

“Cat got your tongue? Or are you always this quiet? Is that why you lost your squad? Because you don’t know how to make proper call outs on the field?” He goads, smile widening.

He makes his way over to your mat before Yeosang can stop him. He gets into fighting stance, eyeing you. There’s a dangerous sparkle in his eye.

“Or maybe you were too much of a coward to step in and save them?” He adds on. His smile is twisted as he sees you get into your own stance across from him.

Your pulse quickens, but not in fear. It’s anger. You’ll be damned if you let some pompous asshole of a cadet say you didn’t try. You’ll cry about it later. Right now? You need to get your frustration out.

The match starts before Yeosang can step in and stop you two. It’s less a spar and more an outlet for both of you.

Wooyoung moves like he’s intentionally trying to trip you up. Feints designed to frustrate more than gain an edge. Punches that are a bit too hard for a friendly spar. He’s grappling you, trying to throw you off balance. Every hit he lands that makes you flinch just makes him smile more, like he’s proving a point.

“You move pretty well for a someone who ran from the scene.” He quips during a close exchange.

Anger and sadness flood your being, and you find yourself pulling punches less and less. Your hits are more by emotion than proper technique. 

“Careful Y/N, losing your cool?” He smirks, ducking under one of your swings to make a lunge at your lower half. 

You manage to side step for a moment, reel yourself in, and defend. He knocks you off balance momentarily, but you plant your foot when it lands. Managing to kick him off and away, you re-center yourself. With a few well timed hits, you back him up towards the edge of the mat.

A grapple, a twist to his arm. He’s slightly off balance and on the defensive—he’s not smiling now.

Then, you feel it.

Heat.

You glance down to see his hand is glowing red. In the moment you falter, he beaks free, grabbing for you with the hand.

“Cheap.” You spit out, dodging to the side. His momentum sends him sailing forward to the other end of the map.

“Maybe,” he says, grinning again. “Or maybe I don’t buy the whole survivor act.“ 

He’s not even trying to conceal his signet use anymore, when he lunges at you again. Heat kicks up your side as a hand connects to your armor. A char mark is left, and the smell of burnt leather hits your nostrils.

The world shifts. 

Mirror images of yourself and Wooyoung appear everywhere. The floor tilts yet stays still. The walls and mat warp constantly. It’s sickening—like floating and falling all at once. 

Wooyoung stumbles, caught off guard by the sudden change.

Yeosang stands amid the mess, completely unbothered by the constant warping and shifting.

“That’s enough.” growls a voice, low and firm.

A moment later, the world turns back to normal. For a beat, no one moves. 

“You know well what you did wrong, Wooyoung. Me and you are talking after this.” Yeosang says firmly, his eyes icily staring down the cadet. 

Wooyoung scoffs and turns away. He mutters something under his breath, before stalking back to the mat where he originally was with Mingi.

You don’t move or say anything—just glance down silently at your armor. A very clear hand-shaped scorch mark is apparent, a charred divot where his hand connected to you for a moment. It’s still warm.

Yeosang watches you a second longer than necessary, before turning away.

══════♤══════♧══════♡══════♢══════

The rest of the training is much less intense, though you do still catch Wooyoung occasionally glare at you across the room.

Following the match against him, you notice you’re slower. Sloppier even. Every mistake you make, you fixate on. 

If you were faster, could you have stopped your squad from destroying itself? If you were stronger, could you have fought off the first one to be infected? 

“Their deaths were not caused by you.” A voice in your head cuts in.

You ignore Dàn, feeling too lost in your head to listen to reason. Your next strike to Yunho—that’s right. You’re in your last soar of the day—misses again. 

Yunho furrows his eyebrows, confused at how you miss that easy of an opening. 

Your next move is a little too slow, and he parries it effortlessly.

He stops moving all together, sighing.

“I think that’s enough for today. You’re still recovering.” He says, backing off.

You lower your hands in confusion. 

“You’re not completely off medical restrictions yet. You’ve had enough. I’m calling it.” He repeats.

You blink for a moment, mind blank, before straightening yourself up. Nodding stiffly, you look around the room. Everyone’s stopped to stare at you, like you’re some kind of show. 

Weakness gets you singled out—and you’ve just been dismissed. 

Yunho hums, before pointing at a bench near the exit.

“You can stay over there until the block is over. Maybe observing will help.” He says. 

There’s no outright malice in his words, but they still sting. Observe. As in—watch and learn because you’re doing horribly. Watch and learn how to actually fight. Watch and learn how to actually protect yourself, so you can protect us.

You can’t tell if those thoughts are your own being projected—or if they’re plausibly what’s going on in his head. Either way, you defeatedly sit yourself down.

The bench is worn smooth, and creaks under your weight. You watch half-heartedly as the others spar. Without you in the mix, everyone gets an even turn. Six squad mates. Three duos. You’re the outlier.

They all work so well together. Each member seems to understand the other in a way you could never hope to comprehend. And then there’s you. A piece in a machine that never belonged. You’ve already gotten one of them in trouble with his executive officer—maybe you are the problem. Who’s to say you didn’t do something to piss Wooyoung off?

Creak.

Someone else sits next to you.

The scent hits you first. Green tea, sandalwood, and soemthing clean. Almost floral. A quiet kind of calm. You don’t glance over.

Not until the voice speaks up, at least

“Is there a reason you’re not sparring with the others, cadet?” 

The voice is smooth. Warm, measured. One that doesn’t need to be raised to be heard.

Seonghwa.

You tense up. Not out of fear, or wariness—but because it’s him. His presence right now isn’t loud, or brash, or energetic. It’s off putting because it’s the opposite. Calm. Composed. It’s the presence of someone who’s reading you better than you could ever read him.

“I was dismissed. Squad Leader cited medical reasons.” You reply.

He glances at the mats, humming softly. 

You chance a glance at him finally. He’s alert, but relaxed. The mentality of someone always ready to step in, but not high-strung. 

“I saw. However—you’re not injured. So, I’m asking again. Why aren’t you sparring with the others, cadet?” 

“I think… that I shouldn’t be over there. I make things worse.” You say softly.

“Worse? You think your presence makes things worse?”

You don’t respond—but you don’t need to. Your silence is far more telling than any words could be.

Seongwha sits still, watching as San throws Wooyoung to the floor with a loud whoop.

“The squad has been through everything together. Been together since parapet—“ he starts

Dread hits you in your stomach. You know. You had that too. 

“What you see between them—“ he gestures broadly to the area they’re all in, “wasn’t built overnight. Failure, mistakes, loss—it’s what bound them together. You won’t match that overnight, or anytime soon.” 

There’s no softness to his voice, but there’s no malice either. Just unwavering conviction.

“I’m not here to coddle you,” he continues, “but I also won’t stand by and watch you be useless to the squad because you’re feeling blue. You’re a rider, not infantry. If you’re unfit to spar? Say so. If you are, act like it."

His words are unapologetic. Direct. They sting, but they’re necessary. 

You meet his eyes finally. For a brief second, you see it: Caution. Not unkindness—but a leaders wariness, tempered by experience. He doesn’t explicitly trust you, especially not with the squad he originates from—but he’s willing to give you the chance. The briefest look of relief crosses his face, though you think you may be searching for something that isn't actually there.

“I’ll be back on the mats tomorrow. Ready.” You say.

He nods his head, accepting it, before standing.

“Good. Tomorrow? Act like someone who deserves a place here.”

He walks off to speak to your squad leader without another word. Like he had only stopped to tie his shoe, or fit in a quick stretch. 

You’re alone again—but you don’t feel as invisible. Even if the burdens still weigh on your shoulders.

══════♤══════♧══════♡══════♢══════

luckydraww © 2025 - all rights reserved to luckydraww. Do not steal, plagiarize, or translate any of my work without prior permission.

Taglist: @euphoricem

[leirastar]

new world | chapter 10

Pairing: Ot8 Ateez x reader AU: fantasy AU | stranger -> mates Summary: A tragic accident left you unable to use your wings and, with that, claimed your father's life, leaving you in the care of your noble uncle. In Hala, a house of eight kingdoms, each boasting its own wonders, you never imagined that amidst the pain, you would also fall—this time, in love. Word Count: 2.8k | 12 minutes A/n: told you, you wouldn't wait that long. Enjoy this very angsty chapter. Warning: betrayal, physical pain, mentions of death and immortality, conflict

Yunho’s jaw tightened at your response, his fingers twitching at his sides. The room, once filled with murmured arguments, now held only silence, thick and suffocating. You could feel the weight of their collective gazes pressing down on you, each man studying your expression, waiting for your reaction.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to remain still even as your legs threatened to buckle beneath you. The flickering firelight cast deep shadows across their faces, emphasizing the tension that lay thick in the air. You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process what you had just heard.

Then, from the stillness, a voice emerged—smooth, edged with amusement.

“Well, this is unfortunate.”

The man in a black velvet jacket adorned with intricate gold embroidery stepped forward. The deep burgundy lapels, edged with gold piping, were richly decorated with gold filigree and pink gemstone embellishments, with delicate chains and beads draping elegantly across his chest. The embroidery, woven with floral motifs and shimmering gold thread, glinted effortlessly in the light. Around his neck, you noticed a phoenix pendant necklace resting against the fabric, its design intricate and gleaming. His sharp eyes gleamed as he regarded you, his expression unreadable.

“I was rather enjoying the secrecy.”

Yunho’s wings twitched, feathers ruffling in agitation. “Not now, Wooyoung.” His voice was clipped, barely restrained.

“No more lies, Yunho.”

Yunho clenched his jaw, his gaze flickering between you and the others. Then, slowly, he nodded. “You deserve to know,” he admitted, his voice quiet yet firm. “But not here.”

He turned to the others, his wings flexing slightly. “Leave us.”

A pause.

Then, the man in the emerald cloak moved first. The serpent-shaped pin on his shoulder gleamed subtly in the firelight as he turned, his sharp gaze lingering on you for a fraction longer than necessary before he strode out.

The tall man in light blue, who you briefly heard as Mingi, and the other in the golden tunic, Jongho, exchanged a glance before following, though not without a lingering look of warning toward him. The man in crimson scoffed under his breath but eventually left as well, his displeasure evident in the way he stalked out.

And then—silence.

Just you and him.

The moment the door clicked shut, he let out a slow breath and ran a hand through his damp hair. He looked exhausted—worn down by something far greater than the conversation you had overheard.

“I never meant for you to find out like this,” he said, voice laced with something unreadable.

“But I did.” Your fingers curled at your sides. “And now you have no choice.”

A ghost of a humorless smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “No,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I don’t.”

You took a step closer.

“Then tell me.”

Yunho studied you for a moment before speaking.

“Have you heard of the Primordials, Y/N?”

The question made your breath hitch. You knew of them—gods, essentially, who had blessed Hala and gifted Aetherions with wings. Stories whispered over candlelight during leading strings, tales woven into the fabric of history. The kings were said to be their descendants, though their lineage stretched back into legend.

“Briefly.”

Yunho nodded. “The Primordials are our ancestors. They created Hala, shaped its core. That much, you already know.” He exhaled. “But more than that, they are the Core. And where there is power, there is always greed.”

His voice dipped lower.

“They understood that Hala’s survival required balance. So, they gifted the Core to us.”

Your heart pounded.

“These kings… we are not just rulers, Y/N.” Yunho’s gaze was unwavering, his voice steady yet heavy with the weight of truth. “We are the Cores of Hala—the very heartbeats of this world. The rivers flow because our essence sustains them, the winds rise and fall with our breath, the flames burn because we exist. We are the pulse that keeps Hala alive. Without us, the balance fractures. Without us—” his voice dipped, something unspoken lingering in the space between you,

“—Hala is nothing but dust and silence.”

He stepped closer, reaching for your hand. Slowly, gently, he placed your palm against the mark on his forehead. It wasn’t until then that you noticed his mark had begun to glow, its faint light flickering beneath your palm. The moment your skin met the glowing imprint, a pulse thrummed beneath your fingertips—steady, warm, alive. It was like shattering electricity, crumbling from the tips of your fingers and coursing through your veins, leaving a lingering hum beneath your skin. You barely had time to process the sensation before you caught the way Yunho exhaled softly, a quiet hum escaping him at the touch.

“They knew their purpose,” he murmured. “We are Hala’s heartbeat—guardians of its balance. Our existence is eternal, but that power demands vigilance.”

You swallowed hard.

“But the kings… they’re supposed to be immortal,” Yunho said, his voice quiet but firm.

“But even immortals aren’t free from loneliness,” he continued, his gaze darkening. “That’s why we were given a gift.” He exhaled slowly before finishing, his next words heavy with meaning.

His fingers tightened slightly around yours.

“The gift of a mate.”

Your breath caught. “What do you mean?”

His eyes held yours, unwavering.

“It means we were given someone to share our immortal life with,” he murmured.

His fingers tightened around yours, his voice softer now—almost reverent. “The gods have blessed us with you.”

A shiver ran down your spine, a mix of disbelief and something far deeper—something that curled in your chest, sharp and overwhelming. Your heart pounded against your ribs, the weight of his words sinking into your bones, wrapping around you like an unshakable truth.

“And it means that you…” he exhaled, his gaze never leaving yours, “you are also the Core.”

The weight of his words slammed into you.

“And if you die, we die with you.” Yunho’s voice was steady, but there was something in his eyes—something raw.

“And if we die… Hala dies with us.”

The words struck you like a physical blow.

Your breath came in short, uneven gasps. The room suddenly felt too small, the fire’s warmth suffocating rather than comforting. Your fingers twitched against Yunho’s skin before instinct took over—you yanked your hand back as if burned.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “That’s… no.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears, drowning out everything but the weight of his words. The Core. You were the Core. The truth dug its claws into you, but you fought against it, struggled to push it away, to deny it. It was too much. Too vast. Too impossible.

Yunho’s gaze remained steady, unwavering in the face of your disbelief.

“You’re wrong.” Your voice wavered, unsteady as you took a step back. “I—I can’t be. I’m just—” Your breath hitched. “I’m just a healer.”

But even as you spoke, you felt it—that pulse, that impossible current still humming beneath your skin. The sensation of shattering electricity hadn’t faded; it lingered, thrumming in the marrow of your bones. You had felt it before. You had seen his mark glow before.

You hadn’t been blind after all.

A shaky exhale escaped your lips. You pressed your fingers to your temples, as if you could push away the truth—force it out of your skull before it consumed you whole.

Yunho didn’t move closer, but he didn’t look away either.

“I know it’s a lot,” he said quietly, “but it’s the truth.”

You laughed—a sharp, breathless sound, nothing close to humor. “The truth?” Your chest rose and fell rapidly. “The truth is that you’re telling me my life isn’t my own. That if I die, you die. That if you die—” Your voice broke. “Hala dies with you.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” you whispered.

Yunho didn’t. He couldn’t.

And that, more than anything, made your blood run cold.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, drowning out the flickering fire, the distant voices beyond the door, even the steady rise and fall of Yunho’s breath. You took another step back, but your body felt sluggish, weighed down by the truth pressing against your ribs.

“I can’t—” The words stuck to your throat, a strangled sound escaping instead.

Yunho’s gaze was locked onto you, steady and unyielding, as if he expected this reaction—as if he had already prepared himself for your denial.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you whispered, hands trembling at your sides. “I didn’t ask to be part of this… this bond. I didn’t ask to be the Core, or to be tied to you, or to—” Your breath hitched.

To hold the fate of Hala in your hands.

Yunho exhaled slowly, his wings shifting behind him. “I know.”

The simplicity of his answer made you freeze.

“I know,” he repeated, voice softer this time. “You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t choose it.” A pause. “Neither did we.”

Your breath stilled.

“We were born into this,” he continued, his golden eyes dark with something unreadable. “None of us had a choice. Not in being kings. Not in bearing the Core.” He hesitated, his next words softer. “Not in being bound to you.”

The confession struck deep.

Something inside you twisted—resentment, fear, disbelief, understanding. It wasn’t just you trapped in this fate.

It was them, too.

You clenched your jaw, forcing down the storm of emotions clawing at your chest. “And if I refuse?” The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Yunho didn’t flinch. “You can’t.”

The finality in his voice sent a chill down your spine.

The silence that followed was deafening. The fire crackled, the faint scent of burning wood thick in the air. A wave of emotions churned within you—shock, confusion, and something darker. Betrayal. You lifted your head slightly, your gaze finding Yunho.

Your mind raced through every moment you had shared with him—the laughter in the cottage, the quiet strolls through the village, the stolen conversations in the garden, the warmth of his presence in your home.

So many times.

So many moments where he could have told you the truth, where he could have trusted you. But he hadn’t.

“You knew,” you said, your voice trembling with anger and hurt. “You knew who you were. Who they were.”

You turned sharply, jabbing a finger toward the door—the very door behind which you knew they were waiting, listening in silence.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

Yunho’s face hardened, his wings shifting slightly behind him. “I did what I thought was necessary,” he said firmly, though there was a crack in his resolve.

“Necessary?” you snapped, your voice rising. “You let me stumble into this blind, without even a hint of the truth! I trusted you, Yunho!”

“You let me think I was safe,” you said, your voice breaking as tears welled in your eyes. “But all along, I was in the middle of something I don’t even understand.”

“No.” Your voice broke, trembling under the weight of the truth unraveling before you. The betrayal cut deeper with every second, the edges sharp and relentless. Your words hung heavy in the air, final and unyielding. The raw anguish in your voice sent a visible crack through Yunho’s composed exterior. His wings drooped slightly, and his gaze dropped to the floor, unable to meet yours.

It made Yunho’s heart break.

“No, this can’t be true.” You took a step back, shaking your head as if trying to push away the weight of their words. “I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t agree to any of this!”

“Please,” Yunho said softly, his voice pleading, reaching out to you. “I never wanted this to happen like this. I—”

But you recoiled from his outstretched hand, the sting of his deception still fresh. “You should have told me,” you snapped, your tone rising with every word. “You should have given me a choice!”

“I was trying to protect you,” Yunho said, his tone urgent, almost desperate.

“Protect me?” you snapped. “By lying to me? By keeping me in the dark?” You turned toward the door, your chest heaving as anger and hurt consumed you. “I’m leaving. I can’t do this. Not with you.”

You needed space. Air. Something to make this stop.

“Wait! Y/N!” Yunho’s voice cracked, desperation weaving through every syllable as you reached for the door. “Please, just listen to me!”

His wings flared slightly— his action made your breath catch. You hesitated for a fraction of a second, but your resolve remained firm. You couldn’t stay—not after everything they had just revealed. Your hand tightened on the doorframe, your breath uneven as panic and confusion battled for control within you.

You pulled the door open, only to find yourself stepping into another vast chamber. Unlike the dimly lit room behind you, this one was grand, a private study bathed in soft candlelight. Ornate bookshelves lined the walls, stretching high toward the domed ceiling, their spines glinting gold and deep emerald under the flickering glow. A massive, intricately carved desk sat at the far end, papers and maps scattered across its surface, as though abandoned mid-discussion.

The kings were there.

Some stood, silent and unmoving, their gazes unreadable. Others sat in chairs or leaned against the walls, but all of them turned toward you the moment you entered, their eyes heavy with expectation. The tension was palpable, thick and suffocating.

You hesitated only for a second before scanning the room for an exit. You needed to get out. Away from them. Away from him.

You barely spared them a glance. You were too focused on the exit, on the open doors at the end of the chamber. You took a step forward, your breath shallow, your heart thundering in your ears.

You had barely taken a step toward the open door when a sound behind you made the air still.

A sharp, hollow thud.

It echoed through the chamber, louder than it should have been, reverberating in your chest. You turned—eyes widening, breath stalling-

Yunho was kneeling.

No, not kneeling. Yunho had fallen to his knees before you. His wings flared slightly, trembling as if mirroring the chaos in his heart, while his head bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the cold stone. His hands pressed against the floor, fingers curling as though grasping for something—anything—to hold onto, shaking with emotion.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the kings stilling at the sight of him in such a position. A muscle in Hongjoong’s jaw ticked. Mingi exhaled sharply. San’s fingers twitched at his sides, but no one spoke.

No one moved.

The sight stole the air from your lungs. Yunho —proud, unyielding Yunho—was kneeling.

It was wrong to see him like this—to see him like this.

A king you had heard countless stories about, a ruler who commanded respect and fear, who stood tall even under the crushing weight of his realm’s burdens, was now on his knees before you. His indigo wings looked almost fragile in this moment, their faint shimmer dimmed as they drooped to the sides.

Yunho, who had always towered over you, who carried an air of quiet strength, whose presence alone could silence a room. And yet, here he was, before you, head bowed, wings trembling, a silent plea woven into every inch of his body.

“Yunho,” Mingi murmured, but his voice lacked its usual conviction, as if even he couldn’t process what was unfolding.

Yunho didn’t move.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice raw and broken. He didn’t look up, didn’t meet your wide, disbelieving eyes.

“Don’t go. I know I’ve failed you—I know I kept the truth from you—but it was never to hurt you. I thought I was protecting you. I thought—” His voice caught, and he exhaled shakily.

“I was wrong. I see that now. I’m sorry.”

You could barely move, your hand slipping from the doorframe as your mind reeled. His vulnerability, his utter surrender in this moment, was overwhelming. This wasn’t just an apology. This wasn’t just regret. Yunho was laying everything he had at your feet—his pride, his title, his very essence.

Your heart stammered, the rhythm uneven as if it didn’t know how to keep pace with the sight before you. It felt as though it had dropped to the pit of your stomach, leaving an ache that spread through your entire chest. Yunho—your proud, steadfast Yunho—was on his knees, and the sight of him, so vulnerable and broken, nearly undid you.

You couldn’t look away. You couldn’t breathe. The man who carried the weight of his kingdom, who wore authority like a second skin, was bowing to you, trembling under the weight of his own words. It was a crack in his armor you never thought you’d see, and it shattered something inside you. You couldn’t lie to yourself—you felt something for him. Something that made seeing him like this almost unbearable.

His next words cut through you, settling in your heart despite the storm in your mind. The sight of him, wings trembling and pride cast aside, held you frozen.

“I beg of you, my queen.

Please…

Stay.”

Masterlist

nine | eleven

Taglist (CLOSED):

@pinkpearlstar @deltamoon666 @kyra1205 @hecateslittlewitchling @dumplingsyum @caratiny-latte @seongwars @halloweenbyphoebebridgers @angelqueendom

@ffenjoyerdazme @lostxxgirl @xh01bri @neemaxx @furfoxsake22 @Thejentheredhead @soulphoenix1618 @pixie0627 @hannahdinse8

@laurtiny112 @innocygnet @the-first-mate @miniverse-zen @katyeongs @nuggiesnuggetdog04 @sweetmoonlight9 @staytinyluv @bluesiebirdie @kaqua @ateezaddict24 @bamdoe @kandy108 @pixie0627 @bunnii-dolls @kheartost @xlilehx @lalelol @Tiny2018 @salnovna @roryy95 @fairylover68 @meowmeeps @awkward-fucking-thing @blackandgreenandblue @moniesmoon @skteezcursed

[sorryimananti-romantic]

The Leaders | Chapter II

"this is the underworld that no one escapes from."

masterlist

ot8!ateez x f!reader, mafia au

chapter warnings: drinking, smoking, illegal businesses, mentions of gangs, war/military and weapons, hongjoong is the designated asshole in this chapter

chapter wc: 10.9k

chapter synopsis: you learn more about ateez from your housemate, wendy, and from kihyun of mx pharmaceuticals who is also the crescent’s business partner. you get familiar with your new job at the crescent company’s main office and learn about their deal with secretary park. wanting to stop them from that harmful deal, you finally speak up only for the boss, hongjoong, to remind you that you are just a bookkeeper. 

prev chapter recap: an attack on the crescent bar prompts you, the bookkeeper of the crescent bar, to carry out yeosang’s order and flee with the contents of the safe. however, you have discovered a secret package which leads you to a confrontation with the underboss, park seonghwa, who has no choice but to kill you. to save yourself, you reveal that you possess some information about the elites that could be useful to them, and that you are willing to exchange this information for your life. that lands you a job at the crescent company’s main office and you have a rocky first day, getting to know the ins-and-outs of your new workplace and colleagues.

For the beginning of a new chapter of your life, which could take a very sinister turn, it sure was awfully sunny today, the pigeons on your window sill taking great joy in the way you would pause in the middle of getting ready and reconsider all your life choices so far. Their cheerful chirps were starting to annoy you and you couldn’t help but shoot deathly glares in their direction. 

It was your first official work day as the bookkeeper in the main office of the Crescent Company, and you were done getting ready– as ready as you could be with your heart threatening to burst out of your chest. It didn’t help that when you exited your room, you immediately had your housemate’s attention who let out a dramatic whistle at the sight of you.

“Woah. That’s quite a formal outfit for the bar,” Wendy said, stopping in the middle of stirring the pot, the fragrant scent of rosemary and chicken broth filling your nostrils. “Also… why are you still home?”

You turned to the full-length mirror in the living room, inspecting your outfit for the day– a pleated navy blue skirt that reached mid-calves paired with a blue tweed jacket, your feet clad in ivory kitten heels. Just the right outfit to make good first impressions, yet it was a struggle to ignore the urge to go back to your closet and restart the lengthy process of choosing another outfit.

“Uh…” you took a deep breath while tucking the stray strands of your hair back in the half-tied hairdo, bracing yourself for her reaction. “I may have gotten a new job at the Crescent Company.”

The room fell awfully silent and you turned to Wendy, finding her deadpan staring at you.

Odd.

“Something wrong?” You frowned in confusion. 

“The Crescent Company?” Wendy repeated and you nodded. It was strange, the soberness in her tone, when you were expecting enthusiastic theatrical reactions from her. “When?”

“Literally yesterday,” you turned your full attention to her, wondering if she was cross with you for not letting her know earlier. “I start working officially from today.”

“How did you get this job?” Wendy asked, finally doing something else other than assessing your form. She turned the stove off, setting the pot on the table where you joined her for breakfast.

“Well… one thing led to another. Some gang attacked the bar two nights ago and when I carried out my instructions– which were to get the contents of the safe and run– they decided… that I am good at my job and would do better in some other environment.”

“I heard about the attack, yes,” Wendy said, munching on a piece of bread. “But I thought it was a fight outside the bar, not an attack inside. Is that how you got these tiny scratches all over you?” You pursed your lips in answer and Wendy continued. “Are you sure this is the right job for you? Because let’s be real– we all know who Ateez is. You should be avoiding that gang– didn’t you want to lay low?”

Ateez. Known throughout all the eight sectors of Eden and its capital, the gang formed after the Battle of the Eight Hills and layed a vital role in the rebuilding of Eden afterwards. Really, you wondered if they had done so much for Eden, why were they feared and labelled as a criminal organisation?

“I am laying low,” you sipped the broth as you said, “It’s just an office job– paperwork.”

“I don’t know, Luna,” she said, clearly worried. “I’m not sure about this.”

“Do you know something you’re not telling me?” You asked but Wendy kept a straight face which meant there was something. “In fact… refresh my memory a little since I wasn’t here when Ateez was at the peak of their career, but who is Ateez? What do they really do?”

Wendy took a deep breath as if contemplating opening her pandora of secrets for you but then she checked her wristwatch to your utter disappointment. “Next time or else we’ll both be late. Just… stay safe, will you?”

“Oh, I will. I keep the gun in my purse, you know,” you smirked and Wendy finally relaxed, smiling back. “See you tonight if you aren’t snoring by that time– my shift ends at the strike of midnight.”

“Heavens, that’s late,” Wendy winced. “What are you doing up so early then? You should have slept some more.”

You should have, but you had a little stop to make before you clocked in at midday at your workplace– the stop being at the office of MX Pharmaceuticals located in the heart of Sector 1 with all the other businesses and offices. It was only the Crescent Office which was situated right outside that hotspot, and you were starting to think that it was a calculated move on their part. With their status, they could be situated in the slums and still be flourishing– the leaders of Sector 1.

It was a bit strange to walk the streets of your block and not allow your muscle memory to take you in the direction of the Crescent Bar. It felt alleviating, even, to not cross the old lady on the pavement selling crocheted goods to make a living. Somehow, she always made you feel guilty about having the privilege of connections. You could very well have been sitting there at the corner of the road instead of her, selling your paintings or embroideries if Kihyun hadn’t helped you land a job when you came back to Eden from Wonderland just a few years ago.

Because your father always made sure you would never be in the spotlight. There was a reason he basically shipped you to Wonderland– though you often wondered if that was justification enough. He claimed that you could study more if you wished to while you looked after your aunt but really… you knew that he wanted to get rid of you because you found out his dark, dirty secrets– things you were never supposed to find out. It was a shame he couldn’t kill his own daughter and bury those secrets along with her. Maybe his humanity awakened when he thought about his children. 

You could spot the MX Office when you took a turn left into the busy, bustling street with corporate slaves ready to sign in for their daily dose of torture. To your demise, you were blending right in. You walked towards the office, which was a brick-coloured building just like the rest of the offices in this street. The guard at the front door recognised you and nodded in greeting, as did the receptionist and a few employees, aware that you had some sort of a relationship with their boss, though no one dared to ask the nature of it.

The boss, Kihyun, was a respectable figure in all of Eden as a powerful businessman and a former gang member. Each connection he made was for a reason, but you were not just a connection. You respected each other far too much to refer to each other as just a ‘connection’. 

You were being accompanied to Kihyun’s room when on the stairs, you encountered Hyungwon.

“Miss Jeon– what brings you here?” He asked. It had been a while since you saw the manager of MX Pharmaceuticals. He was usually found at one of the labs or warehouses that MX owned. “Good to see you.”

“Hope you’ve been well,” you smiled. “I’m here to see Kihyun.”

Hyungwon nodded at the assistant who left and you followed Hyungwon upstairs. “Kihyun just arrived. How has it been?”

“I’m doing good. I got a new job so I was going to tell him about that and discuss a few things.”

“Oh, that’s nice to hear,” Hyungwon knocked at Kihyun’s door before opening it for you. “I’ll send some tea. And you know that if you need anything, we’re here, right?”

You nodded, smiling earnestly at his reminder. “Thank you. Have a good day.”

You entered Kihyun’s room, closing the door behind you. His room was as neat as ever with a variety of indoor plants lining the huge windows that provided a view of Maddox Street. You walked past that window, drawing the cerulean curtains away and Kihyun tsk-ed at you.

“You’re back at it, eh?”

“You need someone who will pull the curtains open every day. I can’t keep doing that for you,” you grinned, joining him at his desk. He was clad in a navy button-down shirt, his hair combed back. “How have you been?”

He spread his arms in answer. “Right in front of you. As good as ever. But I’ve heard you are doing better lately.”

“Heard the news already?” You shook your head. “Once I find your informant, I’m gonna give them an earful.”

“We’re the Crescent’s business partners. I should know the happenings,” Kihyun said, waiting for the assistant to leave the tea for you before continuing. “Tell me… how did it happen?”

“Let’s say I passed a trust test,” you said, adding a sugar in your tea and two in his, just as he liked. “I’m the Crescent’s bookkeeper now.”

“That must not have been easy.”

“Actually, yes,” you took a sip of the black tea. “I almost got killed. I had to win their favour.”

“And how did you do that?” Kihyun frowned.

“I played a few cards,” you admitted and he groaned in disbelief. “It was that or I die.”

“They would not have killed you–”

“They knew we were acquainted, and they were ready to kill me,” you interjected. “I only told them that I’m aware of Assemblyman General Wi’s artefact gallery.”

“Luna,” Kihyun leaned forward, clasping his hands. “You know the game you are playing right now is a dangerous one–”

“I know that I have to keep my identity hidden, and I’m sure they only know what’s on the documents–”

“Let me finish,” Kihyun said in a low voice and you slumped back. “It’s not just about your identity. You know who they are, don’t you? Ateez? They were once a gang, and they always play dirty.”

“So were you, Kihyun,” you reminded him. “Back in your early days, before my father took you under his wing.”

Kihyun clenched his jaw– he did not need to be reminded of his ugly past. “We were not children of war when we were a gang, Luna. The Crescents– Ateez– they are children of war. They served the army when they should have been fooling around with other kids their age or studying. A nineteen year old Kim Hongjoong became a well-known military strategist in the Battle of the Eight Hills. Another nineteen year old Park Seonghwa became a sniper and a medic– a god awful combination, don’t you think? And an eighteen year old Jeong Yunho became an honoured lieutenant colonel, for heaven’s sake. Those are the people you have involved yourself with.”

That was the first time you heard about their achievements during the war and you realised with a creeping dread that Kihyun might be right about this.

“Us? We were just a street gang, Luna. We were kids who rebelled, who got lucky because your father, a politician, saw potential in us and hired us as his informants. Ateez are different, and it would do you better if you stay aware of them.”

You took a deep breath. “Do you think they will dig into my past?”

“I can’t promise they won’t,” Kihyun relaxed, finally smiling and drinking his tea. “But I’ll see if I can do something. Just make sure to stay in the shadows.”

“Until it’s time,” you reminded him.

His expressions didn’t change. “Still conjuring up revenge plans?”

“You know how stubborn I am,” you traced the gold outline on the cup. “I cannot forgive my father for taking my identity and shipping me to Wonderland as if I meant nothing to him.”

“I’m sure you mean something to him. You are his daughter, after all.”

“I’m sure I don’t, and I don’t need him,” you said, looking at the boss of MX. “You are my family if I ever had one, Kihyun. I am in your debt for everything that you have done for me.”

“Nonsense,” he waved his hand and you stifled a smile at the way he always got a little shy when you called him family or brother. “You don’t owe me anything. I would have done that for anyone.”

“You risked your business and your life for me. You don’t do that for just anyone,” you concluded and he smiled in answer. It was a truth that he could not deny. “You can call it whatever you want, but let me feel about it however I want too.”

“I can see how you might have talked them out of killing you, you stubborn brat,” Kihyun said, laughing. He stared into the distance, taking a few moments to think. “I heard you will be answering to Park Seonghwa and Jeong Yunho. That worries me.”

“It is just work,” you told him, though you were wholly aware that it was not just work. “You don’t need to worry too much.”

After a busy midday shift at the Crescent Office with Eunha and Jihoon, you decided to pay a visit to the Crescent Bar– you were free for the rest of the afternoon and could squeeze in a lunch with your friends. Plus, you were not sure that you could do the night shift without some liquid courage in your system. 

The bar was as lively as it could be during day hours, with people popping in from work to get a drink or a meal. The employees– your old coworkers– warmly welcomed you and you went to sit at the counter with Eunbi and Jeonghan, just like the old times.

“How has it been without me?” You teased Eunbi who wrapped her arms loosely around your waist, snuggling beside you. 

“Boring. Jeonghan is always pretending to sleep so I can’t really talk to anyone anymore.”

“I am actually asleep,” Jeonghan raised his hand as a sign that he was alive. He looked like a corpse, actually, if you could put it nicely. Eunbi gave you a pointed look.

“Got a new bookkeeper yet?”

“Not yet,” she said, going back to the cash register when she saw a customer approach. You walked to the staff room, catching up with Yuju who ordered your favourite grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch with Black Shadow– probably the best wine you had tasted in your life, if you were objective. You knew there was a backstory to how Ateez made that wine their staple, but you figured you would hear about it someday later. For now, you had another purpose that led you to Yeosang’s office.

Yeosang opened the door when you knocked, blinking in surprise. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the main office?”

“Good evening? How have you been doing? How has work been?” You glared at him. “I’m good, thank you for asking.”

Yeosang snickered, letting you in and you took the seat in front of him. You sighed deeply, folding your arms. “I kind of miss this, I won’t lie. I feel like an outsider there, and it’s only my first day. Shift doesn’t start for another hour, by the way.”

“Would you like a drink?” He offered and you shook your head, telling him you just had lunch. “Well, Miss y/n. How can I help you today?”

You passed him the side-eye. “It’s still Luna for you. And I wanted to ask you a few things that I really should have asked before.”

“Ah… is it time for those questions?” Yeosang relaxed back, resting his hands behind his head, his muscles poking out from under the ivory dress shirt. You watched him for a moment, wondering what his accomplishments during the war were. Could he be holding a scary title as well, or was it something worse?

“Yes. You can’t blame me for being curious after the stunt the underboss pulled that night. True to your name, Ateez.”

It was the first time you ever referred to them with their gang name and he only watched you in silence, waiting for you to continue. It irked you that his expressions gave away nothing. Trained to give away nothing, a distant voice in your mind said. 

“Just tell me if there’s anything I need to know for now. I’m reporting directly to Mr. Park and… Mr. Jeong. I really don’t want to make a mistake.”

“You weren’t worried when you started working under me.”

“That’s because… you are you,” you tried to explain, ignoring the faint ache in your heart. “You don’t go around wearing formal suits and looking down on people and being… weird.”

“We don’t look down on people,” Yeosang sighed, though he was smiling at your admission. “Was Yunho weird towards you? What did he do now?”

“How did you– he didn’t do anything,” you told him. It was uncanny how well they knew each other. “I just want you to tell me if there’s something I should be aware of so I don’t make a mistake.”

Yeosang thought it was strange that you were asking such a question. He wished he could ask you what exactly you meant. Just what mistakes were you so afraid to make? Why did you always have to be cautious and walk on eggshells, even around him, even when you claimed that you were comfortable with him?

“I don’t think that you realise that Yunho is the only one of us who will forgive you even if you betray us in the worst possible way– he would still try to understand your reasons.”

Your eyes went a little wide as you let his words sink in. “Lieutenant Colonel Jeong Yunho… is forgiving?”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard about us,” Yeosang leaned forward, speaking gently. “But I can promise you that it’s not the entire truth. We are more than what you people make us to be, if you care to look past the ranks and titles.”

You didn’t understand what he meant by that, and you were too scared to ask. You couldn’t stop thinking about his admission about Yunho. You really couldn’t see it– he always looked so strict, in the traditional sense. Even when he had a hint of a smile on his lips last night, you couldn’t envision him to be someone who could sympathise with the ugliness of the people who were driven into the corner. Perhaps, because Yeosang was his friend, he was able to look past everything and see the lieutenant’s true, unmarred nature, but to you…

To you, he was Lieutenant Colonel Jeong Yunho. And you intended to keep it that way, for everyone’s sake.

Later, when you were at work and taking a breather, having just finished recording the day’s transactions, you reminded yourself that your relationship with Yeosang had turned too casual. Sure, it was the way he was with everyone at the bar– almost everyone. It was different with you, whether you liked it or not. Even though you had wanted to keep a distance from Yeosang, you just couldn’t. After all, you went to him right after hearing about their old gang days. 

You made a mental note to learn more about Ateez and the Crescent Company, and to learn about the extent of their involvement in Eden’s business world. You needed any information you could get your hands on, every detail whether true or not. If you were going to play this game and use them for your goal, you needed to know that the Crescents were not involved with your father and his business in any way. 

You needed to know if what they did was truly moral and right. And if you needed to sneak into places where you weren’t meant to go and possibly risk your life again… you would. 

It took you about a week to fully get the hang of things at the office. While Jihoon was still being an arse– at this point, you were starting to consider that it might be a part of his personality– he never refused to guide you or help you when you were stuck. Eunha was just as helpful and you were actually starting to like her a little. She wasn’t very talkative but considering that she was able to make Jihoon laugh… you were tempted to take pointers from her. Jihoon had worked the longest here and you needed to crack him to get him to talk.

In that one week, you got a chance to go into Mr. Jeong’s room twice, when he was not present to take the report from you himself. You made it quick– unlock the room, unlock the cupboard and place the report inside, look around if you had a few seconds and get the hell out. It was too soon to make a mistake so you only dared to make note of what the office looked like. There wasn’t much to it anyway– just the usual workspace, and it frustrated you that his workspace gave away nothing about him.

Mr. Jeong, you noted, usually came to the office during your shift at the late hours of night, presumably after dinner. You learned that Kim Hongjoong was out of station for some business dealing which was why the office was mostly empty, but also that this was where they usually gathered to meet up and discuss things. This office was sort of a base and if not here, they would be at the bar, though they generally avoided it because of obvious reasons. There was no saying when a drunkard fool, or two, would dare to interrupt them.

Yunho usually locked himself inside his office (Eunha was very suspicious that he usually napped there, claiming to have heard light snores sometimes) and Seonghwa came by twice that week, greeting you and asking if you were adjusting well. Neither of them had interacted with you much during the week but…

You recalled two nights ago when Yunho came back to the office just as it was closing time. You handed him the report and he called you inside his office to discuss a few things. When he was going over the report, he asked you if you had any problems with work recently.

“None at all,” you assured him. “It is manageable.”

He flicked through the pages, the white sleeves of his shirt rolled up over his sleeves, baring his veiny arms. You resisted the urge to trace all those veins on his arms– Jeong Yunho was one handsome man. It didn’t help that he had such beautiful hands either. Why were you assigned to submit him the reports every night? What was this new form of torture?

He caught you staring at his hands but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he finished checking the report and shut the folder, running his hands over the cover once before clearing his throat to get your attention. You met his stare, pretending that you had not been ogling at his hands and arms– or at least, fake confidence that you were normal about it. 

“You were right about the artefact gallery,” Yunho said and you straightened. “It is indeed a money-laundering business. He is an assemblyman, a potential presidential candidate and, well, that’s a bad look for him with the elections right around the corner. How did you know when even his enemies aren’t aware of this information? And more importantly… do you want us to do something about it?”

“How I know does not matter,” you shook your head, adamant to not tell them your source. “It is just a piece of information that might be useful to you later. I am aware that your leader has been well involved with politicians– for connections, to secure deals. If you ever need leverage over General Wi, here is what you can use.”

Yunho took a deep breath at your response. You watched him scan you slowly, his eyes unreadable. “Is your source Yoo Kihyun of MX Pharmaceuticals?”

You looked down to hide your smile. “I have heard that you are well acquainted with him. He was more of a recipient than a source until a few years ago. The tables have turned now, but we still share information, and I was told that you could be trusted with the information I have. Is that still true?” 

He rubbed his chin in thought. “That depends on how useful the information you possess is. And it also depends on how loyal you are.”

“I am loyal to anyone who is loyal to me,” you said with a certainty that surprised him. “I know what it is like to be betrayed by blood and water both. To me, loyalty is the highest virtue.”

“Higher than morality?” He asked with a certain nonchalance, perhaps expecting to pin you in a corner, but…

“And what is morality, in this era?” You mused. “I’m sure you ask that question yourself often… Lieutenant Jeong.”

You seemed to have hit the nail because his gaze darkened. Perhaps, you should not have reminded him of his military rank, but to be Eden’s honoured lieutenant colonel and possess some fair morals? It didn’t add up even after Yeosang had said all the good things about him.

“I know what my morals are, Miss Jeon,” Yunho leaned forwards, locking his eyes with you and you wish some of his dark tendrils hid a bit of his eyes because that gaze was damning. “Do you? Or do you like to make yourself believe that you are the only virtuous one in the room?”

Maybe it was a dangerous game you were playing but you mirrored his position, your clasped hands almost brushing his as you said, “Oh, I have the lowest moral standards. In order to survive in Eden, especially when you’re on your own… you can’t go around possessing such foolish things as virtue, isn’t that so?”

Yunho looked down at your clasped hands, spotting the fading scar that ran along your thumb down to your wrist– one that you had gotten the night you lost everything. 

And then he ran a finger across it, ever so slowly, sending a trail of fire in its wake before getting up and wearing his coat, indicating that the meeting was over.

Damn him. Damn him and his stupid, beautiful hands–

“Goodnight, Luna,” he said in a low voice and you got up as well, gathering your wits before exiting the room.

“Goodnight… Mr. Jeong.”

And that had been the last time you saw him. It was Mr. Park who took the reports from you the day after, and last night you locked the office yourself about half an hour after midnight– you did not know why you stayed waiting for somebody to show up, but you felt a bit stupid afterwards. You should have clocked out on time.

You did not know why you waited.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you almost did not hear the sound of footsteps skittering in the direction of the office rooms. You looked up, gaping at what had to be a fifteen year old considering his scrawny appearance, moving not towards Yunho’s office but Kim Hongjoong’s. You frowned– how did he get past the guard?

“Oi,” you called but when he proceeded to knock at the boss’ door, you decided you had enough and slammed a hand on the desk to get his attention. “Oi, kid!”

“Is the Captain not inside?” he turned to look at you, looking as surprised to see you as you were. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?” you beckoned him to come nearer and he obeyed this time. “How did you get in?”

“I have something the Captain might like,” he grinned. “Still not back from his little trip to Edenary?”

So that’s where he was. The Capital of Eden, the land of the elites. “Uh… nope. Why you calling him ‘the Captain’?”

“Because that’s who he is?” He shook his head in disapproval. “New here?”

You scoffed in disbelief. “Kid, if you don’t tell me who you are, I’m going to have to escort you out.”

“No need, I’ll see myself out,” he winked at you and you laughed this time. You had to admit he was kind of cute for a kid even though you wanted to smack him on his head. You didn’t recall seeing him on the streets– his loose flannel shirt and newsboy cap was a look you thought you would have remembered. “I’m Jaemin, the informant. I answer directly to the Captain, so don’t even think about asking me what this was about.”

“You could still tell me, it could be our little secret,” you smirked but he shook his head. You stuck your tongue out at him. “Alright then. He’s supposed to come back tomorrow, I think. Should I let him know some kid was looking for him?”

Jaemin narrowed his eyes. “You haven’t met him yet, have you?”

“No,” you said. “Why?”

Jaemin only smiled condescendingly in answer. “You’ll find out. No need to tell him, I’ll be back soon.”

With that, the kid disappeared downstairs, leaving you wondering why he called the boss ‘the Captain’. It didn’t refer to his military rank because you knew that he was an honoured military strategist and colonel. You recently heard from Wendy that he had played a vital role towards the end of the war before the treaty between Eden and Halaland was signed. At such a young age, it was impressive. He was only a year older than you so he must have been about twenty when he earned that honour.

You distantly wondered if you ever came across him during the war. You had volunteered as a medical assistant– almost a nurse– in the latter half of the war. You had spent two whole years training medically and assisting the doctors and nurses. There weren’t many people in Eden so you might have encountered one of the Ateez men there, though you weren’t sure if you would recognise each other now. 

Moments later, you heard another pair of footsteps coming, this time familiar. Mr. Park, dressed in his usual black three-piece suit, met your gaze and sent a warm smile in your direction before he approached you.

“How are we doing tonight, Luna?”

“Good, Mr. Park. How about you?” You asked, taking tonight’s report and following him to Yunho’s office. “Did you perhaps see a kid leaving the building?”

Seonghwa chuckled at that. “You might find it hard to believe but that kid has saved lives with the information he shares.”

So the kid had not lied. “Impressive.”

Seonghwa waited until you took the seat in front of him. “He is like a stray cat who has marked us as his owners. We cannot take him in– he is too young, and he does not need to share the same fate the rest of us did, yeah? But he is a kid that nobody notices, and he uses that to his advantage. Next time you see him, ask him how he struck a deal with his ‘captain’.”

You laughed softly at that. “I will.”

Seonghwa nodded and started skimming through the reports. You told him that the new batch of liquor– specifically Black Shadow– had successfully been shipped to Mist Island. The shipment of their latest copper bullets was on the way too. You were surprised when you first found out that Mist Island was willing to trade weapons for liquor. Mist Island had a strict liquor import ban so the smuggling was being done secretly from both sides. It was impressive what money could buy.

Silence, Jihoon had told you one day when he was in a good mood. Silence of the police force.

You still hadn’t figured out what exactly they were doing with the weapons– you were aware that a lot of their money was being used in their business partnership with Pledis Manufacturers who were producers of machine parts. Your best guess was that they were involved in the weapons business and doing something undercover. You couldn’t question anyone about that yet. It was too soon.

“Good job, tonight,” Seonghwa said his usual words but this time, he did not dismiss you. Instead, he rested his back on the chair to look at you. “There are a few questions about your background that I must ask you before our boss arrives tomorrow, Luna. I’m hoping you will cooperate.”

There it was. They must have been done with the background check now. You wondered how much they found. “As best as I can while protecting myself, I will.”

Seonghwa smiled at that. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. Neither is it that I trust you already– Yeosang did, but that was different. You are now involved in the heart of the business that the Crescent Company does, so I have to make sure you’re suitable for this job, right?”

You were glad it was Mr. Park who was asking you these questions right now. Something about his presence was utterly calming and you could relax a little while talking to him. If you were objective, you could say that perhaps, it was his strategy to get you to lower your guard. But still… he was always soft spoken and kind. That did not change. 

“I understand, Mr. Park,” you assured him. 

“I could not find the records of your family… Miss Jeon,” he emphasised at your surname and you nodded. “You’re not a Jeon, are you?”

“It is a surname I borrowed around the time of the war, but I can assure you that I am from Eden. I was born here and have lived here all my life, at the Sector 1 border… save for a few years that I was not here.” Almost the truth. You had lived in Edenary, at the outskirts that met with Sector 1.

“And where were you? Where did you go in 1963?”

You exhaled. “Wonderland, to look after my sick aunt and get some further education.”

“Where, in Wonderland? Can I confirm that?” Seonghwa asked.

“The capital, Wonder City” you told him. “I’m not related to that aunt. She’s just an acquaintance who was willing to take me in. I looked after her and she gave me the financial help I needed.”

“Financial help,” Seonghwa repeated, glancing at your pearl ring that you always wore. He had an eye for things, and he knew that the pearl could not be in the hands of someone who was struggling financially. You could not have worn it so proudly if you had stolen it, so was it a family ring? A normal middle-class family could not afford such a pearl.

Just who were you?

“Yes,” you confirmed, willing him to trust you. “I might be wearing a pearl from Maddox & Co., Mr. Park, but that does not mean that I was showered in luxuries all my life. You must have found out that I was desperate for a job when I came back in 1966.”

Seonghwa nodded, swiping his hair back and exhaling. “Alright, I’ll let it be for now. You only need to tell us if you are related in any way to our rival gangs or the Sirens Rebel Party.”

“I am not your enemy,” you confirmed. “I cannot be acquainted with Yoo KIhyun and be in cahoots with any of your enemies. You have the same rivals.”

“Today’s friend is tomorrow’s rival,” Seonghwa mused. “Today’s enemy might be tomorrow’s lifesaver.”

“Then it is up to you, whatever you want me to be,” you smirked. “Rival or friend.”

Seonghwa nodded in thought, a bit amused, proceeding to pour you both some wine. While he downed it in one gulp, you sipped on it slowly, anticipating his next move.

“Do you perhaps have another tip for us?” Seonghwa raised a brow, amused.

“I might have, regarding your latest dealings with General Wi, but I will wait until both sides are clear.”

“Good,” Seonghwa shut the folder in conclusion. “I will take the leap of trust in you, Luna. Maybe you can do the same for us?”

“For you… yes, I can,” you told him. “I have one favour to ask, though.”

“Another one, already?” Seonghwa teased.

“You have a meeting scheduled with Secretary Park Byung Eun on the 14th, right?” You asked, the name leaving the most bitter taste in your mouth.

“President Lee’s secretary, yes,” Seonghwa nodded. “Do you know him?”

“Everyone knows him,” you said. While he was the President's current secretary, his name was well-known before that as one of the most successful businessmen in Eden. “You must be meeting because of a potential pharma-collaboration?”

“That’s right,” Seonghwa frowned, anticipating what was next.

You took a deep breath. “Do not reveal all your cards to that man. Do not let them know what you are up to.”

“Is that your way of telling us to be careful?” Seonghwa snorted. “We never show all our cards in the first meeting, Luna.”

“Neither do they,” you warned him and his smile fell. “Secretary Park’s team has a penchant for tricking you into deals. I’m just asking you to think this deal through. Whatever they are offering you won’t be very beneficial in the long run.”

“And how do you know that?”

“That doesn’t matter,” you told him. “If you need sources, or funds, you don’t need to rely on the Secretary Park.”

“You don’t know what business we conduct here, Luna–”

“I don’t need to know to warn you,” you insisted, feeling that tight knot of frustration build up in the back of your throat now. “I’m only asking you to think this through and take my words into consideration.”

“Your words, Miss Jeon, lack credibility right now,” he stated in a finalising tone, a pang of hurt shooting through your chest for a moment. He was right, though. They had no reason to trust you and to them, you must be seeming like someone who was looking to jeopardise their deal. “If you really want us to take you seriously, you would have to start giving us more.”

“I cannot give you more if I don’t know what you will do with the information,” you told him, sighing deeply. “Forget it, just… can you please let me know what you will be gaining and what you will be losing after your meeting with Secretary Park?”

“You’re assuming we will lose something,” Seonghwa noted. You didn’t answer and Seonghwa scanned your face, almost detecting fear in your eyes. Just what were you so scared of? “Is there any way you can trust me and tell me what this is about?”

“Not so soon, no, sorry,” you smiled sadly. You wanted to trust that man, you wanted to trust someone, anyone. “I don’t know what I’m waiting for, if I have to be honest. I’m probably asking too much considering that I am a mere bookkeeper.”

“We may have ranks here but we’re all equal, in the end,” Seonghwa said and his words tugged at your heart. There was rarely anyone who didn’t bring rank into everything. “I know you have no reasons to trust us either. Let’s work through our differences first before we make such demands, alright?”

You smiled at him and got up to leave. He followed, locking the doors and you both exited the building together. You shivered when the chilly night wind hit you. 

“The weather is getting colder. Bring a jacket or a scarf next time, will you?” Seonghwa said and you nodded. “Goodnight, Luna. I hope we are able to overcome all that is keeping us from mutual trust.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Park. Thank you for taking my words into consideration.”

He nodded, patting your back affectionately before you separated ways. That night, when you went home, you found Wendy getting ready to go to sleep. You didn’t get much of a chance to talk to her the whole week, considering your conflicting schedules, but you needed some answers right now so you sat at her bedside and she groaned in defeat.

“You need to tell me every detail, every rumour you’ve heard or any information you have on Ateez and what they do. Now.”

It was quite the busy day at the Crescent Office today. 

During the midday slot, you were packed with the new reports you had to make regarding the recent trade dealings with Mist Island, and you also needed to compile a transaction history before the Crescents were going to finalise their new deal with Utopia– both dealings happening undercover. You realised just how much work this job was– you had to create a pretty seamless legal report that was going to be used officially and make it seem like all their money was being circulated in their manufacturing business or the liquor business.

Seonghwa and San arrived when your shift was about to end. San waved at you, promising to catch up later and Eunha looked at you with a scandalous smile.

“Do you know the Choi San?”

“I literally worked at the Crescent Bar, Eunha,” you laughed. “I had to work with him.”

“He’s never waved at me like that. I’ve been here for a decade,” Eunha pouted. 

“Maybe you need to work as a cashier at the Crescent Bar in order to earn that privilege,” you told her, though you felt a bit pleased to hear that San had formal relations with the staff here.

Why were you pleased to hear that? You wondered but not long enough to make sense of it, soon getting caught up in more work. 

You went home after your midday shift, hoping to get some rest before your night shift because you knew it was going to be packed. You had no idea when the boss was supposed to come to office but you just hoped you would go unnoticed today– you had far too many thoughts that needed some sorting from everything Wendy told you last night– another reason you wanted to get some rest because her words kept you awake for the most part of the night. 

You made sure to dress properly today though, in any case. The weather was starting to get a bit chilly– summers were usually chilly in Eden. You wore a grey plaid suit that you kept for days like these, when you needed to make a good impression. You had fond memories with the two-piece– it was the first gift Wendy got you and it was more than she should have done, but she insisted she earned enough to buy gifts like these for the few friends she had. That made you wonder why she lived in a lousy shared apartment. You knew that her actual residence was in Sector 8 and she sometimes joked about how she lived here because it was ‘convenient’.

You wore white net gloves over your hands before going out, donning a matching grey hat. Eunha noted the new additions to your outfit and whistled as she shut her registers, groaning in satisfaction when she stretched her back.

“You did right with the gloves, but it’s a shame the boss isn’t here to appreciate them.”

“Eunha,” you glared at her and she giggled. She had warmed up to you– a bit too much, if you had to say, because she made jokes and teasing remarks like these often now that she was comfortable with you. You took off the gloves and spread them on your desk, grinning at her.

“I think they look pretty good from here too.”

You both shared a grin at that and Eunha wore her overcoat, saluting mockingly before leaving. Just before she was about to go downstairs, she turned in your direction, her doe eyes gleaming.  “Luna!”

“What now?”

“If you see the boss… don’t take his words to heart,” she said. “He may sound like a complete arse but he cares for all of us.”

“It can’t be any worse than Jihoon, can it?” You joked.

Eunha was right, though. At around 10 pm, you finally heard a few sets of footsteps ascend up the stairs and you took a deep breath, fixing your gaze on the stairs. To get to his office, the boss would have to walk past you so you fixed your half tied hair and arranged your desk a bit. Yunho’s head was the first to pop up, followed by an unfamiliar man and Seonghwa. They went inside Yunho’s room first, absorbed in heated discussion and you took a deep breath.

It was clear as day who Kim Hongjoong was. If it was not his appearance that betrayed him– dressed in a luxurious three-piece suit with the chain of a golden pocket watch visible, dark brown curls falling stylishly over his forehead– it was his unmistakable aura, the way he carried himself and his confidence. You felt it even if what you got was only a glimpse. 

A few minutes later, the trio popped out of Yunho’s room to go into Hongjoong’s room. You continued scribbling this time. You were going to remain in the shadows and go unnoticed–

“Get me the tax files,” the boss said. “I will personally make sure everything is seamless because I cannot have anyone messing it up– ah. Who is this again?”

Seonghwa cleared his throat. “Miss Jeon y/n. The bookkeeper– I thought Yunho told you already?”

Yunho looked guiltily at Seonghwa and you stood up in greeting, meeting the boss’s sharp eyes and internally gasping because oh, good heavens. He was inexplicably gorgeous–

“Good evening, Mr. Kim. If you need the tax files, I can get them for you.”

Hongjoong’s eyes betrayed him for just a second as he scanned your form, finding something oddly familiar about you. But his steel expressions returned and he shrugged lightly. “Yeah, well. I’ll have Yunho deal with that. You can get back to work.”

With that, he went towards his office and only waited a moment for the others to follow before he shut the door.

What a snob, you thought. His new bookkeeper and he didn’t even acknowledge you. Had Seonghwa and Yunho really not told him about you, or was he above these meagre details? You were aware that you would have to work with the boss now that he was back, but… how? 

Later, you found yourself at the Crescent Bar instead of your room. Perhaps, here you could get something that would make the bitter aftertaste in your mouth after tonight’s shift seem like nothing. Eunbi’s shift was over so you just found an empty spot in the corner and instructed one of your old colleagues to get you some Black Shadow and to make sure no one would bother you. He gave you a thumbs-up and a few minutes later, you were sipping at the rich drink while recalling the events of today.

Kim Hongjoong. Ateez’s boss, the brains behind the entity of the Crescent Company. A force to be reckoned with. A trickster, a manipulator, a true businessman, you had heard a while ago from the mouth of the elites who came here to drink. A man of his principles, Wendy had told you last night. He was rigid with his principles and that was what got him so far. You supposed he had to be all of that in order to survive after coming back from the war. 

Wendy said she wasn’t worried that you were working with him– at some point in this small sector, everyone had or would encounter him at least once in his life, directly or indirectly. However, she was worried that you would catch his eye, because according to her, you did not want to be involved with him personally in any way. He was a calculating and ruthless businessman with an ambition, and according to Wendy, that was something you were better off staying away from.

You considered everything you knew about the Crescent Company now that it had been a week working with them. They had partnered with Pledis Manufacturers to produce machine parts but you now knew that it was an undercover business for their weapons assembling. They had recently signed a new deal with Utopia to export these weapons in exchange for the Utopian wine– Black Shadow–  which was a trademark of the Crescent Bar. 

And it was Mist Island that provided the Crescents with the bullets and some metal for weapons production in exchange for Eden wine. It truly was a well-thought out business.

But that could not be all. You still did not know what the small packet– the powdery thing that got you here– was. Was it just a drug they used for pleasure purposes? You had never seen them in such a state, nor did the Crescent Bar tolerate druggies, though deals happened there, just like at any other bar. Nobody seemed to talk about it, there was no record of such an object being traded or produced– so what was it? Why had they almost killed you when they learned that you saw it?

And if it was a drug, why did they need to make a business deal with Secretary Park Byung Eun and have him fund MX Pharmaceuticals, of which they owned shares of? Kihyun knew that Secretary Park was not a man you should involve yourself with, so was he not aware of this new venture or was he turning a blind eye to it because they needed Secretary Park? Why would they need him of all the people in this world? 

“If you glare at your glass any longer, it will shatter,” a familiar voice said and you looked up, mouth parting in surprise.

“San!” You got up, straightening your clothes. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, I literally own this bar?” San chuckled, noticing the almost empty bottle. 

“I mean, here here,” you pointed at your table. “I was just… drinking, as you can already see.”

“Long day?”

“Kind of,” you nodded. 

“Can I join you then? I’ve had a long day too.”

“Sure,” you said and he settled down in front of you, tossing his jacket on the other chair, now in a half sleeve black shirt. You poured the drink for him and he swirled it a few times before downing it in one gulp. You filled his glass again and motioned one of the waiters to get you a new one. 

It felt a little strange to have him seated like this in front of you. Sure, you had shared drinks countless times, but that was when you worked here and were serving him. There was also a shift in your interactions ever since that fateful night at the bar– somehow, that had turned your conversations more casual. He caught you staring at him but he didn’t comment on it.

“I’m assuming you met Hongjoong?” San asked and you exhaled, making him snicker. “What?”

“He’s… definitely the boss,” you laughed shortly. “He scanned me once and was like, okay, time to move on.”

“That’s him,” San laughed. “But that little scan he does means that he has memorised who you are and won’t forget. He’s got quite the memory.”

“I would expect nothing less, but San,” you sighed. “I miss being here. Even though I acted all professional here for the sake of formalities, it wasn’t ever suffocating being here.”

San frowned at your admission. “Do you not like where you are now?”

“It’s not that,” you shook your head. “I like the new job. It’s testing my capabilities, and I like challenges. It’s just that… you aren’t there. Yeosang isn’t there. You both are Crescents too. You both are also Ateez, so… how are you two so different from the rest?”

A smile creeped up on San’s lips and your heart did a little somersault– you hadn’t forgotten how handsome he was, but it had certainly been a while since you admired his charms. “Just say you miss us and move on, Luna.”

You laughed at that and San joined, the two of you chuckling for a few moments. “Yeah, I kind of miss being here and reporting all the gossip to you,” you said. “I miss working in silence with Yeosang too– don’t tell him I said that. It’ll get to his head.”

“I won’t,” he grinned. “Shall I tell you the gossip?”

“Oh, please, I’ve been starving,” you said.

About an hour passed over gossip and drinks, switching from wine to plain soda. San told you the latest happenings of the area– they had a little fight with Chan’s gang and had settled the matter about the attack on the Crescent Bar, making them pay for the damages. Yuju had gone to different bars to do a survey of what was trendy and come up with nothing, and you joked about how she was only good at doing what she knew– managing the staff, something she was an expert at. San said he would be sending Jeonghan and Mingyu next– perhaps, they would come up with a better report. 

It was the first time you talked to San as a friend, and though you had always found it quite easy to talk to him, you liked that just like Yeosang, he didn’t make it feel like there was a distinction between you two. Perhaps, you wondered, it was because of the nature of your work- after all, you couldn’t be too formal in a place like a bar. Maybe if there was no Crescent Bar, you really would have found San intimidating and unapproachable, just like people claimed he was. You still couldn’t believe them– not when he had the softest gaze when he paid attention to you, not when his eyes curved into moons when he smiled or laughed, and certainly not when he whined like just another adult with problems. 

When you checked the time on your wristwatch, you whistled– it was almost 2 in the morning. “Well. Time flies.”

“The night is still young, but we’ve both got to get up early, don’t we?”

“We sure do,” you nodded. “Well, this has been… a pleasure, San.”

“Likewise,” he propped his chin on his hand as he looked at you. “We should do this again.”

“Complaining about work?” You laughed. “Complaining about my bosses slash your friends?”

“Oh, so when you do it, it’s complaining, but when I do it, it’s whining? Noted,” San shook his head in disappointment and you grinned. “Can I tell you something, Luna?”

“Sure.”

“The hyungs– Yunho, Seonghwa and Hongjoong… they’re just like me and Yeosang. You just don’t know them yet.”

You looked at him for a moment. “I would have believed you if you had not included Seonghwa in that list.”

“Why?”

“You’re nothing like Seonghwa,” you joked. “He’s far too kind and refined.”

San’s loud laughter filled the room and you looked around, making sure no one was being disturbed. You leaned forward to tap his hand and make him stop laughing.

“I’m not lying, Luna,” San wiped his eyes. “Seonghwa… he may look refined but he can be very playful and childish when he wants to be. Yunho… well, once he warms up, you’ll know that he is the best kind of person you can have by your side.”

Somehow, his words wrapped around your heart like a promise. “You care about them a lot, huh?”

“I do,” he nodded. “They’re my friends, a part of my heart. I would do anything for them.”

“And… Hongjoong?”

“Hongjoong, well…” San smiled. “You find that out for yourself.”

“Not helping, San,” you folded your arms but he shook his head.

“All I can tell you is that if you’re lucky enough to break his walls… if he takes you under his wing, he won’t let anything hurt you. That’s the kind of person he is. He is the boss but he acts like a shield for us, and I wish I could do the same for him.”

You took note of his words. Did you trust San? A bit, yes. If he said all those things about Hongjoong, they must be true– at least according to his perception. But could you trust Hongjoong? Could you act as a shield for them so they could protect you in the future?

You made the decision before you slept that night. 

During your night shift the next day, you waited for the office to get a bit emptier. When there was only Seonghwa and Hongjoong on the upper level, you took a leap of faith and knocked on the boss’s door. It was now or never, and you had to make your move.

“Come in,” Seonghwa’s voice sounded and you opened the door. Seonghwa was seated at the couch while Hongjoong was at the end of the room in his chair, scribbling on paper, not bothering to look at you.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” You asked Seonghwa.

“Sure, have a seat,” he motioned to the couch in front of him and you did, sliding the report to him and glancing at Hongjoong once. “Is everything alright?”

“It is, but… I must warn you of something. You cannot proceed with the deal you’re making with Secretary Park Byung Eun.”

Seonghwa settled the pen he had been playing with on the table, taking a deep breath. “What is this really about?”

“Secretary Park is aiming to become the Minister of Health, isn’t that right? All of the ex-president’s team has either retired or left their posts, replaced by President Lee’s people,” you said. “Is that why you need Secretary Park? Because you have no other option?”

Seonghwa narrowed his eyes– how did you find out that he was aiming to become the next Minister of Health? It wasn’t publicly announced yet– he had yet to sign up as a candidate for that post. 

“You must have one hell of a source,” Seonghwa looked amused, glancing at Hongjoong who was smoking a cigar and now looking at you with mild interest. You gathered your nerves before continuing.

“He is not a good candidate for the position, but that is not what matters right now. I would have gone to Kihyun but I decided to confirm with you first because I’m not sure if he’s aware of your plans, but… you must need Secretary Park to approve some drug in the future, right?”

Seonghwa’s brow rose ever so slightly and you jumped a little when Hongjoong slammed the pen that he had been holding on the table. He cocked his head as he glared at you. 

“Miss Jeon,” he said in a warning tone. “If you don’t stop talking in circles right now and tell us what this is about, I’ll have to deal with you myself. You don’t want that.”

You gritted your teeth, unafraid for the first time in a while. “Do you want this business deal with Secretary Park to be legal? Just answer my question first, Mr. Kim.”

“That’s right,” Seonghwa answered for him. 

“You should know that Secretary Park already has some business deals with Strictland officials going on,” you said in a low tone and the two looked at each other in surprise, clearly unaware. “You know how it will look for you if word comes out– Strictland is already an occupied state on the verge of military dictatorship. You can try to verify it for yourself if you want, but whatever deal Secretary Park has going on with Strictland… it’s not legal in any sense, neither is it moral.”

Seonghwa took a deep breath. “Our meeting with Secretary Park is scheduled for tomorrow.”

“And I thought you should be aware of this before the meeting,” you locked eyes with him, hoping he could see the desperation in them. 

“Jeon y/n, was it?” Hongjoong called and you looked at him. He was squashing his cigar in the ashtray on his desk. You nodded and he finally smiled, though it looked almost devilish. “Why would you care to tell us this information?”

“You must have heard from your underboss,” you said. “I am willing to trade information with you in return for protection.”

“And power,” he pointed out the missing part. “You mentioned power.”

“I only desire power in order to survive in Eden,” you said.

“So why protection?” Hongjoong asked. “You can’t be a powerful figure in Eden and not have everyone targeting you.”

“Being a part of the Crescent Company is protection enough, I suppose,” you rested your hands on the soft material of your black pants, subtly wiping the sweat off. 

“Protection from whom?” Hongjoong asked, his gaze set on you. You found it overwhelming almost to the point that you considered answering– he had a commanding presence. 

“I… can’t say. Not yet,” you said and Seonghwa shook his head, having already known your answer. “I don’t expect you to tell me what the deal is about– after all, I’m only a bookkeeper. But I can give you better options– ex-president Mr. Son, for instance, or Assemblyman Kim Jooheon.”

“Assemblyman Kim is a nobody in the political scene if we are being objective,” Seonghwa said. “I don’t think he will have much to offer to us.”

“He will have something to offer to you if you give him something in return– maybe something that pulls him out of the shadows and into the spotlight of the political scene,” you said, recalling how the politicians in Edenary always thought Assemblyman Kim had the potential but lacked the resources. 

“Why would Mr. Son ever associate himself with us?” Hongjoong got up from his seat, slowly walking towards you, hands in the pocket of his striped black suit. “We may be owners of a legal business company now, but everyone knows of our mafia ties and background.”

“You are an honoured military strategist who played a vital role to end the war, isn’t that true?” 

Hongjoong chuckled at that, nodding slowly to confirm that and settling down next to Seonghwa. “Not everyone is aware of that, Miss Jeon. I don’t like people talking about it.”

“But Mr. Son was the president at that time, and he honoured you with a badge,” you kept his gaze. “I think he will agree that a person who did everything in their power to end the feud between two nations would not be making a deal that would harm his motherland and its people… don’t you agree?”

Hongjoong stared at you while considering your words. “You have a lot of audacity to come in here and make claims about a business you are not a part of, and people you don’t know enough about. Possessing such audacity is what almost cost you your life that night, and what is tempting me to retract the deal my partners made behind my back.”

And there it was. A stark reminder that you may have struck a deal with the queen, but you were still just a pawn in this game of chess where the king ruled. Weak and expendable– that’s what you were.

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa began but Hongjoong raised his hand in the air to stop him from speaking further, his eyes still locked with yours. You didn’t feel shame nor fear in that moment– just regret that maybe you had trusted the wrong people.

“You are a bookkeeper, and you can remain so. Goodnight, Miss Jeon.”

You nodded slowly, letting his words sink in and then you got up, bowing in greeting. “Good night, Mr. Kim, Mr. Park. Thank you for hearing me out.”

With that, you left the room and Seonghwa looked at Hongjoong. “You did not have to put it like that. I know she got you.”

Hongjoong slumped down on the couch in front of Seonghwa, cracking his knuckles while he thought about his next move. “Is there any way we can verify the information about Secretary Park without anyone getting a whiff?”

“I don’t know,” Seonghwa admitted. “I’m wondering how she knows that– if that was the truth. If Secretary Park really has a business deal with Strictland officials… I don’t think even his wife would know about that. If anyone gets a whiff of that, it could cost him his position and cause President Lee significant harm too, since Park Byung Eun is his secretary. You know how Strictland is still a sensitive topic after the war.”

“Then how does she know?” Hongjoong looked at Seonghwa. “Is she a spy?”

“She can’t be,” Seonghwa shook his head. “Luna worked as the bookkeeper at Crescent Bar for two years–”

“Luna?”

“That’s what everyone calls her,” Seonghwa said, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“She could be a mole, then,” Hongjoong sighed. “But no. Even a mole could not possess this information. What do we do?” 

“Kihyun was Secretary Park’s former business partner. I’ll ask Yunho to check with Kihyun and confirm if Secretary Park is the right man for this deal, but that means we will have to let Kihyun know that we are intending to make such a deal.”

“We were going to tell him anyway, let’s proceed with that plan. And Seonghwa?”

“Yeah?”

“Contact the RV spies and get any information you can on your little bookkeeper.”

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[blvenote]

hi yumi!!! my thoughts from the chapter r below the cut as always <3 IM SO EXCITED FOR THE NEXT CHAPTERS THO WE LOVE A GOOD HONGJOONG INTRODUCTION

• WEEENDYYYYY IN THE HOUSE!! also the pigeons r me watching yn get ready like she's the roast beef salting herself to be served on a platter

• ^ because political figures dont like admitting that they're corrupt, and/or that they got help :) and yk... ateez prob does a lot of... unsavory things behind the curtain that normal people disagree w

• wendy sus as hell (in the best way possible lol), but i like how she dodged that question so obviously HAHA

• i think dysfunctional family relationships r so interesting; i love writing them and i love reading abt them ofc as well. the thing u wrote abt how maybe his humanity awakened when he thought abt his children is so interesting too. like where do these awful people draw the line? their own flesh and blood? is pretending they never existed/hiding them away better than killing them altogether?

• LMAO KIHYUN AND YN W THE CURTAINS IS LITERALLY MY MOM AND ME 💀💀💀 whenever im home, i always start pulling open the curtains to make it brighter and my mom hisses like she's a vampire... sheesh

• hmmm the contrast and nuance of /types/ of gangs on the streets here is interesting too; like the organized crime groups are different depending on what they did during the war

• I LOVE LIQUOR LORE I HOPE WE GET TO HEAR ABT BLACK SHADOW'S HISTORY

• "could he be holding a scary title as well or was it something worse?" i love that titles are never the "something worse" cuz a criminal is the best when u don't know they're a criminal

• "lieut. yunho is FORGIVING?" im sorry i laughed 😭 i read that like yns eyes went wide like u gotta be shitting me yeo, if ur gonna lie at least try to make it sound accurate 😭 BUT IIIINTERESTING HMMMM why would yunho be the most forgiving? he's just a soft boyo underneath all that lanky-limbed scariness 😔💔

• also where is mingi and jongho and wooyo, we havent introduced them yet right 😭

• ah i love tsundere jihoon . hard, stale rice on the outside, fluffy warm rice on the inside

• YUMI UR BIAS IS SHOWING W THOSE YUNHO DESCRIPTIONS BAHAHHAHA

• I KNOW WHAT ITS LIKE TO BE BETRAYED BY BOTH BLOOD AND WATER ??? OOOOOOO THAT LINE HITS SO GOOD OMG I NEED TO BORROW THIS WHAT

• im tweaking after that last part of the meeting WHAT. like im sputtering like a boiling teapot WHAT we're dancing a tango here and i love it

• hints at the possibility of having known each other before during the war????? i like the smell of this easter egg 😌 love the hints of further backstory slowly coming in to fill in the gaps!! also jaemin is a menace as usual, wbk

• HES LIKE A STRAY CAT FIDNFKDNDKDN IM GONNA CRY LMFAO

• pledis manufacturers??? bites lip more new characters for the ensemble!! very fun

• i Iike the pointing to and connecting of details during seonghwa and yns convo, the finanical aid to the glance at the pearl ring — both r quire observant, which ig is an essential skill to survive in this business (one wrong move can result in ur life ruined) and ive def mentioned this before but THE POLITICAL INTRIGUE!!! the details like the sirens rebel party and ateez-mx pharma being on the "same side" r so good and add so much to the immersiveness

• ODDLY FAMILIAR??? kim hongjoong i see u... i am connecting the dots... also i love that yn gasps at his appearance and we both agree that he is certified yummy

• awh i like how youve developed san and yns relationship to be far more casual now that they arent like directly a boss-employee kind of dynamic, its a nice contrast to have this convo w san in the middle of all the office tension 0_0

• OKAAAAAAY i kind of enjoyed the fencing match btwn joong and yn, tho it was mostly joong making the parries, but yn did have a good handle w that strictland tip kdngldnfk and at least joong isnt an asshole enpugh to completely ignore her warnings. truly i went into this chapter believing he was going to be an asshole AND stupid 💀 BUT CONTACTING THE RV SPIES?? UHHHH NEWSFLASH SHE LITERALLY LIVES W ONE

overall, very VERY intriguing chapter!! i loved the subtle tension that was present throughout the entire chapter, like even tho there wasn't any action like last chapter, i was def still on the edge of my seat. im so excited to see how the plot continues to unfold in the next chapters :')))

[sorryimananti-romantic]

hi beam! HEHE THANK YOU!

ateez wore corruption like a crown until they became an official organisation 'the crescents' and were like damn. we gotta pretend to be nice ppl. (real story) (also omg the ss i found a typo and immediately went to fix hehe thank you for your service)

wendy is the rv spy she's always gonna be sus as hell 😭

omg yes dysfunctional families do be like that but this one is gonna prove that the line is sometimes not drawn at their own flesh and blood (when you find out you're gonna lose it i bet it's not what you're thinking there's no way it can be foreshadowed huehueh)

omg i'm kihyun and your mom then bc whenever someone pulls the curtains open i absolutely lose it (as someone who has photophobia-- the medical kind-- and the achoo syndrome both LOL 😭😭 we allergic to light)

YES YES you will hear about black shadow's history soon! *makes a note about adding black shadow's history in the next chapters* (i love how feedback sometimes points out things we may have missed bless you for reminding me that i missed black shadow lore)

NO BUT HEAR ME OUT AHAHAHA i intended to make this a typical oo mafia men don't cry. mafia men don't laugh. mafia men scary. fic but my crack comes out so much that by the time the boys warm up they'll be very... ateez lmao. the ateez that we know. so yes, lieut. jeong is a golden retriever in this one too kdjfhgjdf 😭

maknaes are coming soon, don't you worry! their dynamics are so fun and complete opposites of hyung line lmao

WHEN DOES MY BIAS NOT SHOW if i write a yunho fic where i don't appreciate his hands das not me. that's an impostor.

YES YES BORROW THIS LINE BY ALL MEANS HEHE

yep, hj and luna def know each other! but not from during the war, there's sth else hehe you'll find out in next chapter!

yep! seonghwa is very observant but so is our mc, her background being the reason! she's very very observant and i love writing her so much dfjkghkjdf and political intrigue only heightens the more you read! (until it will come crashing down hoho)

certified yummy now i'm borrowing this one

yep! san and yeosang both have always been more casual than the rest of the hyungs, bc there's only so much formality when you work in the bar! san and yeosang are going to be mc's designated gossip buddies hehe

yeah like joong is an asshole but with reason. bc from his perspective, this random girlie is making big ass claims. he's gotta show her who's the boss. but he's also not a fool which is why he's gonna be running background checks from every direction lmao

thank you so much for your review, i love you for this 😭😭 i'm so excited for you to read more and can't wait to hear your thoughts in the upcoming chapters! hope you're doing good <33

[leirastar]

new world | chapter 5

Pairing: Ot8 Ateez x reader AU: fantasy AU | stranger -> mates Summary: A tragic accident left you unable to use your wings and, with that, claimed your father's life, leaving you in the care of your noble uncle. In Hala, a house of eight kingdoms, each boasting its own wonders, you never imagined that amidst the pain, you would also fall—this time, in love. Word Count: 2.9k | 13 minutes A/n: YAYY ANOTHER CHAPTER! I've kept this in the draft for way too long! i lowkey want to just release all the chapters i've written. BUT i want you to wait a little..just a little longer HIHI. BTW GUYS WHY CAN'T I REPLY TO ANY OF YOUR COMMENT? PLEASE HELP ME OUT! Warning: mentions of hospitals, bad weather, AND YUNHO JEALOUS. KIND OF?

The days after Yunho’s visit felt unusually quiet. A few letters had arrived by an owl with soft, silver-tipped wings—you had affectionately named her Snow after the gentle way she flew, gliding through the cold air like a wisp of moonlight. The letters were brief but warm: updates on Reed, musings on the cold weather, and simple questions that made you smile.

But then, two days passed without a letter.

and you found yourself standing in the field, hands brushing over fresh thyme, as you tried to shake the restless feeling gnawing at your chest. You’re obsessed, you thought, scolding yourself, though the words felt hollow. It wasn’t as though you could help it; Yunho lingered in your thoughts like the scent of summer rain, impossible to forget. He was everywhere in your mind, in the quiet moments when you worked or the still hours before dawn. You could still hear his voice sometimes, soft and steady, and picture the way his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners when he smiled.

The wind was brisk today, the chill seeping in from Reed’s borders. The weather in Caius had turned slightly colder, a quiet herald of the upcoming winter, its edge sharpening the air as it rolled in from the north. You were near the eastern edge of Caius, where the terrain dipped and rolled toward the sea. Beyond the safe, fertile fields of your home lay treacherous waters, made colder and darker by the proximity to Reed.

Today, you were gathering herbs to bring to a border hospital where soldiers often fell ill from exposure.

It’ll be a long ride, you thought. I should leave soon.

You bundled the thyme carefully, your fingers working the stems with a practiced rhythm. Around you, the fields were alive with subtle sounds—the rustling of grass, the distant caw of gulls carried on the wind. Normally, the peace would soothe you, but today, something felt different. Off. It was as though the very air carried a charge, an invisible hum that raised the hairs on your arms.

Straightening, you shielded your eyes with your hand and turned toward the horizon. The sun hung low and bright, casting long shadows across the earth, but there—just for a moment—you saw it. A shadow passed over you, swift and silent, darkening the patch of earth where you knelt.

You froze.

Slowly, you looked up, squinting into the sunlight, and your breath caught.

Yunho stood at the edge of the field, cloaked in muted gray, his tall form striking against the pale sky. The wind tugged at his cloak and dark hair, but his face was calm, almost serene, as though he had been walking through the fields for hours. A faint smile pulled at his lips, so familiar and yet so unexpected that you could only stare. In his hand, he held a small bundle of herbs—rare ones, with deep green stems and silvery flowers that shimmered faintly in the sunlight.

“Hard to find this time of year,” he said lightly, his voice carrying over the wind as he held them out to you.

You rose to your feet slowly, the earth firm beneath your boots as you closed the distance between you. Your fingers brushed his as you took the herbs, and you startled at how cold his skin felt, chilled from Reed’s borders.

“Where—how did you get these?”

“Reed’s borders are colder, but you’d be surprised what grows there when you know where to look.”

You turned the small bundle over in your hands, marveling at it. The flowers were delicate, yet they held a vitality that belied the harshness of the environment they came from. Yunho’s quiet attentiveness never ceased to surprise you; how did he always seem to know exactly what you needed before you did?

“I didn’t expect you,” you admitted, your voice softer than you intended.

“Should I apologize for the surprise?” he asked, a teasing lilt in his tone.

“No.” You shook your head quickly, warmth curling through you like a hearth fire against the cold. “I was… going to the hospital near the border. There are soldiers there who need these.”

At the mention of the outskirts, Yunho’s expression shifted slightly, his brow furrowing faintly in concern. “The border?” He paused, his gaze holding yours. “Then I’ll join you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said simply, his voice leaving no room for argument.

You opened your mouth to protest again, but the words faltered on your tongue. There was a calm determination in Yunho’s eyes that you recognized all too well. Once he made up his mind, there was no changing it. Instead, you let out a quiet sigh and looked away, back toward the sea where the faint mist gathered on the horizon. “It’s not an easy ride. The terrain gets rough the closer we get to the border.”

“I’ve made harder rides,” Yunho replied, the faintest smile tugging at his lips again.

You couldn’t help but smile back, despite yourself. “Suit yourself.”

He fell into step beside you as you walked back toward where your horses waited, tethered near the edge of the fields. The silence between you was comfortable, broken only by the crunch of grass beneath your boots and the distant call of the sea. You felt Yunho’s presence like a steady warmth at your side, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

Surprisingly, you had always brought two horses during your journeys to the outskirts—one for yourself and the other to carry more herbs and supplies for the soldiers in the hospital. The second horse, a sturdy gelding with a speckled coat, had been borrowed from a friend of your uncle’s back in Caius. He stood quietly nearby, his dark eyes calm and steady as the cold wind ruffled his mane.

Yunho glanced at the gelding, his brow lifting faintly. “Prepared as always, I see.”

You smiled lightly, brushing your hand over the horse’s neck. “He’s reliable. And strong enough to carry more than I need.”

He let out a soft hum of approval, stepping closer to check the saddlebags. “It’s a good habit to be over-prepared.”

“It’s not over-preparedness,” you replied with mock indignation, adjusting the straps. “It’s practical kindness.”

Yunho’s lips curved slightly, the expression softening his otherwise stoic features. The way he looked at you—steady and thoughtful—made something in your chest tighten unexpectedly. “Kindness suits you,” he said quietly.

You looked away quickly, cheeks warming as you busied yourself with the straps of your saddle. “Come on, We’ll make better time if we leave now.”

With the horse ready, you moved to mount, but before you could, Yunho stepped forward, his hands suddenly—yet gently—grasping your waist.

“Let me,” he murmured, his voice low.

Before you had a chance to protest, he lifted you with effortless strength, plopping you onto the saddle as though you weighed nothing. The brief contact was enough to steal your breath, the warmth of his touch lingering long after his hands dropped away.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you stared down at him, wide-eyed. Yunho only offered a faint, knowing smile before turning to his own horse.

“Ready?” he asked casually, as if nothing had happened.

You swallowed, cheeks warm, and managed a shaky, “Y-Yes.”

With that, he swung up onto the gelding, settling beside you like he belonged there, leaving you with your pulse still fluttering wildly. The sight of him on the gelding was a little surreal—A diplomat of Reed, so at ease on a borrowed Caius horse—but you supposed there was little that could rattle him.

As you untied your horse and began preparing for the journey, Yunho took a step closer, his golden gaze scanning the sky. “The wind’s picked up,” he murmured. “We should leave soon if we want to avoid the worst of it.”

You glanced at him, surprise flickering in your chest. “You’re familiar with Caius’s winds now?”

“Not as familiar as you,” he admitted with a slight shrug. “But I’m learning.”

The quiet sincerity in his tone caught you off guard, sending a small ripple through your chest. You looked away quickly, pretending to adjust your reins, though the faint heat on your cheeks betrayed you.

“Ready?” you asked over your shoulder.

“Lead the way.”

And so you did, guiding the horse down the familiar trails that led to the outskirts. The road to the border hospital was long and winding, cutting through Caius’s fertile fields before giving way to the rugged, colder outskirts. The sea grew louder the further you traveled, its dark waters visible now through breaks in the terrain. The ride was long and cold, but Yunho’s presence—steady and unspoken—made the journey feel far less lonely, his quiet companionship both comforting and maddening.

“You don’t need to follow me, you know,” you said, breaking the companionable silence as the wind tugged at your cloak.

“I already told you,” Yunho replied smoothly. “I’m not following you—I’m protecting you.”

You rolled your eyes. “From what, Yunho? Overgrown roots?”

He smirked faintly. “If they try to trip you, I’ll deal with them swiftly.”

You huffed a laugh despite yourself, though you didn’t miss the way Yunho’s gaze stayed sharp and ever-watching. He took everything in—the frost-kissed trees, the distant hills, and even the quiet, shadowed patches of the path—as if he were on guard for something you couldn’t see.

As you neared the hospital, the winds turned colder, the air sharper. From this far east, you could see the faint mist rising from the distant seas—the treacherous waters near Reed’s border.

“I didn’t realize how often you made this trip,” Yunho murmured, his voice carrying over the wind.

“Someone has to,” you replied softly. “Soldiers give up a lot to protect the borders. It’s only right they’re cared for when they’re wounded.”

Yunho didn’t respond right away. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary before he turned back to the path ahead.

When you arrived at the hospital, the smell of herbs and wood smoke greeted you. The building wasn’t grand—just a few interconnected rooms with thick stone walls and sturdy beams—but it was warm and alive with movement. Healers bustled from bed to bed, soft murmurs and quiet groans filling the air.

Mistress Calla, the head healer, spotted you as soon as you entered. Her face brightened, and she strode toward you with open arms, pulling you into a quick, firm hug.

“Y/N, there you are!” she said warmly, releasing you to examine the basket slung over your arm. “You’ve come at just the right time. The fevers have been worse this week, and we’re nearly out of thyme and elderleaf.”

You handed her a bundle of the fresh herbs Yunho had helped you gather. “These should last you a little while. I’ll check on the soldiers in a moment.”

But Mistress Calla’s gaze flickered past you, and her lips curled into a knowing smile. “And who’s this?”

You turned, realizing Yunho was standing just behind you, his expression carefully neutral as Mistress Calla appraised him.

“This is Yunho,” you said quickly. “A friend.”

“A friend?” Calla’s voice lilting with mischief, her brow arching in a way that made your cheeks heat. “Well, I don’t remember your friends looking quite like that. Tall, dark, and handsome, is he?”

You shot her a look. “Calla…”

“I’m just saying,” she continued unabashedly, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper as Yunho busied himself glancing around the room. “You’ve got half the soldiers in here sighing after you like love-sick pups, and now you bring a knight through my doors? What’s the story, Y/N?”

“There’s no story,” you said firmly, though your face betrayed you with a rising flush. “Stop it. I need to get to work.”

Mistress Calla chuckled, giving your arm a pat. “Fine, fine. Go tend to your wounded boys. Just don’t forget the tall one standing right there.”

You shot her a glare that only made her grin more widely before turning toward the soldier’s recovery room, shaking your head. Yunho glanced at you curiously, his golden gaze searching your expression.

“What was that about?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing.” You brushed him off quickly. “Come on. Let’s check on the soldiers.”

As you stepped into the soldiers’ recovery room, quiet conversations died away, replaced by soft murmurs and shifting glances. You were a familiar sight here—someone who brought care, kindness, and a bit of light into their weary days.

“Ah, it’s her,” one whispered, nudging his companion. “She’s back again,” another murmured, his voice holding the edge of awe. It wasn’t uncommon—your visits often stirred soft whispers, your presence like a fleeting light among them. You moved between beds, greeting patients and checking wounds. Yunho followed at a measured distance, his presence drawing lingering glances from both soldiers and nurses alike.

“Is that her escort?” you heard one whisper.

“Lucky man,” another murmured, their tone tinged with something you couldn’t quite place.

At the word escort, you noticed—just barely—that Yunho’s chest puffed up a little, his posture shifting with an unconscious pride. It was subtle, yet unmistakable, as though being called your escort had released a feeling inside him he couldn’t quite place.

At one cot, you stopped to tend to Eli. He sat up straighter when he saw you, his youthful face flushing red. Barely older than nineteen, he was all sharp features and nervous hands, his usual bravado faltering whenever you were around.

“Eli,” you said softly, kneeling by his side. “How’s your side today?”

He cleared his throat awkwardly, his voice cracking just slightly. “Be-Better now. It’s always better when you’re here.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “You say that every time.”

“It’s true every time,” Eli mumbled, glancing away as you carefully checked the healing wound beneath his bandage.

You smiled softly, noting how well the wound was healing. “You’re recovering nicely. You’ll be back on your feet soon.”

“I—I wouldn’t mind staying a little longer if it means I get to see you.” His voice was quiet, shy, and you could feel Yunho’s gaze sharpen from across the room. You laughed lightly, brushing it off.

“You’ll get yourself back on patrol soon enough, Eli.”

“Only if you promise to visit,” he blurted, the words rushing out before he could stop them.

You opened your mouth to respond when you felt it—Yunho’s gaze. Glancing back, you found him near the door, his expression unreadable, though something sharp flickered in the way his eyes lingered on Eli. The soft sound of Yunho’s boots echoed through the quiet room as he stepped forward, his tall figure looming nearby. Eli glanced up sharply, his flush deepening as Yunho’s tall figure loomed nearby.

“Are you finished?” Yunho’s voice was calm, but there was something deliberate about the way he said it. You blinked, surprised. “Almost—” “I’ll wait outside,” he said shortly, turning on his heel and disappearing through the door without another word.

You frowned after him, his abrupt exit leaving you slightly unsettled. Turning back to Eli, you forced a gentle smile. “Rest up,” you said softly as you adjusted his blanket. “You’re healing well, but don’t overdo it, alright?”

Eli gave you a small nod, though his gaze flickered briefly to the door where Yunho had disappeared. “Is… he always like that?”

You let out a soft laugh, brushing off the question. “Don’t worry about him. Just focus on getting better.”

As you finished tending to the other soldiers, Yunho lingered in the back of your mind. You moved through the motions with practiced ease, but every quiet corner and every whispered conversation seemed to amplify his absence. When you finally stepped outside into the crisp evening air, you found him saddling the horses.

He worked in silence, hands moving efficiently as he tightened the straps and adjusted the reins. His face was calm—neutral, even—but the faint tension in his jaw gave him away.

“You didn’t have to leave so abruptly,” you said, stepping closer.

Yunho glanced up, his golden-brown gaze catching the fading light. “I thought you’d prefer to work without distractions.”

“You weren’t distracting me.”

He didn’t reply, only finishing with the saddle before offering you a hand up. You took it, his grip firm and warm, but the silence that followed felt heavier than before.

The sun dipped lower as you rode home, the sky streaked in amber and violet. Shadows stretched across the rolling hills, and the sharp, crisp air carried whispers of Reed’s colder winds. Yunho rode beside you, quiet and watchful, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

It was an easy silence, one you had grown accustomed to with him—but tonight, something lingered underneath, a weight you couldn’t quite place. Finally, you turned toward him, breaking the quiet.

“Alright. What is it?”

“What is what?” Yunho replied, his voice calm, but too carefully measured.

“You’ve been brooding since we left the hospital,” you pressed, watching his profile closely. “Did Eli say something that got under your skin?”

His fingers flexed around the reins, the only sign that he was considering his words. “No,” he said finally, the cadence of his voice steady as always. “Not exactly.”

You tilted your head, waiting, the rhythm of the horses' hooves filled the silence until Yunho finally spoke, his voice steady but softer than usual. “It’s not jealousy, if that’s what you’re thinking. They admire you. I understand why.”

You glanced toward him, his expression calm but his eyes telling a deeper story. “Then what’s bothering you?”

He looked ahead, the golden light catching on the edges of his face, softening the sharp lines. For a long moment, he said nothing, as if the answer were something he’d only just allowed himself to put into words.

Finally, he turned his head slightly, his gaze holding yours, warm and steady.

“Because I’d rather be the only man you look at like that.”

Masterlist

4 | 6

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[leirastar]

new world | chapter 4

Pairing: Ot8 Ateez x reader AU: fantasy AU | stranger -> mates Summary: A tragic accident left you unable to use your wings and, with that, claimed your father's life, leaving you in the care of your noble uncle. In Hala, a house of eight kingdoms, each boasting its own wonders, you never imagined that amidst the pain, you would also fall—this time, in love. Word Count: 4.7k | 20 minutes A/n: ANOTHER CHAPTER!! a cute episode and omg the ENDING! i hope i got ya'll hooked. I WILL UPLOUD AGAIN NEXT WEEK!! i'm enjoying my holidays but again i can't let you wait for too long. BTW i'm still not sure i will be uploading anything for new years as i planned bc i'm enjoying spending time with my family. BUT i am planning on creating a mood board for all of the kingdoms, so i hope i can finish that before i start my semester! i love you all, have a good day everyone! SLIGHT SPOILERS: i might or might not deprived you from yunho content, so enjoy the next 3 chapters while you are at it hihi. Warning: emotional tension, vulnerability, subtle romantic, confessions, introspection, mentions of longing and absence, mutual attraction, TEASING.

The silence lingered after his words, stretching thin between you like a drawn bowstring. The quiet was deliberate—he was waiting for something, a response, a reaction. Yet, all you could do was stare.

Yunho’s presence felt heavier than it should have, like a shadow pulling at the edges of the light. Though his smirk played at confidence, there was something else beneath the surface—a question he hadn’t spoken aloud.

Slowly, you pulled your hand from the chair, straightening your posture. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, a glimmer of something—amusement? annoyance?—flashing in his golden-brown eyes. “You doubt me so easily?”

“Easily?” You let out a quiet laugh, more breath than sound.

“A week isn’t ‘not long,’ Yunho.”

The teasing edge of your voice seemed to land somewhere between his ribcage and his heart, catching him off guard for the briefest of moments. Yunho’s smirk softened, as though he hadn’t expected you to challenge him so directly. The flicker of something—fondness, perhaps—settled in his gaze, warmer now, though he masked it quickly.

“Time moves differently for me,” he replied, almost absently, his eyes tracing your face as though committing every line and curve to memory. “But I suppose a week is long when you’re waiting.”

You swallowed, the weight of his words tightening something in your chest. There was a rhythm to this—each word, each look, a quiet pull that seemed to draw you closer, as though gravity itself was bending toward him. You weren’t sure when the air had shifted, but it was charged now, like the calm before a storm.

Before you could respond, Yunho’s gaze shifted slightly, and his posture straightened. From behind his back, he pulled out a small bouquet—a wild mix of flowers, all soft petals and bright colors that looked as though he’d plucked them fresh on his way to you. The sight caught you entirely off guard, your breath stalling as he held it out, his expression strangely unreadable.

“For you,” he said simply.

Your fingers hovered for a moment before taking the bouquet carefully, the delicate fragrance of the blooms drifting up. “You brought me flowers?”

“Should I not have?” Yunho’s voice was casual, but there was something softer behind the words, as though this gesture meant more than he was willing to say.

You looked down at the flowers, unable to hide the small smile pulling at your lips. “No, it’s… sweet. Unexpected, but sweet.”

Yunho exhaled faintly, as though relieved, before his familiar smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Good. I wasn’t sure if it would be enough to make up for my absence.”

“Well,” you said, your voice softer than you intended, unable to stop the warmth spreading through your chest.

“you’re here now.”

Yunho tilted his head slightly, studying you as if he could see more than you were saying. The corner of his mouth lifted again, but this time it was less of a smirk and more of a smile, faint and fleeting, but no less sincere.

“I am,” he said quietly. “And I’ll stay, if you’ll let me.”

The confession sat between you like a small ember, its glow refusing to die out. You found yourself holding his gaze longer than you should have, heat crawling up the back of your neck, but Yunho didn’t look away. He stood there—steady, unshaken—as though his whole world rested on the way you’d respond.

Finally, you exhaled, breaking the stillness. “Well,” you said, trying to inject a bit of lightness back into your tone, “I was just about to make lunch.”

He blinked, surprised, before his smile deepened ever so slightly. “You cook?”

“Not as well as you probably think,” you shot back, turning toward the kitchen, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you. “But you’re welcome to join me—if you’re not afraid of terrible food, that is.”

Yunho laughed softly, the sound so genuine and easy it sent warmth unfurling in your chest. “I think I’ll survive.”

The weight of his presence shifted as he followed you into the kitchen, his footsteps soft but deliberate, a quiet rhythm that somehow made the air feel heavier. He didn’t hover close—no, Yunho was careful about space, respectful and measured, as if he knew the effect his nearness could have. But still, you felt him—felt him in the way your skin tingled with awareness, as though the room had shrunk to hold only the two of you.

You moved with practiced motions, pulling ingredients from shelves and gathering utensils, but it was impossible to ignore the way his gaze lingered. It wasn’t intrusive, wasn’t sharp; instead, it was steady, tracing each movement like he was committing you to memory. There was something calming about it—like the quiet pull of the tide, gentle but impossible to resist. And yet, beneath that calm, a fluttering warmth spread through you, delicate and restless, like sparks caught in the breeze.

Your fingers fumbled over the edge of a jar, slipping just enough to make you laugh under your breath, trying to shake it off. But you felt it again, the way his attention lingered—not just watching, but noticing. Noticing the way you moved when you thought no one was paying attention, the curve of your smile when you found something amusing, the way you seemed so wholly yourself in this small, unguarded moment. It wasn’t judgment; it wasn’t expectation. It was just Yunho, quietly taking you in, and the thought sent a soft, persistent hum through your veins.

It was like yunho was memorizing you, this version of you—self-assured, capable, unguarded. And the way he watched did something to you, sent a restless warmth curling through your chest, soft and unsteady. It was as though sparks had caught on dry tinder, spreading slowly but surely, igniting something you weren’t ready to name.

It felt like standing in sunlight after a long winter—warm and slow, and maybe a little overwhelming. Or maybe it was the opposite, like the quiet of the ocean when you let it wash over you, grounding you in a way you didn’t quite know you needed.

There was an intimacy to it that made your breath hitch, like standing on the shore and feeling the tide pull at your ankles, urging you forward. Calm, quiet—but insistent.

“You’re staring,” you said finally, shooting him a glance over your shoulder. The words were teasing, but your voice sounded softer than you intended, betraying just how aware of him you really were.

Yunho didn’t flinch, didn’t try to deny it. His golden-brown eyes remained fixed on yours, steady as ever, though something flickered beneath the surface—something quieter, softer. He didn’t smile, not exactly, but the corners of his mouth tilted as if he were holding something back.

“I’m observing,” he corrected smoothly, though the playfulness in his tone didn’t hide the way his gaze softened when you looked at him. “There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” You turned back to the counter, shaking your head with a quiet laugh.

“Mm-hmm.” He moved to lean against the edge of the table, arms crossing casually over his chest. “I’m learning things about you. For example, you hum when you’re focused.”

“I do not.”

“You do,” he said with an easy certainty, the smallest of grins tugging at his lips. “It’s… endearing.”

The word hung in the air like a whispered secret, and for a moment, your hands paused. Something about the way he said it—soft, honest, with no room for teasing—left your heart stumbling over its own rhythm.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, trying to hide the way your cheeks warmed as you began chopping vegetables.

“And yet you invited me to lunch,” he countered, and when you turned back toward him, you caught that familiar gleam of mischief in his eyes.

“I must have lost my mind,” you shot back lightly, though your voice faltered under his gaze.

“Or you missed me,” Yunho added, his voice dropping just enough to make your breath hitch.

You met his gaze, the easy banter falling away for the second time that afternoon. The words sat between you, unspoken but understood.

Maybe I did.

“Well,” you said after a moment, the word escaping like a breath as you turned back to the stove, unwilling to let the moment crack open too much more. “If you’re going to stand there being smug, you might as well make yourself useful.”

“As you wish,” he replied, pushing off the counter with an exaggerated sigh, though the faint smile he wore told you he didn’t mind.

By the time lunch was ready, you realized you’d been smiling the entire time. Between the hum of simmering food and the clinking of dishes, Yunho’s occasional remarks, dry and teasing, filled the spaces where silence might have settled. It was nothing grand, but it felt comfortable, like slipping into something warm and familiar.

When you set the last dish on the table, Yunho moved with you, reaching for utensils and bowls without being asked, as though he’d already learned the flow of your kitchen. There was a shift in the air, subtle but certain—a new balance between you, as though his edges weren’t quite so sharp now, his presence not quite so heavy.

“You didn’t have to help,” you said softly, wiping your hands on a towel as you glanced over at him.

Yunho was already seated, arms crossed as he leaned back slightly in the chair, stubborn as ever. “I wasn’t about to stand around doing nothing,” he replied, his tone gruff, though his words carried an edge of something softer—unspoken, but present.

“Always so serious,” you teased, settling across from him and letting yourself meet his gaze fully for the first time since you’d sat down.

Yunho raised a brow, his expression skeptical. “You think I’m serious?”

“I know you are,” you replied, picking up your fork and shooting him a look of mock challenge. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you relax.”

“I am relaxed,” he argued stubbornly, though the slight furrow of his brow and the straightness of his posture betrayed him.

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it, warm and genuine. “Relaxed people don’t sit like they’re bracing for an interrogation.”

Yunho huffed softly—not quite a sigh, but close. “You’re imagining things.”

“Sure,” you said, dragging out the word with exaggerated disbelief. “The brooding stare. The stoic silence. Totally relaxed.”

Yunho’s gaze narrowed, a flicker of that familiar stubbornness returning, but this time, it didn’t carry the same weight. There was something different—the tension that usually surrounded him seemed lighter, like it wasn’t holding him in a chokehold anymore. He didn’t argue, didn’t push back immediately. Instead, his lips twitched faintly, like he was holding back something between amusement and resignation.

“Some of us aren’t so easily distracted,” he muttered, reaching for his fork at last.

“Distracted?” you repeated, tilting your head as if challenging him. “By what, exactly?”

Yunho hesitated then, his expression faltering for just a moment, as though a crack had appeared in the carefully constructed armor he always wore. It was small, almost imperceptible, but you caught it—the faint flicker of something softer, something unspoken lingering in the depths of his golden-brown eyes. He shifted his weight slightly, his fingers curling against the edge of the table as though grounding himself, yet the motion was subtle, as if he didn’t want you to notice how much the question had unsettled him.

For a beat, he held your gaze, a war playing out in the quiet space between you—his instinct to guard himself colliding with something else, something more fragile. His shoulders, usually stiff with quiet control, loosened just enough for you to see the truth: this wasn’t a question he knew how to answer easily. Yunho had spent so long keeping his thoughts locked away, his emotions buried beneath layers of steel and silence, that the idea of exposing even a fraction of them felt foreign, like treading into unfamiliar territory.

Finally, his gaze broke away, flickering to the floor, his jaw tight as though he were biting back words he couldn’t quite say. Vulnerability sat on him awkwardly, like a garment he wasn’t used to wearing—uncomfortable and heavy, despite its delicate nature. And yet, for all his reluctance, you could see something else, too—an unspoken effort, a wanting. He wanted to say more, to let you in just a little, but it was clear he hadn’t yet figured out how to make peace with it, how to lower his defenses without feeling exposed.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, a fraction less steady than before. “Nothing,” he murmured, the word clipped but carrying a weight that betrayed him. It wasn’t a dismissal, not truly—it was a placeholder, a shield thrown up just in time to keep you from seeing too much. But you weren’t fooled; that single word had layers, and though Yunho was too proud to admit it, you could see them all, thin and translucent like glass.

The silence that followed stretched longer than it should have, as if he were waiting for you to push further, to call him out on the half-truth. Instead, you let the moment settle, soft and unspoken, giving him the space he needed. You didn’t press, didn’t pry, though your gentle patience seemed to make him shift uncomfortably, as though it was easier to deal with sharp edges than with kindness.

And yet, in the stillness, you caught it—the faint, almost imperceptible way Yunho’s shoulders dropped again, the tension bleeding away just slightly. Even if he didn’t say it aloud, the quiet acceptance in your silence told him that he didn’t have to fight so hard here. That he didn’t need to armor himself with words or distance.

The moment passed like a breath, fleeting yet lingering in the spaces between you, and when Yunho finally looked up again, his eyes were softer, less guarded. He didn’t say another word, but the look he gave you spoke for him—a silent acknowledgment, a step forward, no matter how small. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to feel like something had shifted between you, the tiniest crack letting light seep through.

Your smile softened, your teasing quieting. “Well,” you said gently, “if you ever feel like saying it out loud, I’ll listen.”

The words hung in the air, and when Yunho’s gaze flicked back to meet yours, something shifted. For a long, still moment, he studied you, as if measuring how much of himself he could let you see. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t look away either, and somehow, the silence between you felt more honest than anything either of you had said all afternoon.

Finally, Yunho exhaled, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The soft promise settled between you, and though it was small, it felt like something. A step forward. A crack in the carefully constructed walls he kept up. You smiled back, breaking the moment before it could press too deeply.

“Now eat before it gets cold,” you said, lifting your fork. “I didn’t make all of this for you to just sit there and brood.”

Yunho blinked, feigning offense. “Brood? I don’t brood.”

“You do,” you shot back, grinning. “And you’re proving my point again.”

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, though the words held no real frustration. If anything, his voice carried something new—something faintly fond, though he likely wouldn’t admit it.

“And you’re predictable,” you countered lightly, reaching for your own bite.

Yunho paused, giving you one of those skeptical, narrow-eyed looks. “Don’t get used to this,” he warned, though the effect was lost when he reached for another helping of food.

“To what?” you asked, feigning innocence as you smiled behind your fork.

His gaze lingered then, steady and quiet, before he finally said, “Me staying.”

Your heart skipped, your breath catching just slightly, but you managed to keep your voice even. “Then I’ll make sure the food’s good enough to keep you around.”

Yunho didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked at you for a beat too long, as though trying to figure you out yet again. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer. “Fine. But don’t expect compliments.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you said with a smile, turning your focus back to your plate.

And then it happened—soft and low, a quiet chuckle escaped him. It was small, almost as though he hadn’t meant for you to hear it, but it lingered in the space between you, warm and unguarded. The sound curled in your chest like an ember, steady and bright, something you knew you’d carry with you for a long time after.

Yunho didn’t touch his food right away. Instead, he leaned slightly forward, picking at the edge of his fork with idle focus. “Where did you go this morning?” he asked suddenly, breaking the quiet rhythm of clinking silverware.

You glanced up, caught off guard by the question. “The market,” you replied casually, reaching for a piece of bread. “It’s livelier on late mornings, and the vendors are more generous when they’re almost sold out.”

Yunho raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. “You bartered.”

You smirked, shrugging. “I negotiated. It’s a skill.”

“Clearly,” he murmured, though the faint amusement in his tone softened the usual sharpness of his words. “And you go often?”

“Only when I need to,” you said, lifting your fork with an easy shrug. “Unlike you, who seems to disappear for weeks on end.”

Yunho didn’t flinch at the jab; if anything, he seemed amused by it. “I was working,” he replied smoothly, his golden-brown eyes meeting yours with quiet certainty.

“And what exactly is your work?” you asked, curiosity tugging at the corners of your mind. You’d never pressed Yunho for details before, and though he wasn’t one to share freely, something told you he might answer today.

“A diplomat,” Yunho said, taking a bite of his food and chewing thoughtfully, as though the word itself carried a certain weight.

“A messenger between kingdoms, if you will.”

“Diplomat?” you echoed, your brow lifting in surprise. “That’s… unexpected.”

His lips twitched. “You sound disappointed.”

“Not disappointed,” you admitted with a small smile.

“I didn’t think you’d have the patience for it.”

Yunho’s lips twitched as though fighting back a smile. “You’d be surprised,” he said, setting his fork down briefly to lean back in his chair. “It takes a lot of patience to listen to people argue over things that don’t matter.”

“And Where’d you disappear to this time?” you asked, taking another bite, keeping your tone casual though your curiosity lingered.

Yunho tilted his head slightly, studying you before answering. “Caius. The capital.”

“Caius?” you repeated, interest flickering in your voice. “What for?”

His smirk returned, faint but unmistakable. “Let’s just say I hastened the arrangements I had to make there… so I could see a certain beautiful girl out here in the outskirts.”

Your fork paused midair, the words sinking in with a weight they probably shouldn’t have. “That’s quite the line,” you gulp, though your voice came out softer than you intended.

“Is it?” Yunho replied, leaning back in his chair with a casual confidence that didn’t quite match the way his gaze lingered on you. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

The weight of his words settled between you, lingering like the gentle crackle of a fading fire. You looked away, focusing on the food in front of you as if it demanded your full attention, but it didn’t stop the warmth spreading across your cheeks. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence thick with something unspoken—something that made your pulse quicken in a way you didn’t quite want to name.

“So,” you began, breaking the silence as you plated food. “Where are you from? Really?”

Yunho tilted his head slightly, his fork pausing mid-air as he considered your question. “Reed,” he answered simply, his golden-brown gaze meeting yours.

“Reed?” You couldn’t hide the small, teasing smile that crept onto your face. “Ah, I understand your cold exterior now. That icy place must have frozen your personality.”

For a moment, Yunho blinked at you, his usual sharp retorts caught off guard by the jab. Then, he huffed softly, the corners of his lips twitching into something between a frown and a reluctant smile. “I don’t have a cold exterior.”

“You do,” you shot back, grinning. “All intense and serious… but it’s okay. I’ll just blame the environment.”

A faint chuckle escaped him, though his eyes didn’t lose that steady focus on you. “Careful,” he murmured, the corner of his lips quirking up. “You might find the cold isn’t so bad once you get used to it.”

“You’ll have to prove that someday,” you teased, shaking your head as you reached for your glass. “Until then, I stand by my theory.”

Yunho sighed, but there was no hiding the way his expression softened at your playful challenge. He shook his head faintly, as though exasperated, but his eyes betrayed him—warm and lingering just a beat too long.

The rest of lunch passed in that easy rhythm, filled with quiet conversation and teasing remarks that seemed to chip away at the usual Yunho—a man of sharp words and a guarded expression. He didn’t praise your cooking, true to his word, but when he went back for seconds without a word, you couldn’t help the satisfaction that curled in your chest.

“You can stop pretending you hate it,” you said finally, watching as he set his empty plate down with the same deliberate care as everything else he did.

“I never said I hated it,” he replied, his voice calm and even. “I said I wouldn’t compliment it.”

You arched a brow. “That’s the same thing.”

“It isn’t,” he countered stubbornly, though the faint flicker of amusement in his eyes betrayed him.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered for what felt like the hundredth time that day, though the words were softened by your smile.

“And you’re predictable,” he replied, though his tone held no real bite. If anything, there was something warmer in it—something more familiar, like he was settling into this version of himself, here with you.

The quiet that followed wasn’t awkward—it was charged, the air between you suddenly warmer, thicker. You couldn’t hold his gaze for long, so you returned your focus to your plate, though the food in front of you suddenly seemed far less interesting.

The rest of lunch passed in that same rhythm—an easy ebb and flow of words, teasing remarks laced with just enough sincerity to make you pause, and silences that didn’t feel empty. Yunho’s stubborn refusal to compliment your cooking stayed true, though the way he cleaned his plate and lingered in his seat told you everything you needed to know. His shoulders, once tense and sharp with unspoken words, had softened, and there was an ease to him now—a presence that wasn’t so much guarded as it was… present.

It was late afternoon by the time the kitchen had been cleaned, the dishes stacked neatly away and the air outside beginning to soften into evening. Sunlight poured lazily through the windows, golden and drowsy, streaking across the wooden floors. You’d pulled out a small pitcher of mulled refreshment—something akin to a medieval wine, spiced and warm—and paired it with a simple platter of cheeses and sliced fruit.

Yunho sat at the table again, one arm draped casually over the back of his chair, his presence quieter now, more at ease. He lifted the glass you’d set before him, turning it slightly between his fingers as though inspecting it.

“Do diplomats get to drink this well in Caius?” you asked lightly, sitting across from him and pouring yourself a glass.

“Not often,” he replied, his voice softer now, as though the long day had smoothed the edges of it. “The wine is better, but the company isn’t.”

You paused mid-sip, his words landing with a subtle weight that you didn’t miss. “Is that your way of complimenting me?”

Yunho tilted his head slightly, his golden gaze meeting yours across the table. “Would you prefer I deny it?”

The question hung there, unspoken but understood, before you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “You’re terrible at this.”

“At what?” he asked, the faintest smile tugging at his lips as he finally took a sip of the drink.

“Being subtle,” you teased, though the warmth that curled through your chest suggested you didn’t really mind.

A comfortable quiet followed, the two of you sipping the spiced drink and sharing bites of cheese and fruit as the sunlight began to shift. The house felt still, cradled by the late-afternoon calm, the kind of quiet that wrapped around you like a blanket. Yunho didn’t rush to leave, though you could see the faint shift in his expression—the way his gaze drifted briefly to the door, as though preparing himself to return to wherever his duties called him next.

You set your glass down, watching him carefully. “Are you leaving soon?”

Yunho nodded faintly, though he didn’t move yet. “I should.”

Something inside you sank slightly, though you kept your voice steady. “And where to this time?”

“Reed, for now,” he said, though his eyes lingered on you, his next words softer. “But maybe not for long.”

You tilted your head, curiosity flickering in your chest. “What do you mean?”

Yunho set his glass down, his movements slow, deliberate. His gaze held yours, steady and unwavering as he spoke. “Maybe,” started, as though choosing his words carefully, “if a certain lady here doesn’t have anyone waiting for her… she might have the honor of being courted by a gentleman.”

Your breath stilled.

He didn’t smile—not fully—but there was something about the way he looked at you that made it clear he wasn’t teasing, not this time. Your heart skipped, the weight of his words landing softly but unmistakably.

“A gentleman?” you asked lightly, though your voice felt fragile.

Yunho’s gaze didn’t waver, his golden-brown eyes holding yours with something deeper—something unspoken but clear. “One who travels between Reed and Caius…but might find himself visiting these outskirts more often—

if she’ll have him.”

You stared at him for a long moment, your chest tight, your pulse fluttering like a wild thing. Yunho wasn’t smiling now; there was no teasing in his expression. He looked at you like he was waiting—for an answer, for a sign, for something to tell him that he wasn’t making a mistake in saying this aloud.

The confession was quiet, understated, but it felt like everything. You were unable to tear your gaze away, as the sunlight caught on the edges of his face, softening the sharp lines into something gentler. It wasn’t grand or sweeping—no promises or declarations—but it didn’t need to be.

The words you wanted to say caught in your throat, but finally, you managed to smile, soft and honest. “Well,” you murmured, your voice quieter than before, “that depends on the gentleman.”

Yunho’s gaze held yours a beat longer, his eyes steady and unwavering, as though he was taking in every detail, every unspoken word between you. Then, with deliberate care, he rose to his feet, his movements fluid but deliberate.

“Then I’ll have to prove myself worthy,” he said, his voice low and sure, the weight of the words lingering like a promise. “And perhaps… dote on her until she has no choice but to say yes.”

You couldn’t help the flutter in your chest, the warmth creeping up your neck as he turned toward the door, his hand brushing the handle as though he was reluctant to leave. He lingered there for just a moment, glancing back to meet your gaze one last time.

“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice carrying an unexpected sincerity. “For the food. And the time.”

As he turned toward the door, his hand grazing the handle, you called after him softly. “Yunho.”

He paused, glancing back, waiting.

“I haven’t said no yet.”

His lips lifted just enough to let you see the faintest hint of a smile—a real one, unguarded and soft—before he nodded once and disappeared out the door, the fading sunlight catching the last glimpse of him as he left.

And when the house fell quiet again, you sat there, hands still curled around your empty glass, his words playing over in your mind like a melody you couldn’t let go of.

Already, the space he left behind felt too quiet—too big—and you wondered how long it would take before you stopped looking for him in every shadow.

Masterlist

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[leirastar]

new world | chapter 3

Pairing: Ot8 Ateez x reader AU: fantasy AU | stranger -> mates Summary: A tragic accident left you unable to use your wings and, with that, claimed your father's life, leaving you in the care of your noble uncle. In Hala, a house of eight kingdoms, each boasting its own wonders, you never imagined that amidst the pain, you would also fall—this time, in love. Word Count: 2.3k | 10 minutes A/n: SUPRISE!!! 2 CHAPTER IN A DAY😊 a treat since i passed all my exam with flying colors!!! IN ALL HONESTY! chapter 2 and 3 are one chapter but it seems like a lot of word SOO, i divided into 2! Another good news!! i will try my best to upload every week while im in winter break. I finished drafting chapter 8 and i loved it just the angst and EVERYTHING! Warning: Mentions of emotional distress, ominous foreboding, potential stalking, unsettling sensations of being watched, subtle tension, and implied danger.

The next morning, the lingering weight of unease clung to you like a shadow. You pulled your dark maroon robe from its hook by the door, wrapping it snugly around your shoulders. The fabric was heavy but comforting, lined with faint embroidery at the edges—a pattern of trailing leaves your mother had stitched long ago.

Grabbing your basket from the small table and tucking it under your arm, you paused by the shelf near the door, reaching for a small, leather pouch. Inside were a handful of Aurians—small, hexagonal coins of bronze and silver that served as the currency in Hala. Each one bore a delicate engraving of a sun on one side and a feather on the other. You ran your thumb over the edge of the pouch before tying it securely to your belt.

Stepping outside, you made your way to the barn adjacent to your cottage. The faint smell of hay and earth greeted you as you pushed the wooden door open, the creak echoing in the quiet morning. Inside, the familiar warmth of Branwen—your sturdy chestnut mare—was enough to bring a faint smile to your lips.

“Morning, girl,” you said softly, reaching out to stroke her neck. Branwen huffed in response, her ears flicking toward you as though in greeting.

You moved with practiced ease, gathering her bridle and saddle from the hooks near the wall. “We’ve got a long ride today, Branwen. Market day again.”

She seemed to understand, stomping lightly against the ground as you began to saddle her. You took your time, murmuring small reassurances as you worked, your fingers moving deftly despite the thoughts that lingered at the edges of your mind. Once everything was secure, you tucked a folded blanket into your basket—just in case—and looped the reins around your hand.

“Let’s go, girl.”

Leading Branwen outside, you took a deep breath of the cool morning air, heavy with the scent of damp earth and lingering rain. The sky was soft and pale, the sunlight barely breaking through the thin mist that clung to the trees. You swung yourself up into the saddle, adjusting your cloak so the maroon fabric draped comfortably around your legs.

With a soft nudge to Branwen’s side, you set off down the dirt path. The rhythmic sound of her hooves against the ground steadied you, grounding your thoughts as the looming dread of the Goretheron Bloom sat quietly in the back of your mind.

The road was quiet this early. Birds chirped faintly from the branches above, and the only company you had was the occasional rustle of leaves as a breeze whispered through the trees. Branwen carried you with her usual calm steadiness, her steps unhurried yet purposeful. The faint mist of rain from the night before clung to the ground, carrying with it the sharp, earthy smell of wet soil.

By the time the forest gave way to open fields and the distant hum of the village reached your ears, you felt your shoulders begin to relax.

The closest village was a brisk twenty-minute ride away, its streets already alive with color and noise. Merchants had set up their stalls, their voices ringing out across the square. The smells of fresh bread, roasted meats, and bundles of herbs wafted through the air, mingling with the chatter of townsfolk bartering for their morning supplies.

It was a comforting scene, a stark contrast to the dark silence of your cottage the night before. For a moment, you allowed yourself to breathe, guiding Branwen toward the edge of the market square.

You dismounted and looped the reins loosely around a wooden post before weaving through the growing crowd. The noise was soothing in its own way—a reminder of life, bustling and loud, utterly normal.

You stopped first at a vendor you always visited—a tidy little stall brimming with bundles of dried herbs, baked goods, and small jars of preserves. The owner, Joonie, greeted you with a warm smile as she wiped her hands on her apron.

“Y/N! Right on time, as always,” she said, her tone familiar and teasing. “Come to clear me out of all my feverfew and woodruff again?”

You grinned faintly, setting your basket on the edge of the table. “You know me too well, Joonie. It’s not often I find feverfew as fresh as yours. And perhaps a little of those sweet rolls while I’m here.”

“You keep me in business, girl. Between your herbs and those healing teas you make, the whole village’s aches and fevers disappear in no time.”

You nodded appreciatively. Feverfew, known for soothing headaches and calming inflammation, was a useful herb—one you’d often stocked for your uncle and his patients when he visited. Caius, despite its abundance of rare blooms, rarely saw such practical, temperate plants outside of shipments.

Joonie returned with a small paper bundle of fresh sweet rolls, setting it into your basket along with the carefully wrapped feverfew. Then, with a sly smile, she leaned over the table, resting her chin on her hand.

“Now tell me, Y/N,” she said, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Is there a reason you’re always after feverfew? Someone special suffering a headache you’re not telling me about?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Joonie, it’s for medicine.”

She waved a hand, unfazed by your flat tone. “Oh, I know, but Jay’s still asking about you, you know. Says he hasn’t heard your answer yet.”

You sighed, feeling the familiar heat creep up your neck. “Joonie, you know I’m busy enough without—”

She winked, slipping an extra sweet roll into your basket. “You say that now, but mark my words, one of these days someone’s going to snatch you up. Maybe you’ll even share some feverfew tea while you’re at it.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you tucked the herbs and food securely into your basket. “I’ll be sure to let you know when that happens.”

Joonie grinned, handing you the wrapped herbs as you placed a few Aurians—the silver hexagonal coins—into her outstretched hand.

“Take care, Y/N!” she called after you.

“You too, Joonie!” you replied over your shoulder, her laughter still ringing faintly in your ears as you made your way deeper into the market.

You stopped briefly at a small, cluttered stall tucked between two busier vendors. Its tables were draped in deep green cloth, every inch covered with trinkets, small jars, and curious wares that glinted faintly in the morning sun. It wasn’t the sort of place you typically visited, but something about it drew your attention.

The merchant, an older woman with a kindly face and bright eyes, offered you a warm smile. “Looking for anything in particular, dear?”

You shook your head, absentmindedly brushing your fingers over small carved pendants and polished stones. “Just browsing.”

As your gaze wandered, it caught on something tucked near the back of the table—a small, silver sun-shaped medallion with an intricate engraving. The rays of the sun stretched outward, almost like feathers, and in the center was a delicate stone of faint amber.

You picked it up carefully, the weight of it solid in your palm. The craftsmanship was fine, but the edges were worn enough to suggest age, as though it had been passed through many hands. It reminded you of something your uncle might appreciate—simple yet meaningful, its design carrying an air of quiet authority.

“That’s a fine piece,” the merchant said, leaning forward slightly. “It’s said to be lucky—crafted long ago by an artisan in Charadyn.”

You smiled faintly. “Lucky, you say?”

“For those who carry burdens,” she replied with a wink. “A little light to guide their way.”

It was a silly notion, perhaps, but you tucked the medallion into your basket anyway, already imagining how your uncle’s expression might soften when you handed it to him.

“How much?” you asked, reaching for your coin pouch.

“Two silvers will do,” she replied with a nod.

You exchanged the coins—two Aurians, their feathered engravings glinting softly in the sunlight—and carefully wrapped the medallion in a cloth before placing it in your basket.

“Thank you,” you said softly, and the merchant’s smile deepened.

As you moved back into the flow of the market, the sound of bustling vendors and townsfolk surrounded you once more. You adjusted the basket under your arm, its weight now holding something more meaningful than a simple purchase.

But as you rounded another row of stalls, a sudden prickling sensation crept along the back of your neck.

Someone was watching you.

You slowed slightly, glancing casually over your shoulder. The crowd bustled as usual, but a shadow seemed to flit just outside your vision. You turned back, your steps quickening as you navigated a path between the stalls, ducking into a quieter alley that led toward the fabric vendors.

The sound of footsteps—light but deliberate—quickened behind you.

Your heart skipped a beat as you clutched the edge of your cloak, fingers instinctively drifting toward the small knife tucked into your belt. “Who’s there?” you called, your voice steadier than you felt.

The footsteps halted abruptly.

You spun around just in time to see a familiar face skidding to a stop, hands raised in mock surrender.

“Whoa, easy!”

You blinked, startled. “Yujin?”

Your friend grinned sheepishly, brushing a stray strand of hair back as she caught her breath. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost? I called your name twice, you know.”

Relief flooded through you as you exhaled sharply, dropping your hand from your knife. “You scared me half to death, Yujin.”

She smirked, crossing her arms. “Scared you? You’re the one stalking around like you’re running from something.”

You shot her a flat look. “I thought someone was following me.”

“Someone was, Y/N. Me.” She laughed softly, the sound light and teasing as she gestured for you to follow her back toward the market. “I was looking for you. Mama’s been asking about you all morning—she wanted to say thank you for the medicine.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. Yujin’s mother had been one of your more difficult patients, her recovery slow but steady.

“How is she feeling?” you asked as the two of you walked side by side, the tension from earlier slowly melting away.

“Better. You really do work miracles,” Yujin replied, nudging your arm playfully. “She says she hasn’t slept that well in years.”

You smiled softly. “That’s good to hear. I’ll stop by and check on her before I leave.”

The rest of the morning passed in pleasant company. You followed Yujin back to her family’s stall, where her mother greeted you warmly with hands that no longer shook as they once had. You checked her pulse, answered her lingering questions, and waved off the basket of fresh bread she tried to force into your hands as thanks.

By the time you returned to Branwen, the weight on your chest had eased slightly. The morning mist had lifted, leaving the air sharp and clear, but the unease from earlier still lingered faintly in the back of your mind. As the village faded into the distance, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder once more, half expecting to see a shadow flitting at the edge of the trees.

The feeling of being watched had vanished, but it didn’t stop the occasional prickle along the back of your neck.

“Just tired,” you muttered softly to yourself, patting Branwen’s neck reassuringly. The mare let out a steady breath in response, as though she agreed.

By the time you arrived at the cottage, the sun hung high in the sky, casting long beams of light through the canopy above. You slid off Branwen’s back, her coat warm beneath your hand as you led her toward the barn.

“There you go, girl,” you murmured, loosening her bridle and brushing down her chestnut coat with practiced ease. “You’ve earned a rest.”

Branwen huffed softly, nudging your shoulder as you hung up the saddle and left her with a fresh bucket of water and hay.

Satisfied, you turned toward the house, your boots softly crunching against the grass as you crossed the small yard. The quiet of the cottage greeted you as you pushed the door open, a familiar warmth wrapping around you like a well-worn blanket.

You set your basket down near the table and pulled off your maroon cloak, draping it neatly over the back of a chair. The hum of the day’s ride still buzzed faintly in your bones, and for the first time in hours, the weight in your chest seemed to ease entirely.

But then you heard it.

A soft rustling sound—feathers shifting, deliberate and near.

You froze, your hand still resting on the back of the chair. The sound came again, faint but unmistakable, from just behind you.

You turned sharply, heart hammering in your chest.

Standing in the doorway, partially silhouetted by the light filtering in from outside, was a familiar figure.

“Yunho.”

His name slipped from your lips before you could stop yourself.

He stood tall, his indigo cloak fluttering faintly as though he’d only just landed. Loose strands of his dark hair fell across his forehead, but his golden-brown eyes were clear and sharp, fixed squarely on you. His wings—large and striking—rested partially folded at his back, the faint edges of his feathers catching the light.

Then, before your eyes, his wings began to retract. It was seamless—elegant—as though the feathers folded into themselves, vanishing beneath his skin until there was no trace of them left. The movement was quiet, almost unnatural, and yet undeniably beautiful in its fluidity.

He tilted his head slightly, his mouth curving into the faintest of smirks.

“Am I intruding, my lady?”

The words hung in the air, carrying just enough teasing to soften the tension that had coiled in your chest. But beneath it, his tone still held that same quiet, measured weight, as though he were testing your reaction.

You exhaled, the surprise melting into something you couldn’t quite name. “You’re back.”

The corner of his mouth quirked further, though his gaze remained steady. “I told you I would return.”

Masterlist

2 | 4

Taglist (CLOSED):

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[spookwriter-xo]

Coppélia

Chapter 7 - The Lion's Den

Chapter Summary - Y/N Is urged to meet with some of the other women involved in high society to gain some close friends and she decides to drag Mia with her. Y/N starts to realize the boys may not be as friendly as they seem.

warnings: mentions of murder, Seonghwa injures reader (MDNI)

Series Masterlist

It had been almost two weeks since I had started living with the boys. Yunho and Jongho were still pretty stand-offish, not really bothering to make conversation unless absolutely necessary. Yeosang however, had gotten better.

I figured he was shy from the start, but after I thanked him for filling my wardrobe he started asking simple questions like how my day was. It wasn't a lot, but it was progress.

Hongjoong and San had backed off a little, not actively seeking me out like the remaining three. Mingi, Seonghwa, and Wooyoung were a lot more social, Wooyoung would come and find me the second they'd come home during the workweek to tell me everything before I left for the Society, at least what he could tell me anyway.

Seonghwa's gifts hadn't stopped, however, they had broadened from simple Gardenias (Though he kept fresh ones on the dresser in my room for me). Mingi often played piano after dinner, sometimes, he'd play something from the show or past shows just to see me dance.

He always smiled so brightly when I would.

Seonghwa was the one who suggested I go to a ladies brunch over dinner. I'd glance around at the others who made no objection.

"Ladies Brunch?" I ask.

"All the women that our allies are involved with get together once a month for a ladies brunch. You should go." Seonghwa explains, bringing his fork to his mouth.

"Are there many?" I ask.

"Normally there's around 10 or 11, depending on who's available," Seonghwa says. "You could bring a friend if you like, maybe Mia?"

I nod at the mention of Mia. It would be good to see her again and catch her up on everything in person. Besides meeting other women, hopefully around my age, would probably do me some good. Maybe some of them could explain what the men actually did.

And that's why I agreed.

"You think any of them are like... Murderers?" Mia asks me as we sit in her family's limousine. "I mean, they're involved in families known to be involved in the mafia so.."

She wasn't wrong. After I had invited her, Mia had one of Marks's friends dig up some information about some of the women we'd be meeting. Jeno Lee was always pretty good at that.

Kazuko Takanashi was the fiancé to the CEO of the SVT Association, Choi Seungcheol. A large modeling and fashion company much like the one my father owned, their rival if you will. She was beautiful and worked as a model for their more expensive pieces. I assumed her husband-to-be would only allow it as such.

Park Minji was born into high society, her father running a car company. She was dating one of the leaders of SKZ Foundation, a military company, Seo Changbin. She didn't do much, but there were rumors that she was an excellent hacker.

Those were the only ones I could remember from the list, but I knew there were so many more. I recognized some of the companies, a little surprised some of them were still running.

We arrived at the club we were to meet at, one owned by the husband of one of the women we were to meet, Nari.

"Mia, don't say anything rude," I warn, getting out of the car.

"I'm not promising anything." She quips, following me.

We head inside, it's empty aside from the small group of maybe six women sitting at a long table, laughing and drinking already. I glance at Mia who looks back at me, gesturing with her head to go towards them.

I hesitate before approaching slowly. Kazuko was there, and Minji too. They looked so much friendlier in person. I clear my throat, causing one I didn't recognize to look up. She offers me a kind smile before standing.

"You must be Y/N!" She says, approaching the two of us. "And you're Mia Hua right?" Mia nods in response.

"I'm Kate. Come sit." She says, gesturing to some empty seats. "It's just us today, the others couldn't make it."

I take a seat beside Minji, her dyed blonde hair shimmering in the overhead light. Mia sits on my other side, shifting in her seat. Kate starts to introduce everyone, and my memory comes back to me; Minji, Jaehwa, Asami, Kazuko, Liv, and Kate herself. Easy enough.

I knew Asami was the oldest based on what I remembered. She was born into high society much like Minji however, she runs her own company, a tech company alongside a friend of hers, Taeyong.

Jaehwa was the younger sister of Nari, I knew she had joined the military for two years because she 'wanted to scratch an itch'. I could tell it paid off, her tan skin and muscular frame seemed oddly attractive.

Liv was a part of the TBZ Association, a law firm. I could tell she was studying me the minute I sat down, her eyes unmoving and unblinking as they stared me down. Like a predator hunting prey.

"So, ATZ Corp chose you huh?" Jaehwa asks, her voice deep. "I heard you're a dancer."

"Ballerina." I correct, noticing the quirk of Asami's eyebrow. "I'm a Ballerina for the Ballet Society."

Kazuko takes a sip of her drink. "I went to one of your shows, you're quite good." She says, glancing at me. There was something comforting about her words, yet I kept my guard up.

"What's the show?" Minji asks, her Australian accent thick.

"Coppèlia I'm pretty sure." Kazuko answers, leaning back in her seat.

"Never heard of it." Jaehwa says, elbow now propped up on the table.

I listen to the women talk. They seem friendly enough, and at least three of them are anyway. Asami looks at me before finally speaking.

"Something you wanna say?" She asks, her eyes boaring into mine. "If you have questions you can ask."

A part of me felt relieved she'd said that, opening a door for all the questions I'd had piled up to spill out. Kate gave me a reassuring look, nodding slightly for me to speak.

"I'm... It's been a long time since I've been in this life." I start. "It's all so different now.. And they guys won't tell me anything no matter how much I ask."

"It was like that for me too." Kazuko says. "I was born in the bronx. When I met Seungcheol, none of his friends or even him would tell me anything about what they did even though I grew up on the other end of it all."

I listened to her. These women had come from all different parts of society. Some are working their way up, and some are fighting to survive even now. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea.

"When Seungcheol asked me to marry him, I told him no unless he told me everything." Kazuko continues. "Eventually, he caved when he realised I was serious."

"So I threaten them?" I ask.

"Definitely don't do that!" Liv laughs, finally speaking. Her voice was sweet. Maybe she was just shy. "ATZ don't take nicely to threats."

"So what do I do?" I ask.

"Ask us." Kate says, reaching a hand over. "We won't hide anything from you."

I nod, taking a deep breath before glancing at Mia, who seems a little too invested now.

"Be honest with me. Do they hurt people?"

"Obviously, it's the mafia." Asami says. "We have to kill to keep those close to us safe. Greed is evil, and those who let it consume them will always try to take what isn't theirs."

I stare at Asami, and the bluntness in her tone causes goosebumps to coat my skin.

"The boys kill, yes, but most of the time it's business or for protection reasons. There's some corrupt companies out there, ones that kill the weak for sport. Like Belluxe." Kazuko spits, my head snaps to her hefore quickly composing myself. My fathers company? Killing for sport?

"After everything that happened with Aurora, I'm surprised they decided to let another one in." Jaehwa says, causing me to perk up at the name.

"You knew her?" I ask.

"Of course we did." Liv says, her eyes softening slightly. "I miss her sometimes... She was always a voice of reason."

"She was a fool." Asami says. "Stuck her nose in something she shouldn't have. That's what got her killed."

My blood ran cold at Asami's words. Her tone was so indifferent, like she was angry.

Aurora was killed? Because she was investigating something? But what?

"Asami!" Kate scolds.

"It's the truth!" Asami barks. "Nothing would have happened if she'd just-" Asami stops herself and lets out a sigh before standing. "Excuse me." She mutters, heading off in the direction of the bathroom.

"You'll have to excuse her." Minji says quietly to me. "She cares a lot more then she lets on."

"Aurora was killed?" Mia asks. I'd spoken to her about Aurora the night of my first day living with ATZ. She was just as curious as I was.

"She was investigating some suspicious activity even when Hongjoong told her not to." Jaehwa says. "She got too far in and ended up getting herself killed."

"What was the suspicious activity?" I ask, glancing at Kazuko.

"Do you remember the Cobra?" She asks us. Mia and I nod. The Cobra was a serial killer who caused some grief to a lot of businesses years back. He'd kill runners, undercover workers, and sometimes even leaders in gruesome ways to get his message across. His tell; all of his victims were found with poison in their system.

"But The Cobra disappeared when we were kids?" Mia questions.

"He came back. Briefly." Kate says.

"Well, there were rumours." Liv corrects. "That's what Aurora was investigating."

Aurora was trying to catch a serial killer and was killed when she got too close? Why didn't the boys tell me this? Was there more to it?

"Enough about Aurora." Jaehwa murmers as Asami returns.

The topic shifted rather quickly.

It was almost 6pm when I returned back to the estate. Seonghwa was sitting in the living room, waiting for my return.

"How was it?" He asks, not looking up from the book he was reading, Frankenstein.

"Enlightening," I answer, my tone indifferent. I was upset at them. I'd learned more from women I'd just met in a few hours than the 8 men I had been living with for almost 2 weeks.

The girls had told me all about their work, giving me some idea of what was going on in the basement as well as outside of the house that I probably would never see.

Seonghwa recognizes my tone and sighs, marking his page in his book before setting it down on the coffee table. He stands, moving in front of me now, staring down at me with a cold look.

"How much do you know?"

"Enough," I answer, staring back up at him, I hear footsteps thud to a stop behind me, whoever it was listening closely. "Funny how I can trust complete strangers more than the men I'm supposed to be with."

"If you don't trust us, why did you come back?" The voice, Hongjoong, says from behind me. I don't jump at his voice, only turning to look at him. I had nowhere else to go. The answer was as simple as that.

On the second day of my stay, I woke up to all my things from my old apartment tucked away in the corner of my room. Wooyoung had gone to collect my things and speak to my landlord that night, at least that's what he said.

"You know why," I say, my blood boiling at the teasing grin on his face. Here we go again, being laughed at. Maybe I should have stayed at Mia's tonight.

"Dinners ready!" Wooyoung calls out from the other room. "Is Y/N home?" He asks, poking his head out from behind the connecting archway.

"You could have told me she was killed." I blurt out, my gaze on Wooyoung but my words are aimed at all of them. "Did you think I couldn't handle it?" I say, looking up at Seonghwa once again.

"They told you?" Seonghwa asks, his voice low.

"Yes, because unlike you they recognize that I can handle myself." I snap, poking his chest. Big mistake. He snatches my wrist, gripping it tightly. My eyes widen and I try and pull away, Hongjoong and Wooyoung make no move to step in.

"You listen to me," Seonghwa says, his voice coming out as a growl. The gentleman I knew was long gone now. There was something sinister in his eyes as he looked down at me, the size difference suddenly feeling a lot larger the tighter he held my wrist. "You won't ask any more questions about what happened. You will not go investigating it yourself and you certainly will not ask others. That includes our housekeepers." He says quietly, his voice low and threatening.

I glance at Wooyoung, his face void of emotion as he watches from the archway. Shit.

"If I find out you have, you'll never step foot from this house ever again. Say goodbye to Mia, the Society, everything." He warns.

"Seonghwa." Hongjoong finally speaks up. Seonghwa's knuckles are white from how tightly he was gripping my wrist. "Let her go. She's gotten the hint." Hongjoong says, taking a step forward.

Seonghwa lets go and I pull back, bumping into Hongjoong. I jump away from him, backing up into the foyer. I stare back at them with wide eyes, clutching my wrist as they stare back at me. A sick feeling overcomes me as I mutter out three words before scurrying up the stairs.

"I'm not hungry."

Mingi had come upstairs to check on me a few hours later. He carried a plate of food in his hands and his expression adorned a pouty expression. Surprisingly, I let him in.

He sets the plate of food down on my dresser before taking a seat on the loveseat by the window.

"Wooyoung told us what happened." He says, holding his hand out and glancing down at my wrist. I hesitate for a moment before letting him take it. His touch was gentle as he examined the light bruise, his eyebrows furrowing. "I didn't think Seonghwa would ever hurt you.."

"Yeah, me too." I huff, looking down at the ground. "I guess I was wrong to trust you all so quickly."

"Trust is human nature, it's who we gift it to that could come with consequences." He says softly, moving his hand from my wrist and holding my hand in his. I feel some butterflies flutter in my stomach as he does. "I'll beat him up for you tomorrow if you want." He says, causing me to snort.

"There's no need." I laugh, squeezing his hand which makes his eyes sparkle. At least I still had Mingi. I let out a soft sigh, moving to sit beside him. "Why are you guys so hesitant to tell me about her?" I ask, staring at the floor.

"Some of us want to," Mingi says honestly. "But it's a sensitive topic." He adds.

"I understand that," I say. "But that doesn't mean I'm not curious. Why can't I look into her death? I know it has something to do with The Cobra." I look at him and he looks at me.

"Why do you say that like it's personal?" He asks, his deep voice breaking through the brief silence.

I hesitate again for a moment. "Because it is," I say. Maybe if I'm honest with him, he'll be honest with me. But I didn't want to tell him the whole story, it hurt too much to even think about.

Then the realization hit me.

That's why they didn't want to talk about Aurora. It was too personal. It brought feelings to the surface that they wanted to forget about. It made sense now, and a feeling of guilt settled in my stomach.

Mingi must have picked up on my conflict of emotions, as he cups my cheek to bring me back to him.

"I won't stop you from finding answers." He says softly. "But that doesn't mean the others won't try. And I can't protect you if that happens."

I nod in response. It's like he knew already, my mind went back to the night we first met. He'd known I grew up in high society, did he know what happened to Chaluai?

"Thank you," I whisper, our faces not resisting the magnetic pull.

"For what?" He murmurs, not pulling away as he glances down at my lips.

"For understanding," I say as our noses brush.

Then, our lips met. The kiss was featherlike like he was scared to hurt me any further. When we pull away, he rests his forehead on mine briefly.

"Give them time." He says softly, stroking my cheekbone with his thumb. "They'll stop taking you for granted eventually."

With that, he stands, pulling away from me slowly as if a part of him was telling him to stay.

I watch him as he heads towards the door, offering him a goodnight before he shuts the door behind him, leaving me in the silence of my thoughts once again.

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[spookwriter-xo]

Coppélia

Chapter 6 - The Kim Estate

Chapter Summary - A little bit of Y/N's backstory and her family's history. She gets a tour of the Kim Estate from San and Wooyoung and gets a brief glimpse into the boys' private lives.

warnings: San does get a little violent towards the end, and Wooyoung cracks a few sex jokes (MDNI)

Series Masterlist

The house I grew up in was nothing short of a prison. I had all the luxuries of high society, yes, but that didn't mean I felt the same warmth and compassion children should be surrounded with.

My father owned a fashion company, Belluxe, one of the biggest in our part of the world. He had a lot of ties with some dangerous and powerful people, and as I got older I realized how much it had really gotten to his head.

The power. The greed.

I was forbidden to talk to him when I was young, only if we had guests. If I did without permission, he'd get angry. He had only gotten physical with me once, and that was when our family bond broke forever.

I was nine years old, home from boarding school with Christmas like I normally would be. My younger sister was ecstatic to have me home, finally having someone other than our mother to play with. Our older sister, she wasn't around this time. I figured she'd stayed at school for the holidays, but as I got older I found out she had run away.

I went by a different name back then, first and last. I'd changed it once I was disowned at 17, wanting to leave that old life behind. It was a lot easier than it should have been, all things considered.

I remember we were sitting at the dinner table, the only sound coming from our cutlery scraping across the porcelain plates. My mother had asked briefly how school was, and I gave a short but honest answer; "It was alright."

My father leaned back in his chair, staring at the empty seat where my sister should have been. He cleared his throat, causing us all to turn our heads in attention.

"Chariya, you'll be the next heir." He says simply, my old name, it felt weird hearing it even if it was just a memory. "Since Chalita has failed to exceed my expectations."

My family was Thai on my mother's side. She'd named us all after members of her family still in Thailand, bringing a piece of her old life with her.

Mother and Father married after father knocked my mother up with Chalita, the eldest. My mother used to say he was a kind man until she gave him too many daughters and no son. I think she just used it as an excuse to hide the snake he really is.

"My love, she is too young-" My mother states before she is cut off.

"Enough! I told you not to speak against me." He shouts, slamming his fist down on the table. My little sister, Chaluai, begins to cry at the sudden noise. My mother bows her head and stands, taking Chaluai with her as she exits the dining room.

I stare down at my plate, hearing the sound of his chair creaking as he leans back.

"Your mother doesn't understand the ways of this world." He says. "But one day you will."

I was startled awake by a knock on the door, causing my body to jump from my skin.

"Hello?" I call out groggily, sitting up.

"Uhm... Y/N? It's San." A muffled voice from the other side of the door calls out.

"Right..." I murmur, the events from the last few nights creeping their way back into my head. I stretch and swing my legs over the side. My feet hit the wood as I shuffle towards the door, opening it slowly.

San stands there on the other side, wearing a suit a little different from the one he wore last night. His eyes widen as I open the door, quickly looking up.

"Just thought I'd wake you... Wooyoung and I are home whenever you want that tour." He says, finding the ceiling very interesting.

"Oh! Just give me a few minutes and I'll come find you." I say, fingers gripping the door. San nods before hurriedly rushing down the hall and towards the stairs. I watch him go before closing the door. He was a lot shyer than last night. Maybe something was on his mind.

I walk into the walk-in wardrobe and look around at all the luxurious clothes hung up for me. There was a cabinet in the center, inside millions of dollars worth of jewelry for me to choose from. I feel a shiver run up my spine at the sight. It had been so long since I'd seen anything like this, and it felt wrong.

I hadn't worked for it, I didn't buy it myself. These men had only met me last night yet they were already willing to spend millions on me. Why?

I settled on a simple top and skirt, slipping on some fluffy slippers that were positioned neatly beside my bed before making my way out into the hallway.

The eery silence shared with the darkness of the hallway settled a sick feeling in my stomach. It was so quiet, that no chatter or thumping of footsteps could be heard. I figured Wooyoung and San were downstairs somewhere, praying that they weren't the type to jump out and scare me.

I head towards the staircase, the scenery getting brighter as I peek down at the pretty white marble that now glittered in the sunlight. My hand slides down the railing as the stairs take me to the lower floor. I gaze at the paintings on the wall, one of all 8 of them positioned on and around a fancy-looking couch, and another with a younger-looking Hongjoong, who I assumed to be his mother, father, and brother.

I didn't know he had a brother, I wonder what happened to him?

I glanced left and right once I reached the bottom of the stairs, the house felt like a maze, going on forever in both directions.

"San? Wooyoung?" I call out, my hands finding my elbows as I glance around. I decided to go left, entering what seemed to be the main living room based on the three couches and the fireplace with a television situated above it. I reach my hand out and press my fingers into the plush cushions, feeling the soft fabric beneath my skin.

"Y/N?" A voice makes me jump, I turn around to see Wooyoung standing in the doorway I just walked through. He had a grin on his face. "Scared ya?" He says with a light cackle.

I splutter for a moment before crossing my arms tighter. I watch as he scans my figure, admiring my figure.

"Eyes are up here, Wooyoung." I tease, as he stares a little too long at my legs.

"Yeosang picked your wardrobe well." He says, ignoring my words and stepping a little closer. "Would prefer you don't wear it around me though."

I hold my hand up and stop him from coming any closer right as San enters from another door behind me.

"Hongjoong said we should give you a tour." He says gruffly, his hair looking a lot messier than it was when he visited maybe 20 minutes prior. I glanced at his knuckles, noticing the light bruising that had begun to blossom before he quickly hid them in the pockets of his jacket.

"I'm ready to start whenever you are," I say, offering him a smile which he hesitates to return.

"Well, this is the main living room. Pretty obvious since it looks like a living room." Wooyoung chirps, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. "Don't mind if San is a little quiet. He gets grumpy when he has to work early."

I glance back at San as Wooyoung starts to lead me through another archway into a large room. I gasped as the realization hit me that this was a ballroom. A large and grand ballroom, the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. There was a grand piano on a small platform tucked away into a corner, floor-to-ceiling length windows with a matching door that led out to the backyard and a large diamond-clad chandelier dangled from the ceiling.

I could feel Wooyoung's grin as I slowly moved away from him, my jaw hanging slightly as I walked to the center. There were mosaic patterns that formed a lily flower on the floor under my feet which made me smile.

"Seonghwa told us to open the curtains for you, they haven't been opened since Hongjoongs parents were alive. The only person that uses this room is Mingi when he wants to play piano." San says from behind me. "Hongjoong's mother painted the lily flower herself."

"It's a painting?" I ask, turning to look back at both of them in surprise.

"Doesn't look it right? She was extremely talented at making things look different than what they are." Wooyoung says, the same grin on his face.

The tour went on, and every room amazed me more than the last. The kitchen was huge, almost twice the size of my bedroom with a dining room attached to it which was just as big. My mind wandered to all the grand dinners they must have hosted when Hongjoongs parents were still alive. Did they host balls too? It would be foolish not to considering how beautiful the setting was.

There was a pool, a greenhouse, and even a golf course in the backyard. I glanced over the hill and caught a glimpse of a tennis court on the far side of the golf course. I wondered how many acres this house was on. We weren't that from the city, however I couldn't see any other buildings for miles.

Inside on the first floor, there was a two-story library, another 2 smaller seating rooms, and laundry/housekeeping quarters behind the kitchen. The hallways were twisting in all directions, as if intentional. Was the layout meant to confuse people? Maybe intruders?

It would be smart if it was, all things considered. The house was intimidating from the outside just on its own, getting lost on the inside felt like a terrifying idea.

"Do you guys have maids?" I ask my arm now linked with Wooyoungs. I'd hate to be a worker here, having to clean this house would have to take days. Not only that but cooking? Laundry? Maintenance work would be a nightmare too.

"We do, they have Sundays off." Wooyoung answers, leading me back to the main stairwell. "Upstairs is mostly bedrooms and bathrooms. Hongjoong's home office is at the end of the hall on the right." He adds.

I nod, my neck craning to look at the paintings lining the walls once again. There was a painting of a woman, a beautiful woman with long black hair and piercing green eyes with freckles dusting her cheeks. I stared at the painting for a moment, getting a sinking feeling that she was staring back.

"That's Aurora." Wooyoung murmurs, eyes on the painting too. "She was... The one before you." He hesitates to say, glancing down at me before looking back up at the painting. I let go of his arm and climbed a few steps to stand directly in front of her painting.

"She's beautiful... Pretty name too." I say softly, my eyes softening as more details reveal themselves.

"You would have liked her," San says, his arms crossed as he looks at the painting, a sad look in his eyes. "She was like you, not a dancer though... More of a reader."

"If you wanted to find her she'd only ever be in the library," Wooyoung says with a small chuckle. "Most of the books in there were gifts for her, from us." He says.

"What happened to her?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as I turn back to them. They're both staring up at the painting, Wooyoung lowers his head and lets out a soft, pained sigh once he registers my question.

"We'll tell you in time. You should get settled first." San answers, his voice low.

Oddly enough, I didn't feel an ounce of jealousy. It was obvious she wasn't in the picture, whether she was alive or not. However, the pained look on Wooyoungs face and the behavior of the other boys when she is mentioned made me think it was the latter. I felt sad for them. It was obvious they loved her, maybe more than I would ever realize or truly know.

A part of me was envious of that fact. To be loved so unconditionally was something I had dreamed of since I was a little girl. But, another part of me was scared. Did their work have something to do with her death? It made sense in a way.

A loud crash made me jump from my thoughts. I look to San and Wooyoung who are suddenly on high alert before San grumbles something and storms off into the direction of the main living room. I glance at Wooyoung as I step down the stairs to follow but the man stops me.

"Don't follow him." He says in a hushed voice, gripping my hips in a tight hold as I glance behind him. My eyes widened, the door San had entered through at the start of the day was wide open with a man stumbling through. San grabs the man by the back of the neck and practically drags him back into the darkness beyond the door.

The man lets out a string of curses and begs as San slams the door shut behind them both, his cries fading into nothing the further they go.

"It's the basement," Wooyoung says, answering my question before I even had to ask. "It's the only place in this house that you are not allowed to go. Understand?" He says, his expression void of any playfulness I had come to associate with his character.

"I understand," I say, staring back up at him with the same wide-eyed expression.

"Good girl." He says with a grin, hand cupping my cheek briefly before moving away, heading towards the staircase. "Come, I'll show you everyone's rooms."

I glance at the door to the basement for a moment before following Wooyoung up the stairs.

I've decided to update the story consistently every Tuesday at 12 am (AEST). A Christmas special is being planned which will be set a few years after the events of this book.

I urge minors to not interact beyond this chapter, for it's going to start getting heavy from this point. I will be checking profiles to make sure so please have something to prove your age on your profile! I don't want to traumatize children <3

Also, I closed the taglist a little early however I'll be going through the comments and the past few posts and making sure I didn't miss anyone. If you aren't on it when this chapter is posted, I'll add you to the next one.

taglist:

@bellaptv @arilevenatz @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @hecateslittlewitchling

@neuviloved @monstacheol @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone

@vtyb23 @bigbabygremlin @professormingiglasses

@pinuspot @astral-trashcan @ateezswonderland

[spookwriter-xo]

Coppélia

Chapter 4 - The Piano Man

Chapter Summary - It's the night before Y/N is supposed to meet with Seonghwa and his partners, and a new visitor is waiting for her in her dressing room.

Series Masterlist

The nerves kicked in a lot earlier than I thought. The Friday night before I was supposed to meet Seonghwa and his partners, I felt unbelievably sick to my stomach. So much so that I genuinely thought I was going to throw up during the final bows.

I shuffled into my dressing room, hand rubbing my stomach as a pout adorned my features. A throat cleared from my right, causing me to jump in surprise. A tall man with dyed blond hair slowly pushed off his spot on the far wall.

"Sorry for scaring you." He says, his voice deep and gruff. I clear my throat.

"It's fine, just tired from the show," I say, offering him a smile. Another handsome guy coming to visit me? I really must be good.

"Seonghwa said we should come and watch, didn't understand why until now." He states and the smile fades. Seonghwa. He knew Seonghwa. "Oh! I'm Mingi." He says with an awkward smile, extending his hand before quickly retracting it and wiping the palm on his hands. He was nervous, in a cute way, which I found funny considering how intimidating he looked.

"You know Seonghwa?" I ask. I walked past him and towards my dresser where sure enough another bouquet of fresh Gardenias waited for me.

"Uh, yeah. He sent me to give you details about tomorrow night." He says, hesitating to follow me. I bit back a smile, already finding his presence endearing.

"So you're one of his assistants?" I ask, glancing up at him through the mirror. He looked too well dressed to be just an assistant, however I'd also expect ATZ Corps workers to be paid extremely well.

"No." He chuckles. "I'm a co-owner, like him. He just couldn't make it tonight so he sent me... Said you liked Gardenias so.." He mumbles the last part, scuffing his shoe on the carpet.

So he was one of the men who I'd be meeting with tomorrow, making that 3 I knew the faces of now. It felt refreshing to talk to him, then again it was the same with Seonghwa before he offered me that suspicious document. Was Mingi going to be the same?

"Uhm, miss? You okay?" Mingi asks, clearing his throat. My eyes widened as I turned to face him.

"Sorry! So, what were those details?" I ask, leaning back on the counter.

He thinks for a moment, like trying to order the details correctly in his head for a moment before nodding to himself in satisfaction.

"We'll be sending a car to your place at 6pm sharp, so be ready by then." He says. "We've booked a private room so it'll just be the nine of us."

"It's not expensive is it?" I cringe slightly, based on the place Seonghwa took me for our first date, I expected this dinner spot to cost more than all my furniture combined. Especially if there were private rooms to be booked.

"You don't need to worry about paying, we got that handled," Mingi says, offering me a toothy grin. I smiled back, however, my eyes didn't. Mingi looked at me for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh.

"I'm sorry, about all this." He says, tilting his head down in semi-shame. Was this guy really apologizing? I didn't think any of them had that capability considering their upbringing. "I know it's a lot, and a few of us agree." He explains.

"It's just easier for us this way. We all have similar types and it's hard to date when you're in our line of work." He rambled. He was rambling, to me, in my dressing room about his and his partner's odd situation. I couldn't help but bite back a smile finding his boba-eyed expression cute.

"Mingi, it's okay," I say with a breathy laugh, he perks up at the sound.

"Really?" He asked.

"Yes, really."

He stared at me momentarily, studying to see if I was being genuine before clearing his throat and looking away.

"I should warn you, some of the guys are a little... High maintenance." He says moving across the room to look at the Gardenias tucked away in the corner of the room.

"High maintenance?" I question, turning to find my clothes to get changed.

"They like things done a specific way. May not like it that you're asking for a change." He explains. "Especially Captain." He chuckles before coughing. "I mean Hongjoong."

I nod, taking my folded clothes before heading towards the changing room.

"Would you like me to leave?" Mingi asks his figure stiffening. I shake my head.

"No, you're fine," I say, giving him a smile before closing the curtain to keep myself out of sight. I couldn't hear him move as I changed back into my normal clothes, which gave me a sinking feeling. A thought crossed my mind, was this really one of the owners of ATZ Corp? What if he was just a random guy? I shake that thought to the back of my head, pulling my shirt over my head before pulling the curtain back.

Mingi stood exactly where he was, his eyes on the curtain and face stern. I stare back at him for a moment before he perks up suddenly.

"Are you hungry?" He asks, offering me a smile. I think for a moment.

"A little," I answered, shoving the sick feeling in my stomach down. If he's paying, I'll go. Free food is free food.

"Cool! Uhm, I'll wait for you outside?" He asks, taking a big step towards the door. I nod and watch him as he leaves, shutting the door behind him quietly.

Mingi was odd. I figured that pretty fast. He seemed a bit shy, probably pushed to talk to me by Seonghwa himself. Did I hurt the man's pride by my phone call? Is that why he laughed? To hide his embarrassment? I smile to myself at the thought, rarely did I manage to do that.

I quickly pack away my things, preparing everything for Monday night show preparations before taking a deep breath. I walked towards the door, opening it to see Mingi leaning on the opposite wall, waiting patiently. His hands were in his pockets and yet again, he was staring blankly at the door. I give him a tight-lipped smile, closing the door behind me.

He pushes himself off the wall before falling into step beside me.

"Can I ask you something?" I ask him as the cold night air hits our faces. He hums positively in response, holding the door open for me before shoving his hands back into his pockets. "Have you guys done this before? Like dated one girl?"

"Once before." He answers, his eyes ahead.

"What happened?" I ask softly. "If it's alright me asking?"

Mingi hesitates for a moment before speaking. "Can I be honest with you?"

I blink in surprise, "Of course." I whisper.

"The rumors that you may have heard... About our company and how we may be involved in some darker stuff." He starts, his throat bobbing as he swallows nervously. "They aren't entirely false."

I stop in my tracks, staring up at him. "You're serious?" I question.

He just looks down at me, his gaze serious and unblinking. "I'm telling you this now before you get into something you can't get out of." He says. "Because trust me when I say, once you're in, there's no getting out."

My feet are frozen to the pavement as I feel a lump in my throat. "What type of dark stuff?" I ask, my eyes boring into his.

"Stuff I shouldn't tell you." He answers softly. His eyes lowered for a moment before he turned to continue walking. My feet scramble into gear as I start to follow him again.

"Why are you telling me this? Wouldn't you get into trouble?" I ask, trying to catch up to his long strides.

"Because I don't want what happened to her to happen to you." He answers. "If there's a chance for me to save you by warning you now, then I'll take it." He stops outside of a pizza parlor, holding the door open for me once again.

He doesn't order anything, waiting patiently before paying for my pizza, carrying the takeaway box for me, and walking me back to my apartment. The apartment complex was probably as old as my grandparents, in desperate need of repairs and touch-ups. Occasionally the hot water would turn off, which meant I'd have to travel from the 7th floor to the basement where more often than not a lot of sketchy things would go done. I swear it's haunted, which doesn't help with my anxiety.

Mingi stands outside the lobby, staring up at the old and dingy building before handing me the pizza box.

"I thought you had money?" He questions, eyes gazing up at the building. I snap my head to look at him and raise my eyebrow.

"How did you know that?" I ask, unlocking the lobby doors.

His ears go pink and he stutters for a moment. "We may have done some research." He murmurs, lowering his head.

I look him up and down for a moment before shaking my head. "Thanks for the food, and walking me home," I say, holding the lobby door open with my foot.

"Y/N?" He calls out quietly. "Think about what I said, please?" His voice was soft, pleading. His boba eyes stared into mine, searching for anything to soothe his worries.

I sigh, glancing back into the building before looking back at him. "I will," I say, before turning and walking inside.

I did think about what he said. I was up all night staring up at my ceiling. What happened to that other girl? Did she die? Why would Mingi feel so obligated to go out of his way and warn me, especially considering the others may not have even thought of doing the same.

I was a stranger to him. A woman that Seonghwa spoke of when he was home and nothing more. My mind would drift to what he said about a few of the others. Did some of them not agree with the contract? I guess it made sense that it was hard for them to all date, considering how large ATZ Corp is. Even with eight people running it, it seemed like so much work.

And then I'd think about the 'darker' stuff Mingi claimed they were involved in. I knew it was common, I'd seen my own father indulge in some unlawful intimidation for the sake of his company, but the way Mingi said it... It was like it was so much worse than that.

I managed to fall asleep at around 4am, waking up a little past lunchtime. A car would come to get me at 6pm, that's what Mingi said anyway. I didn't know what type of car, but I assumed it would be expensive.

I lazed around until 4:30 before I started to get ready. I found the dress I wore for expensive Society dinners. A black dress with off-the-shoulder sleeves and a slit of one leg. I wore it more often than I care to admit, considering it was my most expensive item of clothing. I fished out a pair of heels found my purse and waited.

Was I really doing this? Did I even have to go? What would they do if I didn't? At five to six I took the elevator down to the lobby and waited just inside the doors.

Just like clockwork, a limousine drives up outside and parks out front. The driver gets out and walks to the side facing the building and waits patiently with his hands folded behind him. I take a deep breath.

No going back now.

Thank you all so much for the love so far! More chapters are coming now that the MV is out (don't forget to stream!) and they'll start getting a bit longer.

taglist:

@bellaptv @arilevenatz @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @hecateslittlewitchling @neuviloved @monstacheol @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone

[spookwriter-xo]

Coppélia

Chapter 3 - The Figure Painter

Chapter Summary - Y/N visits a childhood friend to go over Seonghwa's odd invitation.

Series Masterlist

"And then he gave you a contract... Like from Fifty Shades of Gray?"

"I told you it's not a contract, he said it was an invitation."

"Honey, it literally gives you a place to sign at the bottom."

After Seonghwa had given me the envelope and left, I wasted no time in rushing over to my friend, Mia's, house to tell her everything. Mia and I had known each other since we were seven years old, hanging off of each other like leeches since. Her family was rich too, but unlike mine, they supported her artistic endeavors.

She was a painter, specializing in figure paintings and realism, and was also my voice of reason.

"I seriously don't know what to do," I whine, my head resting on her kitchen countertop.

"Well, what does it say? Like what does he want you to do?" She asks, her fingers twirling a teaspoon around her tea cup.

I glance down at the papers in front of me. So many rules were listed I struggled to even wrap my head around it.

"He wants me to move into their home," I say.

"Their home?" Mia clarifies. "As in other people?"

"I guess so?" I clear my throat as I continue. "I can remain as a dancer for the society as long as I don't practice for any longer than I need to be."

"Well, at least they're offering you some freedom." She mumbles sarcastically, taking a sip of her tea.

"Mia come on!" I cry out rather dramatically.

"I feel like there isn't much up for discussion here? Yes, it's weird and borderline controlling but when was the last time something exciting like this happened in your life?" She argues.

"I don't want to be controlled, Mia. This whole thing, it's just way above my pay grade. I had enough of it living with my parents, I don't need it in a romantic relationship too!" I point out. She lets out a sigh, nodding in understanding.

"You're right, I'm sorry." Mia runs a hand through her hair. "Okay, let's try a different approach. What things in there benefit you?"

"Uhm, I get to live in a big ass mansion free of charge," I say, my finger hovering over the bullet point. It sure would be better than the cheap studio apartment I live in now.

"You can never go wrong with a big ass mansion." She quips before I continue.

"It says... I have to be willing to, share myself?" I tilt my head with furrowed eyebrows.

"Oh, don't tell me they're the type to want a girl to homey hop." She seethes, leaning over the counter to read the paper. "Oh god, they are!" She exclaims.

"Just because you're monogamous doesn't mean you can judge!" I scold.

"I'm not judging, I'm cringing 'cause it's not for me." She says defensively. "If you're into that, I won't judge."

"Sure you won't."

"I might make fun of you a little, but you know I'll get over it!" She laughs. "Besides it's a bonus if they're all cute. I looked up Seonghwa and that Hongjoong guy and woo!" She whistles.

"Poor Mark." I tease, she gasps. "Listen, I don't know if I'm up for that either. I mean I don't even know who the others are, for all I know there could be a serial killer among them."

"Then call him." She states. "Call him and demand him to rewrite it on your terms."

"Would that work?" I ask, placing the papers back into a neat pile.

"He's a businessman, right? Of course, it would! Hell, you might even get to meet the others if you play your cards right." She says confidently. "You like this guy right?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Then fight for your own morals and boundaries, and if he doesn't accept that then move on." She says, moving over slightly to place her mug in the sink. "And if they try something, Mark and I will come over and beat them up for you."

"You and I both know Mark Lee is not going to beat anyone up." I laugh causing her to let out a snort.

"You're right, he could yap their ears off and give us time to escape the country though." She jokes, a wide grin spreading across her face.

I glance back down at the documents, genuinely contemplating for a moment. I hated the idea of being controlled by anyone again, let alone a bunch of men who, aside from 1, I have never had a conversation with in my life. But on top of that, it would be really nice to stay somewhere that didn't charge me almost my entire weekly pay for rent.

Plus Seonghwa was really good-looking, but was I really going to risk my freedom just because a cute guy gave me a second of his time? Mia was right, I needed to call him and set up some kind of meeting and get this document altered to my liking also, not just theirs.

"You're doing that thing again." Mia's voice cuts me out of my thoughts. "You know it's creepy when you stare off into space like that."

"Sorry, was just thinking about everything," I say softly, stuffing the document back into the envelope it came in.

"It's a lot, I know, but once you put your foot down like I know you can it'll all even out. You'll see." Mia was often right about these things, then again she was always the one to come up with the ideas that would get us into trouble growing up. I trusted her with things like this because I knew it would never leave the two of us, but trusting her to convince me to do something that could lead to me signing my life away? I was going to be a little more cautious of that.

"I should probably go, I got another show tonight," I say, hopping off of the seat I was perched on.

"Oh! I'm coming to the show next Monday! Don't mess up for me okay?" She says, skipping around the counter to give me a quick hug before I leave.

"Of course I won't, you're my lucky charm." I joke, pulling away and waving. She waves back, knowing I could find my way out.

I contemplated calling Seonghwa as I walked through the city streets. I let out an annoyed huff at the constant tug-of-war going on in my head. My finger hovered over the call button as I stared down at his contact. He'd probably show up tonight, but did I really want to decline his initial offer in person?

Without thinking I pressed call, holding my phone up to my ear as I chewed on my bottom lip nervously. I felt a sick feeling of nerves in my stomach, the same feeling I felt before I went out on stage.

It rings 4 times before he picks up.

"I thought you'd think about it a while longer." He states, his voice rough. I take a deep breath before I speak.

"I'm declining your 'invitation'," I stated, making sure my voice sounded defiant.

"What?" He asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

"You heard me. This... Contract is far too controlling for my liking and I refuse to subject myself to signing my life away for a man who only graced me with his presence last night." I say, earning some looks from passersby.

"Doll-"

"I'm not done! Look, I like you. But the only way this is happening is if we rewrite this to include my own terms. And I want whoever the hell you expect me to share myself with to be there also. No way in hell am I agreeing to something like that without even knowing what they look like." I say, rather rushed. Silence follows, and I look at my phone screen for a moment to make sure the phone call didn't end. As I placed the phone back to my ear I heard laughter.

"My, I really underestimated you didn't I?" Seonghwa chuckles. "A real firecracker you are, so unassuming up until now." I could feel his grin through the screen, and it made my blood boil.

"If you're going to waste my time-"

"Hold on a second, Doll." He says, his voice still laced with amusement. "I'll organize a dinner, how does that sound? You, me, and the others who helped write the original contract. That way you can meet everyone and get your boundaries heard."

I blinked in surprise at his offer. Was it really that easy? "You're serious?"

"Of course I am! Honestly, it's refreshing to talk to someone as pretty as you about business exchanges." He chuckles. "You have a show tonight, yes? Are you free Saturday night?"

I clear my throat. "Uhm, yeah?"

"Excellent, I'll send you the details tonight with your Gardenias." He says, hanging up before I can get another word in.

I gape at the phone, staring at it as I stand frozen in the middle of the street. I look around for a moment before continuing on my way.

I had a sinking feeling that this dinner was not going to be as easy as he made it seem. The others were most definitely businessmen also, co-owners of ATZ Corp. Me, a broke ballerina versus 8 businessmen on their own turf.

Pray for me.