Ramadan Kareem to all those who observe, may Allah accept our fasts and duaa and allow us growth and harmony over the course of the next month. May Allah ease the suffering of those in Gaza and across Falasteen, Sudan, Congo, Yemen, Tigray, Kashmir, West Papau, and all those who are oppressed around the world. May He grant them shifa, tranquility, steadfastness, and sabr. May He grant us the strength and ability to fight injustice wherever we see it, and victory over our oppressors.
Here is a list of resources for Gaza and Falasteen. Here is an even bigger list. Here’s a much smaller one. Here is one with resources for both Gaza and Sudan.
Here is the link to a GFM that is very important to me. Here is the link to a GFM for a family in urgent need of evacuation out of Gaza.
Here is a way to help out Sudan. Here are links for donations, Sudanese businesses to support, and brief education about Sudan. Here is a post with resources for education and updates about what's happening in Sudan.
Here is a post with resources for Tigray.
Here is a post with important information on boycotting for Congo. Here is a post with links to support Congo.
Here is a list of resources for education on various issues around the world, including but not limited to West Papau, Hawai'i, Kashmir, and Armenia.
You can check my resources tag for more. I know tumblr's searching system isn't the best, though, so I tried to put as many as I could from that tag here.
Ramadan Kareem. May every action we take towards justice bring us lasting freedom and tranquility 🌙
Pairing: dad!chris x teacher!afab!reader, friends to lovers, nonidol au
Synopsis: Chris really loves what you do for Mia and he gets motivated by something to ask you out...
Warnings: fluff, nervous Chris, Victoria is a bish but that's already been established, ft. 2racha again. If you have extra eyes for errors...no you don't.
A/n: PART TUW!! Another cliffhanger? Oh no my mistake 👀
previously..
That was the loop. The constant loop that went on and on. Chris was so tired of it all.
Till you came in.
The first time Chris met you; he had been too exhausted to notice much about you other than the fact that you were warm. Not in the literal sense, but towards your colleges, and the way you treated Mia and your students like they mattered. Mia adored you. When she’d rush to him after school on his days, she tells him about the praises you’d sing of her.
“Miss L/N called me a star!”
“I was playing and I got injured, and when Miss L/N patched me up, she called me a valiant girl. What does that mean?”
“Daddy! Miss L/N says I’m the best reader in class!” Chris had smiled at everything she said.
At every PTA meeting, at every school performance, you were there- calm, attentive and always looking out for Mia (in his defense she was the only student he really cared about, the others received their share of love too,) and Chris noticed. He noticed the way you’d lean down to the kids at their level, bringing them in for motivation. The way you’d always have a soft smile for Mia when she was nervous to go on stage. The way you’d noticed him, too. His interactions with you were small and casual. Questions briefly on his wellbeing, talking about Mia and her education, the topics always skirted around the obvious. He did think you were beautiful, and he admired your kind eyes and delicate features that made him pay attention to you more than most times. But it always stopped there. Crossing the bridges of feelings was something Chris didn’t want to risk again.
She had noticed him right away. Not because he was handsome (though, God, was he handsome), but because of the way he looked at Mia like she was his everything. Y/N had always seen Chris as a great dad. From the first day she had seen him she knew he was an outstanding figure. When he dropped off Mia in her class on her first day, it was obvious how much he adored his daughter. He was the kind of parent to show up at every meeting, who listened intently to the needs and achievements of his daughter-not just academically, but emotionally too. At first, he was just another parent. Another father trying his best. But then she started putting the pieces together. The way Mia never talked about her mom. The way she clung to him on Friday afternoons. The way Chirs seemed a little lost when it came to things other parents never thought twice about- like school projects or dance recitals. Y/N had seen single parents before, but unlike them Chris was giving everything. It was during their first meeting that she discovered that he was a victim of divorce. He didn’t dwell too much on the subject, and she didn’t want to pry.
“Mia doesn’t speak much about her mother. Is that something serious or? If she’s passed, I’m totally sorry for overstepping-”
He cut her off gently, waving his hand in dismissal. “No, no she’s not passed. It’s just that…her mother and I aren’t really together anymore.” Y/N shut her eyes in regret. “I’m sorry.”
“Nah, it’s okay it been a few years now so. Please, don’t pity me or Mia. Take her as another normal girl, okay? She’s too young to be treated like she has problems.”
That had been one of the silent promises that they made. Yes, there were moments where Mia would disassociate herself from class to cry and not participate in anything, but she wouldn’t dare tell him. The job she had given to herself was to be Mia’s joy giver and Chris’ helper. Just so that he didn’t have to think about her. It was then she started to see herself caring more than she should.
One evening, after a school event, Chris and Y/N found themselves walking together in the quiet carpark only because they had unknowingly parked close to each other. Mia was fast asleep in his arms.
“She really loves you, you know,” Y/N and said softly, her hand squeezing the strap of her bag. He glanced down at Mia, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Yeah. I just…wish I could give her more.” Y/N hesitated as she reached her car, then said, “You’re already giving her the most important thing- love. She’ll remember that more than anything.” She gave a small smile and got into her car. Chris had looked at her then, really looked at her, and for the first time in a long time, he felt something unfamiliar. Something…warm.
Letting Mia go was a pain on its own. What always came with it however led him to hate the day as a whole. Strained conversations, forced politeness, seeing the smug disgusting face of that dickhead named-
Chris, language.
Sorry.
It was all suffocating standing in front of a house that used to be his. In the back of his mind, seeing Victoria was like seeing a corpse. She was dead to him. He pulled up in front of Victoria’s pristine modern hoke. The kind of house that looked like it belonged in a rental magazine. It had never feltlike a home, not to him. Not even when he lived there.
Mia clutched his shirt from the backseat, eyes groggy with sleep but still awake, her tiny fingers curling into the fabric. “Daddy, can’t I stay just one more night?” his heart clenched, but he put on a soft smile, brushing her hair back. “You know the rules baby. But I’ll see you on Friday, okay?” she pouted but nodded. He unbuckled her seat belt, lifting her out of the car, and carrying her up the steps. The door opened before he could even knock.
Victoria stood there, arms crossed, looking flawless as ever. She was in a silk robe, her blonde hair in curlers. The sight of her still made Chris’ heart twist. In spite of course. C’mon he wasn’t stupid to want her back.
“You’re late,” she said already exasperated.
Chris set Mia down, forcing himself to stay calm. “It’s ten minutes, Victoria.” She rolled her eyes, stepping aside to let Mia in. “Go wash up sweetheart.” Mia hesitated, looking back at Chris.
“Bye, Daddy.”
“Bye, baby. Love you.”
She ran inside, leaving him alone with Victoria. The worst part. “You need to stop filling her head with nonsense,” Victoria said leaning against the doorway. “Last week she threw a tantrum saying that this wasn’t her real home. What the fuck? If her staying with you is going to have this effect one her believing that she lives elsewhere, then I can’t have it.” He gritted his teeth. “She barely gets to see me. Maybe I give her the right amount of love more than you do.” She scoffed. “Oh, here we go again. Chris don’t let me remind you who’s stronger.” Chris clenched his fists. He didn’t want to argue. Not anywhere near Mia, or where her husband was vividly lurking from the bedroom balcony upstairs.
“I’m not doing this tonight,” he said, stepping back. “Just…take care of her.”
Victoria smirked. “I always do.” He didn’t respond. He just turned and walked away, the sound of the door shutting behind him feeling like a punch to the gut.
-
“Look man, if it’s really pissing you off so much just tell us. I know a guy who knows some guys and we can get that Dylan dude arrested for domestic abuse. It’s that simple.”
“Agreed. Don’t think I’ve had these guns available for nothing.” Changbin flexed his muscles on the screen while Jisung gave him a side eye through his camera. Chris stopped the grocery store before arriving at home. once he did get home Changbin and Jisung hade facetimed him to ask about the drop off. Like they always did. Every Sunday.
“Thanks guys, but I doubt that I have a say in any of this. Dylan would make it stay that way for as long as he’s concerned.” He placed his phone by his bedside taking a deep breath as his head hit the soft pillows. The boys shrugged in silent acknowledgement.
“Just don’t let him get to your head dude.” Jisung said slumping down on his own bed. They said their goodbyes and went off. As Chris lay there, he tried to get some sleep and for some odd reason his mind drifted to you. God, you were beautiful, always looking so elegant and peaceful like nothing was ever going wrong with you. He was grateful to you for making Mia enjoy herself, it helped him ease the burden of being paranoid over her. He should probably thank you.
But what did you like? Are you a gift person? Maybe he should get to know you more…when’s your birthday? It would look weird giving you a gift on no special occasion…Mia should know…Mia, babygirl…Hopefully Victoria remembered to give her her vitamins…
Fucking bitch.
_
“Mr. Bang?”
“I’ve told you to call me Chris, Miss L/N.” He smiled lightly.
“Oh. Sorry, my mistake, Chris. What are you doing here? Schools over.”
It was Tuesday. Y/N sat at her desk, red pen in hand, as she was working through a stack of assingments. The classroom was quiet now, the last of the kids having been picked up, leaving only the faint scent of crayons and the soft hum of the ceiling fans. She was so lost in her work that she didn’t hear the knock at first.
When he came in he looked tense. Which was adorable. He wore a denim jacket with matching pants, his hair falling in front of his eyes. She looked up, startled, and found Chris standing in the doorway, a small paper bag in one hand, his other tucked into his jacket pocket.
“I hope I'm not disturbing,” He stepped inside, looking a little sheepish. “I, uh… just wanted to stop by.” He lifted the bag slightly.
“Oh. If I had known I wouldve gotten you something from the lounge.” She stood up in attempt to go to get him something but Chris stopped her with a smile “It’s okay really I'll be gone soon.” She was hesitant to sit back then but she did anyway.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” Y/N motioned him over to the seat across her and he timidly sat.
He lifted the bag. Chris cleared his throat, “N-not really, I just came to say thanks. You know, for… taking care of Mia. At school. I should've told you before that I was coming, I'm sorry.” He rubbed shaky on his thighs. Was he nervous? This is too cute.
Y/N tilted her head, amused. “You didn’t have to get me anything.” Chris chuckled softly, looking down. “Yeah, well… I wanted to.” He placed the bag on her desk, glancing at the scattered papers and coloring sheets. “You busy? I really am disturbing…”
“I’m just grading,” she said, still watching him curiously “But I don't mind the company. It was getting too quiet for me anyways.”
Curious, Y/N lifted the bag closer to herself and peeked inside. She felt a warm laugh bubble up. Inside was a journal, a set of colorful pens, and a lip gloss in a shade she actually loved.
She looked up at him, touched. “You really didn’t have to do this.”
Chris shrugged, the tip of his ears tinting pink. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Mia’s always talking about how nice you are to her. I just wanted to… I don’t know, say thanks properly. She also kinda told me what you’d like so…it's all her.”
Those goddamn lips.
Y/N smiled, running a finger over the journal’s cover. Why would anyone not want to have him? She tried to keep her compusre, biting her bottom lip and staring at the cover more. “Well, this is really sweet. Thank you.”
Chris rubbed the back of his neck. “Well… you are, too. I mean—uh, not that I meant it like that, but you know, you’re good with Mia and—”
Y/N laughed. “I get it.”
Chris exhaled in relief, then hesitated, glancing around the room. “So, uh… do you usually stay this late?”
“Sometimes. There’s always something to grade or prep.” She leaned back in her chair, tilting her head. “And you? What brings you to school besides delivering gifts?”
Chris stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Honestly? Just wanted to see you.” He mumbled. Y/N’s brows lifted slightly, and Chris noticing that she heard him, rushed to explain. “I mean, talk to you. About Mia. And… other stuff, I guess.”
They talked about Mia for a while—how she was adjusting, the friends she’d made, the funny little things she’d said in class. But then the conversation drifted as well, becoming something more natural. To relatable moments with kids, Y/N even gave him tips on how to go around with handling problems that Chris came across.
Comfortable silence lingered across as Y/N tucked the gifts in her drawer and got back to grading. The blades of the fan created a calming rhythm for Chris and his nerves. Chris shifted again, glancing at the door before clearing his throat.
“So, uh—” He rubbed the back of his neck again, suddenly looking more nervous than before. He looked up at the teacher. “Are you… free on Saturday?”
Y/N froze, blinked, caught off guard for the second time. “Saturday?” She looked at him now.
Chris cleared his throat, suddenly looking anywhere but at her. “I just—I mean, if you’re free, maybe we could… I don’t know, get a coffee or something?” He hesitated before quickly adding, “Not like a date or anything, just… y’know, to talk. About Mia. Or just… get to know each other better.”
Fuck! We can do whatever you want, Chris.
It was kind of endearing seeing him like this.. He's like a teenager.
A slow smile curved Y/N’s lips. “That kinda sounds like a date, Chris.” His ears turned red. “It’s not—unless you want it to be? I mean—” He groaned, covering his face. “I’m bad at this.”
Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Relax, Chris.” She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “I’d love to go.”
He blinked. His eyes were on her like a child who was given his favorite toy. “You—wait, really?” Y/N nodded, smiling. “Yeah. I think it would be nice.”
Chris lowered his hands. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He exhaled, relief washing over his face before a shy smile crept onto his lips. “Cool. Great. Uh, I’ll text you the details? We can change anything if you don't feel comfortable with it. It's all your choice.”
Y/N chuckled. “Sounds like a plan.”
He nodded, still looking a little dazed. “Okay, well… I’ll see you Saturday, then.”
He lingered for a second, watching her—how the golden light from the window softened her features, how she twirled the red pen between her fingers absentmindedly. There was something about being in her presence that made his shoulders relax, even after a long day.
Chris stood up slowly, took a step back, rubbing the back of his neck again before glancing toward the door. “I should, uh, get going. Just wanted to stop by.”
Y/N leaned back in her chair, watching him with amused eyes. “I appreciate it, Chris. And the gift.”
He grinned, shifting his weight slightly. “Well, Mia always says you deserve nice things, so…” Y/N’s heart fluttered at that. “She’s…a sweetheart.”
Oh, how she wanted to say his name instead.
“She is.” His voice softened. “Anyway, I’ll let you finish grading. See you Saturday.” Chris hesitated just a second longer, like he wanted to say something else, but instead, he just gave her a small nod and turned toward the door.
As he walked out, Y/N couldn’t help but shake her head with a soft laugh, staring down at the little bag of gifts.
hehe...Chris is a loser in a hot body. Foight me. I'm lost on how to continue tbh...
Summary: Bang Chan wakes up from a bad dream and seeks comfort from his girlfriend
Pairing: Idol! Bang Chan x Female Reader
Warnings: Fluff. Established relationship. First "I Love You". Crying. Let me know if I missed any!!
Word Count: 1.9k
Enjoy!
~ 3:27am~
The sound of soft, sad sniffles echoing across your bedroom woke you abruptly from your slumber. At first, you were confused, unsure whether you actually heard the noise or if it had just been nothing more than a dream, but the sudden shaky exhale that filled the bed a moment later, followed by a short gasp for air, had your body freezing and your eyes popping open in alert.
You had heard it correctly.
Your boyfriend was crying.
And silently by himself at that.
Without hesitation, you pivoted your body around and snuggled yourself against his back, your arm immediately wrapping around his waist and squeezing him against you in a tight and comforting hug.
Bangchan jumped slightly when you came into contact with him, no doubt surprised that you were awake. A shameful sigh left his body as he relaxed under your touch.
"Baby, are you okay?" you asked as you lifted your head and pressed it into his neck. You planted a soft kiss behind his ear, your hand searching blindly for his. He sniffled once more and wiped at his nose before he let out a soft breath.
"I'm okay, Sweetheart. You can go back to sleep." he tried to reassure you. His hand grabbed ahold of yours and pulled it tighter around him, almost like he was seeking your comfort despite verbally trying to push you away.
You planted another soft kiss below his ear before nudging your nose against his skin, your thumb tracing circles across the back of his hand.
"It doesn't sound like you're okay." you pointed out softly, not wanting to upset him even more than he already seemed to be. "Do you want to talk about it, or do you just want to go back to sleep?" you asked.
Chan was silent for a moment before he surprised you by turning around in your embrace. He wrapped his strong arms around your body and pulled you into his chest, stroking your hair and kissing the top of your head.
"I... I had a bad dream" he whispered around the lump in his throat. Your eyebrows raised in surprise. Usually, it would've taken a lot more coaxing to get him to talk as he was never one to talk easily about his feelings and worries. He must've been really struggling.
"What was it about, Baby?" you asked gently, your hand slipping underneath the hem of his shirt to caress his back. Chan squeezed you tighter against his chest in response.
"It was about my mom," he answered almost too quietly. You took the opportunity to run your nails tenderly across his skin, trying to relax his stiff body enough to continue. A shiver passed through him at your actions.
"In my dream, I was just sitting at home with my mom, dad, and sister. Barry was there too. My mom had made a bunch of food and I ate so much of it. When I got up to leave, I went to hug her goodbye and I just started to cry. I miss her. A lot." Chan swallowed roughly and buried his face into your hair, breathing in the scent of you in an attempt to calm his racing heart. "I miss them all so fucking much."
You felt Chan's body shake slightly as he exhaled, causing you to pull away and look up at him with a soft expression on your face. His hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction possible, and he had tears gently falling down his cheeks. You felt your heart break slightly at the sight of him being so openly vulnerable, looking so lost and scared.
On instinct, you then pulled your hand away from his back and reached up to wipe away the wetness, and hopefully, the heartbreaking expression settled on his face.
"I know you miss them, Baby," you reassured him with a kind smile. "Only a couple more weeks until your vacation and then you can go home and see them, okay? Just a couple more weeks."
Chan hiccuped once before pulling your body up the mattress. You knew he wanted to be cuddled, so you had no problem scooting up to sit against the pillows, your arms automatically spreading to welcome him in.
With a sigh, he fell into your chest and nuzzled his face into your neck, basking in your comfort as he draped half of his body over yours. It was all he needed to relax his racing heart and halt the flow of tears.
And he wasn't heavy by any means. He felt like a weighted blanket, and you too found yourself relaxing the nerves that sparked when you had initially woken up and heard him.
You guys lay silently like that for some time, your arms wrapped around his torso. One hand resumed the scratching across his back while the other stroked his curly hair. Chan's face buried into the crevice of your neck, his shaking body slowly relaxing with each passing minute. You weren't sure how long you guys stayed like that, but you'd lay there for an eternity if it meant helping him feel better.
The two of you had been dating for a little over six months now. You had met by chance in a cafe just over two years ago and slowly began building a friendship that finally blossomed into something more. You were both happy and content with where you were right now in the relationship. Neither one of you had dropped the 'L' word yet, but neither of you needed it.
Well, at least you didn't think you needed it until Chan opened his mouth and spoke into the silence that filled the room, shocking you to the core.
"Do you want to maybe come with me?" he asked. "To meet my family?"
You froze at his question, the hand that was sifting through his soft locks stopped for a moment before starting up again. At your hesitation, Chan pulled himself away and looked up at you with big eyes, a small frown on his face.
"Really?" you asked, trying not to get your hopes up. You only ever discussed meeting the parents a few times. It wasn't much of a big deal to you, but for Chan, it was huge.
He was big on family, you that much from listening to his stories about them and watching his vlogs. He loved his family more than anything. He expressed multiple times throughout your friendship, and relationship thus far, that he'd never brought a girl home before to meet them. He'd only ever do so if he was serious about her and their future together. He would never bring a girl home unless he was planning a life with her.
Meeting his family was sacred.
You tried to keep your heartbeat under control.
"Of course, Sweetheart," Chan responded, completely oblivious to the way your heart was beating frantically against your rib cage despite him lying on top of you.
He pulled away more now to look at your face more thoroughly as he spoke again, his next words sending another wave of emotion and surprise through your body.
"I love them almost as much as I do you. I'm ready for you to meet them."
There it was.
The 'L' word.
You were taken by surprise at this subtle confession and how casually he dropped it into the conversation. You weren't even sure you heard it right. Your eyes widened slightly and your face began to burn bashfully. Chris just smiled up at you, finding your reaction absolutely adorable.
"Did you just...?" you stopped mid-sentence when that beautiful smile of his turned downwards into one of his signature smirks. His face was free of tears, the only evidence of his despair was found in the red, puffy eyes that were staring at you as if you held the sun.
"I did," he confirmed casually before pushing up on his toes and planting a kiss on your cheek. "Is that okay?"
You nodded slowly, completely flustered by his words. Of course, you knew you loved him back. You fell in love with him within the first few months of knowing him, but you never thought he'd fall too. Or that he would be the first to say it.
Even though he didn't actually technically say it.
"I think so," you whispered, swallowing back your own tears that were lodging in your throat. "I think I need to hear you say it though."
He loved you
He loved you.
He. Loved. You
The thought was swirling around in your mind so quickly that it nearly distracted you from catching the heart-stopping, sweet smile he flashed your way. Chan then pulled himself up onto his elbows and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear before cupping your face in his palm.
His thumb swiped across your cheek softly, and it wasn't until then did you noticed a tear had managed to escape your eye, softly falling down your cheek.
"I love you, Y/n." he whispered, his eyes holding so much emotion and conviction that you felt like you'd been punched in the chest. Like it was an object that barrelled into you at full force, nearly knocking the wind out of you.
You stared at Chan as the words left his mouth a second time, his eyes searching yours as you got lost in the depths of them. They sparkled in the moonlight that filled the room, happiness, and joy emitting from his bones and encasing the two of you in your own little bubble.
Chan swallowed nervously at your silence.
"You don't have to say it back," he whispered, his thumb still stroking your cheekbone. "I just needed you to know. I love you, and I want you to come home with me and meet my family."
You took a deep breath, your nostrils filling with the scent of him, the scent of home. You smiled, your mind now swirling with the meaning behind his words. He was serious about you and wanted to build a future with you. Sure, you two hadn't been dating long, but he was committed. He was ready.
You took another deep inhale of oxygen and nodded before your lips connected with his forehead.
"I love you too, Chris," you whispered back as you kissed his skin softly. You felt his body relax under your touch, his head falling into your chest in relief. "I would love to meet them."
Chan let out a satisfied sigh and curled his arms around your body before he rolled onto his back, taking you with him.
"For a second there, I thought I scared you off," he murmured. You smirked back at him as you lay across his chest now, your legs tangling intimately with his.
"Not possibly, Channie. You said the 'L' word There's no going back now."
He then reached up and brought your face down to his, lips connecting softly with yours in a sweet and tender kiss.
"No returns, no refunds, no exchanges. I'm all yours."
His hands began to travel and traverse the shape of your body, slowly memorizing every inch of skin and every imperfection that lay upon it as he kissed you again and again. You couldn't help but giggle as a giddy feeling suddenly bubbled up in your stomach at the newfound happiness you didn't think was possible to find.
"Good," he answered against your mouth. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
synopsis: you and chan have been together for 3 years. he has never done anything to make you doubt his love for you, but recently you noticed him sneaking out at night...
wc: 2.4k
warnings: mentions of blood/injuries, brief descriptions of lovemaking, crying
a/n: i'm tired and preparing a really long fic so i needed a little break, hope you enjoy🫶🏻
~masterlist
Another long shift finally finished, a dull ache appeared in your feet, coursing through your legs and climbing up to your lower back.
There was a headache behind your eyelids, a constant slow pounding that almost made your vision blurry.
You felt overwhelmed, discouraged and hungry.
Today was a particularly difficult day at the restaurant you work at, exhausting you to your limits and pushing you further.
Another reason your anxiety spiked up was because you got yelled at by your manager for something that wasn't entirely your fault and you had to bite your tongue and swallow your tears like you always do.
As you stepped out into the street, the dark night enveloping you, your tired legs started taking you on the familiar path to your home.
You were barely awake as you walked, the people passing you by looked blurry and unrecognizable, you couldn't even make out their faces.
You closed your eyes for a second, but that was one second too long as you tripped on the cracked sidewalk and fell down, scraping your hands and knees in the process.
"Miss, are you alright?" someone crouched down to help you.
"Yes, yes I'm fine." you said to the stranger, your tears blurring your vision of their face.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, thank you." you tried to be polite, hoping they would back off because now you wanted to get home even faster.
You continued walking, now in more pain as the wind picked up, grazing your bleeding skin.
Tears streamed down your cheeks quietly as the sky became darker.
You picked up your pace, realizing it will soon start raining.
Arriving to your building just in time, you ran inside and up the stairs to the 6th and last floor where you and your boyfriend lived.
He was working even later than you today, so he couldn't pick you up as his work lead him across town for the time being.
Rain started pouring outside just as you managed to close the door to your apartment, smacking it into place multiple times until it finally clicked.
You quickly ran to grab some buckets as the roof was flimsy, whenever it rained, your apartment would be drenched in water too unless you strategically placed the buckets so they could collect the raindrops.
After doing that, you finally caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and cringed.
You were still in your waitress unifrom, your hair now a mess, mascara streaks on your cheeks from crying, your hands and legs covered in bloody scratches.
You decided to quickly clean up so you can make dinner for Chan and yourself, preferably before he arrives home.
Swallowing more tears that threatened to come out, you made your way to the bathroom to clean up.
Luckily, you had hot water finally, the last three months you had to somehow survive without it once your water heater broke.
Sometimes you took double shifts at the restaurant, or just begged your boss to let you work without a day off.
Chan hated when you did that, hated seeing you so tired that you barely stood on your feet, your eyes sad and distant when you'd come home.
He begged you not to do it, promising he'd find a way to make more money, promising that he'll take care of you, telling you how you deserve better which you'd quickly shut down, not wanting him to feel guilty because it wasn't his fault.
It wasn't yours either, that's just how the cards were dealt and the two of you were trying your best to make something out of nothing.
Chan arrived just in time as you were finishing up with dinner, a smile gracing his tired face as soon as he saw you standing before the stove, dressed in his shirt.
You looked at him over your shoulder and though he could see the tiredness on your features, to him you looked more and more beautiful every single day.
"Hey, baby." you greeted him just as he wrapped his arms around you, your tired muscles instantly melting into his warmth and comfort.
You could fall asleep standing if you weren't so hungry.
"Love." he hummed against you, leaning over your shoulder to kiss the corner of your lips. "Smells nice." Chan nuzzled into your hair, taking a whiff of your shampoo.
"What, the food or me?" you chuckled, teasing him.
"Both." he giggled, gently moving you left and right as he tightened his hold on you.
"Go wash up then, it's almost done." you said, his hands coming up to touch yours.
That's when he noticed the scratches, panic overtaking him instantly as he gently grabbed your wrists.
"What happened?" he asked, a shaky breath escaping his lips.
"I fell. It's nothing." you quickly shook your head but he spun you around before you could even protest.
"Babe, your legs." Chan gasped.
"It's fine, really. It doesn't hurt too much." you averted your eyes.
His fingers came up to touch your chin as he made you look at him.
"I'll pick you up next time, I promise. Even if I have to speed across the city."
"Don't even think about that." you shivered, negative thoughts appearing in your mind instantly.
If you lost him, you wouldn't have anything.
"Okay, okay, I'll go wash up." he kissed you gently before skipping to the bathroom.
You served dinner on the small table, your plates clinking together as you tried to make it look somewhat presentable.
These little things always made a difference.
The fresh flowers on your windowsill, the pretty tablecloth you managed to find for a cheap price, a warm home cooked meal, your lover sitting across from you with a smile on his face.
The space was so cramped that your knees were pressed up together but in the case of the two of you, close could never be close enough.
You know Chan would gladly crawl right into your heart if you could keep him there, safe and sound.
He helped you wash the dishes, both of you talking about your day like you always do.
"That place is a shithole, y/n. You deserve so much better. Your manager is a fucking knucklehead. Do you want me to rough him up a little?" Chan asked, setting the clean plate aside.
You chuckled, smacking his bicep playfully as you peered up at him.
"Yes, get me fired. Save me from that hellhole." you joked with a dramatic hand to your forehead.
"You know you could always look at other places."
"Isn't it just the same thing? I don't have many qualifications anyways."
"I know but maybe a different restaurant has a better manager if nothing else." Chan offers, as you lean on the sink, wiping your hands.
"Or they could be even worse." you said as he stood before you, his arms landing on your waist.
Chan leaned in to kiss you, slowly and lovingly, your stomach doing all sorts of flips like you haven't been together for years, like you haven't done this before.
"How about we stop talking about work and start talking about more fun topics?" you wiggled your eyebrows at him as your arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers grazing his muscles, on display for you as he wore his tanktop.
"You're not in pain?" he motioned to your thighs and arms, still stinging albeit dulled now.
"I trust you to be gentle." you stood on your tippy toes to kiss him again, your hands holding his cheeks.
The two of you fell into a lovers embrace, tongues entwined, fingertips gently exploring, your cores connected in a heated movement that ended in pure bliss.
"I love you." you whispered as Chan scooped you up in his protective arms.
"I love you, darling." he kissed your temple as you drifted off to sleep.
-
You noticed it for the first time that same night.
You were so exhausted, jolted out of your deep sleep that you thought you were hallucinating when you saw Chan's figure walking towards the door and disappearing.
Your eyes fell to the clock next to your bed, reading 2am.
You wanted to wake up, ask him where he's going but you couldn't fight the sleep that was overtaking you.
The next morning, you forgot about it as you saw Chan making breakfast for the two of you, the day starting as normal as ever, a familiar routine taking place.
Your knees pressed together as you ate, the smell of freshly brewed coffee filling up the space, the birds singing in front of the window as you chatted.
The next twenty minutes consisted of the two of you knocking against each other and the furniture as you tried to get ready for work.
The smiles on your faces never faltered as every second spent together was precious, even the mundane things like brushing your teeth together became romantic in your eyes.
Chan refused to stop kissing you in front of the door until you smacked his chest enough times to make him realize that you'll be late for work if he doesn't drive you right now.
It was a nice and fresh day outside and briefly you remembered the vision you had last night of Chan leaving but you chalked it up to a dream.
-
The dream however, kept repeating sporadically throughout the week.
You'd be half awake, watching your boyfriend's back as he'd gather his jacket and toolbox, only to leave quietly into the night.
Doubts started to fill your mind.
You knew you could just ask him where he was going, but the fact that he didn't share it beforehand, when the two of you usually shared your deepest and darkest secrets, created a painful feeling in your gut and chest.
It was more than suspicious, him sneaking out at night and the fear of losing him clouded your mind.
So one night as he left, waking you up accidentally in the process, you couldn't fall back asleep.
Tears filled up your eyes as you clutched onto his pillow that smelled just like him, comforting and yours.
What was he doing? You didn't want your mind to go to horrible places, like Chan meeting up with someone else because if that turned out to be true, your heart would shatter into pieces.
Pieces you'd never be able to pick up, never be able to love again.
So, you waited for him to come back home, making yourself some coffee so you don't fall asleep.
Chan came back home around 6am, just 30 minutes before you usually wake up.
"Oh, y/n. You're awake." he swallowed, looking like a deer caught in headlights.
"Yes, I've been awake for hours." you looked at him as he stood still by the door, nervously looking left and right.
"I- I just..."
"Where were you? Or better yet, where do you sneak off to every other night?" you tapped your fingers against the cup, your heart beating fast as you tried to sound and look calm, but your eyes were already filling up with tears.
"Y-you know?" Chan gulped, standing like a statue.
You scoffed, a tear sliding down your cheek.
You wiped it away angrily as you stood up and his eyes widened.
"I thought we didn't have any secrets between us. But you're obviously going behind my back. Just please, explain."
"Please don't be mad at me!" Chan quickly made his way to you but you took a step back from him, your backside colliding into the sink.
Hurt flashed across his eyes before realization hit him.
How this must look to you.
"Oh, you think..." he shook his head. "It's nothing like that. Actually, you weren't supposed to find out like this. I just wanted to make some extra money so I started repairing stuff as a 24/7 service. You know, for stores that work around the clock, anything that is opened during the night shift like casinos and clubs. If something happens in people's houses during the night. I figured since I have trouble sleeping, I'd do something productive."
You stared at him for a moment before letting out a laugh of disbelief, tears still staining your cheeks.
"You bastard!" you smacked his chest, but there was a smile on your face which let Chan know you weren't that mad at him.
"Why didn't you just tell me that? Do you know how much you scared me?" you smacked his chest once again for good measure before he grabbed your hands gently, bringing them up to your lips and kissing your knuckles.
"I'm sorry, I will never keep something from you again. It's just that it was supposed to be a surprise."
"What surprise?" your brows furrowed as Chan sighed, turning around to rummage through his jacket that he'd left on the chair immediately.
You peered at his hands, your eyes widening and a gasp escaping your lips as he produced a little velvet box out of his pocket.
"Is that-" you stuttered, fresh tears pricking your eyes.
"Mhm." he nodded. "But I wanted us to have this romantic dinner and-"
"This is romantic enough." you stopped him, your voice eager.
Chan chuckled and then smirked.
"Are you sure you want me to propose all greasy in the middle of the kitchen at 6am?"
"I'm sure." you giggled, your body heating up with excitement.
"I was gonna prepare a speech." he muttered before getting down on one knee.
"Y/n, even though I don't have much, what I do have I want to share with you. And that is all my love and my complete and utter devotion that I want to share with you for the rest of my life. So will you marry me?" Chan looked up at you hopefully as he opened up the little box, revealing a beautiful ring inside it.
"Yes!" you cried, quickly wrapping your arms around him as you stumbled forwards into his embrace, making him giggle happily.
You held each other tightly for some time, just reveling in the moment of your hearts beating against one another in unison.
As you pulled away, Chan slid the ring on your finger as your heart skipped a beat.
"Never scare me like that again." you said, looking up at him.
"I'm sorry, my love. I promise I won't."
Your lips crashed together in a sweet and passionate kiss, your whole body tingling with so many feelings and one thought in your head.
Whatever life throws at you, as long as you come home to each other at the end of the day, everything will be just fine.
Summary: Your car breaks down on the side of the road about 3 miles away from the repair shop you noticed on your drive back and forth. What happens when the owner of said shop happens to be a muscular handsome man who has a kind heart and a slight knight in shining armor complex?
“No, no, no, no. C’mon please!” You begged in dismay as your car began to slow to an almost crawl. Quickly you turned your steering wheel to the side and guided your car to the shoulder of the road before easing on the brake and stopping the car before parking it. You sighed loudly and defeatedly as you leant forward and rested your forehead on your steering wheel while glaring at the lit up engine light on your dashboard. You had thought you had a few more miles for the repair shop in town before your car would give up on you but sadly that wasn’t the case.
Groaning loudly you knew that you would have to walk the rest of the way to the repair shop and it was at least another three miles down the road. Hitting your head repeatedly on the steering wheel you whined softly to yourself before sighing and sitting back up in your seat. You grabbed your purse off the passenger side seat before stepping out of your car with your keys in hand. Locking your car you turned your head towards the direction that you needed to head in and sighed softly as the sun glinted off your dark sunglasses, it was gonna be a long walk.
*-*-*-*
The sound of rock music flitted through the air as you slowly walked along the side of the road feeling overheated and exhausted. Wiping the back of your hand against your forehead you sighed with relief as your eyes darted over to the mechanic shop and heard the loud whirring of a drill from inside the garage. Double checking the road you tried to quickly make it across to the mechanic’s shop but stumbled as your feet hit a lifted piece of pavement. You yelped as you began to fall forward keeping your hands out to catch you on the hard pavement when suddenly a strong muscled arm wrapped around your waist and held you hovering above the ground.
”Woah! Easy there!” A pleasant voice from behind you sounded and you felt your cheeks heat with embarrassment as the arm righted you back on your feet and then turned you swiftly making your head spin. You felt woozy as your brain kept spinning from the swift movement and black spots began to appear in your eyesight. A taller looming man with kind concerned brown eyes looked down at you before his head turned and yelled out for help.
*-*-*-*
Groaning softly you frowned as your head rolled on your neck tiredly before your eyes fluttered open lazily. Darting your eyes around the small room you noticed that it was an office of some sort with card boxes piled up in tall stacks along the back wall. Lifting your head slowly you groaned again while raising a hand to the back of your neck and rubbing it to try and massage the kink out of your muscles.
Suddenly the door opened quickly and your eyes darted over to the tall man who stood in the doorway. He was dressed in a dirty white tank top and a pair of blue coveralls with the top half of them tied around his waist covering his legs while a pair of tan steel toed work boots and a well worn black baseball cap with some obscure logo on it made up his entire outfit.
”Oh! You’re awake finally!” He said surprised to see that you were awake in the office. He disappeared from the doorway for a moment before he was striding back into the office holding a water bottle in his hand. “Here sip slowly.” He instructed you before he opened the water bottle for you and handed it to you.
He then took a seat on the desk in front of you as he watched you carefully took small sips of the water. He smiled happily as he watched you before he nodded his head at you.
”Good. So looks like you got overheated and dehydrated on your walk. Where were you coming from? And where were you going?” He asked curiously as he tilted his head to the side while crossing his arms over his chest. His hat sat atop his head with a jaunty tilt and your eyes took him appreciatively before you looked up at his face as you saw the smug smirk on his lips.
”Came from my broken down car and I was walking to here. Thought I could drive it all the way here but it broke down on me about three miles back.” You told him in a raspy scratchy voice. He nodded his head at your explanation before slipping off the desk to stand in front of you.
”Alright finish that water and then come find me in the garage. I’ll drive the tow truck out to your car and tow it back here. We’ll take a look at it and see what we can do for you.” He said easily and you nodded your head thankfully.
”Thank you.” You told him softly and he smiled a lopsided smile at you before winking and then grinning before he left the office. You felt the blush on your cheeks at his teasing wink before you shook your head at his antics before sipping slowly at the water bottle.
When you had finished the water you tossed it into the small garbage can you found at the side of the desk before standing from your chair and stretching tiredly. You then left the office and made your way into the loud chaotic garage. There were multiple cars lifted on hydraulic lifts as men yelled and called out to each other throughout the garage. There were two men bent over the hood of an old Cadillac talking to each other as their arms were buried deep in the engine of the car. Another three men were standing at the side of the garage laughing at a joke one of them had told the others. Two others are peering under a large SUV as one of them holds a drill in one of his hands as they talk about something that you can’t hear. And then finally there is the man who had been in the office with you walking towards you with a wide smile on his face, your eyes take him in once more and you notice the swagger he holds as he walks and you can’t help but feel desire course through you. The man is sex on legs and he has a certain confidence about him that just draws you in each time.
”Ready to go get your car?” He asks with that smug smirk on his face again and you roll your eyes goodnaturedly causing him to chuckle softly at you.
”Yes, please.” You say softly, feeling the eyes of the other men on you as you step closer to the man in front of you.
”I’ll be back guys. Gonna tow a car in for repair.” He called out before he began to guide you towards the tow truck that was parked out front. “Got your keys and stuff?” He asked and you nodded as you patted your purse that hung over your shoulder. “Good, here let me help you up.” He said easily as he opened the passenger side door of the tow truck and easily lifted you up into the seat causing you to yelp and grab onto his shoulders as he smirked softly at you. “Love hearing that sound you make, especially when I cause it.” He teases softly and you gape at him silently.
He then closes the door once you’re settled in the seat before running around the front of the truck and hopping up into the driver’s seat. He grins at you before he starts up the truck and pulls out of the parking lot of the garage while loud rock music plays over the stereo.
”So do you live around here or something? Normally we don’t get a lot of business from people we don’t know.” He says loudly over the stereo and you grimace slightly at how loud it all is. “Sorry, Bin and Han like the music loud.” He says quickly as he lowers the volume on the stereo.
”I just moved to the area actually. Was driving back and forth from the city to my new place. I saw your repair shop on one of my trips back and forth and the engine light has been on since I hit the county line.” You told him and he nodded his head.
”Yeah that trip is usually hard on cars. Why’d you move from the city if you don’t mind my asking?” He asked as he kept his eyes on the road.
”I needed a change. The city is just so busy and I was getting burnt out from work.” You told him honestly and he nodded his head at your words.
”Yeah I hear that. So do you need a job? Or do you have something lined up?” He asked curiously as his eyes darted over to you for a moment before turning back to the road.
”Oh no, I have something already lined up. I start a remote medical coding position in a week.” You tell him and suddenly realize how open you’re being with him and grow slightly cautious but he smiles widely at you before turning back to the road.
”That’s pretty impressive. You had to do schooling for that right?” He asks curiously and you nod your head at his question.
”Yeah I went through a nine month program and got my certificate for it while working full time in the city. Then just began applying for jobs and found one that fit what I wanted.” You said conversationally before growing quiet once more realizing how much you had told him. He chuckled softly and you turned to look at him.
”I’ve been told I’m very easy to open to.” He said with a slightly embarrassed grin trying to make you feel better.
”You don’t say.” You said teasingly as you chuckled softly and he laughed loudly at your words before shrugging slightly.
”Call it my natural charm.” He suggested and you laughed softly at him while shaking your head.
”I’ll say.” You teased and he burst out into laughter again. “So since I’ve told you my life story so far can I get your name?” You asked him as you leaned across the long bench seat towards him and he grinned cheekily at you.
”Do I get yours in return?” He asked smoothly and you faked thinking about it before nodding your head.
”Couldn’t hurt. You already know more about me.” You said with a shrug.
”Name’s Christopher Chan Bahng. But you can call me Chris or Chan.” He said easily and you smiled at him as. You gave him your name as. well. “That’s a pretty name for a pretty girl.” He teased and you laughed surprised at his flirting as he grimaced at it. “I know, I know. That was bad.” He admitted and you laughed loudly as you nodded your head.
”At least you realized it and I didn’t have to tell you.” You joked as you continued to laugh.
”Alright, alright chuckles.” He said softly with a twist of his lips as he pulled up to your car. “This you chuckles?” He asked with a grin and you smiled while nodding your head. He easily pulled the tow truck in front of your car before hopping out and hooking your car to the tow truck and then driving it back to the garage.
There two of the guys who had been joking at the side of the garage were waiting eagerly to get started on the car. They helped Chris get the car backed up into a bay and unhooked it from the tow truck. When you hopped out of the tow truck you heard Chris talking to the two of them authoritatively.
”I’m gonna be working on this one.” He told the two guys who looked over at him with confused looks on their faces before their eyes darted over to you and then sly smirks slipped onto their faces. The taller one raised his hands in faux surrender as they both quickly left to park the tow truck for him. “Have a seat over there. Can’t have you passing out on me again.” Chris says easily as he points to a chair set up against the wall near where he had parked your car. You do as you’re told and Chris easily pops your hood to see what he’s got to work with.
He easily gets to work and you lose yourself in watching him, he moves so fluidly and effortlessly that you’re instantly mesmerized by him. Embarrassingly he catches you staring a few times as the two of you talk while he works and he soon can’t keep the smirk from his face as you roll your eyes at him and try to keep the blush from your cheeks.
The way his muscles stretch and flex as he moves as your eyes raking over him hungrily and you try to keep your eyes at a respectable place on him but you find yourself checking out his whole body while he works. And when he gets on a small roller cart to get under your car you nearly groan out loud at the image he presents. Thankfully you’re able to bite your lip hard to curb the sound just barely from escaping your mouth.
”Alright I think that should do it.” He says as he slides out from underneath your car and you have to bite your lip once more as a whimper bubbles up your throat as you watch him move. “Let me just start up and clear the engine codes and you should be good to go.” He said with a nod of his head, you nod your head along with him feeling dread begin to fill you at the thought that your time with Chris was ending.
He easily slides into your car and starts it up listening to the engine turn over effortlessly and you grin brightly at him through your front windshield. His answering grin mirrors yours and relief fills you that your car is working again. When Chris cuts the engine and slides back out of your car he waves you over to the office on the other side of the garage and you notice the other guys watching you with knowing smirks and looks on their faces.
”So it was an easy fix and didn’t take long to get it done.” Chris says easily as he slumps into his desk chair while you take the seat you had originally claimed when you woke up in the office.
”How much do I owe you?” You ask and Chris smiles softly as he looks up at you while typing away at his computer. He quotes you a price that seems way to low for all the work he did on your car and you furrow your brow at him. “That’s all?” You ask and he bursts out in laughter once more.
”Well with the pretty lady discount and the good company discount it dropped it down to that price.” He teases you and you flush brightly at his flirting.
“Is this how you always do business?” You ask with a soft smirk slipping onto your face and he smiles softly while shaking his head no.
”Nah, you’re the first.” He admits and your eyes widen at his admission before you hand him your credit card. He grins softly at you before running your car and printing out a receipt for you.
When he walks you back to your car which is now parked in the parking lot in front of the garage you’re hoping that he’ll ask you for your number. After all the talking and flirting the two of you done all day you’re hoping it’ll mean he wants more with you. But as he shuts your driver side door for you and leans down into the window he tells you to have a good night and get home safe before insisting you come back to his garage if you ever have any car trouble. You feel dejected and disappointed when he doesn’t offer his number or ask for yours and you sigh softly before nodding your head.
”Thanks for helping me Chris. I really appreciate it.” You tell him honestly and he nods his head before standing straight and taps your car door twice before stepping back and allowing you to pull out of the parking lot. You drive home questioning if all the flirting was just to put you at ease and meant nothing to him.
*-*-*-*
The next week finds you back at Chris’ garage and parking your car in front of the open bay doors. You sit in your car for a moment surveying who’s in the garage today as you try to work up the courage to get out of your car and walk up to the office. You had been debating visiting the garage again but after a week of second guessing your every interaction with Chris you couldn’t handle it anymore. There wasn’t anything wrong with your car but you couldn’t think of any other reason to come visit him after he didn’t ask for your number.
Suddenly there’s a tapping on your driver side window and you jerk away from it in surprise and shock causing an amused Chris to burst out laughing as you roll down your window. His laughter fills your car and you can’t help but smile embarrassedly at him.
”What’s up pretty lady? Car trouble again?” He asks concerned while still smiling at you.
”It’s making a funny noise.” You tell him as you turn your head to face him your eyes darting around his face taking him in silently. You realize silently that you missed him and your heart begins to beat quickly against your rib cage.
”Alright pull her in to this bay over here.” He instructs you and you nod your head quickly causing him to smirk softly at you. “You always obey directions easily?” He asks teasingly and you suck in a breath for a moment before lifting your head challengingly.
”Only when it’s you giving the directions.” You flirt back and he stares at you with wide eyes for a moment before grinning widely at you.
”C’mon pretty lady.” He says as he begins to walk away with a soft smirk on his face.
Once you park your car into the bay he had told you to, he easily helps you out of the car and points to the chair against the wall and you sit there obediently causing him to smirk once more as you stick your tongue out at him. He laughs delightedly at your bratty attitude while shaking his head.
”Don’t tempt me with a good time sweetheart.” He teases and you shrug your shoulders at him.
”Must’ve not been a good enough time last time.” You snip out and he narrows his eyes at you for a second before sliding underneath your car on the roller cart. You hope he finds something wrong with your car since you knew you were lying to him and only wanted an excuse to come back and see him.
But it doesn’t take him long and soon he’s sliding back out from your car. He lays there for a moment staring at you with a knowing look in his eyes as his smirk grows smug.
”There’s nothing wrong with your car.” He states confidently and you hang your head as you sigh. You can hear his chuckle as he rolls himself over to you so that he’s able to make eye contact with you as your head still hangs. His amused eyes connect with yours and you dart yours away to stare at the floor.
”I needed a reason to come see you again since you didn’t ask for my number.” You grumble out softly and he chuckles delightedly at your words.
”Miss me that much?” He asks quietly and your eyes dart back to his to see him watching you amazed. “Didn’t think I had a shot with you.” He confesses softly and you scoff softly at him making him grin widely and lean closer to you still on his roller cart.
”Well you do.” You said with a slight pout on your face and his grin is still there on his face when he leans up and presses a chaste sweet kiss to your pouted lips. You hum softly against him and lean into the kiss as he cups your cheeks in his large hands.
”Forgive me?” He asks softly against your lips when he pulls away.
”Ask me for my number and maybe I will.” You say and he chuckles amused at your compromise. “Otherwise I’m gonna have to make up another reason to come to your garage.” Chris bursts out in happy laughter as he digs his cellphone out of his pocket and places it in your lap before pulling you down for another sweet kiss.
a/n: it feels surreal posting this, knowing it's the last update for this fic. thank you @bahablastplz and @chanssoftgalaxy for editing. and thank YOU, dear readers, for taking this journey with me.
[ read chapter 31 here ]
Chapter Thirty-Two: Of Epilogues
TWO YEARS LATER
The silence in the room is deafening, now that you’ve asked everyone to clear out. You had to request a moment of peace amidst the day’s chaos. You let out an exasperated breath and grab a napkin to dab at the unwelcome perspiration exiting your body. You toss the napkin in the small trash can near your feet and resist the urge to rub at your face.
How did you allow yourself to get here?
It’s been a long road, to be sure.
After that weekend with Chan, you were still left with more questions than answers, yet you chose to trust the process. To trust him. He wanted you to meet his parents before they all flew back home, but you had to insist it would be better to wait. To your surprise he accepted your answer and didn’t push the topic any further.
You had to exchange numbers, again, and this time swore to never delete them. Saying goodbye to him for the second time was equally as emotional as the first, but now you had the reassurance that it wasn’t forever. You’d definitely see him again.
From the moment he left, to three months later when he came to visit again you were essentially in non-stop contact with him; if you weren’t texting, you were calling or video chatting. It made the distance easier.
The next time he came to visit was for Thanksgiving (thankfully No Nut November was not being observed). He had the opportunity to meet your parents and though you were a nervous wreck for it, everything went smoothly. They were enamored with him. ‘The son we never had’, is what your dad started calling him.
That Christmas, Chan flew you to Australia to meet his family and once again you felt like you were going to vomit the entire way. He put you up in a nice hotel—not because you were unwelcome in the house, but because he wanted you to scream his name with passion without fear of his family hearing. It was a good call.
On Christmas Eve you joined his family in their home. It was mostly a warm welcome. His siblings and mother were excited to meet you, but his father took his time warming up to you. Like, a year’s worth. As the months went on, he saw the way you and Chan were together, and you nearly lost it when he admitted you made his son a better man.
With all the support and blessings of your parents, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Chan would propose to you. Yet it caught you so off guard when he did. It wasn’t some huge grand gesture—he knew you wouldn’t like all the attention—so he asked at night, when you were coming out of the bathroom after brushing your teeth.
You let out a startled scream, seeing him down on one knee as soon as you opened the door. It took you a moment to even register the opened box he was holding in his hand with a diamond ring inside of it.
“Marry me.” he said.
“Chan…”
“I know, I know,” he understood your shock. “There are so many ways I thought of doing this—over dinner, dropping it in your drink, at our park bench, in front of your family…but I couldn’t pick one. And I couldn’t wait any longer.”
“How long have you had this?” you inquire.
“Since I showed up with Berry at your internship.”
Your mouth dropped.
He reached out for your left hand and held it gently in his.
“Marry me.”
He has a way of asking you to do things that sound like more of a demand. You’ve grown accustomed to it now. You no longer fear that it’s a command which you are unable to object to. If this isn’t something you want, you can say no, and he will take you at your word. It doesn’t mean he won’t shoot his shot again later, though.
“Okay,” you replied softly.
The ring fit your finger perfectly.
Now here you are, six months later, preparing to walk down the aisle and marry the man that has changed your life in so many ways. You’d already made the leap to move to Australia, after getting credentialed and licensed there, so this is the last step to really seal the deal.
You know for a fact that Chan is the man you want to spend the rest of your life with. After all he’s shown you in the past two years, there are no lingering doubts. However, the thought of standing at the altar in front of nearly a hundred guests is making you feel anxious.
Your stomach is tied in knots as you slowly raise your gaze to the mirror in front of you.
You hardly recognize the woman in the reflection. She’s clad in a white, off the shoulder bridal gown with sequined lace. The fabric hugs and accentuates her curves in all the right places. Her hair and makeup have been professionally done, too.
It certainly doesn’t feel like it’s been three years since your time at the SKZ House. But it has. You’ve grown so much both independently and as a partner, yet you still sometimes feel very much like the same young woman that lived there. Looking at yourself now, you have to accept she will always exist within you.
There’s a knock at the door that pulls you from your thoughts.
“Come in,” you call out.
You turn around on the stool you’re sitting on as Hyunjin enters. He’s wearing a dark maroon suit with a black button up shirt beneath it. His long, dark hair is pulled back into a half ponytail, with a couple of bangs left out to frame his face. He is, and always will be, stunning.
“How’s our girl?” he asks with a dazzling smile.
Our girl.
He still insists on calling you that, as if you could ever forget you once belonged to both of them. It wasn’t until nearly a year after Chan came back into your life that you saw any of the other members again. They were all so busy, working underneath their fathers in various roles, that getting them all together in one place proved to be a difficult task.
Seeing them all felt so bittersweet. It made you think of the other girls, and whomever else came before you that truly had to say goodbye to these men forever. You felt incredibly lucky, but sad for them at the same time. Seungmin congratulated you on ‘cheating the system’, while Lee Know joked ‘I thought we got rid of you’. It was nice to see they hadn’t changed too much.
You had a long discussion with Chan about how to approach a renewed relationship with Hyunjin. It was important to you both not to cross any boundaries, but you still had to acknowledge the history the three of you shared. Chan was upfront in telling you that communication—calls, texts, whatever were acceptable. He didn’t even care if you and Hyunjin hung out alone because he trusts both of you completely. He did make it clear, though, that any sexual contact would be done only with his involvement, too.
You were once again left with your mouth hanging open. You hadn’t imagined it would even be an option. It happened twice—the first time you were all drunk, the second time completely sober. It was just as good and magical as the first time, but you never felt a pressing need for it to be a consistent thing. Plus, you wanted to remain respectful if Hyunjin ever brings a partner around. Though, if you left it up to him and Chan they’d probably just try to include her in the mix. And you’re not sure how you’d feel about that.
“Nervous,” you finally reply.
“Getting cold feet?” He pulls up an empty stool next to you and sits down.
You shake your head vigorously.
“There’s just been so much rapid change over the past year and it’s all culminating in this…me walking down that aisle, with all those people watching. And I do not feel like myself in this dress.”
“You know what they’ll be thinking?”
You shake your head again.
“That you’re beautiful. That Chan is lucky to have you. That you’ve both grown so much in the past two years and will do well in the future together.”
You sigh.
“You’re annoyingly helpful, Hyunjin.”
You didn’t quite need him as a shoulder to cry on anymore, but after moving to Australia if you ever felt lonely you would give him a call and he’d cheer you up. He understood the terms of his access to your relationship with Chan and never did anything to cross the line.
“That’s half my charm,” he shrugs.
Your phone on the counter buzzes. You pick it up to view the notification:
Fiancé (real)
I’ll see you in five minutes, Mrs. Bang.
You can’t stop the smile that breaks out across your face. He’s been calling you that since you accepted his proposal. You’ve never gotten tired of hearing it, either.
You set your phone back down on the counter and stand, facing Hyunjin.
“Does everything look okay?”
He stands, too, and helps adjust the train around you.
“Perfect. You’re gorgeous, y/n.”
“Thank you,” you reply softly, looking down to smooth out the front of the dress.
Hyunjin hooks a finger under your chin and lifts your head up.
“It’s fine. Eyes up—I’ll see you out there. I’ll be the other guy standing at the end of the aisle,” he winks at you.
You roll your eyes at that, “Get out of here.”
He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek before exiting the room, leaving the door open. You see your father standing outside and tell him to give you another second.
You turn around to your reflection once more and put the crowned veil in place.
You realize you don’t recognize this woman because she seems so sophisticated, so regal…so genuinely happy. There was a time when you didn’t think any of that was possible for yourself. And now you’re living it.
3 YEARS LATER (Chan POV)
If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past seven years—it’s that I’m not always right. But there are a few things I take pride in being right about. The one at the top of the list?
You.
Seeing you welcome my family into our home for the Christmas holiday with a smile, after everything we’ve been through, reaffirms that I made the right choice in coming to find you.
Standing here next to my father and Lucas, drink in hand, willing myself to listen to him talk trade deals, I can’t take my eyes off you. You’re smiling and laughing, talking with Hannah about God knows what. Probably something at my expense, but I don’t care. Whatever makes you happy.
I watch as my mother comes to your side, showing you something on her phone. Is she talking to you about business too? You have no idea the way my heart fucking soared seeing you two work together for the first time. Mom’s always been a philanthropist, so the fact that you created a charitable organization together, helping serve the underprivileged youth and get them in touch with animals is one of the greatest gifts of our union.
My father purchased the ranch, without hesitation, when you two brought the idea to him. You serve as the on-site veterinarian and thus, still get to have your own career—which you’re thriving in. You’ve come a long way from working with just cats and dogs…do you miss it? Is this too much? I’ve seen the way your eyes light up as you care for the wide array of animals, though, so I know it’s not. You’re right in your element.
The doorbell rings and I step away from my father to answer it, already knowing exactly who it is.
“About time you guys showed up,” I say, opening the door wide and stepping aside to let my brothers in.
All seven of them file in, some with a partner in tow, some still stag.
As soon as they step inside and start greeting everyone, the house becomes so loud it reminds me of our time at the SKZ House. The beginning of our story was tumultuous. You were naïve and I was reckless with it. But we grew together, and here we are.
When I return to the living room, my eyes immediately find you. You can’t hide the smile on your face when you see Hyunjin and his dyed hair—he’s gone back to blonde again. To spite his father, I’m sure. He’s finally settled into his role in their family business, but still finds ways to remain true to himself. I know that’s part of the reason you love him.
I smile, too, watching him embrace you. It’s a long hug, but it doesn’t bother me. He’s been nothing but respectful of our relationship since you came back with me and I’d trust him with my life, so I trust him with yours too.
You’re my girl.
No.
You’re more than that now.
You’re my wife.
I’m pulled into another conversation with Changbin and Jeongin, discussing what they’ve been up to over the past couple of months since I saw them last. I’d rather be standing next to you. Or upstairs in our bedroom with you.
You’d think after this long I would have had my fill…but no. I can never get enough of you.
I’ve also discovered that I can’t get enough of surprising you. Of making you smile.
You don’t know it yet, but your parents will be arriving in a few days to ring in the New Year with us. I know how much you miss them. I know how hard the distance has been for you. I promised to make this work, though. And I will spend every day of the rest of my life doing so.
My parents end up leaving around 10:00pm, Hannah and Lucas stay along with everyone else. As the night carries on with copious amounts of drinking, I urge everyone to pick one of the four guest rooms, if they aren’t going to take an Uber home. Although I love when it’s just us in this massive house, I cherish their safety more than my peace and quiet.
When it approaches 2:00am, games are still being played. I watch you carefully for the signal—a yawn—then let everyone know we’re calling it a night. They’re free to carry on as they wish, but I’m tired of sharing you with them already.
We say our goodnights then make our way upstairs. I walk behind you, watching with a lazy smile as your hips sway from side to side with each step up.
“You regret choosing to host at our house this year?” I ask.
“Not at all,” you reply. “I’m happy to see everyone here.”
“Me too, then.”
You open the door to our bedroom, and I close it behind us. You turn on the hall light that leads to the bathroom and start walking in that direction, but I grab your hand and pull you back to me.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“To shower,” you say pointedly, looking up at me.
“Not yet,” I shake my head, walking you towards the bed. “You were so busy playing hostess I hardly got to have my share of you.”
I place my hands on your hips and lift you up. You let out the squeal I love hearing so much as you wrap your legs around my waist.
“This dress looks good on you,” I tell you, walking towards the bed. “All I could think about was getting you back up here all night.”
“Whatever for?” you ask, coyly.
“Aljana neol gamanhi dul su eomneun geol.”
You’ve become more familiar with the Korean language being around my family, but the look on your face says you don’t understand what I’m saying. That’s okay. I fully intend on showing you.
I unhook your legs from my waist and toss you onto the bed.
“Chan,” you say laughing. “You have to be careful with that now.”
I crawl onto the bed in front of you, spreading your legs apart and causing the dress to rise up your thighs. I take the ends into my hand and push it up further, exposing your torso. I lower myself on the bed and shower your stomach in kisses.
“Do you remember what you said that day in the park?” I ask, pulling down your underwear. You lift your hips to let me pull them all the way off.
“That one day, when you have little ones running around, you’ll thank me,” you answer matter-of-factly.
“I do thank you. You were right.”
“Well…they’re not exactly running around yet,” you reply, touching the barely noticeable bump of your belly.
You claim to hardly see the difference, but I see it so clearly. The slight little curve. The tiniest little bean inside. Our little bean.
You stopped taking your birth control six months ago, and we both took great pleasure in trying to make the dream of having our own family a reality.
“We still need to tell everyone,” you add as I take off my shirt.
“Soon. I want to enjoy this secret with you a little longer.”
You sit up and start to pull your dress up to take it off, but I stop you.
“I wanna fuck you with it on.”
I pull down the straps and you take your arms out of them before pushing the top half of the dress down to your stomach. Majority of it sits scrunched up across your abdomen, with all the best parts of you on display.
Well, your mind and your heart are definitely the best parts of you because they chose me. But your physical attributes are second best, only to them.
“No bra?” I ask rhetorically, seeing your exposed breasts.
“Too constricting,” you say with a light shrug.
I lower myself to your breasts, taking each nipple into my mouth, in turn. A delectable moan escapes your lips and I can feel my cock start to harden through my jeans. You have no idea how sexy you are. Seven years in and the slightest touch or sound from you can set me off. I kiss my way down your torso, stopping to pay special attention to your stomach again, causing you to giggle.
You’re carrying my child inside of you. I didn’t think I could love you anymore, but I’ve realized I can. It continues to grow each and every day. I would do anything for you. For both of you.
When I reach my home between your legs, I inhale your scent, rubbing my nose around your folds. This is why I couldn’t let you shower. I love the natural smell of you. No soaps, no lotions. Just you. I stick my tongue out and press a long, hard lick up your slit.
“Oh, fuck, baby,” you say.
“Naekkeo,” I reply.
You know this word all too well.
Mine.
You’ve been mine for seven years—even through our time apart.
Your hands tangle themselves in my hair, pulling on the strands as I tease you with my mouth and tongue. Your pussy’s getting so wet. You love it when I play with you. You love it when I fuck you with my tongue.
I feel it when your legs start to tremble, when your back arches off the bed—you’re close. So I stop.
You collapse back onto the bed, breathless and annoyed.
It’s so fucking cute.
“Chan,” you whine.
“On your knees,” I tell you.
“Excuse me?” you ask, arching an eyebrow. “Is that how you speak to your wife? The future mother of your child?”
I smile at that.
“On your knees…please.”
You scrunch up your face, but still do as you’re told. I step off the bed to unbutton my pants and push them down along with my boxers. I grip my cock in my hand as I beckon you towards me with a curl of my finger. Your eyes are on my cock as you crawl to me.
You’re hungry for it, aren’t you?
You’ve wanted me just as bad all day.
Your eyes snap up to mine as you open your mouth, and I feel my pulse quicken.
The things you do to me, y/n.
I place a hand on the back of your head and guide your mouth to my cock. Your eyes flutter shut as you take it inside, licking around the tip before sliding your head back and forth on it. It feels so fucking good.
Before you can get too carried away, I take a step back, pulling my cock out of your mouth. At the sudden withdrawal, you look up at me with a pout on your lips.
“Chan.”
I love the way you say my name. Especially at times like this.
“Turn around,” I instruct.
You turn around on the bed, pointing your ass towards me. I grab your hips and pull you to the edge of the bed, taking a second to admire my view. You really do have a beautiful ass. You hate the littering of stretchmarks that formed there, but I love every single one of them. I don’t need you to perfect. I just need you to be mine.
I grip my cock at the base again and rub the tip up and down your slit.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” I ask.
You rock your hips back in an act of defiance, clearly not wanting a long, drawn out teasing session tonight. I can understand, it is nearly two in the morning, after all. We aren’t as young as we once were.
But, still.
I want a verbal answer.
I smack your ass with the palm of my hand and you moan in response.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” I ask again.
“Yes.” You reply, and I can hear the pout in your voice.
“Are you sure?” I ask, slowly inserting the tip.
It takes everything in me not to slam into you like this. I pull it back out, and resume rubbing it up and down your slippery folds.
“Yes,” you say again. “Banjjak, jebal.”
It’s not only your word choice that catches me off guard, but your pronunciation too. You’ve been practicing. And it completely fucks with me, hearing that desperate plea in my mother tongue.
I thrust my hips forward, slamming into you with force.
Banjjak. Jebal.
My other half. Please.
Fuck. You still find ways to make me crumble.
I grip your rumpled up dress in one hand, careful to make sure it’s just under your rib cage and not around your stomach as I use it for leverage, pulling you back against me. You take on some of the work, arching yourself and fucking me back.
Your pussy feels so good around my cock. Too good.
Tight.
Wet.
Mine.
I feel your walls clench around my cock, and I know neither of us will last much longer. Not after the day we’ve had, being on our best behavior in front of others. Your ass and thighs jiggle, each time our bodies connect, and the sight is going to send me over the edge too.
“Come for me, baby,” I say, leaning back to watch as my cock thrusts in and out of you.
Your hands grip the sheets as you come around my cock and I let myself go, too. You moan as I loudly groan, slowing down my thrusts as I spill inside of you.
There’s always so much I want to do to you, every time we fuck. Handcuffs. Collars. Restraints. Spreader bars. We’ve entered a new experimental phase of our love making.
And that’s what it is. I don’t just fuck you anymore.
No matter the context, no matter the equipment. We’re making love because you are mine and I am yours. In every way possible.
You collapse onto the bed, and I lay down beside you, scooping you up in my arms to pull you close to me.
“Just what I needed,” you say with a happy sigh, turning around to face me.
“There’s more where that—”
“Slow your roll,” you tap my lips with your finger. “I need a shower and sleep. Then maybe I’ll think about it in the morning.”
I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively and you laugh. You know, by now, that it’s not just about the physicality of our relationship. Although I love it, I enjoy having your presence around me more.
I don’t know where I would be if you hadn’t taken me back all those years ago.
I don’t want to know.
I don’t want to think about it.
And thank fuck I’ll never have to find out.
a/n: and that's all, folks. from 11/29/23 to 10/25/24. 32 chapters. 153,021 words (and a few hundred typos, i'm sure haha). what a wild fucking ride. i cannot thank you all enough for reading this story--for liking, reblogging and sharing your thoughts with me. i appreciate it more than i could ever express through words. your continued support has left me speechless! and has warmed up my cold little heart.
thank you, thank you, thank you 💜
A note for any future readers: I will always be logged into tumblr so continue to share your feedback! Even if it’s months from now, I will still appreciate it!
a/n: the word count on this chapter is 8,729. i kept adding to it and tweaking it for so long, but i am happy with this conclusion to the story. thank you to @bahablastplz and @chanssoftgalaxy for editing!
[ read chapter 30 here ]
Chapter Thirty-One: Of Vets and Contracts
It takes a while for you to compose yourself during the ride to your new apartment. The driver, an older gentleman in his 40’s—if you had to take a guess—makes no attempt at small talk. He keeps music playing softly in the background and at one point produces a small pack of tissues for you. You accept them and thank him, ripping open the pack to dab at your eyes.
He pulls into the parking lot, coming to a stop in front of the leasing office. You let out a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself before exiting the vehicle.
“I just need to get the key, and then I’ll come back to take everything out,” you stop at his rolled down window to speak to him.
“I’ll be taking care of that for you, sweetheart.” he replies.
You furrow your brow as a wave of panic courses through you. No doubt thanks to you and Hyunjin having started watching Abyss the other night. You can almost see the headlines now—Girl Moving Into New Apartment Brutally Murdered By Her Driver. You’d taken the safety for granted you felt living with your ex and then at the SKZ House. You’ve never been on your own like this.
“That’s okay but thank you,” you politely decline his offer.
“Well, that young man gave me a couple hundred bucks to do all the heavy lifting for you,” he informs you.
Realization dawns on you then: that’s what Chan must have gone up to talk to him about. Still, it leaves you feeling uneasy to accept a stranger’s help. Not to mention letting him know where you are going to be living, by yourself.
“He told me to text him once you made it here safely,” he continues, “and was extremely clear that if I tried anything immoral, he and every other one of those guys at that house would come find me and make me regret it. Said they have the resources to do it, too.”
You let out a small laugh and shake your head at that. It fills your heart to know Chan wanted to ensure you were taken care of, since he can’t be here to do it himself. Yet, it also pains you to think you can’t even text Chan or Hyunjin yourself to let them know you’ve made it here.
“I have a wife and kids to make it home to. I think they will appreciate it if I’m still alive when I show up.”
You offer him a kind smile, but still choose to exercise caution.
“You can take them to the elevator inside, but I’ll get them the rest of the way.”
“Deal,” he nods and exits the car.
As you walk towards the leasing office, he starts taking your belongings out and carrying them into the actual apartment building.
An hour later, you have the key to your new place and have brought everything inside. At first, you just stand there. Alone. It feels eerie. It’s too quiet. You’re tempted to throw yourself on the bed and lose yourself in the sadness of it all, but you resist. You have to be productive.
You get to work unpacking, stopping occasionally to compile an amazon order for groceries and household items you’ll need whenever they come to mind. It isn’t until around 9:00pm, when you’ve ordered takeout and you’re sitting on the sofa, eating in silence that everything starts to hit you again.
The tears come out in waves and you push your food aside, suddenly losing your appetite. You hug your knees to your chest, rocking yourself and willing the thoughts and memories to simply erase themselves from your mind. But they’re not going anywhere. Not for a while.
As time passes, you start adjusting to your new normal. You have the bus times memorized to make it to class on time and some days you splurge on an Uber. For a while you feel nervous about crossing paths with any of the members, although you don’t have classes with any of them this semester and it’s a huge campus. You hadn’t run into them often before, why would you now?
So, of course, it happens when you least expect it. You spot Seungmin in the cafeteria with other players on the baseball team one day. He locks eyes with you, offers a subtle smile and a wink before turning his attention to the group. It’s over so quickly, you don’t have time to wave or smile back. He doesn’t look your way again.
The days turn to weeks and Chan’s last words to you play on a loop in your head, whenever you’re alone. They leave you feeling hopeful for a call or text or knock on the door, but it never happens.
The one surprise you do get is a large envelope in your mailbox one day. There’s no return address but your name is written on it, and you immediately recognize the handwriting as Hyunjin’s. Your heart starts racing as you make a dash up the stairs, not wanting to wait around for the elevator. As soon as you’re inside your apartment you tear open the package and pull out the sketch paper inside.
There’s a post-it note on the back that you see first which reads ‘Breaking the rules one last time. Happy Birthday’. Your face instantly contorts as you flip it over to see a charcoal mixed with watercolor portrait. You examine the image closely—it’s definitely supposed to be you, but this is how Hyunjin sees you. He somehow captured a beauty within you that you’re unable to see in your own reflection. There’s a sparkle in your eyes, a coy smile on your lips, and beautiful, vibrant splotches of blue and purple surround you. It’s breathtaking. You have to hold it away from you to avoid ruining it with your tears.
In the back of your mind, you can’t help but wonder if Chan will send you something, too.
He never does.
The last month and a half of the school year, you start spending time with some of your old friends again. They poke and pry to get information out of you about your time at the infamous SKZ House, but you never say a word. You can’t, really, but you wouldn’t even if you could.
When graduation comes around, your eyes constantly roam the packed auditorium. The seating arrangement is split up by degree type, and you have no idea where the Business majors are. You do, however, spot your parents in the stands and give them a wave. They were certainly not pleased when they found out you’d been living on your own all this time without telling them, but they were proud of you for making it work, nonetheless. Of course, you left out the part about spending seven months living with eight men, to spare their sanity.
Your name is called, and you walk across the stage—the roar of applause is much louder than you expected. And though you can’t see them amongst the sea of faces, you know it’s them. You accept the congratulatory document from the Dean, pose for a picture, then return to your seat.
Your knee starts bouncing uncontrollably when they announce the Business majors are next. As they line up to approach the stage, you finally see them, lined up alphabetically amongst the other graduates. Chan, Minho, Hyunjin and Changbin. Your heart starts to flutter at the sight of them looking all studious in their cap and gowns.
You may not be permitted to speak to them, but you sure as hell can support them, as they’ve always done for you. You watch in a trance, cheering and clapping as loud as you can, as each of them cross the stage. This is, after all, probably the last time you’ll ever see any of them.
ONE YEAR LATER
Deep inhale. Long exhale.
You got this.
You repeat the phrase in your head like a mantra.
“It’s your show today, y/n. Tell us what you need.”
You nod curtly in response to Dr. Hayes. You expected to feel more nervous—heart palpitations, perspiration…but you don’t feel any of that. You are incredibly calm and focused, most of which you attribute to having had Dr. Hayes as your mentor this past year. You’ve watched and helped her spay and neuter plenty of cats and dogs, but this is your first time performing it solo.
Your patient is Buster, a four-month-old tabby cat. He was not happy upon his arrival and has already been given a small dose of sedatives to stop him from hissing and clawing any time someone approaches. The veterinary assistant is currently shaving and sterilizing his left paw as well as the surgical surface area in preparation for you.
It’s hard to believe that you’ve finally reached this moment—that it’s been one year since you graduated and 14 months since…
No, you can’t allow yourself to go down that road today. Not right now.
Dr. Hayes observes from a distance as you administer the anesthesia to Buster. All the other equipment is prepped as you monitor his vitals and make sure he’s ready for the operation. You give her another curt nod when you’re ready to begin and she says nothing as you get to work, calling out the equipment needed and the steps you’re taking.
“Excellent incision, y/n,” she comments.
You smile behind your surgical mask at the praise, but don’t let it distract you. The procedure is fairly quick—but you take your time to ensure it’s done correctly. After twenty minutes, Buster has been snipped, sutured, and moved back to the recovery area. You stay in the operating room with Dr. Hayes, removing your gloves and mask, positively beaming.
“Remember this moment,” she tells you as you wash your hands together side by side at the sink. “Your first solo surgery—and you nailed it. You’re going to do amazing things, y/n.”
“Thank you, Dr. Hayes,” you tell her.
Catelyn, the receptionist, pokes her head in through the door just then.
“Uhm…Doc?”
“Everything okay?”
“This guy says he needs a checkup for his dog before they fly back home, but it’s past the time we accept walk-ins. He’s making it sound urgent, though.”
“That’s not a problem, we can do it.”
“But…he’s asking specifically for y/n,” her eyes flicker over to you.
You furrow your brow at that.
“Why me?”
“He wouldn’t say,” she shrugs.
“You got this,” Dr. Hayes offers a reassuring nod. “I’ll check on Buster. Call me if you need me.”
You follow Catelyn out to the front waiting area, wondering what’s going on. You haven’t exactly made a name for yourself in the veterinary world that someone would come in here and ask for you specifically.
“Ah, shit,” you hear someone say, followed by the sound of objects clattering on the floor.
Your ears perk up. You know that accent…you know that voice.
Your eyes are then drawn to the dog on top of the counter, sniffing the area where countless other animals have been placed. Her fur is predominantly white with light brown patches along her back, surrounding her eyes and covering her ears.
You know this dog. You’ve seen this dog…but never in person.
Your eyes dance around the room for the owner as your heartbeat picks up in a way it hasn’t in over a year...but you don’t see him. But you did hear him, right?
You let out a sigh and shake your head. You haven’t experienced a phantom event like this—hearing his voice—in such a long time. A twinge of disappointment rattles you, and you’re puzzled by it. Both the feeling and this predicament. Perhaps this dog just looks familiar. There are plenty of King Charles Spaniels out there. But Catelyn did say someone asked for you…
And then, from beneath the counter he rises.
“Sorry, knocked these over,” he says, trying to put all the pens back into the jar where they’re kept.
Your eyes roam over his face, instantly drawn into strikingly handsome features. He’s wearing a black ball cap with his dark curls poking out in tufts beneath it. His russet brown eyes are alight with a twinkle that wasn’t there the last time you saw him, the nose he loved to hate, but you adored so much, and those plump pink lips. Oh, how you dreamed of those lips. Pressed against yours, kissing every inch of your body.
He doesn’t look the same as you remember. He looks even better than what your memory could recall. Since you couldn’t take any pictures of the members while in the house, that was one thing you struggled with the most—their faces started to fade with time.
“Chan?” you say in disbelief.
Maybe it’s a doppelganger…somehow here with a doppelganger Berry, too.
But when his eyes snap over to you, you know it’s him. You know instantly by the way your body forgets how to handle normal functions, like breathing. You’re momentarily paralyzed. You’re trapped in his gaze, unable to look away…not wanting to look away. The building could catch on fire right now and you wouldn’t have clue, wouldn’t be able to drag yourself to safety.
The thoughts you pushed out of your mind earlier come crashing back with a vengeance. The same thoughts that cause you so much pain and joy when you think of them—Chan, Hyunjin…everyone in the house. You missed them terribly, at first. Alone in your studio apartment, you often cried yourself to sleep over what you abruptly left behind. The first couple of months were the hardest. However, eventually you were able to get past it. After graduation, you kept in touch with the other girls for a little while, but eventually life dragged you all in different directions.
You focused all your attention on your studies and the vet program, keeping yourself so busy that you didn’t even have time to think about anything else. Memories would creep in occasionally, usually happy ones, and you were able to accept them for what they were and keep going about your day. Other times, though, you’d be plagued with wondering what they were doing now, who they were with, and if they had found anyone else.
You tried dating. Once. He was nice…but with everything you had going on, he simply wasn’t a priority, nor did he hold your attention or satiate your desires. Not in the way Chan had, simply by being near you. You feel the familiar emotions only he can evoke from you begin to stir, and you suddenly feel warm.
What is he doing here? Your inner voice of reason steps into the spotlight. There’s no way he should be here asking for you. How did he even know where to find you? Perhaps your first surgery was actually a disaster. You accidentally injected yourself with the anesthesia and you’re dreaming. That has to be it. Although tragic, that would make more sense.
“Y/n, you okay?” Catelyn asks.
You blink at him standing in front of you, pulling yourself out of your thoughts.
“Y-yeah. I’m fine. I got it, Cat. Thanks,” you lie.
You’re not fine. Your body is very much on edge, in fight or flight mode.
Catelyn nods and scurries off to the back.
“What are you doing here?” you ask incredulously.
“It’s nice to see you, too,” he feigns offense while smiling.
That fucking smile. You never thought you’d see it again. It conjures up the long dormant butterflies in your stomach, sending them into a frenzy. You are not prepared for this.
Berry yips and you instinctively go to her, stroking her soft fur. It feels surreal, looking down at her in real life after only seeing her pictures and videos and hearing the stories Chan told you about her. Her curious brown eyes look up at you as she sits on the counter. You rub behind her ears, and she scoots closer to you, moving her head around to sniff you.
“She likes you,” he says.
“What are you doing here?” you ask again, looking back up at him.
“We’re flying home in a few days and the airline requires a certificate issued by a veterinarian for pets traveling internationally.”
You have so many questions at that—who is we? How long has he been here? What brought him back?
“But…why here?” you attempt to clarify.
“Dr. Hayes is USDA certified, right?”
“Chan…”
“I wanted to see you,” he finally admits.
Again, so many questions rush through your head in an instant. You had done so well putting the thought of him in the back of your mind, burying it deeper and deeper with each passing day. To see him again like this, caught so off guard, is unnerving.
“Is this even allowed?” you ask warily.
“Well, technically Berry needs this to get back home. And it’s the perfect excuse to come see you.”
You sigh softly. What are you meant to do with that response? You’re not supposed to have any contact with him, or you could face legal action. That thought sparks a bit of anger within you. Why would he put you in this position? Maybe he hadn’t learned anything after all.
“We close soon,” you tell him, “This is extremely last minute, Chan.”
“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, “I was hoping to catch you at the end of the workday and take you to dinner after…to catch up.”
You blink at him again. Not even five minutes into seeing him and he’s already got your head spinning. He’s behaving way too cavalier for the consequences and repercussions this little visit could have on you. And he wants to just take you to dinner?
Instead of responding, you shift into work mode. The front counter has a slightly lowered section, where Berry is sitting, that serves as a scale for smaller animals. You turn it on, keeping her attention on you as you weigh her, then go to the computer to start entering the information from the paperwork Chan had filled out. He moves in front of Berry, and she takes a few steps across the counter to him, tail wagging as she stands on her hind legs, pawing at his shirt. He hugs her to him, rubbing her back and talking to her sweetly.
When you’re done at the computer, you walk back to them and extend your hand for Berry’s collar, which he hands to you. You gently pick her up and she nestles into your arms, head moving around as she continues to take in her surroundings.
“Dr. Hayes has to complete this…I’ll be back in a second—wait outside.”
You turn and exit the main room. Walking down the hall towards the backroom, you feel like you can take a breath for the first time since you saw him. You find Dr. Hayes and explain the situation to her. Thankfully, she agrees to handle it on such short notice. You pass Berry to her and make your way back to the front.
You exit the building to find Chan and spot him sitting on the curb next to a black Tesla. You walk to the car and lean against the passenger door, crossing your arms in front of your chest as you look down at him.
He’s looking up at you with a smile on his face, eyes raking over yours, down your body, then back up again, making you feel very much like a meal he could easily devour.
Would you let him?
The fact that you have to question your resolve and all the work you’ve done to put him in the past after just one look is upsetting. His showing up so randomly makes you think you’ll have to start the process of forgetting him all over again. And it may hurt even worse this time around, which only stokes the flame of anger brewing inside of you.
“How have you been?” he asks casually.
“Good, I guess,” you answer with a shrug. “Why did you come here?”
“I really did want to see you, y/n, is that so hard to believe? I’ve missed you,” he stands from the curb and walks towards you.
You should probably put a hand up to stop him from getting too close, but you don’t. You can’t. Your body wants him nearby. His presence is like a drug you’ve gone too long without, and you were once an addict.
He stops in front of you, close enough for you to inhale his scent. He smells different. A new body wash or cologne, perhaps. It’s nice.
“You came to find me under the guise of needing this certificate for Berry?” you ask to make sure you understand him correctly. “Where are your parents? I don’t want to get into any trouble for this.”
You can only assume they’re here too—why else would he have the family dog with him?
“You won’t,” he shakes his head. “My parents are preoccupied, it’s fine.”
“Is it? I don’t understand, Chan. It was stated quite plainly that we could not see each other again…why would you do this? You shouldn’t be sneaking around to find me.”
“It’s a lot to explain,” he says. “I could elaborate over dinner. If you’ll let me take you.”
You remain quiet at that, looking down at your feet. Your body and heart are screaming for you to say yes whilst your brain is warning you to be cautious, to protect yourself.
He hooks a finger under your chin and your insides begin to churn at the physical contact. He tilts your head up and when your eyes meet again, it takes everything in you to resist launching yourself forward to embrace and kiss him.
“What was the last thing I said to you?” he asks.
You chew on your bottom lip, you remember what he said all too clearly. It was those three words that made moving on so difficult. They kept you up at night, wondering if there would be a knock at your door, but there never was. Those three words made it feel impossible to move on at first, and it broke you to have to chop it up as an empty promise. After a few months without hearing anything from him, you had to start putting him behind you, for your own sake.
“This isn’t over,” you finally answer him.
“And I meant that,” he cups your face gently in his hands. “I know it’s a lot so suddenly, but I couldn’t contact you or find you until I was sure about a few things.”
He piques your interest with that, but you’re still unsure if this is a good idea.
“Let me take you to dinner when you’re off,” he continues, “I promise I’ll explain everything and after that, if you never want to see me again, I’ll accept it.”
“Yeah…you’re so good at accepting my decisions, aren’t you?” you ask with an arched brow.
“I’ve grown,” he drops his hands to his sides with a soft smile.
He takes the smallest step closer to you, and you feel his hips against yours causing your breath to get caught in your throat. This isn’t fair. How can he undo literal months of progress in under twenty minutes?
“Let me take you to dinner. Please.”
You stay quiet as you mull over his offer. It would probably be best to just give Berry back to him when Dr. Hayes is done and act like this never happened, go back to the life you’ve created without him. But standing here, this close to him, how could you decline? You want to know what he’s been up to, what they’ve all been up to, and most of all how and why he tracked you down.
“Okay,” you finally say, to which he smiles widely again. “I’ll come back out with Berry in a few minutes.”
“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”
Thirty minutes later, you’re riding in Chan’s presumably rented car, with Berry seated comfortably in your lap, wondering what the fuck is going on as he navigates seamlessly through the streets.
“We’ll drop her off first then go eat, yeah?”
“Sure,” you shrug absentmindedly.
Your brain is running at what feels like a thousand miles per minute with thoughts. You’re just going with the flow at this point, feeling wildly out of control of the entire situation. It’s been a while since you felt this way; letting someone else take the reins. A large part of surviving this past year was due to relying heavily on structure and routine.
Chan brings the car to a stop in front of a hotel downtown. You see a dark haired, fair-skinned female in sunglasses, baggy jeans and a loose-fitting t-shirt walking towards the car.
“That’s my sister,” he nods to the woman while unlocking the doors.
Your eyes open wide. Sister? As in Hannah? Now you really don’t understand what’s happening. How can he be taking you anywhere near his family?
She approaches the car and reaches for the door handle, swinging it wide open. She lowers herself a bit and pushes her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, peering at you over them. Berry instantly stands in your lap, panting and wagging her tail, but doesn’t make a move to jump out of the car.
“This is her?” she asks in a thick Australian accent.
Chan nods.
“Hi,” you say awkwardly.
You feel terribly under dressed in your scrubs compared to how fashionable she seems.
“’sup,” she replies coolly. “Nice to finally meet you, y/n.”
“You too?” it comes out as more of a question than a statement.
How does she even know who you are?
She extends her arms forward to take Berry from you, cradling her like a baby.
“You kids have fun—don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she says, taking a step back onto the sidewalk. “Which isn’t much.”
She throws a wink at you before pushing up her sunglasses.
“Hannah—gross,” Chan chastises her and she just shrugs.
“See you later,” she replies with a wave before turning around and sauntering into the hotel.
“She’s a nuisance,” Chan says as you close the door.
He puts the car into drive and takes off down the street.
“You hungry for anything in particular?”
“I’m not hungry for anything at all, if I’m being honest. I’m just confused as fuck right now, Chan.”
“Do you want to come up to my room?”
He’s stopped at a red light, and you look over to him. Your heart starts beating furiously behind your chest at the proposition. And, also, remembering the events that took place the last time you were in a hotel room together. Talking to him in a private room sounds much more appealing than in a public restaurant, though.
“Okay,” you reply.
He rolls down your window a bit, honks the horn and waves his hand to get the attention of the driver next to you. The window of the expensive looking, grey SUV rolls down to reveal an attractive woman.
“Mind if I cut in front of you? I need to turn here.” He throws a dashing smile at her.
“That’s fine,” she says, with a flirtatious smile.
“Thank you,” he replies.
“Oh, you’re welc—” her reply is cut off as he rolls the window back up.
When the light turns green, Chan accelerates to maneuver in front of her and turns into the parking garage. He takes the car to the valet and your door is promptly opened by an employee. You step out of the vehicle and Chan is at your side in seconds, taking your hand in his as he passes them the key fob.
He pulls you towards the hotel and you blindly put your trust in him to guide you safely, since you can’t stop looking down at your joined hands. Another sight you didn’t think you’d see again. You don’t look up until you’re in the elevator.
“You swear this is okay?” you ask.
“Of course…you’re safe with me.”
You want to believe him so badly.
He presses the button to his floor and turns around to face you, his back to the doors. He cups your face, stroking your cheeks with the pads of his thumb.
“You have no idea how much restraint I’ve had to exercise since seeing you,” he whispers. “I missed you so fucking much, y/n.”
You nuzzle your face against his right hand, allowing his words to wash over you. He starts to lean closer to you, and you feel yourself moving towards him too. What’s the point in resisting? Every part of you missed him just as much. You already know you’ll have to start the Chan-detox process again so, even if it’s just for a night, maybe you can get your fix of him.
Just as his lips brush against yours, the elevator chimes and the doors open again. Chan spins around and steps back, realizing you’re not on the correct floor.
“Going down?” the man outside the elevator asks.
“Up. Sorry mate.”
Chan presses the button to close the doors and resume your upward journey. He turns back around to face you, cupping your face in his again. This time, though, in a moment of clarity you resist, turning your head away from him slightly, eyes downcast.
“Fuck,” he says, seeing your response. “I’m gonna fuck this up because I can’t keep my hands off of you.”
He drops his hands from your face and takes a step to the side. He turns around to face the doors, looking down at the ground.
“I really missed you,” he mumbles. “In every way you can miss a person.”
There he goes. Saying the sweetest things that make you want to melt.
“I missed you too,” you admit. “I just…I don’t know if any of this is a good idea or not.”
The elevator chimes again and the doors open. Chan looks up to confirm you’re on the right floor before stepping out and holding the door open for you.
“Let’s get inside. I’ll keep my hands to myself, unless you say otherwise.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll drive you home with my hands at two and ten the entire way.”
You chuckle at that.
He stops in front of a door near the end of the hall and takes a keycard from his pocket. He uses it to unlock the door and pushes it open for you to enter first.
You step inside and walk down the short hallway. The room is massive, initially making you panic at the thought of who else is staying here. This still feels wrong and sneaky in so many ways that you cannot afford to be in trouble for.
“Are you staying here with your family?”
“Mom, Dad and Lucas are a few floors up. Hannah is down the hall,” he tells you. “Relax, I promise it’s okay. Take a seat.”
You sit down on the sofa, attempting to relax. He sits next to you, leaving mere inches between you, but he keeps his hands to himself. Still, it’s not enough to calm your nerves.
“You keep saying it’s okay, but I don’t understand how it can be.”
“I’ll answer any questions you have,” he moves back a little so he can turn to face you, one leg resting on the couch.
“How long have you been in town?”
“A few weeks…for Jeongin, Seungmin, Han and Felix’s graduation. Everyone is here.”
Everyone? Your first thought is of Hyunjin. You’ve missed him so much, too. You think of the portrait he sent you and how you could never bring yourself to frame it and display it anywhere. You wished so badly that you could thank him for it.
“How are they?” you ask softly.
“The kids?” you nod. “They’re good. Everyone’s just trotting on the path laid out before us.”
You resist the urge to scrunch your face up at that. It never quite sat right with you that their lives are so heavily planned out for them. It reminds you, though, that even Chan is subjected to that. As much as he’s trying to make you believe otherwise right now, whatever he wanted to find you for is moot. You still cannot be together. His parents would never approve of you.
“I spent the majority of my time here trying to track you down, you know,” he says. “I wasn’t sure if you went to vet school somewhere close to home.”
“The programs here are better,” you tell him with a shrug. “Why did you need to find me?”
“I told you this wasn’t over, y/n. I’ve spent the past year fighting for this…for us.”
You furrow your brow.
“There is no ‘us’…there can’t be. I assumed you would move on like I had to. We can’t pretend we have any other options.”
He lifts his hand as if he’s going to reach for you but catches himself halfway through and drops it.
“Give me a sec,” he stands from the couch and takes off towards the bedroom.
You hear him unzipping something, presumably a suitcase. Then he comes marching back in the room with both hands behind his back.
“Pick a hand.”
“What?” you ask, confused by his antics.
“Pick. A. Hand.”
“Right.”
He pulls his right hand from behind his back and presents you with a CD. You take it in your hand and see an intricate white and green maze with the ‘The SKZ House’ written in the center. You flip it over, and see a list of song titles: Broken Compass, Connected, I Hate to Admit, Collision, Leave, and Waiting For Us.
“Is this…” you trail off.
“You left before it was completed, and Hyunjin wouldn’t fork over your address…and he refused to send it to you. Said it probably wasn’t a good idea.”
You let out a sigh. He was still in your corner, even when you were away. And he was absolutely right. Receiving this would have been drastically different than the portrait. Hearing Chan’s voice singing and, judging from the song titles alone, this would have stirred up emotions you wouldn’t have been able to cope with. You know, once you actually found something to play a physical CD on.
“Thank you,” you mutter, setting it aside. “What’s in your other hand?”
“When you left it felt like the worst thing ever…” he says, sitting back on the couch as he presents the stack of papers in his left hand, flipping through the pages. “It still does, to be honest. But you were right—you deciding to leave early really was the best thing you could have ever done for us.”
He hands you the papers and your eyes are immediately drawn to the highlighted section on the page. You recognize it as a portion of the contract you signed.
“Once the assignee completes the duration of the school year, or leaves the home with a proper two-week notice, she will have no further contact with any member listed herein…”
“When I tell you I poured over the contract to find something…this is it.”
“I don’t understand…”
“You didn’t complete the duration of the school year with us, did you?” he asks.
“No, but—”
“And you didn’t give a full two-week notice, did you?”
“No…but—”
“It’s a technicality, sure. But it’s a fucking rock solid one.”
Your brain is rattling inside of your skull as he speaks, and you try to comprehend.
“I spent months meeting with lawyers to confirm that it is. I wanted to make sure this was an airtight loophole before I told my parents and before I came to find you,” he continues. “They knew something was off when I came back home, I was brooding more than usual. But when I found this, it was like a complete 180 for me. This was a chance. This was hope that I could cling to.”
Your eyes roam over the words on the paper again.
“My mom didn’t really put up much of a fight, she wants to see me happy above all else but my dad…” he trails off.
You sigh and close your eyes as you lean back against the couch. This is a lot to take in. It’s the information you sought, but still feeds into the original worry that him being with you would cause a rift in his family.
“He wasn’t so enthusiastic about it initially, and to be completely honest with you he’s still not fully on board, but he’s starting to accept it. I’ve been adamant. I’ve made it clear that I won’t settle for anyone else. I want you.”
You open your eyes and turn your head to face him. The look in his eyes punctures your heart. You can see the hope and light brimming within them. The mere thought of being with you again has kept him going all this time.
As he takes in your facial expression—one of confusion and pain—he furrows his brow and retreats from you slightly.
“Is there someone else?” he asks, sounding concerned.
“Right now? No…”
“But there has been?”
“Chan,” you say his name softly, not wanting to meet his gaze.
“It’s okay,” he reassures you. “I’m just asking.”
“Yes, there was. A few months ago, but it’s over, and it was never anything serious.”
He seems to relax hearing that.
“May I ask what happened?”
You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head, feeling the brunt of everything hit you at once. You grit your teeth as the familiar prickling in your eyes starts up. The man you had been seeing was wonderful. He was smart and kind, and treated you so, so well. There was just one resounding problem. You open your eyes to look at him and a lone tear escapes down your cheek, the last you have left to cry over this man.
“He wasn’t you,” you answer mournfully.
Chan lurches towards you, but catches himself again. He curls his hands into fists and places them on his lap, like he’s fighting everything in him to not wrap you in his arms.
You sniffle, wiping at the tear on your cheek.
“I’m not here to force you into anything, y/n…I Just want you to know that it’s an option. We are an option.”
He opens his hands, palming his jean clad thighs and rubbing them vigorously.
Here he is—the man you fell so deeply in love with in just seven months. It’s ironic that you’ve now been without him longer than you even had him in your life. And yet…here he is. Professing his feelings for you. Telling you how he’s fought for you. Visibly restraining himself from touching you until you grant him permission.
You don’t know how to respond. You don’t know what to do or say.
You have to ask yourself, though…how could this work? He’ll be flying back to Australia or Korea or wherever the fuck soon and you’ll still be here. He knows that. He wouldn’t have come all this way, put himself and you through all this without a plan though, right? He has more forethought than that. Could this actually work? Could you actually get the chance to be with him, free of contracts, free of expiration dates?
You reach your hand out to cover his and he immediately stops rubbing his thighs.
Before you can stop yourself, you move his hands out of the way and climb onto his lap, straddling him. He exhales a sigh of relief, seeing you on top of him. You cup his face in your hands, while his remain limp at his sides.
“Touch me, Chan,” you whisper softly.
His hands swiftly gravitate to your waist, squeezing so tightly it may leave a mark. He runs his hands up and down your sides as you caress his face, letting your hands slide up to his hair, pushing off his hat. He shakes his head, and it falls to the side. You smile down at him softly, and he returns the gesture.
“How could this even work?” you finally ask aloud.
“It won’t be easy,” he answers truthfully. “But I will make it work, y/n, I swear to you. I’ll come and visit as often as I can until you graduate vet school. If you want to work in the states after that, I’ll set something up so I can work remotely and be wherever you are. If you want to move to Australia with me, I’ll find out what is required to get you licensed there—I don’t care what it takes or what it costs. I will make it work.”
Hearing his determination, you feel a sense of calm washing over you to ease your worries. While it’s not quite a concrete plan, it feels like enough. He understands the challenges you will be up against, and he will be by your side through the entire process.
You attempt to quiet the voices in your head, screaming out all the ways this could still end badly. You actually have a shot at this. You want to believe him. You’re choosing to believe him.
“Jeeze, you really missed me or something, didn’t you?” you tease lightly.
“More than you’ll ever know,” he responds in all seriousness.
And you have no doubt in your mind that he means it.
You lean down and allow your lips to fully connect with his. It’s a chaste kiss, but it’s enough to remind you just how much you’ve missed him. You pull away, then lean forward again, repeating the process several times as his hands grip your waist. His right hand slides up your back, stopping at your neck. He squeezes it gently and pulls you away from him.
“We don’t have to do anything,” he reassures you. “I didn’t come find you for this.”
While that is comforting to hear, you haven’t been able to shake the thought of having this kind of moment with him since you laid eyes on him. Waking up this morning, this certainly isn’t how you saw your day concluding. And there’s still so much to talk about and figure out, but you can’t deny the way your body is calling for him. The throbbing between your thighs is incessant.
“So, you don’t want to fuck me?” you arch an eyebrow, rolling your hips against his.
He groans, “It’s not about what I want, right now. Tell me what you want.”
You bite your bottom lip, feeling so many familiar sensations returning to you.
“I want you.”
He pushes your neck forward until your lips crash together again, more passionately this time. You part your lips and allow his tongue to enter. He slides his tongue against yours and you moan at the taste you’ve missed so much.
“You have me,” he says, breaking the kiss. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to fuck me, Chan.”
His eyes all but roll into the back of his head as he grips your hips and repositions you on the couch so that you’re laying beneath him.
“I was worried I’d never hear you say that again.”
His mouth claims yours once more and you succumb to all the feelings you still have for him as they soar throughout your body.
You still want him. You still need him.
As your tongues collide, he grinds his hips against yours, allowing you to feel how hard he is. You moan against his lips, unabashedly satisfied with the effect you still have on him. You reach for the ends of his shirt and tug upwards on it. He sits upright on his knees and takes it the rest of the way off.
“I was convinced I’d never see this again,” you say while your hands move of their own accord to touch him.
You drag your fingers up and down his defined abdomen—he’s even more toned than the last time you saw him, which you didn’t think was possible. You slide your hands up, across his pectoral muscles, lightly grazing his nipples along the way. You clasp your hands behind his neck and attempt to pull him back down, wanting his lips on yours again.
“No,” he says to stop you, pulling at your hands. “I need to see you too. Sit up.”
You raise the top half of your body from the couch and let him take your shirt off. He wraps one arm around your back, holding you to him as he effortlessly unclasps your bra with his other hand. You pull the straps down and slide it out from between you before dropping it on the floor.
Instead of laying you back on the couch, he keeps holding you close, your tits pressed against his abs. You wrap your hands around his waist and hug him back, turning your face to rest your cheek against his chest. He lets out a sigh and presses his lips to the top of your head.
You stay like that for a moment, wrapped in each other’s embrace—you listening to his deep, thumping heartbeat and him continually kissing your crown.
“You okay?” you say after a moment.
“Yes,” he responds immediately. “Just bracing myself. I know I won’t be able to hold back once I see you like this.”
You smile at that and pull away from him, lowering yourself back down onto the couch and resting your arms above your head.
“Fuck me,” he breathes.
He lowers himself on top of you, one hand grabbing a hold of your breast while the other grips your wrists, holding them together. He kisses you on the lips, then your chin. You tilt your head back to let him make his way down your neck and all the way to your breasts.
He kisses around the breast not currently occupied by his hand, before taking your nipple in his mouth. You let out a moan as he swirls his tongue around it, teasing you. He starts rhythmically rocking his hips into yours as his teeth clamp down on your nipple.
You gasp at the feeling, trying to pull your hands from his grip to tangle them in his hair. He grunts, holding them in place as he switches to the other side.
“Chan, please.”
The sound of your voice begging him feels both foreign and natural at the same time.
He continues to suck on your nipple a moment longer before releasing it from his mouth. He releases your hands at the same time, and they route themselves straight to the button of his jeans. He kisses you as you unbutton and unzip them, struggling a bit to remove them at this angle.
He sits up to do the rest and you watch mesmerized as his hard cock springs out from its confines. You reach out for it, wanting to feel him in your hands and take him in your mouth but he stops you.
“Later. I need to be inside you right fucking now, y/n,” he says, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your scrub pants and underwear. He yanks them down to the middle of your thighs and you help push them past your knees, then use your legs to kick them all the way off.
You place one leg up on the back of the couch, exposing your pussy to him.
“So god damn beautiful,” he remarks as his eyes soak in the sight of your completely naked body.
He grips the base of his cock and you both groan as he rubs the tip up and down your slit.
“Are you still on the pill?”
Your eyes open wide—you were so used to not using protection with him, that it had momentarily slipped your mind. You shake your head.
He slaps his cock against your clit, making your body jerk each time.
“We can get Plan B tomorrow,” you tell him breathlessly.
“Yeah? You sure you’re okay with that?” he asks, and you can hear the restraint he’s exercising in his voice.
He lowers his cock to your entrance and your hips begin to undulate in anticipation.
“Yes, it’s okay.”
He hooks your legs over his shoulder and slowly starts to push his way in.
“I fucking love you, y/n. You know that right?”
You could have assumed but even after all this time you never knew for certain. Hearing him actually say it is something you never imagined.
He fucking loves you.
And knowing all he’s done to bring you back into his life, you don’t doubt him for a second.
“I do now,” you tell him, cupping his face. “I love you too, Chan.”
Saying it back feels like a burden has been lifted. You wanted to tell him all those months ago, but he cut you off. And it feels safer to admit now, knowing he feels the same, if not stronger, for you.
Without another word he thrusts his hips forward. You gasp then moan, reveling in the feel of him being fully inside you. You don’t ever want to try convincing yourself that this isn’t right again.
The second and third rounds take place in the bedroom.
When you both need a respite, you lay tangled up in bed while Chan orders room service. You stay intertwined until there’s a knock at the door. The food is brought in and you cover yourself with his shirt before taking a seat in the living room. Chan places all of the trays out on the coffee table in front of you.
“What have I missed? Fill me in,” he asks.
As the two of you share a meal, you tell him what you’ve been up to since he last saw you and vice versa. He’s been working under his dad at the company as an intern. He enjoys the work, but still works on his music in his free time. He tells you about the others and all they’ve gotten into since you last saw them. Hyunjin has been traveling nonstop, nearly pushing his parents to the limit in what they’re calling his ‘tortured artist phase’. Your heart hurts for him, hearing that.
“Was there anyone else for you? Between now and then?” you ask.
“No.”
“Not even after I left the house?”
“It would have taken a few weeks to post an ad, find candidates, screen them, have them tested—too much hassle to have them in for just a month.”
The overwhelming sense of relief that washes over you feels wrong. Hypocritical, even.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…”
“Don’t be. Hyunjin and I were okay without an assignee. Our hands were probably working overtime, but, it was fine,” he shrugs with a teasing smile.
“And no one after graduation?”
“I can’t speak for Hyunjin, but for me…there never was anyone else. And there never will be.”
You take a deep gulp to swallow the food caught in your throat.
You don’t feel bad that he didn’t move on and try to find anyone else, per se, but hearing that does take you by surprise. Thinking back on his behavior, though, you never once saw him even remotely entertain another female. Even the one earlier from today outside of the hotel.
His commitment is unparalleled.
This man chooses you.
He fought for you.
He carved a way for you.
The two of you finally have a chance at something real, and you don’t want to pass it up. Worries about telling your parents and your career are already on your mind, as well as if his family will truly accept you. You force them aside, not wanting to burst the bubble the two of you are in right now. You have the entire weekend ahead of you to talk more and figure things out.
You don’t know how this can work and that unnerves you as you don’t quite see the vision yet—but you do trust him and feel safe letting him take the reins. You always have.
You always will.
[ read chapter 32 here ] (coming soon)
a/n: *cries* i can't believe it's over. i also can't believe this idea came to me on such a whim and turned into something that so many of you have enjoyed. i wasn't sure at all where it was going in the beginning, but i'm amazed at where it's ended up. i've been fighting for my life not to give out spoilers along the way to cheer you up through the angst. i've known for a couple months that it would be a loophole in the contract, that y/n would have to leave early and on short notice for it to work. it would break them, but also end up saving them so all of that tension and turmoil had to happen.
we still have the epilogue left to look forward to, though! where do you think they'll be?
a/n: the word count for this chapter is 6090. and my editor is enjoying the trip of a lifetime, so please forgive any typos! also, at certain parts it may feel a little choppy, but i wanted to provide brief glimpses into what each day of y/n's last week is like.
[ read chapter 29 here ]
Chapter Thirty: Of Rainy Days and Goodbyes
TUESDAY – Five Days Left
The following morning you wake up surprised to hear the rain still coming down with a vengeance outside. Chan has one arm wrapped around your shoulder, holding you against him. With your head resting on his chest, you take the moment to appreciate the view from your vantage point—his chiseled abdomen. From the steady rise and fall of his chest, you can tell he’s asleep.
You both needed last night to happen.
As damaging as his behavior has been, you at least now have a better understanding of what he was trying to do. Protect himself. Seeing it from his perspective, the one time he’s allowed himself to feel this way about anyone, it ends up like this. The pain and hurt he must have felt is different from what you experienced. You’re not denying that it was cruel and hurtful to you in other ways, but you don’t want to hold it against him too harshly. He was acting, unironically, as a wounded wolf.
You bring your hand up and lightly run it down his chest, then trace the lines of his abs causing him to flinch. His hand shoots up from beneath the blanket covering your lower halves and grabs hold of yours.
“Stop. That tickles,” he warns, still half asleep.
You pull your hand away and resume running your fingers along his exposed skin.
“You’re just all around disobedient now, aren’t you?” he asks with a touch of playfulness.
“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it a few hours ago,” you reply.
“That’s fair…I didn’t mind it as much as I thought I would.”
“Ah. Progress,” you muse, to which he lowers his hand from your shoulder and lightly smacks your ass. “We should probably get up.”
“I don’t wanna.”
“You want to stay in bed all day?”
“Why not? We can skip class,” he shrugs.
You try to sit up, but he puts his hand on your waist to keep you from moving.
“Stay here with me.”
“What time is it?” you ask.
He lets out a yawn and grabs his phone from the nightstand. He holds it directly in front of you so you can see the time—8:30am. There’s a weather alert and a few missed text messages displayed on the screen; he punches in his passcode, either oblivious or not caring if you see. You realize you’ve never seen his phone like this before and catch a quick glimpse of Berry as his background before he opens his messages. Among the list of texts, you spot your name with a doctor emoji next to it and can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face.
The text he opens is an alert from the school.
Due to inclement weather, classes are
canceled today. Please stay safe and
beware of flash flood areas.
“Well, would you look at that,” he releases his hand from your waist, allowing you to sit up. “Looks like we can’t go anywhere, anyways.”
You smile down at him wistfully—you are happy for the excuse to spend more time with him, but also strikingly sad that you finally have this Chan back now that you’re leaving.
“Should I go make us some breakfast?” you ask, feeling a sudden need for a little space to shed a tear in private.
“No. I don’t want you to leave my side today.”
“Chan,” you shake your head as the tears swell in your eyes.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, y/n,” he says immediately. “What did I do? What’s wrong?”
“Everything,” you shrug helplessly.
He sits up, too, and moves you around until you’re sitting directly in front of him. He hooks each of your legs over his thighs before pulling you to him. He then cups your face in his hands and uses the pads of his thumbs to wipe your fallen tears away.
“I know what you’re thinking, because I’m thinking it too,” he tells you. “I know this could have all been so different. You have no idea how much I regret it.”
“This fucking sucks,” you say, resting your forehead on his shoulder as he rubs your bare back.
“I know, I know,” he tries to soothe you. “I don’t have enough time to properly make it up to you, either, but I want to try. No pretend fiancé bullshit, I just want to genuinely spend the time we have left being happy with you.”
“Will that be enough?”
“No,” he shakes his head. “I had my heart set on forever with you, y/n. Even if you stayed the last two months, it wouldn’t have been enough.”
He has an incredible way of causing your heart to soar while simultaneously making you want to ram your head against a brick wall. All you can do at this point is hope he has learned a valuable lesson that may be of use in his future.
“You’re capable of saying some really romantic shit when you want to, you know,” you say, lifting your head from his shoulder.
He leans forward and places a quick peck on your lips without responding. He picks up his phone, unlocks it again and opens an app before handing it over to you.
“Let’s order breakfast for the house.”
You awkwardly take the phone in your hand—it feels like some sort of newly appointed privilege—and navigate through the food delivery app until you find the place everyone routinely orders from. Thankfully it’s not too far from the house, so the driver shouldn’t have any trouble delivering it in this weather. Chan leans back against the pillows, resting his hands on your thighs as he watches you. By now, you know what to order for every single person. The total comes out to a whopping $250, plus a generous tip for the driver. You hand his phone back when you’re done, he grabs it and tosses it aside on the bed.
“Shower?” he asks.
You hardly start to nod before he’s already cupping your ass and sliding you both off the bed. You hook your legs around his waist and hold on to his neck as he carries you to the bathroom. You didn’t think you’d get to have a moment like this with him again.
For all the drama leading up to this, and the impending devastation in a few days, you can’t shake the thought that this still feels right.
In the kitchen, you’re seated between Hyunjin and Chan while everyone eats breakfast. Beneath the table, Chan has draped your leg closest to him across his lap—he eats with one hand and caresses your leg with the other. He really hasn’t let you leave his side all morning, you haven’t been further than his arm’s reach.
Hyunjin seems to notice the change between you and Chan, too. He offers you a wink and kisses your cheek, leaving sticky syrup residue behind to which you feign annoyance. You’re far from annoyed right now. You’re incredibly content.
After breakfast, when everyone disperses throughout the house, you spend a while hopping around to where clusters of people are hanging out. This rainy day could not have come at a better time. You were worried you wouldn’t have enough free time to spend with everyone.
That’s the reasoning you give to Chan when he tries to pull you back upstairs. He begrudgingly nods in understanding, saying he’ll come find you in a bit.
You make your way down to the basement and join Felix, Seungmin and Allie in playing video games. Seungmin teases Felix mercilessly each time he loses—and even when he wins, saying he took it easy on him. Allie tries to mediate to no avail. You’re going to miss frustrated gaming Felix. As kindhearted and delicate as he is, that’s the only time you’ve seen him anything close to angry. When you leave back upstairs, Seungmin is laying on the floor, cackling while Felix straddles his waist, pretending to strangle him.
In the workout room, you bother Jeongin and Changbin. You talk casually for a bit before resorting to playfully mocking them as they lift weights, staring at themselves in the mirror.
“I could have sworn your arms were bigger last week,” you tease Jeongin. “Maybe my eyes are deceiving me.”
“You should get them checked out—nothing but gains over here,” he flexes and brings his bicep to his mouth to kiss.
Truthfully, you’ve seen how much he’s grown physically from the start of the year. He seemed so quiet and reserved, all those months ago when he helped you out with your fashion aversion. You’ll always be thankful to him for that.
“No teasing my protégé,” Changbin defends him. “Either hop on a machine or get out.”
“Okay, okay,” you hold your hands up, slowly backing out of the room.
As you interact with everyone it starts to set in, little by little, how alone you’ll be when you move out. Going from living with eleven others to being completely on your own? It will certainly be an adjustment. The reality of that hasn’t truly sunken in yet.
Next, you head to the den to find Charlotte but immediately regret your decision when you walk in on her riding the fuck out of Han in her computer chair while moaning, “It’s so big, Hannie.”
They both pause for a moment, seeing you there at the door.
“S-sorry,” you squeak out.
Han hides his face behind her long, curly hair and she just giggles as you promptly exit and shut the door behind you. You can’t run away fast enough, stopping only when you reach the safety of the living room. You plop yourself down on the couch to watch Hyunjin get his ass beat in chess by Lee Know.
“Have you heard the word ‘pabo’, y/n?” Lee Know asks, taking another one of Hyunjin’s pieces as you shake your head.
Hyunjin rolls his eyes.
“It means fool…or stupid.”
Those aren’t the words you would choose to describe Hyunjin. You’d have to disagree. He’s simply wise in his own way.
“Don’t listen to him—he has an unfair advantage. He’s basically a grand wizard or whatever.”
“Grandmaster,” Lee Know corrects. “See? Pabo. And that’s checkmate.”
You laugh as Hyunjin lets out an annoyed sigh before coming to join you on the couch.
“I was waiting for you to come back here,” Lee Know says, “How about that announcement now?”
You feel yourself shrinking into the couch at the thought, but slowly nod your head. Lee Know loudly calls out for everyone to come to the living room, and you don’t feel prepared for what is about to come. Outside of you, Hyunjin and Chan, everyone else seems confused about what’s going on.
Hyunjin has one arm slung around your shoulder, holding you to him for comfort, and Han takes the empty spot on your other side. You can’t help but notice how heavily he’s breathing and you know exactly what caused it.
“Is this going to take long?” Jeongin quips, looking in desperate need of a shower after his workout.
“If I want it to,” Lee Know replies smugly, lifting one shoulder in a half shrug.
Jeongin rolls his eyes and Lee Know clears his throat, waiting for the chatter to die down. In the moment of silence, all you can hear is the sound of the rain pouring outside.
“I have an announcement to make,” he says. “This doesn’t happen often here, and not typically with such short notice.”
You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to you when he says that.
“One of our assignees will be leaving the SKZ house earlier than planned.”
The others all look around at each other, confused expressions on their faces.
“Y/n,” Lee Know continues, “has given us her notice, and will be moving out on Sunday.”
A chorus of “What?”, “Why?”, and “Are you serious?” echo throughout the room as everyone turns to stare at you. You force a small smile and nod, wanting to appear strong and confident.
“It’s not required of her to tell us why—she has the freedom to make this choice. All of you do. None of you are hostages here,” Lee Know attempts to quiet their hushed whispers. “We’ve enjoyed having you, y/n, some more than others, I’m sure.”
He gives a pointed look to Hyunjin and Chan and you feel the blood rush to your cheek. You, and everyone in this house, knows exactly how much sex takes place within it’s walls. And yet, after all this time you still feel shy to have it broadcast so openly.
“But we will all miss you,” he concludes with a curt bow in your direction.
“Thank you,” you say quietly.
Silence fills the room again—you hadn’t anticipated how awkward this would be. It feels like you’ve put a damper on the overall vibe of the day.
“It’s Changbin’s fault, isn’t it?” Seungmin jokes, pointing at the accused culprit.
Changbin scrunches up his face in confusion as everyone laughs, including you. You spare a glance over at Chan and see even he’s smiling, too. You’re thankful for Seungmin’s uncanny ability to ease the tension of any situation with his impeccable comedic timing.
As quickly as they were surprised about the news, they move on just as fast. Ironically, that’s probably how they must approach this whole situation. They’re probably sad when the year ends and they have to say their goodbyes…but ultimately, it’s what’s expected of them. There’s no reason for them to linger in the murkiness of it all.
“That was all—you’re dismissed,” Lee Know flicks his hands, shooing everyone away.
You feel a hand grab hold of yours and look up to see Rhiannon standing in front of you.
“To the den?”
You nod and stand, leaving Hyunjin’s side to follow her with the other girls trailing close behind. The four of you enter the den and sit in your papasans. You notice the ceiling fan is now spinning, more than likely a result of Han and Charlotte’s attempt to air out the room after their tryst.
“Are you okay?” Allie asks when you’re all situated.
“Yeah…I’ll be alright,” you reply. “I’m just finding the responsibilities of staying here to be a lot and need to focus on my studies. I’m going into a vet program that starts right after the semester ends and need to prepare for it.”
It’s not a total lie—you do have to prepare for vet school, but it’s not the real reason you’re leaving.
Allie eyes you carefully, after that explanation. She’d already picked up on what was happening between you and Chan. Rhiannon and Charlotte seem to believe it, though, from the understanding looks on their faces.
“Should we have a going away party?” Charlotte asks.
“Dear God, no,” you shake your head vigorously. “That moment in the living room was more than enough.”
“I wonder what happens next,” Rhiannon muses aloud. “It would be weird having someone else here.”
Your stomach starts to knot up at the thought. Chan did mention, at the beginning of the school year, that someone else would take your place if you ever left. That hadn’t been at the forefront of your mind throughout this but the queasy feeling it gives you isn’t enough to make you regret your decision. Whether you stay or go, both Chan and Hyunjin will eventually move on to someone else. And you will, too.
You remain in the den with the girls for a little while longer. The subject eventually changes from you leaving to some of the memories you’ve all shared with the members. You never thought you’d become so close to these three women and were admittedly concerned there would be drama. But there never was. You all managed to get along and take care of these boisterous men with no issues.
You spend the evening upstairs with Chan, cuddled together in his bed. He mocks being hurt that you spent so much time away from him during the day. You push him on his back and straddle his waist, removing your shirt as you tell him you’re his for the rest of the night. He stops complaining after that.
WEDNESDAY
Outside of going to class, you and Chan spend the entire day together. You start packing your belongings and putting them into suitcases, gym bags, and a couple of boxes. He takes you out to dinner, and afterwards the two of you drive aimlessly around the city. Neither of you mention anything about it being your last night together but the reality of it lingers in the air. He holds your hand as he drives and asks you for a kiss at damn near every red light.
When you’re back at the house and in his room, his mouth is on yours before the door fully closes.
It's a perfect night.
THURSDAY
The fact that you’re leaving Sunday really starts to sink in. This is the final mid-week switch, now that you’re back with Hyunjin. The conversation at dinner is lively, but you find yourself remaining quiet most of the time, just sitting back, smiling and observing. Chan lays his hand down on the table, palm up, and looks at you pointedly. You bare a sheepish grin as you place your hand on top of his and he laces your fingers together. Hyunjin claims a spot on your thigh, palming it as he eats.
You have to keep reminding yourself to enjoy these moments, in the present. You can’t focus too much on what’s to come, or you’ll spend all the time you have left bawling.
After dinner, you and Hyunjin cuddle up in his bed and watch a movie on his laptop for old times’ sake. You don’t even make it halfway through before he starts kissing you. He takes his time undressing you—there’s no rush, so he draws everything out for as long as he can. He’s slow and methodical. He’s loving and gentle. He’s everything you ever needed him to be.
FRIDAY
In the evening, Hyunjin helps you start to pack your things in his room. Your vision is blurred as you zip up a gym bag stuffed full of shoes. Hyunjin comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, sensing your sadness.
“It’ll all be okay,” he reassures you.
“Did I make the right choice?” you ask, turning around to face him.
“I can’t answer that,” he replies. “But depending how you choose to take on each day moving forward, you can make it the right choice for you.”
You look up at him with a slight pout, tugging on his shirt.
“What am I gonna do without your words of encouragement?”
He takes a deep breath and lets out a long sigh. He doesn’t answer that question. There isn’t much he can say. He will never be around to comfort you again. You both know this.
He cups your face and leans down to place a delicate kiss to your forehead, then square on the lips. You wrap your arms around his neck and deepen the kiss, seeking more from him, and he happily obliges.
You don’t want to leave Hyunjin’s arms or his bed, but he convinces you to go down to the basement. He tells you you’ll regret not spending more time with everyone else if you don’t. And he’s right.
He holds your hand as you walk down the steps and as soon as the basement room comes into view, a loud chorus of “SURPRISE!” fills the room. You shoot daggers at a grinning Charlotte. She’s obviously proud of her handiwork.
Though you specifically did not want this to happen, you start smiling, too. There’s a ‘WE’LL MISS YOU’ banner hanging across from the pool table, balloons, streamers, and every single member and assignee in this house that you’ve been dreading having to say goodbye to.
The atmosphere of this going away party makes it a little easier. At some point, you find yourself on the couch, seated in Chan’s lap. He doesn’t hold back, touching and kissing you in front of the others. You embrace his rare public display of affection. You realize this is the closest you’ll get with him again, since you’re with Hyunjin tomorrow night as well.
The thought starts to sadden you, but when Jeongin pulls out the karaoke machine it’s a welcome distraction. You keep up your brave face and smile, willing yourself to enjoy the night and make a few final memories with this group you’ve come to cherish for all its unorthodox, familial chaos.
SATURDAY – One Day Left
You finish packing everything in Hyunjin’s room and the den. You spend the afternoon with the girls, and everyone eventually convenes in the backyard for dinner. It’s the first semi-warm day of the season. You can’t help reminiscing about your first time back here, your first time in the pool…the hot tub with Chan and Hyunjin. You’ve experienced so much in the past seven months. If the version of yourself that arrived at this house could see you know…she wouldn’t even recognize you.
When you make it back to Hyunjin’s room, you find him waiting on the edge of his bed. He beckons you to him and you stand between his legs.
“This is it, huh?” he says.
“Unfortunately,” you reply with a frown.
“How are you holding up?”
“I’m okay, all things considered.”
“Good,” he stands from the bed and wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you in for a hug.
He typically holds you from your waist, so this hug allows you to burrow yourself into him. He holds on to you for what feels like forever, and you’re in no rush to break the embrace either.
“I’ll see you in the morning, then.”
“What?” you ask, leaning back to look up at him.
“You should spend your last night with Chan,” he tells you. “I mean, I’d gladly have you here, don’t get me wrong. But I think you should go to him.”
He’s literally the most selfless person on the planet.
“Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent.”
You stand on your tiptoes and kiss him on the lips.
“Thank you,” you tell him.
“Go,” he urges, pecking you on the lips once more.
You let out a deep breath and step away from him. He nods his head in encouragement as you back away towards the door. You exit his room and make your way up to the third floor at the speed of light. You don’t even bother knocking on Chan’s door, you just burst right in.
You hear the shower water running and see his empty bed. You close the door softly behind you and tiptoe across the room. You sit on the bed, on top of the covers, upright with your back against the pillows. As you wait, you contemplate hiding somewhere to scare him, but then a better idea crosses your mind.
You lean over to open his nightstand drawer and quietly fish around for the pair of handcuffs you bought. You leave them on the bed and then go to your packed bags to retrieve the collar he gifted you. You hook it around your neck before removing your shirt, then bottoms and underwear. You grab the handcuffs from the bed, lock it around your left hand, then place your arms behind your back to lock in your right hand.
You lower yourself to the ground in the middle of the archway separating the bedroom and bathroom. The shower water turns off just as you’re situating yourself—seated with your legs beneath you. You straighten your back, eyes on the shower door as you wait for him to exit.
You’ll remember the sight of him stepping out of the shower for as long as you live. Droplets of water still falling down every part of his body; dark, black curls drenched and sticking to his forehead. As soon as he steps onto the mat, he catches sight of you and freezes.
His eyes look you up and down and you can see his cock visibly react.
“What are you doing here?” he inquires.
“Spending my last night with you.”
He fully steps out of the shower and closes the door behind him. He reaches for his towel, but then reconsiders. He leaves it hanging on the rack and walks slowly towards you. You’re torn on where to look—every exposed inch of him is delectable. You involuntarily start to squirm as he comes to a stop in front of you.
“Be still,” he instructs, and you immediately stop moving.
He stands above you, hands at his side, still just staring. The water dripping down from his hair lands on you, hitting your face, your breasts, your thighs. Each drop makes you anxious for his touch.
“Hyunjin?” he asks.
“It was his idea—well, not all of it,” you look down at your naked body, then back up at him. “But he wanted me to be with you tonight.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips, and you can only imagine he’s feeling any equal amount of love and adoration for Hyunjin right now, too.
Chan grabs a hold of the messy bun in your hair, pulling back on it and forcing you to look up at him. He takes his cock in his other hand, guiding it towards your mouth and you lick your lips in anticipation.
“You’re all mine, then?”
He was the first to have you in this house and now he’ll be the last.
“Yes,” you nod.
You open your mouth to take his cock inside when he presses it against your lips.
He shoves it in, gripping your hair tightly as you relax your jaw to take in as much of him as you can—until you’re literally gagged. When he feels your resistance, he eases up, withdrawing with a groan, seeing your saliva coating his cock.
“You look so good like this, y/n,” he tells you, slowly withdrawing again. “Sucking my cock.”
He repeats the process several times, and you keep your eyes trained on his face. He’s torn between staring back at you and watching himself fuck your face. Like he can’t choose which is more desirable.
He reaches down with his hand and loops a finger through the heart of the collar. He tugs on it and you slowly get to your feet. He releases your hair and without any direction, you turn towards the counter and bend at the hips over it. The marble is cold against your torso and your face is dangerously close to the mirror, each exhale fogging it up a little. You lock eyes with him and wiggle your ass.
He stands at your side, one hand palming your ass as the other pulls at the collar.
“This right here,” he smacks your ass, “is what drives me crazy the most.”
He caresses the spot he just hit, then slips his fingers between your legs.
“You’re such a good girl. No one could ever guess by just looking at you—but I know,” he rubs his fingers along your slit. “I know this side of you—wet, dripping, needing my cock.”
You moan as he slides two fingers inside. He leans onto the counter as he fucks you with his fingers, putting his head directly next to yours. You turn to face him. His lust filled eyes cool off ever so slightly with his next words.
“Thank you for sharing it with me.”
“Chan—” his lips crash against yours and cut you off.
As soon as his tongue invades your mouth, you can’t even recall what you were even going to say. You kiss him back, rocking your hips against his hand. Suddenly, he removes his fingers and smacks you on the ass again, leaving it wet from your own juices.
He continues smacking your ass, taking a turn on each cheek. He turns your chin to make you face the mirror before grabbing hold of your bun again. He pulls back on it, and you arch your back, lifting up from the counter slightly, your hard nipples just barely grazing the countertop.
“You love this, don’t you?” he coaxes, slipping his fingers back inside of you.
You try to nod your head but can’t move it too much.
“Don’t you?” he repeats.
“Yes,” you whimper.
“With me?” he takes his fingers out to rub your clit, causing you to squirm against his hand.
“Yes.”
“Only me?”
You’ve certainly never been like this with anyone before and you simply don’t know what the future holds. You don’t know if anyone else can bring it out of you. You don’t know if you want anyone else to. You lock eyes with him through the mirror again before replying with an unwavering—
“Yes.”
He lets go of your hair and positions himself behind you, you remain hovering over the counter. He grips your hip with one hand, and your cuffed hands with the other as he lines himself up at your opening. As soon as the tip is inside, you can’t help yourself. You moan as you push back against him, taking him fully inside and catching him off guard.
“Fuuuuck,” he moans.
And then he’s off, thrusting into your pussy, quite literally, like it’s the last time.
And it feels so good.
He takes a tiny step to the side to adjust the angle of his thrusts and you let out a loud moan as his cock continually pushes against the most sensitive part of your body. His hand leaves the cuffs to grab a handful of your breast, pinching the nipple between his thumb and pointer finger.
“Chan, wait—I’m gonna—”
“Do it,” he urges you.
You don’t need to hear anything besides that. You close your eyes and focus on the way he’s making your body feel. Your orgasm crashes through you as you cry out in pleasure, pushing your hips back against him with fervor.
When your legs start to tremble, he slows down his pace to a stop. He takes a step back, pulling on the handcuffs so that you do, too. He walks you towards his bed and gives you a light push onto it. He grabs your legs, pulling you down to the edge before dropping to his knees behind you.
Both of his hands palm your ass, pulling your cheeks apart before his mouth latches on to your pussy.
“Fuck, Chan—the cuffs,” you plead, wanting nothing more than to touch him now.
He pays no attention to your words, instead continuing to focus on the feast in front of him. He laps, licks, and fucks you with his tongue until you come again, right on his face. You force your head into the mattress to muffle your screams as your entire body shakes.
You feel him move away from you; your face still buried in the mattress as you embrace the moment of calm. You hear him open the nightstand drawer then he returns to stand behind you.
“I should leave you like this…” he trails off.
“You’re going to hold me captive forever?”
“I would, if you’d let me.”
He unlocks the cuffs and removes them. You turn around to face him and rub your freed wrists.
“But I’ll settle for the next twelve hours.”
You arch an eyebrow at him as he advances towards you, crawling on top of you until you’re forced to lay down on the bed. You hook your legs around his waist, arms around his neck, and pull him down for another kiss.
You feel his cock hardening again between your legs and rock your hips up against it.
“You planning to keep me awake that long?” you ask teasingly.
He chuckles, lining himself up at your entrance.
“Absolutely.”
He thrusts inside of you, and his lips land on yours again.
This time it’s slow and soft and quiet.
This time it’s love.
SUNDAY
True to his word, Chan keeps you up for most of the night. At times you lay there, cuddled together and talking about whatever comes to mind. Other times, either of you start touching and teasing the other, then you’re right back to fucking.
As the sun begins to rise, you reason with him that you need at least a few hours of sleep to get through what will be a long, tenuous day of moving and unpacking. He agrees, and you fall asleep in his arms until your alarm goes off at 9:30am.
You quietly slip out of the bed and take a quick shower. It feels surreal. Your last shower in Chan’s room. Halfway through, the door opens, and he steps in to join you. You hold each other in silence, for the most part, standing under the spout.
After your shower, you make sure everything you own is packed up. You join the others for a solemn feeling breakfast and by 12:00pm, a large, black SUV arrives to pick you up. All the boys help put your bags and boxes inside while you stay in the house, hugging the other assignees goodbye. You then hug six of the eight members, telling them you’ll miss them as you hold back your tears.
Your stomach is in knots as Hyunjin and Chan walk you to the car. Your mind, your heart, your everything is spinning. Hyunjin holds your hand, keeping your grounded, as Chan walks a few paces behind the two of you.
Once you reach the car, Hyunjin pulls you in for a hug while Chan walks around to the driver’s window to speak to him, but you’re not sure what he says. Hyunjin kisses you firmly on the cheek before opening the rear passenger door for you.
“I left something for you, it’s under my bed,” you tell him.
He arches an eyebrow.
“You thought I’d forget your birthday?”
He shrugs, “I figured you had more important things on your mind.”
“More important than you?” you scoff playfully, “Don’t insult me, Hyunjin.”
He laughs and embraces you once more.
“Be good. Be happy,” he says, stepping out of the way to make room for Chan.
You and Chan just stare at each other for a moment before he comes to you and embraces you. He wraps his arms around you, squeezing so tightly you can hardly breathe. You have a fleeting thought that you don’t want to anymore—every breath you take from here on out will be without him in your life. Without any of them.
You lean back and tilt your head up towards him, eyes brimming with tears. He places a hand on the back of your head and kisses you on the forehead before stepping back. You push aside the fear and alarm bells ringing in your head as you climb into the car and roll down the window, waving to Hyunjin and the others standing at the front door. Chan is still right next to the car, a soft reassuring smile on his lips but his eyes reflect the havoc you’re feeling inside, too.
“You ready, miss?” the driver asks.
“Yes,” you nod, sitting back in the seat.
“Wait,” Chan calls out, stepping forward again.
He comes to the open window, and you lean forward to speak to him.
“Take care of yourself for me, ok?” he says.
You silently nod in response.
He grabs a hold of your head with both hands and smashes his mouth against yours. You forget about the driver being less than two feet away and kiss him back. It’s passionate, it’s sad, it somehow feels promising and that just makes it all hurt worse. You’re both left breathless when he finally breaks the kiss.
He’s still holding your head as he leans towards your ear and whispers three words that send you reeling. He pulls away, taps on the car door and gives a nod to the driver. As he puts the car into drive, you give one last look to Chan before rolling up the window. As soon as the car takes off you dissolve into a puddle of tears.
You don’t know what he means by what he said, and you know even less what would possess him to say it. And so, his last words will haunt you for quite some time.
“This isn’t over.”
[ read chapter 31 here ] (coming soon)
a/n: i feel at a loss for words, myself. how are we feeling? i'm here for you! two more chapters left. the next one is lengthy as well, so be prepared haha
a/n: eeeek. this chapter is a bit short, so the next one will be coming soon after! thank you @bahablastplz for editing!
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Of Insomnia and Revelations
You don’t even bother to grab your phone before exiting the room, wanting to put as much space between the two of you before you spew words that you might later regret.
Fuck. You.
And so goes the next two weeks. You’re spared most of Chan’s antics during your period, save for a blowjob. He has you on his bed, on all fours, while he grips the back of your head and fucks your face. Your lack of humane interactions with him makes you feel distraught, but you can’t deny how good it feels to please him. To see him looking down at you with such intensity, lip caught between his teeth as he comes in your mouth. You wish it felt more rewarding, though.
Your only reprieve comes during your days with Hyunjin.
As much as you try to enjoy the peace he provides you, Chan continues to invade your thoughts. You’re no longer thinking of the ‘why’ to his behavior, though. Now, you can only consider how long you can put up with it. This isn’t the way you treat someone you allegedly care about; someone you were willing to throw your life away for. That’s the part that can’t wrap your head around.
You didn’t imagine the final few months in the house would be perfect after telling him no, but you thought they’d at least be cordial.
You’re lying in bed next to Hyunjin, eyes wide open as you contemplate how long you can survive being silently ignored and sexually tormented. Your last two days with Chan this week, he refused to let you have an orgasm. He’s exercising and pushing his control in a way that just doesn’t feel the same without your previous connection. Without knowing there’s any ounce of respect for you in his eyes.
You feel Hyunjin shake your shoulder.
“Go to sleep,” he says groggily.
“I’m trying,” you tell him.
“Come here,” he turns onto his side, and you do too so you’re facing each other.
He uses a hand to stroke your hair as you snuggle in closer to him. You resort to counting fucking sheep to lose yourself in the calm he’s pouring into you. And finally, you’re able to fall asleep.
On Monday morning in the girls’ bathroom getting ready for class, you find yourself stuck in front of the mirror, leaning closer to your reflection to inspect the growing bags under your eyes. You haven’t slept well in days, and it’s starting to show.
The door swings open and you drop your hands from your face as Allie walks in.
“You okay?” she asks, seeing you startled.
“Yeah…just tired,” you shrug.
She stops in the middle of the bathroom and takes in your reflection through the mirror.
“You sure? You seem a little different lately—you and Chan do.”
“It’s nothing,” you try to brush it off.
She walks towards you until she’s standing next to you, eyes still on yours through the mirror.
“Don’t give me that,” she shakes her head. “You know that boy refused to touch me during rotational? He hardly even looked at me, really.”
It makes you frustratingly happy to hear that, another testament of his devotion to you, but at the same time incredibly sad because it no longer feels that way. If rotations had happened now, after all this, would he still have refrained from touching her? You doubt it.
“We’re not supposed to talk about that, Allie.”
“I’m only telling you, and I know you won’t say anything to anyone else. You deserve to know how much he cares about you.”
“It doesn’t mean anything, though. It can’t.”
“It can while you’re here. We’re all operating with the knowledge of our expiration dates…just, try not to focus on the end and enjoy the time you have together now.”
She offers you a kind smile before playfully smacking you on the butt as she walks towards the shower.
She makes it sound so simple. Initially, that’s what you had wanted, too. To be happy with the time you have left together rather than the resentment now seeping through his pores.
Later, you help the girls cook dinner and sit at the table with everyone for the meal. You keep glancing at Chan occasionally, thinking of what Allie said. Does he just need a little nudge? Can you break through to him again and regain some semblance of normalcy for your last ten weeks in the house?
After dinner, you take a long shower, then go up to his room and climb into your bed with the lights off. You’re scrolling through your phone when he comes in, not making any attempts to be quiet.
“You up?” he asks loudly.
You lock your phone and let it fall to the bed without answering him. You hold your breath as you hear his footsteps growing closer. You feel his weight on the bed when he sits down and tugs on the blanket. Your body instantly feels warm with how close he is, still intent on betraying you whenever he is near. Your grip on the blanket loosens, allowing him to pull it down.
You’re sad. Of course you are. But you still want him to know that you’re here for him, that you yearn to be close to him. You want to get through to him and come to a mutual understanding, you want to see if it’s possible. You still believe there’s a chance to make that happen. You just need to know what he’s thinking.
He nudges your shoulder, so you turn over and lay flat on your back.
“Are you just never going to speak to me again?” you ask as he slips a hand underneath your shirt.
“What do you want me to say?” he counters.
Your stomach tenses up as his hand trails along the middle of it, up to your breasts. He squeezes one, brushing his thumb lightly over your nipple until it hardens, then does the same to the other. You let out a sigh, feeling your body immediately respond to his touch. The ache between your legs pulses rhythmically as you arch your back, pushing your breasts further into his hand.
“Anything,” you tell him.
“I wanna fuck you, y/n,” he says.
He knows that’s not what you meant.
He reaches for your hand and guides it to his cock—you can feel that he’s hard beneath his sweatpants. As much as it shouldn’t, it pleases you to know the effect you still have on him. It becomes apparent, though, that he has no intention of carrying on a normal conversation with you. Just fucking you.
You slip your hand beneath the waistband of his sweats and stroke his cock while he redirects his attention to your shorts. He tugs at the hem, and you lift your waist and allow him to pull them down. He rubs your pussy with his fingers, making sure to tease your clit.
You clench your jaw to keep from making a sound, not wanting him to know how good it feels so soon. How badly you want him to make you come. To let you come. You try to pull him down to you, but he pulls away.
He stands from the bed and removes his pants and boxers, then helps you out of your shirt. He turns your body so that you’re laying sideways on the bed, your ass nearly hanging off. He places one knee next to your thigh and lowers himself slightly as he rubs his cock up and down your slit.
You’re not quick enough to stop the moan that escapes your lips this time. You can’t even stop yourself as you scramble for more contact, first putting your hands on his waist and trying to pull him to you. Then on his shoulders, still trying to force him down to you, but he keeps resisting.
“I want to kiss you,” you say softly.
He shakes his head, “We shouldn’t do that anymore.”
Your brain tries to focus on the words he’s just said but keeps being thwarted by the way he’s making you feel physically. He teases your clit with his cock, rubbing it in circles around it, then eases his cock down some more to your opening. He slowly inserts the tip inside before pulling it out moving it back up to your clit.
“Why,” you pause to moan, “not?”
He’s quiet—seemingly more focused on teasing you than responding. With his cock at your entrance, he props himself up on the bed with one hand.
You try again to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him towards you, but he removes them one by one, setting them down at your side. While he’s distracted with restraining you, you wrap your legs around his waist and use them to bring his hips forward, pushing his cock inside of you.
“Fuuuck,” he moans.
As upset and annoyed and angry as you are with each other, you still want him; he still wants you. This sexual toxicity is the only thing holding you both together.
He withdraws and you use your legs to pull him forward again.
You continue that, him pulling out and you shoving him back in several more times.
“Is this all I get from you now, then?” you ask, unable to hide the hurt in your voice. “This is all you want?”
He reaches down with both hands, taking a breast in each. He pinches your nipples hard, and you moan, once again using your legs to make him thrust back into you. He groans. He loves seeing how much you need him to fuck you.
“Yes,” he finally replies, solidifying your fears. “And you’ll give it to me, won’t you?”
He pinches your nipples again.
You press your lips together, refusing to answer.
He cups your breasts, squeezing them as he lowers himself closer to your face. Your lips are so close to touching, but he still doesn’t kiss you. He starts thrusting into you on his own now.
“Won’t you?”
You can’t stop the whimper-moans with each of his thrusts. It feels good, it always feels so fucking good with him. No matter how gentle, how rough, how much turmoil.
When you still refuse to answer he straightens his back, unhooks your legs from his waist and brings them together so they’re in front of him. He wraps his arms around your thighs, holding your legs to one side as he lets out all stops and fucks you mercilessly.
You know you don’t need to bother responding—he knows the answer. He’s getting his answer in real time. You couldn’t imagine telling him no when he so desperately needs you, regardless of how he’s treating you. And that should concern you.
Neither of you say another coherent word as you use each other’s bodies. He twists and turns you around as he sees fit. At one point, he reaches over to your nightstand drawer and pulls out the vibrator before flipping you over onto all fours again. He blindly hands it to you in the dark and you waste no time in powering it on and pressing it to your clit.
Is it fucked up that you think this small action shows a sign that he cares and could eventually come around? You can almost fool yourself into believing it.
The soft buzz of the vibrator and the sound of your thighs smacking together, his palm occasionally hitting your ass, accompanied by his grunts and your moans, and you both releasing expletives is all that fills the room.
He starts thrusting in at an angle, long and slow strokes and you feel your thighs begin to tremble.
“Oh fuck, oh shit. Chan, please,” you beg.
“Come,” he commands. “Come on my fucking cock.”
And you do.
And he comes, too.
And it feels so good.
Yet you feel so fucking broken.
And you know he does, too.
On Tuesday and Wednesday, you both continue to let your frustrations out with each other sexually. Chan remains steadfast in his new ‘no kissing’ rule, and by Wednesday you stop trying. You fuck him and suck him like there’s no tomorrow. With each passing day, it feels like there really might not be.
When you’re back with Hyunjin, it feels eerily somber. He can tell something is up, but he doesn’t pry. He never does. He allows you your space and cuddles you at night while you hold on to him for dear life at this point. You feel lost. You don’t know what to do, how to navigate this. If you should navigate this.
By Thursday night you feel closer to a solution, but the idea of going through with it scares you. So many questions, thoughts, feelings and emotions swirl around your heart and brain, and you can’t make sense of any of it.
It’s been three weeks of this treatment from him, and he hasn’t shown any signs of being your Chan again. Granted, you can’t put a timeline on how long it should take him to come to terms with what he undoubtedly sees as a rejection, but at the same time you can’t allow him to continue treating you this way. Not after all you’ve been through with him.
You wonder if he hadn’t confessed his true feelings and history of knowing you, would things be different? Hell, if you’d never invited him on that trip to Miami, perhaps you could have continued on a semi-civil basis throughout the end of the year. That ship has sailed, though. Too much has been revealed to ever take back. And as amazing as it was to feel such openness from him, it really has led to this shared downfall.
As soon as you lay in bed with Hyunjin, you will yourself to get lost in him. You kiss him, touch him, hold him, needing him to do the same. You don’t even have to ask, he just does it instinctively. He’s sweet and gentle with you, as always, wanting to please you and trying to ease your worries and pain in the best way he knows how.
However, your train of thought continually swerves back to Chan. Even with Hyunjin’s face buried between your legs, you can’t get him out of your head. You pull him up to you and bring his mouth to yours, tasting yourself on him. He positions himself at your entrance and you once again put all your focus on him as he tends to your body.
“Jagiya,” he whispers near your ear.
You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him against you. You don’t want him to see your face, contorted as you fight back tears. You very much still want to please him, and release what little tension you can through this physical act.
You kiss along his shoulder as you lift your hips to meet his thrust.
“You haven’t—I don’t think I can—” he stumbles over his words, fighting back his release.
“It’s okay,” you tell him.
He comes and collapses on the bed next to you, breathing heavily as you stare up at the ceiling. You feel completely out of control, and not even Hyunjin can cure it now. You know, for certain, that you cannot put up with this any longer.
As soon as the realization settles in, the needle pricks are back in your eyes and the tears come flooding out before you can stop them.
“Hyunjin,” your voice cracks with sadness, “I’m leaving.”
[ read chapter 28 here ] (coming soon)
a/n: one of you nailed this outcome in a comment from the last chapter. now we must wait to see how chan will react when he finds out! thank you for reading, my dears!
summary: Your father had wielded you to become a machine; a weapon. And a machine you would become. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat. He taught you how to protect; specifically how to protect your family. But he never taught you how to survive with other groups, especially when their leader seems to have it out for you.
pairing: bang chan x fem!reader
rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | strangers/enemies to lovers + zombie apocalypse au, angst, fluff, smut
word count: 35.4K?
chapter summary: the female of the species are the most deadly. you see it in everything, including the mirror.
warnings/notes: i hate this so bad, i'm so sorry, zombie apocalypse au so . . . blood, guts, gore, sad, sad, sad. beware. lots of inspo from every zombie thing i've literally ever seen (twd, tlou, train to busan, etc.), typos probably, parental death, actions of violence and murder, religious TRAUMA, religious undertones, reader does not believe in god but she's deeply influenced by it bc of her childhood and it haunts her, slight inspiration for the host, talk of cwd, animal death, fights, sexual tension, drinking, ever so small blood consumption, sleeping in the smae bed/one bed trope/stuck together trope, making out, dry humping, um chris and reader being actually stupid, i think that's it but let me know if i missed anything, and enjoy! <3
chapter one: the female of the species (are the most deadly)
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Deer are meant to flee.
In the scenario of a predator in an open field, deer always choose to run zigzag to get away. Running straight puts a wanted sign on their heads. Running straight gets them killed. Running straight turns them into prey.
It’s simple. It’s fight or flight syndrome.
Deer will always choose to flee first to save themselves. They will only fight as a last alternative. That is what makes them prey. That is what distinguishes them from the predator.
That was the first thing your father taught you when he led you into those woods during Pestilence’s rise from the dead. But back then, he would ignore your questions of what would happen to the deer that would fight. You’d always wondered. And you remembered even now how you found out the truth. You’d snuck out of your bed in the middle of the night just like at the beginning of Pestilence’s reign, and tip-toed into your father’s study. Then . . . one search and you discovered the truth.
A deer that fights is a dead deer.
It made less sense then, or rather you hadn’t wanted it to make sense. You hadn’t wanted to believe that even nature could be so cruel. At the time, you could take being locked away from the rest of the world with that sickness out there. After all, the town had been tucked away from civilization for so long anyway. Isolation wasn’t anything new to you. But this . . . cruelty . . . that was something you couldn’t stomach all those years ago.
And now . . . now you found it easy to admit that a deer that fights is a dead deer. Now you found it easy to admit that it is better to be the hunter . . . to be the predator. Now it was easy to admit you were never a deer like the rest of your town. Now it was easy to admit, you hadn’t been running from the hunter, you had been running from yourself . . . from the predator ripping at your viscera.
Now it was easy to admit you were the wolf that your town kept in a cage . . . until you’d found a way to break the lock.
And the deer? They still ran.
Your mother had been trying to run from you since the moment the world fell away. Your sister used to walk with you, used to not fight nor run from you . . . until she realized she should’ve been the entire time. And Felix . . . he’d realize one day that it was the right decision to leave you behind in those woods. One day he’d be grateful he’d left the predator preying on his family. One day he would.
You knew he would, too. You knew because he’d witnessed what happened to the deer that fought back. You knew because he’d watched you rip open that man’s jugular like it was just the tough end of a piece of steak. You knew because he’d hesitated before he followed after you when you’d slaughtered one of the dead without a second thought. You knew because he’d listened to you in that warehouse . . . because he hadn’t followed after you.
That . . . that thought was the only thing that kept you going the past couple of days as you faded in and out of consciousness.
And when you did finally come to, your eyes fluttering open to meet the image of fluorescent overhead lights staring back at you, you knew your deer were finally safe from you. That was how you found yourself breathing a sigh of relief as a small smile touched your lips, surely making you appear out of your mind (and well . . . maybe you were).
The first night, with the fever still ruling your body, you realized what you’d gotten yourself into. You realized that no, this was not the afterlife. Your father would not walk through the door any time soon. You would not get to hug him once more. You wouldn’t be able to feel him, hear him, see him, or even smell him.
(You tried to ignore the ache swelling in your chest when you realized even if he was there by some chance, there was a good chance you wouldn’t be able to recognize him from feel, touch, sight, smell. It had become increasingly obvious to you as you laid bedridden that perhaps while trying to survive and keep your family alive, you’d been forgetting your father’s face little by little.)
And while those thoughts haunted you, the dull scenery of the room you’d been locked away in setting in more and more as the days passed, you almost accepted what had happened. You hadn’t gotten yourself killed in those woods. No, you’d stepped into something so much worse.
It was hard to tell how much time had passed since you’d found yourself there. People had come in and out while you were suffering the worst ends of the fever. You couldn’t quite tell who, or why they had come in and out, but you did know you’d put up a fight the few times they’d tried to feed you or shove medicine down your throat. Whether it was the fever taking hold of you or the deep mistrust that ran inside your bloodstream, it didn’t matter. You fought just as you always had.
Only now as you stared at the fluorescent lights above your bed did you have the time to actually think. The fever had subsided, but the pain in your ankle still remained. You weren’t sure if an infection had come about or if the sprain had actually been a break, but you did know you didn’t want to move from your spot. You wanted to stay right there and stare into the light until your eyes started to water and ache from not blinking for so long.
Perhaps if you pretended to be sicker, they’d let you go. Perhaps they’d give up on you, throw you out with the rest of the dead. Perhaps they’d let you rest like you had been begging them.
And perhaps they would. Perhaps they would when you finally let your guard down. Perhaps then they’d kill you like you’d been begging.
Was this all just a trick then?
Or another test?
However, deja vu set in as your mind wasn’t allowed much longer to ponder when the sound of a door opening brought you out of your questioning. Your body stiffened as you shot up in your bed, bringing your knees to your chest despite the pain in your ankle. Your eyes never left the door as you tightened your hand into a fist, making sure you were alert for anything just as you had been taught. Wearily, you watched with stern eyes as a man stepped in, expecting to meet the gaze of the man who had brought you here, but no, he wasn’t him but did he look ever so familiar. You watched as this new man let himself in, not looking up while he closed the door behind him, softly humming to himself as he scribbled down something onto the notepad in his hand.
Your eyes dragged over his figure, taking note of the tattered tee and cargo pants that looked a little too worn, but much less used than the clothes on your own back. His hair was dark and long, long enough to curl around his ears, and he wore glasses that had no smudges or fingerprints tainting the glass, almost as if he’d had the time to think of his appearance that day. And . . . his face and hands were clean. He was clean. There was no dirt or scrapes in sight. He . . . he’d washed himself recently. He had the time to wash himself.
Confusion struck your face for only a mere second before it dawned on you their bunker must have had access to a water supply. That only made your rage grow.
He was allowed to hold up underground, his skin clear of dirt and grime and . . . blood. And you could still smell the squirrel guts that had seeped into your shirt from your last meal.
He was clean, and you . . . you had lost count of how many days it had been since you had had the time to properly clean yourself. Hell, you hadn’t smelled a bar of soap in about a year or more. And yet . . . he probably washed every day.
Gritting your teeth together, your rage grew. Or perhaps this was . . . envy? Jealousy? No, no you were sure it was guilt now. Guilt because . . . here you were stuck in a bunker where they had running water and your family was still out there. You’d run into those woods to save them. It seemed you had only saved yourself in the end, or rather they had forced you to.
And that . . . that made you angry.
The man must have felt the flames of your scorching glare because the next second he was glancing up from his notebook, his eyes quickly meeting yours. His eyes widened slightly. “Oh,” he mumbled in shock before a toothy grin spread onto his face. He advanced toward you, approaching the bed with that smile still on his face. “She lives.”
But you remained silent, calculating.
Your hand remained in a fist.
His eyes flicked down to your hands, his smile faltering slightly, but he didn’t bring attention to it. He was meeting your glare once again in a second, but before he spoke, he took a step back, leaving space between the two of you. “You’ve been out for a few days. I did manage to get some medicine shoved down your throat,” he began again, his voice soft, almost as if he didn’t want to startle you. “Not without a fight—” he softly laughed as he turned his arm and showed a bite mark you had left on the meat of his forearm— “but . . . all’s forgiven.”
Still, you remained silent, eyes flicking from his arm back to his face without even breathing. Your glare remained.
And he faltered under your gaze, his smile dropping as he cleared his throat and went back to his notebook. He kept searching for . . . something as he continued humming, until his eyes landed and he hummed, “Ah, now—”
A knock at the door interrupted the man as his brows raised and he glanced over his shoulder. You followed his gaze just in time to see the door open once again as another man walked into the room. But this time, confusion didn’t strike you. This time you recognized the man as the one from the other night; as the one who had taken your hand and led you out of those woods when you had condemned yourself to your death; as the man you had mistaken as Death himself.
It was silent as he shut the door behind him and began to approach the bed with that same look in his eyes—stern, cold, and calculating just as he had been the other night. In response, you tucked yourself further to the top of the bed, trying to create as much space between you and the men. But . . . the man from the other night . . . Death . . . barely even spared you a glance.
He glanced toward the man with the glasses. “How’s she looking?” he asked, his voice stern and void of emotion as he crossed his arms over his broad chest.
“Well—” the other man began but quickly cut himself off as he turned his gaze to you, eyes casting over your demeanor. He sucked on his teeth in thought, then pointed to the bed sheet which covered your legs. “Can I?”
Clutching the sheets closer to your body, you furrowed your brows, a scowl deepening on your face. What did he want with your body? No one had ever asked to see it before. Why was he?
“Your ankle . . . ” he mumbled, almost apologetically.
And then it hit you, and for the first time in a long time, you felt embarrassed. You had been taught to always be on alert, to never trust, to fight and the others would flee. You had been taught to be a weapon. You’d been taught too well to the point you’d forgotten how the world used to be; how a simple question could just be exactly that and not come with an ulterior motive.
He wanted to check your ankle. That was why he’d come in here in the first place. He didn’t want your body. Perhaps he didn’t want anything from you. But . . .
You have to grow up. No more kid stuff.
Those had been the words your father left you with. You knew what they meant. And you knew what they entailed.
Trust no one. Children had trust. Children trusted blindly. And you were no child. You hadn’t been for a while. And you wouldn’t be today.
Sure, you recognized his motive, but you didn’t trust him, and you certainly didn’t trust letting him get anywhere near you. With your eyes boring into his you pulled back the sheet covering your legs and revealed your swollen ankle.
The man with the glasses took a step forward to inspect the injury, but you jerked back, smacking your back against the wall. Like a dog who had been beaten one too many times, your reflexes were fast, instinctive, and jarring. That was evident by the looks both of the men gave you, then gave each other.
It was only after a minute of thick silence that the same man cleared his throat, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he took a step back. “She can probably walk on it now but not for long,” he began as his eyes scanned his notebook. “As for the wounds . . . “ trailing off, he pointed to the gashing along your legs, across your arms, even the one just under your eye as he sighed heavily in thought. “They look to be healing pretty well, but we’ll keep checking in case a nasty infection decides to latch on.”
Death . . . No . . . the other man nodded in acknowledgement, then turned his attention to you. And you couldn’t look away. Those eyes. The same eyes that had dragged you out of those woods glared back at you, and yet they carried a certain softness that you couldn’t figure out. Those eyes seemed to haunt you. You didn’t know him, but . . . you felt as though you’d seen him before. In that dog as she ran after the stick you’d thrown moments before you snapped her neck; in Felix as you played with his hair so he’d sleep soundly at night; in the beginning when your family still smiled at you.
He continued to glare, and you glared right back, but you saw something deeper in there. You saw the things you wished you could forget. You saw the people you’d lost; the things you’d loved. You saw the decisions you had to commit to in order to keep your family alive.
That only made you glare harder.
“How do you feel?” he finally asked, but his stare only intensified.
You remained silent.
The man with the glasses cleared his throat. “Chris,” he muttered, and your brain took note of the name, remembering it from the other night. This Death . . . had a name. “I don’t think she talks.”
“Oh, she talks,” Chris replied instantly, not taking his eyes off yours. He tilted his head, brows furrowing in thought. “When’s the last time you ate?”
Still, you didn’t speak, your eyes watching him.
There was that quiet rage again. He held himself so elegantly, but his eyes always gave him away. There was no hiding with eyes like that.
It seemed your oath of silence had stirred an even greater anger within him.
Good, you couldn’t help but think. Maybe then he’d finally kill you.
(And yet . . . your hands were still firmly clenched into fists as if one wrong move and you’d attack like the wild dog you knew yourself to be. (It was a peculiar thing to realize: wishing to be killed but still so desperately willing to defend yourself.))
Chris cocked his head to the side. You mirrored his actions, causing him to scoff as he tongued his inner cheek and shook his head. “Ji,” he began, his voice low as he spoke to the other man while maintaining eye contact with you, “will you go get a bath ready?”
This Ji only nodded in response, glancing between you and Chris before he slowly began to back out of the room. He was gone a second later, the door shutting closed behind him. That left you and Death alone.
A visceral beat of silence pounded so loudly you felt it deep within your chest. Had that been your heartbeat or were you too far gone for even that?
The man . . . Death . . . Chris quietly walked to the other side of the room, grabbing the lone chair and placing it beside your bed just like he had the other night. You watched him the entire time, following closely so as to not miss even the slightest action, and only when he relaxed into the chair, his legs spread out, arms still crossed over his chest, as his gaze flicked over the wounds tattering your body, did you let yourself take in his appearance.
He was still handsome, yes, but a little more human now that your fever had broken. His dark hair was still curly, albeit messier than a few days prior, and it seemed the bags under his eyes had darkened even more. Yet, his lips were still pink, still smooth, still . . . pretty. (It made you think of the before; of the years in your childhood when you’d sneak into the living room while everyone else slept and turn on the TV late at night just to watch news reports of your favorite actors.)
You’d never seen a man like this so close before. You should’ve been used to it given the other night, but there was no mistaking the urge buried deep within yourself that wanted him to see worth in the body he was analyzing. You’d felt this thing before. You’d felt it in the way the boys in the pews would stare at you while you played the piano during church. But you had only been a girl then. The world hadn’t ended then.
A girl turned into a creature with sharp canines you had become. And a death valley the world had turned into.
At the realization, you shoved that eerie feeling down so far you were no longer hungry, as you tugged the bedsheet back over your body. You tugged the sheet so far until you tucked it under your chin, not allowing a sliver of skin to show. If your mind wanted to ponder over if someone found worth within it, then you’d bury it for even you to see.
Chris seemed to catch on, his eyes still trained on the bed sheet where your wounded leg once was, before his gaze snapped back up to meet yours. Your eyes hardened first, his followed suit.
“Feel like talking now?” he all but sighed.
A second passed.
You didn’t respond.
And he scoffed as if he had seen it coming. “Fine, suit yourself.”
Chris quickly pushed himself out of the chair, the legs screeching against the floor as he stood to his feet. His back was to you the next moment as you watched him walk to the other side of the room where a small storage cabinet resided right next to a makeshift desk. He opened the cabinet, sifting through its contents before he pulled out a woman’s black shirt and jeans that looked to be around your size. Each piece of clothing he haphazardly tossed onto the desk with a sigh, even pulling out socks and undergarments.
And when he was done, he slammed the cabinet shut and almost hesitantly glanced toward the clothes resting on the desk. His hand seemed to almost shake as he rested it on top of the clothes, rubbing his thumb against the fabric.
It made you wonder. Who had those clothes belonged to?
Your brows pulled together as you finally tore your eyes from his figure, and observed the rest of the room for the first time. At first glance, it was a small room, a little bigger than a closet but just enough to house the bed you were sitting on, along with a cabinet and a desk for . . . whatever you supposed. Your eyes snapped back to the bed you were on, and then it hit you.
This was no medical bed like you had once thought when you first awoke here. This was just a mattress on top of a metal bed frame that had been built into the metal walls surrounding you. And in the corner of the room, there was a pile of clothes which belonged to a man. The cabinet, the desk, the bed, the clothes on the floor . . . this wasn’t an infirmary . . . this was someone’s room.
Was it his?
Those clothes . . . did they belong to someone close to him? Is that why—
“These will probably fit you,” he interrupted your train of thought, throwing the clothes down beside you on the bed. “There’s towels and soap in the washrooms. Ready to wash, yeah?”
You eyed the clothes beside your feet, then peeked at him out of the corner of your eye. He wasn’t sitting anymore. He was just standing there and you could feel his dark gaze on the side of your head, but you didn’t glance up to meet his eyes. Not yet. Not until you figured out what was going on.
This was his room. It had to have been. He was giving you clothes and allowing you to bathe, yet his demeanor was still . . . off. Was this a ploy?
You blinked. Your gun.
Your gun . . . had they taken it to leave you defenseless?
“Did you take my gun?” you harshly bit out as you finally met his gaze.
His brows furrowed. “You didn’t have one on you.”
Your jaw clenched. “I had a gun.”
His brows raised. “Did you drop it?”
You shook your head. “I wouldn’t—”
But your words cut out quickly as a flash from a few nights ago hit you. The woods. He surprised you that night. You’d dropped your gun. You’d dropped your father’s gun. You’d left him his gun there.
In an instant, you sprung out of bed, barely feeling the pain in your body. “The woods,” you muttered out as you scanned the room for your shoes. “It must be—”
But Chris was quick. “Woah, woah, woah, hey,” he said, his hands finding your shoulders to stop you from moving on your ankle, “you’re not going anywhere.”
You halted, but your anger remained. “I don’t answer to you,” you spat out, tearing his hands from your body.
Again, you made another move for your shoes, but he blocked your path with his body. “You do when you’re under my roof,” he reiterated, his words sterner now. “It’s only been a few days. The hoard will still be around . . . and you can barely walk. You go out there and you will bring the dead to my door. You force my hand and make me send my people out there, the hoard will get them, too.” He took a step closer then, his voice quieter, darker. “I will not let you burden my people.”
“I won’t bring the dead to your door,” you muttered, searching his eyes for an understanding. “I won’t come back. I won’t bring them here. I won’t turn back. I’ll go through the hoard if I have to . . . or die with my gun. I don’t care, but trust me . . . I won’t bring the dead to you or your people.” You jutted out your chin. “I won’t be your burden. I can promise you that.”
He didn’t even take a second to think before he shook his head once. “I’m a man of my word,” he spoke, standing taller now as he took a step away from you. “We will retrieve your gun when the hoard has moved on.”
“You don’t get—”
“I will not send out my people to die with that hoard still around,” he cut you off. “The bomb distracted them then, but more have crowded because of the sound. More will come and then they will pass. But I will not and cannot send out my people for a gun until they pass.”
You remained silent then, watching him carefully. He wasn’t listening. You were prepared to go back for the gun alone. You’d find it, you’d lay down beside it, and let yourself rest. You wouldn’t run. You wouldn’t lead them back to this place. You would barely move. You’d let the hoard take you and your gun.
You wouldn’t come back. You wouldn’t. Couldn’t he see that?
“You have my word,” he said once again, his eyes no longer on you, but rather on the clothes still resting on the bed. “And when they pass, I will personally help you find your gun.” His eyes briefly met yours for only a moment, before he was turning around, and walking toward the door.
You took a step forward. You weren’t sure why, but you did. Was it to stop him? Follow? Run?
He noticed, too, stopping in his tracks. His eyes didn’t meet yours, but his profile was in your sights. He just stood there, his eyes on the ground but his profile angled toward you, as if he were waiting for your next moves as if he expected you to attack him from behind.
You wouldn’t. You knew you wouldn’t. A wild dog you may have seemed to him, but you didn’t bite so generously. He hadn’t done something yet. Yet . . .
But before either you or him could address the situation, he spoke, “Grab the clothes and follow me. You have a long day ahead of you.”
On the seventh day, God ended his work which he had done, and rested. The seventh day was meant for worship. Take pause and express gratitude toward your savior, you’d learned. The seventh day was meant for worship, and for years you’d knelt and knelt on those pews until the wood dug into your flesh and made wounds that would never heal.
For years, the seventh day had meant something to you. For years, you’d endured the scabs on your knees. For years, you’d almost worshiped them, too.
But . . .
On the seventh year of the end of days, you ended your vow to protect your family, except . . . you couldn’t seem to rest. The seventh year was meant to be your last. Take pause in those woods with your father’s gun in hand, and let the dead express their gratitude toward your flesh which would satiate their visceral hunger for only a few mere seconds. The seventh year was meant for your end, and for a few years, you had laid on the forest floor when it was night and everyone was asleep, and prayed that your day would come.
For years, the seventh year was just a sick wish. For years, you’d pick at the old scabs on your knees, creating new ones while you stared into the sky and prayed to a god you didn’t believe in. For years, you’d nearly promised to believe in him again if he’d just give you your damnation.
It was supposed to be that night in the woods. You were supposed to be eaten by them or become one. That was how it was supposed to end. That was your sentence for causing your father’s death.
Except . . . like all those years ago, it seemed not even these prayers were worthy enough to be granted. But maybe that was just it. Maybe this was your damnation. Maybe no matter what you did, death would always follow you but never seek you specifically out. Because maybe death was too kind for someone like you. Maybe the real damnation was for you to sit and watch as everyone around you died because of you.
Would Chris kick you out then? If he knew saving you meant bringing death to his doorstep?
Those thoughts in your mind, you continued to follow after this Chris, limping silently behind him as he took you through the bunker. It must have been the backway or something because you hadn’t seen another soul the entire few minutes you’d been passing through each room. Even as you reached the bottom floor, you still could not find another one of his people.
Had he told them to hide? Did he say why? Were there children? Were they scared of you? Were you akin to the monsters in those fairytales your father used to read you when you were younger?
On the seventh minute, the two of you stopped in front of a hatched metal door, and you almost felt fear. But you told yourself you didn’t get to feel that way as he unhatched the door and pulled it open, revealing a washing room akin to a basement bathroom except four showers were lining the wall, all of which were separated by thick slabs of metal dividers and covered by plastic shower curtains. Two toilets were out in the open on the wall opposite the showers, a sink in the middle of them; and a bathtub resting near the middle wall.
You blinked once. Then twice. Then nearly collapsed against the doorframe at the sight.
It had been so long since you’d seen a bathroom; since you’d seen showers and bathtubs and proper toilets. It had been so long since you’d been clean. Sometimes you could still feel your father’s blood on your skin, and no matter how many times you scrubbed your skin in streams or lakes or even puddles, you still felt dirty. You always felt tainted, like your skin was just as rotted as the deads’.
And yet here you were staring into a bathroom with all the things you missed about civilization and you couldn’t quite tell what to do with yourself. You didn’t move. You didn’t even speak. You barely breathed. You just stared, and tried to quiet your rapid heartbeat.
Chris didn’t seem to notice your pause or if he did, he didn’t pay it much mind. Instead, you watched him out of the corner of your eye as he left you by the door and walked toward the bathtub, stretching out his hand toward the water. He swished the water around a few times, checking the temperature before he shook the water from his hand and dried it off on his pants.
Then . . . he was looking at you again. “This should be hot enough,” he muttered before he stalked toward the metal shelves opposite the side of the room where the bathtub rested. He grabbed a washcloth, then dug into a plastic bin which held chunks of soap, all the while you watched him with careful eyes. You continued to watch him as he approached you, taking the clothes out of your hands and replacing them with the washing materials. “I’ll get you a towel once you’ve washed.”
And that was it. Chris tossed the clean clothes onto the top metal shelf, then, with a sign, he leaned his back against the wall next to the shelves, his arms crossed over his broad chest while his eyes lazily trailed from the bathtub to where you stood in the doorway. Your brows furrowed, your head tilting as you stared back at him, almost as if you were challenging him.
“What are you doing?” you asked, but your voice sounded harsh, bitter . . . lethal like the weapon you’d known yourself to be.
Chris sighed through his nose again. “I told you I don’t kill the living . . . and I won’t kill you,” he started off, maintaining eye contact with you. “But I do not trust you. I do not like you. And I won’t put my people at risk just because I let you live. So, wash, yeah? You have my word I want nothing with your body. Just wash so I can show you around and you can finally eat.” His brows raised as he jutted out his chin, gesturing toward the bathtub. “Hmm? Sound good?”
“Men aren’t supposed to—” but you quickly cut yourself off. Men aren’t supposed to see women naked without marriage. That was what you were going to say. That was what your mother had drilled into your head as you were growing up. That was what the town believed, because that was what they preached. And you’d almost slipped up. You’d almost spoken their words, not your own. And while you couldn’t have that, you didn’t address your previous argument, instead, you tore your eyes from his and bit your tongue. “Just . . . don’t touch me.”
“You have my word,” he mumbled, his voice almost softer now, but you ignored it. “I don’t do that. I wouldn’t.”
You swallowed hard.
A beat of silence.
And then another.
Until you couldn’t take it anymore and nearly charged toward the bathtub, but you didn’t touch it. Not yet. You paused abruptly before the tub, then carefully, you outstretched your hand, testing the water. Warm. Not hot, nearly scalding . . . just like the baths you’d used to have when you were a kid.
But you couldn’t let him know that. You couldn’t show that you were once human . . . not to him. Instead . . . you tore your hand from the water, your eyes immediately snapping in his direction, narrowing at his figure. He was staring back at you, almost analyzing you or trying to piece together the things he didn’t understand about you. And then: his brows twitched downward, his face falling slightly before he cleared his throat and that look was gone.
“Listen,” he began, and turned his head to the side so you could only see his profile. His eyes weren’t on you anymore. “I won’t look. Just . . . undress and get in quickly.” He wet his lips, sighing. “I won’t look.”
You didn’t respond. He wasn’t looking for a response anyway. You only nodded at his words before you got to work, throwing the washcloth and soap into the water before unbuttoning your tattered pants and wincing as the fabric snagged on cuts and wounds that you’d accumulated. Your eyes remained on his figure, making sure he didn’t turn his head to see you lift your shirt over your head, throwing it to the floor along with your sports bra. Finally, you nearly tore off your underwear and socks just before you stepped into the bathtub, letting the water envelope your body until you were sitting in the tub, your knees to your chest as the water lightly swished around your shoulders.
Once the swishing of the water ceased, you watched out of the corner of your eye as Chris turned his attention back to you. His eyes were on you once again, and you tried to ignore it. You tried to stop watching him. You tried to enjoy the water surrounding you, but his eyes were nearly burning holes into your skin.
He’d promised not to hurt you, but what good was a man’s word in this world? You couldn’t trust that. You couldn’t trust him.
You kept one eye open. The water surrounding your body was a glorious distraction, but even as you rubbed at your feet underneath the water, trying to ease the aches, you still watched him in your peripheral vision. And the entire time . . . he didn’t move.
The water had begun to turn red and dark due to your accumulation of blood, wounds, and dirt. Only then did you search the tub’s floor to find the bar of soap. Once it was in your hand, you brought it out of the water, rubbing the white bubbly film with your thumbs before you reached for the washcloth and began to rub the two together to create a paste. With the cloth covered in suds, you allowed yourself to feel bliss just for a mere second as you touched the cloth to your skin and . . . scrubbed.
If this were a few years ago or even a few months ago, you thought you might have cried at the sensation. You wanted to cry now. You wanted to scrub your skin until the blood was gone, until the dirt was gone, until your skin was gone, until you were just raw and clean and new, until you were nearly born again. You wanted to scrub it all way. All the years, all the pain, all the memories. You wanted it all to be washed away like the dirt and grim hiding beneath your fingernails.
But you didn’t cry and you didn’t scrub until your skin was raw. You kept your composure, scrubbing up and down your arms with the washcloth, getting your neck, behind your ears, your legs, feet, toes, fingers, your most intimate parts, even your nostrils. And god . . . did it feel good, almost too good, so good, you’d taken your eyes off the man on the other side of the room.
“The blood—” his voice sounded from across the room, nearly startling you but you nearly whipped yourself to maintain your composure— “Is it all yours?”
Your movements paused. You blinked. “No,” you muttered as your eyes went to the dirtied water.
It was never just yours.
“Whose is it?” he asked. You knew what he wanted. You knew what he was really asking.
Running the washcloth over your nails to clean the dirt, you swallowed hard. “Does it matter?”
“It could,” he merely said. “Why did you do it?”
You didn’t respond. He knew. You knew he did. There was no way someone like you stepped into a place like this how you did, without doing the things you’d done. It might as well have been written across your forehead. You’d done something. It haunted you. And he knew it.
“If you stay here you’re going to have to answer my questions,” he said again, reiterating that his questions were harmless.
A muscle in your jaw twitched. Lifting your head, your eyes flicked to his, harsh and hostile. “Kick me out then, sheriff,” you spat, a challenge within your gaze.
But it seemed he wasn’t the type to take the bait. At least that might have been what he wanted you to believe as he discarded your comment and pushed, “Why did you do it?”
Your glare darkened. “Same reason we all do,” you muttered. “I had to.” But you didn’t.
It wasn’t something you had to do. Killing someone was not something you had to do. And even then, even if you had to . . . you didn’t have to do it like . . . that. Yet . . . you did.
“Was it deserved?”
Was it deserved? he had asked.
Yes, you wanted to growl back. Because yes, yes, yes he fucking deserved it. That man had taken your sister. He’d held her in his harsh grasp and laughed as she kicked and screamed. He’d put a gun to her head, and threatened to pull it unless you gave up all your food. But you had seen the look in his eyes. Even if you’d followed his orders, he would’ve pulled that trigger. Maybe he would’ve pulled it on you first or maybe he’d really have killed your sister. Maybe he would have taken you all down before you could even breathe and run off with your food. Or maybe he would have done worse.
Because you’d seen the look in his eyes. You’d seen how he’d put his hands on your sister. You knew what men like that did to little girls in a world without rules, without hope. You knew what he would do.
Anyone would have defended their blood. Anyone would've protected. Some would kill, others would find a way to knock him out and run off before he could catch up. But you . . . you didn’t just kill that night. No, it was a slaughter . . . and it was fun.
That . . . that was what made you different from the rest. You’d taken a man’s death sentence and become death yourself. You’d become god that night, wielding your hand to end another’s life with just your teeth and a visceral thirst that could only be quenched by fresh, spilled blood.
So . . . was it deserved? Yes, but . . . no one person should have that much power. No one should just play god like . . . that. But you had . . . and you had enjoyed it.
If Chris knew . . . would he turn you away, too? He’d given you a bed to rest and heal, a bath, and soon food, but if he knew, would he send you out there against his word?
You could only hope.
“I ripped out a man’s throat with my teeth,” you abruptly bit out, ignoring all the voices in your head telling you to just keep quiet, because you knew you deserved the hell he should have brought to you for this. If God wouldn’t answer your prayers, maybe a man would. Maybe he’d condemn you for him. “Does anyone deserve that?”
His eyes were on you. You knew they were. And you knew he was looking at you as if he was just another deer off the highway. As if you were the howls he could hear in the distance. As if you were what was lurking in the shadows of a dark forest. As if your teeth had been sharpened for the hunt. And he was just prey.
You waited for him to run, too, because you knew what happened to those who didn’t. You could see it before your eyes, all around you, soaking your skin and underneath the dirt in your fingernails.
Because you’d seen this before. You knew who you were in this story, and you knew who he was. It was predator versus prey. It was instinct. It was nature.
You’d seen it before in life before, too. The summer before everything, you’d gone every day to shadow your local vet, and every day you’d seen animal after animal be put down again and again. Some from health issues. Others from abscesses caused in the wild. Few . . . from locking their jaws around a human hand.
It was always the latter that struck you deepest. No one knew the art of the veterinarian clinic. To them, it was just a waiting room with doors, but nothing behind. But you knew what was behind those doors. The stuff no one wants to deal with hid there. The dogs that acted out, barked too loud, became too . . . feral came to die there.
It was almost funny, nearly sickening that almost all of the dogs had two things in common: they weren’t spayed and they were female. Because, you see, everyone always said how neutering a male dog will fix its aggression. Everyone always told you that if not tamed, a male dog will always bite, but they didn’t realize most dogs that bite are female. It was instinct again. Protect the womb. Protect your young. It was nature. Biological. The female of the species were more deadly than the male . . . because they were always in a state of survival.
When you thought about it, you’d like to say that the raising of the dead was when your game of survival began, but you knew better. Your games began the day you were born . . . the day every woman was born.
And while some knew how to wield it well, you had been beaten into another narrative. Like animals, most female dogs can be tamed with trust, but the few that aren’t; the few that come into the world in the middle of the woods, forced into submission by their male counterparts and bred over and over again . . . those few could never be domesticated. They would always be wild.
You’d seen it once in the before. A pregnant feral dog brought in by an old woman with a heart for poor souls. The moment she was brought into the clinic, death followed her. It smelled of shit and piss and blood. And when you’d asked what could have possibly caused such a smell, they’d told you how animals worked in the wild, and it was so much worse than you’d thought. A female dog in a feral colony is but a womb. The males fight. The males become violent and possessive. To mark their territory they will urinate on her, and when another smells the mark of another male, they will become violent again. They will fight and try to claim their territory in the same way. And when they are through with the female, she will be left with wounds from fighting against their force. Yet . . . they still fight. Every time.
It was possible to tame a feral dog with time. But it was impossible to tame a feral dog if female because she would always be in a state of protecting her womb; protecting her young.
You knew what you were. When you’d see your reflection in pond water or shards of glass, it wouldn’t be your face staring back at you, no it would be that dog’s. Every time, you’d see her. You’d see her scared, teeth bared and growls echoing off the walls as your vet and his techs tried to sedate her for surgery. You’d see her lying on the operating table, finally, tame like she’d never been before. You’d see the vet cutting into her abdomen, cutting out the uterus filled with those babies she had been trying to protect. You’d see her as your vet explained to you how spaying her now would prevent her from being impregnated over and over again and causing the colony to grow. Because spaying a feral dog was more mercy than she would have ever been shown amongst her clan.
And you’d understood. You did. But it’d still made you sick to your stomach.
Until you finally did understand. Until you had to do things you’d never done in the before. Until your teeth had been sharpened. Until all you knew was survival. Until you were forced to protect your young. Until that man put a gun to your sister’s head and tried to use her like those male dogs would use the females. Until you charged at him. Until you fought him, fists bloody and knife ready. Until you sunk your canines into his neck and tore out his throat. Until you tasted his blood on your tongue and craved for more. Until his blood began to taste like honey. Until you stepped back, saw your bloodied hands, and realized that this was no longer just survival, but your nature. Until it was instinct. Until you were the female of your species that you had heard so much about.
So . . . you waited.
You waited for Chris to run out of the room and leave you to your bath of blood. Because you knew what happened to those who didn’t. Because you knew you were the female of your species. Because you knew a female dog could never be tamed if deemed feral. Because you could see it before your eyes, all around you, soaking your skin and underneath the dirt in your fingernails.
Because you’d seen this before. You knew who you were in this story, and you knew who he was. It was predator versus prey. It was instinct. It was nature. It was biological.
And yet . . .
“When’s the last time you bathed?” Chris asked, but his voice was different now. It wasn’t like before.
“Like you need to know,” you bit out almost immediately, almost as if it were a reflex.
But you still couldn’t help wonder . . . Why didn’t he leave?
Brows furrowed, you turned to face him, eyes going straight to his as if expecting a challenge, but no challenge was there. The man was just staring at you as if he was just . . . observing. And he was still . . . there.
Why didn’t he run? A deer that fights is a dead deer. Did he not know this? Did he not see what you were?
But he didn’t.
Your body stilled in the water, your hands wrapped tightly around the washcloth. And for some reason, you hadn’t known what possessed you, but you found yourself muttering out, “A few years give or take . . . minus the odd lake here and there.”
Chris shifted his weight to his other foot, but his arms stayed crossed and his expression remained stern, unreadable. “Is that how long you’ve been out there?”
Your brows twitched. You blinked and the past seven years flashed for just a second. “Longer,” you nearly whispered as your eyes sunk back to the water before you resumed dragging the washcloth down your arms. “Not all of us have the luxury of a bunker. Being out there—Fuck.” A hiss left your lips as you tried to bring the washcloth over your back, but the ache in your arms mixed with the evident wounds all over your body sent a sharp pain . . . everywhere.
Chris stepped forward, almost flinching as he did. “Let me—”
“Don’t,” you growled. This time you did bare your teeth like the wild animal you knew yourself to be. “Don’t touch me.”
But he wasn’t like the other deer. “Let me help you,” he said firmly.
And all you could do was stare at him, a skeptical look in your eyes while your heart pounded in your chest. He didn’t move, and you knew he wouldn’t unless you let him. That was the thing that perplexed you. He was fighting back, but waiting for your permission. He wouldn’t lay his hands on you unless you let him. You’d never seen a deer like this before.
Against all your best judgment, you all but threw the washcloth at him. You held out your arm, washcloth in hand, offering it to him and once he took it from you, you hesitantly leaned forward, pulling your knees to your chest to cover your intimate parts. But you still kept your eyes on him, trying to ignore how you flinched each time you felt the gentle scrape of the washcloth on your skin.
You remembered the feral dog at that moment. She’d fought for so long and yet . . . it was almost as if when she finally knew no one was going to hurt her, her growls lessened and her demeanor became more . . . cautious, eyes on everyone at all times, but she’d still bowed, letting your vet draw her blood and administer a rabies vaccine. It was almost as if she couldn’t let herself fully trust him, but she knew she was . . . safe.
You felt her within you as you sat in that now lukewarm water, letting a stranger gently wash your back. You remembered her eyes, and kept your own on him at all times, remembering the exit in case something truly did happen. You let him help you, but you kept in mind how hard the tub was, knowing if you had to, you could smash his head into the metal in a split second.
“What’s this from?” he asked after a minute of silence, his voice softer now as he paused his movement just near your shoulder, where you knew a bullet hole scar resided.
A flash of the man who’d taught you how to become a machine crossed your mind. The night you lost him, too. The way it felt. How it was . . . your fault.
You swallowed hard. “Happened a long time ago.”
“Mmm, wasn’t my question,” Chris hummed before he continued washing your back.
“It’s not from anything you have to be suspicious of, OK?” you spat, your muscles stiffening. “It’s not—” you wet your lips— “that’s not what makes me dangerous.”
“What does?”
“What?”
“You said the scar’s not what makes you dangerous,” He reiterated, dragging the washcloth over your shoulders and sending a shiver down your spine from the contact. “What does?”
You hugged your knees tighter. You remembered the feral dog. You remembered the deer. You remembered your father. But you remained silent.
“The other night . . . you begged me to kill you,” he stated. “What were you running from?”
“The dead.”
“Alright.” Chris tongued his inner cheek and laughed out a scoff, shaking his head at you. “Why were you running from them then?”
You lowered your head to your folded arms. “To survive.”
“Mmm, but then why beg for death?”
“I had a fever, you said.” You bit your arm like you should’ve bit your tongue. “I was out of my mind.”
It was then he sighed. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the truth.”
And it was then, that feral dog found you again. “I don’t want your help,” you quickly bit out, lifting your head to eye him.
He tilted his head slightly to the side, observing your features. “You need it.”
Your brows furrowed and your anger spread. “I don’t need anything,” you muttered out before you tried to snatch the washcloth out of his hand, but he tore it out of your way.
“Don’t be stupid,” he remarked. “You’re hurt.”
You tried again, but he dodged yet again.
“You are hurt,” he reiterated like he was scolding a small child.
You just stared at him, hesitantly.
And he stared back at you, calmly.
A beat of silence.
Then, your brows twitched almost in pain before you submitted again, lowering your arm. He picked up on this quickly but instead of washing the rest of your back, his other hand gently gripping your arm. You flinched, prepared to smash his head in, but you caught onto what he was doing before your instincts kicked in.
He had taken your arm to clean the large oozing gash on your forearm that would surely need more antibiotics as directed by his quiet remarks while he tried to clean the wound. And you let him. You weren’t sure why. Maybe you were still recovering. Maybe you were sick. Either way, something had possessed you as you let him work in silence while he cleaned the wounds that even you hadn’t realized were there.
Until, finally, he spoke the words that you never expected to hear from anyone. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice soft again.
Your breath hitched in shock before you covered it up by scoffing. “What are you sorry for?”
Beat.
Beat.
Beat.
“That you’re here and they are not,” he confessed.
Your brows pinched together. How did he know? “What are you—”
“Whoever you were trying to save . . . “ he cut you off, still speaking gently, “ . . . they will remember it.”
Your eyes snapped to his.
He was already looking at you. “Or,” he continued, “you will forgive yourself for it.”
In the before, everything always had rules. Not just life but . . . your own house, too. Even up until the age of fourteen, your mother would either dress you herself or lay out the clothes she wanted you to wear, never letting you choose. It was only when you turned fifteen and your father gave you his old Harley Davidson leather jacket that you were allowed to wear it whenever you wanted as long as it never left the house. But that . . . that was the first taste of freedom you’d ever had. (Now you thought perhaps it was the only bit of freedom that you’d been allowed.)
Other than that, you were designated to wear long skirts that reached your ankles and a dull sweater that was a little too big for you even during the warmer months. And always with those little black Mary Jane flats.
The first time you felt the stinging of a slap against your cheek, was the day you went to school and came back wearing the leather jacket your father had given you. As soon as you walked through the door, your mother slapped you right across the face, and you realized rules were rules and when they were broken, consequences followed.
Your mother had always been like that. She never slapped you again after that, until . . .
But it was the fact that you knew she would that stopped you from disobeying her. That was until the dead started rising from the dead and you traded short, polished nails for claws. That was before she became more afraid of you than you had ever been afraid of her.
But the fear still remained. Maybe it shouldn’t have, but maybe it was inevitable.
In the beginning, when you first began to learn how to kill the dead, you didn’t realize that the old world was just that. You didn’t realize it would never be normal again, and yet, being perfect, following the rules had been so ingrained into your mind, that you couldn’t abandon it entirely.
Every day, you’d try to manage your hair and keep it neat even in a world like this. Every day, some water was wasted to clean the dirt and blood from underneath your fingernails and staining your skin. Every day, your mother tried to make you live a life that was as close to normal as possible, and you followed that rule (even going as far as to leave that Harley Davidson jacket back at your house instead of bringing it along).
It wasn’t until your family had stumbled across a small shop for supplies and you found this pretty pink shirt, that you realized the old world was dead. Only ten minutes after trading your old, tattered top for the new one, did your father have to kill a few of the dead, their blood splattering and staining your shirt.
You stopped trying to be so . . . clean after that. No more struggling to manage your hair. No more wasting water to clean the blood and dirt and whatever else. No more choosing clothes that your mother would approve of. No more old world.
The new world was supposed to go on without you. The new world was supposed to end for you in the middle of those woods. And yet, here you still were, standing before a mirror, your hair washed and damp as you ran a brush through it for the first time since the beginning.
You almost didn’t recognize yourself either. This person staring back at you in the mirror didn’t look like the you you remembered. This was a stranger and yet so . . . familiar.
Was it your father that you saw?
The feral dog?
Or something else entirely?
Resting the hairbrush on the lip of the sink, you retracted your hand and before you could stop yourself, your fingertips grazed across your cheek. There under your eye was a cut. You didn’t know how it came to be. On your forehead was a scar that must have happened years ago, and another across the bridge of your nose.
You remembered a time when your face was clean of blemishes. You remembered a time when your cheeks were soft with peach fuzz, not raised and rough from the new world. You remembered a time when your appearance had been the only thing you cared about; the only thing you spent hours plaguing yourself with; when it was your only worry.
Swallowing hard, you dropped your hand and your eyes fell to the ground. You couldn’t stare at . . . her anymore.
Who even was she anymore?
A knock came at the bathroom door before your mind could spin further. “Decent yet?” Chris called from the other side of the door.
But you didn’t answer. You didn’t have it in you. Instead, with a sigh, you ignored the mirror once more and approached the door, swinging it open before he could get the chance.
Chris stepped back at your appearance, but his expression remained the same. That was until his eyes flicked down to your clothes, lingering for just a second but in that second you could have sworn you caught the slight twitch in his brows.
“Come on, you should eat,” he said without looking at you before he turned and headed for the stairs.
Tugging on the hem of your shirt, you followed after him without a word or a fight. This time, while the stairs were empty and there was no one lingering in the hallways, you could hear faint chatter from afar. And this time, you held yourself stiffer, on edge, calculating. You kept your eyes on the man before you as well as your surroundings, with your ears peeled, trying to decipher the conversations up ahead. Mostly you were trying to figure out how many voices there were which would tell you how many people were in this bunker, which could possibly mean how many people you would have to fight off.
The noise became louder the further you two walked. As you grew closer, you could mostly hear the voices of men with the odd woman, and you couldn’t stop yourself from winding into position—a stance you’d taken a million times before to protect your family.
Just as Chris turned the corner, you followed after him, knowing what you’d have to do. He wasn’t on your side. This was just a ploy. It had to be. Butter you up for fun, then leave you for the slaughter. That was how it had always been since the world died, and you were sure that was what was awaiting you.
Who knew you could still be scared even after all this time?
Swallowing hard, you readied yourself . . . but when Chris rounded another corner, and his group first came into sight, you almost couldn’t believe it. Right before you was a room, a dining room, or rather something that seemed awfully close to it with tables to eat on and kitchen appliances on the back wall. And in the room were the men you’d heard, but with them were women . . . elders . . . kids . . . The room was filled with people—people you’d never thought could survive a world like this, chatting and eating amongst each other as if . . . as if this was just some kind of picnic.
. . . And . . . in the corner of the room sat a little girl no older than ten, feeding a cracker to a . . . dog.
A dog. You’d thought all domesticated animals had perished during Famine’s reign.
There was no masking the shocked expression on your face. This wasn’t an ambush. But that would mean . . . Chris hadn’t lied to you.
Could this truly be a safe place? Was this really just a community of survivors?
No . . . No . . . it couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. Because if it was then that meant you’d ended up here . . . safe . . . and your family was still out there. That would mean you were the reason you were safe and they were not. And that would mean you’d failed him . . . again.
Chris tossed a lunch tray on the table before you, snapping you out of your own mind.
You blinked, but didn’t show your surprise. Blank. You remained blank.
He only stared at you with the same expression. Then, he raised his brow and nodded toward the tray as if telling you to eat.
And while you sat down, eyes locked on him, watching, you didn’t pick up the fork on your tray. Because this had to be a ploy. This seemed too good to be true. It had to be. And if it wasn’t, then one day it would be.
Chris scoffed when he realized you weren’t going to touch the food. “You think I’d poison you?” he asked, nearly laughing in disbelief. “I’ve given you medical help, a bed, shower, clean clothes and you think I poisoned the food? For what? What would be my game?”
You only shrugged, your body stiff as you kept your eyes narrowed in on him. (It was odd to realize you were still trying to survive. Wasn’t death what you wanted?)
He stared at you a little longer, searching your eyes as if you’d let an answer slip through. But you weren’t one to wear your emotions on your face; you weren’t one to give yourself away, not unless you wanted to . . . and there was nothing you wanted to give to him. You wouldn’t let him in your head. You knew what that did. So, you stared back, gaze harsh and expression stern.
Trust no one, even if they give you a reason to. That was what you had learned. That was what your father’s death had taught you. That was what the world had whispered to you that night. That was your lesson.
But it was almost as if even if you gave him nothing, he knew. His eyes flashed in acceptance (?) as he pursed his lips and nodded once. The next second he dipped his finger into what appeared to be mashed potatoes before he plopped it into his mouth . . . and swallowed. He took a swig of the glass of water by your hand as well, and you watched, blinking rapidly, taken aback.
“Happy?” he asked, placing the glass of water on the table with a clank.
Your brows twitched for nearly a second too long. You hoped he didn’t see. He wasn’t supposed to, but you couldn’t wrap your head around this place. You’d never seen people like this. Why did he want you to trust him? Why was he helping you? What did he want?
Swallowing hard, you averted your gaze from his face to the food placed in front of you. Oddly enough, it almost looked like a home-cooked meal. The mashed potatoes were still hot, still steaming, and the meat didn’t look too fresh, but fresher than you’d seen in a while, and cooked better than you ever could. There were even some freshly roasted walnuts on the side, that smelled like the winter holidays at your house during the before.
It was almost too good to ignore. It was almost too good to deny. Until it was. Until your stomach growled, and hunger sept back in. Until you realized this wasn’t the before and this was the first meal you’d had in a week, maybe longer. Until you realized it didn’t matter if you didn’t want to survive, you were just so fucking hungry and those mashed potatoes were still hot . . . and the meat was cooked thoroughly . . . and the walnuts smelled just like home. Until you realized just how hungry you were for it all.
And then you couldn’t stop yourself. For a few minutes, you forgot who you were. For a few minutes, you forgot how to survive. For a few minutes, you wanted not to be hungry.
Your hunger overcame you as you neglected the fork and knife, your greedy fingers digging into the mashed potatoes first, and shoveling it down your throat before you could even breathe. And when that was scraped clean, you dug into the meat, tearing piece by piece off with your teeth like the wild animal you knew he saw you as. And when that was gone, your hands reached for the glass of water, chugging as much as you could without choking.
The walnuts were left for last.
With your hands shaking from the influx of food, you grasped the first walnut, inhaling its smell as you popped it in your mouth and allowed yourself to savor its flavor. Only then when you took your time chewing walnut after walnut did you realize Chris was watching you again, except this time he was seated in front of you, his elbows resting on the table with his hands clasped in front of his mouth. He rubbed his lips against the rough skin of his hands, clearly lost in deep thought as he analyzed you.
When you'd finally caught on, your grip on the walnut in your hand loosened, your chewing slowing a second later. You dropped the walnut onto your tray and swallowed the rest of the food in your mouth before you cleared your throat and averted your gaze across the room. But you only saw something more unnerving. Everyone in the room seemed to be watching you. Maybe not so obviously, but you could tell their hushed whispers and quick glances in your direction meant only one thing: the topic of their conversations was you.
What did they want? Was it your presence? The way you looked? The way you’d eaten? Could they see who you really were? And . . . why did that . . . hurt you?
Chris interrupted your mind before you could torture yourself further. “You can be out there too long, you know?”
There was your answer. That was why they were staring at you.
While your family had been out there, scavenging for years, losing people after people . . . they had been safe in here. While you barely had any scraps to go around, they were eating mashed potatoes and gravy. While you hadn’t bathed in years, they hadn’t gone more than a day. While you’d lost your father, your mother, sister, Felix . . . children were allowed to grow here. While you had to put down the dog your sister had grown to love just so your family wouldn’t die of starvation . . . dogs were allowed to bark, play, eat here. While you had survived, they had lived.
And while they ate with forks and knives, you’d devoured everything with your hands as if you truly were one of the dead. To them, this was a meal. To you, this was survival.
There was your answer, and it wasn’t one you accepted kindly.
Your jaw locked, anger fueling you once again. “There’s no escaping it,” you muttered out.
Chris’s brows pinched together. “What?”
“What’s out there,” you reiterated, sucking on your teeth as your gaze dropped to the bandages wrapped tightly around your leg. “You can’t escape it. You can run, scavenge, fight . . . but the dead are always right there.” Glancing up, your eyes were blank again. “There’s no being out there too long. It is what it is. Out there is our world. Can’t get away from that even in here.”
There was no response to your words. Chris remained silent. He remained stern, stiff, calculated, but his eyes never left your face.
Was he deciding your fate?
Your eyes flicked back to the little girl and the dog, and you realized you wanted to decide for him. “We found a dog, too,” you began, recalling the bitter memory. “Smaller than that one, but sweet.” Your brows twitched. “And at first I thought it was a good thing. I thought it meant that the dead hadn’t taken everything . . . until the dead started to eat the deer and the squirrels . . . even the rats . . . until it got colder and the things that used to be alive died . . . until we didn’t have any food left.”
The scene before you of the little girl combing her fingers through the dog’s fur played out and you couldn’t help but see your sister and Berry in it. She’d loved that dog. She’d loved it like you loved her.
It broke your heart ripping that away from her. It broke hers, too.
She was too young to understand, but she’d loved you more back then. She’d loved you enough to force herself to ignore your lies. She’d loved you enough to believe that the meat you’d found was a deer and not her beloved dog. She’d loved you enough to pretend that her dog had been killed by the dead and not her sister. Although you supposed she never really had, she just pushed it away, and when your father died, that resentment all came back.
You’d killed her dog and her father. The dead suddenly wasn’t her biggest issue. It was you.
Forcefully tearing your eyes from the little girl, you met Chris’s gaze and held it. “Eighteen days we waited,” you began again, leaning forward this time to make sure he wouldn’t look away. You wanted him to be convinced. You wanted him to learn. “You know you can survive up to a month without food if you’re lucky? It’s funny because . . . you don’t realize just how much the days don’t matter when your only thought is food . . . food . . . food. Kinda makes you sympathize with the dead. Kinda also makes you envy them.”
Still, he remained silent, only squinting his eyes in thought but never tearing his gaze from your face. You mirrored him, but added in a grin.
“No one else wanted to do it,” you whispered with an hiss. “And they were right, right? Should’ve listened to them. Should’ve tested the limits a little longer, yeah?” You clicked your tongue. “But I was so damn hungry . . . “
You saw it then. It was gone in a flash, but you swore you saw it. He’d reacted. It was written on his face, he’d leaned back ever so slightly, but then it was gone. Then he was composed. Then he was this stranger again.
But you had seen it.
But it wasn’t enough.
You had to go further.
Swallowing hard you knew what you had to admit. “Her name was Berry . . . I snapped her neck and made everyone eat her,” you bitterly spat out. “The next morning we stumbled across a fuckin’ deer.”
There. Another flash. He knew. He knew what you were and you knew it, too.
“So I’ll ask you a question,” you quickly continued before he could compose himself. “Do you honestly think you’re safe? You think they won’t find their way in here? That you won’t lose people? Friends? Family? Those kids?” You felt yourself grin again. “They always find a way. Something will go wrong or someone will come along and ruin this place just like all the others. Or maybe it’ll be you.” With a shrug, you toyed with the walnuts, popping another one into your mouth. “Maybe you’ll bring the wrong person down here at the wrong time and you’ll have to kill more than just that dog to survive.”
A beat passed but he still didn’t divert his eyes from your face. And when there was only one walnut left, you sighed and rested your chin in the palm of your hand, meeting his eyes again.
“Just because it hasn’t happened yet doesn’t mean it won’t. And I promise you . . . it will,” you muttered in an almost bored tone. “This place will burn one day and everyone you’ve ever loved will die. There is no difference between out there and in here. You’ll realize that. And when you do . . . you’ll know I was right.” Your hand reached your glass of water again, your finger tracing the rim. “You’ll realize you should’ve poisoned this food and you’ll regret not killing me when you—“
But you never finished. No, instead, Chris abruptly slammed his fist down onto the table. The tray clattered against the table, the glass fell and shattered on the ground, and the room fell silent.
You blinked, trying to mask your thoughts from crossing your face but you were taken aback by the lethal look he had. It was such a familiar look, too. A look that you felt you’d only seen in yourself before.
“Enough,” he bit out, his voice only loud enough for you to hear. “Get up. You’re done.”
There was no time to process his words. He didn’t even let you stand up by yourself. He was on his feet in an instant, moments before his hand wrapped around your arm and tugged you along with him. He seemed to have no care for your injured leg, dragging you behind him as he exited the dining area despite your limping.
And all of it told you one thing: you had him right he where you wanted him.
Grinning slightly, you scoffed out a laugh. “Did I hit a nerve?” you all but mocked. “It’s just logical. What if I betray you? If I open that hatch and lead the dead down here? If I let them—”
Before you could continue your threat, your back was slammed against a wall, and Chris was on you. His body cornered yours, his arms pinning you to the wall as he breathed heavily, his face not even an inch from yours.
“Listen to me—” he began, his voice low, quiet, but lethal. “I know what you’re doing. I know what it’s like to be out there too long. I know what it’s like to kill something you love. I know death and I know people like you. If I didn’t . . . I would have let the dead tear you apart and waited to steal your supplies.” His eyes searched yours. They were a lighter brown from this proximity, you noted. “Don't say that shit around here. My people don’t trust outsiders. You say that when I’m not around and I won’t be able to protect you from what they’ll do.”
You shook your head, but kept your eyes locked with his. “I don’t want your protection.”
“But you need it.”
“Fuck you.”
“You need it.”
You remained silent for only a second, questions swarming your head. “I thought you said your people didn’t kill the living?” you asked, voicing one of those questions aloud.
He swallowed before he answered, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “We don’t,” he reiterated, but . . . there was something in the way he said it. Something that wasn’t there before. “But they can and will hurt you if you bring harm to this place. And if you are a threat, I can’t guarantee that someone won’t be tempted.”
“That go for you, too, ‘man of your word’?”
Only then did his eyes flick from your eyes to your shoulders where his arm had pinned you to the wall before he met your gaze again. “Yes,” he whispered, his words sounding like a confession.
No other words were exchanged between the two of you. You knew what his words meant and he knew what the look on your face said. If you tried to kill him, he’d take you out. And you accepted that knowing if you were a different person with fewer morals, you’d take him up on that offer. But to die like that . . . it wasn’t enough. It was cheap. It was the death of a coward. And it was like he knew you’d never fall into that trap.
So, with a quiet understanding, he cautiously stepped back and waved you down the hall, claiming the tour wasn’t over. And you merely limped after him.
Nightfall came fast. Grounds were covered and this Chris had made sure to be thorough; so thorough your ankle had begun to pulse in pain. But even with your complaints, he carried on, and only stopped when you’d reached the medical room. The same guy before; the guy who’d bandaged you up in the first place had met you there, and quickly redid your dressings from when Chris had done them after your bath. And just when you thought that meant you’d be allowed to hobble back to the room they’d been keeping you in, Chris patted his friend’s back and mentioned something about getting to the dining room before the storyteller began.
Then you found yourself stuck at the same picnic table from this morning, chin resting on your hand as you listened to one of the older ladies share a story of made-up lands and characters to not only the children but the adults as well. It seemed everyone here looked forward to this exact moment and you wondered if this happened every day. (If it did, you’d need to fake a few injuries to get out of having to listen in.)
It felt like a dream. You couldn’t decide if it was a good one or like the kinds you’d had when you were growing up. It was odd to witness; odd to sit in; odd to realize that you were a part of this in some way or another. Sure, it was against your will to sit there and listen in, and yet when all you could think about was surviving in the world outside the bunker, and . . . your heart still raced like you were out there.
There was no without, you supposed. Maybe you’d always feel this way—on edge. Maybe you deserved it. But no matter how you thought of it, there was no erasing the fact that you were underground with food and people and shelter, and your family was out there.
Were they safe?
You shook your head, averting your gaze to the table. They were safer without you. People died around you. You brought death. It was better this way; safer. When a dog is violent, they’re meant to be muzzled before anything else. There’s a reason. It’s so they don’t bite. You discovered that the day your father died . . . perhaps a little sooner. A caged animal is there for a reason. And you, you’d stayed locked in your cage for years, your father’s hand being the only thing keeping you in there.
. . . Until your father died and his hand released you. You couldn’t go back. A caged animal doesn’t cage itself. A caged animal runs. That was why you left. That was why it wasn’t safe for your family to be around you. A freed animal ran, and you had to keep running.
With a sigh, you began to pick at the edges of the table, blocking out the voice of the storyteller. And that was when you felt it: the reason you had been uneasy. Your brows pinched together as you glanced up, your eyes immediately catching sight of the disturbance. Tilting your head to the side, you let your eyes go blank as you stared at him.
Because, there on the other side of the room, stood Chris, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall, his eyes focused solely on you. There was something in the way he looked at you; something that told you you didn’t belong here. And suddenly, it was like you were eleven years old again, being told you’d be condemned to Hell because of who your father was.
It seemed that was always the case. The only man in the whole town who didn’t go to Sunday morning mass was your father. The only man who sat silently during dinner prayers was your father. The only man who ignored his neighbors, stalked off early in the morning to hunt, and left the town for the farmers market was your father. He was the only man in the town who’d forsaken their God, and he just so happened to be your father. And you just so happened to look exactly like him.
You understood some of it back then, and from what you gathered, you hated the similarity. You hated that you couldn’t be like everyone else. You hated how it scared you.
When you were little, you were scared to die, because you knew where you'd end up. When you were little, you were scared to be like your father. When you were little, you were scared of everything. And when you’d get a little too in your head, you’d start to think about what Hell was like. You used to imagine Hell was a room covered in blood. A room with only one door that led to nowhere, but with no windows, like the kind you’d see in basements. And in the corner of the room was this chair. It was familiar, almost yours. And as you grew, you started to imagine that this chair was yours; that it did belong to you. It was easy to imagine the seat waiting for you in Hell was a chair you’d sat on many times before during breakfast, lunch, and dinner. A chair with marker stains in the wood. A chair with butterflies, flowers, and rainbows covering the seat, arms, and legs. A chair that was your own.
In this room, this chair would be the only thing left untouched. Bloodied handprints would litter the ground, and claw marks could be seen carved into the walls. The room would be white, too, so the red would just . . . pop.
This was Hell. No demons. No Satan. They were there, sure. They were somewhere, but not in your room, because you’d liked to imagine that everyone had their own room, otherwise how would that make any sense? Hell was different for everyone, and to you . . . to you Hell was a bloodied room with four walls, your childhood chair in the corner, and no one in sight. That was what scared you most—that even at the end, no one would be waiting for you.
When you were a kid, this was your greatest fear, but it was a fear because you thought it was something that might happen to you. Back then, it was only a threat. Now . . . if Hell and Heaven or whatever existed as the town had predicted, then you knew that was exactly where you’d end up. There were no ifs, ands, or buts. A lonely room with bloodied walls and your childhood chair awaited you at the end of the line. (You wouldn’t admit that the thought still scared you.)
The difference now was that it didn’t matter if it still scared you, you would’ve preferred it over this. A grotesque room with no exit was a far better Hell than the one plaguing the earth. Even then, you weren’t sure which you deserved for your sins and bloodied hands.
But it wasn’t until your father’s death that you realized it wasn’t just you who imagined this Hell. It wasn’t just you who had feared it. It wasn’t just you who recognized the dark inside you.
You remembered the night he died. You remembered what you’d done; how it had been your fault. You remembered his face and you remembered his screams. You remembered how he’d saved you from your own stupid decisions. You remembered the look of relief which crossed his face, and the confusion you felt wondering if he was relieved because you were safe . . . or because he knew this was the end. And you remembered the silence.
While your father had died because of a stupid decision you’d made, he’d saved you all, and everyone knew that. The walk of silence after running for hours was agony. The dryness of your throat and the wounds littering your body. The bullet hole leaking from your shoulder. All you had wanted to do was fall to the ground and let the roots and weeds grow over you.
But you were still younger then. You were still . . . open like the wounds on your body. You hadn’t scarred over yet. And, you remembered, what you wanted most in that moment was to rest your head in your mother’s lap and let her stroke your hair. You wanted her to tell you it wasn’t your fault; that you couldn’t have known that would happen; that all of you thought it was safe; that she’d be on your side whether you were right or wrong.
Only . . . you’d forgotten your mother’s love wasn’t all that different from her hatred, and sometimes it was hard to tell them apart. You’d forgotten that you could never really tell if she loved you or if her love was just resentment in the form of a prayer before bed.
You’d forgotten and you’d . . . cried out to her.
That day . . . it had been so hot. The night had died and the sun had come out and you were all so tired from running and running and . . . you’d given in to your temptation and fallen to the ground, crying out for your mother.
“Mom,” you remembered sobbing out, begging for her to slow down so you could all rest. You remembered Felix falling to his knees along with you, wiping the sweat from your forehead and holding on to your hand with his free one for dear life. “Mom.”
Then . . . you remembered how her steps halted, her back rigid as she put your sister on the floor and turned to face you. You remembered seeing it: resentment . . . or was it her love? And all you had wanted to do was cry and cry and tell her that you needed her; that you wanted her to love you; that you need it more than anything in that moment. And then: “Mommy, please, I’m sorry. Please, I didn’t know,” you’d whimpered out, trying to beg for her forgiveness.
For a second, you’d thought she might, too. For a second, you’d thought you’d seen it in her eyes: forgiveness. But just like her love, that, too, had always turned into resentment and rage so quickly. Still, you hoped. You wanted to believe it so much you nearly leaned into her as she kneeled before you, her eyes searching yours as she reached out and cupped your cheek with her shaking hand. And then, she’d wiped the tears from your eyes, and you choked out a sob.
But nothing had ever been certain with her, and just as you breathed a puff of relief, a sudden impact hit your cheek, sharp stinging following. You remembered the pain like no other, not because it’d hurt worse than the open wounds you’d received, but because it had been her. Your mother had slapped you across the face and all you could do was cry out, your hand quickly coming to soothe your cheek.
Her grip had remained; however. Her hand gripped your chin, forcing you to meet her angry gaze. And then: “God made sure to punish me with you,” she spat out, her jaw locked, nose flared, and eyes so similar to your own now.
That . . . was the last time you cried for her love.
God made sure to punish me with you.
You remembered that, too. You never let yourself forget it. You kept it as a reminder that no matter the outcome, you deserved whatever horrible things happened to you. This was only just the beginning of your Hell, and at the end, you were sure you’d see that chair from your childhood, marker stains and all.
The dining room of the bunker wasn’t much different. You still sat alone in the corner of a room far enough from everyone else to know you weren’t one of them; to know that they knew you were there and didn’t want to sit too . . . close.
God made sure to punish me with you.
Would he punish this group, too? Were you his own personal bad omen? Were you more dangerous than the dead? Were you the last harbinger of Hell? Were you the Death you had been so afraid of? Is that—
“Do you not like stories?” a little voice suddenly asked, tearing you from your mind.
You blinked, taken aback before your eyes fell on the little girl who had sat down in front of you. Silently, you glanced around for her parents, but no one seemed to be even looking at the two of you. Your eyes fell upon her again, furrowing your brows as you watched her mindlessly sip on the drink in her cup. Her hair was dark, and her eyes were even darker. Her glasses adorned her face, and there was a small freckle just under her eye. She was little, no younger than nine, but probably smaller than she should’ve been for her age. She had this brightness to her face that reminded you a little too much of the sister you’d said goodbye to a few nights ago.
She turned back to you and puffed up her cheeks, blowing out air. “The others said you don’t talk,” she mumbled, tilting her head to the side. “Is that true?”
Brows still furrowed, you shook your head. Still, however, you didn’t reply.
“So you do speak?” she asked, her voice more chipper as she leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “Will you play a game with me then?” She didn’t wait for you to reply, instead, she turned her head and pointed in the direction of the group of kids surrounding the storyteller. “You see that boy over there with the green hat? That’s Jiung. He stole my favorite pen and won’t give it back. I planned to sneak into his room tonight and find it, but two is better than one. You—” she pointed at you, smiling wide, her two canines missing— “look like you want to keep watch for me.”
Your brows twitched, but you remained silent. This kid was bold. She spoke clearly and knew what she wanted. You never grew up with kids like her. Your sister was timid, and still young. You had been like that, too, until you grew into . . . this.
“I don’t play pranks,” was all you muttered.
The little girl rolled her eyes. “It’s not a prank,” she groaned, pausing to take a sip of her drink. “It’s just getting back what’s mine, but that is a good idea. I should pour water on his pillow so he can’t sleep.”
Shaking your head, you fought the small twitch in your lips. “I don’t hang out with children either.”
“I’m not a child,” she huffed. “I’m ten.”
That time the corners of your lips did curve up ever so slightly. And she seemed to notice.
“You smiled,” she exclaimed, pointing her tiny finger in your face. “Bess said you looked mean, but I knew it. I knew you couldn’t be. You like me, of course you do. How could you be mean?”
“I smiled because you’re ridiculous, toothless.”
She grinned wider. “Toothless,” she giggled. “That’s what my brother calls me, but he’s ugly so I don’t really care, and he took after Daddy, so he got all the bad genes. I look like my Mama, you see. Mama was pretty.” She looked down, tapping her fingers on the table. “You’re pretty like Mama. I like to think I’ll be pretty like Mama one day, too. My teeth will grow in, you’ll see, and I’ll get her hair. I’ll be pretty.”
You swallowed, hard, watching as the little girl as she peered over her shoulder at the storyteller. She took another sip of her drink, humming now, all the while, you could only stare at her. You didn’t want to feel this way, but you knew what her words meant. Her parents were gone. You could infer that, and yet . . . here she was smiling at you. Were children truly the strongest of you all? Was that all it took to be brave?
But, no, that was wrong. It wasn’t fair. Children weren’t meant to go without their parents. And yet, here she was, asking you to rob another kid blind with her. It almost made you laugh. It almost made you cry.
In silence, you watched as she turned back, opening her mouth to no doubt try to convince you to help her, but before she could, she knocked her arm on the table, causing her drink to spill. The red liquid splashed her chin and trickled down, staining her shirt. But you reacted quicker. It was almost instinct. It was almost your nature. It was almost a part of you. It was you who reached forward to clean her chin, forgetting yourself.
And then everything happened too quickly, and you were reminded of who you really were.
A glint of steel flashed in the corner of your eye, similar to the one you’d used on that man the night everything changed. You went for the little girl like you’d gone for your sister. An unfamiliar, desperate voice that sounded similar to your own that night you killed that man, yelled, “Don’t touch her!” The storyteller stopped, gasps spread throughout the room, and you turned your head just in time to catch a glimpse of a knife making its way to your skull, your brain to make sure you’d drop dead for good, and then—
It all just stopped. You could still feel it, the tip of the knife a hairbreadth away from piercing your skull and ending you right there, but it didn’t hurt. There was no blood like that night. There was no pain. You were still breathing, but you couldn’t feel her in your arms any longer. Your sister, the little girl, wasn't in your grasp. You didn’t remember closing your eyes, but when they snapped open, desperately trying to find the little girl, instead of your attacker, you realized what had happened.
There, before you, was a man, no younger than twenty, staring not at you but at something behind you with a certain fear in his eyes. He’d come at you with a knife. He’d tried to kill you, and he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t come back as one of them. You hadn’t noticed him. You hadn’t noticed anyone. You’d wanted to clean the dribble of juice from the little girl’s chin like you’d done for your sister many times before. It was a knee-jerk reaction, and it’d almost gotten you killed. So why were you still alive?
You hadn’t noticed him. The little girl hadn’t either. No one else had. Except, the man that saved you from the death you’d sought; the man you’d mistaken as Death; Chris . . .
Chris had wrapped his palm around the blade, his grip deathly. Blood trickled down his forearm, and you took note of how tightly he was holding it, his muscles twitching. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel him. He’d grabbed you at the same time he grabbed the knife, tugging you into his chest and away from death. Your back was against his chest as he held you so tightly, that you could feel him breathe with you. And his hand . . . his hand was secured around your middle, splaying out across your ribcage, holding you there against him to make sure you wouldn’t budge; to make sure the knife wouldn’t touch you; to make sure you were alive.
He’d saved you. Again.
“Chris,” the boy murmured, out of breath. “I’m sorry. I—“ His words were chopped and weak, like he wasn’t expecting the consequences. “The others heard what she told you at lunch. I—I thought she was going to hurt Misun.”
Chris ripped the knife out of the boy’s hand and threw it to the ground, causing more blood to trickle down his arm. “Get your sister to bed, Jeongin,” he said, his voice low as he pointed to the little girl and then the exit. “I will escort our guest to her room and then you and I will have a little chat about hospitality in the hall.”
The boy nodded as he sheepishly grabbed his sister’s hand and led her toward the stairs. But you caught her eyes. She was looking back at you, scratching at her brother’s hold with tears in her eyes. And for a second, you forgot who you were, until you caught a glimpse of the knife on the floor, and then you remembered. You forced yourself to look away from her, masking your emotions and making your face blank once again.
Only once the two were gone and the room was quiet again, did you realize you were still in Chris’s arms. Your back was still pressed against his chest and his hand was still embracing your body. Stiffening, you turned your head to eye him, but his eyes were staring at the exit. His wounded hand didn’t even seem to bother him, he just kept staring as if he were waiting for someone else to walk through. Only when you tried to tear yourself from his body did he snap out of it, blinking rapidly before his eyes landed on you. His brows furrowed before he averted his gaze and pursed his lips as he stepped back from you, his hand dropping to his side.
“Everything will be fine. Continue,” he barked at the rest of the inhabitants in the room, and they all immediately listened, turning from the scene. A few even had to turn their children’s heads from the two of you, but you barely noticed. You just kept staring at him.
He’d saved you again, but he knew you wanted to die. Was he some kind of savior or sadist? Did he want to protect or torture you? You couldn’t figure it out. You couldn’t figure him out, and it intrigued you one way or another.
But before you could ponder longer, he was touching you again. His hand wrapped around your arm, and he tugged, dragging you after him as he headed toward the exit. He was taking you back to that room. You knew it, too. But was he keeping you there for your own protection or for the protection of his group?
When you exited the room, out of earshot of the rest of the group, he turned around, face only an inch from yours. His eyes searched yours for only a moment before he muttered, “I think it’d be best if you stay away from the others until I have a proper talking with them.”
Your brows furrowed as you took in his words. He was confusing. He was different from anyone you’d ever met back home or on the road. You had no idea what his motives were or why he was going to these great lengths to either convince you he was to be trusted because he actually wanted your trust. You just didn’t get it. You didn’t get him.
Tilting your head, you swallowed these questions, masking it all with a scoff. “All these lengths to keep me alive,” you began, lazily shaking your head as your eyes trailed over his face. (He really was handsome, you noted. The teenage girl in you never really was allowed to dream of men like this. You didn’t really know if the race in your chest was because of his face or the questions you had about him.) “You’d think I was . . . important.”
You could tell by the brief look which crossed his face that he wasn’t expecting your words. An odd sense of accomplishment filled you at that. Until:
“All life is now,” he whispered, letting go of your arm immediately.
Then he was gone, stalking down the stairs.
And you followed after him, your jaw tight.
There was something inside you that was sick. Something rotten. Something small, but growing. Dark, grotesque, and ugly. It was akin to a wild animal—feral and unloved, clawing at your ribcage in a helpless attempt to break free. Sometimes you let it out. Sometimes you encouraged it, fed it, nourished it, nurtured it the way you never had been. It had become something of a pet to you.
The little dark seed inside you had laid dormant for years. Water didn’t allow the little seed to sprout. It seemed only blood could do the trick. First with the dog. Then your father. And now . . . the man. Even now, you could still feel the seed clinging onto the blood of his which you’d swallowed. And it was hungry for more; angry; impatient.
You were growing impatient, too.
It had been another two weeks. Your ankle was almost nearly healed; at least healed enough to walk on it. None of that mattered. It seemed Chris was adamant about not letting you go outside even with the results, and you were beginning to feel like the animal inside you: trapped.
The days were long without sunlight, and the people didn’t come near you. The only one brave enough to bother you was the same little girl you’d met on your first day. Yang Misun was something you’d only met once. In a lot of ways she reminded you of your sister, but in a lot of other ways, she was nothing like her. She had a habit of following you around even when you’d ignore her or shut the door in her face. She’d find a way to get to you, and eventually, you kind of just gave up, resorting to just sitting there in silence while she went on about whatever.
Through your silence, you’d learned she liked playing pranks on this Jiung. There weren’t many girls her age, so she mostly played with the group’s dog, Barney. She claimed that it was really her dog since he came to her first when they rescued him three years ago. She hated story time and loved dinner because her brother always gave her a little bit of his every time. (Speaking of which, she’d gone on to say that her brother was an idiot who acted before he thought and that was why he was so . . . “stupid” (He refused to come near you, except the one time he threatened to kill you if you tried to hurt his sister.).)
And that was pretty much all you’d done in the past two weeks: eat, sleep, be avoided and avoid, and glare at their leader.
But sometimes, if you woke up early enough, earlier than anyone else, and walked up the stairs to the highest part of the bunker, you could finally get some peace and quiet alone, and far away from everything. Every time you did, it always went the same way, too. You’d reach the top of the stairs, the bunker exit staring you down as you sighed before you sat down on the edge of the platform, feet hanging over the edge while you rested your arms on the railing. And every time, you wondered what would happen if you just slipped . . .
You were high enough. Something would happen. Maybe that would be best. Maybe that was what you wanted. No, you knew it was. You knew you had to. You knew you had to kill it. You knew one day it would happen, but . . . not before you retrieved your father’s gun. You couldn’t die without him it. You just couldn’t.
That day was no different. You’d figured out the schedule now. It was hard to tell when morning was, but you figured when you awoke out of habit that was when the sun rose. You listened to your body well, waking up when the pounding in your chest followed you even in your dreams. Promptly, you readied yourself and carefully walked the silent halls until you reached the highest point of the bunker. And now, you sat in the same spot you found yourself in every day and just waited. For what? You didn’t know. You just sat, legs dangling over the edge as you rested your forehead against the railing.
The bunker door was right there. You could leave. It would be so easy, and yet . . . you still waited. You weren’t sure why and you didn’t care to figure it out. You just let your body sag against the railing and listened to the noises of the sleeping bunker.
This was how you lived now. How utterly mundane. How selfish. How privileged. You couldn’t help but think if your family was starving. If they had shelter. If they were alive. Were they really safe without you? Could they survive?
Shaking your head, you stopped yourself. You couldn’t go back. Like a wild dog, your love was rotten. A violent dog. You bit. Your love was rotten. Your love was something no one would wish for; it was something that no one could love back; it was tainted; bloody; grotesque; ugly. Who could be safe with a love like that? A love like that would get them killed. They were safer with Felix; they were safer under his protection; under his love, not yours. You couldn’t return. Feral dogs didn’t have homes to crawl back to, anyway. Feral dogs got put down, and you needed to find a way to put yourself down before you brought any more harm to anyone else.
“This area’s off limits, you know?” a voice abruptly interrupted your silence.
Stiff, you glanced up. Chris.
You only stared blankly.
He stood still on the staircase, leaning on the railing as he stared up at you, taking in your demeanor. “I could report you for coming here every day,” he hummed, eyes flicking from your face to your beat-up shoes.
“This is my first time here,” you muttered, clenching your jaw tight.
His brows raised ever so slightly. “Mmm, I don’t think so,” he mused, tilting his head to the side as his eyes flicked back up to meet yours. “Every day, I see you come out of your room, walk up this staircase, and sit right there until the others start wakin’ up.”
How had he seen you? You were sure everyone else was asleep at this time.
Your brows furrowed further.
He’s said your room as if there was anything that belonged to you in this place. But it wasn’t true. The room wasn’t yours. You were pretty sure it belonged to him. Which led you to another question, where had he been sleeping? “Then why haven't you said anything?” you asked.
He shrugged and sighed, “Well . . . I suppose if you’re going to kill yourself, I’d rather you do it when no one’s around.”
You scoffed. Asshole. And that was it. You dragged yourself to your feet, and rounded the ledge toward the staircase. You’d tried to walk right past him like you thought he expected, but before you could, his hand reached for your arm. You glanced his way, remaining silent, but your eyes roared with questions. Almost hesitantly, he dropped his hand, eyes following as he stared at your shoes.
“You’ve healed,” he began, tonguing the inside of his cheek before his eyes flicked back up to meet your scrutinizing gaze. “We can get your gun.”
Your brows twitched. You hadn’t been expecting that.
“Really?” you heard yourself whisper before you could stop yourself. It was odd too. The way you sounded, it was almost as if it hadn’t been you. The voice wasn’t the you you knew, but rather the you from when you first inherited that gun.
Chris nodded. “I keep my word.”
Lips pursed, you nodded right back.
Hunger. You’d always been a hungry child. You’d come into the world hungry, oftentimes being left to cry in your crib alone. When you grew older, your mother used to joke that you were a greedy baby; one that always needed a bottle. It wasn’t until your sister was born, and you noticed not once was she left alone to cry, did you realize it had never been the bottles upon bottles that you were hungry for.
Instead, you grew up hungry. You grew up obedient, wondering if that would satiate your hunger. And when it didn’t, you’d act out, but one cue from the hand that feeds and you’d go back to that quiet, hungry, little girl.
Since the beginning of the end, hunger became something different. You were almost used to it; almost unbothered. Everyone else had a hard time adjusting to it. The food that was gorged, the drinks that were spilled. Everyone seemed to be so . . . so ravenous. But you remained the same—the same, familiar hunger deep inside you. It was almost too hard to differentiate.
And when your father passed, you were reminded of why hunger had never bothered you. You were reminded of the difference between this hunger and the one you’d been born with.
All you had wanted was to keep your family safe. That was your promise to your father. It was your job. That was your life now. But you had begun to think that . . . what you truly wanted was to be loved as much as you were hated. You thought your mother’s love would have been much easier to swallow then. Maybe you’d be able to get it down without choking. Or . . . maybe it’d kill you.
You knew that was what you were truly seeking for. You’d remain hungry until then, no matter how well fed they’d keep you in the bunker. It was a sick kind of hunger. That was it. And suddenly it all made sense: you’d been hungry for everyone you’ve ever loved.
The woods enveloped you and Chris like a living, breathing entity, no sign of the dead or their unnerving groans. It was still morning, only a few hours had passed since he approached you with the idea to retrieve your gun. You managed to convince him you were ready to go off on your own, meeting him back at the front entrance of the bunker an hour after your conversation, but he insisted on accompanying you. He claimed it was his last act of hospitality. You called bullshit but didn’t argue, figuring you’d be rid of him soon enough.
Your hunger only grew as you shoved the food Chris had forced you to pack for your travels. It grew larger and larger when you walked by the room you knew to belong to Misun Yang. It grew harder to ignore when you approached the bunker vault, watching as Chris climbed up the stairs and opened the hatch, climbing out. It consumed you as you joined him on the outside, the sunlight nearly blinding you. But you ignored this hunger; you ignored that a part of you wanted to belong in that bunker; you ignored how much you wished you could stay, and then you shoved it all down, claiming insanity, because that wasn’t you and you wouldn’t think that. You didn’t deserve to.
This was where you belonged—on the outside. Just another animal in the woods. That was who you were. You didn’t get to sleep in a bed or not go hungry. This . . . this was your life—constant hunger. You accepted that long ago. You accepted it once more as you trailed behind Chris, keeping a close eye on him and your surroundings.
The air was thick and heavy; fall was coming; you could see it in the trees. The disgusting decay of fallen leaves was only a reminder. Sunlight pierced through the dense canopy above, illuminating the path before you. Chris seemed to know where he was going, sure, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he was just following the trail the light had given him, trying to stall as long as he could. It didn’t make any sense to you. He should’ve sent you out on your own, and yet . . .
As your mind spiraled, you glanced up, eyes finding him. Chris moved ahead of you, his movements careful and deliberate. You watched his back, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way his head swiveled at every snapped twig or rustling leaf. His posture spoke volumes. He was on edge. Always on edge. The slight hunch in his stance, as if he was ready to spring into action at any moment. His hand never strayed far from the knife in his right hand and the gun holstered over his left shoulder. But you . . . you remained relaxed. The dead would come or they wouldn’t. You had no one to live for now. You just wanted your father’s gun, and then . . . then you could lay it all to rest; then you could let yourself become one of the dead things buried deep in the woods.
Chris had barely spoken since you set out, probably sensing you weren’t in the mood for conversation. He knew when to leave you alone. That was one thing you liked noticed about him. Even now, he didn’t ask any more questions, didn’t push for details you weren’t willing to give.
“There,” he said after what felt like, and might have just been, hours, pointing to a small clearing up ahead. “It should be just past those trees.”
You didn’t respond, just nodded and followed. Chris moved ahead, his footsteps careful, almost reverent, as if he were crossing sacred ground. You followed closely, each step weighed down by the knowledge of what lay ahead. This wasn’t just a hunt for a weapon; it was a search for a piece of your father.
As you pushed deeper into the woods, the canopy above thickened, blocking out the muted light. Shadows danced at the edges of your vision, and the sounds of the forest—crickets chirping, leaves rustling—seemed to fade into an eerie silence. The only sound was the crunch of twigs beneath your feet.
Chris paused, scanning the area with a wary expression. “Stay close,” he said, glancing back at you, his eyes dark and serious. “There might be some stragglers from the horde.”
But you barely heard him. You barely cared.
Chris resumed moving, leading you toward a patch of exposed earth that came into view through the thicket. Your breath hitched as the anticipation mounted. The clearing looked different—an unnatural mound rising in the center, marked by an absence of vegetation that made it stand out like a beacon, but you recognized it. You remembered the sprint you’d made down that same mound, screaming for the dead to take you with them; to take you to him.
“This was the place,” he murmured, pushing aside some branches with careful deliberation, as if not wanting to disturb the stillness. You narrowed your eyes at his back as he searched the area, doing your own searching with your eyes and an unsteady heart. A part of you felt like you’d never see the gun again. Another part of you wanted to search the woods until the dead or time consumed you. It seemed Chris had the same mindset as he crouched down, brushing away moss and leaves, his movements urgent yet cautious. “It has to be here,” he insisted, more to himself than to you.
And then, with a sudden, reverent flourish, he unearthed the shotgun near a tree that looked oddly familiar. But . . . there it was. Your father's shotgun.
Time slowed as you stared at it, the world around you narrowing to that singular moment. The metal glinted dully in the subdued light, as if the forest itself had recognized the significance of the moment. You felt a rush of emotions—nostalgia, longing, and an overwhelming sense of urgency—but dread settled in your chest like a stone.
Chris handed it to you, the cold steel familiar but distant, like grasping at a ghost or holding your father’s hand for the last time. The moment hung heavy in the air, thick with the weight of unspoken thoughts. You wanted to feel relief, but instead, you felt an insistent pull of dread, a sinking feeling that this was more than just reclaiming a lost object. It was a harbinger of the path you had chosen; the person you’d become.
This was it. The last piece of him. The last thing you needed before you could leave.
You should’ve felt relief. That’s what you had been waiting for—relief. The plan had been simple: find the gun, then go. You didn’t want to stick around, didn’t want to keep pretending you had a place at the bunker with Chris and the others. You’d leave, disappear, and find some way to submit to the dead. End it all on your terms.
But as you held the shotgun, that sense of closure didn’t come. Instead, something else settled over you—a heavy, suffocating weight that clung to your skin, your chest tightening with an emotion you didn’t want to name. You clenched your jaw, trying to push it down, trying to force yourself to feel what you had expected: a clean break, the freedom to walk away and dig your own grave.
But you couldn’t.
Chris watched you, his expression unreadable, though you could feel the question hanging in the air between you. You avoided his eyes, focusing on the gun instead. It wasn’t relief that you felt. It wasn’t peace. It was something darker, something colder. Dread. Grief. Guilt.
You didn’t want to admit what those feelings meant. Couldn’t let yourself acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, a part of you didn’t want to leave. That part of you wanted to stay, despite everything you had told yourself. Despite the voice in your head telling you that you didn’t deserve it. That staying would only bring more pain, more loss—for you and for them.
But none of that mattered. You couldn’t stay. You didn’t deserve the chance to stay. After everything that had happened, it was better for everyone if you just left. Better if you disappeared.
“Well,” Chris’s voice cut through the tension, steady but unsure, “you found it.”
You nodded, still not looking at him. “Yeah,” you muttered, your voice low, hollow. You needed to get out of here. Now.
Hastily, you shrugged the holster over your shoulder and turned to leave, but Chris’s voice stopped you.
“Did you see that?” he abruptly gasped, not even acknowledging that you had tried to split on him a few seconds ago. It was like he couldn’t even comprehend it; like he thought you wouldn’t. And for a second, as you took in his question, you thought he was referring to the look of dread on your face that you’d tried to hide, but when you turned to meet his eyes, he was already staring at something else in the distance.
His body was rigid, his brows pinched together. At the look, you could only imagine what was behind you. The horde? Death? Your end? But . . . it was meant to be yours, not his. He couldn’t die for you, not when you’d forced everyone else to. You wouldn’t let that happen. Not again.
Swallowing hard, every muscle in your body tensed, adrenaline surging through your veins like liquid fire. Your heart pounded in your chest, its rhythm so loud in your ears that you feared it might give away your position. Your hand instinctively moved to the knife at your belt, fingers curling around the familiar handle, as your eyes followed Chris's fixed gaze, searching for whatever had caught his attention.
But what met your eyes wasn’t one of the dead, or even ten of them. No Death awaited you or impending end. No, instead, there, in a small clearing ahead, stood a deer. Only, as soon as you caught sight of it, you realized perhaps, in a way, this was a form of Death you’d been afraid to meet again.
“I haven’t seen one of those in a long time,” Chris murmured, but you barely heard him.
The deer’s once-proud form was a shadow of what it used to be, a grotesque parody of life that sent a chill down your spine. You’d only seen this once before . . . in the before. The animal's coat, which should’ve been sleek and glossy, hung in patchy clumps from its emaciated frame, revealing sickly pale skin beneath. Ribs protruded sharply beneath the skin, each one clearly visible, a testament to the ravages of disease. The deer's legs, usually strong and nimble, trembled slightly with the effort of standing, as if remaining upright was a monumental task.
But it was the eyes that truly betrayed the animal's condition, making your breath catch in your throat and your stomach churn with pity and revulsion. Once bright and alert, windows to a vital, vibrant spirit, now stared vacantly into the middle distance, glazed over with a milky film. There was no spark of life, no hint of the vital spirit that should animate this creature of the wild. It was as if the deer was already gone, its body simply a shell that hadn't yet realized it should fall. The sight was gut-wrenching. It was a miracle it was even still alive.
Chris raised his gun, his movements slow and deliberate. The metal of the barrel gleamed dully in the filtered sunlight, a cold, hard contrast to the soft greens and browns of the forest. Without conscious thought, your hand shot out, fingers wrapping firmly around his forearm. The touch seems to break the spell of silence that had fallen over the clearing, the contact between you electric, charged with unspoken urgency.
"Wait," you hissed, your voice barely above a whisper. The word hung in the air between you, heavy with implication. The lessons your father drilled into you came flooding back, a bittersweet tide of memory that threatened to overwhelm you. Each word he spoke echoed in your mind, as clear as if he were standing beside you now. "It’s sick. You can’t . . . you can’t eat sick things." And then you took a step forward.
Chris turned to you, his brows furrowed in confusion. The gun lowered slightly, but his finger remained close to the trigger. "Wait, you do that and it’s gone before you even get to it,” he said, his voice gravelly. His eyes searched yours, seeking understanding, but you knew better; you knew more.
"She won’t run," you explained, shaking your head. Your voice was tight, strained with the effort of keeping your emotions in check. “She won't run.”
Taking a deep breath, you stepped closer to the deer. The knife at your belt seemed to grow heavier with each step, its weight a grim reminder of what sin you were about to commit. As you drew it, the blade caught the sunlight, sending brief flashes across the clearing. The deer didn't react to your approach, didn't even twitch an ear. Its stillness was eerie and unnatural. Up close, the ravages of the disease were even more apparent, more horrifying. You could see the hollows in its cheeks, the way its bones seemed to push against its skin as if trying to escape the decaying flesh. A wave of pity washed over you. You’d always hated this part—the killing, even though it seemed to be the only thing you’d been good at in this new world.
You took a step forward, feeling the weight of the knife at your belt grow heavier with each movement. The sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the forest floor, illuminating the sickly form of the deer. Each shallow breath you took carried the earthy scent of the forest, mingling with a faint metallic tang that made your stomach churn.
“Hey, baby girl,” you murmured softly, your voice trembling as you approached. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.” Your hand found its way to the deer’s tattered fur, softly petting its back. Its breathing was shallow, and you could barely feel its heart beat.
Gently, you did as you’d seen your father do once before. You continued brushing your fingers through its fur, quietly humming to it as you searched those glossed-over eyes for any sign of life. But deep down, you knew the truth. The deer stood motionless, its eyes dull and unseeing, reflecting a haunting emptiness that gripped your heart. It was a shell of its former self, a mere ghost wandering the world of the living. No amount of searching would ever bring back what it once was.
Is this how your mother had seen you? A dead girl walking? Or something much, much darker?
And just like when you’d glanced at your reflection in the mirror that morning, you couldn’t bear to see the deer suffer any longer. You shifted closer to the deer, laying its head on your chest as you rubbed its cheek with your thumb. This was the end, you thought. It knew you. You knew it, and you were sure, somewhere in there, the deer knew, too.
With a swift motion, you plunged the knife into the deer’s skull, feeling the resistance give way to the flesh and bone. A silent gasp escaped your lips, mingling with the sharp sound of the blade cutting through the skin. The warmth of blood spilled out, soaking into the forest floor and your clothes, a vivid contrast against the muted greens and browns surrounding you.
You slowly lay its body into the soft earth, resting your hand on its stomach as you watched its blood pool, soaking the dirt. For a brief moment, time seemed to stretch, the world around you holding its breath. You remained where you were, unmoving and unfeeling.
Deer were meant to flee. A deer that didn’t, was a dead deer. The predator would catch up to it sooner or later. You supposed you’d finally found the prey you’d been desperately waiting to sink your teeth into, and yet . . . it felt no different from leaving your father in that burning building, and you remained hungry.
Was this a sign from him? A punishment? Did he want you to kill so you knew you were making the right decision to leave? Did he want you to know that you didn’t deserve to live? That you didn’t deserve to stay at the bunker? That you belonged out here—lost in the woods on the forest floor like a sick deer?
Or was it God?
Or had it always been you? Is that why—
“It let you kill it,” Chris suddenly whispered, the words hanging heavy in the air. “Why didn’t it run?”
“Too sick,” you replied after a minute, your voice barely above a whisper. “CWD. Their own personal zombie virus. That’s why . . . that’s why you can’t take it back to them. You can’t . . . you eat a sick deer like that, and you get sick.” Swallowing hard, you could almost hear your father’s voice as you said, “That’s rule number one. Don’t eat sick things.”
Chris's eyebrows knitted together, deepening the furrow in his brow. His expression was a mixture of bewilderment and concern, his eyes darting between you and the deer, seeking understanding. "Then leave it,” he muttered, staring off into the woods, searching, analyzing. “It’ll be noon soon. We shouldn’t stay in one place for too long.”
You didn't answer immediately. Instead, you dropped your hand from the warmth of the deer’s belly, your fingers digging into the soft, loamy soil. The earth was cool and damp against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of emotion burning through you. Then . . . you began to dig, your movements frantic yet purposeful, driven by a visceral need. Clumps of dirt and decaying leaves collected under your fingernails as you scooped away handfuls of forest floor, the physical labor a welcome outlet for the tumult of emotions roiling within you. “My people bury the dead,” you explained, your voice thick with unshed tears that you refused to acknowledge. “We can’t just leave her out here. She deserves more respect than that. We all do. Right? That’s what you told me. All life is important, so why isn’t hers?” You glanced back at him then.
Chris hesitated for a moment, his gaze moving from you to the deer and back again. You could almost see the wheels turning in his brain, weighing the risks, the effort, against the intangible benefits of this act. Then, with a small nod of understanding, he joined you on the ground. His hands working alongside yours, scooping away earth and leaves.
As you dug, you kept your eyes fixed on the growing hole, fighting back the flood of memories threatening to overwhelm you. The rhythmic movement of your hands, the earthy scent rising from the disturbed soil, the quiet sounds of exertion—all of it blended together, creating a meditative state that allows your mind to wander, to remember.
Images of your lost family flashed through your mind like a cruel slideshow, each memory as vivid and painful as if it were happening anew. Your father. The burning building. The bullet. The whiskey. Your mother. Her love that felt like hatred. Your sister. Felix. You were a monster to them now. Just another dead thing. You didn’t want this. You wanted it all to stop. You wanted to be gone, gone, dead. Fuck, the ache of their absence was a constant, throbbing wound. And the worst of it all: you thought that it would have always ended this way, dead or not, end of the world or not. This was always how your life was going to go; how it was going to end. You’d always known it, too, and that perhaps was more terrifying than knowing you’d be dead soon.
You wondered if you’d find relief then. Would you deserve it then?
With your thoughts consuming you, the only sounds surrounding the two of you were the scraping of earth and your labored breathing. As the hole grew deeper, you stole a glance at Chris. His face was etched with concentration, a sheen of sweat glistening on his brow. His hands, now as dirt-stained as yours, moved with purpose, mirroring your own movements in a silent dance of shared effort. He might not have fully understood the significance of what you were doing, the weight of tradition and memory that drove your actions, but his willingness to help, tugged on something deep inside you. You turned back a second later, reminding yourself that you’d be dead by dusk.
And when minutes had passed and you’d lain the deer in the hole you’d dug, the two of you worked to cover the body with dirt. Another minute would pass before the deer was fully buried, the earth packed down, but the silence between you and Chris felt heavier than the soil itself. The weight of what you had just done. The deer. The wolf. The prey. The predator. You didn’t even know who you were anymore.
You straightened slowly, wiping dirt from your hands, your fingers still trembling. The forest around you was quiet, almost too quiet, as if even nature was holding its breath in the aftermath of this small, sacred act. And then, you tore yourself from the grave, hand reaching for your gun as you holsted it over your shoulder and stood to your feet, unsure of what came next. You could feel Chris’s presence beside you, solid but distant, like a tether you weren’t sure you wanted to hold onto. The quiet stretched, and you realized you had nothing else to say. It was over. The deer was buried. You had become the only predator to mourn its prey, and Chris had been witness to it all. There was only one thing left to do: pay for your sins.
Clearing your throat, you took a step away from the grave. “Well . . . don’t die,” you said softly, almost under your breath. The words felt inadequate, but they were all you had, and before he could respond, you turned to go, your steps already leading you back into the shadowy embrace of the woods.
Chris’s voice stopped you, his tone rough but filled with something you couldn’t quite name. “That’s it?”
You froze, your pulse quickening. Slowly, you turned back to face him, your face hardening, instinctively putting up your walls again. “Thank you, I guess, for, you know . . .” You gestured vaguely toward the mound of dirt, the words feeling clumsy in your mouth, like they didn’t belong to you.
Chris nodded, his expression unreadable. “Man of my word,” he said quietly, the words simple but carrying weight.
“Right.” You gave him a brief, curt nod, and turned away again, eager to leave the scene behind. You had made it just a few steps before his voice reached you once more, this time softer, hesitant.
“I think you should stay.”
The words made you stop in your tracks, confusion flickering across your face as you turned to look at him. His posture was different now—less guarded, more uncertain. “What?”
Chris shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair. “I’d . . . I’d like it if you stayed,” he said, voice low, his eyes meeting yours with a sincerity that made your stomach twist. “You’re smart. You’ve been out here longer than any of us. You know things. You’re—”
“Useful?” you cut in sharply, the word laced with bitterness.
Chris’s brows knitted together, and he wet his lips, searching for the right response. “Yes . . . but—”
Before he could finish, a low, guttural growl cut through the air, sending a shiver of dread racing down your spine. Both of you turned toward the sound, eyes wide, as a lone dead one staggered out from the underbrush, its rotting flesh illuminated by the sunlight peeking through the trees.
Chris reached for his gun, but you were already moving. In one fluid motion, you pulled out your knife and surged forward. The blade cut through the air with deadly precision, sinking into the dead’s skull with a sickening crunch. The body crumpled to the ground at your feet, lifeless once more, as you yanked your knife free, wiping the blood on your pants without a second thought.
Chris stared at you, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and admiration, though he said nothing. He didn’t need to. You could feel the unspoken acknowledgment hanging between you—a silent respect, begrudging but undeniable.
But there was no time to dwell on it. The distant sound of more growling echoed through the trees, louder this time, closer. The horde hadn’t scattered like Chris had thought. They were closing in, drawn to the noise, to the scent of death that still lingered in the air.
“Shit,” Chris muttered, his voice tight with urgency. “They’re blocking the way back. Fuck.” Without another word, he grabbed your arm, pulling you with him as you both broke into a run. The forest became a blur around you, the sounds of the dead growing louder with each passing second.
You stumbled over roots and ducked under low branches, adrenaline pumping through your veins. The darkness of the forest closed in, thick and oppressive, but Chris seemed to know exactly where he was going. His hand gripped your arm like a lifeline, keeping you steady as the two of you sprinted through the underbrush.
Finally, he led you to a concealed hatch hidden beneath a layer of leaves and branches. He dropped to his knees, sweeping the debris aside and pulling it open with a creak. “In,” he urged, and you didn’t hesitate. You climbed down into the darkness, landing on cold metal as Chris followed close behind, slamming the hatch shut just as the first of the undead reached the clearing.
You stood in the dimly lit space, your breath coming in ragged gasps as your eyes adjusted to the gloom. The underground bunker was small, claustrophobic, the walls made from welded scrap metal. A single lantern cast a weak glow over the room, revealing a mattress with blankets, some crates, and a few scattered supplies. The air was cool and musty, the kind of place that felt forgotten by the world above.
“What the fuck is this?” you asked, glancing around, your voice still thick with adrenaline.
“Underground shelter,” Chris said, leaning against the wall as he caught his breath. His eyes flicked toward the meager supplies stacked in the corner. “We built it a couple years ago, after we lost some people on patrol. Thought it’d be good to have a place to fall back to if things went south.” He nodded toward the bed and the crates. “Overnight bed. Some food. Lanterns. Walkies if we need to reach home base. It’s not much, but it keeps us safe from the dead. Can’t live down here more than a week, but . . . it does the trick.”
You raised an eyebrow, letting out a dry laugh as you dropped your backpack on the ground. “Jesus Christ, you guys are like fuckin’ moles.”
He cracked a smile at that, just a small one, barely visible in the dim light, but there nonetheless. It was fleeting, like he wasn’t used to showing that part of himself.
“We’ll stay here tonight,” Chris said after a moment, his voice softer now, almost gentle in the quiet space.
You nodded, sinking down to the floor, your back against the cool metal wall. Your heart was still racing, but the immediate threat had passed. Above you, faint and muffled, you could hear the groans of the undead, but down here, in this small bunker, you were safe. At least for tonight.
Sometimes you thought there wasn’t much to say about the way you’d grown up. Other times, you wondered if there was perhaps too much to say. You wondered if some parts of your life growing up would forever be lost to time; forever forgotten because there just wasn’t enough room to remember. A lot of the time, you wondered if your family thought the same. You wondered if you were the part of their lives that would one day be forgotten to time. You wondered if it were better that way.
But other times you wished you could force yourself to forget.
Memories only consumed you as you sat on the edge of the mattress, wine glass in your hand that you’d yet to drink, and the reflection of the dead deer staring back at you in the red of the wine. You’d forgotten to pray.
You’d killed the thing, buried it, and left it without a prayer. Would it be forever stuck in limbo like your mother used to warn you? Dead things needed prayers to be put to rest. Had she been right?
Swallowing hard, your grip on the wine glass tightened. Had she been right? . . . Your knees began to itch.
“Not up to par with your standards?” a deep voice intruded on your thoughts, catching your gaze.
You ripped your eyes from the wine glass, glancing up in time to see Chris sit down in front of you, his back leaning up against the wooden chest he’d pulled the wine from. It had been hours since the two of you had found yourselves down there and he’d only pulled the wine from the chest about fifteen minutes ago, pouring you and himself a glass, claiming the two of you needed it after the day you’d had.
It was a simple thing. Adults drank. You; however, didn’t. Your mother . . . the town . . . it was never allowed unless in the name of Christ.
So your wine glass stayed full, and you empty. You wanted to drink it. You wanted to guzzle glass after glass down and forget about everything like your sister would one day forget about you, but you couldn’t. Memories haunted you, and you knew it wasn’t the town or even your mother that made you think twice about sipping from your temptation.
The last time you’d had alcohol, your father had just died. The last time you’d had alcohol, your world stopped. The last time you had alcohol, you could still taste your father’s blood in your mouth. The last time you’d had alcohol, it wasn’t enough to burn away the memories.
But you hadn’t told a soul that. Not even Felix, and you wouldn’t start with this man now.
“It’s fine,” was all you muttered but you didn’t dare to bring the glass to your lips.
Chris, now, was on his second glass you’d say, not that it seemed to have any affect on him. You had; however, taken note of that.
“You sure?” He cocked a brow, leaning toward you, his hand outstretched toward your glass. “I wouldn’t be opposed to drinking it for you.”
You only snarled, and pulled the glass in closer toward your chest. A second later, you forced yourself to tear your gaze from his smug face, and instead toward the glass in your hand. The reflection of the deer was gone now, but your memories remained.
It was all so familiar.
You’d been here before. You’d been here many times. You’d been here since you were a child, first learning the scriptures of your town. You’d never left.
You’d been here in the before. It was easy to be there then. It had been easy to kneel when you were just a girl; when you didn’t know any better; when wine was blood.
The Eucharist. The blood and body of Christ. You’d walked down that aisle, hands clasped in prayer a thousand times. You’d stopped before the priest and named your father, son, and holy spirit over and over again. You’d taken his body into your mouth and drank his blood. You’d done it for years and years, more than once a week, all the time, every time. You’d done it so long and so well you began to think wine was just blood and blood was never wine. You’d done it until you were sick; until War came and Famine followed. You’d done it until you’d seen your father kill a man before your eyes. You’d done it until you realized spilled blood tasted no different from wine. You’d done it until you’d tasted body and blood and rage; until you’d killed a man and left his body for the dead to consume three days later.
You’d done it until you realized wine was never blood, blood would always be blood, and wine would always be wine.
It was just wine.
It was just . . . wine. It was familiar, but different now. Your knees were still scabbed but there was no body and no blood before you, just wine.
You swallowed hard once more, wet your lips, then brought the glass to your lips and chugged it whole. You could have sworn you’d heard Chris click his tongue in response, but you didn’t care, because you had been wrong.
It was supposed to just be wine. Wine was wine and blood was blood. So then why could you only taste blood when it should’ve been wine?
Memories haunted you once more. The man your father killed. The dog. Your father. The man you’d killed. The deer. All of it. Every single thing you’d had to kill to survive this long. All of it.
And you realized it was too late. The taste of blood would never leave you.
You leaned forward, snatching the bottle of wine from Chris’s hands and pouring yourself another glass of wine. It was gone the next second, and you knew the violent dog inside of you had finally been fed.
“You don’t drink much, do you?” he questioned into the night as you downed another glass.
Glancing up, you wondered how he knew; how he always knew. However, the next second, your head felt funny, and you realized maybe it wasn’t too hard to tell. (You also realized that maybe you should’ve stopped, but you didn’t care and poured yourself another glass.)
Before you could lift the glass to your lips again, Chris’s hand got in the way. He blocked you from downing the drink, and you stopped right before his knuckles touched your lips. You couldn’t have that. You couldn’t let him touch you, so you listened to him despite wanting to down drink after drink after drink.
“You’re supposed to sip it,” he murmured as his eyes flicked from your eyes to your wine-stained lips. He slowly brought the glass away from your lips, and you let him in your haze. “Wine’s meant to be savored. You chugged it.”
“I was thirsty,” you muttered with a shrug, your grip still tight on the stem of the glass.
He shook his head. “No one’s ever that thirsty.”
A beat of silence. Your head felt funnier. It was odd. Odd but good. Too odd for you to care to keep up the charade. “Fine, you’re right,” you huffed as you plucked his hand from your glass. He leaned back again, but his eyes never left you, watching as you tried and failed to sip the drink. “This is—” you smacked your lips— “my third time drinking.”
“Ever?”
You nodded.
He raised a brow. “How old are you?”
Narrowing your eyes, you gave him a look before attempting to down the rest of your glass, but he stopped you. “Nah, nah, nah, hold on. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he muttered out with a laugh under his breath. Only a drop of red wine touched your tongue, and then the glass wasn’t in your hand anymore. “I just kinda assumed.”
With a scoff, you watched as he moved toward you, sitting down beside you on the bed. He swirled the wine in the glass he’d stolen from you before he downed it, leaving no more. You rolled your eyes at him and attempted to reach for the bottle, but he was faster, kicking it to the ground, allowing the last bit of wine to spill onto the floor. Your eyes snapped to his smug face, nearly growling at him.
Tonguing his cheek, he seemed to hold back a smile. “Oops.”
You snatched the glass out of his hand, trying to get the last drop before you sighed and slouched. Maybe it was for the best. You’d never been drunk before. Your mother always told you too many sips led to bad mistakes, and you already had enough of those.
And yet, you found yourself sighing out: “My mother. She always said alcohol was the devil’s drink, unless, of course, it was during mass.” Why were you telling him this? Why was your head so fuzzy? Why did you not care? “I was only eighteen when this whole thing started. There wasn’t much . . . time to drink after that.”
Chris sighed, leaning back onto the bed with his leg bent at the knee and his elbow supporting his weight against the mattress. “Then what were the other times?” he asked, lazily picking at his nails.
You glanced over your shoulder at him, brows scrunched. “What?”
His head dipped back with a soft groan. “Come on, you can tell me. I’m trustworthy,” he mused, gesturing to his chest.
“You’re . . . drunk,” you stated, almost asking.
“Mmm, not quite, but, close,” he hummed as he waved his finger at you. “I also don’t drink much.” Silence. A click of his tongue. His eyes on yours. “Not much time.” He winked, repeating your words from earlier.
Silence again. A clenching of your jaw. Your eyes on his. And then you did something odd. Keeping your eyes on him as if you were predator and prey, you leaned back onto the bed, propping yourself up on your elbow. You kept your eyes on him, and he did the same, like two animals scared to look away, wondering who was in danger of who.
“My dad,” you finally muttered out as you glanced from one eye to the other, taking in his features. “When I hit twenty-one, he snuck me a shot in the woods.”
He squinted his eyes and nodded. “Mmm, vodka?”
You shook your head. “Whiskey.”
“Odd.”
The corners of your lips twitched. “It was his favorite.”
“And the second?”
The second. You swallowed hard, tearing your eyes from his. There it was. The memories. The hunger. The taste of blood.
“Whiskey, again,” you forced yourself to say. And, yet, it was almost too easy to mutter: “After my dad died.”
Out of your peripheral vision, you saw him nod, but you didn’t dare look at him. You didn’t dare acknowledge the look on his face. You couldn’t, and you certainly couldn’t have him seeing the look on yours. You weren’t in the right headspace to hide the secrets you’d buried when you should’ve buried your father.
“Ah, well, you’re missing out,” was all Chris said instead. No talk of your father, no more questions. Nothing. Just . . . moving on, and somehow . . . somehow you felt grateful. “The best drink is plum-flavored soju and beer. Can’t get any better than that.” He leaned forward, whispering now. “But I’d say alcohol tastes the best when you’re bar hopping until two AM, surviving off shots of cheap vodka with friends.”
“Not much of that anymore.”
Chris hummed in agreement. “One day though,” he added. “We’ll all be different then, but . . . someday.”
Your brows furrowed and you scoffed, shaking your head. “You’re an optimist,” you mused as you traced the rim of the glass with your finger. “Thinkin’ like that gets you killed.”
“Mmm, maybe, but so far . . . it’s the reason I’m alive,” he replied almost as if it were fact; as if the reason he was alive didn’t have anything to do with luck and chance. “You’ll see. When we get you a shot of vodka, you’ll see I’m right. Or you can shoot me and leave me for dead. Either way, you win, yeah?”
You couldn’t help but look at him then, your face sunken in confusion. He only had this look on his face: a lazy smile and soft eyes. You swallowed hard in response, unsure of how to react. Why was he so . . . odd?
“So . . . “ he began again after a second of silence, tapping on your glass with his finger— “how do you know so much about deer?”
Why was he so interested? And why did you like it?
“My dad taught me how to hunt,” you heard yourself say before you knew what you were doing. It was odd how he could get this out of you. Maybe alcohol really was the devil’s drink. But . . . you didn’t care, you just . . . couldn’t stop yourself from responding; from talking to . . . him. “Where I come from . . . hunting season was the only celebration we ever had. My dad would come home with a truckload of deer. We’d get to keep one and the rest would be sold at this farmer’s market just outside of town.” You sucked your bottom lip under the grasp of your teeth at the memories. You’d been a dutiful child then. You didn’t know how to shove yourself back into that mold, and right now . . . you didn’t care. “That was the only time I’d ever been out of town before all this. I didn’t even know nothing about hunting back then. He only taught me when . . . when Pestilence rose.”
“Pestilence?”
Oh. You blinked. The hunger. The blood. The wine. The sick.
“I meant . . . “ you cleared your throat— “when everyone started getting . . . sick.”
Silence passed between the two of you once again, and you knew he could see something in you that you wouldn’t share. You knew he could sense it, perhaps even smell it. You couldn’t run away from the lives you’d lived. They were a part of you just as the wild animal you kept at bay had always lived within you. And somehow, it was like he just knew.
“How was that for you guys?” he asked, brushing over your slip-up.
And you let him. “It didn’t reach us.”
Chris stiffened then. “What?”
Your brows scrunched in confusion. “How bad did it reach you?”
“My city was the first to get it.”
Your confusion deepened. “War conquered you first?”
“If you can even call it that,” he muttered, eyes falling to the blanket as his thumb brushed over the loose threads. “It wasn’t a war. It—It—the government—it was genocide.”
“Genocide? But . . . “ you paused. You couldn’t wrap your head around it. This didn’t make sense. You never heard anything about genocide. It had always been the dead. The dead were to blame. “The dead. They rose. What did the government . . . ?”
Chris cocked his head in his own confusion. “You don’t know?”
You shook your head. “What . . . what did they do?”
“Bombed the major cities.”
“What?” you uttered, your face falling. No, but, your father checked the news with you every day. There was nothing like that. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t have lied to you. He wanted you to see the truth. It didn’t make any— “Sense. That doesn’t make any sense. I saw the news. The dead . . . they—”
It didn’t make any sense. Your father had promised to show you the truth, unlike the town. He promised. But the look on Chris’s face. It was as if he’d seen these bombings before his very eyes. You knew that look he held. It was the same one you wore every day. It was familiar and sick and . . . and that was when it hit you. Your father had hidden this from you. He’d shown you the news, but not all of it.
Was it to protect you?
Deceive you?
“I was away at college at the time,” Chris continued with a sigh while you tried to wrap your head around it all. “The travel ban had lifted and I hadn’t seen my family in so long but . . . I was waiting until break to return home. I wanted . . . I wanted to be able to bring good news with me when I returned. I didn’t want to come back without finishing the semester, empty-handed, especially all we had been through the past three years.” He swallowed hard. You’d heard it. “And then the dead started to come back, and they told us to stay inside; to stay indoors; to not leave for our safety, so I stayed. Not even a week later, the bombings happened, and I did everything I could to get back home, to find my family, to make sure they had made it out, that they were . . . that they were looking for me, too.”
You blinked.
He sighed. “I did find them eventually . . . Right where I left them.”
Right where I left them. You knew what that meant.
“You look afraid to ask,” he commented.
You shook your head once more. It wasn’t fear. It was understanding. “I’m not.”
“But you are.”
“They were dead,” you replied, proving him wrong.
“Yes.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Four.”
You felt your brows twitch, and the memories were back again. Your father, mother, sister, Felix. You’d lost four, too. Four too many.
A second later, you met his eyes again, opening your mouth, but before you could tell him, you quickly stopped yourself. If you did that; if you told him you understood; if you told him you’d lost it all too, then he’d have this over you. You couldn’t have that. He could know only a few things about you, but not everything. Everything was too much. Everything would mean knowing you and knowing you was so similar to owning you. You wouldn’t let him have the ability to control you, not when you were already a gun waiting for your trigger to be pulled.
Instead, you forced your face into a blank slate and muttered out, “They’re lucky, then.”
But he only grinned, scoffing. “I know what you’re doing, but . . . you should know I agree with you,” he mused, brows raised as he studied your face. “It’s not the dead that suffer . . . and I know you know it, too. I can see it on your face. I know people like you . . . I know you think if you tell me these horrible stories, I’ll somehow be afraid of you, too, but this isn’t a storybook and you’re not some wild animal. We’ll always be who we were. Maybe we’ll distance ourselves from who we used to be, but . . . you can’t kill parts of yourself that have already lived.”
You clenched your jaw hard.
You can’t kill parts of yourself that have already lived, he’d said. **
Stop, you thought. He didn’t know that you’d spent your childhood tearing yourself down the middle, pulling stitches from the back of your legs, only to spend all night resewing them. He didn’t know there was a rotten seed that’d been planted inside you from birth, growing and growing the more you did. He didn’t know wine had never just been wine to you. He didn’t know that you had tried so hard to stuff yourself back into the shape of the dutiful child you used to pretend to be. He didn’t know that no matter how many stitches you sewed into your skin, it was never enough to keep the rot inside you from spilling out. He didn’t know that you would remain undone.
In silence, you watched as he locked his jaw, staring off at the wall. “I am all the things I have done and . . . all the things I will do,” he murmured as he picked at the blanket he laid upon. “Good and bad. They were all me at one point, and during those times, I never thought I’d ever change . . . but I did. Can’t take it back; can’t erase it. It’s just there. It just is . . . as am I . . . as are you.”
I am all the things I have done. But that was impossible. How could you still be the girl who’d pretend to be sick so that she could walk the outskirts of the woods? How could you be the girl who’d always imagined faraway lands existed beyond those woods, but was always too afraid to take a step further to find out? How could you be that girl who’d never held a gun before? Who’d been too scared to kill an animal? How could you still be that dutiful child when you’d killed a man not even a month ago? How could that part of you still exist when you could still taste his blood on your tongue every time you took a swig of wine?
You’d never tried to kill that part of yourself. You never wanted to. You wanted to hold onto her, stroke her hair, and let her dream of a better tomorrow, but she just . . . simply didn’t exist anymore.
Well . . . perhaps he was right in a sense. You couldn’t kill parts of yourself that had already lived, but they could die. Parts of you died as you aged. A part of you died in that house you grew up in. A part of you died the night you saw your father kill a man. A part of you died the day you had to put that dog down. A part of you died the night your father died. Another the night you killed a man. And one more tonight. All of which he was oblivious to.
He didn’t know you. He didn’t know you were a rotten seed.
And yet: “You can try to change my mind, but . . . it won’t work,” Chris went on, trying to catch your eye, but you didn’t dare look at him. “You’re a good person somewhere in there. You can’t hide from that.”
But he was wrong. He was so wrong. He was— “You’re wrong,” you blurted out, unable to filter yourself in this state. “I’m not . . . good.” You looked at him then. He was already staring at you. You didn’t mean to let it slip, but for a split second, there was a look on your face. For a split second, you were sure he could see the pain you’d carried for years. You tried to wipe it from your face, but you knew he’d seen it and you knew he’d understood it.
In shock, you held back a gasp and averted your eyes to the blanket. How could you be so foolish? How could you let him see that part of you? Shaking your head, you sat up, stiff and untouchable.
A beat of silence. Then, he sat up, too, nearly brushing arms with you but being careful enough not to touch you. “Bad people . . . “ he trailed off, picking at his fingers as you watched, taking him in cautiously. “Bad people don’t go screaming into the woods with a bunch of the dead after them. They also don’t risk their lives for a gun . . . or bury dead animals.”
Furrowing your brows, you took in his words. He’d caught onto all those things? But . . . that meant—
No, it meant nothing. Bad people kill animals for their own survival. Bad people cause their father’s deaths and still have the nerve to ask for forgiveness. Bad people kill others. Bad people taste blood when they sip wine, and wine when they taste blood.
He didn’t know you. You were still rotten at heart, diseased, and plagued with this darkness you’d been born with, and yet here was this stranger telling you you weren’t all the things you believed yourself to be. It didn’t make any sense. He was wrong. Either he wanted something from you or wanted you weak or—
And, then, something off happened. The next second, his hand hesitantly inched forward, and you watched stiff and silent as he rested it on your knee, giving it a soft comforting squeeze before he retracted, leaving you in shock.
What was that? Why did he squeeze your knee? The boys your mother talked about would’ve used that as their chance to take advantage of you, but he’d retracted so quickly. He didn’t linger. He didn’t try to . . . Then why? What for?
“Sorry,” he cleared his throat, taking note of your reaction. Awkwardly, he scratched the back of his neck. “Not very good at comforting people.”
Comfort?
Your eyes snapped to his profile. He wasn’t looking at you now, but you were staring straight at him, mouth slightly agape and brows furrowed in confusion. You were sure he felt your gaze, but he didn’t dare glance your way. Was he scared? Why would he try to . . . comfort you then? Why did he—
“In junior high . . . I cut Samantha Claken’s ponytail off because she got the lead choir part. I . . . I was just a part of the fucking chorus,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. Why you mentioned such an old memory you didn’t know, but it just slipped out. You just . . . you wanted him to know he was wrong; that you’d been a rotten child no matter how long you worked each night to sew yourself together. “I’ve always been jealous. Jealous child, jealous adult. I’ve hurt people who’ve taken the things I wanted and I didn’t care. I’m not good. You shouldn’t comfort me. I’ve never once deserved it, not even as a child. I’m not good. I’m not your friend. I don’t like you. I don’t care about you. I won’t. I am not good. I will hurt you.” Your brows twitched. “I’m violent.”
Chris looked at you then, and it was almost as if you were staring into a mirror. The look on his face . . . no, he needed to stop. You wouldn’t let him in your head. You wouldn’t let him know you. You wouldn’t bring death to more doorsteps.
Wetting your lips, you breathed in sharply, and reiterated, “Sam got what I wanted and I cut all her hair off. The year before that she won the superlative for best hair. I knew it would hurt her, and that’s why I did it.” You leaned closer to him just a smidge, eyes blank. “I would’ve done worse if I could’ve. I would’ve cut her. I would’ve.”
But he just kept staring at you like he could see right through you. You’d never felt so exposed in your entire life than you did when you were with him.
And then . . . he smiled. No, grinned. “Well . . . maybe she deserved it.”
Your brows raised. All you could do was stare at him. It was obvious he didn’t believe you. It was obvious your suspicions were right: he could see right through you. Or maybe . . . maybe he didn’t care.
“All she did was tell Sister Agnes that I was the one who stole all the communion wafers before mass,” you replied. “Do you think I did the right thing?”
He laughed through his nose, shaking his head. And for a second you thought he’d agreed with you. For a second, you thought you’d proven your point, but instead: “So she did deserve it,” he mused with a soft sigh, leaning back onto the mattress.
“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered as you put your glass on the floor in an attempt to cover up the fact that you were fighting back the feeling of your lips twitching upward. “There’s always a clear distinction between right and wrong. I deserved the punishment.”
“Punishment?”
You glanced at him, taking note of his scrunched brows. Had you said too much? “They had to push mass back an hour just so they could make a whole new batch. It was a big deal, apparently,” you went on, going against every bone in your body telling you to keep your mouth shut. “Sister Agnes made me stay after bible study just so she could slap my hands with a fucking ruler. Went home with cuts all along my knuckles—” you offered him your hand, pointing out the old scars with your fingers— “and when my mom saw . . . “ Your brows furrowed at the memory. You’d almost forgotten. “There was this room in the attic . . . I—”
Stop! your brain screamed at you before the words left your lips. You didn’t even realize you were about to tell him anything about yourself. How could you be so foolish? Why had it been so easy to let those words spill? Why did you— Was it the wine or him?
Clearing your throat, you shook your head and sighed. “But you know . . . I think that was the best day of my life,” you said instead, ignoring your previous admission. “Word got back to my mom, and she made me give them all back, you know? But . . . I still got an extra twenty wafers than I would’ve on a Sunday.”
And what was even weirder . . . he let you move on without another question. Instead, all he asked was, “How do they taste anyway?”
But that seemed to shock you more than if he had tried to pry. “You’ve never had?”
He shook his head once. “I grew up believing in nothing.”
“Mmm, you missed out,” you hummed, glancing at him over your shoulder. They’re like the perfect amount of nothing and just a pinch of flavor. The aftertaste . . . I swear . . . is like this wine . . . better than it maybe.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, but that day . . . that day they tasted even better,” you went on, getting wrapped up in your memories again, forgetting yourself. “Like . . . like . . . “
“Payback,” Chris finished for you.
Shock weaved onto your face as you openly stared at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. You just . . . how did he always know? Quickly, you wiped the look off your face, trying to compose yourself. “Payback,” you confirmed, nodding your head, but this time you couldn’t stop from the corners of your lips twitching into the smallest, faintest of smiles as you stared at him. What was worse was the fact that you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning back onto the mattress, your eyes trained on the metal ceiling as you clasped your hands together, resting them on your stomach. “You know . . . I had to clean up after mass every day for a month and wash the windows every week, but it was so fuckin’ worth it to see the look on Sister’s face when she opened the cabinet and they were all gone.”
Chris nodded, then sighed before he laid down right beside you, your arms nearly brushing. “I can’t say I’ve ever done something like that before,” he murmured as he tucked an arm behind his head.
“Mmm, I know,” you hummed back. “I know your type.”
“My type?” he laughed through his nose. “Tell me more about my type.”
Wetting your lips, you knew what you were doing letting him know what you thought of him, but you blamed the alcohol. It didn’t mean you trusted him or anything like that. You were just not . . . yourself. “You’re too good,” you told him as you accepted your fate. “Anyone can see that. It’s so clear, almost too clear. It’s so clear I sometimes wonder if I should warn you.” The words left your lips and you knew you’d said too much, but you just couldn’t stop. “I had a friend. He was good, too. He still is. I know he is, but I’m scared that because of me, he won’t be for much longer. And you . . . you have the same kind of look in your eyes as him.” Felix’s eyes. Chris’s. It was like they both looked at you like you were still there; like the blood staining your teeth was just wine. “They’re kind . . . like you can tell you’ve smiled even in a world like this. You can’t fool anyone with eyes like that. They tell everything about what’s going on in here.” You pointed to your chest, repeatedly jabbing it like a knife into flesh. “I think . . . I think it’d kill you to do something bad . . . to hurt someone.”
A beat of silence. Then another. And by the third one, you were afraid to glance over at him.
So instead, you accepted your fate for a second time that night and went on, “And maybe that’s good. Maybe it’s people like you who’ll survive all of this. Maybe it’s people like me who got it all wrong. I don’t know.” Covering your face with your hands, you groaned. “I don’t know. I just . . . I just think that in this world to love . . . is to kill, and if you don’t get that; if you can’t do that, then the only way you can love is if you die.”
This time when a beat of silence pounded in your ears, you didn’t let him or time make the decision for you. Instead . . .
“I guess that’s the question of the century, yeah?” you scoffed, shaking your head as the memories from all those years came fading in and out, in and out, in and— “Is it better to kill . . . or to die?”
“And—” out of your peripheral vision, you watched as Chris turned his head to look at you, but you wouldn’t dare meet his gaze— “what would you choose?”
“I’ve killed.”
“I know,” he replied, calmly, “but . . . what would you choose?”
It was then you couldn’t help but meet his eyes. You glanced from one eye to the other, searching them in hopes he wouldn’t force you to answer. “Why ask questions you already know the answer to?” you questioned, still searching his eyes for . . . something. “Once you do something . . . you don’t get to choose anymore. You’ve already committed yourself. There’s no undoing the past . . . just like you said. So what I would choose now doesn’t matter. I’ve already chosen.”
Chris nodded at that, but you could tell . . . no you could see that he didn’t believe you. What was he thinking? Why was he always so—
“I think if I could go back to the beginning, I’d turn on the TV sooner,” Chris said before your mind could spiral, and then it hit you that he was giving you his answer on a silver platter, and for some reason, you wanted to know; for some reason, you listened. “I’d see the news and I’d get to my family in time. I’d . . . die with them or for them, it wouldn’t matter. I just wouldn’t want to survive without them if I had the choice.”
Furrowing your brows, you couldn’t help but ask, “Then . . . why did you keep going?”
He glanced away, accepting the silence as well. “If given the choice, every single one of them would’ve died for me. I would’ve done the same. But shit hit the fan and I was the only one who made it out alive,” he said, almost as if it were hard for him; almost if he, too, wasn’t telling you the full truth. “They’d already died waiting for me. I couldn’t let their deaths be in vain. And . . . “ he wet his lips— “I had other people to protect . . . ”
“So you went on surviving,” you whispered more to yourself than to him.
“They didn’t get a choice,” he muttered. “I did. I . . . do.”
Swallowing hard, you bit the inside of your cheek. “Is that why you saved me?”
He looked at you again then, and you swore you saw something different in his gaze. Grief? Regret? Pain? No . . . no . . . what was it? “I don’t know,” he answered your thoughts with a small shrug.
He didn’t know why he’d saved you . . . You nodded and muttered under your breath, “Well . . . you shouldn’t have. Would have saved you all this—” you gestured to the safe house bunker— “trouble.”
“Mmm, there it is again,” he mused, his voice lighter now or maybe . . . amused(?). “I’m not scared of you, you know?”
The beat of your heart could be felt in your throat. Why was he always so . . . like this? And yet . . . you wanted to know what he thought. You wanted to know what he thought of you.
“You’ve tried to scare me, but I see it. I’ve seen who you used to be,” he whispered almost as if he wanted you to know his words were only for you despite there not being anyone alive for meters upon meters. “That story about your dog. The man you killed. I know when someone’s not telling the full truth. I started to believe you weeks ago, but after what happened with Misun . . . I was watching you the entire night. You were only wiping her chin.” You blinked and he smiled, softly. “You had a sister before. I’m right, aren’t I? When Jeongin went for you, you were trying to protect her. You were willing to die for her . . . not kill. That tells me everything.” He brought a hand to his chin, rubbing it as he scoffed. “And today . . . seeing you today with that deer . . . I've never seen someone be so violent yet so . . . so . . . gentle.”
“There’s nothing gentle about me,” you quickly protested, but you could still feel your heart in your throat. Then . . . your knees began to itch, and you wanted to run. You wanted to run and yet . . . you stayed put, laying side by side next to a man who seemed to see all the things you tried to hide, and you just couldn’t look away.
You only became more enraptured by him when he grinned at your words, almost laughing it off; as if your words were the farthest thing from the truth; as if you weren’t a wild animal. “That’s why I want you to stay with us,” he confessed, his voice still soft, still inviting; still hypnotizing. “You’d do anything for any one of those kids. I know you would. It doesn’t matter what else you’ve done, it matters who you are, and I know you’re a good person.”
I know you’re a good person, he’d said. But how could he know? You could still taste the blood of a man on your tongue. You could still feel the hardness of his trachea hitting your teeth as you bit into his neck. You could still feel the arteries stuck between your teeth. You could still feel it all, and yet: I know you’re a good person.
“Something told me to save you that night,” he finally admitted, now searching your eyes. “I don’t know what it was. I don’t believe in God. I’m not religious. I don’t know what it was, but something told me to save you, and . . . “ he paused only for a second, and yet, you could see everything he hadn’t said already . . . “I’m glad I listened.”
But all you could do was shake your head because you knew. You knew he was wrong. You knew because . . . you remembered the whine Berry emitted when you snapped her neck. You remembered how you were gone for seven hours that day; how many times you threw up as you skinned her, gutted her, cooked her, and peeled the meat from her bones so no one would know what you’d killed. You remembered how long it took for you to scrub her blood from underneath your fingernails. You remembered going to the lake that day, and contemplating for hours on end what would happen if you found the heaviest rock you could and just . . . let yourself sink. And . . . you remembered the look on your mother’s face when it was you who came out of that burning building and not your father. You remembered the sting of her slap and the rage in her words. You remembered everything because you couldn’t forget; you wouldn’t let yourself.
“There will come a day where you won’t be,” was all you spat as the memories turned you sour and bitter.
Chris furrowed his brows, opening his mouth to say something, but this time you didn’t want to hear it. This time, you turned away from him and sat up, reaching for your wine glass so you could put it back where he’d gotten it from. But as you grabbed the glass, your hand slipped and the broken part of the rim sliced your finger. With a soft gasp, you dropped the glass and it shattered against the floor, but that wasn’t what caught your attention. No, as soon as blood came into your sight, you didn’t even have enough time to react before Chris sprung from the bed and reached for you.
“I’m fine,” you muttered, trying to tear yourself from him as you wiped the blood onto your shirt, but the cut was deeper than you thought. The blood just kept coming and coming and—
His hands were cradling yours the next second. Gently, he opened up your hand to himself, and you watched, stunned as he leaned forward and wrapped his mouth around your finger. It was quiet then, almost too quiet. Your heart was hammering in your throat, blood pumping through your ears as you felt his tongue softly touch your fingertip, while he gently sucked the wound. A man had never touched you like this, and you’d never touched a man like that either, and yet there he was . . .
Only a few minutes passed before he popped your finger out of his mouth, slowly backing away from you, but his hands never left yours. And all you could do was stare at him wide-eyed, mouth agape and chest rapidly moving up and down. Only then, it seemed, did he realize just how close the two of you had gotten and just how suggestive this position put him in, and only then . . . only then did he drop your hand, rapidly blinking as he cleared his throat.
“I’ll—I’m gonna clean this up,” he muttered, scratching the back of his head as he stood to his feet. “Enough, um, wine for the night, yeah?”
And then he wasn’t near anymore. You couldn’t feel the heat of his body radiating onto yours or smell his shampoo or even his skin. He was shuffling around the room, and you were stuck frozen in time as you processed everything. Then, slowly, you glanced down at your finger, finding it had stopped bleeding.
Swallowing hard, you wondered why he’d done it. Was he not afraid of the taste or was he used to it? Did blood taste like wine or was blood just blood to him? And was wine just blood to him, too?
Despite trying to call it a night and forget the awkward moment you’d shared, another wine bottle was consumed. The two of you hadn’t looked at each other since, but Chris popped open another bottle about an hour ago, quietly offering you another glass while he avoided eye contact, and you graciously accepted it. It was unusual. It was awkward. It was a bad idea.
The bunker felt too quiet, the kind of silence that made the air heavy, pressing against your skin. You lay on the bed, glaring at the ceiling with your arms tightly crossed over your chest as if trying to keep something inside from spilling out. The alcohol buzzed in your veins, dulling the edges of your mind, but not enough. Not enough to quiet the guilt that gnawed at you, whispering that you didn’t belong here—that you never would. You shouldn’t trust him. And yet, here you were. Drinking with him, sleeping beside him, letting yourself unravel. His lips had touched you. He’d tasted your blood and nothing bad had happened. He’d taken a part of you, graciously. And you’d had too many dark thoughts since then, because all you wanted to do was drink more and more and tell him to do it again and again.
How could he do that? How was he always doing that? It was like he’d found a way under your skin, and decided that would be his shelter. Why did he want to build a home inside you? Nobody had ever been hungry for you. You’d always been hungry for everyone else, and yet . . . he’d tasted your blood willingly. It made you wonder . . . everything about him.
Your mind was gone, and all you could taste was blood, no, wine, no, blood, no, no, no, you tasted something else entirely. God, what was it? "Back at the bunker," you felt yourself blurt out before you could stop yourself, wanting to talk more and wanting to know more about him. (Was it curiosity you tasted? You’d never felt this way before . . . ) You just . . . you didn’t want this night to end because when morning came and you were no longer intoxicated with rich rich wine, you’d regret it all. Tomorrow you’d leave, and tomorrow you’d die. You just wanted this one thing. So you let yourself continue. "Where do you sleep?"
Chris lay on the floor beside the bed with just a blanket covering him, his broad frame making the small room feel even smaller. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and something in his expression softened, his cheeks flush from the wine. "The hall," he said quietly, swinging one of his arms under his head. "Outside all the rooms."
The confession made something inside you twist. You frowned . . . because his voice seemed to satiate this hunger deep inside you. "Why?" The word slipped out harsher than intended. You just . . . you wanted more answers, and . . . you’d never been a very dutiful child.
His gaze didn’t falter. "I didn’t trust you enough to leave my people unguarded." There was a pause, a flash of something in his eyes. "And . . . I didn’t trust everyone enough to leave you unguarded."
You flinched inwardly. He should’ve kicked you out. Trust or no trust. It wasn’t worth it. You wouldn’t have been that naive. Letting a wild animal into your home was a bad decision. Just like the wine. Just like that night your father died. Just like the night you killed a man. Just like the pet you’d slaughtered to satiate this deep hunger inside you. Letting a wild animal into your home was a death sentence, so then why did he do it?
"So,” you began again, eyes on the ceiling, “the room I sleep in—it’s yours?"
Chris nodded. "Yes."
And then you knew you’d been right to assume, and remembered. The worn bedding, the lingering scent of him, the faint outline of something familiar and lived in. It felt wrong, like an intrusion. It was his room, and yet . . . he’d let you sleep in it for weeks now, while he slept outside like a dog with no home. And then . . . the clothes he’d given you. Your stomach clenched as your fingers tightly tugged at the bottom of your shirt. Where was she? "You have women’s clothes in your room?" you muttered out, letting your words linger, knowing he’d understood what your question truly meant.
Chris tensed, his jaw tightening for a brief moment. "She’s gone," he said, voice quieter now, almost fragile. "She’s been gone for a long time."
You took a breath, but it felt like you were swallowing shards of glass. You knew what that meant. You’d known what that meant since the day you were taught how to shoot a deer. You knew. "Dead,” you whispered.
His eyes dropped, a shadow passing over his face. "It’s like I said . . . being out here too long. It changes things."
You knew what he meant, but the weight of it sat heavy between you. You were no stranger to loss. Hell, you’d been the cause of it more times than you cared to count. The thought lingered like poison in your veins. You glanced at the floor where he’d been sleeping. He’d taken a wild animal into his home, he’d offered this thing food and water and a bed, and he’d slept on the floor, losing sleep just to watch this animal, and yet . . . he’d never caused it harm. How could he do that? How could he trust you, covered in blood and smelling of death? What kind of idiot trusts someone like that?
And what kind of idiot . . . likes that? You swallowed hard, the taste of wine still on your tongue as you tried to fight back your words. You tried to swallow it down just as easily as you’d swallowed the wine, but . . . you’d turned into one of those idiots, too. You realized that as you asked, "Is the floor . . comfortable?"
He let out a small laugh, one without much humor, rubbing his hand over his face. "Could be worse."
That familiar tightening in your chest came back, the one that was always there when you were too close to people, too close to places that felt safe. It was the kind of suffocation that came with the knowledge that safety didn’t last—that you didn’t deserve it. You’d felt it with Felix. You’d taught him how to fly and refused to let him soar on his own. You hungered for his love, his friendship, him . . . just as you’d been hungry for your mother’s. It felt all too similar to a bullet going through your shoulder. You knew how it felt to heal from a wound like that, but you didn’t know if you could ever do it again. And yet . . . You pulled the covers back, then turned your back to him as quickly as you could. "Sleep with me," you said, the words coming out sharp and impulsive. "Just . . . just sleep on the bed."
Chris stilled. You didn’t have to look at him to know he was surprised. "What?"
"This isn’t some movie," you said, trying to steady your voice, make it sound like you were in control, like this was nothing. "You can sleep on the bed with me, and it won’t be inappropriate."
There was a beat of silence. You could feel his eyes on you, and you were reminded of how painful it’d been to rip a bullet out of your shoulder. "I think you’re still drunk," he said softly, a quiet accusation as he nearly scoffed, humor in his voice.
You chewed on your inner cheek as you picked at the cracked skin of your lower lip. "Grow up," you muttered. "Sleep on the bed. Or don’t. I don’t care."
A beat of silence. You nearly lacerated your inner cheek with your canines. And then: the mattress shifted as he climbed in beside you, his presence warm and solid, too close but not close enough to touch. The space between you was charged, a tension that knotted your stomach. His breathing was steady, almost comforting, but it only made you feel more exposed.
"Has anyone ever told you you can be harsh?" he asked, voice soft but laced with amusement.
You felt the corners of your lips twitch, but you wouldn’t let yourself smile and you refused to let him see it. Another minute passed, and then you felt your stomach growl. Hunger persisted. You shifted uncomfortably, your hip digging into the mattress as you turned over, facing him now as you lay on your side. "My hip hurt," you muttered, too afraid he’d think you wanted to be closer to him. Or perhaps . . . you were afraid to admit that you wanted to be closer to him.
Chris chuckled, a low sound that rumbled through him. "OK."
It was such a simple response, and yet it felt like he was giving you more than you deserved. He always did. And that was the problem. You didn’t deserve this—the warmth, the laughter, the steadiness of him beside you. You shifted again, the words rising in your throat before you could stop them.
"I should leave tomorrow," you said, though the words feel hollow as they leave your mouth.
Chris glanced toward you, brows furrowed. His eyes traced your features, almost as if he were studying you. "You’re asking for my approval," he said after a minute, his voice calm and steady. "Why are you asking for my approval?"
You closed your eyes, a tightness forming in your throat. "You don’t get it," you whispered.
"Then explain it to me."
You exhaled, and before you could stop yourself, the words came spilling out. "When I was a kid . . . I used to pray something bad would happen to me." You didn’t look at him, didn’t let yourself see the expression on his face. "I was always too afraid to do it myself, so sometimes I’d skip class and go into the woods during hunting season. I never went in far . . . but I’d pray that they’d mistake me for a deer. That a stray bullet would hit me instead of one of the fawns." You paused, your chest tightening with the weight of memories you never wanted to share. "I think . . . I think I’ve lived longer now than I ever would’ve if none of this had happened." You swallowed hard, your voice dropping to a whisper. "Then the world died . . . and I’ve watched so many people die since then. And every time, I come out unscathed."
You glanced up, searching his eyes for something—anger, judgment, anything to make sense of the mess you just unloaded on him. "Don’t you see? You welcome me into that bunker, and everyone will die. That’s how it always goes. You should’ve let me die that night," you said quietly. To sleep in the same bed as a wild animal is to put a gun to your head and pull the trigger. Why didn’t he seem scared? And why were you hoping he wasn’t?
The silence that followed was heavy. You watched as his brows furrowed and his eyes left your face and darted across the ceiling as if he were truly thinking. And you wondered what he thought. You knew what he should’ve thought. You knew what you’d told him. You knew what he’d told you. But now . . . it seemed the alcohol in your system had you hoping that he’d prove you wrong. And then: "You’re not the reason people die," he said, his voice calm, as if his certainty could erase the years of guilt you carried. "The world is."
You shook your head, the familiar ache in your chest tightening. "You don’t know me."
He turned his head then, eyes falling upon yours. He searched them for a moment before his brows twitched and he whispered, "I want to."
That simple, direct response cut through you, leaving you raw. He wanted to know you. He wanted to see something good in you, something you were convinced didn’t exist. You had spent so long hiding, so long convinced you were beyond redemption, but Chris refused to see the darkness you clung to.
"You’ll regret your words one day," you murmured, bitterness lacing your tone as you shook your head.
He didn’t flinch. "Let’s make a deal then," he said quietly, his gaze never leaving yours. "If you agree to come back with me, and everything goes to shit, you can leave. No questions asked. But if not . . . if things work out, you get a roof over your head, food, a bed. You get people." His lips quirked into a small smile. "Deal?"
You stared at him, your heart pounding too hard. He didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know what would happen. You were meant to leave tomorrow. You were meant to die tomorrow. How could you go back to him and . . . live? "Doesn’t seem like a very good deal on your end," you muttered, but your words held truth to them.
"You’re a good asset.” He shrugged. “Seems like the best kind of deal to me."
You were about to scoff when he took your hand gently, and placed it against his chest, right over his heart. The gesture startled you, making you feel too close, too exposed, but you didn’t pull away. His heartbeat was steady beneath your palm, grounding you in a way that terrified you. His eyes held yours, unwavering. "Cross my heart and hope to die," he said, his tone soft, playful, but with a depth that lingered beneath the words.
You pulled your hand back slightly, but he didn’t let go. "That’s not funny,” you scoffed, shaking your head.
He grinned, and the sight of it made something in your chest tighten. "You’ll need to work on your sense of humor. So the deal’s fair, you know?"
This was too much. He was still grinning at you, and you felt like you might die. Was this how it felt to be drunk? Or was it him? The wine or him? The wine or him? God, you didn’t know. Your heart sped up at the questions clogging your mind, and you pushed his hand away to clear those thoughts, but the roughness of his skin against yours sent an unwanted shiver down your spine. "Your hands are too rough," you blurted out, more sharply than you intended.
"Strike one," he replied, still smiling. "That was rude."
"It’s the truth," you countered, swallowing hard as you tried to quietly steady your mind. You forced yourself to break eye contact, rolling onto your back to stare at the ceiling. You could still feel him, but . . . you couldn’t see him, and that . . . that seemed to help. Wetting your lips, you felt a pang of guilt tug on your heart. "Mine are too. Just the way it is." You lifted your hand up, showing your knuckles to him, where you knew the scars would still be.
“Liar.”
You were about to scoff when he took your hand again, this time more firmly, inspecting it with his. His touch was gentle just like hours before, his fingers tracing the lines of your palm, the warmth of his skin sending an unwanted shiver down your spine. He seemed lost in thought, studying you with a seriousness that made your heart race.
“Do you believe me now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, almost as if you were afraid of his answer; as if for the first time in your life, you wanted a man to look at you.
“Soft.” He looked up, his gaze piercing yet soft, an intriguing mix of concern and something deeper. “You’re soft,” he said, and there was a gravity in his tone that caught you off guard. His eyes held so much—curiosity, determination, and an undeniable pull that made your breath hitch.
In that moment, the distance between you collapsed, the air thick with unspoken words and emotions swirling like a storm. You could feel it—a magnetic draw that pulled you closer. And then you realized something peculiar: for the first time in your life, you did want a man to look at you. And . . . and . . . he was.
Swallowing hard, you decided. Tomorrow you’d leave. Tomorrow you’d die. Tomorrow you’d kill yourself with your father’s gun in hand and finally find him again. You’d grown up in a town where there were whispers; where the name of God was the only thing you should’ve cared about; where you were taught if you even so much as looked at a man for too long, you’d gone against the almighty father; where you were the sacrificial lamb in a hollow of wolves. You’d turned into one of those wolves now. You were raw and ugly and grotesque. You didn’t deserve his hospitality, his kindness, him. You didn’t deserve to look at him like he was the apple and you were Eve. You didn’t deserve to taste him as he’d tasted you, but god did you want to. You supposed you finally got what it meant to sin.
But tonight . . . tonight you wanted all the things you’d never had. You’d set the world straight tomorrow. You’d give this God what he wanted, but tonight . . . tonight there was no God, there was no town, no mother, no dead father, no outside world. Tonight, all you could see, all you could smell, all you wanted to feel and taste was . . . him.
You’d never felt a man before. You’d never touched or held or kissed a man you wanted like this before. And for the first time, dying without having ever touching him scared you more than the scabs on your knees or the evil in your heart.
You wet your lips, your hunger consuming you while your hands hesitantly touched either side of his face, shaking as the tips of your fingers danced across his cheekbones. You lived in a world where the dead came back; where you had to kill them brutally and violently. You weren’t scared of the monsters under your bed anymore, not in a world like this. And yet, somehow, the man before you was the scariest thing you’d ever had to deal with. It wasn’t what you knew about him that scared you or even what you didn’t know, but rather his proximity.
Was it the wine or him?
You’d never been this close to a man like him before; you’d never touched one like this; you’d never wanted to touch one like this and . . . more; you’d been taught sex before marriage was a sin and never once really found interest in it; you’d never laid with a man or ever kissed, you never wanted to. Somehow; however, every time he was near you, you couldn’t help but stare at him a little longer.
Was it the wine or him?
At night . . . sometimes his face revisited you in your dreams. You thought you couldn’t dream anymore or rather the dreams you were allowed were tainted. Yet . . . the dreams you’d have of him . . . they were just dreams . . . they were just him. It made you curious. It made you go mad. It terrified you, and yet as you cradled his face in the palms of your hands . . . you couldn’t stop thinking about what his lips would feel like against yours.
Was it the wine or him?
Swallowing hard, you knew the answer. Him . . .
Why do you make me feel this way? you wanted to ask. Why is it you and not God? The end of the world was supposed to bring more faith, and yet you’d only lost it. This . . . this was the first feeling of salvation you’d yearned for since the day you first awoke. Why is it you? Why is it you? Why is it not him? Why is it not God? How could the man you’d once mistaken for Death make you feel like how the rapture was supposed to?
Those words never left your lips. Instead, you did something that shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you. You touched your thumb to his bottom lip, breathing out a heavy sigh, then . . . you crashed into him, slamming your lips onto his and nearly knocking out all the air in your lungs. The warmth of his lips obliterated your every thought, melting your mind as you melded into him. Chris, however, remained stunned, his hand frozen still on your arm while you pressed your chapped lips against his soft, plush ones.
But when your fingers gently grazed across his cheek, traveling up to curl his hair behind his ear, he gave in. He reacted quickly after that, and gripped onto your thighs, locking your leg over his hip the best he could to shift closer to you. And then he was wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you even closer to him until there was no space left between. His other hand found its way to the back of your neck and he deepened the kiss, causing you to release a soft gasp into his mouth.
You’d never touched a man. You’d never wanted to before. But in that moment, all you wanted was to feel more and more of him before you left the next morning and bid him goodbye. You’d never see him again, and maybe that was what scared you. You wanted to feel all of him. You wanted to know more about him and why you felt the way you did, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t let yourself, not when the next morning you’d be off and alone like you were supposed to be. Tomorrow, you’d end it all and never see him again . . .
But God . . . you wanted to see him again and again. You wanted him like this over and over. You wanted more and more, but you wouldn’t let yourself. Death would follow. He’d seen enough of it. Kissing him was not the worst you could do to him, but it was the only sin you’d allow yourself to commit. You wanted to remember this when you died.
The descent into madness only quickened as you realized you weren’t just kissing him, but kissing anyone for the first and only time. You wanted this. You wanted him. You wanted it to be memorable. And so it was.
It was sloppy and needy . . . like the two of you were trying to drink each other up; like you were thanking him and he was thanking you right back. And his touch. His touch lit a fire inside you as he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, asking you for permission first. And you willingly gave it to him, parting your lips just enough to allow him access, and relishing in the way he nearly groaned at your neediness.
Every squeeze of your hips, every hurried touch he left along your sides, your legs, your arms, face, lips . . . you felt yourself sinking further and further into him. You just wanted more and more and more. No one had ever felt this good. Nothing had ever tasted this sweet, not even blood or wine. No one had ever made you want to kiss them until the sun rose, but him . . . He was nearly otherworldly, and you hated that. Why him and not God? Why him? Why now?
“I don’t like you,” you heard yourself gasp against his lips before you began to kiss his cheek, then his jaw, until you reached his neck.
Chris chuckled under his breath, tilting his head to the side to allow you more access and you eagerly took it. “You don’t like me?” he questioned, his voice deeper now as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat when you leaned back and your finger replaced your lips as it lazily traced figures along the slope of his neck.
“You make me feel like I’m on fire,” you confessed, continuing to trail your finger across his beautiful, beautiful neck as he drew your body closer to his, your core now directly resting on top of his lower half. “I hate it. I hate . . . “ You swallowed hard. “I have this . . . hunger inside me. It’s incorrigible and disgusting and . . . and . . . I’ve always been like this even as a kid. I would do things and make trouble because I wanted to feel full; I wanted to feel normal . . . fulfilled . . . content . . . and then I would try to apologize for this hunger by pretending to be this perfect child and praying and repenting and swallowing it down, but right now—” you shook your head, in disbelief of yourself— “I just . . . I don’t . . . I don’t feel violent . . . I’m not. I don’t know why I am . . . and I don’t know why I’m not right now. I hate this. I hate you. I . . . don’t feel violent with you.”
Chris laced your fingers together, holding your hand close to his neck. “What do you feel?” he whispered, almost hesitant to hear the answer.
You could only shake your head, your words nothing but gibberish. “A different kind of hunger,” you spat out, scoffing at your own confession. “I want . . . “ You choked out a laugh, inching closer toward him. “I just want to kiss you.”
The corners of his lips twitched into a handsome half-grin as he softly brushed his nose against yours. “Kiss me then.”
That was all it took. You pressed your lips firmly against his, trailing your hand up to the back of his head, pulling him into you. He laughed into your mouth, but didn’t dare pull away. He only pulled himself closer, and the fire inside you burned brighter. He took the reins from you as he deepened the kiss, his tongue melding against your own, and then you felt yourself inhaling sharply just before you pushed yourself further into him, trying to taste as much of him as you could. His body moved with his lips, melding into your own body as his arm wrapped around your back once again, trying to get you as close as possible.
That was when you felt it—his hardness poking you where you needed it most. You’d never felt something like this before; something so hot and . . . there. You’d never been too curious about it. You’d never had the time, but now . . . it was all you could think about. For a second, you were just a woman and he was just a man, and that was all. You knew how it all worked, and now . . . now you wanted it. You couldn't tell if he was fully hard due to the material of his jeans, but you didn't care. The feeling alone was enough to set you off—your skin grew hot and your breath hitched in your throat as your core ached for even the simplest of touches. It was new. It was odd. It was everything.
Even just the slightest of pressure on your body had your head spinning. His hand squeezed your thigh and you nearly sighed into his mouth, wishing he’d just hold you against him and squeeze you into his broad chest. “You’re—” he began at the sound of your quiet gasp, but his words quickly died on his tongue when your body moved against his.
Grinning against his lips, you mumbled, taunting him, “I’m?”
But he only groaned, his deep voice doing unspeakable things to you as his grip on you tightened. His touch only spurred you on further. “You make me—You’re—” he cut himself off as dived back in, his mouth skillfully working against yours— “everything.” His words shocked you to the core, but not for long as one of his hands tightened around the hair at the back of your head, pulling you into him while his other hand tugged your body against his in a new position, the movements simultaneously brushing your core ever so slightly against the tent in his jeans.
If he knew how he was affecting you, he didn’t show it. It just seemed he wanted more and more of you, and that was it. Yet, still, his simple touches were making your underwear stick to your core, and you were becoming more and more lost in him as the seconds passed.
When your core began to ache all too much, you listened to your body, subconsciously grinding against his hardness. And oh . . . you’d never felt that. Your stomach flipped, your most intimate parts of yourself pulsing against his body. And instantly, he, too, curled into you, a deep moan sounding from the back of his throat as he buried his head into the crook of your neck.
But he didn’t dare touch you like . . . that . . . back. No . . . instead . . . his hands stilled, his touch light against you as he halted you from grinding against him again.
And you were left out of breath, dazed, and confused, with an odd ache in your chest.
“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He kissed your neck once, but it was gentle, almost innocent, and then he was pulling away.
A beat of silence.
Beat.
It was deafening.
Beat.
And for a second, you thought it was the second coming.
Beat.
For a second, you thought this was Hell, and then he looked at you and spoke, and you realized it was.
“I just . . . “ His eyes met yours, searching and you searched right back, practically begging him to tell you the truth. You knew you’d never been someone people . . . liked. You could take this. He just . . . he just had to tell you. But instead: “I just . . . I can’t be . . . intimate with you.”
Oh. Your brows furrowed, your face hot, and suddenly, you remembered who you were, and what had happened, and what that meant. Then . . . you hated him for a whole different reason. “Um . . . OK . . . “ scoffing, you tried to turn over to get as far away from him as possible, but he pulled you back.
“Please,” he begged, hand still on your arm as he searched your eyes with such earnestness. “I want to kiss you.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “But . . . I just . . . I can’t.”
You blinked once. Then twice. Then once more as you stared at him while confusion and something else twisted through your brain. He wanted to kiss you. He had, and yet . . .
“OK,” you said, voice flat, void of the emotions swirling inside you. You slipped out of his hold without looking back, grabbing the blanket from the floor, and made your way to the corner of the room. The cold, hard floor seemed like a fitting place for you now, far away from him, from everything you’d just felt. You dropped down onto the floor, wrapping the blanket around you like a shield.
“You don’t have to—” he began, but you cut him off before he could finish.
“Don’t console me.” Your words were sharp, a dagger thrown with precision. “You think you mean anything to me? You don’t. You touch me, I will not hesitate to kill you. I have my gun. I will slit your throat, steal your shit, and leave your body to rot down here.” Your voice was icy, harsh. You wanted him to believe it, to push him away before he could come any closer, before he could see through the walls you so carefully built. You turned to look at him, meeting his eyes with a glare that you hoped would drive the point home. “I’m not your friend. I don’t like you. I don’t care about you. I am not a good person. I will hurt you.”
The silence that followed felt heavy, oppressive, like the weight of your own words was crashing down on both of you. You stared at him, daring him to challenge you, to call you out as a liar. But all he did was nod, his face unreadable.
“Understood?” you added, your voice softer now but no less dangerous.
His eyes flickered with something—sadness, maybe, or something deeper, something you didn’t want to recognize. “Understood,” he replied quietly, his voice steady, though the tension between you crackled like a live wire.
You turned away again, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself, trying to will your body to relax, to push away the hurt that had taken root deep inside. You closed your eyes, blocking him out, knowing that sleep wouldn’t come easy tonight.
You had built your walls higher than ever, but somehow, you'd never felt so exposed.
warnings: minor violence ⋆ blood and weapons ⋆ reader works as a waitress in a strip club⋆ dom!chris and sub!reader ⋆ lap dancing! ⋆ oral (m.receiving) ⋆ unprotected!sex ⋆ creampie!
summary: one night, while you were making your way home after work, you came across something you shouldn’t have seen and even if you run away, there was no way for you to escape the man with the scar across his face
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Someday you think, you will give up. Everything hurt — your arms, legs and mostly your head. It pulsated with every step you took and you silently prayed that you wouldn’t end up passed out on the cold, wet ground. You huffed, completely exhausted, but as you imagined yourself scrubbed clean and snuggled in your comfy bed, it kind of helped keep you motivated.
You wondered how long it would take before you just decided not to work anymore. It wasn’t like the job is bad or anything, quite the opposite. You get handsomely paid and that wasn’t a surprise. You work as a waitress at one of the most popular strip club in the city. You slept through the day, waking up late to get ready for your night shift. Every day you had to smile and giggle at the most gross and creepy men in hopes they would tip you more. But you can’t say anything to that. You have nothing to whine about and also you really liked it there. Pretty interior, good music and shows — maybe it's just your distaste for life at the moment.
Your naked feet dance across the ground, heels in your hand and you do hate yourself for forgetting about your other shoes. You did left your apartment quite in hurry. As well as now. It wasn’t the fact that walking on the ground made you literally shiver in disgust, it was mostly because you were starting to get highly aware of your position right now.
The early hours of morning are probably the most dangerous in this city. When you decided to live here, you didn’t look much into the history of the city. However every luxury and dreamlike city comes with secrets. The streets were still dark, quiet and cold, your hair sticking to your skin slightly from the humidity. You had to press your arms around your chest a little tighter when you hear a small noise behind you. You at that moment realized how unarmed you were. Cold, shivering in your skirt and light jacket, alone — you can’t help, but feel frightened a little.
This city was known for its crime, but being also so charming it makes all the tourist, just like you, blind enough not to see the danger it truly holds. Your head whipped around to look behind you. Nothing. Though you do pick up your pace, hissing at the small stones digging into your feet. Your droopy eyes flickered over the seemingly empty streets, few lamps lighting your path. You wanted nothing more than be in your apartment already as you started to feel not so alone anymore when another unexpected noise is heard.
A clinking of a glass bottle echoes around you. It was probably just a stray animal or something, but your heart still skipped a beat. You turned back around to look before you, but your eyes stopped at the well known open, alley next to you. It was a short cut, however you only took it at day when it seemed way more safe. The way the darkness almost seemed to pull you into it made you uncomfortable. You knew that you should never take a dark alley so late, even if you heard noise on the other end of the street. Something about it just screamed danger, yet it also called out to you and you knew how much time it would safe you by going that way — so you did.
Turning around the corner you couldn’t help, but look around your surroundings. Still nothing. It still scared you just a little, because you can never know, but just standing on the same spot won’t help you either. Sighing you walked further into the dark alleyway, grumbling just a little when you walked into small puddle. You really couldn’t afford being sick, another thing that made you go just a little faster. For being the city of crime at night, the rent prices really weren’t that low. You of course asked yourself if maybe moving away would be better, but you never knew that working at a strip club would make you meet the most important people in your life right now. You were just a runaway and all of them invited you with open arms. District 9 was also a city of outcasts — just like you.
Your nails dig into your jacket, piercing your skin almost from the way the pathway before you became completely dark. The only thing helping you see was the Moon and looking up, you for a second became blinded by its beauty. Cold kissed your cheeks, nose runny and your eyes slightly glossed over. Your dreamlike state didn’t last for very long, just like your sanity as you heard a very loud sound from somewhere near you.
You immediately jumped, body freezing. Your eyes widened, maybe to see better and when you heard the same noise once again you let out a small sigh of fright. However as the sound traveled to your senses, you quickly realized it was just a sound of car’s door closing. You almost wanted to laugh at yourself. Your paranoia still lingered when you looked into the direction of the sound and you fight back a shiver as it is the same way you must take to get home. You for a second wondered if there was maybe another way, but you knew that at the end, few blocks away was your warm, cozy home.
Taking a few, slow steps forward, your cold feet dragged across the ground for a second, thinking. Your ears were on high alert, eyes unfocused as it would help you hear better. Nothing, but was it really? Your hand gripping the string of your purse traveled down to open it. Fishing through it, your movements frantic, trying to find your choice of weapon. Even if your bag was rather small it got messy really fast. Before you could panic any longer your fingers finally grazed over the plastic, pulling it out quickly, your index finger immediately finding the dip at the top of the pepper spray. You kept it for years and you prayed that you won’t have to use it any time soon. You also wondered if it was still useable, but there’s only one way to found out.
The alley became less narrow the further you went, just like you remembered. You found a safe spot next to a brick wall, away from the warehouse next to you, hand dragging across the stone. You never liked that place. It was damned to be demolition and you always came across few pieces of stones falling from the walls. It seemed like a big hazard to you, but for some reason no one wanted to take it down.
As you were almost half way through the alley a flash of light flickered on the ground. You stopped in your tracks when it fell on the ground right before you, but just before it disappeared you followed it with your eyes. It flashed right before you then it traveled to the brick wall and when you turned around you realized it was coming from the building right next to you. It came from the inside, because from what you could see, it disappeared right when it hit a wall next to one of the broken windows. You couldn’t help but frown in confusion, head tilting down to maybe see inside what seemed like the basement window.
Maybe it was just some kids messing around, but when you decided to continue your walk home something stopped you. A loud sound pierced your ears, making you let out a small gasp, grasping your chest. However your noise was small compared to the short painful scream that came right after. You froze, breathing heavily, grasping your pepper spray in death grip. Turning once again you turned to the direction of the small window and from this angle you could finally see inside.
You didn’t know why you didn’t just run away as it was not worth it, but what if somebody was in danger. You probably wouldn’t be able to sleep with the guilt if you would see something in news later. You glanced back to the direction of your home and back to the window. You are troubled and just a little bit terrified. This wasn’t a good idea, but you were never good at making decisions, so you only walked closer.
And with careful steps, trying to be as quiet as possible at this hour. You bend in the knees, falling almost when the light shined yet again, but it thankfully wasn’t in your direction. You leaned closer with your free hand on the wall, lowering yourself on your knees. You fought back the disgust when your skin touched the dirty, cold ground, centering your attention on the light instead. You again followed it, watching how it was put down on something.
Your lips parted in shock, because as soon as the light was put down, the light beam hit a person rolling on the floor in agony. Then two feet dressed in fine, polished shoes stepped into the direction of the person. Their footsteps squeaked, shuffling closer and closer to the injured man. The one standing had their back turned to you, like the one on the ground, but just as you wondered what happened to the person they rolled over onto their back. Your hand immediately fell to your mouth, silencing your gasp at the sight.
Blood was everywhere on the man’s face. His hand put pressure onto his bleeding eye, but even with that he couldn’t stop the liquid from flowing out. Your legs shook and even with your fright you could still hear the words from the man standing. “Tell me their names.” The voice is low and rough. The demand meant for the injured man is only answered in series of pleas.
You were in state of shock, completely frozen in your spot. You couldn’t even breathe at that moment, watching with wide eyes as the standing man crouched down to his level. You could only see the back of his head full of dark hair, his wide shoulders caging the trembling man who raised his hands in surrender. However it didn’t seem like that man was moved by his apologies. You should’ve ran before it was too late, but how? You didn’t know what to do. Nothing, there was nothing for you to do to help that poor man as the man before him mumbled something that made the other scream in terror.
Your mouth fell wide open as when man with wide shoulders stood up again, holding out his hand. Another person which you didn’t see till then handed him a weapon — a gun. Your eyes filled with tears, because you would probably see the most gruesome sight in your life. Your breathing picked up, heart beating so fast you thought it would jump out of your chest. You couldn’t…you couldn’t look further as the dark haired man pointed the gun at the man who shook like a leaf. And then you did a very stupid thing…
You went to move away from the window, but your hand on the wall slipped, making your foot drag forward. A gasp that came from your lips was louder than the man’s cries, but not the stones rolling down from the window, landing right next to the man’s feet. You were immediately blinded by light shining into your face and you thought you almost died out of fear itself at that moment when the man turns to you.
The first thing you noticed about him was the large scar running across his face, starting from his eyebrow and ending at his chiseled jaw. His full lips were pulled into a scowl, brown eyes glaring right into yours. You felt like at the brink of fainting, because you immediately recognized him. His face was all over the news, only a sketch, but everyone knew about the man with a scar. Bangchan was his name. The most dangerous man of the whole city, a leader of an underground gang that is known for haunting these streets at night.
His whole demeanor screamed danger and hearing his voice once again, it did activated your fight or flight instinct. “Get her.” It came out cold and unemotional. His voice made your whole body vibrate, eyes falling to the gun still in his hand, but he did not make a move to raise it to your head. Instead you only heard heavy, quick footsteps and before you finally jumped away from the window, you saw three dark figures moving in the shadows — right into the direction of the side entrance to the warehouse, just where you were.
You knew you should never run to your home when someone was chasing you, but you had better chance at making it home than running back. You rised to your feet, not even thinking twice and running out of the aisle. Your legs immediately quivered at your sudden moves, feeling your muscles scream. Stumbling slightly, you almost slipped as you round the corner, running out of the alley just as you heard the sound of heavy metal doors slamming against a wall.
From the brute force you swear it vibrated in your bones. In your runaway plan you didn’t even realize you left your heels behind, but they were not going to help you anyway. You already had hard time using your legs, bare feet feeling like they would crumble at any moment. You couldn’t ignore the footsteps behind you. You looked back frantically, one of the three man a little too close to your liking. A cry of disbelief and horror left you, eyes going back to look at the sidewalk before you. You prayed that somebody would appear and safe you, but knowing what kind of people were chasing you nobody would be able to help you anyway.
You were so close. One block and you were home. You were trying not give up, lungs burning, metallic taste in your mouth overwhelmed your senses for a second. And then when your mind cleared again, you heard nothing. You didn’t stop however, only turning your head back around. You cried out in small relief as you saw nobody behind you on the sidewalk.
You didn’t think much of it as you stumbled over your apartment building. You didn’t think about the fact that they maybe were watching you, seeing that running after you was no use. Your adrenaline rush was greater than their strength. You knew that they wouldn’t give up. That man won’t give — he will hunt you down and do whatever he wants with you, because that’s just who he is. However you only felt relief when you walked inside your home, just as the orange hue of the rising sun start to peaked out from behind the tall buildings, but you also couldn’t ignore the lingering darkenss.
────
A dream, a nightmare — that’s what you thought it was when you woke up. Your eyes were all puffy, mind still fuzzy, but also on high alert at the same time. You remember how the first thing that you did when you stumbled inside your apartment was deadbolting it and moving your wardrobe to block the door. It all happened so fast that you still even now think you really just dreamed all of it. However losing your favorite heels and also the pepper spray under your bed told you the opposite. You really are surprised that you even woke up, seeing that you overslept your alarm three times. You were in hurry to get to work in time, but you think should’ve called the police instead. However you know that it would put even more of a target on your head. You don’t know what this man is truly capable of and you can’t be certain that he hasn’t got anyone in the police, because he always gets away with everything. Also by the time the cops would get there, there would be no clue that would indicate that the most dangerous gang was even there.
Your paranoia and fear for your own safety led you to passing out the moment you fell on to your bed. You were still in your dirty, damp clothes, waking up half an hour late, but somehow you managed to find time for a shower, do your makeup and dress up. You at that moment realized how your life is just a show. You slept even more than yesterday, but somehow you are the most tired you have ever been. The second you walked into your work, a wave of guilt hit you. You really should’ve called the police as soon as you got to your apartment. However you really did give them a lot of time to clean up after their mess. maybe you shouldn't have gone to the window — you really thought you could be the hero.
You feel like a clown in your mid length sparkly dress and heels, staring at the small tv at the far left corner. The sign ‘Girls,Girls,Girls’ next to it made it quite hard to see clearly on the screen, but you could recognize the blurry sketch everywhere. However it isn’t a report like you expected, it is only a remind to call the police if you see anyone similar to this image. The police and probably even FBI are getting a little too desperate to your taste when they put a price on his head. They are only putting civilians into danger and you just know that taking down the leader of this gang would only cause more trouble. Everybody knows Bangchan as a bad man, a murder who steals and brakes things, like the lives of innocent people. From every report there is about his actions it seemed like he leaves nothing behind other than few hints. You wonder if all of those victims have anything in common, but if they did the federal government wouldn’t give too much information out. They are all liars and assholes. You remember your coworker telling you that they once barged in to the club with guns, leaving shortly after with no explanation what so ever. You moved to the city few months after that fiasco.
You wipe down a glass, unaware of your surroundings, so when an empty tray falls right on the counter before you, you jump right out of your skin. Your head whips to the girl before you who only gives you a look of confusion in return. “Girl, you good?” Cathy asks you, her dark hair falling into her eyes, but you still see her glare. You know her the longest out of anyone. She was the one other than her best friend Nina who dances at the private rooms who helped you with everything. A lot of people come and go, but you are greatful that she stayed here with you, just like the boy next to you.
You feel a hand on your shoulder, making your eyes fall onto David who wears the same look on his face. “What’s going on? You’ve been very jumpy today.” There’s a pull on his bushy eyebrows and you realize that it’s concern. He always has the tendency to joke around more than anything and you see him like this only from time to time, so it makes you even more nervous.
You blink at him in thought. “Did one of the guys give you trouble again?” The girl before you goes further and you fight the argue to just break down and tell them everything. You think about what to answer. If you told them, you would probably put them in danger and you definitely couldn’t live with that. You will just have to wait till your shift is over and call the police…
Your eyes flicker back to the tv that nobody other than staff stares at sometimes, there are simply way prettier things to look at. “Nothing happened, just tired…I guess.” It comes out leveled yet little and something told you that even with such a reassuring tone they didn’t believe you.
They didn’t ask you further after that, but both of them kept a careful eye on you for the next two hours and you almost quivered at their intense gazes. You prefer to be honest over anything, but you really can’t. You tried to distract yourself with looking at the dancers. Their moves were usually so mesmerizing and beautiful, but right now their sensual moves were not enough to distract you from overthinking.
Maybe it’s the fact that you were acting like nothing actually happened, because you didn’t talk about it nor called the police, but you swear you felt someone watching you. It weren’t the eyes of a peeping Tom like you are quite used to — these ones drilled holes into your back. Every time you would go away from the bar to collect empty glasses and take order which was quite frequent, because the club was packed full tonight, goosebumps would appear on your body. You can’t help, but imagine those dark, brown eyes looking at you from somewhere. Your own imagination will be the death of you.
In your hurry to get back to the bar and order the drinks from a table full of collage boys, a single shot of tequila was left behind. You know you shouldn’t do it as it is against the policy, but you find yourself not caring too much, swallowing the shot in one, smooth go. It immediately burns at the back of the throat and you look around swiftly to see if anyone saw you and to your delight no one even batted an eye at you.
“Y/N!” At the sound of your name, you freeze, thinking you actually got caught in your act, but you are only met with Cathy again. She walks up to you with heavy breaths, hair sticking to her forehead from the humidity. “They need you as a backup—“ With her words she nods her head to the direction of the VIP section, before making her way back to the bar with her own tray of empty glasses.
You frown, eyes snapping to that direction. You have never been in there, because it is a known fact that only specific people could get in there. It is like an individual part of the club and you think you have never met anyone from there other than Nina. Celebrities, politicians all sorts of known people go there from what you know and you definitely wouldn’t be able to slip in as your eyes fall on the tall bodyguard guarding the door. You snap back to reality, realizing you are literally standing in the middle of the room.
You walk up quickly to the dark haired girl, your expression still the same, but she somehow isn’t so phased by it. “At the private rooms?” You say slowly, trying to see if this is supposed to be some sort of joke.
Putting down the tray next to hers, you watch her for a second, but Cathy only nods, not even looking at you as she starts to make a Bloody Mary. “Yeah and someone is asking for you—“
You only give her another look of confusion, tilting your head in thought. Your eyes quickly travel to the stages, then to the private section and back then back to her again, “I’m not a dancer.” You almost scoff, not in disgust, but at the thought of your stiff-self dancing that way.
Her laugh is sharp and it kind of offends you in some way. “I know, baby.” David just happens to round the corner to help her, not without giving you an odd look. “They just asked you to help them back there, it’s packed full.”
You hum, still not sure why you, because someone like her or David would definitely be a better help. You still sometimes look at the recipe for certain drinks, like rainbow shots — very popular in the bar, those gave you a whiplash every time you would try to make them. The thought of the VIP section with private rooms being completely full didn’t seem weird to you. Here, at your usual section they aren’t any private rooms simply because the people at the private area are usually famous so if anything would’ve happened they would sure pay for it.
You go take your tray again, but a hand stops you, pushing it away from you. You give your male friend a small look when he points back to the direction of the private area. “Okay…and who is asking for me?” You say, walking to the edge of the bar, before you walk away.
“They didn’t say.” Answers you Cathy, running away with her tray now filled to the brim with drinks. You look quickly at David who just also walks away from you, serving another thirsty customer.
You don’t question their weird behavior anymore, seeing that they have their hands quite full at the moment, but you wonder why they behaved so weirdly towards you. It is weird in some way that someone asked for you specifically as you weren’t even a dancer. A lump forms at the back of your throat, while making your way towards the big man guarding the doors to your destination. The more you get closer, the more your heart beats faster. Something about this screamed trouble, but maybe you were just exaggerating.
Even from a distance the man at the door sees you and he sure is intimidating, even his stare makes you doubt if you can even go near his direction. He is so tall that it hurt to look up at him, almost forgetting why you are here in the first place when you stop before him. “Ehm…I’m Y/N, somebody was asking for me?” You say uncertain.
He looks you up and down quickly, before his eyes scan the room. When he looks back at you, he nods, stepping away from the doors which seemed miniature next to him. “Follow me.” He says, voice rough, like he smoked a whole pack of cigarettes before saying there two simple words. You mimic his nod dumbly, smacking your lips together to smudge your lipstick. You watch the man open the door for you, however just a little to let you slip in.
You immediately blink rapidly to adjust your vision to the darkness surrounding you. You are blinded by how dark the room is, stopping to stare at a light up stage filled with no dancers so far. Your eyes thankfully adjust to the change of lightning enough to let you see your surroundings. Confusion is the first thing you feel as you look around the area — literally no one is here. The room in some way looks the same as the section you work at, but it definitely lacks in life. You become nervous suddenly when you see the bodyguard turning around to walk back to you, seeing you aren’t following him.
You gasp slightly when he wraps his hand around your bicep, pushing you with him. His grip is so tight that it hurt to move, you didn’t have anything against going further into the room, but now you do. Your eyes follow the trail of empty tables to the lit stage again. The grip the man has you in made you scared, because there really isn’t a respond for him to do such that — only if he thought you were trying to escape…just like now.
A small sound of pain leaves you, pulling at his hand to at least loosen his grip. There really wasn’t a chance you could overpower him, you only looked stupid in the process, turning your body back to the entrance to push him back. Before he again pushes you closer to him, you get a glimpse of the outside…you never knew that those windows were one way mirrors. That made you sick to your stomach.
You stumble in your heels, but he basically walked for you the whole time. However you do almost fall forward when he twirls you around a surprisingly full table. You only see the back of their heads, but before you could wonder who these people are, the man holding you shoves you right before them. The brute force makes you double over, hands falling on to the table of their booth, shaking it in the process.
“There she is—“
You can’t breath — there is no way…you are officially dead. When you look up from the plastic table, you don’t look at the owner of the voice, but right at the man sitting before you. A choked sound leaves you, your heavy breaths fanning away your hair from your eyes to see the truth better. It is him. If the aura radiating from him wasn’t a dead giveaway, it would certainly be the scar running across his face. Your eyes met briefly, like yesterday and just like the last time, it activated your fight or flight instinct.
You turn around to run away, but you are only held back by the same man who took you here. How stupid of you to think you could get away. Your legs buckle, eyes starting to sting, because you can’t believe this is your life right now — well, probably the end of it. Chuckles are let out across the table and you become disgusted at such sound at such moment. “Oh, no where are you going?” Is said jokingly from your left side, your eyes falling onto a man with black, short hair and surpringly glimmering eyes.
You don’t know who he is exactly, but you just know that these men are all the eight members of Stray Kids. A funny name for such dangerous men, but it somehow suited them as they never stayed in one place, messing up lives all across the state like nothing. You can’t breath, your fear even blinded the pain from the grip on your shoulders. Even if your eyes go all around the whole table, your eyes still stop on him.
“No need to be scared now.” Says another, more deep voice and from your peripheral vision you see that it is the blonde man next to the leader. “We don’t bite.”
You stay quiet, your eyes falling on the sliver of skin peaking from his black shirt, too weak to look into his eyes or anywhere else. You do not believe that man, because how? There’s nothing that can make you feel even the slightest at ease right now. His voice was low, but reassuring in a sense, he tried, but it fell to deaf ears. You are starting to panic, thinking about how just few feet away from you are people that could possibly help you. However you can’t even breathe let alone move with that vice grip the bodyguard is holding you in and you realize that he probably was working for them the whole time. How did they manage to get in? With their reputation it must be hard for them to even get some sunlight, but somehow they are all sitting right before you in total relaxation. They do not look or sound angry with you, maybe because you are nothing, but a small fly to them anyway. It won’t take too much to take you down.
Your eyes trail higher, stopping at his yet again and with your blurry eyes you don’t see the small speck of softness at the corners of his eyes. “I swear, I won’t tell anyone what I saw, please don’t hurt me—“ You can’t believe you are actually begging for your own life.
“What did you see exactly?” Asks a man to your right. Your eyes travel to him, tears falling out of your eyes onto the table, clearing your vision for just a second, letting you get a glimpse of him. This one you recognize — long black hair, the famous freckle under his eye. Like his leader, his face has been seen several times and he definitely had no reason to hide such face. Now, his sharp features were pulled into mock thought, looking down at you in waiting.
Your lips parted and the men at the table can’t help, but smile at your expression. “Nothing…” You answer.
“No lying.”
You immediately turn to the leader. You frown slightly at his statement, not looking too long into his eyes, because it felt like he could literally turn you into stone by a single look. You realize that the long haired man was just making fun of you, twisting your fear into something they could smile at. You want to sneer at him, but that sure wouldn’t be smart and you can’t do anything other than blink between the leader and the place next to his head. “I saw something.” You confess, like they already didn’t know that. You look back at him again, giving him a look. “But I swear, I will not tell anyone.” There are few glances being shared between them, but yours was still on him. “I didn’t call the police…”
There is a pull at the corner of his plump lips, not even blinking as he looks into your eyes and you find yourself being mesmerized. “Of course not.” His tone is teasing and you again nervously exhale through your nose.
“What do you want?” You ask that question finally being spoken. “Just please don’t hurt me or my friends, they don’t know anything, no one—“
“A dance…” Your breath hitched at that, gazing at his lips and how each syllable roll out his tongue. You are completely left speechless. “Give us a dance and it will be as if nothing happened.”
Your lips are left parted in disbelief, eyes flickering over the whole table as you thought only of it as a joke, but none of them had a smile of amusement on their faces. You can’t believe that they really meant it. Something stabs you in the heart. It is way too easy, you have caught them in the act, they should end you like you expected. The fact that they are confident enough to know you won’t go and tell anyone after this is really making your blood boil. However they are right…you won’t tell anyone. You will pay for what you saw with just a dance, but you know that they will still keep an eye on you. You are not smart enough to take them down, you are just a girl.
Your breathing becomes leveled, seeing that they don’t have any intention to hurt you. You look up from the table to the leader who sighs through his nose heavily and even from here you can see his muscles in his legs jumping when he spreads his legs just a little wider. You can’t help but think how he would look at you if you would dance on his lap. You instantly feel heat spreading across your cheekbones, looking away from his bottom half to his face. This expression is different from any other and you are not so sure what it meant, but it sure made you bashfully look away.
“Oh…she’s shy—“ A cat like man teases and you shoot him a glare, only to receive a smile of pure amusement.
“How cute.” Coos another, the same one that had greeted you to the table. You momentarily turn to look at him, only seeing him looking at man in the center. “Maybe you should take her somewhere private.” Your heart beats faster, eyes widening. “We already have plenty here.” The dark haired man mentions to the stage and you didn’t even realize that the stage was already full of dancers. You want to open your mouth again and scream for help, but you know better than that.
You hear him move first, the leather of the booth squealing under him as he suddenly appears right in front of you. You gasp softly in shock, you didn’t even notice him making his way to you. You look up at him, just in eyes level with his chest. “How’s that sweetheart?” He almost sounds soft, however his eyes shined with fire looking down at you with his bottom lip caught in his mouth.
You sigh, nodding in shame. He doesn’t say anything else, waving his hand in the air, making the bodyguard let go of you. You stumble slightly, but you are quick enough to jump away from the hands trying to catch you. You do not need him touching you with those hands right now. You don’t look at him, looking down at his feet instead that turn to the direction of the private rooms. Your heart is in your throat, but something told you there’s no reason for you to be so scared. If he wanted to hurt, he would’ve done it a long time ago.
You wipe away your already dried tears, eyes falling on the stage and your eyes momentarily met with one of the dancers, Nina. She has to stay in character all the time, but she still gives you a quick reassuring look. You are only left confused, wobbling your way behind the man. Are you scared or nervous? You are really starting to wonder, piercing holes into his back that rips with every move of his arms. You keep your distance, watching him push a curtain to one of the rooms away and then turning around to let you in first. Your mouth opens again, like a fish. There is a small sneer at your lips as you glance at him and he gives you a raise of his eyebrow in return.
You hold your breath when you pass by him, but you still get a whiff of his strong cologne. He is close to you, so close that you can feel his breath on the back of your neck. You shiver turning to look back at him, but he is already in front of you. You stand in the middle of the lightly lit room, eyes going to the booth that sat at the corner of the small room. There is a pole in the middle of it and your mouth dries out when he makes his way to that direction. Your legs start to shake at the thought of the pole between your thighs, not so sure if it was from fright or pure excitement. You can’t lie that you haven’t thought of also dancing, but you are not sure you if you could even look half as good as those girls on the stage.
Weight is lifted from your shoulders when he comes to the table to only pull out a chair for himself. He moves the chair so smoothly, twirling it in his hand to place it before you. You hate that you are somehow mesmerized by his movements and the way he goes to sit down on the chair. You don’t even register biting on your lip, but it is mostly from how nervous you are. The man pulls his pants up to his lower region to be more comfortable and your eyes fall into that direction with wide eyes.
“I like the dress.” He breaks the silence, while spreading out his legs. Two or three more buttons on his shirt are undone, maybe popping from the size of his muscular chest. You quickly snap back to present, fingers playing with the hem of your dress at his statement, watching him slowly trail his brown eyes down your body. “Not so sure about the shoes…” Your silent question about that statement is answered rather quickly as he without breaking eye contact bends over, hand going under the booth. You can’t believe you are still getting shocked after all that happened, but it sure is surprised to you when he pulls out your beloved Jimmy Choo heels. “Put them on for me, baby.”
Something hot pools in your lower tummy at the nickname, your heart already is beating so fast that you can hear it in your ears. You don’t want to thank him for such thing, but it still made you happy. Those shoes became something very special to you as they were the first ever pair of luxury heels you bought. You catch his eyes and without word you pull your legs up to untie your way cheaper heels.
They are thrown across the room, not really caring too much at the moment as you slowly make your way to him. He holds your shoes for you take and when you stand in front of them, you definitely don’t remember them being so clean. They are shining, like brand new, but there is still that one large scratch at the pointed tip. It reminds you of the scar that the man before you has in some way.
You are close to him, the closest you have been so far and the soft orange light hitting his face makes him look devilish. Taking your shoes from him, you step back slightly to put them on, not missing how his eyes fall to your cleavage when you bend over. He licks his lips, looking you up and down again and you wonder if he likes what he is seeing. “Now, dance for me.” He demands and you remember at his tone who this man really is. “No need to be so scared…you take tips right?” The smirk adoring his lips told you that his words were meant for something else and you finally scoffed at him.
He doesn’t look offended by the sound, only pushing his body down further. You follow the movement, but your head rolls to look at the cushion ceiling right after. You feel nothing, but weak, swaying your hips softly to the beat of the music to get in the mood. You could imagine someone else in the chair, but how? You can feel him, smell him even, head falling down in exhaustion from even trying.
You roll your body the same way you have seen the dancers do it, hands caressing over your hips. If you give him a good enough dance, it would be over sooner — or he on the other hand won’t get enough. The shot of tequila in your system helps you build confidence when you walk slowly to him. He doesn’t take his eyes off you, even challenging you with his intense stare. You think you are starting to get into it as you act like you are falling over, just to smack your hands on each side of his chair. Your knees touch his, the material of his pants tickling your naked skin. Then you shiver — your eyes widened at your own body responding like that. He watches your inner struggle, head hanging low to catch your gaze. You are surprised that he didn’t look down, keeping his eyes only on yours and you straightened up at that.
When you go push your breasts back into your dress, because they almost spilled over, you almost gasp. Your nail hits plastic right between your breasts and thankfully the sound is masked by the music. It was your pepper spray, you completely forgot about putting it there. You know that it’s stupid, but he seems a little hazy and your attack would be unexpected. If you would spray him with it, then hit him with something and dash out the back door, you could call the police.
You move slowly around him, hand falling between your breasts the moment you stop behind him. However just as you pull it out, ready to turn around and spray it in his face, his hand stops you. You gasp at the strong grip on your wrist, watching him stand up from his seat to press you against the table. “Now what is this?” He asks you, eyes going to your pepper spray that falls to the ground with a heavy sound. Your mouth opens and closes, heavy breaths mixing with his from his close proximity. “You really thought you could take me out with that?” You didn’t even know that he knew about it the moment you had bend over.
His chest is pressed against yours, each hand being pinned down to the table by his. He towers over you slightly as he maneuvered you on the table a little bit. You are silent for a second, eyes going over his face. Even if there’s no smile you can see the amusement reflecting in his eyes. “You can’t touch me, the policy here—“ Are your words, because you couldn’t think of saying anything else. You again put yourself in the hands of death.
“I know the policy.”
“Then you know, you can’t touch—“
“The dancers and the waitresses?” He finishes for you, smiling down at you. “Baby…I know the rules, I made them after all.” You look at him bewildered, your expression fading into thin air when he puts his head into the dip between your shoulder and neck. “Now we will rewrite them for my and yours benefit.” Every word bounces off your skin, chills going down your spine.
You shutter, feeling him press his nose into the skin behind your ear. “This club is not yours.” You whisper, not too harshly like you intended too.
His hum vibrates on your skin, hearing him take a deep breath of your spicy perfume. “Have you seen the owner?” He asks you.
You pull your head away to look at him in the eyes. He sounded so genuine and you could even see it. Your mind quickly comes back to your first day here — you got the job few days after the interview and you remember that no owner shook your hand and congratulated you, it was actually Cathy. Your eyes widened, shaking your head in disbelief. “How? How can anyone not know about this?” You breathe out.
He can tell who you are referring to, because he lets his people look over the files of new people. His friends go here way frequently than him, but when Changbin chased after you yesterday, he immediately recognized you. Such a coincidence that you are actually already work for him. Watching you through the one way window, he couldn’t believe himself that he didn’t see you sooner. You are shining and seeing you talk with his best people in this business, he just had to have you. “Some do, trust me.” He says, his mind wandering to their sponsors. “Some of them just don’t have the balls to do anything about it and tell me why would anyone want to close down the best strip club in the city?” He laughs shortly, pulling you closer to him. “Do you know that cops come here? It’s funny really, they are so close yet so far…”
You are breathing heavily form his words, but you do not move away from him. You want to justify yourself that he was simply too strong, even if his hold was on the softer side. “Bang Chan…”It comes out as a plea and you don’t even know for what yourself.
“Call me, Chris.”
You are shocked by him revealing his name to you, because it almost sounded like a promise. Your mouth is left gaping when you see him lowering his lips to your neck. Your pulse is pressing against your skin and it jumps when his lips just barely graze over the thin layer of skin. It burns, so much that you feel by it in your stomach. “You won’t get away with this.” You say. You tried so hard to sound intimidating, but you just can’t think straight when he presses kisses on your neck.
“Oh, really?” Humming, he suddenly bites down your neck and you gasp wildly at such bold move.
“Please—“ You say, breathlessly, his name just at the tip of your tongue.
He stops at your word, turning back to you with glassy eyes. “Please, what?” His voice is rough and on the edge.
You think about what exactly you are pleading for. For him to continue or stop immediately? Something in between. Your desire is making you blind. This man before you is a criminal, a bad person you want to say, so why does his touch feel so good? “Please…don’t.” Your mind answers for you, your heart screaming the other.
“Don’t?” He repeats after you and you firstly think that he sounded offended, but then you feel his hand on your thigh. You almost whimper at his hot touch, eyes going down to his hand moving up your soft skin. You don’t make a move to stop him, your mind clouded by the way his hand perfectly fit in the dip of your upper thigh. You didn’t even feel your dress riding up your body, but it didn’t even matter as he still touches you through your underwear. “Then why are you soaking through?” You only sigh, feeling his fingers pressing right into your clothed clit. “I can see your pussy from here.” There goes another one of his smiles, eyes flying from your dripping center to yours.
“You are a bad person…” You say, voice too little.
His hand stops, but the same pressure on your cunt stays the same. “Says who? The police?” He raises his eyebrow, almost spitting that last word.
“You killed someone.”
He nods, becoming cold for a second. “Yes, but do you even know why?” You are silent, watching his face scrunch up in what seem like disgust. “That man was a bad person who definitely deserved something worse than death.”
You breathe out heavily. “So you think you are good person, because you killed a bad person and not a good one?”
“You said I’m a good person?” Goosebumps appear on your body, but not so much from fear anymore. Arousal drips out of you, his fingers pulling the material of your lace underwear to the side. You let him willingly, even eagerly. He gave you a moment to make a choice, but you only watch him with hazy eyes while he runs his pointer finger through your slick. “Though…I’m a gentleman.”
You snicker, you just can’t help it. “Oh, really? What about the hand in my panties?” His finger joins another for an answer, pressing harder and unexpectedly flicking your clit.
A brutal, filthy moan falls from your lip and he drinks it right up, playing with your clit between his two fingers. “Are you saying you don’t like this?” He sounds dreamy and you are on the edge of losing your mind over him. He lowers his head, resting it on your shoulder, plump lips right next to your ear. “I think you like the danger—“ You bite your lip not to let him hear the nasty sounds coming from the back of your throat. “—the thought of someone powerful taking over you, it excites you.”
You shake your head, your earring only being caught between his teeth. “You are just a man–“ You say, gritting your teeth in pleasure.
Your eyes are closed, but his are fully on you. “I’m, so excuse me for doing this—“ His finger suddenly breaches your hole and with no resistance what so ever.
You gasp out, your hand shooting to his. Only a one finger and he finds the spots inside you that you have trouble finding yourself. Your eyes open, head rolling to your other shoulder to look at him. He stills his hand for a second to straighten his back, watching you, trying to see if there is any hint that you want him to stop. However you only look at him with glossy eyes, red painted lips puffing out in small sighs. He can’t help himself, putting another finger inside you, curling them, pushing into the soft spot.
You whimper, feeling yourself dripping all over of his hand. “Please, I don’t know…” Your body knows — it’s already screaming just from his fingers and when your hips jump, your thigh touches his hard cock through his pants.
“I do.” He trusts his fingers in and out of you in steady yet too slow pace for your liking. “Just look at your body responding to me—“ You can see it yourself. Your body didn’t feel like yours anymore, hips bumping into his. “I still want that dance…a real dance.” He says, voice cracking at the end when he pulls his fingers out of you.
Gasp leaves you from shock and dissatisfaction. You stand before him, leaning on the table with rigid breaths. Lips parted, he looked at it like an invitation to shove his fingers in your mouth. You choke around his fingers for a second, eyes wide and staring into his, before your hand wraps around his to help you keep your sanity. You moan at your own taste, sucking at his fingers and slurping your juices and the taste of skin right up, eyes never leaving his and at that moment you realize you are in deep shit — there’s no way you can stop here.
He pulls his fingers away from you way too quickly, catching how his knuckles are stained red from your lipstick. You watch him walk backwards into the chair, not breaking eye contact when he falls into it, spreading his legs just like before, but now you don’t have to hide how much you enjoy seeing him do that. You hop off the table not even smoothing down your dress or putting your underwear back to its place. You can already feel your slick coating your inner thighs with each slow step, pressing them together to ease the ache between them.
You can’t beat yourself for behaving like this. That man is a whole course meal. Pretty, sparkling eyes hidden by his hair, flushed cheeks, bitten lips and also dangerous — you will dance for him and you won’t hold back. You feel possessed, mind clouded by arousal when you stop before him, right leg shooting up to balance your weight on the armrest of his chair. He groans lowly at your bold move, eyes going up your naked leg to your exposed cunt. “Look at you…” Before he could get a better look you, you put your leg down.
He is impressed by your change of character, letting you run your hands up his arms to rest on his shoulders. You want to moan at the muscles jumping under your touch, but then pretty nose pokes at the inside of your wrist, making short pain shoot up your body and you only now notice the small bruise on your skin. “Did he hurt you?” He asks, looking up at you.
His voice got lower, expression serious for a second. “A little bit.” You answer simply, too occupied with moving to the rhythm of the music.
The man in the chair forgets about it rather quickly as you turn around, bending over. Another, but even lower groan with hiss at the end leaves him at the view. “Yeah, that’s it bend over for me…” Curse flies out his mouth, hands gripping at the chair tightly to not just shove you into his cock right then and there. He almost drools over the swell of your ass peeking from the bottom of your dress and your panties that are dangerously melting into your cunt. He can see everything, but it isn’t enough. “I think, I have to hire you again as a dancer.”
You laugh breathlessly and then cry out when he smacks you unexpectedly across the back of your right thigh. You feel the sting and you are certain your skin will be sore tomorrow, but the pleasure that comes right after the slap is definitely worth it. “Turn around for me.” You wordlessly do as he says and you then shock yourself by just falling to your knees before him instead, however you are thankfully that you did, because the view you have is simply delicious. His hand comes to caress your face, fingers hooking under your jaw to press his thumb to your bottom lip. “Such pretty lips, think you could use them for better purpose than telling me I’m a bad person?”
“You basically said that yourself.” You fire back breathing matching his, your hands falling to his knees and you swear you see his cock jump in his pants.
“After I’m done with you, I will be the best person you have ever met.” His words are softer than expected, but the way he puts his thumb in your mouth isn’t. Your eyes momentarily close to savor the taste of his salty skin and he looks at you like he never seen anything so beautiful. “Say my name.” He gasps out, the sound hanging over the edge of being a pathetic whine.
Your eyes open, pulling out his thumb from your lips with a pop. “Chris.” You whisper, nervously playing with the waistband of his pants. How can you have such an effect on him already?
Chris lets you undone his belt and then his zipper, the crisp sound louder than the pumping music. Your mouth waters from the prominent buldge in his underwear, heart hammering against your chest. You can’t believe you are about to suck off the most dangerous man in the city — yet nothing ever felt so right to you. Your shaking fingers pull the material down, him putting his hands on yours in small reassurance. Now you only want him more.
You are again left speechless when you see the yummy, short patch of public hair and his cock slapping against his abdomen. Chris hisses at the cold air hitting his flushed, red tip, few drops of precum rolling down the length of it. Your pussy throbs painfully, pressing your thighs together at the simple view of his thickness. Maybe that is why he keeps sitting like that, to hide something like this everyday must be challenging, but now it will be your pleasure.
You don’t want to say it’s been a while since the last time you touched someone, but you want to say you have never seen someone this big. His ego sure comes from something. Your hand travels up his leg to pull out his heavy balls, not missing the opportunity to squeeze them lightly. Chris moans at your touch, head rolling back just by that. He looks so sensitive and it seems like he is. Your thumb pushes into his tip next, smearing his cum all over it, before finally wrapping your hand around him.
“Fuuuuuuck—“ Flies out his mouth, when you lean over to wrap your lips around him. You moan at his taste, rolling your tongue across his squishy yet hard cock. His hand goes to run through your hair, pushing the front strands back to see more of your pretty lipstick staining his length.
You swallow more of him, jaw hurting from the sheer thickness. Your eyes water, but you just have to look at him, moaning around him as you do so. You think have never felt this much pleasure from just pleasuring someone. The look on his face, his rising chest, sweat coating his neck…You gag when he presses you down further and even if he groans in pleasure, he doesn’t go further than that. On the other hand he pushes your head up and then back down, letting you get used to him using your mouth for its own pleasure.
The ground is stained with your juices, groans and moans from both of you echoing around the room and mixing with the music. You feel every vein on his cock pulsating, sucking on them harder to get closer and under his skin. When your nose hits the few hairs on his stomach you gargle, spit rolling out of your mouth. You are at that immediately pulled back from him, coughing wildly. “Sorry about that.” He says, not sounding too concern as he looks at your tear stained face mixed with saliva and his cum.
You nod, licking at your lips and that makes him tug at the roots of your hair. You whine at his rough manners, standing up just to be shoved into the table again with his hand in your hair helping you move around. Without a word you hop on to it, bare ass landing on the cold plastic. “Chris…” Just like him you are starting to like the way his names sounds on your lips. When you call out his name, he finally pulled down his pants and underwear, stepping between your open legs. He is dazed by the sight of his cock resting on your clothed mound, but you win his attention back with your sultry voice. You look like pure sin and with the small amount of red lipstick left on your lips he has to have it on his.
His hand in our hair softens when his lips fall onto yours. Chris can taste the hint of wax layer on your lips as well as his own musk on your tongue. You feel on cloud nine just by the way he kisses you. He kissed with so much passion that it felt like you have known each other for years. His lips are simply heavenly and sinfully delicious. “Hmm— fuck me…” Your words are swallowed by his lips, but he can feel them vibrating in his mouth.
Chris pulls away from you, not without biting on your bottom lip. “What was that?” You want to roll your eyes at his teasing tone, but only whimper instead when he puts the tip of his cock over your covered clit.
Your hips jump wildly, him holding them down with just one of his hand. “Fuck me, Chris—“ You say, lips on his throat and biting down on his Adam’s apple that bobbles up and down at your plea. He finally lets go, pulling your bottom half to him closer, your ass sliding and squeaking over the table. You watch him go down to his knees, but you quickly stop him even if the thought of him eating you out sounded nice, you want him inside of you more. “No, just fuck me–“
He looks up at you with big eyes and if you didn’t know his reputation you would say that those were the best puppy eyes you have ever seen. He wants to argue with you, tell you that he should prep you so he doesn’t hurt you, but he realizes that’s exactly what you want. You want him to fuck you so hard that his cock makes a mold inside your pussy. Pulling your right leg up, you push him forward, your pelvis meeting his. You whimper at the feeling of him between your legs, sweat already gathering across your forehead and you moan in delight when he pulls your soaked underwear to the side.
When Chris slides his cock through your folds to coat himself in your slick, he basically loses his mind. He never had pussy this dripping wet, pretty clit swollen and pulsating with every push of his hips. “You are beautiful.” He compliments you sweetly, hand holding his cock to your entrance, but not with caressing your face in his other hand first. You whimper, tummy full of butterflies from his comment. He has such a way with words and also that body of his — so good.
Your breath is knocked out of your lungs when he slides his hard cock into you. Your walls stretch around him, hungrily sucking him right him. It burns a little, legs shaking just from the feeling of him inside of you. Your heel doesn’t even touch the ground, shoe falling down on the ground while the other stays on as he kisses your neck. He licks and bites to kill the time, while he lets you adjust around him. You feel him sucking at your neck, creating purple blotches on your delicate skin. You eagerly run your fingers through his open shirt, clenching down on him when you feel pure muscles.
Chris hisses again, kissing down your collarbones, hips jumping into yours and you both groan when his mushroom tip kisses your cervix. When you clench again, it makes him slowly roll his hips again and he finally feels you relaxing in his strong hold. The way he moves makes your think he must be a dancer himself, because you are already feeling the sweet taste of your release. You both start to breath heavier, air becoming thick and hot around you the more he picks up his speed.
You whimper, almost sob, because you need more of him and just like he could read your thoughts he pulls his head away from your skin to kiss you. “Hold on, baby.” You only hum, letting him guide you to lean back, watching him pull your left leg over his shoulder. Your hand wraps around the pole next to your head and you are thankful that you do, because he immediately starts to trust in to you with roughness and precision.
You can’t help but squeal, crying from the shocks of pleasure as his hips snaps roughly into yours, filling you to the hilt with his cock. Your other leg shots up in reflex, pulling it to your chest. The way he fucks is anything but gentle, but it is all that you wished for. His pelvis hits the bottom of your thighs in loud slaps, pubic hair bumping deliciously into your clit. You fall back, not strong enough to hold yourself up anymore, only strong enough to take it. “Fuck, Chris!” Your voice doesn’t even sound like yours anymore.
The air is knocked out of you with each trust and he literally growls at the sound his name. Every time his hips snap into yours, your tits jump out of your dress and he couldn’t wonder any longer. Chis pushes roughly the material down and to his delight you didn’t have any bra on. His hands leave your hips just to grab your breasts, smushing them together. You moan as he pinches and rolls your nipples, whining loudly when he leans over you. It makes your legs press flush to your chest, his one hand falling next to your head to hover over your body while the other wraps around the pole right to yours.
“Fuck, I don’t think you can work here anymore—“ You clit is being bullied by his rolling hips, eyes becoming blurry, making it hard to see his. He helps you by squishing your cheeks between his fingers, making your lips pout cutely. “You will dance for me, only me from now on. What do you say, baby?”
His words are slightly hard to make out with the noises of skin slapping mixing with them, but even with your fucked out mind you could understand enough. You are drunk on him, spit coating his hand that falls back next to your head, seeing you are listening to him. “Are tips included?” You say, voice rough, nails biting at his shoulders.
“Oh, you will be taking the whole thing.”
You both smile breathlessly at each other, him not stopping fucking you, because seeing your pretty face screwing up in pleasure is to die for. Your sweaty hand slips from the pole and without realizing yourself, you put his face into the palm of your hand. Looking into his eyes, you see something flash in them when your fingers dance across the scar on his face. And then Chris whines — he fucking whines, like a broken puppy.
You clench around him at the sound and he only gives you another. “Gonna cum, gonna fucking cum inside of you, baby—“ He humms, grunting under his breath.
You already feel yourself falling over the edge, holding it just to make it better by cumming with him. “ Yeah, please, I want it.” You say.
“Yeah? You want it? Right here?” Chris pulls himself up enough to push his hand down on your lower stomach. You cry out, shaking like a leaf, because that is setting a whole fire inside of you. “Look, you can even see me in your cute, little tummy—“ He coos at your faces of pleasure. His hips shutter and yours jump. You try to calm your body down, but he is doing things you have never felt before. When the hand holding him up disappears, the one on your tummy pushes harder and when starts to do figure eights on your clit you are officially done for. “Cum for me, soak my cock, Y/N—“
You gasp loudly at the sound of your name rolling out of his tongue, back arching as you cum around him. Your pussy leaks, making a creamy ring of your pleasure around the base of his cock. Your whole body shakes right after the first wave, tits jumping in the air and the sight as well as the feeling of you cumming around him makes him shove his cock into your cunt the deepest he has been so far. Your ears ring, not even hearing yourself sobbing, but you do hear his moans of absolute pleasure. He stuffs you full, hand still pushing at your tummy and you whimper at the overstimulation, skin sticky with all sorts of fluids.
Your eyes are closed, concentrating on riding out your orgasm. You are simply dazed, but still you feel the small brush of his lips over yours and peaking at him through your clumped eyelashes, he flashes you a boyish smile. “Dinner?” The sight of your puffy cunt, fucked out expression and now drunk smile spreading across your lips was definitely worth the risk.
a/n: ahhhh we're back, baby! i am so excited to get the final completed chapters out to you all. thank you to @bahablastplz for editing!
[ read chapter 24 here ]
Chapter Twenty-Five: Of Popcorn and Reuniting
I need some time.
Can we talk on Monday?
You type out and delete several variations of your text to Chan before finally hitting send on the ride home. You considered acquiescing to his request, but you know how it would end; with you in his arms, then bent over as he fucks all his love into you. You want to kiss him, touch him, to feel him inside of you after what he so succinctly confessed with that rose and card. He wants you. He would choose you.
You want to roll down the windows and scream into the night at the top of your lungs. You contain yourself, though. You suppress the giddy feeling each time it arises, keeping it at bay with reasonable logic: you cannot let him choose you.
It pains you to even think that. Especially when you can see how much he is trying…the effort he’s putting forth is not lost on you. You know how out of his comfort zone he must be, and it feels utterly shitty to shut down his attempts and potentially lose all the progress you’ve made with him.
Of course it moves you, knowing he would throw aside everything for you, but now is when you need to be stronger than him. You have to give yourself time to prepare for this conversation—you know it won’t be easy. Waiting to speak to him on Monday will give you that time. It’s always easier to process your thoughts when you’re not in his intoxicating presence. And anyways, if his feelings are as strong as he’s saying, a few days of waiting shouldn’t deter them.
Over the next few days, you spend most of your spare time sorting through your thoughts and feelings surrounding the Chan debacle, and whenever it feels too overwhelming you can turn to Changbin for a distraction. He’s good for that. However, you’ve learned enough about Aristotle and his belief in moral virtues to last a lifetime. You spend the final Saturday of the rotation with him, staying up and talking about whatever crosses either of your minds.
He jokingly suggests taking things further since this is your last chance. In truth, after the consistent sex you were getting with Hyunjin and Chan, your body is aching for it, but you politely turn him down. You know it’s not aching for him in particular.
On Sunday the house is once again abuzz as everyone shuffles their belongings back to their proper rooms. Chan is, to your surprise, still fast asleep around noon when you take your sheets and clothes back to his room. You quietly make your bed and put your clothes aways before retrieving your stuff from Seungmin’s room and taking it to Hyunjin’s.
Hyunjin is seated at his desk with his headphones on, scribbling away on his sketchpad when you enter. Your hands are full of your blankets and a bag of your clothes is slung over your shoulder. His wide, dazzling smile greets you when the door swings open and you feel like an invisible weight is instantly lifted.
“Welcome back,” he says, standing to help you with all that you’re carrying.
He takes the blankets from you and tosses them onto your bed. You take the bag off your shoulder and set it on the ground as he turns back around to face you. He opens his arms to you and you take a few small steps forward into his embrace, wrapping your arms around his slender waist, squeezing tightly.
“Jagiya,” he whispers against the top of your head.
“I missed this,” you tell him.
As safe as you felt with Changbin and Seungmin, it doesn’t hold a flame to what you feel with Hyunjin. In the near-constant emotional storm you have felt during your time at the SKZ house, he has always been your saving grace. The only thing that keeps you grounded in the chaos.
You feel somewhat bad about it, though—he’s always the shoulder that you lean and cry on, and none of it has ever been because of his actions. It’s always something else. Always Chan. You could release the floodgates and cry right now, hugged up to him, but you don’t want to do that. It’s not fair to him, always having to pick up the pieces.
“Me too,” he agrees.
When you finally step away from the embrace, you motion to the work on his desk.
“Don’t let me distract you.”
He looks down at you and cups your face in his hands. He looks over your face and you wish you didn’t feel so transparent in front of him. He knows. How could he not? You scrunch up your face and shake your head, pushing the tears and sad thoughts aside. Not today. Not on your first day back with him.
He arches an eyebrow in response, but you continue shaking your head defiantly.
“Fine.” he says.
He squeezes your cheeks together, forcing your lips into a fish shape, and kisses them. You can’t help but laugh and swat him away, making him laugh too as he holds his arms up to block your attack.
Maybe it’s not right to push everything down and pretend you’re okay—that nothing has happened to send you into a tailspin. But with Hyunjin…it doesn’t feel like pretending. He genuinely makes you forget that any strife in the world exists when you’re with him.
“Can we get out of the house later?”
“Sure. What do you want to do?” he asks, sitting back at his desk as you start to put the sheets on your bed.
“Anything, really,” you shrug.
He gives you a reassuring nod and smile before turning back to his sketchbook. He starts to put his headphones back on, then stops. He picks up the Bluetooth speaker on his desk and powers it on. Within seconds, ‘Ghost’ by Mystery Skulls starts blaring throughout the room as you get your things situated and he focuses back on his drawing.
You catch yourself dancing around to the song as you tidy up. When you lock eyes with him, he’s vibing to it as well and you both smile and giggle.
It’s distractingly loud and peaceful in here with him.
Later in the afternoon, the cloudy sky and light drizzle makes it difficult for you and Hyunjin to choose something to do. You both eventually settle on going to see a movie, but it takes another thirty minutes after that to decide what to watch. Hyunjin picks a film called Miller’s Girl, and buys the tickets from his phone. You grab a warm blanket then you both head out.
The theatre is one of the upgraded kinds with large, reclining seats. You get popcorn and drinks before going into the designated room. It’s just the two of you, but you assume others will show up at some point. However, when the previews finish and the movie starts, no one else has come.
“Got the whole place to ourselves,” you remark.
“Come here, then,” he says, taking the popcorn from you and reaching for your hand.
You let him pull you up and over the large armrest separating your seats, bringing your blanket with you. He holds the popcorn out of the way as you get comfortable and spread the blanket out, so it covers both of you. He drapes an arm around your shoulder, holding you against him.
Since you’re alone, you’re both free to talk without fear of annoying anyone. The film is quite interesting—very poetic, which Hyunjin seems to take a liking to. Eventually, your mind starts to stray from the plot, focusing more on how close you are to him…and how long it’s been since you touched him. You slide your left hand under the blanket and onto his thigh. You can see him looking at you from the corner of your eye. You bite your bottom lip to keep from smiling and remain facing the screen.
He moves the popcorn from his lap and puts it on the empty seat next to him.
“Do you remember what happened last time we went out to watch a movie?” you ask playfully as your hand glides over his cock, above his jeans.
“I have a faint memory,” he replies.
“Just a faint one?” you turn to face him.
He leans forward and captures your lips in one fell swoop. You kiss him back, relishing the familiar feeling of his soft, plump lips against yours. The taste is a little salty and buttery, but good. You feel his cock twitch against your hand and take that as an invitation to unbutton his pants and slide down the zipper.
He breaks the kiss and reclines the chair a little more, allowing you better access to him. You bring your hand up to your mouth and spit in it before slipping it back beneath the blanket to wrap around his cock. It pulses in your tight grip as you start to stroke him slowly.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Let me touch you, too.”
“No,” you shake your head, stroking him faster.
“But I want to feel you.”
“You will later.”
You hear him smack his lips as he rests his head against the chair. He rocks his hips upwards while you continue stroking him. You’re tempted to toss the blanket aside so you can see him, take him in your mouth and then fuck him. You’ll be patient, though. You just want to please him right now.
“Y/n,” he whispers. “I can’t—where am I gonna—?”
You feel his stomach muscles start to convulse as he attempts to hold off his release. You hadn’t thought that part through, and you don’t have much time to come up with a plan. You lift the blanket and duck your head beneath it, quickly taking him in your mouth.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” he pants.
You move your hand and mouth in tandem along his cock as he starts to come. You feel his hand grip the back of your neck trying to keep you still, but you keep moving, taking in every last drop.
When he stops shaking you swallow and lift your head from the blanket. With his hand still on your neck he brings you to him again, kissing you deeply, tasting himself on you.
You break the kiss this time, smiling at him as you pull away. He throws himself back against the chair, breathing heavily.
“What are we even watching?” he jokes.
You zip and button his pants back up before snuggling into his side again.
When the movie is over, he practically pulls you out of the theatre, through the lobby and to the exit doors. You can see through the glass doors right away—the light drizzle has turned into an all-out downpour. You plant your feet to stop him from pulling you outside.
“We’re gonna get drenched, Hyunjin,” you tell him, shaking your head.
He turns to face you, eyebrow arched, “You don’t like getting wet anymore? What did Seungmin and Changbin do to you?”
You slap him on the arm and roll your eyes.
“Come on, we can’t stay in here forever,” he coaxes.
“Okay, okay,” you agree with a sigh.
He pushes on the door and looks back at you once more. You nod for him to continue. He opens the door completely and you both make a mad dash for the car. When you’re halfway there, though, Hyunjin abruptly stops this time. You try to tug on his hand to get him to the car, but he doesn’t budge.
“Hyunjin, move your feet!”
He shakes his head and uses your intertwined hands to bring you to him. He rests his hands on your hips as he leans down to kiss you. The rain is coming down over both of you. Your hair, clothes, everything is completely drenched and it’s not even warm rain, it’s fucking freezing. But none of those concerns are the most pressing thing on your mind right now. While kissing him and getting cleansed by the rain, it feels like time is standing still. You’re so enraptured in this moment with him, that all else fades away.
In celebration of rotations ending, the grill is fired up in the backyard that night. It’s still a bit cold out and damp, but nothing like it was on New Year’s. You and the other girls work on side dishes in the kitchen while the boys cook up the meat. Through the back door you can see Chan manning the grill while the others mostly just sit around and watch—Lee Know helps occasionally.
“Anyone else happy things are going back to normal?” Charlotte asks.
All of you nod your heads.
“As great as Jeongin and Han are, I kind of missed Seungmin and Changbin,” Rhiannon admits.
“You’re one of our bravest soldiers, dealing with those two,” you tell her with a laugh.
“They really are a handful, aren’t they?”
“Their intentions are good, at least,” you tell her to which she nods her agreement.
“Y/n, can you bring the steak out here? And grab a plate to bring some of this other meat in.”
You’re surprised to see Chan’s head peeking through the partially opened sliding back door. A familiar erratic heartbeat returns.
“He wants you to grab his meat—he must have really missed you,” Allie teases.
The other girls laugh with her. They know nothing of the tension you’re feeling right now. You force a small smile and attempt a chuckle, but it sounds strained. You step past Charlotte at the stove and retrieve the meat from the fridge, then head to the backyard. You hand Chan the empty Pyrex dish first and he starts piling the cooked meat onto it.
“You okay?” he asks gently.
You nod.
“So, you’re not staying with me tonight, then?”
You shake your head in response to his question.
He sets the plate of cooked meat next to the grill, as you hold the tray of steak. You expected him to take the tray, but instead he takes each piece of meat off individually as you hold it.
“Did you lose your voice while you were away?”
“No,” you reply softly.
He takes the last piece of steak from the tray, but his eyes are on you the entire time. When you finally meet his gaze, you see a glimmer of something there…worry perhaps, as he watches you. It’s not your intention to be cold towards him right now, you’re just caught off guard by this interaction.
“We’ll talk more Monday,” you tell him. “I promise.”
“Do you miss me?” he asks, handing you the Pyrex dish of cooked meats.
“Of course I do.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips hearing that.
Since you and Hyunjin already showered, after coming home wet from the rain, you change into your pajamas and brush your teeth when dinner is over, then meet Hyunjin in his room. He’s already laying in bed, beneath the blanket without a shirt on. His eyes are focused on his phone when you enter, but he immediately tosses it to the side and smiles when he sees you.
“Finally,” he says, still grinning.
“Were you waiting for me?” You ask, feigning innocence.
You place your dirty clothes into your shared laundry basket before crawling onto his bed.
“Yeah. For two long weeks,” he tells you, pulling you to him as soon as you’re within reach.
“And what were you expecting to happen?”
You’re laying across his body at an angle, arms folded on top of his bare chest.
“Oh, you know…nothing in particular,” he says, his hand already slipping beneath your shirt to caress your back.
“Good. Because it’s shark week.”
He furrows his brow at that.
“It shouldn’t be until next week?”
You crack a smile—so he has kept track on the app you shared with him.
Seeing your reaction, he quickly flips over so that he’s on top of you.
“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” He whispers into your ear before leaving a trail of kisses down your neck. “Knowing how much I’ve wanted you.”
“I thought it was a little funny,” you shrug.
“Not even a little bit,” he says, pushing your shirt up above your breasts.
As soon as your nipples are exposed, his mouth is on them. Taking in one, sucking and circling it with his tongue, then the other. He kisses between your breasts, then down your stomach, past your navel. When he makes it to your shorts, he doesn’t even bother pulling them down. He yanks them to the side, peeking up at you when he realizes you’re not wearing any underwear.
“Just as pretty as I remember,” he says, returning his attention to your pussy and kissing around your folds.
You want to lean back on the pillows for comfort and close your eyes to enjoy the feeling, but you also want to keep watching him. You’ve missed the sight of him between your legs.
He sticks his tongue out and delivers a hard and slow lick up your slit before blowing cool air over it. A shiver courses through you, and you thrust your hips up towards his mouth, but he moves away.
You assume there will be more teasing to follow, but he dives straight back in, covering your pussy with his mouth. He alternates swirling his tongue around your clit and fucking you with it. You finally throw your head back against the pillow and get lost in the sound of him sucking and slurping you up. You grip the sheets with your hands, still attempting to rock your hips against his face.
He pulls away to readjust himself so he can use his other hand on you. He slides his fingers through your slick to coat them before pushing them inside of you. His heated gaze meets yours as he fingers you and you smile up at him lazily, lustfully, and adoringly at all once.
You beckon him towards you with a curl of your finger and he obliges, leaning down over you with his fingers still pumping in and out. You spread your legs a little further apart to accommodate him on top of you and wrap your arms around his neck. You pull him down to you and taste yourself on him as his tongue invades your mouth.
He applies pressure to your clit with his thumb, causing you to moan.
“I need you to fuck me, Hyunjin,” you pant between kisses.
“Not yet,” he replies. “I want two from you tonight.”
He moves back, sitting on his legs. You can see the determination in his eyes as he continues to fuck you with his fingers. His other hand cups your breast, kneading it and pinching your nipple.
“Can you do two for me, jagiya?”
You nod your head, unable to speak.
He readjusts himself again and you’ve never been so thankful for his long limbs and dexterity. He keeps one hand on your breast, the other is thrusting three fingers in and out of you, and then his mouth is on your clit again to bring you to the edge.
Your hands fly to his head, tangling themselves in his dark hair. You’re pulling on the strands while simultaneously pushing his face harder against your rocking hips.
“There she is,” he chuckles, his mouth rubbing against you as he speaks. “Come on my fingers.”
He latches back onto your clit, sucking it rhythmically. You grit your teeth and moan, arching your back as you come on his fingers.
The waves of your orgasm continue even as he withdraws his fingers and puts them in his mouth to lick clean. You watch him in a haze. Your legs are still shaking when he finally pulls your pajama shorts down. You’re trying to catch your breath as he removes his boxers, but there’s hardly any time before he’s thrusting his hard cock in your pussy.
“Oh, fuck, Hyunjin,” you cry out.
“I want two,” he says again.
He hooks your legs on his shoulders and grips your thighs for leverage as he fucks you. He angles his hips, allowing his cock to touch your most sensitive spot with each thrust.
“You feel so good, jagi,” he coaxes. “So fucking tight. So wet.”
He’s bearing a mischievous smile as he looks down at you. He knows what he’s doing to you—with his body, with his words. He knows you won’t last long like this.
Hell, even just looking at the consistent flexing of his abdomen as he fucks you just about does you in.
“I want to be on top,” you tell him, placing your hands on his chest to halt his movements.
You let your legs fall from his shoulders and he rolls over so he’s laying down and you’re on top of him without needing to pull out. You plant your feet firmly on the bed and start to bounce up and down on his cock. He lets out a groan and brings his hands to your hips, gripping them.
His eyes move from your face to your bouncing tits, down to where your bodies are connected. Feeling like the object of his desire is a feeling you’ll never get tired of. You can see it on his face—he likes this. He likes fucking you, pleasing you.
And with him, it’s easy. There aren’t any buried emotions to deal with. You can just enjoy the way you make each other feel. These moments you share with him; you can truly understand what the purpose of the SKZ house is. It’s a system that can work when other feelings don’t get in the way. The type of feelings that have brought you and Chan to an impasse.
You don’t realize your thoughts have drifted so much until you feel Hyunjin’s hand cupping your face.
“On me,” he says simply.
You nod, focusing your attention back on him.
How can he read you so easily? And be so unfazed, so understanding? You were blessed to have him as Chan’s counterpart in this. Truly.
You place your hands on his chest again, using his body to help you bounce up and down on his cock. His grip on your hips tightens and at first, he helps lift you up but then he pulls you all the way down and keeps you there.
“I need a second,” he tells you.
You smirk at that and start to grind on him. His hands make their way from your waist up to your breast. He squeezes both of them as his eyes roll back, and you know you have him right where you want him.
“Does that feel good?” You tease, moving your hips in slow circles.
He responds by snapping his eyes open and dropping a hand to press his thumb against your clit. A small gasp escapes your lips, and you grind against him harder. With each move of your hips, his cocks touches every part of you.
He’s working your clit with fervor, causing you to moan again as you feel the familiar sensation of another orgasm brewing within you.
“No,” you exhale. “I want you to come too.”
“I could have several minutes ago,” he admits.
You chuckle at that.
“Together?”
“Mmm,” he moans his agreement, placing his other hand back on your hip.
He grips it tightly once again and you resume bouncing on him. He keeps his thumb on your clit, rubbing it as you fuck him.
Looking down at him, you feel lucky to have this experience with him. He’s so kind, so caring, so giving. There’s no way you could repay him for all he’s done for you and all that he’s taught you. But you can, at least, please him.
From the look on his face, you can tell he’s close. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, gaze stuck on the sight of your body rising and falling on his cock.
You slide one of your hands up to his neck and squeeze it lightly.
“On me,” you repeat his words from earlier.
He fixes his eyes on yours, and you stare back just as intently.
He brings his hand up to cover yours, applying more pressure to your grip on his neck. He gives a subtle nod before moving his hand back to your hips. You squeeze tighter as your legs begin to shake again.
“Now?” He asks.
“Yes, come with me,” you tell him.
He thrusts his hips upwards to meet yours every time, as he spills inside of you. You feel the walls of your pussy clench around his cock as you come, too.
When you both finish, you release his neck and collapse on top of him. He wraps his arms around your back, holding you close and kissing the top of your head. He turns so that you’re both laying on your side, and you feel his softening cock leave your body.
He lifts up for a second and finds his boxers. He uses it to clean you up before tossing them onto the ground. He pulls you as close to him as possible. You hook a leg around his waist and bury your face into the crook of his neck.
You’re happy with him. You wish you could stay wrapped up safely in his embrace and avoid what you must face tomorrow. But you know you’ve put it off long enough.
a/n: some much need hyunjin time. she needed a break before diving in to that conversation with Chan. more coming soon! if you'd like to sign up for the mailing list you can do so [ here ]. thank you to the 71 souls that have signed up already, ilysm.
synopsis: admitting your wrongs to your friends is hard, but when a stranger agrees to lend their ears, it always feels easier to be your true self around some one you don't know
author's note: my first ever text fic rahh i actually wanted to write a fic with the wrong number trope but i haven't been getting time because of school assignments and projects, so i thought I could try something new and quick lol
this isn't a romantic situation (for now) as this is just their first two interactions, but if y'all want to see this dynamic continue maybe I can make a part two ? 👀
i would suggest y'all read the dates mentioned for it to make more sense !
image count: 13
link: wattpad
enjoy !
2nd july; once upon a time the planets and the fates
july 7th; and all the stars aligned
author's note: thank you soo much for reading, means the world to me ♡ please leave comment or tags in the reblogs and lml how i can improve !
Huddled up under the covers of her bed with her fingers curled around her phone as if it was her lifeline, Y/N sighed slowly. Her eyes drooped lower and lower the longer she stared at the same message on her phone screen, her heart pounding in her chest.
She chewed on her lower lip. Chan seemed to have completely disappeared, his swift responses ceasing and leaving the girl's mind in distress.
She knew telling him that she missed him would be a mistake.
She knew she should have listened to herself before sending him her message … her feelings were something to always be kept hidden and tucked inside her being, no matter how vulnerable she felt.
She knew -
Y/N jumped with a gasp as her phone screen abruptly lit up while simultaneously vibrating in her hands. Her eyes widened; Chan's smiling face filled the screen, his profile picture large and bright and making her heart plunge to the depths of her feet that were tangled together at the bottom of her bed.
Why was he calling her?
Was it an accident?
Breathing heavily, Y/N's gaze froze onto her screen with anticipation until the vibrations stopped. Her phone went blank, and she exhaled shakily, an unpleasant combination of relief and regret washing through her.
Her phone pinged on again and she swallowed thickly as she slowly read his message.
Y/N bit her lip again. In truth, she was dying to hear his voice too; she knew it would fill her with a sense of warmth she couldn't find anywhere else. But at the same time, for some reason, the idea of talking to him through the phone was entirely terrifying. Everything always seemed awkward via phone calls … awkward words, awkward silences. She didn't want it to be awkward - especially not with him.
Not to mention how there was the risk of her family hearing …
But oh, how she yearned to hear the gentleness of his words …
Before she could talk herself out of it, Y/N swiped her finger across the screen. Her fingers trembled as she raised the phone and pressed it to her ear, blood rushing to her head as she listened to the sound of the call going through.
He picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, baby girl … “
Y/N's breath hitched. Her eyes widened minutely in the dark beneath her bedsheets. She hadn't expected him to call her that - not now, and not with such a sleepy voice, either. His voice was husky, yet the same familiar richness was there, his words holding the same tender current even though the screen.
“Hi,” she whispered slowly.
Chan chuckled quietly. “Ah … forgot it's late for you. Probably need to be quiet, yeah?”
Breathing evening out, Y/N sank further down her bed. “It's … okay. I'm hiding in my bed, I don't think they'll hear.”
“You're hiding?” Chan asked. “What are you hiding from?”
“Monsters,” Y/N joked quietly. The word made Chan chuckle again, and she heard the faint scrape of a chair followed by the quiet shutting of a door.
“Monsters, huh?” Chan hummed. “Probably a good idea … don't want my precious Y/N getting attacked by them.”
At that, Y/N's lips curled up into the smallest of smiles. The erratic nature of her heartbeat had begun to slow down considerably, and a sure stream of drowsiness had begun to creep in.
The same drowsiness that had only come over her before when she had been around him.
“Y/N?” Chan called her name suddenly in a gentle tone.
“Hmm?”
“Are you okay?”
Y/N exhaled. She curled her knees up to her chest, folding in on herself as she pondered her answer.
She couldn't bring herself to tell him how she really felt. How could she possibly tell him that she just nearly attempted to take her own life, and that now she was finding it incredibly hard to breathe? How could she possibly tell him that she craved to be in his arms like the first time he hugged her … how could she tell him how touch starved she was, and how she wanted nothing more than to smell his scent one more time and to seek comfort in the steady stream of heat that always lingered around his body?
She couldn't tell him that … she couldn't even if she wanted to.
Besides, even if she did tell him … it wasn't like it would make a difference. He was halfway across the world - he wouldn't be able to hold her in his arms whether she told him of her feelings or not.
Y/N let her eyes fall shut. For a moment, she tried to imagine what it would feel like to be tucked into the curve of his arms, his delicate hands smoothing over her hair. She wondered what he would say to her …
Would he be upset if he learned what she nearly did?
Would he be angry?
Gentle?
Aggressive?
“Y/N?” Chan's voice interceded her thoughts.
She blinked, shaking her brief reverie away as if they were the finest of cobwebs. “Hmm?”
“I was asking how you are,” Chan repeated with a quiet laugh, though there was an air of concern in accompaniment. “Getting bored of me already, huh?”
Y/N tutted at his question.
“I'm fine,” Y/N said, trying to keep her voice light.
Chan grew quiet. “Are you really?”
No. I'm not.
“Really,” Y/N whispered. “Are you?”
“Me?” Chan asked in surprise. “I'm fine. Of course I'm fine.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
The silence between them both was palpable. But Y/N immediately noticed how it wasn't awkward; they were quiet for a long time, and not for one second did she feel like she'd rather be anywhere else.
In fact, she did wonder for a moment if she was about to fall asleep with him still on the line.
“How's school been?” Chan asked finally after a while. “Still going to the café?”
“School is … “ Y/N broke off, her voice catching in her throat.
School is … what?
It wasn't exactly somewhere that brought her joy. But it also wasn't as suffocating as it was a couple of months ago. It turned out ignoring someone's existence became easier with time, and the nasty remarks that were being thrown around suddenly became ineffective.
“It's just … school,” Y/N said. “It's summer break soon and I'm not looking forward to it.”
On the other end of the line, Chan made a sympathetic sound. “I'll try and message you more so you don't feel so isolated.”
“You don't have to,” Y/N breathed. “You're probably so busy.”
“That's true,” Chan agreed. “But it doesn't mean I can't make time for you.”
Y/N gripped her phone tighter at his words. Her fingers were shaking, and she clenched her eyes shut to stop the tears from escaping.
“Oh, right … actually I was gonna ask you something,” Chris began to speak again. He suddenly chuckled, a hint of shyness entering his voice. “You know Felix, yeah?”
“Of course I know Felix,” Y/N smiled. “He's my favourite.”
Chan rolled his eyes dramatically. He then realised Y/N couldn't see him, and he sighed, running his fingers through his hair.
“Yeah, well, the other day he was asking me if he could have your number,” Chan explained. “Something about wanting to send you memes and whatnot … I said I'd ask him if you're okay with it first … ?”
Y/N blinked. “He … wants to send me memes?”
“Yep.”
“You … you talk about me to them?”
“Well, yeah … you're very special to me. Think it'd be weird if I didn't talk about you, no?”
Y/N turned over in her bed slowly. She inhaled, rubbing her eyes with her free hand. She didn't understand how he kept saying things that were having such a prominent effect on her … it was taking all of Y/N's willpower to not burst into tears there and then.
“You can,” Y/N said, wrapping her free arm around herself. “Give him my number.”
“Sweet,” Chan replied. “Hey … Y/N?”
“Yeah?”
“You'd tell me if you weren't okay, wouldn't you?” Chan asked her softly. “Do … do you still … have those plasters I gave you?”
“I … “ Y/N looked down at her arm instinctively. She bit her lip for the umpteenth time, the skin raw as she did so. “I … ran out. Of them.”
“Oh,” Chan murmured. “Well … that's okay. As long as you actually used them and took care of yourself afterwards … “
Y/N's eyes stung. “Chris … ?”
“Yeah?”
“I'm trying,” Y/N whispered. “I'm trying so hard not to.”
Chan fell silent again. When he spoke again, his voice was tender and laced with the utmost care. “I know you are.”
“I need you to believe me,” Y/N breathed, suddenly feeling desperate. “I … need you to know that I'm trying. I really am.”
From the other end of the call, Chan's eyes widened. There was an urgency beneath the whisper of her words, and the man felt his heart constrict.
“Baby girl … of course I believe you,” Chan hummed quietly. “I know you're doing your best. I'm really proud of you, you know?”
Y/N stifled the sound of her small sobs by pressing her fingers to her mouth.
But would he really be proud of her if he knew?
A sudden commotion broke out in the background of Chan's end; Y/N rubbed her eyes as a chorus of energetic words tangled together, accompanied with high pitched laughter.
The sound was reminiscent of a crowded zoo. It made Y/N smile, and she rubbed her wet cheek against the pillow.
“Baby girl, I'm sorry … I have to go,” Chan said slowly, a drop to his voice. “The kids and I have some schedules and some stuff we have to do.”
“It's okay,” Y/N said. “I should get some sleep anyway.”
“Yeah … I'll talk to you soon, okay? And Felix too, apparently,” Chan chuckled. “Goodnight, Y/N.”
In the background, someone aggressively called for Chan for the third time. Stumbling through another ‘goodnight’, Chan hung up a second later, leaving Y/N alone to her own thoughts again.
She curled her fingers around her phone and turned around in her bed. Her eyes fell shut, and with the warmth of Chan's voice still lingering in her mind, the girl quickly fell asleep.
Masterlist
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Tag list ~ @dalamjisung @ateez-babygirl @waverzzzzzzzz @smutdumpskz @hotmesshapa @chanssmiles @leand125 @foivetimesacharm @dprkbyn @raethethey @super-btstrash-posts @sleepyleeji @ka-ni-ma @straystaychan @mylifesupsidedowm @armystay89 @shut-up256 @leelixpie @hanstan34 @blackfangedreaper @suhomylife @kannaexe @kookie9704 @notastraykid @strayfoxxchan @elizalabs3 @jdopes-recorder @forever-in-the-sky2 @peachygiku @chansducky10 @shakalakaboomboo @jisuperboard @zandra-42 @whyyougottadothatbro @skzcoffeemachine @where-is-innie @rizzshimura @miin17 @nappynapnaps @prettymiye0n @lost-leopard-beanie @chnbngs @stayconnecteed @hann1bee @stayceebs97 @solandiszale @cosmicalily (let me know if you wanna be added or removed)
── ✧ ˚. ꒰ 𝓹airing ꒱ ˒˓ situationship bang chan x f!reader 𝓰enre/𝓽ags. smau, college au, angst, (some) fluff, cursing, slightly suggestive language, arguing, chan is NOT a good guy in this one srry, pls don’t hate me for this bye-
read part 2 here 𓂅
[ note. ] i decided to use actual imessage for the texts now, do you guys like this layout better ? haha, it looks better imo. lmk what you thought of this or if it was any good at all, kinda trying something new so i’m just seeing how it goes lol
Chan suppresses a laugh. And Changbin calls him a diva.
“You’re the one always saying a gig is a gig, hyung,” Jisung sighs, smearing black glitter liner over his lids through the vanity mirror. “When did you get so picky?”
“I’m not picky,” Changbin huffs, pacing the dressing room. “Guess I’m just used to bigger and better setups. You know how it is.”
“And he says the fame hasn’t gone to his head.”
“What? Shut up.”
Jisung glances at Chan. “Hyung?”
Chan shrugs— gently so as not to mess rolling his perfect joint. “You’re being a bit precious.”
“It’s not a good look on you, man,” the younger adds.
“Oh, so it’s gang up on Bin hour, huh? Noted.”
“Do you want to do this gig or not?”
“Yes, that wasn’t what I—”
“Then stop bitching in my fucking kitchen,” Jisung snaps.
Chan smirks with a laugh, finishes his roll and tucks the lovely little package into his inner blazer pocket for later. Changbin’s not wrong, is the thing. Sinner’s is a million miles from the venues they’ve sold out. About as much of a downgrade as one could imagine. But isn’t it good to bring it back to the roots now and again? Something about staying humble and all that? He thinks so.
“What the hell are you smiling about?” Changbin peers over Jisung’s shoulder.
“Minho hyung just texted me.”
Changbin doubles back, near breaking his neck in the movement. “No shit. What did he say?”
“Just that he’s looking forward to tonight.”
“He’s coming to the gig?” Chan asks.
“I invited him. And his hot roommate.”
Chan swallows. “Cool.”
Jisung swivels in his seat, toned planes of his bare back twisting. “You’re still okay with it, right?”
“I suggested it, didn’t I?” Chan replies over his chest clenching.
He’s doing this for them. Has to. He’ll lose them if he doesn’t. Doesn’t matter if it makes him want to run face-first into the nearest sharp object or peel his skin off with a rusty utensil or dive into a vat of acid. Not even he can deny that resentment is sprouting where once adoration bloomed, and in the name of staying together they must momentarily part.
Apparently.
Jisung purses his glossed lips. “Hyung—”
“Minho is a good guy. He’s discreet, professional. If you have to do this I'd much rather it be with someone who has our reputation in mind,” Chan says.
“And his roommate?” Changbin asks.
“Minho doesn’t associate with clowns. Any close friend of his can be trusted, too.”
“I’m just saying though, if you’ve changed your mind—”
“I haven’t changed my fucking mind, Sung. Stop asking before I do.”
Changbin’s pats Jisung’s shoulder. “We appreciate you meeting us halfway on this, hyung,” he says. “And I know you said you won’t, but if you, like, do end up wanting to be involved with someone else, you have our blessing.”
Chan nods. He might fucking throw up. The idea of even touching someone that isn’t one of them just— No. He can’t. Wishes they couldn’t either, but it’s selfish to wish for such a thing, and Chan’s not supposed to be selfish. He’s supposed to be better. Supposed to smile and wave while his boyfriends cheat on him in front of his face only it’s not cheating because he’s blessed it so they call it something else— they call it ‘ethnical non-monogamy' or ‘opening things’ or ‘branching out’ and just like that the guilt is gone and they can fuck to their hearts’ content and skip into the sunset with their new beaus and empty balls and a lighter heart, laughing all the while. Like everything's not fucked. Like Chan will ever feel adequate again. Like he’ll ever be able to look at them without wondering if he’s enough.
Whatever.
Done with the conversation and the spiral of anxiety, he sprawls over the cheap loveseat, pulls his snapback low. He tunes out the chatter of his boyfriends, focuses on the impending performance. Thinks about how good he’ll feel on stage, performing to swathes of people that actually do love him. What they see of him, anyway. Even if he loses all else, he’ll always have the adoring fans.
Beyond that, he can’t think too hard. Doesn’t want to.
He just wants to get through this without losing himself.
