tyla hoe @elisa21sstuff - Tumblr Blog

bewitched by you (yuma)

pairing: &team mafia! loverboy!yuma x fem!reader ft. &team members, enhypen ⋆.˚ ☾ wc: 23.8k ⋆.˚ ☾ synopsis: you were never supposed to leave. you were never supposed to be happy. but one fateful encounter with nakakita yuma whisks you away to a world you could have only ever dreamed of, filled with joy, laughter, and loving chaos. until, your sinister past decides to come knocking. and with it, long-kept secrets begin to unravel and buried feelings come bubbling to the surface. and your best friend? he was no hero. he would let everyone die before he watched you and your smile fade away ever again. ⋆.˚ ☾ warnings: TOXIC EX WITH THEMES OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, he fell first he fell harder, angst/comfort, slow-ish burn, friends to lovers (soulmates?), hella violence, mentions of murder, guns, multiple attempts on reader's life, fire, heeseung has gotten even more diabolical, offensive language towards reader, 2-3 suggestive scenes, tattoos duh ⋆.˚ ☾ a/n: wow jfc the wc has me crying laughing. yuma's story is defs a lot different from the rest (lover boy down bad) so lmk what you think!! this piece definitely took a lot of time but this is my love letter to all those who have experienced any of the themes mentioned. you deserve love and to be loved, hope you enjoy it♡

jo [] 2. nicholas [] 3. euijoo

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“y/n! where are you?!”

dammit.

you sigh heavily at the clanging of the bell on your front door, keeping your gaze laser-focused on your client’s thigh. you were a tattoo artist, and a well-accomplished one at that. people from all over the world came for your handiwork, even as an apprentice. back then, one of your clients, youngji, now one of your closest friends, posted one of her covers on tiktok, and the tattoo you’d designed on her forearm had gone insanely viral. since then, you’d had steady work come through the door as a professional artist. and with the help of your best friend, you’d finally achieved your dream of opening a studio of your own.

timeskip to today, and for the last three years, you’ve been operating out of a little shop in a tiny alleyway in tokyo. small, definitely sketchy, with even sketchier customers, but she was cute and within walking distance from one of your favorite little streets, filled with food, cafes, and trinket shops.

“i’m in the back working, yuma!” you yell.

youngji laughs at your dismayed expression from her place on your bench, and you pull the gun away to not mess up your design. the one and only nakakita yuma, one of your first regular clients, and for better or worse, your best friend. stomping, he drops a couple onigiri and iced americano on your desk, his lips just barely brushing the top of your head before he flops onto your couch with a heavy oof.

“oh youngji-san, good to see you!" he half-waves. "oh my god y/n, you won’t believe what just happened. this crazy girl—“

the minute he starts yapping about last night’s one-night stand, you tune him out. yuma’s one night stands rarely went well, but still he kept going on them. and honestly, for the last year, it seemed like he was constantly on these dates, and getting more and more frustrated with each one. truly, it was like he was trying to get himself married off as soon as possible. but what on earth could you say? who were you to try to stop him from meeting the potential love of his life? youngji chuckles, used to yuma’s cat-like antics and near-constant presence in your shop.

“y/n… darling, you’re staring," she teases, taking note of your somewhat dilated eyes.

“huh? oh my god, i’m so sorry youngji," you quickly apologize, returning your focus to her leg. "just one more rose and then we’ll be done.”

the buzzing fills your ears, leaving your mind blissfully blank. you didn’t mind having yuma around, but when he was there, it was like your brain went completely smooth. like, chicken breast smooth. it was ridiculous, really, how his presence distracted you entirely, no matter what you were doing. and it was irritating to no end.

“y/n… you know he likes you, right?” youngji whispers, her eyebrows wiggling mischievously at you. “he’s obviously baiting you with these one night stand stories.”

you shake your head, keeping your hand steady as you finish up the final touches.

“nah, we’re just friends.”

“right... friends who kiss, drunk cuddle, with matching tattoos and—”

“ok when you say it like that—“

“of course, my mistake. he’s just the best friend who brings you lunch, like, every day. and starts pouting if you go on a date. and loaned you millions of yen to help you open this shop. and looks at you like you hung the moon." she pauses, sarcasm dripping with every word.

"actually, yeah, you’re right. he doesn’t like you. he loves you,” youngji declares, wincing as you finally finish and start to bandage her leg.

“oh my god, shut UP!” you whisper-yell, tying off the saran wrap with a quick snap. “what if he hears you?!”

you glance over at yuma, airpods thankfully jammed in his ears. he hums under his breath, fingers tapping against his leg to a rhythm you can’t hear. and as he’s sitting there, bathed in sunlight with his eyes closed, you can’t help the soft smile that graces your lips.

“besides, he’s always hooking up with some girl. exhibit a, literally ten seconds ago when he was blabbing about the girl he went out with last night,” you say airily, taking out your contacts to switch them for glasses. “he wouldn’t be doing all that if he was waiting for me, you know?”

“that’s because you don’t make any moves on him, so he thinks you don’t like him like that!” youngji says, exasperated. “no friend would just call you 'baby' and not like-like you!"

“because i don’t like him, i’m literally going on a date with niki tonight!” you groan, handing her all the aftercare materials. "besides, he's called me 'baby' for years, that's just how he is."

“okay, okay, fine.” youngji puts her hands up in surrender, a teasing smirk on her face. “make sure you eat my hardworking busy bee. have fun, I’ll see you saturday.”

she blows you a kiss, and the front door closes with a soft jingle of the overhanging bell. you wave her off, locking the door with a soft click. ears twitching like a cat, yuma looks at you, one eyebrow raised.

come here.

rolling your eyes, you take a sip of the coffee yuma had brought, soaking in the last rays of the setting sun. the worst part of being a broke tattoo artist was having literally no money to pay any employees to help you clean up the shop when you were done for the day. and you were a chronic procrastinator. so aside from when yuma dragged the rest of the boys to help you clean, bribed with promises of free dinner, you were left to convince yourself you loved cleaning. but they’d all been busy with finals lately and today, you were paying for yesterday's procrastination.

"ahem," yuma clears his throat, a slight pout on his lips.

i said come here.

a beat passes and you sigh, resolve crumbling faster than a sand castle.

fine.

he grunts dramatically with your sudden weight plopping onto his chest, but his arms curl around your waist anyway, your shoulder blades now acting as his personal phone rest. he’d started working out recently, his chest starting to become more defined and less of a soft pillow. this position shouldn’t feel normal between friends, but you settle into his chest anyway, as if he were your personal pillow.

“take a nap, you look like shit,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers through your hair absent-mindedly. "smell like it too"

your head pops up, catching him in the chin.

“bitch—?!!”

before you can smack him, the bell of your front door jingles and you turn towards the sound, head tilted. yuma looks up from his phone, eyebrows furrowed.

“were you expecting someone?”

but you're just as confused.

“no…? youngji was my last client today and i thought i locked the door after she left,” you try to stand up. “guess i left it open and somebody wanted to stop by for a walk-in.”

but yuma hugs you tighter, gaze returning to his phone. his face remains still, though his tight grip on you says otherwise.

“they’ll go away if they see you’re closed,” he whispers lazily, completely oblivious to how warm your ears have gotten.

“nakakita yuma, you did not help me open this shop just so I could ignore customers,” you shake your head, tapping his nose teasingly. “you’re being extra clingy today”

yuma rolls his eyes, his grip unrelenting even while he continues to scroll on his phone. damn him and his arm days. he says nothing, but the slight smirk on his face betrays him.

with an evil grin, your hands ghost over his sides and he lets go with a loud giggle.

“THAT’S NOT FAIR!” he whines, grabbing for you as you dance just out of reach, coffee firmly in hand.

you blow him a kiss, giving a mock-bow on your way to the main area of your studio. you were exhausted, but if anything was going to save you, it was going to be new clients and yuma’s coffee. however, had you taken a second to look behind you, you would’ve seen yuma’s smile drop as soon as your back was turned. his eyes watch carefully as your figure disappears beyond the curtain, narrowed in distrust and suspicion.

you never forgot to lock your door.

ever.

and he knew for a fact that the only other key to this shop was the one currently attached to the carabiner on his jeans.

“hello, welcome in! i’m actually— niki?! what are you doing here?” you smile, your cheeks warming as he bends to give you a peck on the cheek.

“hey beautiful, i just wanted to stop by early before our date, and let you know," he smiles lazily, his tall frame immediately filling your entire visual field.

he’d started coming into your shop about three months ago, and over time, one conversation led to the next and you’d gotten to know him beyond the artist-client curtain. he looks like he’s just gotten home from the gym, dressed comfortably in sweats and a dark grey hoodie, hands deep in his pockets. he leans closer, eyes just barely peeking out from behind his dark curtain of hair.

you swear you only blinked once. you hadn’t looked away from him, not even for a second.

but nothing could've prepared you for what came next.

“sorry noona, i’m gonna have to cancel.” your soon-to-be-ex-situationship smiles at you apologetically, though his eyes sport nothing but cold calculatedness as he holds the gun pointed straight at your forehead.

you freeze, coffee hitting the floor before you can get a grip.

the ghost feeling of a bullet ripping through your brain is sending you into a panic faster than you can stop it. and if the gun didn’t kill you first, your almost inevitable heart attack was about to. christ, you really had a knack for picking men.

“niki...? i don’t understand, why are you—“

“y/n, darling, you really should’ve known better,” he sighs, as if your question is that of a tiresome child. “it was so obvious that i was just playing with—“

BANG!

a loud crash echoes through your shop from the backroom and niki’s eyes narrow on you, the safety clicking off.

“who else is here?” he asks lowly, sounding nothing like the person you thought you’d gotten to know.

your heart clenches at the thought of exactly who was lounged on your couch.

no way in hell would you get yuma mixed up in this. you didn’t even know what this was about!

“no one! i have no idea—“

“me, bitch.”

BAM!

another blink and all you see is yuma, standing in the doorway like some kind of avenged angel in his black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, gun drawn. niki lays on the ground, unconscious from the blow to the back of his head.

you're frozen in place, rarely having seen your best friend so serious in your life. his eyes are fixated on niki, gun held in front of him like an extension of his body rather than a foreign, loaded weapon. you don’t recognize this yuma. this serious, unsmiling yuma. as if he hadn’t just knocked someone unconscious with no trouble at all. as if he could’ve killed him in cold blood and not batted an eyelash. as if he'd become someone else entirely. your heart lurches, the invisible wounds left behind by your past suddenly feeling as if they've been ripped open.

“yu... ma…?”

at the sound of your voice, whoever is front of you is gone faster than you could snap your fingers. immediately, his eyes soften and yuma holsters the gun, running towards you. he holds you at arms-length, checking you all over for injuries.

“y/n! are you ok?!! i heard—“

“get away from me.” you whisper, still staring at the unconscious niki on the floor.

“w-what?” his arms drop loosely at his sides, shocked by your tone.

you shove him off, grabbing the gun that niki had dropped.

“d-don’t t-touch me,” you stutter, gun shaking in your grasp. before you can stop them, tears start to form in your eyes, blurring your vision. for all you know, yuma could change his mind and finish what niki came to do. you'd been such a fool, trusting yet another man with a voice like honey.

yuma’s gaze softens, holding his hands where you can see them.

“hey, y/n,” he whispers softly. “baby it’s ok, it’s just me.”

“yuma,” he moves carefully, keeping his hands where you can see them.

“your yuma.”

you look like a scared rabbit, ready to bolt at any second. your eyes look dazed, as if trapped in a memory.

and he hates that it's his fault.

you’ve never seen this side of him; he’d always been careful to keep his double life hidden from you whenever you’d come to visit. his weapons tucked safely behind a false wall. mysterious documents and phone calls excused away by an ill grandparent. his uncanny aptitude with computers and code loosely explained by a course he took in college. he watches you carefully, all too-aware that the safety is still off.

you back away, hands shaking so hard that you nearly drop the gun. of course you’d never hurt yuma, you would never want that. but you’re terrified, your mind going into survival mode all on its own. you know it’s not him. you know he’s not here. and yet, all you can see is him.

yuma steps forward slowly, careful not to spook you. you’re looking at him, but it’s almost as if you’re looking through him.

you stand frozen, as if watching yourself in third-person, as yuma pulls the gun from your grip, flipping the safety on and pocketing it without taking his eyes off of you. you instinctively step back, unable to break his gaze. he follows you, not overcrowding your space, but close enough to let you know that he’s not going anywhere. a couple steps later, your back hits the wall, his quiet intensity sending your brain into overdrive. he leans down, close enough for his nose to just gently brush against yours.

“why are you running from me?” he murmurs lowly, setting off sparks in your stomach despite everything that’s happened. "what do you see?"

had your friendship been a lie? did you ever really know your supposed best friend? when he’d saved you that night, all those years ago, was it planned? come to think of it, he’d always paid for everything and got upset if you tried to pay, all while complaining that you spent all of his money and needed to find a boyfriend to use his money instead. stupidly, you never questioned where the money came from. not even once. really, what kind of 24-year-old had millions of yen just sitting around to help you open a tattoo studio?! not to mention what had happened just last week? god, you were an idiot.

“Y/N?!! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!!”

you collide face-first into the chest of none other than nakakita yuma, your keys and umbrella clattering to the ground.

“YUMA?! what do you mean what the hell am i doing here?! what the hell are you- OW!”

yuma grabs your arm, dragging you to the alleyway to the side of your shop. he drags you next to the row of trashbins, keeping you mostly hidden from view from the alleyway. a rat skitters by, though neither of you take notice of it.

“you can’t be here right now! why are you out so late?!”

“jesus yuma, i just finished a spine tattoo!" you shove at him half-heartedly, starting to shiver from the cold of the rain seeping through your thin shirt. "you know i have late clients all the time, why are you— IS THAT BLOOD?!!”

yuma bats your hands away, looking nervously towards where the opening of the alleyway meets the street.

“don’t worry, it’s not mine. but you need to get out of here right—“

“WHERE IS HE?!!” a loud voice booms, no more than a block away.

“oh shit,” yuma mutters, backing you straight into the brick wall.

one brick in particular digs between your shoulder blades, though the expression on yuma’s face keeps your lips sealed. your heart stutters with the feeling of yuma’s skin pressed flush against yours, the lingering scent of the cologne he’d sprayed this morning filling your nostrils. the vein in his neck pulses with adrenaline, his right arm wrapped around your lower back, keeping you tucked securely against his chest. the rain has soaked both of you through, the flickering streetlight painting the perfect setting for a night of shifty hands, violence, and shady business.

“yu-kun, what’s going on?”

your terrified whisper brings yuma back to reality, suddenly all-too-aware of your body pressed against his, subconsciously curled into his chest. and in spite of himself, his skin begins to heat against yours, searing warmth cutting through the cold rain. your pulse thuds against his skin, every shaky breath from your lips sending blood straight down south.

“y/n, i need you to kiss me."

he can hear their footsteps thundering down the pavement just around the corner, hooting and hollering, thirsty for blood. time seems to slow down and you nearly choke on your own spit at his words, having half a mind to knock him unconscious and hand him over.

“yuma, are you insane?! what the fuck is going on?!! and why—“

“kiss me, y/n,” yuma pleads, eyes darting between you and the street. every second passes like a ticking time bomb. “or we’re both going to die”

you must be ill. feverish. sick in the head. you don’t question it, why yuma is acting like the world is ending.

"you owe me an explanation," you whisper harshly, yanking him down by his shirt. “and a drink.”

yuma’s eyes flutter closed as you seal your lips against his, almost chastely. his cheeks warm, a guttural groan stuck in his throat, an undeniable heat in his chest. the footsteps thud closer, their heels promising violence.

“THERE! THAT MUST BE— oh for fuck’s sake!”

yuma clutches you closer by your waist, wet hair flopping into your eyes, while the other comes up to cup your cheek. you’ll blame it on the adrenaline. or the fact that death allegedly awaits you around the corner. either way, you’re not responsible for what happens next as yuma deepens the kiss, dizzy with the feeling of your nails scraping against his back: you practically moan into his lips, back arching off the wall and into his chest.

“yuma,” you rasp, separating your lips for a whisper for air.

“get back here,” a small smirk decorates his features, his voice a low whine.

you’ll blame your actions on the fact that you were putting on the show of a lifetime, well, for your life. you yank yuma closer by the back of his neck, careful to keep his face hidden from the alleyway. his hands roam all over your back, as if memorizing every curve and tiniest detail. your lips ghost over the side of his neck, settling over the space between his neck and shoulder, hazarding a glare over his shoulder at the men in the shadows, as if shaming them for being present. yuma practically falls against you as your teeth sink into his skin, his breath coming out in harsh pants. you suck harder, overcome with years of pent-up desire; his fingers dig into your hips, as if tattooing his presence into your bones.

“fuck y/n, you might just kill me first,” yuma growls, grabbing your chin with one hand.

you detach from his neck with a pop, threads of saliva shiny in the dim light. you just barely catch a glimpse of your already-bruising mark before yuma reattaches his lips to yours, one hand slipping under your shirt to grab your waist, keeping you in place while he continues his onslaught.

“jesus, GO HOME FREAKS!” a deep voice bellows. “it’s just a couple of perverts! fan out, he can’t have gotten far!”

you never did get your explanation afterwards, too distracted by the memory of yuma’s lips against yours, and the empty ache that had followed.

“what the fuck is going on?” you glare up at yuma, keeping your arms crossed across your chest.

you had no intention of repeating last week’s series of events, flushed cheeks be damned; fool me once, shame on you. fool me twice, shame on me. you couldn't think of a single good explanation for why he had so much money, why he could use a gun with such expertise, or why he'd been covered in blood. you hazard a glance towards niki, who is thankfully still unconscious and sprawled on the ground. thank god you were closed for the day; even the concept of a man was pissing you off. and

“are you dealing?!!”

yuma snorts, of course that would be the first thing you would think of. he raises a hand to brush the hair out of his face, and you can’t help it. you flinch. shocked, yuma looks at you, hurt and worry filling his gaze.

“y/n? baby, i would never hurt you,” he says softly, arms dropping uselessly to his sides.

his head hangs, hair falling back into his face. he peers at you through his curtain of bangs, gaze sad and pleading.

“i know you’re scared, and i know a lot has just happened. im not dealing drugs but i don’t know what’s happening either and i promise i’ll tell you everything as soon as i know you're safe,” his breath hitches, almost as if he’s slamming a wall down. “will you trust me?“

you look at him, feeling the wall starting to grow between the two of you by the second. this was your best friend. he’d been your rock, your everything for the last five years. he’d rescued you when you needed him most, had protected you even when you’d refused it. but clearly, you hadn’t known anything about him at all.

“you’ll tell me everything?” you question, suddenly feeling more exhausted than you’ve ever felt in your life.

he nods, almost too eagerly.

“yes, everything. everything i know, i’ll tell you y/n. but we can’t stay here, it’s not safe—“

as if on cue, niki’s phone starts ringing.

“jake-hyung,” it reads.

your eyes widen.

no way, it can’t be.

you're not stupid, you know you’re running out of options. it would only be a matter of time before whoever had sent niki came looking for him. and if 'jake-hyung' was who you thought it was...

better the devil you know than the one you don’t.

slowly, you nod, tearing your gaze away from niki’s body. without wasting another second, yuma grabs your hand, leading you out the back door of your shop to where his car is parked. he fastens your seatbelt, making sure your hair doesn't get caught in it.

“i am so sorry, love. i promise i’ll tell you everything.”

next thing you know, your vision goes dark, the scent of wood and lavender filling your nostrils.

—

you wake up confused and disoriented, but somehow more rested than you've been in ages. the last rays of sunlight filter in through the closed blinds, the digital clock at your bedside table reads 7:59pm.

christ, you'd slept a whole day.

carefully, you sit up and blink slowly, trying to find your bearings. slowly but surely, all the memories of yesterday afternoon come flooding back: yuma, kicking open the front door to your shop. niki, holding a gun to your forehead. yuma, lounging on your couch. niki, unconscious on the ground. yuma, leaned over you, your back to the wall. niki's phone, 'jake-hyung'. yuma, begging you to trust him. you sigh. the last thing you remember is getting into yuma’s car and then…. nothing.

you were still in yesterday's clothes, though someone had taken off your socks and scrubbed off your make-up. looking around, you slowly start to recognize where you are: yuma’s apartment. and on the other side of his bedroom door, there was a whole lot of yelling going on, their attempts at whispering completely futile.

"NAKAKITA YUMA!! ARE YOU CRAZY?!!"

"what the hell were you thinking?!"

"euijoo, you really can't expect me to have left her!"

"yuma, you know the rules! we have them for a reason!"

"you know what happens next, right?"

silence follows.

you don't hear the next bit because you're too busy diving for the bed, back under the safety of the covers.

just in time for yuma to open the door, sitting down next to you with a heavy sigh. peeking from beneath the blanket, you can see jo, fuma and euijoo all in the living room, putting on their shoes to leave. you’d occasionally seen euijoo around, when he accompanied his wife to the coffee shop next door. she had come in with yuma a couple times, always greeting you with a warm smile. and you hadn’t seen jo in a while since he’d become a father. you’d seen fuma around, sometimes dropping by yuma’s apartment unannounced. and who was always in the gym pictures that yuma sent you. who, once upon a time, had walked into a very unfortunate situation.

“yuma! where is— why are you on the couch?" fuma starts, kicking off his shoes. “y/n?!!”

“fuma-kun??” yuma groans, blinking sleepily in the sunlight streaming through his window.

you’re still fast asleep on his chest, wrapped in one of yuma’s t-shirts, not having so much as twitched a muscle. yuma has one arm around your waist, the other behind his head. the tv reads, are you still watching? numb from sleep, he blinks again, rolling his eyes as soon as he sees fuma’s disappointed stare.

“are you playing with her? you better not be, i raised you better than that,” fuma nags, arms crossed over his chest.

“no hyung, it’s not like-“

“she’s a wonderful woman and i don’t even want to know if you guys had sex, you just better have been wearing-“

“FUMA-HYUNG! oh my god, please it’s not like that!” yuma groans, trying his best to roll out from under you without waking you up. “we’re just friends!”

“right, and i’m half-unicorn,” fuma sighs deeply, turning right back around to leave.

"hey dummy, i know you're awake.”

yuma speaks softly, his voice heavy with what seems like the weight of the world.

you pretend to not hear him, keeping your eyes shut tightly. of course, you’re grateful to yuma for saving your life. but apparently, your best friend has been living this double life you’d known nothing about. and you weren’t a complete moron. you knew your shop catered to a sketchy crowd that tipped way too generously for the jobs they claimed to have. you knew that more than a few sketchy business deals had taken place right under your nose. but for yuma, your yuma, to be mixed up in all of it, and you hadn’t known? god, best friend of the year.

he pokes your hip, clearly pouting that your back is still turned towards him.

“go away, yuma,” you mutter, grip tightening on the blanket.

“y/n-“

“please?” your voice comes out as a whisper, just barely on the edge of tears again.

everything you’d ever known about nakakita yuma had been complete bullshit and you’d be stupid not to take a second to gather your thoughts before you’re blinded by his lies, again. even if it breaks your heart to take a couple steps back.

“i just need some time,” you mumble, trying not to let guilt seep into your voice.

yuma doesn’t answer, but you feel his eyes boring into your back like lasers. and ever so slowly, you feel him get off the bed. his fingertips brush against your shoulder as he readjusts the blanket, his touch burning even through the thick fabric.

“ok,” he says, his lips ghosting the edge of your brow line.

the door clicks shut and you breathe a sigh of relief, finally throwing the suffocating blanket off. his lips still burn against your skin as you sit up, staring at the photo yuma has framed at his bedside: it was the day of your 22nd birthday and yuma’s birthday gift to you had been the keys to your studio, bewitched. you smile softly, staring at the two of you. you don’t know who had taken it, but you’ve never looked so naive and joyful in your life, being spun around, keys glittering in the sunlight.

what an idiot.

what the hell were you going to do? actually, what on earth could you even do? run for it? jump out the window?

you can just picture him outside the door, sulking in the kitchen, scrolling on his phone to distract himself. and your heart breaks all over again. just outside that door was the boy who’d become your best friend. the boy who’d wiped your tears when you were at your lowest. the boy who’d helped you get your life back and made your dreams come true. but after last night? really you should’ve known better. how could someone as kind as him be real? there was always a catch, you’d already learned that lesson the hard way. and right now, you had no idea who would be waiting for you outside that door: your sweet, kind-hearted yuma, or a cold-blooded killer.

sighing, you roll out of bed. you desperately needed a shower and you'd slept over at yuma's enough times to have your own drawer. but the thundering of the hot water on your head does nothing to quiet your thoughts. you shut it off, the water starting to feel cold.

what happens now?

“JO?! what the hell?!!” you jump back, the towel you’d been using to dry your hair hitting jo in the chest like a wet rag.

"why on earth are you standing in the dark like some kind of serial killer?!!"

one quick glance around the apartment told you yuma had left, his keys gone from the hook. you look back at jo, willing your heartbeat to slow down.

asakura jo, one of yuma's friends whom you often asked for sketch ideas. he had a brilliant mind, the perfect idea bank whenever you found yourself hitting a creativity wall. you'd seen less and less of him since he'd become a father of two, but he was still the awkward, shy guy you'd come to befriend. though nowadays, he'd picked up a lot more of his wife's traits and gotten a lot more expressive. and sassy, dear god. but the man half-leaning on the counter in front of you now is none of these things: actually, he looks exhausted. dark circles under his eyes, rumpled pants, glasses hanging off his nose unevenly, mysterious stain on his t-shirt that looked suspiciously like baby food.

"y/n, it's good to see you. well, circumstances aside," he waves half-heartedly from the kitchen.

"you're,” you tip toe forward, wet hair dripping onto the hardwood. “involved...?"

you ask hesitantly, afraid to step out from the doorway leading to the living room, as if the cheap wood somehow marked the line between life and death.

jo lets out an uncharacteristic snort, shaking his head.

"involved?" he takes a sip of water. "y/n, i run the whole thing. and as the don of &TEAM, i have a couple things to discuss with you about what happened with nakamura riki.”

you back away, suddenly very afraid. the longer you looked at him, you could practically see the blood staining his hands. the weight of all their souls heavy on his shoulders. the illusion had shattered, and if jo was involved, then it was probably safe to say that everyone yuma had introduced you to were all criminals. but jo as their leader?! what kind of monsters did yuma have for friends, that someone as kind and endearing as jo was a criminal lord?! you’d always thought that he’d had the hands of an artist, but of course you'd been blind. you’d been a fool for not realizing his medium had been blood. christ, you hadn't even suspected—

"he hid it well, it's not your fault y/n." jo interrupts your thoughts. "you're not stupid for not realizing, you know. not even a little bit.”

“wow, fatherhood has made you wise,” you laugh wistfully at the absurdity of it all.

“we all worked to keep our secret hidden, you know,” jo gives you an awkward half-smile, his ears the faintest shade of pink. “as for yuma... we all told him he had to tell you soon before things got out of hand."

"what do you mean, out of hand?" you inch forward, still clinging to the edges of the living room. "you knew this was going to happen?"

jo raises an eyebrow, gesturing to the kitchen counter. it's pictures of your run-in with niki, caught on the cctv of your shop. you inch closer to stare at yourself, though the pictures start looking more and more like they'd happened to someone else the longer you look at him. you don't recognize the terrified girl in the photo, a spilled coffee at her feet. the gun pointed to her head almost seems dystopian, as if it were a movie scene and not your reality. you don't recognize yuma, cold and unfamiliar in his relaxed stance over an unconscious niki.

but aside from those, there are more pictures, neatly organized into little piles. each pile is a compilation of pictures of all of your other regular clients but two piles stand out the most: kim sunoo, and of course, nishimura riki.

"i suspected they'd come after you to get to him, so we kept eyes on you just in case. but we thought it’d become more of a hostage situation, not a full-on hit. however,” jo sighs heavily, leaning back against the sink. "it seems more like they had no idea at all. or at least, they’d known and couldn’t have cared less.”

he turns to look at you, eyebrow raised.

"no offense y/n, but why on earth would they come for you?"

you shake your head, not having a single clue. allegedly, your mother had died giving birth to you, your father of heartbreak. you'd gotten dropped at an orphanage as a toddler by a distant relative, but were too young to remember exactly how you'd gotten to korea from japan in the first place. there, you’d bounced from foster home to foster home until unfortunately, you'd aged out. with no funds for college, you'd taken solace in art and ended up sketching for fun while working part-time as a bartender. a chance encounter with jeon jungkook, one of the most famous tattoo artists in seoul, and you'd ended up under his wing as a tattoo apprentice before finally graduating and opening your own studio back home in japan. your studio, thereby dubbed bewitched, had been open for a grand total of two years.

"i have no idea," you whisper, still staring at the photos. of yuma, the cold glint in his eye. of you, frozen in horror. of yuma, standing between you and niki, as if he were a human shield.

your mind trails back to the first time you'd met yuma and his ragtag gaggle of friends.

you'd been 20, with almost a year's experience of being an apprentice, closing up shop the day after your uneventful birthday when he'd stumbled in with two friends in tow, drunk and clearly freshly 20. jungkook's shop, the magic shop, was right in the middle of hongdae, the perfect location for streetgoers living on the ideology of yolo, soju and poor decisions. the one with the cat-like eye smile and snaggletooth, somehow, he feels familiar. though, you have no idea who he could be.

"I WANT A TATTOO!" he slurs, unfocused eyes shiny with delight.

"sir, you're drunk and—"

"wow you're really pretty," he smiles at you. "can i have this one please?"

you follow his finger, pointed directly at one of your old sketches. it's a net with a flower in the center of it, a lily actually, in honor of your mother. you shake your head, ears pinking with embarrassment that you'd accidentally left your sketchbook out.

"i'm sorry, i can't do that one. it's not for—“

"i want it," he pouts. "please, if you can, it's really pretty."

"sir, i'm sorry but you're drunk and it's a big piece-"

"my sister's name is yuri and it'll be the third anniversary of her-"

maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you. or how excited he looks. either way, your mouth moves before your brain can catch up.

"ok, i'll do it" you nod, uncharacteristically sure.

was this guy drunk? oh absolutely. were you swayed by his round, cat-like eyes? perhaps. and his sister happened to have the same name as your mother? you didn't believe in fate or coincidences. but really, that sketch deserved to see the light of day, and your gut told you that this was the person to wear it.

"hop up, i'll do the sketch first ok?" you smile, your heart lifting at how excited he looks that you've said yes. "my name's y/n, by the way."

"yuma," he grins, his snaggletooth poking out, looking somehow more sober than ever. “nakakita yuma.”

"y/n? you here?”

"yes?" you shake your head, clearing your thoughts.

jo's looking at you like you've grown a third head, clearly concerned.

"i know this is a lot. and i‘m really really sorry, but i need you to think back,” he sighs again, scrutinizing the pictures as if they'd spell out the answer. “is there anything? literally even the tiniest anything that you might have done to piss off enhypen?"

“no, i really don’t!” your eyes zero in on a particular tattoo hidden behind niki’s ear, trying to hold your tears back. “i’m sorry but to me, they’re like everyone else that comes through my shop. i’ve never even heard of the name enhypen before today.”

but that wasn't entirely true. yes, you'd never heard of enhypen until today. but you’d seen that tattoo before, though it had been no work of your own.

you sink further into the couch, wishing more than anything else that you could go back to being stupid, naive y/n. the y/n who didn't have an active hit out on her. the y/n who had wanted to live a simple life doing the thing she loved. the y/n who knew nothing about enhypen or &TEAM. the y/n who could tell her best friend everything.

“jo, you know that all the people who come through my shop are involved in sketchy business one way or another,” he half-nods, shrugging his shoulders in agreement. “they pay me for my work, but also to look the other way. and i don't even want to know what goes on the other side of my front door."

you quickly wipe away a tear before he can see it, though he silently slides the tissue box closer to you anyway.

jo sighs for what seems like the millionth time, feeling uncharacteristically guilty. over the last two years, you’d become one of his closest confidants after yuma had dragged him out on a trip to your shop, in an attempt to lighten the heavy burden of being &TEAM's don. you'd noticed him quietly doodling away while you did yuma's double lobe piercings, taking a peek over his shoulder. since then, there’d been many an afternoon he’d come to visit and take up a corner of your backroom, content to sit in silence and doodle away while his kids are at school and the &TEAM empire isn’t actively burning down.

“y/n, there’s something else i need to discuss with you.”

“there’s more?”

“because of what’s happened…” he takes a deep breath, looking you straight in the eyes. “you have to join &TEAM.”

“i have to— WHAT?!!” you choke.

“it’s either that, or…” jo trails off, waiting for you to catch onto his meaning.

you sit, frozen to the couch. if someone had told you last week that your art would land you in the mafia, you would've openly laughed. but now?

“why am i still alive jo?” you ask quietly, stare fixated on a snorlax figurine by yuma’s tv.

"you shouldn’t be," jo states plainly. “i usually wouldn’t allow for a civilian like you to simply join, but yuma wouldn’t have any of it. and you know better than anyone else he’d murder the rest of us if we let anything happen to you. not to mention that even you have no idea why enhypen wants you dead.”

jo tilts his head thoughtfully, and for no reason at all, you shiver. your body feels what you can’t see, the chill of a presence much larger and more dangerous than you can imagine.

“and that makes me very curious,” he fixes you with a stare.

you shiver, suddenly get the feeling that all your thoughts are being ripped raw and laid open in plain view.

you still haven't wrapped your mind around the fact that if not for yuma, you would probably be laying in an unmarked grave somewhere right now instead of in the middle of his living room. no funeral, no flowers, just another headline: "budding tattoo artist lost to gang violence" or better yet, "unnamed woman dies from rampant gang violence in shibuya.” your life has literally done a complete 180 in just over 24 hours. and now you’re supposed to join some top-secret dark underworld empire?!

before you can answer jo, the front door creaks open, revealing a soaked-through nakakita yuma, complete with takeout from your favorite restaurant that was 100% on the other side of town. jo brushes himself off, nodding once at yuma.

"we'll talk more tomorrow, y/n. until then you’ll stay here, and i'll need a list of all of your clients,” and then he’s gone with a soft click of the front door, leaving you and yuma to stare at each other.

“y/n, i—“

“good night yuma,” you turn on your heel coldly, still not prepared to face him.

a firm grip on your wrist stops you in your tracks.

“you need to eat.”

“i’m not hungry,” you sniff, still refusing to turn around.

“you’ve been asleep since yesterday, and you haven’t eaten anything all day,” yuma shakes his head firmly. “i know you’re hungry, don’t even try to lie. you can be mad at me all you want after, or pretend i don’t exist. that’s fine, just please eat”

“no—“

“i got your favorite tonkatsu,” he smirks knowingly behind your back, taking note of how your ear twitches in response.

gotcha.

“fine,” you huff, sitting down.

the smell of curry fills your nostrils, and your stomach grumbles in protest of having been deprived of nutrition. yuma sits across from you with his own ramen, watching you with careful eyes to make sure you eat every last bit. you can’t deny the smile that creeps its way onto your face either, your thoughts and emotions clearing with each warm bite.

“so, you’re a criminal?” you ask boldly, the rich broth fueling your desire for answers.

yuma coughs so hard, he nearly snorts out the noodles he was chewing.

“excuse me?!”

“you’re in the mafia, therefore you’re a criminal,” you lean back with your arms crossed, observing him with new, careful eyes. you’re in no mood for forgiveness, but you need answers. “why?”

“you know most of it already, y/n,” yuma laughs awkwardly, looking anywhere but at you. “my dad was a gambling douchebag, didn't lift a finger around the house while my mom practically worked herself to death. and then i found out my sister had taken up a job in the red light district just so we could keep our house."

yuma exhales deeply, knowing you haven't heard the next part.

"fuma-kun found me first, offered me a job. just a quick sneak in and out to steal some drugs. eventually those drugs runs turned into well, hits. i was making good money, enough for my sister to find a part-time job somewhere else."

he pauses, gauging for your reaction. but you haven't budged, your face still indifferent despite the smidge of curry on your upper lip. fighting the urge to wipe it away, he takes a sip of broth.

"then about a year before i met you, a bunch of loan sharks broke into my home looking for my father, took almost everything we had. they killed my parents, took my sister, said they’d come back for me.”

he takes a long slurp, fighting the urge to look into your eyes. he can’t stand to see how you look at him now: disappointment and betrayal clear in every feature. he hates that you’re looking at him with such distaste, fear rimmed around their edges.

“when i found her, they’d, um, left her body in a dumpster, completely uncovered. as if she… hadn’t been human." he looks at his bowl with a sad smile. “f-fuma and jo helped me hunt down every last one of them. and i know you don’t understand yet, but they’re my brothers. i owe them my life, y/n.”

you just barely hang onto your cold expression, clinging to any hint of indifference you can find, fighting every instinct to reach across the table and give him the biggest hug. you'd known that he'd had a rough childhood, but never the true extent of it. and his sister? your heart breaks for 16-year-old yuma, the boy who'd had his innocence stolen from him. and splinters again, now understanding the full weight of the piece you’d inked onto his skin. you steel your gaze, refusing to admit that your heart had already long melted.

“you got your revenge, why are you still killing people?” you ask softly.

yuma shakes his head.

“i haven’t killed anyone since i found the ones who hurt my family,” he fidgets with the ring on his necklace, a last gift from his sister. “the last time i ever thought about killing anyone was, well,”

his gaze returns to you, raw and imploring.

“when i saw niki holding that gun to your head.”

your heart stutters, and you awkwardly clear your throat, choosing to look at the wall behind him. you can’t stand to look at him right now, cursing your stupid heart for still skipping beats for a man you’d never really known.

or had he really been the same all along?

even now you watch him, his head hung low, awkwardly playing with his rings. he still looks every bit the boy who would loudly announce his presence in your shop. who somehow always knew when you needed a pick-me-up. who would show up in the pouring rain to drive you home. who never failed to show up when you needed him, even if he complained the whole time about it. who was the first one to really notice.

you look at him quizzically, your tone more curious than cold.

“and you’re happy here?”

silence follows.

“yes,” he eventually answers.

i’d be happier if you stayed with me.

yuma stares helplessly at his hands, frustration and sadness welling up in his chest so fast he can barely contain it. this wasn’t what he wanted, never what he wanted for you. not ever. when he’d helped you flee korea, this wasn’t the life he’d wanted for you. you deserved to live a life all your own, without needing to look over your shoulder. to speak your mind, instead of walking on eggshells. to smile freely, without the weight of the world on your shoulders.

since that night all those years ago, he’d gladly wait all day and all night for you to realize how much he loved you, that no one he’d ever been with would ever compare to you. that he would never run so happily to anyone else in the rain. no one else he would drop everything for at the sound of a ringtone. no one else he would take so much joy in teasing so relentlessly. but for you to look at him with such cold eyes? he wanted to tell you to run like hell, away from this mess.

away from him.

—

“again.”

you hit the mat in frustration, sweat practically dripping into your eyes. you’d been taking hits for hours, your arms and legs bruised and weary, not to mention the long run this morning and your personalized crash course in sharpshooting. you muster your biggest glare at your current sparring partner and trainer, who’s normally kind expression has hardened into that of a drill instructor. your personal mafia life tutors were truly the avengers from hell: koga yudai, murata fuma, and byun euijoo.

“fuma-san,” you pant, taking a long chug from your water. “can we please take a break?! we’ve been at this for-“

“form up,” he orders, barely waiting for you to put your water down before charging again. “we go until you land a clean hit”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!!” you scream, rolling to the side.

fuma’s right hand whistles by your ear, and you kick his left arm away before it can make contact with your ribs. sure, you’re battered and bruised but you know damn well that this tank of a man is holding back. you’re enraged, exhausted beyond belief. you were an artist, not a fighter. your hands were meant for sketching and inking, not be bruised from punching and blocking. without even thinking, you lunge, feinting one way, your leg coming around in a roundhouse kick.

hit.

fuma nods once, unable to hide the proud look in his eyes, even though he’s holding your ankle up in the air with one hand. he’d always liked you: selfless. kind. soft-spoken, even when you were yelling at yuma for pissing you off again.

“good, we begin again tomorrow”

you collapse to the ground with relief, weary to the bone.

“fuma-san,” you call between gulps of water. “why are you training me so hard? why—"

“y/n.”

his gravelly tone catches you off-guard, so unlike the kind, older brother figure in yuma’s life that you had become accustomed used to. you’d usually seen him dragging yuma out the door of your shop by the ear, scolding him for slacking off. or passing by your shop after teaching a women’s self-defense class at the local gym. or breaking down the door to yuma's apartment if he got up late. you look up from your water, meeting his gaze from across the mat.

“it’s for your own good.”

and then he’s gone, leaving you with more questions than answers.

“jesus christ, god forbid anyone not be nonchalant and mysterious around here,” you mutter, wiping away your sweat with the towel kei had tossed at your head this morning.

all of a sudden, the teammies had become strangers to you. awkward smiles, conversations halted, skittering away. they were no longer the loud, carefree boys that you’d gotten accustomed to in your shop. you sigh. speaking of which, you highly doubted you would get any business after what went down. appointments suddenly cancelled, shop empty, closed until further notice. just like that, your dreams had shattered faster than cinderella’s slipper and all it took was one wrong decision with the wrong boy. jo had mumbled something about handling it, but he was a husband, father, and apparently, a criminal don carrying the weight of japan’s criminal underworld. your shop would sooner be robbed for all it was worth and turned into a squatted property.

“y/n-chan?! is that you?”

you look up, the sound of your name unfamiliar from such a husky, yet delicate voice. you look up to see a beautiful woman, her features strikingly similar to—

“NO WAY! is that the mrs. wang?!“

“OH MY GOD, Y/N IT IS YOU!” she squeals, running to hug you despite your obvious stench and disheveled state. “babes, i haven’t seen you in forever! when was the last time you were in—“

“three years,” you cut her off with a polite grin, not wanting to dive into too many details.

as glad as you were to see her, she was a stark remnant of the past that you’d been desperately running from. and she’d been there for it all, albeit from the shadows as none other than jake sim’s little sister, the hound dog for your greatest nightmare. you smile, taking her in. &TEAM looked good on her. she glowed with a confidence you hadn’t seen before, a sense of comfort and safety replacing the fear and anxiety she used to carry like a second skin.

“who knew i’d seen you again in japan? we have to catch up, there’s so much—“

“ahem.”

both of you whip your heads around to none other than nicholas wang standing in the doorframe.

“nichol! this is y/n! she’s one of my old friends—“

“she’s the one i was telling you about, princess” he cuts her off flatly, though his eyes can’t hide their admiration for her.

“from korea and—wait. WHAT?!” her jaw opens, staring between you and her husband.

“y/n is—"

“SHH!” nicholas hushes and grabs her arm, dragging her out of the small gym space with little fanfare other than a quick nod in your direction. “as for you, harua’s coming to take you out for a run.”

“a run?!” you’re ready to cuss him out, consequences be damned. “i just went on a 10 mile run with kei-hyung this morning, and euijoo had me shooting—“

“calm down, not that kind of run,” he smirks.

suddenly, you have the feeling that you should’ve settled for becoming a headline instead.

“you’re gonna go get us some guns.”

— elsewhere —

“nichol! she doesn’t know anything about enhypen, i swear. she—“

“christ woman, can you whisper?! she’ll hear!”

“she has no idea! no idea about what enhypen really is, trust me he made sure of that. and he made sure none of us would slip up around her either. plus she has no idea that he’s like, basically dead. and that we’re the reason why.”

“who are you—“

“heeseung. lee heeseung, the one we put in a fucking coma like three years ago?!”

“oh, that scumbag. wait, what does heeseung have to do with her?!”

“if i’m right… and i hope i’m not.”

“wow, that’s a first!”

“shut up. i think that he’s the reason she’s here. in japan.”

“and she was in korea originally? yuma said—“

“SHE’S THE GIRL YUMA IS IN LOVE WITH?!”

“um yeah, were you sleeping for the past four years?“

“ok, next question. anyway, from what i remember about him, he—“

“why the fuck are you guys whispering in the hallway? i thought we had to go get ready for—“

“SHH!”

“jeez ok, it was just a question! married people, i swear—”

“takayama riki, your time is coming so i don’t know why you’re complaining about married—“

“whatcha guys talking about?”

“jesus christ let’s just call everybody and have a freaking kumbaya in the middle of the hallway”

“ooh promise??”

“maki, shut your mouth and let’s go. juju will skin us alive if we’re late.”

—

“cover me.”

the last thing you expected of an arms deal, less than 72 hours after accidentally getting roped into the mafia, was to be clinging to the arm of shigeta harua. in the fanciest piece of clothing you’ve ever put on: a gorgeous, black evening dress. with a gun you barely know how to use, strapped to your thigh. hunkered down behind a tree, bark digging into your spine after barely dodging the bullet fired in your direction, just barely missing your shoulder by a half inch.

“y/n, stay down!” harua whisper-yells, his own gun in hand.

and to think when you’d first met him, you would’ve openly laughed at the idea of him even killing a fly.

"ARGAHHAHAJAHHDJSKAK!!!"

“who the— HARUA-SAN?!!!"

harua cowers behind you, using you as a shield between him and whoever is sprinting towards both of you.

"y/n-san, please save me!! yu—“

"SHIGETA HARUA YOU ARE SO DEAD!" yuma whips around the corner, chest heaving. "don't even THINK about using y/n as a shield, you brat!"

you stare between them, confused.

“you guys know each other??”

harua was the new hire at the jewelry store you partnered with for piercings, and mysteriously came up with a new flash sale every time you came by to restock.

“he’s my brother,” harua answers, not taking his eyes off of yuma even once.

“adopted brother,” yuma seethes.

a second bullet thuds into the bark, practically shaking the whole tree with its sheer velocity. fingers shaking, you just barely manage to get the gun out, your grip tight against the handle.

“ru-chan, what the hell is going on?!!” you whisper, chucking your unfortunately-probably-really-expensive heels off. “i thought we were only going to oversee this deal as the unbiased third-party, why the hell are we being shot at?!!”

“i don’t know,” harua answers, his mouth pressed into a grim line. “something must have—“

a third gunshot fires somewhere to your right, and your breath hitches in your throat. three different directions, less than two minutes. your attacker isn’t alone.

“HARUA! Y/N! WHERE ARE YOU?!!”

your eyes widen, locking eyes with harua in horror.

kei-hyung.

ducking behind trees and branches, you and harua make a run for it, dashing through the dense shrubbery towards kei’s voice. he had been inside; he must have made a run for it when he’d heard the shots go off. your bare feet dig deep into the ground, still slippery and muddy from this morning’s rain.

“KEI-HYUNG! RUN!” you scream, already having lost sight of harua.

“Y/N?! Y/N, WHERE ARE YOU?!” he calls again, somehow sounding farther away than before, from somewhere to your left.

zing!

you throw yourself around a corner, just barely managing to dodge the dagger slicing through the night air. it buries into the tree you’d just brushed past with a dense thud. you could cry right now, truly. your dress is torn, your knees bruised from tripping on branches and bushes smacking at your legs. your feet are covered in cuts, your arms bruised and bleeding from shoving branches out of the way. but still you run, adrenaline the only thing keeping your legs moving. there’s no one out here to save you.

“OOF!”

you crash to the forest ground in a tangle of limbs.

“YUMA!?? what the hell are you doing here?!!” you scream, trying to disentangle yourself. you can’t decide whether to cuss him out or cry, but right now, you could kiss him.

“i’ll explain later,” he huffs, helping you to your feet. “but we have to go right now.”

“GUYS!! RUNNNNN!”

harua comes barreling around the corner, not even pausing for a moment before grabbing both yours’ and yuma’s arms, practically yanking you all through the forest. hoots and hollers come from behind him, their thundering footsteps inching closer and closer.

“IT WAS A TRAP!”

at this point, you’re ready to fall into death’s open arms: you can barely breathe, your skin feels as if you’re covered in a million paper cuts, and your muscles are screaming from overexertion.

BANG!

harua crashes to the ground, holding his leg.

“SHIT!” he screams, “y/n, you have to run! you have to get out of here and get help, i’ll be ok!”

“shut up, i’m not leaving you!” you fall to your knees, ripping a piece from your gown for a makeshift bandage.

but harua’s hands come away sticky, his blood already seeping through. you look at yuma frantically. there was no way you could carry harua to the edge of the forest where the car was and still keep the three of you alive. there were only two options, and no matter how pissed you were at him, you’d rather be damned than leave either of them here to die.

“yuma, you have to get harua out of here. he’s bleeding too much, he’s going to die if—“

“i’m not leaving you, y/n,” he shakes his head firmly, refusing to budge.

“yuma, i cannot carry harua out of here,” you retort, already unholstering the gun from its place on your thigh. “you have to get harua out of here, before he bleeds to death. i will be fine”

“no! i’m not leaving you, i—“

“would never forgive myself if either of you died because of me. go with harua, i can hold them off until you get back,” you smile grimly, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

with each second that passes, you can feel the guillotine blade coming down closer and closer to your neck. you have so many things you want to tell him: to yell. to scream. to give him the biggest hug ever. but instead you nod firmly, turning around so you don’t have to see the look in his eyes. not a moment too soon after they’ve cleared the trees does a masked figure appear from the shadows.

“y/n-san,” he laughs, removing his mask. “you really outdid yourself.”

your hands shake but still, you keep the muzzle of the gun trained in front of you exactly the way euijoo had taught you.

kei stares back at you, clapping slowly. two other figures emerge from the trees: fuma and harua, now standing tall and completely unharmed.

“congratulations y/n, welcome to &TEAM,” harua smiles at you.

“you— you were never— you little— HARUA!” you yell, the tears finally spilling over. “you scared me, you brat!”

you had really thought you were dead meat. you’d genuinely thought you, harua, and yuma were going to die in these woods. and for the first time in days, it feels like the boys are finally back to being the teammies that you’ve gotten to know and love. gone are the cold stares, only warm smiles greet you now.

“and yuma?” you start, wiping away a fallen tear.

“euijoo dragged him back home,” fuma shakes his head, looking at the sky in disbelief. “he was never supposed to be out here. we didn’t tell him we were initiating you on purpose, but someone blabbed.”

he shoots a sharp glare at harua, who has the good sense to look anywhere else, his pink ears giving him away immediately.

“ok it is not my fault that you guys left me alone with him,” harua complains, his diction crystal clear. “all of you were gone, and he kept bugging me about when he can see y/n-chan because you monsters have been training her from sunrise to dusk everyday, and been keeping him out on missions with maki. i can only make so many excuses. i literally even said kei-hyung went to get milk! and then suddenly i have to go to the woods in the middle of the night?!! of course i had to tell him!”

“ok, ok, i got it,” fuma laughs, hands held up in surrender.

kei looks you up and down, an apologetic smile on his face.

“let’s get you home to the doctor ok?”

"home?"

"yes home,” kei smiles at you, waving at you to follow him. “you’re one of us now, aren’t you?”

but even as the four of you leave, filling the woods with loud laughter and easy conversation, you can’t shake the feeling that something was watching you.

or someone.

—

the loud bang of a slammed cabinet wakes you from your deep sleep.

“DID YOU REALLY HAVE TO GO THAT FAR?!”

“everyone has to for initiation—“

“i didn’t!”

“you were different—”

“i know she’s your friend yuma, but we had to make sure we could trust her, especially with everything going on with enhypen right now! and i know that you know that, but you have to keep your feelings separate from—“

“she literally has a sprained ankle and is bruised from head to toe!” yuma yells, his words blurring together in frustration. “i haven’t seen her in almost a week, and the first time i see her again she’s injured head-to-toe and terrified running through the woods in a ripped dress! and now she’s in the medical ward!”

yeah, you’re wide awake now.

“you want me to keep my feelings separate?!! if someone made your wife even the tiniest bit unhappy, not to mention physical harmed, you wouldn’t keep shit separated!”

“language,” kei warns.

“whatever, fuck this. i’m going to get her something to eat for when she wakes up,” yuma mutters, the door clicking shut behind him.

silence fills the room, and from the other side of the curtain, you can hear kei collapse onto the couch with a heavy sigh. fuma sits down beside him, offering a couple pats on the shoulder.

“he’ll understand later,” kei replies cooly. “now with enhypen—“

you roll over, pulling the blankets over your head. enhypen this, enhypen that. you’d had enough of the dirtbags who had turned your life upside down, ripped you from the mundane line of being a tattoo artist and dropped you in the middle of a criminal empire war. really you didn’t understand what the big deal about them was. nothing else has happened in the week you’ve been with the teammies, and still, no one is any closer to getting answers as to why niki had come for you.

“how are you feeling dummy?”

your eyes flutter open, momentarily blinded by the bright LED hospital lights.

“yuma..? what are you doing here?” you groan, sitting up.

at some point, you’d dozed off after the boys had dropped you in the hospital ward. a couple scrapes, bruises, a long gash on your arm from a branch, and a sprained ankle was what the doctor said. but honestly, for a mafia initiation ceremony of sorts? it wasn’t too horrible, though you did chew harua’s ear out for scaring you so badly. he’d had a fake blood bag tied to his leg that euijoo had sniped with a bb gun from afar, keeping up the illusion.

“i was worried about you, you idiot,” yuma chides, taking out soup he’d gotten taki’s help with making. “how could you be so clumsy and trip over every single tree root in the forest? and get smacked by so many branches?! and honestly the fake blood harua was using was so obv—”

“oh i’m sorry, i thought i was about to die,” you huff, accepting the food anyway. your heart melts a bit; he’d even gotten you a celebratory milk tea. “forgive me, i’ll look a little harder next time and make sure the blood is a more realistic color”

yuma rolls his eyes, passing you another container filled to the brim with sushi. apparently, fish was very good for the healing process, so of course, he’d gone completely overboard and bought 100 pieces.

“so now that i’m initiated, you have to tell me all your deepest, darkest secrets,” you peer at him from over your sushi box.

you hadn’t fully forgiven yuma yet, but after the hell you’d been put through this week? you wanted nothing more than to have your best friend back.

“what do you want to know?”

yuma’s honest answer nearly has tuna flying out of your nose.

“really?!!"

“i’m being serious,” yuma looks at you, his eyes earnest. you were the one person he’d never wanted to see this side of him, but now that you had? he felt… relieved, honestly. you knew everything now, but for some inexplicable reason, you were still here. you hadn’t given him a well-deserved slap and disappeared. instead, you’d stayed, taken his family’s oath. he’d be damned if he let you go now.

“ask me whatever you want, y/n. anything i have is yours. any answers you want, they're yours.”

by the time you wake up again, the clock reads 10:28 PM.

“about time sleeping beauty,” comes a familiar voice from behind you. “how are you feeling?”

you turn to see yuma lounging in the recliner next to you, eyes just barely cracked open, an empty container of kimbap sits next to him. without looking up from his phone, he hands you a bag of onigiri and a small bowl of miso soup.

“i’ve been better,” you hum gratefully at the warm soup. “so, what happens now?”

“eat up and then i’m taking you home. we’ll figure it out in the morning,” yuma answers dryly, obviously distracted. you decide not to pry.

"where will i sleep? i've been on an air mattress in the gym—“

"THE GYM?!!" yuma pinches his nose, taking a deep breath. "they had you sleeping in the gym and i'm supposed to— never mind. you’re sleeping in juju and nichol's old room. and once you’re done eating, we’re going to go to your old apartment to get your stuff.”

“but my lease isn’t—“

“already taken care of.”

“but my roommate—“

“won’t bother you anymore.”

“how about—?’

yuma shushes you, pinching your lips closed between his thumb and index finger. “anything you think of in that pretty head of yours, i took care of it, ok? stop blushing before you become a tomato.”

“i’m not blushing!” you retort, swatting him away and throwing a napkin at his head for good measure.

"sure, dummy," he lets go, smiling to himself.

you throw another napkin at him, grumbling to yourself while you fumble around for your phone. laughing now, yuma hands it to you from where it was plugged into the wall, fingers lightly brushing across your knuckles.

you’re definitely blushing.

—

“yuma, you didn’t kill her did you?” you stand in your living room, shocked.

yuma shrugs noncommittally, already shuffling over to your room to start packing your stuff up. he hadn’t particularly liked your roommate, but he’d tolerated her for your sake. when first moving to japan, you’d stubbornly refused his help with financials, always brushing him off and saying you can manage on your own. she was quite rude to you, not to mention constantly eating your food and asking for money. your landlord wasn’t any better, and yuma had already threatened to kill him once after finding hidden cameras and bugs in your apartment after a “maintenance sweep.” as of now, your apartment was practically cleared out, save for a week’s worth of dust covering everything. your roommate’s belongings were all gone, moved to and upgraded to a studio on one of the higher floors. you smile wistfully, packing up your kitchen belongings. it wasn’t much, but it had still been home.

“y/n-chan!” yuma calls, his arms full. “i’m going to take these down to the car first ok? don’t take anything down without me.”

“i’m a big girl yuma, i’ll bring this box down when i’m done,” you call back, rolling your eyes.

but not before you got a glimpse of his passing figure in the hallway, the veins in his arms straining with effort. he’s wearing one of his black sleeveless tops, a backwards baseball cap on to keep the hair out of his face. you lick your lips, suddenly feeling parched.

ding dong!

“jesus— fuck!” you curse, nearly dropping the plate you were wrapping in surprise.

yuma was still gone, and you hadn’t really spoken to any of your neighbors over the years. your roommate was obviously gone, so who on earth could it be? you tuck a knife into the waistband of your sweats anyway, the memory of niki still fresh in your mind. tentatively you stand on your tiptoes to peek through the peephole, praying that niki hasn’t decided to mysteriously appear and hold a gun to it.

“OH MY GOD!”

“JAY-OPPA!” you grin widely, swinging the door open. “what’s going on? i haven’t seen you in a while!”

“hey pretty girl,” he reaches to give you a hug. “i hadn’t heard you in a bit, so i came up to check on you. where you been?”

“oh, you know, family emergency,” you laugh awkwardly. “come in, sit down!”

jay was your downstairs neighbor, and one of the first friends you’d made since moving to japan. one fateful day, you’d both been in the elevator when it had decided to shut down, trapping both of you in it for three hours until firefighters came to pry you both out. he travelled a lot for work, so you didn’t see him often, but even still, he’d become a good friend over the past three years.

“woah, this place looks empty,” jay whistles. “you moving?”

“yeah, i am actually,” you hand him a glass of water, turning to pack up the rest of your belongings in the kitchen.

“where to?” jay asks, almost too-innocently.

“oh, just staying with my aunt until things with my family die down,” you answer off-handedly, your mind not having caught up just yet.

“i thought you guys were estranged?”

shit.

you freeze for just a second, trying to continue packing as calmly as possible.

what the hell?

you force out a laugh, opening up the drawers to make sure you’ve gotten everything. but really, you’re looking for a weapon. “oh well, you know, family emergencies really bring out the best in people i guess? tragedy really brings everyone back together and such.”

why was yuma taking so long?!!

behind you, jay was quiet—too quiet. the hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge and you duck down just in time for the syringe to lodge itself in the cabinet above you. you whirl out of the way, leaving jay’s knee to crash into the counter instead of smashing into the back of your head.

“you know, y/n,” he pants, his eyes having taken on a maniacal gleam. “you should really be more careful about who you become friends with.”

he lunges again, but this time, you dive out of the way, brandishing the knife from your waistband. and that’s when you see it, that cursed tattoo, branded on the skin along his waistline.

“what do you all want from me?!!” you yell, desperately clicking the power button on your phone to bring up the emergency phone call keypad. “you’re one of them, aren’t you?!!”

“who do you think i am, pretty girl?” he smirks lazily, advancing towards you like a seasoned predator. “i’m just the nice guy from downstairs”

“did he send you?!!” you hold the knife out in front of you like a shield. “is that what this is about?!”

“ding, ding, ding!” jay locks your front door behind him, leaving you cornered in the living room. “really y/n, i thought you were smarter than this! you didn’t really think he would just let you go, did you?”

“you were supposed to be my friend!” you scream, sounding pathetic even to your own ears.

“and who do you think made sure that elevator broke the moment you stepped in alone?” jay snickers, watching the horror fill your expression.

“if it weren’t for yuma—“

“you called?”

the front door flies open, the wood of the frame splintering with just one kick. you wince out of habit, your mind already calculating repair costs. yuma brandishes the door like some kind of viking warrior, bashing jay over the head with it.

“y/n! LET’S GO!” he grabs your hand, practically dragging you down the stairs. “come on, MOVE!”

you practically dive into the passenger seat, barely closing the door before a bullet lodges itself in the window as yuma squeals out of the parking lot. you cling onto the bar above the seat for dear life, heart thudding unevenly as yuma weaves through the afternoon traffic.

“y/n, how the HELL do you know him?!!” yuma curses, just barely avoiding a car that had turned out without looking, his arm instinctively shooting out to prevent you from face planting into the dashboard.

“i—“

“and you better be fucking honest with me!” he curses again, just barely avoiding a pedestrian while trying to speed-dial fuma.

“hello? yuma, what’s go—“

“they tried to attack her again,” yuma rushes out, the speedometer reaching 90 mph. he needed to get you the hell out of shibuya and onto &TEAM territory, fast. “jay was at her apartment, tried to drug her. they’re escalating, hyung.”

yuma’s words are lost on you as you stare blankly ahead, trapped in your memories. he was back. he’d found you, here in japan. all these years later and he’d sent niki after you, sunoo and jay to keep tabs on you. your heart clenches, phantom wounds ripping wide open. yuma glances at you worriedly, hand reaching across the console to envelope yours in his.

“y/n, baby, i need you to breathe,” he squeezes gently. “i’m here, i won’t let him get you. you’re safe with me, always.”

you nod weakly, but reminders of him still beat down on you, like blows to salted wounds.

useless slut! don’t you know i don’t like milk in my coffee?!!

baby, i promise i didn’t mean to do it. it was just an accident!

officer, i think the neighbors must be mistaken… she’s just had a long night, you know what i mean?

leave me, and i’ll cut my throat open right here.

a breath shudders out of you, the world slowly coming back into focus with each circle that yuma rubs on the crook between your thumb and index finger. you had promised yourself that night, that you would do whatever it takes. lee heeseung would never have power over you again.

“fuma-san?”

“y/n, are you ok?!!”

his worried voice settles over you like a warm blanket, so unlike the brutal trainer persona he’d been for the past week.

“get jo and euijoo,” your voice sounds oddly calm. “it’s time for lee heeseung to die.”

yuma watches you carefully, having slowed down now that they had driven across the shibuya prefecture line into &TEAM territory. he’d gotten to know that name all too well in the past four years. too many times you’d woken up in pure terror, screaming that name as you jolted awake. too many nights he’d sang you to sleep, his fingers drawing aimless patterns on your skin with the reassurance that he could not find you. too many scars decorated your skin as a reminder of all you had survived under his cruelty. too many tear-filled conversations as you finally shared every jagged, horrific moment you’d endured at his side.

***TW: THIS NEXT PART IS EXTREMELY TRIGGERING!! MDNI!! ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, DOMESTIC VIOLENCE!! PLEASE SKIP THIS SECTION UNTIL THE CHERRY BLOSSOMS. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!***

— four years ago —

“Y/N-CHAN!”

“yu-kun! what brings you in?” you beam at your newfound friend, though your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “please tell me that’s coffee.”

“when is it not?” he laughs, giving you that silly, snaggletoothed grin.

you were 20, a year under your belt of being an apprentice at the magic shop. ever since that night six months ago, yuma had become part of your new daily routine. always skipping into your shop whenever he wasn’t working at his internship, coffee or pastry in hand. during that time, you’d made leaps and bounds in your mother language. you could hold full conversations in japanese now, even if you completely butchered words here and there. you grin, taking the coffee from him.

and then you see the bike.

and the figure stalking towards the studio.

“yuma, you have to go! right now!” you shove him away, towards the back of the studio.

your panicked tone catches yuma completely off guard, his eyes flickering to the unfamiliar figure coming towards the studio. sure, he loved to jump-scare you every so often, which usually ended up in a lecture and a smack on the top of his head, but your pleading eyes of pure terror has his feet moving to the backroom faster than his mind can fully wrap around what’s happening.

“be quiet,” you warn, pulling the curtain. “and do not come out.”

yuma sits, ears perked, though his heart is racing.

“hee, honey! what brings you by?” you bat your eyes nervously, accepting the peck he gives you on your cheek. “i thought you didn’t get off work until 5?”

yuma rolls his eyes. he hated your boyfriend, a fact he didn’t mind being openly obvious about. though he'd never met him, lee heeseung was plenty notorious in the criminal empire underworld. yuma didn’t believe in men who talked down on women, as if they were somehow less than. didn’t believe in men who publicly visited the red light district. but how could he tell you without spilling his own secret other life? you would not heed his warnings, so entirely enthralled by the heathen that was lee heeseung that you would sooner cut off your own hand if he asked.

“why so skittish, sweetheart?” he drawls, taking in your figure. “it’s just me, people will get the wrong idea if you keep shaking like that.”

yuma’s eyes widen, his hands curling into fists. he'd known heeseung was horrible. one too many times he'd had to bite his tongue or leave the room when heeseung spoke about you at joint events. but he'd physically put hands on you? you, who were nothing but kind and gentle? you, who would rather suffer in silence than utter a single complaint?

“s-sorry hee, i—“

“you need to cut back on those sugary coffees, sweetheart,” he tuts, shaking his head at the coffee yuma had just brought you, on your workstation. “you could stand to lose a couple pounds.”

yuma bites down, the metallic tang of blood on his tongue. he’s never actually seen the two of you interact, but one would be a fool to be intertwined in the criminal underworld and not know of the beautiful cruelty that was lee heeseung. and you? you were like sunshine: gentle, warm, kind. you lived and laughed loudly, your smile beaming and wide; this tiny, shaky voice you have now is completely foreign to him. it’s only your earlier warning that keeps him firmly planted in his chair.

— two months later —

you never brought up that day again, and yuma didn’t push you. but he did watch you carefully, hacking your texts for even the slightest hint of trouble. he made sure you were eating properly, heeseung’s opinion be damned. to yuma, you were little more than a shaking leaf in the wind; he was more than capable of carrying you, your boyfriend be damned.

“oh, another bouquet!” you laugh awkwardly, taking the large bouquet of red roses from the clearly-embarrassed delivery guy.

yuma frowns behind your back from his perch on one of the stools in your kitchen; you hated roses. and yet, like clockwork, you received at least two dozen of them a week. it was july, and yet, you were dressed in a long black sleeve top layered with a t-shirt and sweatpants. his eyes narrow on you, on the obviously weaker grip of your right hand.

“let me see your hand, y/n."

you nearly drop the bouquet in surprise, scrambling to make sure your sleeves were pulled down.

“yuma, what the hell?!” you scoff, already backing away. “i’m not—“

“show me. your hand,” yuma looks at you, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “i’m not asking again, y/n.”

you look at his outstretched hand, then back at him. he watches you, unhurried. ever since that day, you'd run from yuma. run from the hope of being safe. you didn't deserve that, didn't deserve love. but still, yuma showed up. and until you were ready to take that step forward, he would wait with arms outstretched, ready to catch you. he would never force you when you clearly were already terrified, so he waits, trying to convey his sincerity to you through his gaze.

you offer your left hand, still wary.

“the other one, y/n.” yuma doesn’t move, his presence steady and grounding.

you stare back at him, your pulse rising and becoming unsteady with each second that passes. realistically, you’d known this guy for less than a year. this guy who’d popped into your life on a random friday in february. who brought you your favorite snacks and drinks without complaint. who teased you incessantly without a hint of maliciousness. who bent to tie your shoes without a single word. who somehow always knew when you needed a hug, or a distraction.

and ever so carefully, you take his hand with your right one.

yuma released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, gingerly rolling up your sleeve with as much care as he could muster. what he saw beneath it, it took every ounce of willpower he had to not track down lee heeseung and shoot him on the spot.

“does he buy you roses every time he hits you?” he asks, his voice coming out harsher than he intended.

you can’t answer, choked sobs leaving your body as your legs give out beneath you. yuma catches you by your waist, sinking to the floor of your kitchen with you. tears well in his own eyes as he holds you tightly against his chest, as if you’ll fade away if he lets go. you can’t seem to stop, now that the dam has been flooded wide open. the weight of all your secrets come crashing down, and with them, every ounce of strength zapped from your body.

“you’re safe with me,” he murmurs against your hair, tears slipping down his cheeks. “always, y/n.”

— one month later —

“y/n-chan! where—“

“ARGHHRHHHH!”

at the sound of your scream, yuma drops the ramen he was holding. you were closing up shop again tonight, you were supposed to be alone. but the sight before him has him seeing red.

blink.

“yu-kun…” you weakly cough out, somehow unafraid at the sight of him towering over your ex-boyfriend.

“y/n!” yuma drops the bloody tattoo gun as if it had electrocuted him, running straight to gather you into his arms. “come on love, we have to go to the hospital—“

”NO! he'll find me!" you back away, staring at the unconscious body on the ground.

“all i want is to not get hit..” you beg to seemingly no one, your voice hoarse and empty. “it’s all my fault anyway, i should’ve remembered to set out his suit this morning. i should have waited to break up—“

“no love, none of this is your fault.”

yuma watches you, his heart splintering with each pass over your frail body. every cut. every scab. every bruise. some fresh, some old. the undeniable mark of fingerprints around your neck. your eyes, wide with fear. your right arm, bent at an awkward angle, cradled against your ribs. ever since that night last month, you’d become closed off. distant. cancelled plans at the drop of a hat. working odd hours, as if to avoid him. any notion of leaving him was cut off immediately with a change or conversation or door slammed in his face. but yuma would not stand for it, would not allow you to waste away.

***SORRY I KNOW THAT WAS A LOT *hugs****

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

“come with me,” he decides firmly.

“where?” you laugh miserably. “yuma, he will find me, no matter where i go. i did it all! reported him, tried to find help. i failed.”

yuma’s heart surges with guilt. he knows exactly the kind of connections that enhypen had, the reasons your cries for help had gone unanswered.

“come with me to japan y/n,” the words tumble out in a rush before you can protest, desperate to save you. “come with me to where i can protect you. i cannot leave you here like this, with him.”

“but i— what about the shop?” you fluster, willing the hope rising in your chest to die.

could you really trust this guy?

but yuma is already gathering your few belongings, intent on getting you out before you can change your mind or shut him out again. he'd waited for this day, the day you were finally ready to get the hell out. but after today? even if he had to drag you, even if you hated him forever after this, he had to get you out.

“you’re too talented to stay here as an apprentice y/n,” he turns to face you, his eyes pleading. “jungkook would obviously never let you go!”

he shoots a distasteful glare at your unconscious, miserable excuse of a boyfriend, fighting the urge to give him a decisive kick to the ribs.

“i swear to you, y/n,” he vows. “i swear on my sister’s name that i will protect you. for the rest of my life.”

maybe it’s the way he looks so determined, as if nothing could stop him. or the way he holds his hand out to you, so steady and sure. you think back to the boy you’d first met a year ago, drunk out of his mind. you’d given him the tattoo nearest and dearest to your heart for reasons you still didn’t understand. he’d wormed his way into your life, one giggle at a time; somehow becoming so deeply embedded in it, that not a day went by when the randomest things reminded you of him. he’d seen everything and yet, he hadn't run.

“okay,” you decide, your voice quiet but firm.

you would not allow yourself to be controlled anymore. if the universe was finally giving you a way out, maybe it was time to take it.

—

“no, absolutely not.”

you sit between nicholas’ and euijoo’s wives, their hands intertwined with yours. nicholas’ wife had come to find you as soon as you’d stepped foot into the main house, apologizing profusely for not seeing the signs. for not helping. but you didn’t blame her, not really anyway. heeseung had been the perfect gentleman on the outside, his cruelty towards you only happened behind closed doors. and besides, you couldn’t be mad since she and nicholas had been the ones to put him in a coma, giving you the most peaceful three years of your life. jo’s wife had found you next, a sad, knowing smile on her face.

“we have your back y/n."

euijoo’s wife hadn’t said anything, though she’d given you a tight hug, as if she knew exactly what kind of burden you carried. fast forward to the emergency meeting now happening in the kitchen.

“ok so we know for a fact that heeseung is no longer in a coma,” euijoo recounts, eyebrows tense with frustration. “y/n.”

you sit up straighter as all twelve pairs of eyes in the room turn towards you.

“you said you felt like someone was watching you during your initiation?”

you nod.

of course, of all people, it’s you who’s been a member of the mafia for maybe 48 hours and somehow, you’ve already been thrown in the middle of one of the worst wars in &TEAM’s history. the philosophers were right: until you came to terms with your past, it would never stop haunting you.

“so now the question is,” fuma sighs, staring at the makeshift mission cork board now hanging in the kitchen. “how do we lure him out? no one’s seen him in years, and the only reason we know he’s back, is because three of ENHYPEN’s executives have come after her within two weeks.

silence fills the living room, the quiet murmur of the heat steady in the background. you nod, the memories of jay and niki still fresh. sunoo hadn’t attacked you outright, but still, he was much more cunning than he looked. there was no telling what damage he’d done in the few months he’d frequented your studio leading up to niki's attack.

“first of all,” kei stands. “we need to get her out of tokyo. he knows she’s here, that she’s with us, and they still found her anyway.”

“what about the safe house in kamakura?” harua offers.

“won’t he just wait for her to come back?” maki counters. “he’s their number two for a reason. we know he’s patient, or else he would have revealed himself already.“

the room descends back into uneasy silence.

“what if,” jo’s wife turns to you, her head tilted thoughtfully. “we fake a wedding?"

jo nods for her to continue, looking between you and yuma. for once you’re sitting on opposite sides of the room, though yuma’s gaze hasn’t strayed from your figure even once. jo had been shocked that day, four years ago, when yuma had suddenly begged to be switched from his wife's bodyguard duty to be assigned to korea. then a year and a half later, had come back home with you in tow, suddenly requesting to move out of the main house to keep up the illusion of normalcy. he’d watched you both become practically inseparable, leaving the rest of the teammies to keep you suspended in this intricate web of lies. he knew how much yuma cared for you, how hard he’d worked to keep you in the dark about his double life. how much he complained about you making his life more difficult, yet did the smallest things for you without being asked. how fiercely he protected you, nearly coming to blows with the older guys for putting you through physical training hell. yuma was completely and utterly bewitched by you, whether or not he admitted it.

“like yes, we still send you to kamakura. but what if,” jo’s wife continues, talking faster before you can completely denounce the idea. “we sent you under the guise of being engaged, like a bachelor party of sorts. we know that heeseung is possessive, and this might be just the thing to send him over the edge.”

you nod carefully, willing your pulse to slow down. yuma’s eyes narrow, focused on the way your fingers have started to tremble despite the collected expression on your face.

“would he even believe it? i’m only 24, you know.”

jo chortles, looking at his wife. then he makes eye contact with you, pointing at the simple gold band on his finger. and starts pretending to count to two.

“ok enough. you’re different," you roll your eyes, jo’s timely quip instantly soothing your nerves.

“you’re right. he’s a control freak, the thought of me being with anyone else would probably be more than enough to send him over the edge and bring him out of hiding. only question now is,” you look around the room, eyes landing on a certain blonde. “engaged to who?”

all eyes in the room turn to look at one person, though his eyes never look away from yours.

“yuma?” fuma asks, though he already knows the answer. “what do you think?”

“…fine.”

and then he’s gone, whisking out of the room faster than a twister down tornado alley. the room lets out a collective breath, though no one comments on the thick tension in his wake.

“then it’s decided,” jo stands, looking around the room for any objections. “harua, taki, maki. you three will go with them and—“

“YES!! BEACH TRIP!!” maki squeals, practically sprinting out the door with taki hot on his heels.

you crack a smile watching them, your heart feeling a little lighter in spite of everything.

“yes and we’ll come for moral support,” nicholas’ wife winks at you.

nicholas frowns, sharing a glance with euijoo. sure, it would be nice to get out for them and the kids to get out of the city for some beach time. if only their biggest and most dangerous enemy wasn’t actively gunning for one of theirs. euijoo shakes his head, almost imperceptibly. there was no way in hell that he would be convinced that it was a good idea—

“juju, honey,” his wife calls sweetly, sensing the pushback from a mile away. “if anything, what kind of bachelorette party would just be y/n and the boys? if we want to sell it, then we’re going.”

“exactly,” jo’s wife nods, already knowing jo wouldn’t even try to stop her.

you choke back a laugh, watching all three married couples face off. the three of them would just have to hold down the fort, and figure out how to wrangle euijoo’s twins, nicholas’ daughter, and jo’s two on their own. unfortunately for them, the twins and jo’s youngest were in their threenager years. and nicholas’ princess was a terror all on her own. once upon a time, you’d gotten stuck babysitting all of them at once.

never again.

“MAKI! WHERE THE HELL IS THE BLANKIE?!!” you whisper-yell, jo’s two-year-old daughter fast asleep in your arms.

“bro, i don’t know! i swear it was just here,” he throws his hands up in surrender, smashed broccoli smeared on his bisexual hoodie.

he’d just convinced the twins to take a nap, practically throwing jo’s son under the bus as the perfect role model to follow. now that shy angel baby, you’d babysit him any day. his sister on the other hand… the three of them in their terrible twos were giving you a run for your money, a decade or two lost on your life, and at least a handful of gray hairs. by the grace of divine intervention, nicholas’ daughter was being agreeable, curled up into the corner of the couch, safely tucked under-

“oh my god, that little brat!” you internally face-palm. “she took it!”

maki looks at her, mouth set in a grim line. he never thought he could be filled with so much dislike for a child and yet, the one and only offspring of nicholas wang never failed to exceed expectations.

“i’m not waking her up.”

“ok well, he’s gonna throw a fit if you don’t get it back as soon as she wakes up,” you hiss, jabbing a finger in euijoo’s son’s general direction.

“why do i have to get it?!” maki retorts.

BANG!

the both of you freeze, heads whipped around comically towards empress wang. thankfully, she doesn’t stir but instead, pulls the blanket tighter over her head. you glare accusingly at maki, then at the bottle he just dropped.

and draw a line across your neck.

you collapse into your borrowed sheets, mind reeling. the you of last week would have openly guffawed had she known the situation you’d be in. the room you’re in feels unfamiliar, sleep slipping further and further away from you. you toss and turn, the dark quiet that used to bring you comfort, feeling more and more like spiders crawling up and down your skin. minutes bleed into what feels like hours, and eventually, you give in. sighing, you stand up and grab the nearest hoodie, pulling the hood firmly against your hair, and begin fumbling through the dark towards the kitchen. you’d been at the main house a couple times to babysit and for movie night, though yuma had explained it away as jo’s inheritance. which, you supposed, wasn’t a total lie.

“couldn’t sleep?”

yuma is leaned against the counter, a steaming mug in one hand. he holds another out to you, as if he’d known that you’d come poking around. you take it, albeit awkwardly. he doesn’t meet your eyes, though his fingers linger on your knuckles for a second longer than was socially acceptable between friends. you take a sip, unable to stop the small smile from spreading across your face.

hot chocolate.

“so… we’re doing this,” you offer tentatively, your voice cutting through the palpable tension.

“yeah,” he mumbles, looking more like a disgruntled cat than anything else.

you look at him, frustrated with his indifference. it’s not like you wanted this either! you hadn’t asked for your absolutely-batshit-insane ex to come hunting you down. you hadn’t asked to become a part of the mafia. you hadn’t asked to be forced into a fake engagement.

“look,” you huff, leaning back against the counter. “i’m sorry, ok? if i had any other ideas for shaking heeseung other than being fake engaged to you, i would’ve—“

“you think that’s what i’m upset about?” yuma’s voice cuts through the dark, catching you off-guard.

you look up from your mug, surprised to find him already staring at you. his eyes almost sparkle in the dim glow of the fridge light, watching you with that quiet intensity.

“i’m mad that you have to go through this again. i’m mad that i convinced you to move here, and you’re still not safe. i’m mad that i can’t give you the life that you deserve,” he laughs bitterly.

“i could never be mad about being stuck with you, you dummy,” he murmurs, almost as if he didn’t mean to say it out loud. “good night, y/n.”

he bumps your shoulder with his on his way back to his room, leaning down to just barely brush his lips against your forehead. you’re left reeling in confusion, though there’s no denying the warm, fuzzy feeling spreading through your chest.

“yu-kun,” you have no idea what you’re doing. but you reach for his retreating figure anyway, arms wrapping around his waist, nose buried in the back of the soft cotton of his t-shirt. he smells like warmth,

like home.

“can i sleep with you? just for tonight?”

when he doesn’t answer, you babble on, letting go as if you’ve been electrocuted.

“it’s ok if you say no. it’s just been a lot, like lately, and i’m kind of scared. and it’s dark. but like if it’s weird—“

“shh, of course you can,” yuma answers as nonchalantly as he can, though it’s too dark for you to see that his cheeks and ears have turned bright red. “it’s not like we haven’t slept together before.”

every muscle stiffens, and you freeze in your tracks. yuma faces you with wide eyes, realizing his blunder too late.

“wait no not like that! i meant like asleep. in the same bed—”

“u-um, n-never mind” you rush out, already scurrying back to your room, and slamming the door as quietly as you can.

you dive into the covers, mentally kicking yourself in the head. stupid, stupid, stupid—

and just outside your door, the facepalm heard around the world echoes.

—

“AGHHHH!”

your scream jolts yuma out of his sleep, and he’s sprinting for where you lay in his bed, moving faster than his body can even register that it’s awake.

“y/n?? y/n, hey it’s just a nightmare,” he shakes you awake, jumping back when you sit straight up. “shh, hey, it’s me, it’s just me, yuma. you’re safe here.”

“yu.. ma..?” you blink back tears, allowing your eyes to adjust.

you’re not in korea. you’re not in his bed. you’re in japan. in yuma’s apartment. where you’ve been for the last three months. safe. yuma gathers you into his arms, rocking you gently.

“i-i’m sorry,” you hiccup, guilt rising up in your chest.

“no, baby you have nothing to be sorry about,” yuma hushes, humming some sort of lullaby to rock you back to sleep.

the endearment lands like a butterfly, and you find your heart racing for different reasons. coming from heeseung, ‘baby’ had meant punishment. ‘baby’ had meant you’d done something wrong. ‘baby’ had sent you into a spiral, mental preparing for what would come next. but from yuma, you surprisingly hadn’t even batted an eyelash. instead, you relax into his hold, your eyes already fluttering closed.

“there you go, pretty girl,” yuma hums, laying you back down. “i’ll protect you.”

as soon as he’s sure your breath has evened out, he begins to stand, his heart clenching at the sight of your peaceful smile.

“stay?”

“w-what?” he stutters, sure he must’ve imagined it.

you tug at his shirt, too sleepy to care.

“stay with me, idiot.”

“o-ok.”

and so he does,his fingers tracing invisible patterns on your skin, your head cradled against his chest, as if your body knew he could keep the nightmares away. that he was safe. and for the first time in years, you fall into a dreamless sleep, the dark a quiet comfort.

—

“maki, bro, you are BANNED from aux,” you grumble, immediately skipping whatever brazilian funk remix he’d decided to cue up. in your defense, it was probably the tenth song in a row.

somehow, you’d survived the car ride with kei and fuma driving, leaving you, yuma, harua, taki and maki to pile up in the back of the van like a clown bus. no thanks to the rikiz’ scheming, you’d been squished between harua and yuma in the back row.

“y/n-chan, do you need more space? i can—“

“it’s fine,” yuma cuts harua off with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “y/n can lean on me”

one tug of your waist later, your body was halfway to being completely in his lap; his larger-than-average hand splayed protectively across your thigh, though he continues to stare out the window, airpods shoved firmly into his ears. as if your position were the most natural thing in the world.

rolling your eyes at taki and harua’s kissy faces and shooting a middle finger at maki, you relax into his hold. then kei snorts and you can just see the back of fuma’s head hung in his lap, as if he’s holding back laughter. you shoot enough daggers around the car to kill everybody at least three times over before settling into his chest. it was only an hour-long car ride anyway, and besides, yuma was always attached to you in some capacity: fingers laced with yours, a hand on your waist, head on your shoulder, laying on you, etc. nothing new.

but now of course, you were hiking to go get groceries with taki and maki, maki’s phone on full blast.

“soooo…” taki and maki both look at you, their eyes screaming mischief and mayhem. “what’s going on with you and yuma?”

you roll your eyes, having half a mind to smack them both over the head with all the chips you were carrying.

“nothing! jeez, you guys are worse than a couple of gossiping old ladies.”

“ok but!” taki shows you a picture he (unfortunately) took of you in the car: you’re fast asleep, body fully on yuma’s. his hand hasn’t moved from your thigh, though his fingers are now laced with your own. “this is soooo not a ‘just friends’ thing!”

“taki, have you forgotten that we’re literally engaged?” you glance around, as if enhypen will somehow pop out as soon as you turn the corner.

honestly at this point, you’ve gotten over it. and maybe, that was a red flag. probably a sign that you seriously needed to go to therapy. truly, what kind of normal person was chill about being inducted to the mafia, actively being stalked by an ex-boyfriend, and several near-death experiences? but then again, you hadn’t exactly led a normal life. you didn’t have normal friends. what could possibly be normal at this point? it’s weird, though. the time you spend with the teammies, it’s like your brain is just completely off. no semblance of survival or common sense or anything, just safety. even now, being out in the open, no weapons save for a knife hidden in your belt, not a single warning bell is on.

“ok, but to be fair,” maki skips ahead. “you guys have been sooo touchy for literally forever. even before you became our sister.”

“sister?” you question.

“uh, yeah?” maki looks at you as if you’re the one who’s gone crazy. “you’ve been like our sister since before you joined. even if it was unofficial until last week.”

“but anywayyy,” taki presses on. “there’s just no way you guys aren’t endgame. like, what are the chances that he walks into the magic shop and picks the tattoo that means so much to both of you? and that you came here? and that you’re from the same city? and—“

“taki,” you roll your eyes, though your cheeks have undoubtedly gotten warmer. “there’s no way—“

“TAKI! MAKI!” yuma stands in the doorway, illuminated by the porch light. “what are you two doing?!! seriously, letting a woman carry groceries!”

he grumbles, taking your bags, even though you’re literally carrying nothing but chips and fruit. the rikiz stand dumbfounded: they both have water slung across their shoulders, holding all the heavy meat and vegetables, oil, and taki is carrying a watermelon that somehow hasn’t broken the bag and rolled halfway down the street.

“must be nice,” maki grumbles, kicking his shoes off. “we even gave you the chips!”

“princess treatment,” taki coughs loudly, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

fuma watches this whole thing with his arms crossed over his chest, a small smile on his face. yuma had never been one to initiate things, or pull the macho man card out. to him, yuma would always be that little boy sitting in the rain, chomping on a corndog on the curb. the one who blindly followed him home. the one who loved to pull pranks on the others, giggling loudly. the one who had yet to grow out of his fear of bugs. the one who loved too deeply, though he never said anything. but then he’d met you, and it was a strange feeling really: watching yuma become your biggest protector.

he’d been worried, that day when yuma had come running into the main house, begging jo to get an apartment nearby. had felt helpless, watching yuma run himself ragged looking after you. without a doubt, yuma had fallen so completely in love with you, even if he denied it at every chance. when fuma finally met you, he’d been apprehensive: as soon as you became an established artist, would you just run and ditch? would you trample all over his little brother’s heart? but after watching you both with kei from behind newspapers on the bench across from your studio, your heart was undoubtedly just as much his, as his was yours. even with every date and one-night-stand the two of you went on with another person, you only had eyes for each other. every glance when one of you thought the other wasn’t looking. every touch, as if you were each other’s center of gravity. every teasing remark, delivered with a playful smile. fuma and kei saw it all, though they said nothing and opted to make a bet on who would confess first.

by the time dinner came and went, everyone else has tucked in for the night, save for yuma who epically lost at king's cup and is now buzzed and washing dishes. you sit on the counter next to him with a beer in hand, being completely unhelpful, also beyond your fair share of tipsy.

“yu-kun,” you stare, a dopey expression on your face. “have i ever told you how pretty you are?”

yuma nearly breaks everything in the sink, the tips of his ears pinking with embarrassment.

“n-no, i don’t think so,” he turns to you, shutting off the sink.

maybe he’s drunker than he thought. but you look like you’re glowing, bundled in the hoodie you’d stolen straight out of his luggage. he takes the can from your hands before you can take another sip, chugging it one go.

“yu-kun!” you pout, your eyes lingering for just a second too long on his lips. “that was mine!”

he looks at you, one eyebrow raised. then comes to stand between your parted thighs, effectively caging you against the counter. his hands settle onto your hips, cheeks rosy.

“and you don’t think you’ve had enough?”

his close proximity has essentially wiped your brain clean, head empty, save for the smell of your body wash on his skin. you stare back at him, just now registering that yuma’s hands are anchoring your hips to the counter.

“haven’t you?” you manage weakly, though somehow, your retort falls much heavier than intended.

whatever happened tonight, nothing would be the same again.

yuma leans in close, close enough so that his nose is touching yours. you can smell the beer on his breath, but you’re too distracted by yuma’s hands sliding upwards under your shirt to notice. without even thinking, your tongue darts out to wet your lips, earning you a smirk.

“do you want to kiss me, y/n?”

you almost shove him off right then. him and his arrogant smile. teasing eyes. full lips.

“you’re being annoying,” you shoot back, trying to sound unfazed.

“if you want to kiss me then kiss me, baby,” his lips hover a singular breadth from yours, leaving it up to you. “i’m going to be your husband anyway, aren’t i?”

“with what ring?” you answer breathlessly, still stalling.

yuma backs away for just a second to slip off the ring he wore on his pinky, one identical to the one he always wore on his index finger. the real ring was hidden elsewhere, beneath a false panel in his desk back home.

“will this one do?”

you sniff haughtily, intent on keeping up this charade for as long as you can to delay the inevitable. but yuma sees through everything, sees you scrambling to put your mental walls up faster than he can blow right past them.

“i suppose,” you hold out your left hand, head still held high.

time stops in that tiny kitchen, the dishes long abandoned. yuma removes the ring on his index, slipping it onto his own ring finger. you stare at your joined hands, at the matching circles of silver.

“you don’t know, do you?”

you stare at him—his flushed cheeks, reddening tips of his ears, tousled hair, blown pupils. you’re completely sober at this point, heart pounding like crazy, transfixed by his round, cat-like eyes.

“know what?”

“how much i lo- like you.”

you nearly stop breathing on the spot, leaving the confession to hang in the space between.

“shut up.”

yuma nearly falls backward when you surge forward, lips crashing onto his mercilessly. he wants to fight you, to push back just because he can, but just the feeling of your lips on his nearly has him falling to his knees. you pull away with a gasp, wiping the corner of your lips.

“i like you too, idiot,” you grit out, trying your hardest to not make eye contact with yuma and his shit-eating grin.

without another word, yuma gathers you up into his arms, lifting you off the counter as if you weighed little more than a feather. his mouth stays glued on yours, laying you down gently on the bed, the door kicked quietly closed. the initial plan had been for him to sleep on the floor, but a couple words from you had him attached like a leech, starving for more.

“yu-kun,” you whisper comes out more like a whine, eyes feverish.

your hands play at the hem of his t-shirt, fingertips grazing along his v-line. and yuma actually falls to his knees this time, thumbs hooked into the waist band of your shorts, dragging you to the edge of the bed. how he’d dreamed of this moment, had nearly gone insane with the idea of you. he forces himself to move slowly, giving you ample time to push him off. to yell at him for crossing the line. to change your mind. but you do nothing, instead sitting up on your elbows, watching him with hooded eyes.

“patience kitten,” yuma presses a soft kiss to your thigh. “we have all night.”

—

yuma wakes up first, body feverish with the remnants of alcohol and the taste of you. you’re still peacefully passed out beside him, your shirt slightly lifted to expose the multitude of love bites littered across your skin. smiling softly to himself, he tucks the blanket back around you, standing up with a soft kiss to your forehead.

“yuma? you’re up earl— oh my god!” kei stands almost comically, hand slapped over his mouth.

he’d gone for an easy run this morning, eager to enjoy the beautiful weather. he’d just gotten back, brewed himself a nice coffee, and was ready to kick back and relax when yuma had stumbled in, shirtless. leaving your marks on full display.

fuma says nothing, save for an appreciative nod and thumbs-up, a steaming mug of tea in hand.

on the other hand…

“y/n-chan, why the hell are you wearing—” nicholas’ wife stares at you, mimosa already in hand.

“don’t. even. start,” you hold up a hand in defeat, death-glaring harua who’s already started giggling to himself. “you, be quiet!”

harua snickers behind his hand, dodging the beach ball you chuck at his head.

you dive below the water, mortified, with half a mind to drag harua down with you. you’d woken up this morning, feeling more content and at peace than you have in years. a sticky note awaited on your phone, complete with a kitty doodle.

“out with hyungs, be back soon pretty girl,” it read.

feeling foolish, a toothy grin makes its way onto your cheeks before you can stop it. you sit straight up, willing your cheeks to relax. just the memories of last night already has heat crawling across your skin, your heart fluttering. god, you’ve never been this excited about a boy. you’re giggling to yourself like an idiot, even worse than a high schooler. slapping your cheeks, you crawl out of bed, in desperate need of a shower.

that’s when you catch a glimpse of it. and you run out of the bathroom like your ass is on fire.

“RU-CHAN!” you whisper harshly, not even bothering to knock, and pointing at the your back, just beneath the collar of your t-shirt. “please tell me there is not—“

“HOLY SHIT! Y/N-CHAN, that is the BIGGEST hickey i have ever seen,” he giggles, giving you mock applause. “okay girllll, getting freaky—“

“SHUT IT!”

you swat at him, covering the giant bruise with one hand as you scurry back to your room. originally, you’d been planning to wear this really cute bikini that euijoo’s wife was letting you borrow. lo and behold, nakakita yuma had put a severe dent in those plans. as if mocking you from afar, an offensively-neon-orange rash guard hangs in the closet, as if yuma had known you would need it.

that bitch.

you resurface to find her smirking at you, eyebrows wiggling knowingly. you flick some water in her direction, rolling your eyes, though harua doesn’t miss the way you scan the shoreline. kei, fuma, and yuma still hadn’t returned from whatever mysterious mission they were on, and taki and maki were still dead asleep. jo’s and euijoo’s wives were spread out on a picnic blanket, looking entirely at peace.

“i’m gonna go make a coffee,” you stand up, the breeze sending a tingle of goosebumps up your arms. “i’ll be right back.”

“ooh can you get me the strawberry milk in the fridge?”

“fine,” you roll your eyes with a small smile, changing into a t-shirt before walking back to the house.

the house is quiet, save for the sound of your wet footsteps and the rikiz snoring. yuma’s t-shirt hangs loosely around your shoulders as you move around the kitchen, humming slowly under your breath. wherever he was, they were taking forever to come back. and after last night? too much had been left unsaid. were you guys like a real thing now? what would happen once heeseung was taken care of? the sound of the shower turning on yanks you from your thoughts and you peer around the corner, frowning when you don’t see anyone.

“maki?” you call, “is that you?”

no answer.

the warning bells go off too late, your skin prickling for half a second when something hard and sharp pokes between your ribs.

“hey baby,” a deep voice whispers in your ear.

you freeze, as if doused in ice cold water. you knew that voice, hated that voice. your skin crawls with disgust and unease. run. scream. fight. you will your body to move, but it refuses to cooperate, rooted to the spot. without meaning to, you flinch at his touch, your body falling back into old patterns before you can stop them.

“scream, and niki will shoot them both,” he growls, already pushing you towards the door. “imagine how disappointed yu-kun will be if you get them killed.”

you don’t answer, as if all breath had been stolen from your body.

“you’re coming back with me, baby girl”

“fine.”

you comply, the knife digging into your ribs and the threat hanging over the rikiz being your sole motivation. you know how to handle him—something you’d inadvertently learned to keep him as calm as possible. you’re still barefoot, yuma’s shirt the only barrier between you and him. sharp rocks in the driveway dig into your feet, but you don’t cry out, careful not to set him off. as inconspicuously as possible, you try to glance around: you still don’t see niki or any of the others, the driveway completely blocked off from view of the beach.

“get in the trunk beautiful,” he smiles down at you. “don’t want you to hit your head.”

you do as he says, the trunk door slamming closed, leaving you in complete darkness.

—

“YOU LOST HER?!!”

yuma is a whirling hurricane of panic, fear, and misplaced anger. everyone is congregated in the living room, trying to figure out a disaster plan. after you hadn’t come back, harua had gone up to look for you, only to find the strawberry milk left out on the counter, and the coffee knocked over.

“where the hell would he go?” kei mutters to himself, feeling guilty a million times over for not being at the house, and dragging yuma away. “enhypen has no base here. there’s no way they would go all the way back to tokyo, would they?”

fuma says nothing, scanning the house’s security footage for anything they could’ve missed. but they’d been smart: looping the footage so that the last thing they saw was you leaving the house to join the others on the beach. yuma continues to pace, anxiously fiddling with the ring on his finger.

wait.

“fuma-kun, give me the computer.”

yuma’s hands fly across the keyboard, his long fingers typing with the skill of &TEAM’s most skilled hacker. his fingers cross out of habit, praying that you haven’t—

“got her!”

there you are, a blinking red dot on the screen. yuma breathes a sigh of relief, fist thumping on his chest over his heart. maybe this was fate playing out exactly the way it needed to. what else were the odds that he’d given you that ring just last night? this plan was working too well for his liking and he knew fuma had trained you with more than enough ways to kill a man.

but either way, that bitch was going to die.

tonight.

—

you wouldn’t have gotten in the stupid trunk if you’d known how long you’d be stuck back here. your legs were cramped, you had to pee, and you were seething with anger. the longer you thought about it, the more you wanted to rip your hair out for being so stupid. if only you had just gotten the courage to get out sooner. if only you’d seen the signs. if only you hadn't convinced yourself that you could change him.

give yourself some grace pretty girl, you survived. not everyone does.

yuma’s words echo in the back of your mind and suddenly, you’re overwhelmed with a sense of longing. to have his arms around you. to have him nearly break your door everyday with coffee in hand, already yapping about bullshit nonsense. to be curled up together on the couch, watching some stupid new romance anime. to go home. at this point, you’re tired of running. tired of being stuck under heeseung’s thumb. you shake your head, willing yourself to concentrate.

until the teammies found you, you were on your own. no weapons. no shoes. and no freaking pants. off to a great start, clearly.

even though the sun is going down, the light is still blinding compared to the darkness of the trunk. you shield your eyes, just barely making out heeseung’s figure. he looks almost sickly, a vampire with the beauty sucked out of him. looking at him, you almost feel bad. emphasis on almost. being in a coma hadn't done him any favors, but really you would've preferred if he'd croaked along with sunghoon all those years ago. heeseung grabs your hand, all pretense of pleasantry gone.

“take it off.”

you glare, having half a mind to refuse. but you reluctantly slip the ring off your finger. you’d only just gotten it, but already you’d become attached to it. how it sparkled in the sunlight. how when you wore it, it felt like you could do anything. you’re about to slip it into your bikini top under your shirt for safekeeping, when heeseung snatches it from your grasp. his gaze has turned maniacal, eyes fixed on the ring with hatred.

“you’re coming with me,” he snarls, grabbing your wrist.

you have no choice but to follow, the stones in the driveway of wherever you are digging into your feet. you’re at some kind of beach house, though it stands apart from the rest of the houses higher up by the main road. you take it all in, filing the information away. heeseung yanks you forward into the house, practically throwing you into the counter. your heart clenches, fearing the worst. sure, you’d learned to fight. but that had been against fuma and kei. not a crazed madman.

there’s a tool bag sitting on the kitchen floor, dusty and battered. heeseung opens it, taking out a hammer. unable to stop yourself, you flinch, the scars on your legs starting to feel as if they were on fire. as if they were trying to warn you to get away from him. heeseung doesn’t notice, too focused on the ring. he raises the hammer, smashing it to pieces over and over again. your heart clenches with each swing, watching the metal becoming bent and misshapen. but what scares you more is that he hasn’t noticed that with each swing, chunks of the counter come flying off. if anything, he’s become even more terrifying: his eyes are glittering with rage; he’s sweating, chest heaving with the effort of destroying yuma’s ring.

finally, he stops, turning to look at you. the hammer remains in his hand, but he holds a hand out to you, panting from exertion. he takes a step forward, but you take one back, hands held protectively in front of you. you knew the fury of lee heeseung. this? this was something else. he takes one more step forward, then seems to realize he’s still holding the hammer. chuckling to himself, he sets it back down on the counter and reaches it into his pocket.

“dance with me, baby”

the opening tune of daniel caesar’s ‘hold me down’ fills the quiet kitchen, and your knees nearly buckle. you stop breathing, eyes wide, trapped in a memory you can’t escape. that song. the one that always seemed to play when he was home, washing his bloody knuckles in the sink. as if it were the background music to your own personal hell.

heeseung cracks a smile, as if he’s just now noticed you.

but you dance just out of reach, trying to get closer to the hammer. heeseung lunges for you, pressing his lips against yours. you nearly gag, trying to shove him off. his lips feel like thick rubber against yours.

you can’t do this. you can’t kiss him.

so you bite down hard, shoving him away as far as you can, inadvertently shoving him closer to the hammer. you watch him, terrified that he’s about to grab the hammer and smash your skull in, the same way he had yuma’s ring.

“baby, why do you have to be so difficult?” heeseung advances on you. “you were always so obedient, why won’t you kiss me now? it’s just me, your hee.”

you don’t answer, trying to map out exactly how you could possibly dart past him and out the door. what you don’t notice, is that your shirt has slipped off your shoulder, leaving yuma’s love bite in open view.

“YOU WHORE! you kissed that brat?!!” heeseung snarls, eyes narrowed on the mark. “bet you fucked him too, you little slut!”

he advances on you, effectively blocking off all exits.

“but you don’t love him, do you baby?” his breath smells foul, as if he’d just risen from the grave. “DO YOU?!!”

you gulp, fear hammering in your chest. this was not the time to be stupid. but your brain flashes back to last night anyway. you think of yuma, and his stupid smile. of him slipping the ring on your finger in the dim light of the kitchen. of the way he’d held you, as if you were the most precious person in the world.

“TELL ME YOU DON’T LOVE HIM!” heeseung roars, backhanding you across the face with such force that you swear you’ve lost a couple teeth.

your whole body crashes to the floor, ears ringing with the impact. you spit out a little blood on the floor, glaring at him with more hatred than you’ve ever felt in your life. though now, black spots swim across your vision and you swear you’re seeing double.

“this doesn’t have to be difficult darling,” heeseung crouches down beside you, his voice suddenly soft. “just tell me you love me.”

you should. you should say whatever he wants. do whatever he wants. be the picture of obedience. you’d never told yuma you loved him, stupidly deciding not wanting to complicate things further by confessing to your best friend that you’ve been in love with him for years.

“no,” you stare defiantly. “you fucking bastard!”

you were not the same girl that heeseung could just push around because he felt like it. you’d survived him once. you’d done your due diligence. you’d healed from everything he put you through. you had put blood, sweat and tears in finding your peace; you’d murder him in cold blood before you let him have any control over your life ever again.

“i love yuma,” you spit out, your own words giving you bravery with each syllable. “NA. KA. KI. TA. YU. MA. never you!”

for one long terrifying moment, he doesn’t answer.

then you spot your chance.

“LEAVE! ME! ALONE!” you scream, launching the piece of countertop from under your hand as hard as you can at his face.

he howls with pain, temporarily blinded. you scramble to your feet, booking it to the door as fast as you can. but heeseung’s earlier blow has put you at a severe disadvantage: you can barely see, using all your willpower to even just stay on your feet.

“YOU FUCKING BITCH!” heeseung yanks you back by your hair, teeth bared and bloody. “you’re MINE! over my dead body will anyone else have you!”

“then DIE!”

—

“that must be it!” taki sniffs, pointing at a beach house that stands alone at the end of what seems like an abandoned road.

in the dimming twilight, yuma can just barely make out the road, whipping the wheel harshly to the left. your dot had disappeared from the map about ten minutes ago, and yuma would be damned if he let heeseung steal your light away again. the smell of smoke fills the air, thickening the closer they drive to the house. a fancy-looking car is parked outside, the trunk wide open, keys stupidly left in the ignition. fuma and taki pile out the car, already circling up to the front of the house, while he runs straight for the back, where an alarming orange glow emanates.

heeseung could be waiting right there, a gun pointed at his skull. but he didn’t care anymore, all thoughts focused solely on you. you could be hurt, trapped somewhere in the smoke. just the thought of heeseung laying a finger on you? no, he dare not even imagine the person he’d become. chest tight with fear, yuma kicks the already-rotting back door open. the moment it collapses, a thick cloud of black smoke comes billowing out, and he drops as low as he can, stifling his cough in the crook of his arm. somewhere inside, something explodes.

yuma runs forward, seeing nothing but flames. still no sign of you anywhere, save for a hammer. panicked, his eyes narrows on a rickety-looking set of stairs, and the flaming beam hanging precariously just above it. he just barely makes it up the stairs before the bottom step is engulfed in flames. but he’s not looking. his weapon isn’t drawn. his guard is down when heeseung charges him as soon as he rounds the corner at the top of the stairs, smashing yuma into the wall. but he’s been in a coma for three years, whereas yuma has been overly prepared to beat him to a pulp.

“WHERE IS SHE?!!” he roars over the crackling flames, his punches connecting with terrifying accuracy.

heeseung is almost unrecognizable. his hair is matted, a manic gleam in his eyes. dried blood is caked around his left eye, his mouth full of blood, looking more and more like a vampire.

“she belongs to me, brat!” heeseung growls, just barely parrying away a blow. “she will never be—“

“I WAS NEVER YOURS!”

you appear from the woodwork like some kind of fiery angel straight from the depths of hell, brandishing a wood plank. it splinters upon impact, and heeseung crashes to the ground, head bloody and thoroughly unrecognizable.

“YUMA!” you scream, flinging yourself into his arms just as the floor gives out beneath where you were just standing, heeseung’s body tumbling into the roaring flames.

but there’s no time to celebrate.

“y/n, come on we have to go!” yuma gathers you into his arms, your arms clinging firmly around his neck.

the stairs are a no-go, fully engulfed now. the floor groans with every step, black smoke making it nearly impossible to see. there’s only one room left that’s not up in flames, at the very end of the hallway. yuma sets you down gently on the windowseat, careful not to accidentally bash your already-bloody head against anything else. he wrenches the window open, letting loose a fresh pillar of black smoke, dropping down before holding his arms out for you.

you jump with a shriek, the room exploding behind you. he slings you over his shoulder, fuma and taki already sprinting out from the other side of the house.

“GO! GO! GO!”

yuma flings himself into the driver seat, a stark contrast to his gentle maneuvering of your body into the passenger seat. fuma and taki hijack heeseung’s abandoned car, peeling out from the driveway just ahead of you. he holds your hand tightly, as if you’d disappear if he let go.

fleeing down the highway, the flaming inferno behind you, you can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up. soon enough, the both of you completely overcome with hysterical laughter, tears in your eyes. you're both covered in soot, blood, and at least an inch of black grime. yuma’s earrings shimmer in the light of the center display, his expression tense, as evidenced by the thick vein in his neck pulsing with every ragged breath. maybe you’re just dizzy and delirious, but there’s no other place you’d rather be.

but there’s just one more, painfully obvious thing.

“yuma,” your soft voice makes his ears perk to attention. “you came for me?”

yuma can’t decide if he wants to cry or laugh.

“yes you idiot,” he giggles out, unable to hold it off with the absurdity of your question and the adrenaline high wearing off. “i literally ran through fire to get to you! you’re my best friend, of course i would come for you.”

the word ‘best friend’ lands like a whip. right, of course. clearly, you’d misread things. and last night had been nothing but—

“i lied yesterday you know,” yuma cuts your mental spiral off with a knowing glance. already, you’ve subconsciously angled your body away from him, your grip in his hand loose and becoming detached.

“what is that supposed to mean?” you ask flatly, already slamming the walls down around your heart before it can break anymore. “what are— yuma, why are you pulling over?! enhypen could be coming for us and we’re just sitting ducks out here!”

“y/n.”

the deep intensity of yuma’s voice catches you off-guard, and he grabs your chin lightly to force you to look at him. you stubbornly refuse, looking at your own reflection in the driver’s side window instead. his eyes soften, drinking you in. your lip is busted, your right cheek red and swollen, your hair a tangled bird’s nest. he swallows thickly, willing himself to say the words.

“l/n y/n, in every life, i would choose you,” he speaks lowly, the dam of his soul breaking wide open. “i would always, always choose you. i would run into every burning building to get to you. i would hurt anyone who even thought of hurting you. jesus y/n, i would do anything for you.”

“i—“

“i love you, you dummy. didn’t you know?”

yuma lets go of your chin, his lips pressed together in a small, awkward smile. he watches you process his words in real time, your eyes becoming comically wide. really, he didn’t understand what was so shocking. he’d made it so ridiculously obvious, but you. you were a complete idiot. so deeply hurt by someone who was supposed to love and protect you, that you didn’t believe that you were capable of love anymore. if only you’d known just how many people he’d had to personally threaten to keep away from you.

“i know i sound psycho and it sounds insane, but,” he babbles on, fidgeting with his rings now. “i don’t think i ever just liked you. i swear i fell in love with you the day we met.”

“that night, harua was the one who told me to go talk to you. i wasn’t really that drunk, and i wasn’t really planning on getting that tattoo. but i just had to talk to you so—“

“shut up idiot.”

you yank him by the collar of his shirt, pressing your lips firmly against his.

“i love you too,” you pull away with a whisper, tapping his nose affectionately.

yuma stares at you like a lovestruck cat, the corners of his lips tugging upwards without meaning to. his eyes look dazed, completely entranced by you.

“marry me?” he asks, holding your left hand. “for real this time?”

“yes you idiot,” you laugh, tears welling up in your eyes. “of course i would marry you”

and suddenly, it all feels real. even though no ring rests on your finger, it weighs heavier with the promise of the lifelong commitment you’ve pledged to make. yuma bends to kiss your hand, then your forehead, then both cheeks, then finally, your lips. tears of joy slip down his own face, mixing with the ones mirrored on yours. the two of you continue fleeing down the highway, entirely uncertain about the future, but completely certain and enamored with each other.

“you know i’m never letting you go right?”

“i’m literally covered in bites that you left, idiot. i couldn’t go anywhere else even if i wanted to”

“good"

—

“baby-chan~~”

yuma coos at your youngest daughter, trying his best to keep a serious face. she’s only two, but already she’s proving to be just as much of a handful as her dad.

“what did mama say about touching papa’s sparkles?”

your daughter pouts at you from her perch on yuma’s shoulders, the spitting image of her father. ever the innocent bystander, you pretend to ignore the pair of them, setting your other daughter down on the couch, who had fallen fast asleep in your arms.

“mama said to not touch papa’s sparkles until she said so or papa will get sick," she pouts, rolling her eyes with enough attitude for the four of you.

“that’s my sweet girl,” he praises exaggeratedly, kissing her knee.

yuma turns to look at you, his two-month-old snake piercings sparkling in the light of the setting sun streaming through your living room window. the original plan had been to burn enhypen down, enjoy marriage for a couple years, then revisit the idea of having kids. one midsummer’s night later, your cutie twin daughters had been made in the backroom of your studio.

time skip to two years later and they were giving you a run for your money, arguably on par with empress wang. yuma had caught the pair of them digging around in your tools and scared them off permanently. ever the shy twin, your older one's favorite pastime being stretched out in your lap while you sketched, or asking her papa to do her hair or play tea party. your younger one loved playing pranks on uncle harua. or jump scaring uncle kei. or plotting mayhem. your fault for letting taki babysit them the most really. to your surprise, the moment they'd been born, yuma had switched immediately to strict girl dad mode, already dreading the day either of them brought a partner home.

yuma sets her down, watching her scurry off towards jo’s son sketching quietly in the corner, nearly tripping over her stubby little legs.

“come here mama,” yuma collapses on the couch with a groan, grabbing your waist to drag you right on top of him.

“papa, we have to get dinner ready for the kids,” you whisper, trying to twist your head to look up at him.

the sunlight hits his blonde hair at just the right angle, his hair glowing like a warm halo. a sigh escapes you, a sound of mock exasperation that yuma feels more than he hears. still, his nose tucks deeper against the warm curve of your neck, your pulse beating in sync with his own.

“yuma,” you try, though you have no intention of getting up either. “we’re going to starve.”

“five more minutes,” he mumbles, his breath tickling against your neck. “papa needs cuddles and attention.”

you squirm in his grasp, though his arms only tighten around your waist in response.

“you’re insufferable,” you roll your eyes, though the corners of your lips are turned up.

“and yet, you married me anyway,” yuma smiles down at you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, staring at the rings of your intertwined fingers.

eight years later, and he was still entirely bewitched by you. and it would only ever be you <3

a/n: thank you for reading this far!! it truly means so much seeing people enjoy my writing :)) i will be taking a break this summer but again thank you all <3<3

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