HELLO ???? meanwhile im still stuck on go in blind
but as excited as i am, i hope the guys are getting enough rest while they are still on tour and not getting burnt out... LETS GO TEAMMIES AND LUNE🫶🫶🐺🌙
pairing: &team fboy!fuma x fem!reader ft. &team kei, nct mark
⋆.˚ ☾ wc: 1.8k
⋆.˚ ☾ synopsis: you, ever the disaster child, were extremely prone to horrible decisions. and when you're trying to get over your absolute loser of an ex, your brother's best friend becomes no exception.
⋆.˚ ☾ warnings: college senior year vibes, reader is kei's little sister, cursing, fluff, suggestiveness, drinking, fuma is a walking std
⋆.˚ ☾ a/n: off-campus inspo!! kinda getting into writing shorts and ik i said i'd take a break from writing but here we are, hope you enjoy it♡
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new year.
new you.
and a long overdue end to your three-year-long, on-and-off relationship.
senior year you had decided she deserved better than this vicious cycle of exhilarating joy and debilitating heartbreak. she deserved a senior year that wasn’t wasted waiting around for her idiotic frat president boyfriend to treat her better than a weekend booty call. it was literally her last chance to live up the college single life she'd always thought she'd have.
but still, breakups sucked.
and as if the universe had known exactly what you were thinking, your phone vibrates with a text.
or several.
“im sry for cursing at u baby, yk i didnt mean it"
"baby pls text me bak"
“coming over aftr class, we need to talk"
aside from your initial irritation at the multiple spelling errors, fear grips your chest. but not because your ex-boyfriend was particularly aggressive. or had ever physically hurt you. but you just knew that one sweet smile and "baby" later, you’d be a goner. sucked back into the vicious cycle of being the on-and-off girlfriend of mark lee, president of your campus’ largest frat.
hence your current situation, standing on the stoop of the soccer boys’ house.
aka, your brother’s house.
“sorry yuu, i didn’t want to impose—“
“it’s fine,” his voice comes through the speakerphone. “it’s either you stay there, or i turn this car around and hang him by the nuts from a thorny tree.”
you sigh, used to your brother's oddly creative yet gruesome threats. koga yudai, ever the golden star of your family, had received an offer to practice with the national soccer team and was on his way to the training center in tokyo.
pfft, practice.
yeah right.
everyone knew what that meant. if kei excelled at this tryout practice, he could very well end up at the world cup in two years as a striker for japan's blue samurai.
as for you?
you were the disappointment daughter, the one who'd gotten into sunshine city university purely from legacy. who never would live up to your parents' expectations or any of your siblings' examples. who's grades could barely hold a candle to your brother's. instead you'd defied everyone and chose to pursue dance. and what you had to show for it?
nothing.
and graduation was just around the corner.
“i already told fuma and euijoo you were coming. and fuma knows i will cut off his balls if he tries to flirt with you, so don’t worry about him.”
you scoff, grabbing the spare key hidden in the door’s hinges.
"gotta go little sis, call me if you need me."
"yeah yeah i got it, thanks again-"
you're cut off by the sound of the dial tone. it wasn't like yuu had particularly terrible roommates, aside from their huge reputation around campus. byun euijoo, resident angel of the house and breakout star scouted straight out of high school. nicholas wang, star defender and worldclass flirt. and...
to no one’s surprise, you walk in to a sight straight from a porno. beer cans litter the living room, socks strewn all across the hardwood floor, two very naked girls making out on the couch, bass booming from the speakers. and at the center of it all?
murata fuma.
also known as your brother’s best friend, scu men's soccer co-captain, and resident walking std.
everyone knows that the 'f' in fuma stands for fuckboy.
"well, baby kei, wasn't expecting to see you this afternoon," fuma drawls from the couch, not the slightest bit fazed that you're standing in the foyer.
thankfully, by some miracle, he's still clothed in gray sweatpants.
having had enough of boy drama, you throw your backpack on the floor by the door, settling into the recliner to rewatch off-campus for the third time—entirely indifferent to the scene in front of you. but your teeth clench anyway at the stupid nickname.
you hated being known as kei's little sister. as if you had no identity save for being the sibling completely stuck in his shadow.
"sorry darlings, you're gonna need to go."
fuma sighs, incredulous at the fact that you've just ruined what could have been a beautiful threesome. the two girls—he'd already forgotten their names—looked about as annoyed as he feels, their eyes wide and accusing.
"what?!" the blonde one blurts out.
"my best friend's little sister is here," he sighs, shrugging on a form-fitting black t-shirt. "therefore, this house has just became a pg-zone."
he doesn't know why he cares so much. it's not like you were unaware of his debauchery. and it wasn't like he got shy if someone were watching. actually, he enjoyed it. but still, the thought of corrupting the mind of his best friend's little sister?
yikes.
"did you enjoy that?"
fuma flops down onto the couch across from you, the mess somewhat cleared to the side, the girls dressed and out the door.
"enjoy what?" you scoff, folding your arms across your chest.
"cockblocking me."
"you could've gone upstairs and finished your little party, you know. no need to stop on my account."
"you really think i could have a threesome and enjoy it knowing my best friend's little sister is down here?" he asks lazily, as if you already should've known the answer.
you roll your eyes, already engrossed in the wonder that was dean dilaurentis.
"fine. guess you'll just have to watch with me then."
"are you serious? first you cockblock me, and now i have to babysit you?"
"first of all, im an adult. and second of all, im having a crisis and you'll just have to do until juju and nico get home. otherwise, i will do something incredibly stupid and ruin my life forever."
fuma says nothing, just solemnly stands up to go to the kitchen. you watch him go, silently admiring the way the shirt hangs on his body, the glimpse of his v-line from his low-hanging sweats. you can't even lie—fuma was hot.
"if we're doing this, i need fucking tequila. get over here, sweetheart."
"it's literally four pm on a friday! i'm not drinking tequila—"
fuma chortles, pouring you a shot anyway.
"please, everyone knows you outdrink kei anyday. plus, you look like you need it."
you watch him pour.
well, your senior year had to start somewhere. and no better way to start it than mother tequila herself.
"fine. but you have to take my phone or else i'll drunk text or call him. and then that would defeat the entire purpose of me breaking up with him."
fuma grins, tipping back the shot as if it were water. he watches you, your body screaming with the obvious tension of holding everything in.
"fine, i'll bite," he leans forward, already pouring another a shot at the ripe hour of four in the afternoon. "how did you guys break up this time?"
"he was being fucking annoying," you groan, already refilling your glass. "i'm 21, of course i don't have any idea what i'm doing or how to be an adult. i want to dance, and he wants to be a finance bro. we are not the same!"
you don't even know why you were spilling your guts to fuma. and yet the two of you down more tequila anyway, your lips loosening with each sip.
"he wanted me to give up on everything and be a stay-at-home mom."
"bullshit," fuma gasps, his eyes comically wide. "there's just no way in the big 2026 he wants you to stay at home."
"EXACTLY! my biggest dream is to dance and you want me to give it up all up to be trapped in a little house behind a white picket fence?!! hell no sister."
"you know y/n," fuma tips another one back. "you're doing this whole post-breakup thing completely wrong."
"how so?" you sniff. "i happen to like spilling my feelings and watching cheesy romcoms."
"well," he watches you out of the corner of his eye, expression guarded. "everyone knows the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else."
"i'm not ready for that," you huff, your words starting to slur together.
"of course you are, you just need a rebound," fuma leans back against the counter, as if he were talking about something as mundane as the weather. "i can help you."
you nearly choke, the lime you were chewing on flying halfway across the kitchen.
"excuse me?!!"
but the longer you stare at him, it's actually not the worst idea. a rebound might be exactly what you need to get your mind off of mark—not with him though.
"i'm just saying, i'm the go-to no-strings-attached guy," he leans back against the kitchen counter.
"i thought kei said he would kill you if you hit on me."
"i'm simply offering to help a friend out."
but you don't miss the way his eyes linger for half a second too long on your thighs.
"in your dreams, fuma. and hush, you are distracting me from the wonder that is john logan," you scoot away, tucking yourself into the corner of the couch.
fuma follows you, but to your chagrin, flops down right beside you. and throws his arm around your shoulder as if it were the normal thing to do.
"you normally put your arms around your friends when you watch movies, fuma?"
"sure sweetheart, i even slide my hand down their pants if they ask nicely."
he grins at you, laughing as you slap away his other hand that had skimmed the top of your waistband. your shirt had ridden up a bit, his fingers like flames on the bare skin of your stomach.
you make no move to pull it back down.
"watch the movie, freak," you whisper instead.
—
"oh my god," you roll over with a groan, holding your head.
you officially have the worst hangover of your life. and yuu is going to kill you if you throw up on his clean sheets—wait.
you're not in kei's bed.
the realization hits you at the same time as a muscular arm wraps around your waist, dragging you back down onto a very naked, very muscular chest.
"morning, baby doll."
the memories of your rather eventful friday night come crashing back down in hd 4k.
you'd slept with fuma last night.
not once.
not twice.
thrice.
shit.
fuma watches you through half-lidded eyes, his own head throbbing with the aftermath of too much tequila. really he needn't have bothered with worrying about corrupting you at all—behind those innocent eyes and cheeky smile, you had a beautifully wicked mind of your own that he couldn't wait to unravel.
pairing: &team teenage dirtbag!nicholas x queen bee!reader ft. &team kei, euijoo, taki, harua
⋆.˚ ☾ wc: 4.1k
⋆.˚ ☾ synopsis: you, the queen of sunshine city high school had somehow landed in saturday detention. with the brain. the athlete. the theater geek. and him, the boy you hadn't yet decided if you wanted to strangle.. or kiss <3?
⋆.˚ ☾ warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, rude humor, fluff, a hint of suggestiveness but no smut, high school rejects teenage dirtbag behavior, wrong side of the tracks dynamic, cursing, smoking
⋆.˚ ☾ a/n: breakfast club inspo!! also no hate to anyone in the education field, more power to you fr. hope you enjoy it♡
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“mom is so going to beat your ass when she gets back from her business trip tomorrow.”
“gee ru, THANKS!”
you hiss, elbowing your idiotic little brother in the shoulder. harua just laughs at you, tongue stuck out, looking all too proud in the driver seat for someone who’s only had their license for three days. and you can’t even blame him because somehow, you, the princess of sunshine city high school, are the one who’s stuck going to saturday detention.
“i can’t believe dad couldn’t get me out of this,” you groan, slowly dragging yourself out of the passenger seat. “and on saturday! i was supposed to be at the mall—”
“no offense sis, but skipping class to go shopping is the whole reason you’re in detention anyway.”
“whatever,” you roll your eyes, slamming the car door shut. “be a good little minion and get me a milk tea when you pick me up later.”
“um, no? why would i spend a penny on you when—"
“i’ll get you a pack of whichever blind box set—“
“deal.”
with a satisfied smirk, you strut towards the distasteful library, and take a seat in the chair closest to the door while the others slowly file in.
the brain,
the athlete,
the theater geek,
and him.
“well, well, well.”
principal genda strides in through the library doors, hands deep in his pockets.
“i want to congratulate you all for being on time. that's a first! for the next seven hours and fifty-four minutes, you will not talk. you will not sleep. you will not leave this room.”
he sets a piece of paper down in front of each of you, along with a pencil that looks like it’s been kicked around the floor of the library for the last fifty years.
“you will write an essay of no less than one thousand words, describing to me who you think you are.”
“excuse me, mr. genda,” euijoo’s hand goes up in the air. “with all due respect, i have my sat scheduled next week and—“
“should’ve thought about that before you and your buddy over there decided to get into fight.”
you cough, trying to smother back your laughter. you'd rather kill yourself than parade around like an arrogant cockatoo in front of a group of misbehaving teenagers for a living. like seriously, how does one become a high school principal and continue to live life happily?
“my office is right down the hall. any misconduct from you little brats is extremely ill-advised. i'll be watching.”
as soon as the library doors slam shut in a cloud of decades-old-book-dust, you whip around in your seat.
“do you mind?” you hiss, eyes narrowed on the one and only nicholas wang, who has yet to stop kicking your chair since mr. genda first walked in the room.
“sorry princess,” he leans forward, that stupid holier-than-thou smirk across his face. “didn’t think i’d ever see you here. you know, with all of us, riff raff.”
you sniff, having enough sense to stay silent and feel a bit of shame at your own words being thrown back in your face. you’d been complaining to your best friend, yunjin, yesterday about the impending doom of saturday detention. unsurprisingly, kei and taki were kicked back in their own chairs, not a scribble to be found on the sheets of paper in front of them.
“c’mon nichol,” taki groans from his corner of the room. “just shut up so i can sleep, please?”
nicholas says nothing, and the room falls into silence, save for the book thrown straight at taki's head. you sigh immediately, pretending to write on your paper as the book lands with an echoing thud. as if on cue, mr. genda's head peeps in.
“hey shitbags. QUIT IT!”
“sorry mr. genda!” nicholas calls cheekily, though his eyes don’t move from your rigid posture. the way your hair falls down your back. the curve of your neck. the hint of a tattoo poking out from under your collar. “juju is just such a klutz!”
from beside you, euijoo huffs in annoyance, already having scribbled enough word vomit to look like a decent essay. oh, how you'd kill to have his brain. and then you take a peek at his paper.
scoff.
call it a hot take or whatever, but byun euijoo, with his round eyes and soft smile, wasn't really all that smart. the guy could simply bullshit his way through everything terrifyingly well. and for as long as you'd been alive, he'd been the boy next door—your first crush actually. in a different world, maybe he'd have been the man you married, with two kids, a minivan, and a white picket fence. exactly the kind of man your parents wanted you to marry. but no, he was too vanilla for your taste, too soft to withstand your sharp tongue and nasty temper. yet someway, somehow, he was best friends with nicholas, the boy who had no problem lighting a fire under your ass and seeing how far you’d fly.
"hey princess," nicholas whispers. “now’s your chance to be a bad girl, want a puff?”
you roll your eyes, covering your nose with your sleeve as the smell of cigarette smoke wafts through the stacks. you were beyond bored out of your mind, but you’d take detention over suspension any day, so here you were, a pencil holding up your hair, walking between the stacks to find anything that could possibly entertain you for the next few hours.
nicholas leans on a shelf, watching you, that damned nicotine stick between his lips. you look between his eyes and the cig, whipping around when you realize you’ve been staring for too long. you weren’t blind; he wasn’t half-bad to look at, all angry eyes and downturned lips. his blouse is rumpled, tie loosened, a track jacket half-zipped around his shoulders, a silver ball in his eyebrow. his sleeves are rolled up, leaving the scar on his arm on total display. the gossip mill went wild about that one—a shootout with the cops, gang initiation, murder, bank robbery gone wrong, etc. the average high school mind truly had no limits. but you knew the real story—well actually, it’d kinda been your fault. just a bunch of kindergarteners playing king of the hill on the playground when you had sent nicholas toppling into the chain link fence, claiming victory.
“i don’t want lung cancer, idiot,” you reply matter-of-factly, climbing onto the ladder. “or your saliva anywhere near me. you really should think about these things, you know. i don’t know how you—" you cut off with a small scream, the ladder wobbling beneath you.
“nice ass, princess,” nicholas stares up at you with that stupid smile, hands planted firmly on the ladder to steady you.
“ha ha,” you cough, trying to cover up your embarrassment. “take a picture, it’ll last longer, pervert.”
“deadass?”
you glare, feeling totally self-conscious, despite the fact that you had slipped on a pair of sweatpants under your skirt as soon as mr. genda had left the room.
“keep your nasty thoughts to yourself nicholas, before i throw this entire shelf of books down on your head.”
“ouch, so much violence in such a tiny person! how about you come down and stop pretending you’re actually going to read, before you send the entire library crashing down on us?”
you snort. of course he thought that: looks or academics, a girl could only be good at one. not to mention, you weren't even short.
“oh sorry, i forgot some of us actually enjoy being educated.”
then your eyes land on a familiar book spine, the breakfast club. oh how ironic.
“catch.”
nicholas barely has time to register the hardcover book barreling towards his skull before you jump down from the ladder, dusting yourself off as he barely saves himself from getting nicked in the eyebrow.
“trying to kill me?”
“shame i failed.”
you shrug, strutting back to your seat with your hands clasped behind your back. nicholas watches you go, trying to ignore the tent now pitched in his pants, your stupid book still in hand. god, he wanted to strangle you.
—
“have you ever had sex?”
you roll your eyes, looking up at the ceiling. trying to read had been an absolute fail, especially with nicholas constantly finding new shapes to make with paper to throw at your head and the intoxicating cloud of cologne and smoke that seemed to follow you no matter where you tried to sit. ever the wonderful influence, nicholas had convinced taki to smoke a blunt with him, the singular open window doing nothing to ventilate the smell. you were shocked mr. genda hadn’t come storming in yet; with any luck, he’d given up on you lot and gone home. and maybe you were getting high off of the secondhand smoke, because in what other world would you be stretched out on the floor with the rest of them under the giant skylight in the center of the library, having this sham of a heart-to-heart?
three more hours, you sigh.
“i’m not going to discuss my personal life matters with complete strangers.”
“if you say you haven’t, you’re a prude. if you say you have, you’re a slut. it’s a double-edged sword,” taki offers off-handedly, higher than a kite. “or you’re a tease.”
“i’m not a tease!” you retort.
“you’d only be a tease if whatever you did gets a guy hot.” nicholas cuts you off flatly.
“i have no reason to get you hot,” you bite back sharply.
“who said anything about me?”
your jaw drops, then closes. for once, you’re left floundering like a fish, at a complete and total loss for words. taki giggles into his hoodie, though you can't tell if it's because of the piece of dust floating in front of him or not. euijoo, to his credit, looks straight down at his feet to avoid laughing out loud.
“god, can you guys just fuck already and save everyone the trouble of bearing witness to your romantic sparring?” kei groans, laying back flat onto the floor. “it’s so tiring listening to you guys, seriously!”
you glare back at nicholas, just now noticing that at some point during your verbal spar, you’d gotten so close that your knees were touching. but you? curse you, you didn’t move, refusing to give even an inch.
“as if i’d fuck you,” you hiss with as much disgust as you can muster.
nicholas meets your gaze, leaning forward with that stupid smirk of his.
“of course not! little miss rapunzel wouldn’t want to dirty her pretty hands with a poor gutter rat like me, right?”
you shove him away, offended.
“i’ve literally never said you were a gutter rat! and stop calling me a princess! what’s it matter to you, what i think anyway?”
really, you ought to stab your pencil straight through one of his eyeballs.
“not everything is about you! you prance around the school with your chest puffed out, treating everything and everyone like just some big fucking joke—"
“CHRIST, you piss me off! poor little y/n, god forbid the day comes when you experience the tiniest droplet of suffering. the school might just shut down without our princess here in perfect condition to govern the hallways of sunshine city.”
nicholas stands up, staring down at you.
“those earrings, they’re real diamonds, aren’t they? bet you've never worked a day in your life—"
“can you quit?!!”
“i bet my entire stash that mommy and daddy paid a pretty penny for those. gee, i bet they’d—”
“SHUT UP!”
“that’s right, get angry princess. throw a little tantrum, see who comes to rescue you then! because poor, poor y/n—”
SLAP!
your chest heaves with anger, your vision going black the longer you stare at nicholas. you could never understand him—why he acted so mean and hateful towards you, yet you always caught him staring at you from around the corner, or when he thought you weren’t looking. why he teased you relentlessly with that stupid nickname, yet had shoved an umbrella into your hands the day you'd forgotten one. why he verbally flayed you to insanity almost daily, yet had landed himself and euijoo in detention after beating someone to a pulp for calling you a ‘prissy bitch.’
he stares back at you, jaw clenched, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.
“you don’t know a fucking thing about me nicholas,” you seethe, resisting the urge to slap the other cheek while you were at it. “go fuck yourself.”
kei whistles lowly, watching you disappear between the shelves. taki watches with wide eyes, mercifully silent. euijoo shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest.
“damn, man. you fucked up.”
“shut up juju, i don’t have time for your shit too.”
“god, you are so emotionally constipated nicholas!” kei wheezes with all the exasperation of an auntie watching the climax of her favorite soap opera. “everyone in the whole school knows that you like each other! sure, she’s a diva. but everybody knows that, she’s never denied it. remember when she flipped her shit on yuma during p.e for breaking her nail?”
“and you know damn well that she’s never treated you as less than her,” euijoo chimes in, piling on insult to injury. “you know i have your back but to be fair, you started acting like an asshole first. you just gotta get over that shit complex of yours, man, and stop being the insufferable prick everyone thinks you are."
"besides, what her family did has nothing to do with her," taki adds, suddenly all-too-aware for nicholas' liking.
nicholas exhales, letting the cloud of cancerous smoke fill his lungs. he knew you had no idea. no idea that your family had ruined his on the very first day of freshman year when your father became mayor and bulldozed the trailer park in favor of a parking lot. actually, you’d been nice that day, all cute smiles and pink bows in your hair, holding your hand out to him to introduce yourself as the new kid around the block. oh, but he remembered you. the girl who'd given him the scar on his arm before daddy went and got rich and moved you all to the other side of town. and with only one high school in grey city, everyone from both sides of the tracks came together.
in anger, he’d slapped your hand away, had spit at the ground by your feet for good measure. then shouldered past you, and spent the last three years of high school taunting you, his insults all bark with no real bite. fast forward to now, october of senior year. he looks towards the stacks where you’d disappeared.
who cares if they had a point.
“what the fuck do you want, nicholas?”
and suddenly, looking at your form huddled up in a ball in that dusty corner of the library, nicholas feels incredibly guilty. suddenly, he’s acutely aware that this time, maybe he’s gone too far and crossed that invisible line in the ground.
“i genuinely don’t understand how you can be best friends with euijoo, of all people, and still be such a douche.” you laugh bitterly, keeping your face turned away so he wouldn’t see the tears running down your cheeks. “you guys have been friends for years and yet, you’re still as much of a dickhead as when i first met you. don’t you care what people say about you?”
“not really, no,” nicholas answers. “the people who really matter know who i am, so who cares what everyone else thinks?”
you can’t answer. not without sounding like a complete hypocrite anyway—your appearance and personality perfectly tailored to survive the shark-infested waters of high school. nowadays you had no idea who you were anymore, beneath the fake smiles and magazine-worthy outfits. you’d always envied nicholas, even if you would rather die than admit it aloud. he was a prick no matter how you looked at him, yet was so confident in his own skin. in the clothes he wore. in the way he carried himself. whereas you doubted yourself every single step of the way, feeling like the world's biggest imposter.
“that sounds really nice actually,” you say, almost as if you hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “not giving a fuck about meeting expectations.”
“y/n—"
“i’m not lying,” you laugh. “i can see that you're not inherently the spawn of satan, contrary to this evil she-demon idea of me you have cooked up in that brain of yours. and i know, you know.”
“i—“
“and it’s so fucked up, kicking hundreds of people from their homes for a piece of depressing asphalt.” you stare out the window, and his mouth parts.
beautiful, he thinks.
“i know you think i’m some spoiled, rich bitch. and you’re right, i am spoiled. my family is rich. and i am a bitch. but i do care about people, regardless of what you think. i do have moral standards and i hate what my family’s done. i hate what we stand for. i didn’t ask to be their daughter anymore than you asked for your home to get torn down.”
you pause, looking back at him properly.
"you don't have to believe me, but, i really am sorry. about everything."
nicholas’ eyes widen at your words. who would’ve thunk it?
you look down at your hands, not surprised at all that nicholas has nothing to say. it was true, that your family had destroyed the lives of so many. you remember the first time you'd met nicholas, not knowing a thing about what had happened. as soon as he'd spit at you, you'd kicked him in the nuts, writing him off immediately as someone you could never befriend. but then you'd recognized that scar, the one you'd given to your old neighbor. even then, you refused to back down, rising to meet nicholas at every challenge. too bad it'd only taken over three years for you to suck up your pride and apologize. maybe you would've had a more peaceful high school career.
“look, y/n. i’m sorry.”
“for what, nicholas?” you scoff, suddenly exhausted. “you’ve had no problem being a dick to me for the past three years, what’s changed?”
nicholas stays silent, unable to answer you. instead he sits down in front of you, the tips of his shoes kissing yours. you don’t move away, still refusing to back down, eyes locked on his.
“you.”
your heart hammers against your chest with every second that nicholas stares at you, tongue darting out to wet your lips. he says nothing, but his eyes follow your action anyway.
“what’s that supposed to mean?”
“you drive me crazy, y/n. you've driven me absolutely insane since the day we first met and you smiled at me with your uniform all perfectly pressed and those stupid ribbons in your hair."
he cuts off, brushing a hand through his already-tousled hair.
"you think i don’t know the real reason you ended up here? we both know little miss honor roll didn’t skip class to go shopping.”
you stiffen, eyes wider than a deer caught in headlights. tentatively, nicholas reaches out, rolling up the sleeve of your hoodie to reveal bruised knuckles. his thumb brushes against them, and you wince, unable to stop yourself. but to your surprise, he bends his head and you watch him kiss each one, slowly, as if each kiss were its own apology.
“people can say whatever they want about me, but don’t you dare ever get hurt because of me again, got it?”
you huff, looking away, embarrassed to have been caught. your hand tingles in your lap, nicholas' hand still holding yours. you didn’t know he knew, didn’t know that anyone had known. but to be fair, jennie had had it coming, ranting about trailer park trash and how they didn’t belong at your school. last thing you remembered was her saying something about people like nicholas dirtying the school—now here you were, saturday detention.
“you, y/n, are so much more than the stuck-up sunshine city princess you pretend to be. you think no one notices that you float around in the top scorers, just low enough so that people don’t notice? or that you deliberately slow down next to old people in the crosswalk to make sure they don’t get hurt? or that you can throw a wicked left hook? well, i do.”
nicholas holds both your hands now, a disbelieving laugh on his lips.
“you want to get back at your family princess? give everyone the biggest middle finger?” his voice softens to a whisper, his breath ghosting the wisps of hairs against your forehead. “it would be a disservice if i didn't offer myself as an accessory, don't you think?”
“i could be convinced,” you offer, mentally cursing at your heart to slow down as nicholas leans closer.
“the deadbeat criminal and the perfect queen bee, what a disaster.”
“a train wreck,” you whisper, lips slightly parted.
“a catastrophe,” nicholas closes the distance, his lips pressed to yours. "use me princess, any way you like."
years of mutual dislike and pining all collide into one singular point of contact where your lips meet his. and if anyone had asked either of you how it started, neither of you would have a clue how to answer. your hand finds his tie, yanking him closer, the other on the hard muscle of his chest. his hands encircle your waist, as if anchoring your body against his. you pull away with a quiet gasp, breathing hard.
“nichol—"
“ahem.”
the two of you jump apart, embarrassment tinging your ears as you come face-to-face with taki, who clearly looks grossed-out and like he just lost two rounds of rock-paper-scissors.
“mr. genda’s gone, so uhhh. yeah i’m leaving. happy first day to the horny new couple!”
nicholas hauls you to your feet, and straight into his arms to steal another kiss. giggling, you push him off, only to drag him out the library doors by his tie. you pass euijoo, who’s scribbling away on a piece of paper, a crumpled one by his feet. you smile as you step outside, the warmth of sunshine and smell of fresh air seemingly enough to fix all of your problems. nicholas stops you just before the stairs, practically high on the taste of your lip gloss and the scent of your perfume. now that he'd gotten a taste, the idea of your lips not on his? criminal.
“see you monday?” you ask breathlessly, untangling your fingers from his.
“your wish is my command, princess,” nicholas smiles to himself, bending in a mock bow to kiss your hand. “better go though, before harua bounces his way out the roof of your car.”
you turn around, cheeks warming at the sight of your little brother making kissy faces at you through the window, a shit-eating grin on his face that promised a barrage of questions.
“he’ll live.” you reach up, fiddling with the back clasp of your earring.
smiling cheekily, you place the earring in his palm. diamond, just like he’d said.
“don’t you forget.”
nicholas laughs, bending to give you a peck on the cheek. his eyes catch on the sight of his necklace resting on the groove between your collarbones, and a proud smile makes its way across his features. good, it belonged there.
“wouldn’t dream of it.”
nicholas closes your door, watching you and harua drive away with a fool’s grin plastered on his features. euijoo comes out laughing, pointing out nicholas’s now-tomato-red cheeks.
“DUDE.”
“shut up.”
“i didn’t even say anything!”
“didn’t you have an essay to write?”
nicholas grumbles, securing the earring. euijoo waves him off with a flick of the wrist, arm thrown carelessly across nicholas’ shoulders as they set off for home.
“dear mr. genda,
we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. what we did was wrong, but we think you’re crazy to make us write an essay telling you who you think we are. what do you care? you see us as you want to see us, in the simplest terms, with the most convenient definitions. but really, each one of us is a brain… an athlete… a princess… a theater geek… and a criminal. does that answer your question?”
pairing: &team teenage dirtbag!nicholas x queen bee!reader ft. &team kei, euijoo, taki, harua
⋆.˚ ☾ wc: 4.1k
⋆.˚ ☾ synopsis: you, the queen of sunshine city high school had somehow landed in saturday detention. with the brain. the athlete. the theater geek. and him, the boy you hadn't yet decided if you wanted to strangle.. or kiss <3?
⋆.˚ ☾ warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, rude humor, fluff, a hint of suggestiveness but no smut, high school rejects teenage dirtbag behavior, wrong side of the tracks dynamic, cursing, smoking
⋆.˚ ☾ a/n: breakfast club inspo!! also no hate to anyone in the education field, more power to you fr. hope you enjoy it♡
⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊━━━━☆━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊
“mom is so going to beat your ass when she gets back from her business trip tomorrow.”
“gee ru, THANKS!”
you hiss, elbowing your idiotic little brother in the shoulder. harua just laughs at you, tongue stuck out, looking all too proud in the driver seat for someone who’s only had their license for three days. and you can’t even blame him because somehow, you, the princess of sunshine city high school, are the one who’s stuck going to saturday detention.
“i can’t believe dad couldn’t get me out of this,” you groan, slowly dragging yourself out of the passenger seat. “and on saturday! i was supposed to be at the mall—”
“no offense sis, but skipping class to go shopping is the whole reason you’re in detention anyway.”
“whatever,” you roll your eyes, slamming the car door shut. “be a good little minion and get me a milk tea when you pick me up later.”
“um, no? why would i spend a penny on you when—"
“i’ll get you a pack of whichever blind box set—“
“deal.”
with a satisfied smirk, you strut towards the distasteful library, and take a seat in the chair closest to the door while the others slowly file in.
the brain,
the athlete,
the theater geek,
and him.
“well, well, well.”
principal genda strides in through the library doors, hands deep in his pockets.
“i want to congratulate you all for being on time. that's a first! for the next seven hours and fifty-four minutes, you will not talk. you will not sleep. you will not leave this room.”
he sets a piece of paper down in front of each of you, along with a pencil that looks like it’s been kicked around the floor of the library for the last fifty years.
“you will write an essay of no less than one thousand words, describing to me who you think you are.”
“excuse me, mr. genda,” euijoo’s hand goes up in the air. “with all due respect, i have my sat scheduled next week and—“
“should’ve thought about that before you and your buddy over there decided to get into fight.”
you cough, trying to smother back your laughter. you'd rather kill yourself than parade around like an arrogant cockatoo in front of a group of misbehaving teenagers for a living. like seriously, how does one become a high school principal and continue to live life happily?
“my office is right down the hall. any misconduct from you little brats is extremely ill-advised. i'll be watching.”
as soon as the library doors slam shut in a cloud of decades-old-book-dust, you whip around in your seat.
“do you mind?” you hiss, eyes narrowed on the one and only nicholas wang, who has yet to stop kicking your chair since mr. genda first walked in the room.
“sorry princess,” he leans forward, that stupid holier-than-thou smirk across his face. “didn’t think i’d ever see you here. you know, with all of us, riff raff.”
you sniff, having enough sense to stay silent and feel a bit of shame at your own words being thrown back in your face. you’d been complaining to your best friend, yunjin, yesterday about the impending doom of saturday detention. unsurprisingly, kei and taki were kicked back in their own chairs, not a scribble to be found on the sheets of paper in front of them.
“c’mon nichol,” taki groans from his corner of the room. “just shut up so i can sleep, please?”
nicholas says nothing, and the room falls into silence, save for the book thrown straight at taki's head. you sigh immediately, pretending to write on your paper as the book lands with an echoing thud. as if on cue, mr. genda's head peeps in.
“hey shitbags. QUIT IT!”
“sorry mr. genda!” nicholas calls cheekily, though his eyes don’t move from your rigid posture. the way your hair falls down your back. the curve of your neck. the hint of a tattoo poking out from under your collar. “juju is just such a klutz!”
from beside you, euijoo huffs in annoyance, already having scribbled enough word vomit to look like a decent essay. oh, how you'd kill to have his brain. and then you take a peek at his paper.
scoff.
call it a hot take or whatever, but byun euijoo, with his round eyes and soft smile, wasn't really all that smart. the guy could simply bullshit his way through everything terrifyingly well. and for as long as you'd been alive, he'd been the boy next door—your first crush actually. in a different world, maybe he'd have been the man you married, with two kids, a minivan, and a white picket fence. exactly the kind of man your parents wanted you to marry. but no, he was too vanilla for your taste, too soft to withstand your sharp tongue and nasty temper. yet someway, somehow, he was best friends with nicholas, the boy who had no problem lighting a fire under your ass and seeing how far you’d fly.
"hey princess," nicholas whispers. “now’s your chance to be a bad girl, want a puff?”
you roll your eyes, covering your nose with your sleeve as the smell of cigarette smoke wafts through the stacks. you were beyond bored out of your mind, but you’d take detention over suspension any day, so here you were, a pencil holding up your hair, walking between the stacks to find anything that could possibly entertain you for the next few hours.
nicholas leans on a shelf, watching you, that damned nicotine stick between his lips. you look between his eyes and the cig, whipping around when you realize you’ve been staring for too long. you weren’t blind; he wasn’t half-bad to look at, all angry eyes and downturned lips. his blouse is rumpled, tie loosened, a track jacket half-zipped around his shoulders, a silver ball in his eyebrow. his sleeves are rolled up, leaving the scar on his arm on total display. the gossip mill went wild about that one—a shootout with the cops, gang initiation, murder, bank robbery gone wrong, etc. the average high school mind truly had no limits. but you knew the real story—well actually, it’d kinda been your fault. just a bunch of kindergarteners playing king of the hill on the playground when you had sent nicholas toppling into the chain link fence, claiming victory.
“i don’t want lung cancer, idiot,” you reply matter-of-factly, climbing onto the ladder. “or your saliva anywhere near me. you really should think about these things, you know. i don’t know how you—" you cut off with a small scream, the ladder wobbling beneath you.
“nice ass, princess,” nicholas stares up at you with that stupid smile, hands planted firmly on the ladder to steady you.
“ha ha,” you cough, trying to cover up your embarrassment. “take a picture, it’ll last longer, pervert.”
“deadass?”
you glare, feeling totally self-conscious, despite the fact that you had slipped on a pair of sweatpants under your skirt as soon as mr. genda had left the room.
“keep your nasty thoughts to yourself nicholas, before i throw this entire shelf of books down on your head.”
“ouch, so much violence in such a tiny person! how about you come down and stop pretending you’re actually going to read, before you send the entire library crashing down on us?”
you snort. of course he thought that: looks or academics, a girl could only be good at one. not to mention, you weren't even short.
“oh sorry, i forgot some of us actually enjoy being educated.”
then your eyes land on a familiar book spine, the breakfast club. oh how ironic.
“catch.”
nicholas barely has time to register the hardcover book barreling towards his skull before you jump down from the ladder, dusting yourself off as he barely saves himself from getting nicked in the eyebrow.
“trying to kill me?”
“shame i failed.”
you shrug, strutting back to your seat with your hands clasped behind your back. nicholas watches you go, trying to ignore the tent now pitched in his pants, your stupid book still in hand. god, he wanted to strangle you.
—
“have you ever had sex?”
you roll your eyes, looking up at the ceiling. trying to read had been an absolute fail, especially with nicholas constantly finding new shapes to make with paper to throw at your head and the intoxicating cloud of cologne and smoke that seemed to follow you no matter where you tried to sit. ever the wonderful influence, nicholas had convinced taki to smoke a blunt with him, the singular open window doing nothing to ventilate the smell. you were shocked mr. genda hadn’t come storming in yet; with any luck, he’d given up on you lot and gone home. and maybe you were getting high off of the secondhand smoke, because in what other world would you be stretched out on the floor with the rest of them under the giant skylight in the center of the library, having this sham of a heart-to-heart?
three more hours, you sigh.
“i’m not going to discuss my personal life matters with complete strangers.”
“if you say you haven’t, you’re a prude. if you say you have, you’re a slut. it’s a double-edged sword,” taki offers off-handedly, higher than a kite. “or you’re a tease.”
“i’m not a tease!” you retort.
“you’d only be a tease if whatever you did gets a guy hot.” nicholas cuts you off flatly.
“i have no reason to get you hot,” you bite back sharply.
“who said anything about me?”
your jaw drops, then closes. for once, you’re left floundering like a fish, at a complete and total loss for words. taki giggles into his hoodie, though you can't tell if it's because of the piece of dust floating in front of him or not. euijoo, to his credit, looks straight down at his feet to avoid laughing out loud.
“god, can you guys just fuck already and save everyone the trouble of bearing witness to your romantic sparring?” kei groans, laying back flat onto the floor. “it’s so tiring listening to you guys, seriously!”
you glare back at nicholas, just now noticing that at some point during your verbal spar, you’d gotten so close that your knees were touching. but you? curse you, you didn’t move, refusing to give even an inch.
“as if i’d fuck you,” you hiss with as much disgust as you can muster.
nicholas meets your gaze, leaning forward with that stupid smirk of his.
“of course not! little miss rapunzel wouldn’t want to dirty her pretty hands with a poor gutter rat like me, right?”
you shove him away, offended.
“i’ve literally never said you were a gutter rat! and stop calling me a princess! what’s it matter to you, what i think anyway?”
really, you ought to stab your pencil straight through one of his eyeballs.
“not everything is about you! you prance around the school with your chest puffed out, treating everything and everyone like just some big fucking joke—"
“CHRIST, you piss me off! poor little y/n, god forbid the day comes when you experience the tiniest droplet of suffering. the school might just shut down without our princess here in perfect condition to govern the hallways of sunshine city.”
nicholas stands up, staring down at you.
“those earrings, they’re real diamonds, aren’t they? bet you've never worked a day in your life—"
“can you quit?!!”
“i bet my entire stash that mommy and daddy paid a pretty penny for those. gee, i bet they’d—”
“SHUT UP!”
“that’s right, get angry princess. throw a little tantrum, see who comes to rescue you then! because poor, poor y/n—”
SLAP!
your chest heaves with anger, your vision going black the longer you stare at nicholas. you could never understand him—why he acted so mean and hateful towards you, yet you always caught him staring at you from around the corner, or when he thought you weren’t looking. why he teased you relentlessly with that stupid nickname, yet had shoved an umbrella into your hands the day you'd forgotten one. why he verbally flayed you to insanity almost daily, yet had landed himself and euijoo in detention after beating someone to a pulp for calling you a ‘prissy bitch.’
he stares back at you, jaw clenched, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.
“you don’t know a fucking thing about me nicholas,” you seethe, resisting the urge to slap the other cheek while you were at it. “go fuck yourself.”
kei whistles lowly, watching you disappear between the shelves. taki watches with wide eyes, mercifully silent. euijoo shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest.
“damn, man. you fucked up.”
“shut up juju, i don’t have time for your shit too.”
“god, you are so emotionally constipated nicholas!” kei wheezes with all the exasperation of an auntie watching the climax of her favorite soap opera. “everyone in the whole school knows that you like each other! sure, she’s a diva. but everybody knows that, she’s never denied it. remember when she flipped her shit on yuma during p.e for breaking her nail?”
“and you know damn well that she’s never treated you as less than her,” euijoo chimes in, piling on insult to injury. “you know i have your back but to be fair, you started acting like an asshole first. you just gotta get over that shit complex of yours, man, and stop being the insufferable prick everyone thinks you are."
"besides, what her family did has nothing to do with her," taki adds, suddenly all-too-aware for nicholas' liking.
nicholas exhales, letting the cloud of cancerous smoke fill his lungs. he knew you had no idea. no idea that your family had ruined his on the very first day of freshman year when your father became mayor and bulldozed the trailer park in favor of a parking lot. actually, you’d been nice that day, all cute smiles and pink bows in your hair, holding your hand out to him to introduce yourself as the new kid around the block. oh, but he remembered you. the girl who'd given him the scar on his arm before daddy went and got rich and moved you all to the other side of town. and with only one high school in grey city, everyone from both sides of the tracks came together.
in anger, he’d slapped your hand away, had spit at the ground by your feet for good measure. then shouldered past you, and spent the last three years of high school taunting you, his insults all bark with no real bite. fast forward to now, october of senior year. he looks towards the stacks where you’d disappeared.
who cares if they had a point.
“what the fuck do you want, nicholas?”
and suddenly, looking at your form huddled up in a ball in that dusty corner of the library, nicholas feels incredibly guilty. suddenly, he’s acutely aware that this time, maybe he’s gone too far and crossed that invisible line in the ground.
“i genuinely don’t understand how you can be best friends with euijoo, of all people, and still be such a douche.” you laugh bitterly, keeping your face turned away so he wouldn’t see the tears running down your cheeks. “you guys have been friends for years and yet, you’re still as much of a dickhead as when i first met you. don’t you care what people say about you?”
“not really, no,” nicholas answers. “the people who really matter know who i am, so who cares what everyone else thinks?”
you can’t answer. not without sounding like a complete hypocrite anyway—your appearance and personality perfectly tailored to survive the shark-infested waters of high school. nowadays you had no idea who you were anymore, beneath the fake smiles and magazine-worthy outfits. you’d always envied nicholas, even if you would rather die than admit it aloud. he was a prick no matter how you looked at him, yet was so confident in his own skin. in the clothes he wore. in the way he carried himself. whereas you doubted yourself every single step of the way, feeling like the world's biggest imposter.
“that sounds really nice actually,” you say, almost as if you hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “not giving a fuck about meeting expectations.”
“y/n—"
“i’m not lying,” you laugh. “i can see that you're not inherently the spawn of satan, contrary to this evil she-demon idea of me you have cooked up in that brain of yours. and i know, you know.”
“i—“
“and it’s so fucked up, kicking hundreds of people from their homes for a piece of depressing asphalt.” you stare out the window, and his mouth parts.
beautiful, he thinks.
“i know you think i’m some spoiled, rich bitch. and you’re right, i am spoiled. my family is rich. and i am a bitch. but i do care about people, regardless of what you think. i do have moral standards and i hate what my family’s done. i hate what we stand for. i didn’t ask to be their daughter anymore than you asked for your home to get torn down.”
you pause, looking back at him properly.
"you don't have to believe me, but, i really am sorry. about everything."
nicholas’ eyes widen at your words. who would’ve thunk it?
you look down at your hands, not surprised at all that nicholas has nothing to say. it was true, that your family had destroyed the lives of so many. you remember the first time you'd met nicholas, not knowing a thing about what had happened. as soon as he'd spit at you, you'd kicked him in the nuts, writing him off immediately as someone you could never befriend. but then you'd recognized that scar, the one you'd given to your old neighbor. even then, you refused to back down, rising to meet nicholas at every challenge. too bad it'd only taken over three years for you to suck up your pride and apologize. maybe you would've had a more peaceful high school career.
“look, y/n. i’m sorry.”
“for what, nicholas?” you scoff, suddenly exhausted. “you’ve had no problem being a dick to me for the past three years, what’s changed?”
nicholas stays silent, unable to answer you. instead he sits down in front of you, the tips of his shoes kissing yours. you don’t move away, still refusing to back down, eyes locked on his.
“you.”
your heart hammers against your chest with every second that nicholas stares at you, tongue darting out to wet your lips. he says nothing, but his eyes follow your action anyway.
“what’s that supposed to mean?”
“you drive me crazy, y/n. you've driven me absolutely insane since the day we first met and you smiled at me with your uniform all perfectly pressed and those stupid ribbons in your hair."
he cuts off, brushing a hand through his already-tousled hair.
"you think i don’t know the real reason you ended up here? we both know little miss honor roll didn’t skip class to go shopping.”
you stiffen, eyes wider than a deer caught in headlights. tentatively, nicholas reaches out, rolling up the sleeve of your hoodie to reveal bruised knuckles. his thumb brushes against them, and you wince, unable to stop yourself. but to your surprise, he bends his head and you watch him kiss each one, slowly, as if each kiss were its own apology.
“people can say whatever they want about me, but don’t you dare ever get hurt because of me again, got it?”
you huff, looking away, embarrassed to have been caught. your hand tingles in your lap, nicholas' hand still holding yours. you didn’t know he knew, didn’t know that anyone had known. but to be fair, jennie had had it coming, ranting about trailer park trash and how they didn’t belong at your school. last thing you remembered was her saying something about people like nicholas dirtying the school—now here you were, saturday detention.
“you, y/n, are so much more than the stuck-up sunshine city princess you pretend to be. you think no one notices that you float around in the top scorers, just low enough so that people don’t notice? or that you deliberately slow down next to old people in the crosswalk to make sure they don’t get hurt? or that you can throw a wicked left hook? well, i do.”
nicholas holds both your hands now, a disbelieving laugh on his lips.
“you want to get back at your family princess? give everyone the biggest middle finger?” his voice softens to a whisper, his breath ghosting the wisps of hairs against your forehead. “it would be a disservice if i didn't offer myself as an accessory, don't you think?”
“i could be convinced,” you offer, mentally cursing at your heart to slow down as nicholas leans closer.
“the deadbeat criminal and the perfect queen bee, what a disaster.”
“a train wreck,” you whisper, lips slightly parted.
“a catastrophe,” nicholas closes the distance, his lips pressed to yours. "use me princess, any way you like."
years of mutual dislike and pining all collide into one singular point of contact where your lips meet his. and if anyone had asked either of you how it started, neither of you would have a clue how to answer. your hand finds his tie, yanking him closer, the other on the hard muscle of his chest. his hands encircle your waist, as if anchoring your body against his. you pull away with a quiet gasp, breathing hard.
“nichol—"
“ahem.”
the two of you jump apart, embarrassment tinging your ears as you come face-to-face with taki, who clearly looks grossed-out and like he just lost two rounds of rock-paper-scissors.
“mr. genda’s gone, so uhhh. yeah i’m leaving. happy first day to the horny new couple!”
nicholas hauls you to your feet, and straight into his arms to steal another kiss. giggling, you push him off, only to drag him out the library doors by his tie. you pass euijoo, who’s scribbling away on a piece of paper, a crumpled one by his feet. you smile as you step outside, the warmth of sunshine and smell of fresh air seemingly enough to fix all of your problems. nicholas stops you just before the stairs, practically high on the taste of your lip gloss and the scent of your perfume. now that he'd gotten a taste, the idea of your lips not on his? criminal.
“see you monday?” you ask breathlessly, untangling your fingers from his.
“your wish is my command, princess,” nicholas smiles to himself, bending in a mock bow to kiss your hand. “better go though, before harua bounces his way out the roof of your car.”
you turn around, cheeks warming at the sight of your little brother making kissy faces at you through the window, a shit-eating grin on his face that promised a barrage of questions.
“he’ll live.” you reach up, fiddling with the back clasp of your earring.
smiling cheekily, you place the earring in his palm. diamond, just like he’d said.
“don’t you forget.”
nicholas laughs, bending to give you a peck on the cheek. his eyes catch on the sight of his necklace resting on the groove between your collarbones, and a proud smile makes its way across his features. good, it belonged there.
“wouldn’t dream of it.”
nicholas closes your door, watching you and harua drive away with a fool’s grin plastered on his features. euijoo comes out laughing, pointing out nicholas’s now-tomato-red cheeks.
“DUDE.”
“shut up.”
“i didn’t even say anything!”
“didn’t you have an essay to write?”
nicholas grumbles, securing the earring. euijoo waves him off with a flick of the wrist, arm thrown carelessly across nicholas’ shoulders as they set off for home.
“dear mr. genda,
we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. what we did was wrong, but we think you’re crazy to make us write an essay telling you who you think we are. what do you care? you see us as you want to see us, in the simplest terms, with the most convenient definitions. but really, each one of us is a brain… an athlete… a princess… a theater geek… and a criminal. does that answer your question?”
Red Panda hybrid! Koga Yudai (K) x human! female reader
Wordcount ≈ 19.3k
Warnings: hybrid trafficking, abuse, captivity, forced fighting, injury, blood, references to neglect/abandonment, angst, I think that’s it.
Taglist: @voucearse
Thank you so much for the request! I hope you’ll enjoy it! I decided to make K a red panda in this one, and then for the hybrid series, he’ll be something else! He’s just so dramatic and cute, and so he’s perfect as a red panda! I’m also sorry that it took so long to write this one! But I’ve been so focused on the werewolf series and everything that this ended up being pushed to the back of my mind for a while.
Please reblog, like, and comment if you enjoyed this!
(Y/n) took a slow, steady breath as she smoothed the fabric of her dress over her hips, the rich wine-red catching the soft light of the room. The material felt heavier than what she was used to wearing on missions, less practical, more… exposed. On the other side of the curtain, Nicholas kept talking, his voice low but constant, like he was trying to anchor himself as much as her. “Entry is at 7,” he said, pacing by the sound of it. “We stick together and get a read on the layout. Reports say the hybrids are part of the second act. That gives us time to scope exits, security, and any holding areas backstage.” (Y/n) closed her eyes for a second, letting his words settle. “And if we confirm a sale?” she asked, pulling the curtain aside as she stepped out. Nicholas turned toward her mid-sentence, then stopped. For a moment, he just stared. “Right,” he said, clearing his throat quickly, though his ears had gone slightly pink. “If we confirm a sale, we signal it in. Code amber first, then escalate if needed. We do not engage unless we have backup.”
(Y/n) raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “You forgot the part where you tell me not to start a fight.” “You always start the fight despite my warnings not to,” he shot back, though there was no real bite to it. “Only when you’re too slow,” she said lightly, stepping closer. Now that she was in front of him, she noticed the slight crookedness of his tie. It sat just off-center, like it had been adjusted one too many times. “Nicholas,” she sighed, reaching up. “Hold still.” “I can fix it,” he muttered, though he didn’t move. “Clearly.” Her fingers worked carefully, straightening the knot, smoothing it down with a practiced ease. Up close, she could see the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders were just a little too stiff. “You hate this,” she said quietly. “I hate pretending we belong somewhere like this,” he replied. His eyes flicked to hers. “People sipping champagne while others are being sold ten feet away.”
(Y/n) finished adjusting the tie and gave it a small, satisfied pat. “That’s why we’re here.” He exhaled, some of the tension easing out of him. “Yeah. I know.” For a brief second, neither of them moved. The noise of the city outside filtered faintly through the windows, distant and indifferent. Then she stepped back, giving him a once-over. “You clean up well,” she said. He huffed a quiet laugh. “Don’t get used to it.” “No promises.” Nicholas straightened his jacket, rolling his shoulders like he was settling into a different version of himself. “You ready?” (Y/n) glanced at her reflection, at the woman in the mirror who looked like she belonged at a high-end gala instead of an undercover operation. Then she looked back at him, her expression sharpening just slightly. “Always,” she said.
The moment they stepped inside, the air changed. Warm light spilled from crystal chandeliers, catching on polished marble floors and glittering glass. The place smelled faintly of citrus and expensive perfume, layered over something harder to place, something just slightly off if you paid attention long enough. Guests moved in slow, deliberate currents, laughter soft and controlled, every gesture measured. (Y/n) slipped her arm through Nicholas’s as if it belonged there. “Remember,” she murmured under her breath, her lips barely moving, “you’re insufferable.” Nicholas gave a quiet hum of agreement. “I thought that was just my natural state.” She fought the urge to smile.
They approached the bar, where Nicholas ordered drinks without even glancing at the menu. The bartender nodded immediately, like he recognized the type. Moments later, two glasses were placed in front of them, simple soda with lime, dressed up like something far more extravagant. Nicholas took a slow sip, then made a faintly unimpressed face. “Too sweet, they never get these things right,” he said just loud enough for the couple beside them to hear. (Y/n) followed his lead, glancing around the room with thinly veiled disinterest. Anyone who passed a little too close got a fleeting look of mild annoyance, as if their presence alone was an inconvenience.
Time stretched. Conversations drifted in and out around them. Laughter, footsteps, the clink of glass. Then, finally, a shift. A man approached after observing them for a while. Middle-aged, well-dressed, the kind of person who blended in until he chose not to. His smile was polite, but his eyes were sharp, assessing. “Good evening,” he greeted smoothly. Nicholas didn’t even look at him at first. He let a beat pass, then another, before exhaling softly through his nose like the interruption itself was exhausting. Only then did he turn slightly toward (Y/n), his tone dripping with casual dismissal.
“Darling,” he said, “shouldn’t we be moving along? The performance is about to begin, and I would hate for you to miss it.” (Y/n) tilted her head just enough, as if the thought had only just occurred to her. “Oh, yes,” she replied, her voice light and airy. “I’ve been looking forward to this all evening.” They began to turn away. The man’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it sharpened. “Well,” he said, almost amused, “if the lady is so interested… perhaps we could invite you both to something a bit more… exclusive after the main performance.” That made them pause. Slowly, they turned back. “A closer look at the performers,” he added, lowering his voice just enough to suggest secrecy without losing clarity.
For a fraction of a second, something flickered in Nicholas’s expression. Interest, carefully measured. He glanced at (Y/n), leaning in as if to whisper, though his voice carried just enough. “What do you say, dear?” (Y/n) let the silence linger, as if weighing something trivial rather than dangerous. Her fingers traced lightly along the rim of her glass before she finally looked at the man again, a small, pleased smile forming. “We’d love to.” The man’s grin turned unmistakably wicked, satisfaction slipping through the cracks of his polished demeanor. From inside his jacket, he produced a small, elegant flyer, darker than the others scattered around the venue, embossed with subtle gold lettering. He held it out. “Consider this your invitation,” he said.
Nicholas took it between two fingers, barely glancing at it before slipping it into his pocket like it meant nothing. “Charming,” he replied. The man gave a slight nod, then stepped back into the crowd as smoothly as he had appeared, disappearing among silk dresses and tailored suits. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, quietly, (Y/n) exhaled. “Well. That was easy.” Nicholas’s gaze tracked the direction the man had gone, his expression sharpening beneath the mask. “Too easy.” (Y/n) tilted her head, her voice dropping just enough to lose the snob’s lilt. “You think it’s a test?” “I think,” he said, adjusting his cuff as if nothing had changed, “we just got exactly what we came for.”
He glanced at her, something steadier in his eyes now. “Which usually means it’s about to get worse.” (Y/n)’s smile didn’t fade. “And to think,” she said softly. “I was starting to get bored.” They found their seats among rows of velvet and gold, the kind of arrangement meant to make every guest feel important. From here, the entire ring was visible, bathed in warm light that felt almost too bright, like it was trying to distract from something lurking just out of sight.
(Y/n) adjusted the fall of her dress as she sat, her posture effortless, composed. Beneath that calm, her fingers moved quickly over her phone, shielded by the table and her body. Got invite. Possible access after main act. Delay expected. Stay ready, await the signal. She hit send and slipped the phone away just as the lights began to dim. A hush fell over the crowd. Then a spotlight snapped on.
The man from before stood at the center of the ring, transformed. Gone was the polished guest. In his place stood a showman, dressed in deep reds and golds, his posture grand, his smile wider, theatrical. Nicholas leaned just slightly toward her. “Subtle,” he muttered. (Y/n) didn’t take her eyes off the ring. “I hate him already.” The man spread his arms, voice booming as he welcomed the audience. Applause followed, eager and polished, as if everyone already knew their role in the performance. At first, it was exactly what it claimed to be. Trapeze artists swung high above, their movements precise and effortless. A pair of clowns stumbled through exaggerated routines that earned polite laughter. A man in a tailored coat guided a group of horses through elegant patterns, the animals stepping in perfect rhythm as they leapt over low bars.
(Y/n) let her gaze drift, scanning exits, counting guards, noting the subtle ways certain staff watched the audience instead of the performers. “Too many on the east side,” she murmured. Nicholas gave a faint nod. “And the doors behind the ring are reinforced. Not for show.” Everything about it felt staged, not just the acts, but the normalcy itself. Like a mask pulled too tight. Then the shift came. The lights dimmed again, slower this time. The music changed, losing its playful tone, sinking into something heavier. The ringmaster stepped forward once more, his grin stretching wider.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he called, his voice rich with anticipation, “you have seen talent. You have seen beauty.” He paused, letting the silence build. “But now… you will witness something far more rare.” (Y/n)’s stomach tightened. “Monsters,” he said. A murmur rippled through the crowd. Not fear. Excitement. Cages were rolled out into the ring. Metal scraped against the floor, the sound harsh and real against the polished performance. Inside the first cage, small hands gripped the bars. (Y/n)’s breath caught.
A bunny hybrid. Small. Too small. Her ears trembled, pressed tight against her head as she shrank back into the corner. Her wide eyes darted across the crowd, searching for something, anything. “Jesus…” Nicholas whispered under his breath. (Y/n)’s fingers curled tightly against her palm, nails biting into skin. “Stay focused,” he added quietly, though his own voice had lost some of its steadiness. Another cage was dragged out. This one shook. When the door opened, the lion hybrid stumbled forward, catching himself with a low, unsteady growl. He was larger, powerful even in his weakened state, but it was impossible to miss how thin he was. His ribs showed sharply beneath his skin, his movements just slightly off, like his body was running on nothing but instinct.
(Y/n)’s throat tightened. “No…” The crowd leaned in. The ringmaster raised a hand, reveling in the moment. “Observe,” he said softly. The lion’s gaze snapped to the bunny. For a second, nothing happened. Then instinct took over. He lunged. (Y/n)’s entire body tensed, every muscle screaming to move, to stop it, to do something. The bunny let out a small, broken sound as she tried to scramble away, her movements panicked, uncoordinated. “Don’t,” Nicholas murmured, his hand closing tightly around hers. “I can’t just sit here,” she whispered, her voice shaking despite herself. “You have to,” he said, firmer now, though his grip tightened as the scene unfolded. The lion closed the distance in seconds. He pounced. The impact knocked the bunny to the ground, a sharp cry tearing from her as claws scraped across her side. The lion snapped, teeth grazing, then biting down just enough to draw blood.
The audience reacted. Some gasped, others laughed. (Y/n)’s vision blurred for a split second, rage burning hot and immediate in her chest. Her hand clenched painfully in Nicholas’s, grounding her just enough to keep her from standing. “Not yet,” he said under his breath. “If we blow this now, we lose all of them.” The words landed, heavy and awful. In the ring, handlers rushed in, pulling the lion back with practiced efficiency. He struggled weakly, snarling, still trying to reach the bunny even as they dragged him away. The bunny didn’t move at first. Then, slowly, she curled in on herself, trembling. The ringmaster stepped forward again, completely unfazed, his smile never wavering. “And that,” he said smoothly, “is only the beginning.”
(Y/n) swallowed hard, forcing her expression back into something neutral, something that matched the rest of the crowd. But her grip on Nicholas’s hand didn’t loosen. “Later,” she whispered, her voice barely there. “We’re ending this later.” Nicholas didn’t look at her, his gaze fixed on the ring. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “We are.” The applause came too quickly after the previous act, like the crowd needed to drown out what they had just seen. (Y/n) forced her hands to move, slow and measured, joining in just enough to blend in. Her palms felt cold despite the heat in the room. “Psychotic,” she muttered under her breath.
Nicholas didn’t respond right away. His jaw was tight, his gaze fixed forward. “Document everything,” he said quietly. “Faces, reactions, who’s enjoying this.” The cages were cleared, the blood on the floor barely addressed before the next setup began. Poles rose. Ropes tightened. The trapeze equipment creaked as it was adjusted into place high above the ring again. Then they brought them out. Two domestic cat hybrids. Older than the bunny, but not by much. Their ears were pinned low, tails twitching with barely contained fear. One of them hesitated at the edge of the platform, looking down at the empty space beneath them. There was no net.
(Y/n)’s stomach dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding me…” Nicholas’s voice was tight. “They removed it.” The ringmaster’s voice rang out again, cheerful, delighted. “A test of grace under pressure.” The bar was lowered. Flames caught along its length. A collective murmur passed through the audience, this time edged with excitement. (Y/n)’s fingers curled into her dress. “This isn’t a performance. It’s torture.” The cat hybrids exchanged a quick glance. Something passed between them, fear, understanding, maybe both. Then one of them stepped forward. Slowly, carefully, they reached for the bar. The moment their hands closed around it, they flinched. The reaction was immediate. Muscles tensed, shoulders jerked, a sharp inhale that never quite became a scream. But they held on. They had to.
“Don’t look,” Nicholas murmured. “I’m not looking away,” (Y/n) shot back, her voice barely above a whisper. The second hybrid followed, biting down hard enough that (Y/n) could see the strain in their jaw even from a distance. The smell of burning hit again, sharper this time. Then they moved. Swinging from one bar to the next, every motion precise despite the pain. Their hands burned with each grip, but they didn’t hesitate. Couldn’t hesitate. The crowd watched, rapt. Some even clapped along. (Y/n) felt something twist painfully in her chest. “They’re going to fall,” she said, almost to herself. “They won’t,” Nicholas replied, though it sounded more like hope than certainty. “They know what happens if they do.”
The act ended without a fall. The moment their feet hit the platform again, both hybrids staggered, hands shaking violently, but they stayed upright. Applause erupted. Louder this time. (Y/n) clapped again, slower now, her expression carefully neutral. Inside, it felt like something was splintering. “Just a little longer,” Nicholas said under his breath. She nodded once. The final act began. Three figures were led into the ring. A wolf. A fox. And a red panda. The difference was immediate. They stood straighter. Their movements were smoother, less hesitant. When the music started, they moved with it, stepping into a coordinated routine that almost looked… natural.
The red panda even smiled. (Y/n)’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Do you see that?” Nicholas leaned back just enough to watch more closely. “Yeah. They’re not reacting like the others.” The wolf spun, landing lightly before helping the fox into a controlled flip. The red panda followed with a series of quick, playful movements, earning a ripple of genuine laughter from the crowd. It looked polished. Rehearsed. Almost willing. “Conditioned?” (Y/n) murmured. “Or rewarded,” Nicholas said. “Better treatment for better performance.” (Y/n)’s gaze flicked across the audience. That’s when she noticed it.
Small movements. Subtle. Easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it. People leaning toward each other. Hands shifting. Fingers tapping discreetly against wrists or programs. Counting. Money. Her expression didn’t change, but her voice dropped lower. “There it is.” Nicholas followed her line of sight, his eyes sharpening. “Yeah. This is the beginning of the auction.” Numbers passed in murmurs, barely audible beneath the music. A glance here, a nod there. Silent bids moving through the crowd like an invisible current. (Y/n) shifted slightly in her seat, angling herself just enough to catch more faces. “I’ve got at least six active bidders in our section alone.” “More on the left,” Nicholas added. “And the guy two rows down just doubled whatever was offered.”
The red panda spun again, landing in a bow, completely unaware or perhaps too aware. (Y/n)’s throat tightened. “Few more minutes,” Nicholas said, his voice steady now, focused. “We let this play out, confirm the exchange, then we call it in.” (Y/n) gave a small nod, her fingers brushing lightly against his hand again, not for comfort this time, but grounding. Her eyes stayed on the performers. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “And then we shut it all down.”
The final note of music lingered just a second too long before fading, the performers bowing as the audience rose into polished applause. The ringmaster stepped forward once more, basking in it, his smile sharp and satisfied. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” he said smoothly. “And for our most… distinguished guests, we do hope you’ll remain for a more personal experience. A chance to appreciate our performers up close.” A ripple of quiet excitement passed through the crowd. (Y/n) exhaled slowly through her nose, her hands coming together in a final, measured clap before she let them fall to her lap. “Of course you do,” she murmured.
Nicholas shifted slightly in his seat beside her, rolling one shoulder like he was easing tension out of it. “Showtime,” he said under his breath. They stayed seated as others began to filter out or linger uncertainly. (Y/n) slipped her phone out just enough to type a quick message, her movements shielded by the fold of her dress. Interfere in 15. She sent it, then tucked the phone away again, her expression smoothing out like nothing had happened. Leaning slightly toward Nicholas, she let her voice carry just enough to be overheard.
“Honey,” she said, her tone bright and indulgent, “do you think we’ll get to meet the hybrids? I would love a closer look at the dancers. They were just… adorable.” The word tasted bitter. Nicholas leaned back in his seat, one arm draped casually, his wrist turning just enough for the light to catch the face of his watch. “Oh, darling,” he replied, voice warm with effortless arrogance, “I’m sure we will.” Out of the corner of her eye, (Y/n) caught the reactions. A couple to their right leaned closer together, whispering behind raised hands. Someone a few rows ahead glanced back, their gaze lingering just a second longer than casual curiosity allowed. “They’re clocking us,” she muttered. “Let them,” Nicholas said. “We look like money. That’s all they care about.”
She gave the faintest nod. Five minutes passed slowly. Then the man returned. This time, he wore the same tailored elegance as before, the ringmaster gone, replaced once again by the composed host. He stepped into the ring and gestured for the remaining guests to rise. “If you would,” he said, his voice softer now, more intimate. “Right this way.” Chairs shifted. Fabric rustled. People stood, smoothing suits and dresses as they began to follow. (Y/n) and Nicholas rose with them, falling easily into the flow of bodies moving toward the back. The transition was subtle.
Bright lights gave way to dimmer ones. The polished grandeur of the main hall faded into something colder, more functional. The air changed again, heavier now, carrying a mix of metal, sweat, and something that made (Y/n)’s stomach turn. They stepped into the room. And everything stopped. Cages lined the walls. Not one or two. Dozens. Each one held at least three hybrids, some more. Too close together. Too cramped. Some sat huddled in corners, others stood rigid, eyes tracking every movement in the room. A few didn’t move at all. (Y/n) felt her breath catch, sharp and involuntary. “This is worse,” she whispered, barely audible. Nicholas’s hand brushed lightly against hers, a silent warning. “Careful.”
She forced her expression to stay neutral, though her nails dug into her palm again. The man moved to the center of the room, turning to face them all with that same practiced smile. “Welcome,” he said. “To our private collection.” A few people chuckled softly. (Y/n) felt sick. “These hybrids,” he continued, gesturing broadly to the cages, “have been carefully selected and trained. Each one offers something unique. Strength, agility, obedience…” His voice carried easily, confident, proud. “Tonight, they are available to you,” he finished. “To the highest bidder.”
A murmur swept through the room. This time, it wasn’t subtle. Hands lifted. Numbers were spoken, quiet at first, then louder as competition built. A man near the front stepped closer to one of the cages, pointing as he called out an amount. Another countered immediately. (Y/n)’s eyes moved quickly, scanning, cataloging faces, voices, positions. “I’ve got visual confirmation on at least twenty buyers,” she murmured. “More in the back.” “Same,” Nicholas replied. “And guards by both exits. Armed.” Her jaw tightened. “We need to time this perfectly.” A sharp voice cut through the room as a bid jumped higher. The hybrids reacted. Some flinched. Some shrank back. One pressed themselves against the bars like they could disappear into them.
Across the room, the red panda from earlier stood in a cage with two others, still wearing that faint, trained smile, though it didn’t quite reach their eyes anymore. (Y/n)’s gaze lingered for half a second too long. “Don’t,” Nicholas said quietly. “Not yet.” She tore her eyes away, forcing herself to focus. Her pulse thudded steadily now, each second ticking closer. “Ten minutes,” she whispered. Nicholas gave a small nod, his posture relaxed, his expression bored, like none of this mattered. “Then we burn it to the ground,” he said under his breath.
The room settled into a rhythm that made (Y/n)’s skin crawl. Numbers rose and fell, voices calm and practiced, like this was nothing more than an auction for fine art. Smaller hybrids went first. The bunny. The cats. The ones the crowd had barely reacted to before were now reduced to numbers, their worth measured in quick exchanges and dismissive nods. “Thirty thousand.” “Forty.” “Sold.” It happened too fast. (Y/n) kept her posture relaxed, her expression distant, but inside she was counting. Three minutes. Her fingers tapped once against her arm, subtle, hidden in the folds of her dress. The bidding shifted. The tone changed.
Now came the ones they cared about. Wolves. Foxes. Larger hybrids that drew more attention, more excitement. The numbers climbed faster, sharper, competition slipping into voices that had been bored just minutes ago. “Two minutes,” Nicholas murmured, barely moving his lips. (Y/n) gave the smallest nod. Then the man raised his hand again. “And now,” he said, his voice lifting just slightly, “we present something truly special.” The room quieted. Even the bidders who had been murmuring among themselves turned their attention forward. The red panda was brought forward. Up close, the difference was impossible to ignore. (Y/n)’s breath slowed, her eyes narrowing just slightly as she took him in.
Tall. Too tall for his breed’s standard. His frame was lean but strong, movements sharp and precise in a way that didn’t match anything she knew about red panda hybrids. There was an energy to him, a restless kind of awareness, like he was always on the edge of motion. Not lazy. Not soft. Not what he was supposed to be. He stood in the center, posture straight, expression bright, almost eager. If there was fear, it was buried deep, masked behind something trained, something deliberate.
The man gestured toward him with clear pride. “This is K, our beloved red panda,” he announced. “Despite their supposed laziness, K is remarkably energetic. An excellent companion for those with a more… active lifestyle.” A few people chuckled. The bidding started immediately. “Two hundred thousand.” “Two fifty.” “Three.” The numbers jumped so fast it barely felt real. (Y/n)’s focus sharpened. “He was marketed,” she said under her breath. “They knew he’d draw attention.” Nicholas’s voice stayed even. “Yeah. Which means he’s important. Which means we do not get involved.”
“Four hundred.” “Four fifty.” The crowd leaned in, voices overlapping now, the calm control slipping into something hungrier. K didn’t move much, but his eyes shifted, tracking the voices, the hands, the people who were deciding his future in seconds. Something twisted hard in (Y/n)’s chest. “Five hundred.” “Six.” The numbers barely registered anymore. And then, before she could stop herself, her hand lifted. “Six fifty.” The word left her mouth clean, confident. Nicholas went completely still beside her. For a fraction of a second, he didn’t react at all. Then, very quietly, without turning his head, he said, “What are you doing?” (Y/n) didn’t answer. Her eyes stayed on K. “Seven hundred,” someone across the room countered immediately. Her hand rose again. “Seven fifty.” Nicholas’s fingers tightened slightly where they rested against his side. “(Y/n),” he said, low and controlled, “that is not the plan.” “I know,” she replied, just as quietly. “Then stop.”
“Eight hundred.” The numbers kept climbing. Her pulse matched it, steady but fast, something instinctive taking over, something she couldn’t quite shut down. She raised her hand again. “Nine.” Nicholas exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing calm. “We don’t win bids. We observe. We call it in. That’s how this works.” “I know how this works,” she said, her voice still smooth, still perfectly in character. “Then act like it.” “Nine fifty.” A brief pause. Then, from the other side, “One million.” A ripple went through the room. (Y/n)’s stomach flipped. Nicholas finally glanced at her, just for a split second, his expression tight. “That’s your out. Let it go.” She didn’t. Her hand lifted again. “One point two.”
This time, the reaction was louder. A few heads turned, more attention shifting toward them now. Nicholas forced himself not to look at her again, not to break the illusion. But his voice dropped even lower, sharper now. “You need to stop.” (Y/n) swallowed, her gaze still locked on K. K, who stood there like he was waiting. Like he knew. Her fingers curled slightly before she forced them still. Across the room, the previous bidder hesitated. Then, “One point three.” Silence stretched. Nicholas spoke again, quieter this time. “Thirty seconds.” The reminder hit. Backup. Timing. Everything they had planned.
(Y/n)’s hand hovered for just a fraction too long. The room watched. Waited. And for a moment, it wasn’t just about the bidding anymore. The tension snapped all at once. The doors burst open with a violent crack, slamming against the walls hard enough to echo through the room. “HPS is here, clear out!” For a split second, everything froze. Then the room exploded into chaos. Voices overlapped, no longer polished or controlled. People shouted, cursed, shoved past each other. Some threw wads of cash at handlers in desperate, greedy attempts to secure what they thought they could still take. Others rushed the cages, fumbling with locks, dragging hybrids out with no care for anything but escape. “Move, move!” “Take them!” “Now!”
(Y/n) didn’t hesitate. She pulled away from Nicholas the moment the panic started, slipping through the confusion before anyone could grab or question her. Her heart pounded hard in her chest, adrenaline sharpening every movement, every sound. “HPS, on the ground!” “Hands where I can see them!” Boots thundered in from every entrance. Agents flooded the room, weapons drawn, voices cutting through the noise with trained precision. Within seconds, exits were blocked, escape routes gone. A man tried to bolt past one of the doors. He didn’t make it two steps before he was forced to the ground. (Y/n) barely registered it.
Her eyes were already searching. Finding him. K. He hadn’t run. He stood near where he’d been displayed, the chaos swirling around him, his earlier energy gone. Now there was something else in his posture. Uncertainty. Fear. The kind that came from not knowing who was worse. (Y/n) slowed as she approached, raising her hands slightly, making sure her movements were clear. “K,” she called, her voice cutting through just enough. His head snapped toward her. For a moment, he looked like he might bolt. “Hey,” she said, softer now, stepping closer. “Come with me.”
She held out her hand. He didn’t take it. Not right away. His eyes flicked around the room. Agents in tactical gear. Humans shouting. Other hybrids being pulled away, some resisting, some too exhausted to fight. His breathing quickened. He took a small step back. “I’m not going to hurt you,” (Y/n) said, her voice steady, grounded. “I’m with HPS. You’re safe with me.” The words hung there. He searched her face, like he was trying to find something real in it. Something that wasn’t part of a performance. For a second, it felt like he might refuse. Then, slowly, hesitantly, he reached out. His hand hovered just short of hers before finally closing the gap.
The moment their fingers touched, she tightened her grip just enough to be reassuring, not restraining. “Good,” she said quietly. “Stay with me.” She turned, guiding him through the chaos. Around them, agents were securing the room. Bidders were being restrained, forced to their knees, hands behind their backs. Handlers shouted protests that went nowhere. Cages were being opened properly now, hybrids carefully led out instead of dragged. “Clear this side!” “Get medical in here!” Nicholas stood near the center, already in conversation with one of their superiors, his posture composed despite everything happening around him.
His eyes flicked up the moment he saw her. Then to K. There was a pause. A very brief one. But she saw it. (Y/n) reached them just as the boss turned fully toward Nicholas, mid-sentence. The woman’s gaze shifted to (Y/n), sharp and assessing, then dropped to the hybrid at her side. Her expression tightened slightly. “And this is?” she asked, gesturing toward K. (Y/n) shrugged lightly, though her hand didn’t leave his. “I don’t know,” she said. “I just… he was scared.” The boss held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary, like she was weighing that answer. Then she exhaled, shaking her head once. “Of course you did,” she muttered. She gestured toward the exit. “Get him to the transport trucks. We’re running full evaluations on all of them. Medical, identification, the works.”
Her eyes flicked back to (Y/n), more pointed now. “And don’t disappear. We’ll need your full report. Both of you.” Nicholas gave a short nod. “Understood.” (Y/n) nodded as well. “Got it.” The boss moved on immediately, already calling out new orders. For a second, the noise of the room pressed back in. Radios crackling. Voices coordinating. The aftermath settling into something controlled. (Y/n) glanced at K. Up close, she could see the tension still running through him, the way his shoulders hadn’t fully relaxed, his grip on her hand just a little tighter than before.
“It’s okay,” she said quietly. “We’re getting you out of here.” He didn’t respond, not in words. But he didn’t let go. She gave his hand a small, reassuring squeeze, then started toward the exit, guiding him through the sea of uniforms and flashing lights. Behind them, the operation continued. Ahead of them, the night air waited, sharp and clean compared to everything they were leaving behind.
The night air hit different the second they stepped outside. Cool. Sharp. Clean enough to almost wash away the stench of the place behind them. Rows of transport trucks lined the street, doors open, agents moving quickly but carefully as they guided hybrids inside. Voices were calmer out here, more controlled, but the urgency still hummed beneath it all. (Y/n) slowed as they approached one of the trucks. K didn’t. Not at first. Then his grip tightened. It wasn’t sudden. Just a quiet shift. Fingers curling more firmly around hers, like he had realized something he didn’t like. She glanced at him. His gaze was fixed on the inside of the truck.
Hybrids sat along the benches, some wrapped in blankets, others staring blankly ahead. A few flinched at every movement. None of them looked at ease. K didn’t move. Instead, he took a small step closer to her. (Y/n) softened immediately, turning fully toward him. “Hey,” she said gently. He didn’t answer. His hand only tightened again. “I know,” she murmured. “It’s a lot.” His eyes flicked to hers, searching, uncertain. There was something almost fragile in the way he held himself now, so different from the confident energy he had shown earlier in the ring. “They’re going to take care of you,” she continued, keeping her voice calm and steady. “You need to go with them, okay?”
He shook his head, just slightly. It wasn’t defiance. It was fear. (Y/n)’s chest tightened. “I’m not sending you somewhere bad,” she said softly. “This is the safe part. I promise.” He still didn’t move. So she shifted closer, lowering her voice just for him. “I’ll come with you,” she said. “Not tonight, but I’ll come to the shelter. I’ll check on you. I won’t just disappear.” That made him pause. He studied her face again, like he had back inside. Like he was trying to decide if her words meant anything. Slowly, he stepped closer, closing what little space was left between them. Even in her heels, she had to tilt her head slightly to meet his eyes.
His free hand lifted, hesitant at first, then more certain as he reached toward her. His fingers brushed against her hair, gently tucking a loose strand behind her ear with a kind of careful focus that made her breath catch. “I’ll wait for you,” he said quietly. (Y/n) felt something pull tight in her chest. She nodded, not breaking eye contact. “I’ll come visit,” she repeated. “I promise.” For a second longer, he didn’t let go. Then, slowly, his grip loosened. Her hand slipped from his. He turned, climbing into the truck without another word, moving to one of the open spots along the bench. Once he sat down, he looked back at her, his expression still uncertain, but steadier now.
Waiting. (Y/n) stayed where she was for a moment, watching him. “Hey,” an agent called nearby. “We need to clear this area.” She nodded absently, her eyes still on K. Then she straightened, turning away at last as the truck doors began to close. Inside, K didn’t look away. Not until the doors shut completely, sealing him in with the others, carrying him somewhere unknown. Somewhere safe, hopefully. (Y/n) exhaled slowly, the weight of everything settling in all at once. “Hey.” Nicholas’s voice came from behind her. “You good?” She didn’t answer right away. Her gaze lingered on the line of trucks, on the one that had just pulled away. “Yeah,” she said finally, though it came out quieter than she intended. Nicholas stepped up beside her, following her line of sight. “You broke protocol back there.” “I know.” A pause. Then, softer, “You’re going to visit him, aren’t you?” (Y/n) didn’t hesitate this time. “Yeah,” she said.
By the time the last of the trucks pulled away, the night had settled into something quieter. Not peaceful. Just… over. Hybrids were split between transports, sent to shelters across the city. Medical teams were already waiting, ready to assess injuries, check records, try to piece together where each of them had come from and if anyone was still looking for them. Behind them, flashing lights painted the street in red and blue as the rest of the operation wrapped up. Organizers, handlers, bidders, all of them were loaded into separate vehicles, their earlier confidence completely gone. No more polished smiles. No more quiet bids. Just cuffs, tension, and the reality of what came next.
(Y/n) barely remembered the drive back. HPS headquarters felt colder than usual when they stepped inside, the bright overhead lights a sharp contrast to everything they had just come from. The hum of activity hadn’t slowed, reports already being filed, teams moving between rooms with purpose. They were separated briefly, then brought in one after the other. Testimonies. Every detail. The lead-up. The performance. The cages. The bidding. Nicholas spoke first, his tone steady, precise, laying everything out in a clean, structured way that made it easy to follow. (Y/n) followed. She didn’t leave anything out. Not the bunny. Not the fire. Not the look on K’s face when the bidding started. The room stayed quiet as she spoke. Too quiet. Then came the part they had been waiting for.
Her supervisor leaned back slightly, arms crossed, expression unreadable but tight around the edges. “You broke protocol.” (Y/n) didn’t argue that. “Yes.” “You engaged beyond observational limits. You entered an active bid with no clearance.” “I know.” Nicholas shifted beside her. “She was maintaining cover,” he said, stepping in before the silence stretched too long. “They were starting to pay attention to us. If she backed out too abruptly, it could have raised suspicion.” The supervisor’s gaze flicked to him. “Were you aware she intended to continue bidding?” Nicholas hesitated, just enough to be honest. “No. But I understood the risk in the moment.”
(Y/n) glanced at him, just briefly. The supervisor looked back at her. “Your reasoning.” She exhaled slowly. “I felt like I had to,” she said. The words sounded thin the second they left her mouth, but she didn’t try to dress them up. The supervisor’s expression hardened slightly. “That is not a justification.” (Y/n)’s jaw tightened. “He was being targeted. People were already jumping numbers for him. If I didn’t step in, it could have escalated faster, drawn more attention, made extraction harder.” A pause. Then, quieter, more honest, “And… I felt a connection to him.” That didn’t help.
The supervisor shook his head once, exhaling through his nose. “We don’t operate on feelings.” Nicholas spoke again, more firmly this time. “With respect, we also don’t ignore situational shifts. She didn’t compromise the mission. If anything, it kept us in position longer.” Another pause. Tension hung in the air for a few seconds. Then the supervisor straightened slightly, his tone shifting just enough. “You completed the mission,” he said. “You gathered evidence. You confirmed trafficking and secured a full intervention. That matters.” (Y/n) stayed still, waiting for the rest. “But this,” he added, his gaze locking onto hers again, “does not happen again.” She nodded. “Understood.”
Silence. Then a small shift in posture, less rigid now. “You’re both cleared,” he said. “Standard leave applies. One month.” Nicholas let out a quiet breath. “Copy that.” (Y/n) nodded again. The tension eased just enough for the room to feel breathable again. They were dismissed. Nicholas stepped out first, rolling his shoulders as they moved into the hallway. “Well,” he muttered, “that could’ve gone worse.” (Y/n) gave a faint hum, but didn’t follow him right away. “Hey,” he said, noticing. “You coming?” “In a minute.” He studied her for a second, then nodded. “Don’t do anything reckless without me.” She huffed softly. “No promises.” He smirked, then headed off down the hall.
(Y/n) turned back, knocking lightly before stepping into the office again. The supervisor looked up, mildly surprised. “Something else?” “Yeah,” she said. “The red panda. K. Which shelter?” He watched her for a moment, then reached for the tablet on his desk, scrolling through intake logs. “Transferred about thirty minutes ago,” he said. “Moon Shelter.” (Y/n) nodded, committing it to memory. “Thank you.” He gave a short nod in return. “Get some rest.” She didn’t respond to that. Instead, she turned and walked out, the hallway stretching ahead of her, quieter now that most of the immediate work had been assigned. Outside, the city was still awake, lights glowing against the night. (Y/n) stepped out into it, already pulling her phone out as she moved. Home first. Change. Then the shelter. A promise was a promise.
~~~
The Moon Shelter was anything but quiet. Even at three in the morning, the place buzzed with movement. Soft footsteps echoed down the halls, voices low but constant, the occasional metallic clink of equipment being moved. The air smelled clean, clinical, but warmer than the headquarters. Less rigid. More human. (Y/n) pushed the door open, stepping inside as it shut quietly behind her. “(Y/n)?” She looked up. Yuma stood a few steps away, half buried behind a stack of papers, dark circles under his eyes but a familiar grin breaking through the exhaustion. He straightened immediately when he saw her.
“Yuma,” she said, walking over. “It’s been a while. How are you?” He pulled her into a quick hug, tight but brief. “Yeah, no kidding. Heard about tonight. Good work.” “Thanks,” she said, pulling back, glancing down at the mess in his hands. “But hey, I asked you a question.” He let out a tired laugh, lifting the papers slightly. “I’m good,” he said. “But I don’t think I’m sleeping for a week with all of this.” (Y/n) smiled, shaking her head. “Yeah, the operation was bigger than we thought. I’m just glad we pulled it off.” Yuma nodded, his expression softening for a moment before curiosity slipped in. “So,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “what brings you here at three in the morning?”
(Y/n) hesitated for just a second. Then she smiled, a little more nervous than she expected to feel. “I kind of promised one of the hybrids we rescued that I’d come visit him.” Yuma’s grin widened immediately. “Let me guess,” he said, already turning slightly. “The red panda?” (Y/n) blinked. “How did you know?” He smirked, clearly pleased with himself. “Just a guess,” he said. “Considering the only thing he’s been asking about since he got here is how visitors work.” That made something in her chest tighten. “Anyways,” Yuma added, jerking his head toward the hallway, “come on.”
He started walking, weaving through the controlled chaos of the shelter. (Y/n) followed close behind, her heels clicking softly against the floor, the sound oddly out of place among everything else. They passed open rooms. Some hybrids were being checked over by medical staff, quiet reassurances filling the space. Others sat wrapped in blankets, eyes heavy, finally starting to come down from the adrenaline. A few slept, curled up in corners or on cots, exhaustion winning out. “Most of them are stable,” Yuma said as they walked. “A few need more attention, but nothing we can’t handle.” “That’s good,” (Y/n) replied, though her focus had already started to narrow. They turned down a quieter hallway. Less movement here. Softer lighting. The kind of space meant for recovery instead of urgency.
Yuma slowed as they reached a door near the end. “He’s in here,” he said, glancing at her. “Been… restless.” (Y/n) nodded, her hand lifting slightly before she paused. For a second, she just stood there, staring at the door. Then she let out a slow breath, steadying herself, her fingers hovering just inches from the handle, but then she knocked softly before opening the door. A quiet voice answered from inside. “Come in.” (Y/n) pushed the door open. K stood by the window, the faint light from outside casting a soft glow around him. He had been changed into clean clothes, simple and comfortable, and though he looked better physically, something in his posture had shifted. His ears were pressed down into his fluffy hair, his tail hanging low and still behind him.
He looked… smaller, somehow. “Hey, K,” (Y/n) said gently. He turned quickly at the sound of her voice. The change was immediate. His tail lifted, moving slightly, his ears twitching as they perked up just a bit. A smile broke across his face, bright and genuine. “You came,” he said. (Y/n) smiled back, stepping fully into the room. “I promised, didn’t I?” He nodded quickly, almost eagerly, then gestured toward the small bed. “You can sit,” he said, a little awkward but clearly trying. (Y/n) walked over and sat down, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight. She expected him to join her, maybe sit beside her, but instead he lowered himself to the floor in front of her, settling with his back against the wall.
She blinked, tilting her head slightly. “Why are you sitting down there?” He shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I can look at you easier this way.” (Y/n) let out a soft chuckle. “Alright.” The room settled into a quiet calm after that. No rush. No urgency. Just the faint hum of the shelter outside and the steady, shared silence between them. K didn’t look away. His gaze stayed fixed on her, careful, focused, like he was trying to take in every detail. Like he was afraid something might change if he looked away for too long. (Y/n) noticed, but she didn’t call it out.
She had changed since earlier. The dress was gone, replaced by something simpler, more comfortable. Her hair was pulled back into a loose bun, a few strands escaping around her face. No makeup now, nothing polished or rehearsed. Just her. K tilted his head slightly, studying her in this new light. She had looked beautiful before, in the bright lights and expensive clothes, like she belonged somewhere far away from him. But this… This felt different. Softer. Real. And still just as beautiful.
His tail gave a small, absent flick against the floor as he kept looking at her, like he was trying to memorize everything. For a while, they just sat there, the quiet stretching comfortably between them. Eventually, (Y/n) shifted slightly, resting her hands in her lap as she looked down at him. “Is your name actually K?” she asked gently. “Or is it something else?” K went still for a moment. His fingers stilled against his tail as he thought. “It’s been a long time since I’ve thought about it,” he admitted quietly. His gaze drifted for a second, like he was reaching back for something distant. “My birth name was Koga Yudai.” The name lingered in the air. “But they shortened it,” he added after a moment. “Just to K. Simpler, I guess.”
(Y/n) nodded slowly, letting the weight of that settle. “Would you prefer if I called you Yudai, then?” He looked up at her. Something in his expression softened almost instantly, like the sound of it alone had reached somewhere deeper than anything else. “I’d like that,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It sounds… nice. Hearing that again.” (Y/n) smiled warmly. “It’s a pretty name.” Yudai tilted his head slightly, a faint, thoughtful look crossing his face as his fingers absentmindedly played with the soft fur of his tail now resting across his lap. “So,” he said after a moment, glancing back up at her, “what’s your name?”
(Y/n) blinked, then let out a small laugh, bringing a hand up to her forehead. “Oh, wow, I never actually introduced myself, did I?” She shook her head lightly, still smiling. “I’m (Y/n).” Yudai repeated it quietly under his breath, like he was testing how it felt. Then he smiled. “That’s a very pretty name too.” (Y/n) felt a small warmth settle in her chest. “Thank you.” He leaned forward just slightly, curiosity slipping into his expression now that the initial tension had eased. “So… what do you do for HPS?” he asked. (Y/n) shifted her weight, leaning back onto one hand, her posture more relaxed now. “I usually go undercover,” she explained. “Infiltrating fighting rings, black markets… places like that.”
Yudai’s ears twitched faintly as he listened. “When I put some effort in,” she continued with a small, almost amused smile, “I can look like I fit into that world.” He studied her for a second, his gaze steady and sincere. “You look pretty now too,” he said.
(Y/n) blinked, then let out a soft giggle, a little caught off guard. “Thank you, Yudai,” she said, her tone light, “but that’s not really what I meant.” He tilted his head again, clearly confused. “I meant the lifestyle,” she clarified, smiling. “Blending in with the kind of people who go to those places. Acting like I belong there.” “Oh,” he said softly, though his expression didn’t fully change. His fingers brushed lightly over his tail again as he looked at her, still thoughtful. “you still look like you belong somewhere better,” he added, almost to himself.
(Y/n) let out a quiet yawn, bringing a hand up to cover it. The exhaustion was finally catching up to her. It settled heavy in her limbs, slow and unavoidable. There was a reason undercover agents were given time off after missions like this. Weeks of pretending, staying alert, never fully relaxing. It wore you down in ways that didn’t always show right away. This one had been long. Nearly two months of tracking the circus, moving from place to place, gathering scraps of information until they found the right one. The right people. And now that it was over, her body was starting to collect the debt.
Yudai noticed immediately. His ears dipped slightly, his expression shifting as he watched her. “You’re tired,” he said quietly. (Y/n) gave a small, apologetic smile. “Yeah. It’s been a long couple of weeks.” Something flickered in his eyes. Disappointment. Worry. He hesitated for a moment, then gestured quickly to the bed behind her. “You can stay,” he said. “You can sleep here if you want.” (Y/n) blinked, a little surprised. “I can stay down here,” he added, nodding toward the floor where he was already sitting. “It’s fine.” She shook her head almost immediately, her expression softening. “No, it’s okay,” she said gently. “I should go home and get some proper rest.”
The words landed heavier than she meant them to. Yudai’s gaze dropped slightly, his tail going still in his lap. He nodded, but the movement felt smaller this time, quieter. Like he already knew what that meant. Like he had heard it before. (Y/n) noticed. Of course she did. Her chest tightened just a little as she watched him, the way his shoulders sank, the way he tried to hide it. So she leaned forward slightly, her voice softer now. “Hey,” she said. He looked up. “I’m coming back,” she added. “I just need to sleep for a bit first. Then I’ll come visit again.” There was a pause. Yudai searched her face again, like he had earlier, like he needed to be sure. Then, slowly, a small smile returned. “Okay,” he said, nodding.
He held onto that word carefully, like it meant something important. “I’ll be waiting.” (Y/n) smiled back, a little tired, but warm. “Good.” For a moment longer, neither of them moved. Then she pushed herself up from the bed, steadying herself as she stood. The exhaustion was still there, pulling at her, but lighter somehow now. “I’ll see you soon, Yudai.” He nodded again, more certain this time. “Soon.” And as she turned to leave, his eyes followed her all the way to the door, holding onto the promise she left behind like it was something solid.
On her way out, (Y/n) stopped by the front desk where Yuma was still buried under paperwork. He barely looked up at first, flipping through a stack before pausing when he noticed her again. “Heading out already?” “Yeah,” she said, offering a small wave. “I’ll be back this afternoon. After I get some actual sleep.”
Yuma let out a quiet huff of amusement. “Good. You look like you’re about to fall over.” “Rude,” she replied, though there was no real bite to it. He smirked, grabbing a pen and scribbling something down on a nearby sheet. “I’ll make a note of it. If I’m not here, they’ll still let you in.” “Thanks, Yuma.” “Get some rest, (Y/n).” She nodded, then stepped out into the early morning air. By the time she made it home, everything felt hazy. Her body moved on autopilot, shoes kicked off somewhere near the door, clothes half dealt with before she made it to her bed. She didn’t even remember closing her eyes. Sleep took her instantly.
~~~
Hours later, she woke up to sunlight spilling through her window. For a moment, she just lay there, staring at the ceiling, her mind slow to catch up with her body. The exhaustion wasn’t gone, but it had softened, dulled into something manageable. She reached for her phone, blinking at the screen. A message from Nicholas. You alive? Another followed shortly after. I might sleep for a week. (Y/n) let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Of course you would,” she muttered. She typed out a quick response, something reassuring, something light, before setting the phone aside and dragging herself out of bed.
A shower helped. Clean clothes helped more. By the time she stepped outside again, she felt almost like herself, almost. On the way back to the shelter, she slowed as she passed a small café, the smell of fresh coffee and sugar drifting out onto the street. She paused. Then turned. Inside, the display case was lined with pastries and desserts, neat rows of things that looked far too nice to ignore. She scanned them for a moment, thinking. She didn’t know what Yudai liked. Did he even know what he liked? The thought lingered just long enough to make her decision for her.
“I’ll take a few of those,” she said, pointing to a mix of cakes and small desserts. “And… two iced coffees.” The barista nodded, already packing things up. (Y/n) took the bag when it was handed to her, balancing the drinks carefully in her other hand. If he didn’t like it, that was fine. Someone at the shelter would. But as she stepped back out onto the street, heading toward Moon Shelter again, she found herself hoping he would.
(Y/n) wasn’t sure when it had started. That pull. It didn’t make sense. She had been doing this for years, stepping into places most people didn’t even know existed, seeing things most people would never believe. She had cared, always. That was why she stayed. Why she kept going back. But this felt… different. Too personal. Too focused. She adjusted her grip on the small bag of desserts as she walked, her thoughts drifting despite herself.
Her mind wandered further back than she expected, to a fifteen year old her. That was when everything changed. She hadn’t known what it was at first. Just an invite, passed along like something exclusive, something exciting. A place where “interesting things” happened. She had been curious. Careless, maybe. She remembered the noise when she first stepped inside. The way the air had felt thick, wrong. The crowd too loud, too eager. And then she had seen it. The fight. Hybrids forced against each other, injured, exhausted, with nowhere to go. People cheering. Betting. Treating it like entertainment. She hadn’t stayed long after that.
She had stepped outside, hands shaking, and called the first number she could find connected to something called Hybrid Protection Services. She expected them to show up. She didn’t expect them to ask her to stay. To watch. To tell them everything she could. “I can’t go back in there,” she had said, her voice barely steady. “You don’t have to,” the voice on the other end had replied calmly. “Just tell us what you saw. Anything helps.” But she had gone back.
Carefully, quietly watching. And when it was over, when HPS had stormed in and shut it down, they had found her. Asked her questions. Then something else. “You got in once,” one of them had said. “You think you could do it again?” She should have said no. Instead, she had said, “Yeah.” And she never really stopped. (Y/n) exhaled softly, shaking her head as she stepped up to the shelter doors, pushing them open. Years of that. Of going undercover, blending in, pretending to be someone who belonged in those places. And in all that time, she had never felt like this about any of them. Not like she did with Yudai.
The thought lingered as she stepped inside, the familiar hum of activity greeting her again. This time, though, it felt calmer. Slower. At the front desk, Yuma was slumped forward, head resting awkwardly on a stack of papers, very much asleep. (Y/n) walked over quietly, setting the drinks down carefully before reaching out and nudging his shoulder. “Hey,” she said softly. “You’re going to break your neck like that.” Yuma stirred, blinking awake in confusion, his head lifting too quickly before he winced. “Oh, that already hurts,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. (Y/n) laughed lightly. “Told you. Find somewhere better to nap.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, glancing down at the mountain of paperwork still waiting for him. He let out a long, defeated groan. “I hate this part of the job.” She smiled sympathetically, sliding one of the iced coffees toward him. “Peace offering.” Yuma looked at it like it might save his life. “You’re my favorite person right now.” “I figured.” He took a long sip, sighing like it actually helped, then glanced back at her. “You’re here for Yudai, right?” She nodded. “Yeah. Is he still in his room?” “Should be,” Yuma said, then paused, tilting his head slightly. “Well… again.” (Y/n) frowned just a little. “Again?” He nodded, setting the coffee down. “Yeah. They pulled him in for another med check earlier.” Her expression tightened slightly. “Is he okay?”
“Yeah,” Yuma said quickly. “He’s actually one of the better cases. No major injuries, no severe physical trauma. Which is… rare, considering where he came from.” (Y/n) let out a small breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “But,” Yuma added, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, “he’s been a bit of a challenge in other ways.” She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” Yuma leaned back slightly in his chair, folding his arms. “He keeps bringing you up.” (Y/n) blinked. “What?” “Yeah,” he said, clearly amused now. “Every time we try to ask him something, redirect the conversation, get background info… somehow it circles back to you.” (Y/n) felt her cheeks warm just slightly.
“That’s… not helpful for you.” “Not even a little,” Yuma said with a laugh. “But it does tell me something.” She crossed her arms lightly, trying to ignore the small knot forming in her chest. “What’s that?” He gave her a knowing look. “He trusts you.” That landed heavier than she expected. Yuma reached for his coffee again, taking another sip before gesturing down the hall. “Go on. He should be back in his room by now.” (Y/n) nodded, picking up the bag and the second drink. “Thanks, Yuma.” “Anytime,” he said, already glancing back at his paperwork with a resigned sigh.
(Y/n) made her way down the hallway, her steps a little lighter this time. When she reached the door Yuma had shown her earlier, she paused for just a second, then knocked. She expected the same quiet come in. Instead, the door opened almost immediately. “(Y/n)!” Yudai stood there, eyes bright, his tail moving behind him in quick, uneven sways that were probably the closest thing to wagging he could manage. The shift from earlier was obvious. Lighter. Happier. (Y/n) smiled without even thinking about it. “I brought some snacks,” she said, lifting the bag slightly. “Or… sweets, I guess. And a coffee for you, if you want it.”
His smile widened as he took the bag from her, careful but eager. “Come in,” he said quickly, stepping aside. She walked in, setting the drink down on the small table before turning back toward him. Yudai had already settled onto the floor again, like it was the most natural place for him to be. (Y/n) watched him for a second. Then, without much thought, she lowered herself down to sit across from him. He blinked, clearly surprised. “You can sit on the bed,” he said, gesturing quickly. “It’s more comfortable.” She shook her head lightly. “I’m fine here.” He hesitated, like he wanted to argue, then gave in with a small nod.
His attention shifted to the table. “There’s only one,” he said, pointing at the coffee. (Y/n) leaned back slightly, resting her hands behind her. “I did buy two,” she admitted. “But I gave mine to Yuma. He looked like he needed it more than me.” Yudai’s expression softened again, something quiet and thoughtful settling in his eyes. She’s so kind, he thought, almost absently. Then he looked back at the drink. “You should have this one then,” he said, nudging it slightly in her direction. “I don’t need it.” (Y/n) looked at him, then shook her head. “It’s not about what you need,” she said. “It’s about whether you want it.” He paused. Then a small smile returned, softer this time. “How about we share it?” he suggested. (Y/n) let out a light laugh. “Alright,” she said. “If that’s the only way you’ll accept it.”
Yudai’s tail flicked again, a little more relaxed now as he opened the bag, peeking inside at everything she had brought. For a moment, the room felt easy. Simple. Just the two of them, sitting on the floor, deciding which dessert to try first. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I got a mix of things,” (Y/n) said, watching as he carefully unpacked the bag. Yudai smiled, a soft, pleased expression. “Mm… I like most things.” One by one, he took the desserts out, setting them between them like something precious. His eyes lingered on each one, a quiet kind of awe in the way he looked at them, like he wasn’t used to having options. “They’re… really pretty,” he murmured.
(Y/n) reached into the bag again, pulling out two small wooden spoons. “They’re not the best to eat with,” she admitted, handing him one, “but they’ll have to do.” “I don’t mind,” he said, taking it carefully. They started slow. Trying one thing, then another, occasionally pausing as he reacted to the taste, sometimes surprised, sometimes just quietly pleased. The room filled with small sounds. Soft laughter. The faint clink of spoons against containers.
For a while, it was easy again. Then (Y/n) set her spoon down. Yudai noticed immediately. She leaned back slightly, reaching for the coffee and taking a small sip before looking at him. “I have a few things I want to ask you,” she said. He straightened just a little, his ears giving a small twitch. “What do you want to know?” (Y/n) hesitated briefly, choosing her words. “Yuma mentioned it’s been a bit difficult to get information from you,” she said, her tone gentle, not accusatory. “So I thought I’d try.” Yudai didn’t look defensive. Just… attentive.
She took another small sip of the coffee, then continued. “How long were you at the circus?” He went quiet. Not shutting down, just thinking. “Maybe around five years,” he said after a moment. “Maybe a bit more. I stopped counting.” (Y/n)’s brows pulled together slightly, surprise flickering across her face. “That long?” He nodded faintly. Her gaze dropped to the desserts between them, her fingers tightening just a little around the cup. “They kept you for that long,” she murmured, more to herself than him. Yudai’s eyes followed hers, settling on one of the untouched pastries. His fingers brushed lightly against it, but he didn’t pick it up.
“They would auction me,” he said quietly. “At the special events.” (Y/n) stilled. “But then they’d find a reason to take me back,” he continued, his voice calm in a way that felt practiced. “Something would always go wrong. Paperwork. Fake payment problems. Behavior.” He gave a small, almost humorless smile. “There was always an excuse for them to take the money but not send me away.” Her grip tightened slightly. “They knew I drew crowds,” he added. “People liked watching. Bidding.” His gaze flicked up to hers for a second before dropping again. “So they used it.”
The room felt heavier now. The untouched desserts sat between them, suddenly less inviting. (Y/n) didn’t interrupt. She just listened. “I noticed something,” (Y/n) said after a moment, her voice softer now. “Last night… you looked a bit happy. Despite everything.” Yudai didn’t seem surprised by the question. He just shrugged lightly, his fingers tracing absent patterns along the edge of a pastry. “They treated me better than most,” he said. “So I didn’t have much to complain about.” (Y/n) frowned slightly, but didn’t interrupt. “I like moving,” he continued. “Dancing. Running. Doing things.” A faint, almost sheepish smile crossed his face. “Not very typical for a red panda, I guess.” She let out a quiet huff of amusement. “Yeah, you’re definitely not what people expect.” He nodded. “So… I got to do something I enjoyed. Perform, move around, stay active.” His voice dipped just slightly. “Considering everything, I felt kind of happy.” Then his gaze dropped. “But I also felt terrible,” he added more quietly. “For everyone else.” (Y/n)’s expression softened. That made sense. More than she liked. “Yeah,” she said gently. “That makes sense.”
There was a brief pause before she shifted slightly, picking up her spoon again only to set it back down without using it. “Okay,” she said, her tone careful. “Before the circus… where were you?” Yudai’s shoulders lifted in another small shrug, but this one felt heavier. “I didn’t really have a home,” he said. (Y/n) stilled. “I was kicked out when I was younger,” he continued. “Maybe fourteen.” Her grip tightened slightly on her knee. “They said I was too energetic,” he went on, his voice flat in a way that felt learned. “Too much. Not what they expected.” (Y/n) didn’t look away from him. “It was easier for them to just…” he made a small, vague motion with his hand, “get rid of me. Than to go through the process of handing me over properly.”
Her jaw tightened. “So I left,” he said simply. “Wandered around. Took care of myself.” For a second, the room felt very small. “And then,” he added, almost like it was just another step in a long line of things, “the man from the circus found me.” (Y/n)’s eyes sharpened slightly. “He offered me a job,” Yudai said. “A place to stay. Food.” A pause. “I didn’t ask questions,” he finished. Silence settled between them again. (Y/n) exhaled slowly, leaning back just a little, her gaze dropping to the floor for a second before lifting again. “You were just a kid,” she said quietly. Yudai didn’t respond to that. He just picked up his spoon again, though he didn’t use it, turning it lightly between his fingers like he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands anymore.
“We don’t have to go through everything today,” (Y/n) said gently. “If it’s too much, we can talk about something else.” Yudai shook his head almost immediately. “No,” he said. “I’d rather get everything out now.” She studied him for a second, making sure. Then she nodded. “Alright.” She shifted slightly, her tone careful again. “You said they treated you better than the others… but did they ever hurt you? Abuse you in any way?” Yudai went quiet. His hand tightened around his tail, fingers gripping the fur as he took a slow breath in.
“In the beginning,” he said. (Y/n) felt her chest tighten. “They would hit me,” he continued, his voice steady in a way that felt practiced. “Starve me. Make sure I understood I had to listen.” Her jaw clenched. “I also went through the same kind of… thing you saw last night,” he added, quieter now. “Like the bunny.” (Y/n)’s stomach turned. Yudai hesitated, then lifted his shirt slightly. “Wait, you don’t have to show me if you don’t want to, I already believe you, I just-” She stopped mid sentence. Her breath caught. Along his side, a large scar stretched across his torso. Jagged. Uneven. Too deep to have ever been anything minor. A bite mark.
“Oh, Yudai…” she said softly, the words barely above a whisper. He lowered his shirt again, like it didn’t matter much. “It’s healed,” he said with a small shrug. “It’s just a bad memory now.” (Y/n) shook her head immediately. “That doesn’t make it okay,” she said, her voice firmer now. He didn’t argue. He just looked down again, his fingers loosening slightly in his tail. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then (Y/n) leaned forward just a little, her tone softening again. “They shouldn’t have done that to you,” she said quietly. “To any of you.” Yudai’s ears twitched faintly. “I know,” he replied, though it sounded like something he was still learning to believe.
(Y/n) blinked quickly, lifting her hand to brush away the tear that had almost slipped free. She let out a slow breath, steadying herself. “I think that’s everything we needed to go over,” she said, her voice gentle again. “I’m guessing the shelter already knows about the scars?” Yudai nodded. “Yeah. They saw them during the checks.” He paused, his gaze drifting slightly. “They asked about them too.” (Y/n) tilted her head a little. “But you didn’t answer.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why,” he admitted. “I just… couldn’t. Not with them.” (Y/n) nodded, understanding settling easily. “That’s okay,” she said softly. “They get that. Not everyone is ready to talk about everything, especially with people they don’t know yet.”
That seemed to ease something in him, even if just a little. Silence settled again, lighter this time, less heavy than before. A few seconds passed before Yudai shifted, glancing down at the small spread of desserts between them. He pointed to one of the cakes they had already tried, a small, thoughtful smile returning. “I think that one’s my favorite,” he said. “It was really good.” (Y/n) followed his gesture, smiling. “Yeah,” she agreed. “That one was delicious.”
Her mind still lingered on the scar. On what it meant. On everything he had gone through. But she pushed it back, gently but firmly. Not now. Right now, he was here. Safe. Sitting across from her, talking about cake like it was the most important thing in the world. So she focused on that. On him. The way his eyes seemed to catch the light when he smiled. The small, almost constant movement of his ears, reacting to every little sound. The way his nose scrunched just slightly when he tasted something he didn’t like earlier. The quiet, genuine sound of his laughter. Not the pain. Not the past. Just this.
After another bite of cake, Yudai glanced up at her, curiosity slipping back into his expression. “What do you do,” he asked, “when you’re not working undercover?” (Y/n) leaned back slightly, thinking. “Not much, honestly,” she said with a small shrug. “I hang out with friends sometimes.” He tilted his head, listening closely. “Like Nicholas,” she added. “You saw him last night.” Yudai nodded faintly. “We met when I first started at HPS,” she continued. “He had just started too. We actually hated each other at first.” Yudai blinked, a little surprised. “Really?”
“Oh yeah,” she said with a quiet laugh. “Couldn’t stand him. But then we realized we had more in common than we thought. Same kind of work, same way of thinking about things.” Her smile softened slightly. “We became friends after that.” She shifted a little, resting her arms loosely on her knees. “Then there’s people like Yuma. I don’t see him as often, since we’re both busy most of the time.” Yudai nodded again, his gaze steady. “And during time off?” he asked. (Y/n) let out a small breath. “I mostly just stay home,” she admitted. “Being undercover takes a lot out of you. I’m usually exhausted the first week after a mission, so I just… rest.”
He watched her for a second longer. “Isn’t it lonely?” he asked quietly. (Y/n) looked up toward the ceiling, considering it. “Sometimes,” she said after a moment. “Yeah.” Her gaze dropped back to him. “But I’m lucky,” she added. “I’ve got Nico. We’re almost always paired together for missions. A lot of people in HPS work completely alone.” She gave a small shrug. “At least we have each other to lean on.” Her expression shifted slightly, something more thoughtful settling in. “But… it’s a lonely world,” she admitted. “Most people are just focused on themselves.”
Yudai nodded slowly, like he understood that more than she expected. Then he spoke again. “What if you didn’t have to be alone?” (Y/n) blinked, her attention sharpening as she met his gaze. “What do you mean?” Yudai looked down at his tail, his fingers brushing through the soft fur as he gathered his thoughts. “Like…” he started, hesitating just a little. “What if you had a hybrid?” He glanced up at her again, more uncertain now. “Adopted one,” he clarified. “Someone who would always be there for you.”
(Y/n) looked at the window, her gaze lingering on the faint reflection of the two of them in the glass. “I’ve thought about it,” she said, her voice quieter than before, like the admission carried more weight than she wanted it to. “But… I never found a hybrid that I felt connected with.” Her fingers traced lightly against the edge of the bed as she spoke, unfocused. “And even if I had… I didn’t think it would be right for me to adopt one.”
She exhaled slowly, shoulders dipping just a fraction. “Sometimes I have to be gone for a week or two for work,” she continued, glancing down briefly before looking back out the window. “No warning, no set schedule. I can’t always bring someone along, and even if I could, it wouldn’t be safe.” A faint crease formed between her brows. “I’m not sure I’d be able to provide a good home for a hybrid. Not the kind they actually deserve.”
Yudai listened closely, his attention never wavering. His tail twitched in his lap, the soft fur shifting under his fingers as they absentmindedly brushed over it. There was a slight tension in his posture now, something quieter, more careful, as he processed every word she said. “But what if the hybrid would be okay with that life?” he asked. His voice was gentle, but there was something underneath it. Not pressure. Not quite. Just… hope, carefully tucked between the words. (Y/n) turned her head at that, meeting his gaze fully this time. For a second, she didn’t answer. She just looked at him, really looked. The way his ears had dipped just slightly, like he was bracing himself. The way his fingers stilled against his tail, waiting.
She knew what he was doing. He wasn’t just asking a question. He was asking for himself. And she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel it too. That pull. That quiet, persistent feeling that had been there since the moment he took her hand in that chaos. It hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had only settled deeper. But that didn’t make it simple. Her expression softened, but there was hesitation in it now, something more guarded. “Yudai…” she started, then paused, her voice catching just slightly before she found it again. “It’s not just about being okay with it.”
Her fingers curled faintly against her palm, like she was grounding herself in the thought. “Sometimes people think they can handle something,” she said carefully, “until they’re actually living it.” Her gaze didn’t leave his. “Being alone more often than not. Waiting. Not knowing when someone’s coming back.” There was a flicker of something in her eyes. Not doubt in him. Just… doubt in the situation. “I don’t want to be the reason someone feels like that,” she admitted quietly. The room fell into a softer kind of silence after that, the kind that wasn’t empty, just full of everything neither of them was quite saying yet.
Yudai nodded, but the movement was small, almost hesitant. His gaze dropped for a moment, and even though he didn’t say anything, the shift in his expression said enough. The brightness from earlier dimmed just slightly, something quieter settling in its place. His tail stilled in his lap, the earlier flicks fading into stillness. (Y/n) noticed immediately. Guilt pressed at her chest, heavier than she expected. She looked away for a second, her jaw tightening just a little. She wished, not for the first time, that things were different. That her life didn’t revolve around missions, undercover work, disappearing for days at a time without warning.
But it wasn’t something she could just walk away from. HPS needed people like her. People who could blend in, who could hold their ground in places like that circus without breaking cover. And she and Nicholas… they had spent years building that rhythm together, learning how to move, how to think, how to trust each other without hesitation. No one else at HPS had anywhere near as many successful missions as they did. That wasn’t something she could abandon.
(Y/n) leaned her head back slightly, her eyes drifting up to the ceiling as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I know what you’re asking,” she said quietly. Her voice was softer now, more careful. “And Yudai…” She lowered her gaze again, looking back at him. “I really do like you,” she admitted, the words coming easier than she expected, but no less true. “You’re… special.” Yudai looked up at her then, his eyes glazy, like he was holding onto every word she said, afraid of what might come next. “But I don’t know if I can,” she finished.
The words lingered between them. For a second, neither of them moved. Then Yudai leaned forward just slightly, his expression shifting, something hopeful pushing through the uncertainty. “We can make it work, can’t we?” he asked. His voice was soft, but there was a quiet determination there. Not forceful, not demanding. Just… believing. (Y/n)’s chest tightened. She should have said no. She knew she should have. It would have been the safer answer. The more responsible one. But when she looked at him, really looked, at the way he was watching her, waiting, hoping… She couldn’t find it in herself to say it. Instead, she exhaled softly, her shoulders easing just a little. “We can try,” she said.
For a split second, Yudai just stared at her, like he needed to make sure he heard her right. Then his expression broke into a smile, bright and unguarded, something warm rushing back into his eyes. Before she could react, he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her in a quick, instinctive hug. (Y/n) stiffened for half a second, caught off guard, then slowly relaxed into it, her arms coming up to return it just as gently. Yudai held onto her like it meant something. Like she meant something. “You feel like home,” he whispered. The words were quiet, almost lost in the space between them, but she heard them clearly.
After a while, the quiet in the room shifted, not uncomfortable, just… aware. Time had passed without either of them really noticing, but it caught up eventually. (Y/n) let out a soft breath, glancing toward the door before looking back at him. “I should go,” she said gently. Yudai’s expression changed almost instantly. Not dramatically, but enough. His ears dipped just slightly, and his fingers curled faintly where they rested in his lap. “Oh,” he said, quieter now. She offered him a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” she added quickly. “I just… I need to figure some things out first. Find a way to make this work.”
He studied her face for a second, searching for something, maybe reassurance, maybe certainty. Then he nodded, even if it looked reluctant. “Okay,” he said.
There was a pause, like neither of them quite wanted to be the first to move. Eventually, Yudai let go of her hand. He walked her to the door, slower than necessary, like stretching out the last few seconds. When she stepped into the hallway, he lingered there, watching her. There was something in his eyes now, something he didn’t say out loud. A quiet fear. That she might not come back. But he didn’t voice it. Instead, he gave her a small smile. “I’ll be here.” (Y/n) nodded, meeting his gaze. “I know.” And then she turned, walking down the hall without looking back, even though she could feel his eyes on her until she disappeared around the corner.
~~~
The air outside was cooler now, the evening settling in. (Y/n) stepped out of the shelter, pulling her jacket a little tighter around herself as she exhaled slowly. Her mind was already moving, turning over everything that had just happened. She didn’t wait long before pulling out her phone. Nicholas picked up on the second ring. “Miss me already?” he muttered, his voice thick with exhaustion. She huffed a quiet laugh. “Something like that. You got time to meet?” There was a pause, then a tired exhale on the other end. “Yeah… but you’re coming to me. I’m not moving.” (Y/n) smiled faintly. “Figures.” “Door’s unlocked,” he added. “Just don’t judge the state of my apartment.” “No promises,” she said, hanging up.
Nicholas’s place looked exactly how she expected. Shoes kicked off near the door. A jacket draped over the back of a chair. The faint smell of takeout still lingering in the air. The lights were dim, giving the whole space a tired, lived-in feel. He was sprawled on the couch when she walked in, one arm thrown over his eyes like he hadn’t bothered to fully sit up. “Took you long enough,” he mumbled. (Y/n) kicked off her shoes and walked further in, glancing around with a small smirk. “Wow. You really went all out cleaning up for me.” “Be grateful I’m conscious,” he shot back, though there was no real bite to it.
She huffed softly, dropping onto the couch beside him, leaning back with a quiet sigh. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Just… existed in the shared quiet. Then she turned her head slightly. “I need your opinion on something.” Nicholas shifted, lowering his arm just enough to look at her. “That sounds dangerous.”“It probably is.” That got him to sit up a little more, running a hand through his hair as he blinked away the last bits of sleep. “Alright. What’s going on?” (Y/n) hesitated for a second, then started talking. She told him about Yudai. About the conversation. About what he asked. What she said. The parts she wasn’t sure about.
Nicholas didn’t interrupt. He just listened, his expression gradually sharpening as the tiredness faded into something more focused. When she finished, the room fell quiet again. (Y/n) stared at the floor, her fingers loosely intertwined in her lap. “I just don’t know if I can give him what he needs,” she admitted. “I’m barely home half the time. And when I am, I’m usually exhausted or prepping for the next mission.” Nicholas leaned back slightly, watching her for a moment before speaking.
“It’s not always about having the perfect home on paper,” he said. (Y/n) glanced up at him. “It’s much more important to have the right heart,” he continued, his tone steady, certain. “And you have that. No question.” She frowned faintly, like she wasn’t fully convinced. “The fact that you’re even here, stressing about whether you’d be good enough?” he added. “That already puts you ahead of most people.” (Y/n) let out a quiet breath, her shoulders easing just a little. “Yeah, our job makes things complicated,” Nicholas went on, leaning forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.
“We disappear. We don’t have normal schedules. But we’ve made it work before. We adapt.” He glanced at her, a small, knowing look in his eyes. “And let’s be honest. If anyone could make something like this work, it’d be you.” She huffed softly. “You’re biased.” “Obviously,” he said without hesitation. “But I’m also right.” That pulled a faint smile from her. Nicholas’s expression softened just a little. “And from what you’re saying… that red panda’s already halfway attached to you.” (Y/n) looked down, thinking about it. About the way Yudai had looked at her. The way he had said he’d wait. “…Yeah,” she admitted quietly. “So it’s not just about whether you can handle it,” Nicholas said. “It’s about whether you want to.”
That made her pause. Really pause. Her gaze drifted, unfocused, as everything he said settled in. Did she want to? Images flickered through her mind. Yudai smiling when she walked in. The way he sat on the floor just to be closer to her. The quiet trust in his voice. You feel like home. Her chest tightened slightly. (Y/n) exhaled slowly, leaning back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling now. For the first time, the thought didn’t feel impossible. Complicated, yes. Difficult, definitely. But not impossible. And that was new.
Nicholas watched her, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “There it is.” She blinked, looking at him. “What?” “That look,” he said. “The one where you’ve already decided and you’re just catching up to it.” (Y/n) rolled her eyes lightly, but there was no real denial behind it. “Maybe,” she muttered. But as she sat there, turning the idea over in her mind, she could finally see it. Not just the risks. But the possibility. And for the first time since Yudai asked, it didn’t scare her quite as much.
After she left Nicholas’ place and made her way home, the city felt quieter than usual. Or maybe it was just her, too caught up in her own thoughts to notice anything else. By the time she stepped into her apartment, closing the door behind her with a soft click, the silence wrapped around her completely. (Y/n) stood there for a moment, not moving, just letting everything settle. Would it actually be possible? Could she really do this? Her eyes drifted slowly across the space, taking it in like she hadn’t seen it properly in a while. The living room was neat, familiar, everything in its place. It had always been enough for her. Functional. Comfortable.
But now she was looking at it differently. She stepped further in, setting her things down absentmindedly as her thoughts kept turning. She wanted to make it work. That part was becoming clearer with every passing second. Her gaze shifted down the hallway, landing on the closed door at the end. The spare room. It had always just been there, used occasionally when someone stayed over, otherwise untouched for weeks at a time. Slowly, she walked toward it. Her hand rested on the handle for a second before she pushed it open. The room inside was simple. A bed, a dresser, a small desk by the window. Clean, but impersonal. It didn’t feel like anyone’s space. Not yet.
(Y/n) stepped inside, looking around more carefully now, imagining instead of just observing. It wouldn’t take much to change it. A few adjustments, something more personal, something that actually felt lived in. “That could work…” she murmured to herself. Her mind kept going. Money wasn’t an issue. That had never really been a concern. She could afford it. Food, supplies, anything he’d need. That part was easy. It was everything else that made her hesitate. Her job. The unpredictable schedule. The long absences. (Y/n) exhaled softly, leaning against the doorframe as she thought.
He was active. That much was obvious. Always moving, always needing something to do. But her building had a gym. She glanced back toward the main area of the apartment, picturing it. He could use that. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something. A place for him to move, to burn off that endless energy. A small smile tugged at her lips at the thought. Then another idea followed. Yuma. Her brows lifted slightly as she straightened. He already had a hybrid of his own. He understood what it meant, what it required. And more importantly, he was someone she trusted.
“If I’m away…” she murmured, thinking it through. “He could help.” It wouldn’t be all the time. She wouldn’t ask that. But enough to bridge the gaps. Enough to make sure Yudai wasn’t alone. And knowing Yudai… He’d probably get along with Yuma’s bunny hybrid. The thought came easier than she expected. She could already picture it, in a vague way. Not perfectly, but enough to feel possible. Not just manageable. Possible. (Y/n) stepped further into the room, her fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the desk as her thoughts settled into something more solid.
Maybe it could actually work. Maybe all the things she thought were obstacles… weren’t as impossible as she had made them out to be. Her chest felt a little lighter. She turned slightly, looking back out into the apartment, seeing it differently now. Not just as her space. But something that could be shared. Something that could be a home. “Maybe…” she said quietly, almost to herself. Maybe she could give him that. A real home. A good home.
~~~
The next day, when (Y/n) arrived at the shelter, her steps slowed slightly as she entered the building. The familiar sounds greeted her almost immediately. Quiet conversations, paperwork shuffling, the occasional metallic clink from somewhere deeper in the facility. It felt calmer than it had the first night, more settled. For a brief moment, her eyes flicked toward the hallway leading to Yudai’s room. Then she forced herself to look away. Not yet.
Instead, she made her way toward the front desk, where Yuma sat half buried beneath another mountain of paperwork. This time he looked at least somewhat awake, though only barely. He glanced up when he noticed her approaching, and a small grin immediately appeared on his face. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite undercover agent.” (Y/n) rolled her eyes lightly. “You say that like you know more than three people.” “I know four, actually.” “Impressive.” Yuma huffed a laugh, setting his pen down. “You’re here early.” “Yeah.” She hesitated briefly, shifting her weight slightly. “Do you have a few minutes to spare later? Maybe lunch?” His brows lifted just slightly at the tone in her voice, curiosity flickering across his face almost immediately. “That serious, huh?” “Maybe.” Yuma glanced down at the stack of papers in front of him, visibly debating how much he cared about them. Then he sighed dramatically. “I can spare thirty minutes.” (Y/n) smiled faintly. “I’ll take it.”
The lunch place nearby was small and quiet, tucked between two larger storefronts. The kind of place that smelled constantly of warm bread and coffee, where conversations stayed low and unhurried. By the time they sat down across from each other, Yuma already looked suspiciously interested. “You’ve got that look,” he said, pointing at her with his fork before they had even started eating. (Y/n) frowned slightly. “What look?” “The one where you’re overthinking something important.” She let out a quiet breath through her nose. “That obvious?” “To people who know you? Yeah.” (Y/n) looked down at her drink for a second before finally speaking. “I’ve been thinking about adopting Yudai.” Yuma’s expression softened almost instantly, like the answer made perfect sense to him. “But,” she added quickly, “I still don’t know how to make it work.”
He leaned back slightly in his seat, listening quietly as she continued. She explained everything. Her schedule. Missions. Being away unexpectedly. The apartment. The uncertainty that still lingered in the back of her mind no matter how badly she wanted to ignore it. Yuma listened without interrupting, his attention fully on her the entire time. When she finally finished, exhaling softly like she had been carrying the thoughts around for too long, he smiled. And it was annoyingly knowing. “Oh no,” (Y/n) muttered immediately. “You’re about to say something wise, aren’t you?” “I’m always wise.” “You fell asleep on paperwork yesterday.” “And yet, I’m still right.”
(Y/n) shook her head lightly, but a small smile tugged at her lips despite herself. Yuma rested his arms on the table, his expression growing gentler. “Listen,” he said, “it’s not about having the perfect home.” Her eyes flicked up to him. “It’s about having the right heart.” The words hit differently this time, maybe because she had already heard them once before. Maybe because hearing them again made them harder to dismiss. Yuma continued before she could say anything. “And honestly? It’s pretty obvious Yudai likes you.” A faint grin appeared again. “A lot.”
(Y/n) felt warmth creep faintly into her cheeks. “Yuma.” “I’m serious,” he said with a laugh. “He barely spends time with anyone else unless he has to. Half the conversations I’ve had with him somehow end up back on you.” She looked away briefly, trying and failing not to smile a little. “There isn’t a single person here more perfect for Yudai than you,” Yuma said more softly now. That made her go quiet. Not because she didn’t want to respond. But because a part of her was finally starting to believe it. Yuma watched her for a second before adding, “And for the work thing? I’ll help you.” Her brows lifted slightly. “You would?” “Of course.” He shrugged easily. “It’s fine. You’re not asking me to raise him. Just help out sometimes when missions come up.” A small smirk tugged at his mouth. “Besides, Harua could probably use another friend around.”
(Y/n) let out a soft laugh at that, the tension in her chest easing little by little. Everything she had worried about suddenly felt… manageable. Not perfect. But real. Possible. She sat there quietly for a moment, taking a slow breath as the last pieces finally settled into place. Then she nodded once. Firmly this time. “Okay,” she said. Yuma blinked. “Okay?” (Y/n) looked up at him, and for the first time since all of this started, there was certainty in her expression of hesitation. “Okay,” she repeated, a small smile forming. “Let’s do this.” Yuma’s face immediately broke into a grin. “There she is.” He pointed at her like he had been waiting for that exact moment. “Good. Because I was already mentally preparing the paperwork.” (Y/n) laughed softly, shaking her head. “Of course you were.”
By the time they walked back to the shelter, something inside her felt lighter. Nervous, still. But lighter. Yuma peeled off toward the front desk almost immediately. “I’ll get started on everything,” he said, already pulling files toward himself. “You go talk to him.” (Y/n) nodded slowly. Then she turned toward the hallway. Toward the door she had already become far too familiar with over the last few days. Her heart beat a little faster as she approached it this time. Not from uncertainty. But anticipation. (Y/n) didn’t even have time to knock before the door suddenly opened. Yudai stood there, already smiling the second he saw her.
“Hi,” he said excitedly, the word coming out almost too fast. (Y/n) blinked once before laughing softly, caught off guard by how eager he looked. “Eager, are we?” she asked, amusement warming her voice. Yudai’s ears twitched immediately in his fluffy hair, and his tail swayed once behind him before he stepped back quickly. “Come in,” he said. “Come on, hurry.” That only made her laugh more. “Alright, alright,” she said, shaking her head as she walked inside. The room already looked more lived in compared to the first night she visited. A blanket draped messily over the bed now, a few books stacked near the window, little signs that someone was settling into the space instead of just occupying it.
(Y/n) sat down on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly beneath her weight. Then she patted the spot beside her. Yudai closed the door almost immediately before crossing the room toward her without hesitation. He sat down close beside her, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. His fluffy tail curled naturally across the bed, ending up resting between them. (Y/n)’s eyes dropped to it automatically. Up close, it looked even softer than before, thick fur catching the warm light of the room. His ears twitched faintly again as he noticed her staring. “Can I touch your tail?” she asked. Yudai looked surprised for half a second, then nodded quickly. “Yeah.”
Carefully, (Y/n) rested her hand against the soft fur, gently running her fingers along it. Her brows lifted slightly. It was warm. Really warm. And softer than she expected, the thick fur smooth beneath her hand as it shifted faintly under her touch. Yudai visibly relaxed beside her almost immediately, his shoulders loosening as a quiet sound left him, somewhere between a sigh and contentment. (Y/n) smiled faintly to herself as she continued absentmindedly petting his tail. It kind of resembled Yudai himself. Warm. Soft. Comforting.
There was an energy to it too, subtle movements beneath her hand, little twitches every now and then that reminded her so much of him it almost made her laugh. Kind. Gentle. Fun. The thought settled somewhere deep in her chest, smoothing out the last traces of uncertainty that had been lingering there since yesterday. And before she could stop herself from overthinking it again, the words left her mouth. “I’m adopting you.” Her hand froze against his tail. Yudai froze too. The room went completely still. For a second, he just stared at her. Like he hadn’t understood the words. Or maybe like he had understood them perfectly and simply couldn’t believe them.
(Y/n)’s heart jumped slightly at the expression on his face. His eyes widened slowly, the brightness in them wavering with something much more fragile. He had prepared himself for the opposite. Prepared himself to hear no. Prepared himself for her to sit him down gently and explain why it wouldn’t work, why she couldn’t do it, why this was where things ended. He had come into today already trying to brace himself for goodbye. Like he always had to. But she wasn’t saying goodbye. She wasn’t leaving him behind. Instead, she had just opened a door he had convinced himself would always stay locked. Yudai’s lips parted slightly, but no sound came out at first. His tail twitched once beneath her frozen hand. Then again.
And suddenly his eyes looked glazy all over again, emotion rising too fast for him to hide properly. “You…” he started softly, almost breathless. “You mean it?” (Y/n)’s expression softened instantly at the sound of his voice. “Yeah,” she said quietly. The second the word left her mouth, something in Yudai cracked completely. Not painfully. Just suddenly. His ears dropped low into his hair as he looked down for a second, one shaky breath leaving him before he laughed softly under it, like he didn’t know what else to do with the feeling building in his chest. “You’re really…” He swallowed hard, looking back at her with eyes that were shining now. “You’re really taking me home?”
(Y/n) felt her own chest tighten at the way he said it. Home. Not adopting. Not ownership. Home. “Yeah,” she repeated softly, her hand finally moving again against his tail. “If you still want that.” Yudai looked at her like the question itself was ridiculous. Then, before she could react, he threw his arms around her so suddenly she almost lost balance on the bed. (Y/n) let out a startled laugh as he held onto her tightly, his face burying against her shoulder. “Yes,” he whispered immediately. “Yes, I want that.” Yuma came by the room not long after, a thick stack of papers tucked beneath one arm and a pen hooked loosely between his fingers. He paused when he stepped inside, immediately taking in the scene before him.
Yudai was sitting impossibly close to (Y/n), his tail curled halfway around her side now like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. Meanwhile, (Y/n) looked calmer than Yuma had seen her in days. A slow grin spread across his face. “Well,” he said lightly, lifting the papers slightly, “judging by the looks on your faces, I’m guessing this is good timing.” (Y/n) laughed softly, a little embarrassed now that someone else was witnessing this moment. “Something like that.” Yudai looked between them, still visibly overwhelmed, like he hadn’t fully come back down from what she had said yet.
Yuma’s expression softened slightly as he stepped further inside. “I’ve got the paperwork ready,” he explained. “Just some signatures and confirmations.” (Y/n) nodded immediately, taking the papers from him carefully. Yudai watched everything. Every page she flipped through. Every line she read. Every signature she wrote. His eyes followed the movement of her hand across the papers with almost painful focus, like he was terrified something would suddenly change halfway through. Like one wrong word might make all of this disappear. But it didn’t. Page after page, she signed. Calmly. Certainly. Without hesitation. Yudai’s chest felt tight. Too tight.
He had spent so long preparing himself for disappointment that his mind still couldn’t fully catch up to what was happening. This wasn’t temporary. She wasn’t reconsidering. She wasn’t backing out. She was choosing him. Actually choosing him. His fingers curled tighter against his lap as emotion swelled too quickly inside his chest, his ears twitching faintly where they hid in his hair. Yuma glanced at him briefly, his expression softening further before he looked back toward (Y/n). “That should be everything,” he said after the final paper was signed. (Y/n) handed the pen back, exhaling softly. “So that’s it?” “That’s it,” Yuma confirmed with a smile. Then his gaze shifted toward Yudai. “You can go home now.”
Home. The word hit him so hard he almost stopped breathing for a second. Home. Not another room. Not another cage. Not another temporary place where he waited to see what happened to him next. Home. Today. His first real home. Yudai stared at the papers in stunned silence, his thoughts suddenly too loud and too tangled to sort through properly. Then warmth touched his hand. He looked down instinctively. (Y/n)’s fingers had slipped gently around his. When he looked back up, she was smiling at him, warm and bright and real, her head tilting slightly as she spoke softly. “Let’s go home.”
Something in his chest cracked open completely after that. He couldn’t speak. Not because he didn’t want to. There were too many things trying to come out all at once. Relief. Disbelief. Happiness so overwhelming it almost hurt. Instead, he just squeezed her hand tightly. And followed her. Out the door of the room first. Then down the hallway he had slowly become familiar with over the past days. People smiled at them as they passed. A few staff members waved softly, some looking emotional themselves after hearing the news. Yudai barely noticed any of it. His attention kept drifting back to the hand holding his. To her. To the fact that she was still there. Still leading him forward instead of away.
By the time they stepped through the front doors of the shelter together, the sun had already started setting, warm golden light spilling across the streets outside. The fresh air hit him immediately. Yudai slowed without meaning to, his eyes lifting upward toward the sky. The sunset painted everything in shades of orange and gold, the light catching against windows and cars and people passing by. For a moment, he just stood there breathing it in. No handlers. No locked doors. No eyes constantly watching him. No shackles holding him back anymore. Only the warm pressure of (Y/n)’s hand in his. Freedom. Real freedom. The realization washed over him so suddenly it almost made his knees weak. His chest rose with a shaky breath as his eyes stayed fixed on the sky above him. And for the first time in his life, Yudai truly felt free.
They walked back to (Y/n)’s apartment together, their hands brushing occasionally as they moved through the evening streets. The city around them buzzed softly with life, people passing by without a second glance, completely unaware that Yudai felt like his entire world had just changed. He stayed close to her the entire walk. Quiet. Not withdrawn, just overwhelmed in a way words couldn’t quite reach yet. (Y/n) noticed, but she didn’t pressure him to speak. Every now and then she glanced over at him, offering a small smile whenever their eyes met, and every single time he looked back at her like he still couldn’t fully believe she was real.
By the time they reached her apartment complex, the sun had dipped lower, warm light fading slowly into evening. (Y/n) pulled the front door open for him, gesturing inside. “Okay,” she said lightly, trying to ease some of the intensity hanging around him. “First things first.” Yudai blinked, following her inside. The lobby was clean and modern, warm lighting reflecting softly off polished floors. A few residents passed through here and there, though none paid them much attention. Instead of heading straight for the elevators, (Y/n) guided him further down the hall. “There’s something I want to show you first.”
Yudai followed quietly beside her until she stopped in front of a large set of glass doors. Inside was a gym. Not huge, but more than enough. Treadmills lined one wall, weights and machines spread neatly throughout the room, a smaller open area toward the back with mats and space to move freely. Yudai’s ears twitched immediately. (Y/n) noticed the subtle shift in his expression and smiled faintly. “Anyone who lives in the building has access to it,” she explained. “Even hybrids. So you can use it whenever you want.”
His gaze moved slowly across the room, taking everything in carefully. “You can run around in here,” she added. “Work out. Burn off some of that endless energy.” That finally earned the faintest hint of amusement from him. Yudai nodded slowly, his tail swaying once behind him as he continued looking through the glass. He still hadn’t really spoken since they left the shelter. Not because he was unhappy. If anything, it was the opposite. Everything still felt too big inside him. (Y/n) gently nudged his shoulder with hers. “C’mon. Let me show you the actual apartment too.” He followed her back toward the elevators after that, staying close again.
The elevator ride was quiet, save for the soft hum of movement as they ascended floor after floor. Yudai watched the numbers light up above the doors while (Y/n) leaned casually against the wall beside him, occasionally glancing over at him with quiet fondness. When the doors finally opened, she led him down the hallway before stopping in front of one of the apartments. “This is us,” she said softly. Us. Yudai’s chest tightened all over again. (Y/n) unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping inside first before turning back toward him. “Come in.” Yudai hesitated only briefly before crossing the threshold. The apartment was warm. That was the first thing he noticed.
Not physically, though it was that too. It just… felt warm. Comfortable in a way he didn’t have words for yet. (Y/n) slipped off her shoes near the door and glanced around almost sheepishly. “It’s not much right now,” she admitted. “I moved in pretty recently.” Yudai looked around quietly as she continued. The apartment wasn’t empty by any means, but it clearly wasn’t fully settled either. Some walls were still bare, certain shelves half filled, corners untouched like she simply hadn’t had time to think about them yet. “Okay, technically it’s been six months,” she corrected herself with a small laugh. “But I’ve been consumed with work for more than half that time.” Yudai finally spoke then, his voice soft after so much silence. “It’s perfect.” (Y/n) looked back at him, surprised. Yudai’s eyes settled on her, steady and sincere. “Because you’re here.”
The words hit her immediately. Warmth spread across her face before she could stop it, a helpless smile tugging at her lips as she shook her head lightly. “You really know how to say things that make it impossible not to like you.” Yudai’s ears twitched faintly, pleased by her reaction. Still smiling, (Y/n) gestured further inside. “Even so, we should decorate a bit more,” she said. “Especially your room.” She glanced down the hallway toward the spare room. “It’s extremely plain right now.” Yudai looked in that direction too, but honestly, he didn’t care if the room had nothing in it at all. Not when he was here. Not when this place already felt more like home than anywhere he had ever been before.
(Y/n) showed him around the apartment slowly after that, giving him time to take everything in instead of rushing from room to room. “It’s not huge,” she admitted as they walked further inside, “but it’s enough for two people.” Yudai followed close beside her, his gaze moving carefully over everything she pointed out. The kitchen came first. It was simple but warm, soft lighting beneath the cabinets casting a cozy glow across the counters. A few mugs sat near the sink, one noticeably chipped near the handle. The fridge had barely anything on it besides a couple magnets and a sticky note she had probably forgotten weeks ago.
(Y/n) noticed him looking. “I’m warning you now, I survive mostly on coffee and takeout when I’m working.” That finally earned a quiet laugh from him, soft and breathy, but real. Then she showed him the bathroom, apologizing immediately for the products cluttering half the counter. Yudai just nodded quietly, still absorbing everything around him with wide, attentive eyes. The living room came next. A couch sat facing the television, a blanket carelessly draped over one side from where she had probably fallen asleep there at some point. A bookshelf stood near the wall, half filled with files, books, and random things that clearly hadn’t found proper places yet.
“It still kind of looks temporary,” (Y/n) admitted, rubbing the back of her neck lightly. “I kept meaning to settle in properly, but…” “Work,” Yudai finished softly. “Yeah.” Then she showed him her room. It was the most personal space in the apartment by far. Clothes tossed over a chair, books stacked unevenly on the nightstand, a jacket hanging near the closet door. It looked lived in. Comfortable. Yudai lingered there for a second longer than the other rooms. Not because of the room itself. But because it was hers. Then finally, (Y/n) led him down the hallway toward the last door. “And this,” she said softly, resting her hand on the handle, “is your room.” She opened the door.
Yudai stopped immediately. Completely still. To (Y/n), the room wasn’t anything special. A bed neatly made with fresh sheets. A desk beneath the window. A closet against the wall. Plain walls that still needed decoration. Empty shelves waiting to be filled. Simple. But when she looked at Yudai, she realized he was seeing something entirely different. His breath caught softly. His eyes moved slowly across the room like he couldn’t take it in fast enough. A real bed. One that belonged to him. A desk where he could leave things without someone taking them away. A closet for clothes that would actually be his. Places to exist. Places to belong.
And the window… His gaze settled there longest. Large enough to let the fading evening light spill inside, overlooking the city beyond. Cars moving below, lights glowing warmly against the darkening streets, people continuing on with their lives. A world outside. One he was finally part of now. (Y/n) looked at him quietly, her expression softening more with every second. His ears twitched faintly in his fluffy hair, little uneven movements like he was trying to process too many emotions at once. His tail swayed slowly behind him at first. Then faster. And faster. The movement gradually picking up speed until it became impossible to miss how happy he was trying and failing to contain. (Y/n) felt warmth bloom in her chest at the sight.
Then suddenly Yudai turned toward her, a bright smile finally breaking fully across his face, unrestrained and overwhelming in the best way. Before she could say anything, he crossed the room quickly and wrapped his arms around her again. (Y/n) laughed softly as she hugged him back immediately, her arms settling around him without hesitation now, like it was already becoming natural. Yudai held onto her tightly, his tail practically wagging behind him now. And for the first time since bringing him here, she felt the last of her doubts disappear completely. This was right. She knew it now. Her hand slid gently into his hair for a second, fingers brushing softly near one twitching ear as she smiled against him. “Welcome home,” she whispered.
pairing: &team teenage dirtbag!nicholas x queen bee!reader ft. &team kei, euijoo, taki, harua
⋆.˚ ☾ wc: 4.1k
⋆.˚ ☾ synopsis: you, the queen of sunshine city high school had somehow landed in saturday detention. with the brain. the athlete. the theater geek. and him, the boy you hadn't yet decided if you wanted to strangle.. or kiss <3?
⋆.˚ ☾ warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, rude humor, fluff, a hint of suggestiveness but no smut, high school rejects teenage dirtbag behavior, wrong side of the tracks dynamic, cursing, smoking
⋆.˚ ☾ a/n: breakfast club inspo!! also no hate to anyone in the education field, more power to you fr. hope you enjoy it♡
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“mom is so going to beat your ass when she gets back from her business trip tomorrow.”
“gee ru, THANKS!”
you hiss, elbowing your idiotic little brother in the shoulder. harua just laughs at you, tongue stuck out, looking all too proud in the driver seat for someone who’s only had their license for three days. and you can’t even blame him because somehow, you, the princess of sunshine city high school, are the one who’s stuck going to saturday detention.
“i can’t believe dad couldn’t get me out of this,” you groan, slowly dragging yourself out of the passenger seat. “and on saturday! i was supposed to be at the mall—”
“no offense sis, but skipping class to go shopping is the whole reason you’re in detention anyway.”
“whatever,” you roll your eyes, slamming the car door shut. “be a good little minion and get me a milk tea when you pick me up later.”
“um, no? why would i spend a penny on you when—"
“i’ll get you a pack of whichever blind box set—“
“deal.”
with a satisfied smirk, you strut towards the distasteful library, and take a seat in the chair closest to the door while the others slowly file in.
the brain,
the athlete,
the theater geek,
and him.
“well, well, well.”
principal genda strides in through the library doors, hands deep in his pockets.
“i want to congratulate you all for being on time. that's a first! for the next seven hours and fifty-four minutes, you will not talk. you will not sleep. you will not leave this room.”
he sets a piece of paper down in front of each of you, along with a pencil that looks like it’s been kicked around the floor of the library for the last fifty years.
“you will write an essay of no less than one thousand words, describing to me who you think you are.”
“excuse me, mr. genda,” euijoo’s hand goes up in the air. “with all due respect, i have my sat scheduled next week and—“
“should’ve thought about that before you and your buddy over there decided to get into fight.”
you cough, trying to smother back your laughter. you'd rather kill yourself than parade around like an arrogant cockatoo in front of a group of misbehaving teenagers for a living. like seriously, how does one become a high school principal and continue to live life happily?
“my office is right down the hall. any misconduct from you little brats is extremely ill-advised. i'll be watching.”
as soon as the library doors slam shut in a cloud of decades-old-book-dust, you whip around in your seat.
“do you mind?” you hiss, eyes narrowed on the one and only nicholas wang, who has yet to stop kicking your chair since mr. genda first walked in the room.
“sorry princess,” he leans forward, that stupid holier-than-thou smirk across his face. “didn’t think i’d ever see you here. you know, with all of us, riff raff.”
you sniff, having enough sense to stay silent and feel a bit of shame at your own words being thrown back in your face. you’d been complaining to your best friend, yunjin, yesterday about the impending doom of saturday detention. unsurprisingly, kei and taki were kicked back in their own chairs, not a scribble to be found on the sheets of paper in front of them.
“c’mon nichol,” taki groans from his corner of the room. “just shut up so i can sleep, please?”
nicholas says nothing, and the room falls into silence, save for the book thrown straight at taki's head. you sigh immediately, pretending to write on your paper as the book lands with an echoing thud. as if on cue, mr. genda's head peeps in.
“hey shitbags. QUIT IT!”
“sorry mr. genda!” nicholas calls cheekily, though his eyes don’t move from your rigid posture. the way your hair falls down your back. the curve of your neck. the hint of a tattoo poking out from under your collar. “juju is just such a klutz!”
from beside you, euijoo huffs in annoyance, already having scribbled enough word vomit to look like a decent essay. oh, how you'd kill to have his brain. and then you take a peek at his paper.
scoff.
call it a hot take or whatever, but byun euijoo, with his round eyes and soft smile, wasn't really all that smart. the guy could simply bullshit his way through everything terrifyingly well. and for as long as you'd been alive, he'd been the boy next door—your first crush actually. in a different world, maybe he'd have been the man you married, with two kids, a minivan, and a white picket fence. exactly the kind of man your parents wanted you to marry. but no, he was too vanilla for your taste, too soft to withstand your sharp tongue and nasty temper. yet someway, somehow, he was best friends with nicholas, the boy who had no problem lighting a fire under your ass and seeing how far you’d fly.
"hey princess," nicholas whispers. “now’s your chance to be a bad girl, want a puff?”
you roll your eyes, covering your nose with your sleeve as the smell of cigarette smoke wafts through the stacks. you were beyond bored out of your mind, but you’d take detention over suspension any day, so here you were, a pencil holding up your hair, walking between the stacks to find anything that could possibly entertain you for the next few hours.
nicholas leans on a shelf, watching you, that damned nicotine stick between his lips. you look between his eyes and the cig, whipping around when you realize you’ve been staring for too long. you weren’t blind; he wasn’t half-bad to look at, all angry eyes and downturned lips. his blouse is rumpled, tie loosened, a track jacket half-zipped around his shoulders, a silver ball in his eyebrow. his sleeves are rolled up, leaving the scar on his arm on total display. the gossip mill went wild about that one—a shootout with the cops, gang initiation, murder, bank robbery gone wrong, etc. the average high school mind truly had no limits. but you knew the real story—well actually, it’d kinda been your fault. just a bunch of kindergarteners playing king of the hill on the playground when you had sent nicholas toppling into the chain link fence, claiming victory.
“i don’t want lung cancer, idiot,” you reply matter-of-factly, climbing onto the ladder. “or your saliva anywhere near me. you really should think about these things, you know. i don’t know how you—" you cut off with a small scream, the ladder wobbling beneath you.
“nice ass, princess,” nicholas stares up at you with that stupid smile, hands planted firmly on the ladder to steady you.
“ha ha,” you cough, trying to cover up your embarrassment. “take a picture, it’ll last longer, pervert.”
“deadass?”
you glare, feeling totally self-conscious, despite the fact that you had slipped on a pair of sweatpants under your skirt as soon as mr. genda had left the room.
“keep your nasty thoughts to yourself nicholas, before i throw this entire shelf of books down on your head.”
“ouch, so much violence in such a tiny person! how about you come down and stop pretending you’re actually going to read, before you send the entire library crashing down on us?”
you snort. of course he thought that: looks or academics, a girl could only be good at one. not to mention, you weren't even short.
“oh sorry, i forgot some of us actually enjoy being educated.”
then your eyes land on a familiar book spine, the breakfast club. oh how ironic.
“catch.”
nicholas barely has time to register the hardcover book barreling towards his skull before you jump down from the ladder, dusting yourself off as he barely saves himself from getting nicked in the eyebrow.
“trying to kill me?”
“shame i failed.”
you shrug, strutting back to your seat with your hands clasped behind your back. nicholas watches you go, trying to ignore the tent now pitched in his pants, your stupid book still in hand. god, he wanted to strangle you.
—
“have you ever had sex?”
you roll your eyes, looking up at the ceiling. trying to read had been an absolute fail, especially with nicholas constantly finding new shapes to make with paper to throw at your head and the intoxicating cloud of cologne and smoke that seemed to follow you no matter where you tried to sit. ever the wonderful influence, nicholas had convinced taki to smoke a blunt with him, the singular open window doing nothing to ventilate the smell. you were shocked mr. genda hadn’t come storming in yet; with any luck, he’d given up on you lot and gone home. and maybe you were getting high off of the secondhand smoke, because in what other world would you be stretched out on the floor with the rest of them under the giant skylight in the center of the library, having this sham of a heart-to-heart?
three more hours, you sigh.
“i’m not going to discuss my personal life matters with complete strangers.”
“if you say you haven’t, you’re a prude. if you say you have, you’re a slut. it’s a double-edged sword,” taki offers off-handedly, higher than a kite. “or you’re a tease.”
“i’m not a tease!” you retort.
“you’d only be a tease if whatever you did gets a guy hot.” nicholas cuts you off flatly.
“i have no reason to get you hot,” you bite back sharply.
“who said anything about me?”
your jaw drops, then closes. for once, you’re left floundering like a fish, at a complete and total loss for words. taki giggles into his hoodie, though you can't tell if it's because of the piece of dust floating in front of him or not. euijoo, to his credit, looks straight down at his feet to avoid laughing out loud.
“god, can you guys just fuck already and save everyone the trouble of bearing witness to your romantic sparring?” kei groans, laying back flat onto the floor. “it’s so tiring listening to you guys, seriously!”
you glare back at nicholas, just now noticing that at some point during your verbal spar, you’d gotten so close that your knees were touching. but you? curse you, you didn’t move, refusing to give even an inch.
“as if i’d fuck you,” you hiss with as much disgust as you can muster.
nicholas meets your gaze, leaning forward with that stupid smirk of his.
“of course not! little miss rapunzel wouldn’t want to dirty her pretty hands with a poor gutter rat like me, right?”
you shove him away, offended.
“i’ve literally never said you were a gutter rat! and stop calling me a princess! what’s it matter to you, what i think anyway?”
really, you ought to stab your pencil straight through one of his eyeballs.
“not everything is about you! you prance around the school with your chest puffed out, treating everything and everyone like just some big fucking joke—"
“CHRIST, you piss me off! poor little y/n, god forbid the day comes when you experience the tiniest droplet of suffering. the school might just shut down without our princess here in perfect condition to govern the hallways of sunshine city.”
nicholas stands up, staring down at you.
“those earrings, they’re real diamonds, aren’t they? bet you've never worked a day in your life—"
“can you quit?!!”
“i bet my entire stash that mommy and daddy paid a pretty penny for those. gee, i bet they’d—”
“SHUT UP!”
“that’s right, get angry princess. throw a little tantrum, see who comes to rescue you then! because poor, poor y/n—”
SLAP!
your chest heaves with anger, your vision going black the longer you stare at nicholas. you could never understand him—why he acted so mean and hateful towards you, yet you always caught him staring at you from around the corner, or when he thought you weren’t looking. why he teased you relentlessly with that stupid nickname, yet had shoved an umbrella into your hands the day you'd forgotten one. why he verbally flayed you to insanity almost daily, yet had landed himself and euijoo in detention after beating someone to a pulp for calling you a ‘prissy bitch.’
he stares back at you, jaw clenched, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.
“you don’t know a fucking thing about me nicholas,” you seethe, resisting the urge to slap the other cheek while you were at it. “go fuck yourself.”
kei whistles lowly, watching you disappear between the shelves. taki watches with wide eyes, mercifully silent. euijoo shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest.
“damn, man. you fucked up.”
“shut up juju, i don’t have time for your shit too.”
“god, you are so emotionally constipated nicholas!” kei wheezes with all the exasperation of an auntie watching the climax of her favorite soap opera. “everyone in the whole school knows that you like each other! sure, she’s a diva. but everybody knows that, she’s never denied it. remember when she flipped her shit on yuma during p.e for breaking her nail?”
“and you know damn well that she’s never treated you as less than her,” euijoo chimes in, piling on insult to injury. “you know i have your back but to be fair, you started acting like an asshole first. you just gotta get over that shit complex of yours, man, and stop being the insufferable prick everyone thinks you are."
"besides, what her family did has nothing to do with her," taki adds, suddenly all-too-aware for nicholas' liking.
nicholas exhales, letting the cloud of cancerous smoke fill his lungs. he knew you had no idea. no idea that your family had ruined his on the very first day of freshman year when your father became mayor and bulldozed the trailer park in favor of a parking lot. actually, you’d been nice that day, all cute smiles and pink bows in your hair, holding your hand out to him to introduce yourself as the new kid around the block. oh, but he remembered you. the girl who'd given him the scar on his arm before daddy went and got rich and moved you all to the other side of town. and with only one high school in grey city, everyone from both sides of the tracks came together.
in anger, he’d slapped your hand away, had spit at the ground by your feet for good measure. then shouldered past you, and spent the last three years of high school taunting you, his insults all bark with no real bite. fast forward to now, october of senior year. he looks towards the stacks where you’d disappeared.
who cares if they had a point.
“what the fuck do you want, nicholas?”
and suddenly, looking at your form huddled up in a ball in that dusty corner of the library, nicholas feels incredibly guilty. suddenly, he’s acutely aware that this time, maybe he’s gone too far and crossed that invisible line in the ground.
“i genuinely don’t understand how you can be best friends with euijoo, of all people, and still be such a douche.” you laugh bitterly, keeping your face turned away so he wouldn’t see the tears running down your cheeks. “you guys have been friends for years and yet, you’re still as much of a dickhead as when i first met you. don’t you care what people say about you?”
“not really, no,” nicholas answers. “the people who really matter know who i am, so who cares what everyone else thinks?”
you can’t answer. not without sounding like a complete hypocrite anyway—your appearance and personality perfectly tailored to survive the shark-infested waters of high school. nowadays you had no idea who you were anymore, beneath the fake smiles and magazine-worthy outfits. you’d always envied nicholas, even if you would rather die than admit it aloud. he was a prick no matter how you looked at him, yet was so confident in his own skin. in the clothes he wore. in the way he carried himself. whereas you doubted yourself every single step of the way, feeling like the world's biggest imposter.
“that sounds really nice actually,” you say, almost as if you hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “not giving a fuck about meeting expectations.”
“y/n—"
“i’m not lying,” you laugh. “i can see that you're not inherently the spawn of satan, contrary to this evil she-demon idea of me you have cooked up in that brain of yours. and i know, you know.”
“i—“
“and it’s so fucked up, kicking hundreds of people from their homes for a piece of depressing asphalt.” you stare out the window, and his mouth parts.
beautiful, he thinks.
“i know you think i’m some spoiled, rich bitch. and you’re right, i am spoiled. my family is rich. and i am a bitch. but i do care about people, regardless of what you think. i do have moral standards and i hate what my family’s done. i hate what we stand for. i didn’t ask to be their daughter anymore than you asked for your home to get torn down.”
you pause, looking back at him properly.
"you don't have to believe me, but, i really am sorry. about everything."
nicholas’ eyes widen at your words. who would’ve thunk it?
you look down at your hands, not surprised at all that nicholas has nothing to say. it was true, that your family had destroyed the lives of so many. you remember the first time you'd met nicholas, not knowing a thing about what had happened. as soon as he'd spit at you, you'd kicked him in the nuts, writing him off immediately as someone you could never befriend. but then you'd recognized that scar, the one you'd given to your old neighbor. even then, you refused to back down, rising to meet nicholas at every challenge. too bad it'd only taken over three years for you to suck up your pride and apologize. maybe you would've had a more peaceful high school career.
“look, y/n. i’m sorry.”
“for what, nicholas?” you scoff, suddenly exhausted. “you’ve had no problem being a dick to me for the past three years, what’s changed?”
nicholas stays silent, unable to answer you. instead he sits down in front of you, the tips of his shoes kissing yours. you don’t move away, still refusing to back down, eyes locked on his.
“you.”
your heart hammers against your chest with every second that nicholas stares at you, tongue darting out to wet your lips. he says nothing, but his eyes follow your action anyway.
“what’s that supposed to mean?”
“you drive me crazy, y/n. you've driven me absolutely insane since the day we first met and you smiled at me with your uniform all perfectly pressed and those stupid ribbons in your hair."
he cuts off, brushing a hand through his already-tousled hair.
"you think i don’t know the real reason you ended up here? we both know little miss honor roll didn’t skip class to go shopping.”
you stiffen, eyes wider than a deer caught in headlights. tentatively, nicholas reaches out, rolling up the sleeve of your hoodie to reveal bruised knuckles. his thumb brushes against them, and you wince, unable to stop yourself. but to your surprise, he bends his head and you watch him kiss each one, slowly, as if each kiss were its own apology.
“people can say whatever they want about me, but don’t you dare ever get hurt because of me again, got it?”
you huff, looking away, embarrassed to have been caught. your hand tingles in your lap, nicholas' hand still holding yours. you didn’t know he knew, didn’t know that anyone had known. but to be fair, jennie had had it coming, ranting about trailer park trash and how they didn’t belong at your school. last thing you remembered was her saying something about people like nicholas dirtying the school—now here you were, saturday detention.
“you, y/n, are so much more than the stuck-up sunshine city princess you pretend to be. you think no one notices that you float around in the top scorers, just low enough so that people don’t notice? or that you deliberately slow down next to old people in the crosswalk to make sure they don’t get hurt? or that you can throw a wicked left hook? well, i do.”
nicholas holds both your hands now, a disbelieving laugh on his lips.
“you want to get back at your family princess? give everyone the biggest middle finger?” his voice softens to a whisper, his breath ghosting the wisps of hairs against your forehead. “it would be a disservice if i didn't offer myself as an accessory, don't you think?”
“i could be convinced,” you offer, mentally cursing at your heart to slow down as nicholas leans closer.
“the deadbeat criminal and the perfect queen bee, what a disaster.”
“a train wreck,” you whisper, lips slightly parted.
“a catastrophe,” nicholas closes the distance, his lips pressed to yours. "use me princess, any way you like."
years of mutual dislike and pining all collide into one singular point of contact where your lips meet his. and if anyone had asked either of you how it started, neither of you would have a clue how to answer. your hand finds his tie, yanking him closer, the other on the hard muscle of his chest. his hands encircle your waist, as if anchoring your body against his. you pull away with a quiet gasp, breathing hard.
“nichol—"
“ahem.”
the two of you jump apart, embarrassment tinging your ears as you come face-to-face with taki, who clearly looks grossed-out and like he just lost two rounds of rock-paper-scissors.
“mr. genda’s gone, so uhhh. yeah i’m leaving. happy first day to the horny new couple!”
nicholas hauls you to your feet, and straight into his arms to steal another kiss. giggling, you push him off, only to drag him out the library doors by his tie. you pass euijoo, who’s scribbling away on a piece of paper, a crumpled one by his feet. you smile as you step outside, the warmth of sunshine and smell of fresh air seemingly enough to fix all of your problems. nicholas stops you just before the stairs, practically high on the taste of your lip gloss and the scent of your perfume. now that he'd gotten a taste, the idea of your lips not on his? criminal.
“see you monday?” you ask breathlessly, untangling your fingers from his.
“your wish is my command, princess,” nicholas smiles to himself, bending in a mock bow to kiss your hand. “better go though, before harua bounces his way out the roof of your car.”
you turn around, cheeks warming at the sight of your little brother making kissy faces at you through the window, a shit-eating grin on his face that promised a barrage of questions.
“he’ll live.” you reach up, fiddling with the back clasp of your earring.
smiling cheekily, you place the earring in his palm. diamond, just like he’d said.
“don’t you forget.”
nicholas laughs, bending to give you a peck on the cheek. his eyes catch on the sight of his necklace resting on the groove between your collarbones, and a proud smile makes its way across his features. good, it belonged there.
“wouldn’t dream of it.”
nicholas closes your door, watching you and harua drive away with a fool’s grin plastered on his features. euijoo comes out laughing, pointing out nicholas’s now-tomato-red cheeks.
“DUDE.”
“shut up.”
“i didn’t even say anything!”
“didn’t you have an essay to write?”
nicholas grumbles, securing the earring. euijoo waves him off with a flick of the wrist, arm thrown carelessly across nicholas’ shoulders as they set off for home.
“dear mr. genda,
we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. what we did was wrong, but we think you’re crazy to make us write an essay telling you who you think we are. what do you care? you see us as you want to see us, in the simplest terms, with the most convenient definitions. but really, each one of us is a brain… an athlete… a princess… a theater geek… and a criminal. does that answer your question?”
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.
“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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