I'm new to posting my writings but I'm not new to writing or reading (especially fanfic). I LOVE K-pop (my groups/biases below) and mostly just write for K-pop but I also love Over The Garden Wall, Gravity Falls, PJO, Psych, Stupid Fun Facts, SPN, Marvel, History/Archaeology, Disney, Traveling/Other Cultures, Music, Film, photography, and Learning (but I hated school lol).
I also used to be a cross country runner and I still am a skier so if that comes up at all, don't be surprised (..âáŽâ..)
My biases:
⊠BTS- Suga (Wreckers: Jimin and V)
⊠TxT- Beomgyu [ULT] (Wrecker: Taehyun)
⊠ATZ- Yeosang, Hongjoong, and Yunho
⊠SKZ- Lee Know and Seungmin (Wreckers: Felix and IN)
⊠P1H- Soul (Wreckers: Theo and Jongseob)
⊠SVT- DK, Joshua, and Scoups (Wreckers: Minghao & Dino)
⊠Xikers- Hyunwoo and Yechan (Wreckers: Minjae and Sumin)
⊠Enhypen- Jake, Jungwon, and Sunghoon
Just because I have a bias (or two lol) doesn't mean I'm not OT-whatever. If you come here and say anything about how a group "is better without someone," I will promptly block you.
You will also be blocked IF you post hate of ANY kind. I refuse to let ANYONE be subjected to hate on my page. This is a hard boundary and it will never change. If you don't like that, see yourself out or you will be blocked.
On that same page, if I happen to say anything offensive in ANY WAY, immediately let me know and I will fix it. I try to best educate myself on what is appropriate (since I'm white) but this doesn't mean I don't want to be held accountable for my actions. Please let me know <3
Thank you for visiting and I hope you have a good day! ( ⹠Ꭰ- ) â§
Iâm in a complete rut right now and cannot figure out how the hell to finish any of these one shots Iâve started⊠Soooo help me decide? Just a comment will do!
1. Felix x bookstore employee who âhatesâ Felix but he can NOT figure out why
2. Jongseob x childhood friend who he has a MASSIVE crush on
3. Hongjoong x Delivery Driver who always happens to be working at 3AM when heâs still in the studio
- Another one I have planned is a txt as Disney movies series but that one is going to take a bit, I was just saying it in case anyone was interested!
Iâm also open to requests :) I just havenât found anything thatâs particularly caught my eye (cough cough Pinterest) but thatâs okay! It just means Iâll stay in my little hole Iâve dug myself (it has beomgyu pcs and garlic bread so Iâm good chillin here)
synopsis ; being the forgotten princess came with the solitude that you crave, the freedom that you love, and the joy that you'll forever cherish. however, that tranquility is ripped away from you when your father announces your marriage to the water nation's king. you were forced to comply, being whisked away to an unknown land where you were sure to be your grave, yet when a maid helps you escape, you're met with mingi, the lost dragon descendant, who not only saves you, but helps you regain your freedom.
pairing(s) ; mingi x f!reader
â ââ wc. ; 19.8k
â ââ genre ; fantasy, romance, minimal angst, smut, fluff, historical, dragon shifter/descent duke!mingi x princess!reader
â ââ tw. ; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, mentions of forced marriage (not with mingi), crying, blood, mentions and depictions of death/murder, death threats, petnames (princess, my love, love, sweetheart, pretty girl...), mentions of pregnancy, mingi is super protective of reader, violence, mentions of mates, a tinge of deception, arguments, mingi is kinda mean and ruthless (not towards reader), kissing, some skinship, slight wound care/injury recovery, mingi is a water dragon and can spew boiling water, passing out (injury related), mingi is just a simp lowkey, NSFW ; monster fucking, virgin!reader, sloppy makeout, fingering, begging, unprotected sex, dom!mingi x sub!reader, oral (f. receiving), big dick!mingi/monster cock, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, biting/marking, manhandling, some praising, clit play, some teasing, breeding/mating, dumbification, rough sex, cum eating, slight breast play, bulge kink, knotting, creampie, slight cockwarming, dacryphilia, cervix fucking/bruising, lmk if I missed anything!!
â ââ notes ; he's hereeeeee!!! hehe this was smth that started as a joke between me and @sangis-puppy but as you can see it didn't stay a joke :33 now this was only supposed to be like 5/6k but that didn't happen... I got a little carried away with the plot. also special thanks to @xtrashxbunnyx for being my beta reader and giving me your raw reactions, mwahhh~
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"You are to marry that king; this is not up for discussion." Your father's voice echoed all around the large office, his words piercing right through your heart.
"FatherâŠ" You breathe out, hands gripping the skirt of your dress so tight that it begins to color your knuckles a ghostly shade of white. Sure, you had never been the most favored out of all of your siblings, nor were you in line for the throneânever had been. Yet you never thought your father would stoop as low as to marry you off to another nation just for money, which he had plenty of.
"This is for the better of the kingdom, y/n." Your mother cut in from her spot just behind your father, her hands folded in front of her body, just like you had been taught before you could even remember.
You couldn't even think of anything to say, nor was there anything to be said. There was no way you were getting out of this. So as tears brimmed in your eyes, you tried to muster up a smile, one that felt like it was tearing into your skin. Quietly lowering yourself into a curtsy, you agreed to your father's proposition.
"They will arrive in two days' time. You are to be prepared in advance." Your father continued, his gaze scrutinizing you. Then he was looking behind you, right at his royal advisor, "Jisung, show the Princess back to her room."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Jisung's quiet voice flows through your ringing ears, and he bows his head before his gaze shifts over to you, "this way, Your Highness."
The walls of the room seemed to be closing in on you as you turned slowly on your heel, and the tears that stung the back of your eyes seemed to grow. Your heart was thumping violently against the sturdy bones of your ribs, threatening to break free. Yet you could only will yourself to follow the raven-haired male out of the office, hands still clutching your dress skirt, the fabric nearly tearing under your fingernails.
Not a word was spoken as you both walked down the hall, your heels clicking on the marble floors. A few maids were walking down the hall, bowing to you in greeting before going on about their day. You tried to smile at them, trying to be the nice princess that they all knew you as, but as you thought about how your life was about to take a turn for the possibly worst, you just couldn't.
"We've arrived, Your Highness," Jisung announced, motioning towards your bedroom as he held the heavy door open for you.
You thanked him quietly, walking into the luxurious bedroom, and as soon as you walked past the threshold, your knees became weak.
"Your maids have already packed everything, you'll be fetched when their caravan arrives." You look over your shoulder at him, nodding your head before watching him walk out of the room, and the door closes.
As soon as the latch clicked behind him, your knees gave out, falling to the ground, and sobs tore through your lips. Your cries bounced off the walls, the pain that had been sitting idly in your chest finally coming free.
â
Two days later, just like Jisung and your father had said, the water kingdom's men arrived at your castle. Not a word was uttered from your lips as you were escorted to the carriage, the tears in your eyes long since dried up, leaving behind an empty numbness.
"Think of the people, my dear sister," Your brother, who had your arms hooked through his, as he walked you through the palace gates.
The sound of your inexpensive heeled boots echoed off the pavement; they were given to you just this morning by your mother's maids. They were to keep the water from seeping through to your feet. They were a parting gift, one that your mother couldn't be bothered to give you herself. Just like she couldn't be bothered to be here to see you off as you were whisked away to an unknown kingdom.
"What people, brother? We've never had any affiliation with the Water Nation, so why now?" Your words came out hoarse from having not spoken for days, throat rubbed raw from endless hours of crying.
"Don't worry yourself about the little things, just do as you're told, and you'll be happy." Those were the last words that your dear brother had spoken to you before you were ushered into the carriage, the unfamiliar maids fixing your gown inside.
Maybe your brother was right. Maybe this was for the best of the people, for a reason you don't even fully understand. Maybe if you just played the role of a dutiful wife, you could live comfortably.
Those were the types of thoughts that ran through your head during the ride, the world outside you blurring past. You hadn't even registered that someone was speaking to you until you felt an impatient tap to your arm. Blinking a few times to try and clear your mind, you looked over, finding one of the maids looking at you expectantly.
"I'm sorry, what was that?" Your voice was merely above a whisper, and the woman let out a sigh, her face relaxing slightly before she spoke.
"The king does not want to wait for a ceremony. He's asked to officiate the marriage as soon as we arrive at the palace." She explained to you, and you felt your heart seize in your chest, your breath hitched, words stalling on your tongue.
You had believed that you would have a little time to fully understand the predicament you had been placed in. A few days at least to become comfortable in your home before you are dragged to the man's chambers. At least to have some time to grieve the life you once believed you'd live.
But in just a short amount of time, that small flame of hope had been snuffed out.
"We'll take you to your chambers to change into a new gown fit for the Water Nation, then you're to meet with the king in the grand halls." She continued to explain, but her words all but fell on deaf ears as you began to realize the severity of what you were to do.
Out. Get out. You needed to get out.
Your brain kept repeating that mantra, the sounds drowning out anything around you. Tears brimmed along your waterline, but never fell. Not until the carriage came to a stop and the door swung open.
"We've arrived, Your Highness," The maid motioned towards the open door, waiting for you to move, and with your breath caught in your throat, you moved, stepping out of the carriage with shaky knees.
Stepping onto the pavement below the carriage, you looked up at the palace before you. The glittering blue stones reflected the setting sun beautifully. It gave the illusion that you were standing below the ocean's surface. It was beautiful, but it was also your prison.
"Right this way, Your Highness," A butler motioned towards the palace gates with a bow, and you swallowed past the lump in your throat. Your eyes flickered to your surroundings, taking note of how lively everything here looked compared to the Fire Nation that you called your home.
Birds chirped above you in an almost sing-song way, and your head snapped in their direction, having only heard tales of the creatures. A part of you felt like a child exploring a new land and learning new things, but as you heard the heavy palace doors open, that small child inside you cowered into the furthest depths of your soul.
Your jaw clenched tightly as you stepped inside, heart raging against your chest, and as soon as your heeled boot met the smooth marble flooring, you felt a wave of chilled air wash over you. Goosebumps littering your naturally warm skin. Then the doors behind you slammed shut, the loud sound causing you to jump as it reverberated off the walls. Looking behind you, you only found one of the maids behind you, while the butler stayed a few steps ahead.
Get out, now. You're not safe here.
There it was again. That same little voice in the back of your mind, pleading with you to go. Warning you of the dangers that lurked in the walls of this palace. You were no fool; you knew how cruel the king of the Water Nation was. How he has gone through at least a dozen wives, all having died due to either childbirth or mysterious reasons.
Was that the same fate that awaited you? Were you going to become merely another wife who met a bitter, bitter end? Would it be the labor of childbirth or the abuse you may face? A part of you hopes for the earlier option, at least you'd leave this world with an offering for a peaceful passage.
No.
No, you mustn't let yourself think like that. You would be the one who survives. The one that makes it out alive. The one who escapes that fate that awaits her.
The one that got away.
You weren't sure how long you had been walking, nor how far you had traveled into the palace. Just that when you finally pulled yourself from your thoughts, you were standing before a luxurious bedroom. The inside, much like the rest of the palace, was decorated in ocean blues and turquoise.
"The maids inside will help you dress, then you'll be escorted to the main hall." The butler explained before motioning you into the room, and you gave him a curt nod, eyes downcast as you walked inside.
The heavy door latched shut behind you, and your stomach twists violently as your one escape route has been closed off. Walking further into the room, you unfolded your hands that had been neatly placed in front of you, taking in the sight of the nearly translucent blue gown that was displayed. Bile crept up the lining of your throat, knowing that this gown would do just about anything but protect your modesty.
A small gasp fell from your lips when someone grabbed a hold of your arm. Head snapping over you found a young girl, her hands gentle on your thinly covered skin as she urged you towards a side room. That's when you realized that it was only her and one other maid who was fidgeting next to a vanity.
Not a word was spoken as she guided you towards a steaming bath, the area closed off from the rest of the room by a thin curtain. You wanted to speak as she helped you shrug off the complicated layers of your current gown, but the words glued themselves to your tongue.
"Why have you come here?" Her sudden voice startles you, and you look over at her with wide eyes. No maid has ever spoken so freely to you, let alone hold your gaze as she does. "I don't mean to come off brazen, but this place is not for you; you will only find misery here, Princess."
"Iâ" The words once again stuck themselves to the lining of your throat as you stood before her in nothing but your undergarments.
But you didn't have to speak for her to see it in your eyes. The hard edges of her face softened, and she carefully reached for your hand, her skin unnaturally cold to the touch. "You must leave at once."
"I⊠I can't." You started, the tears you had tried so hard to keep at bay began to drip from your lashes, "I wouldn't even know where to go."
"You won't have much time, but the drop from the balcony isn't very high. From there, you go north, you'll find the sea, and I'm sure there will be boats." She explained to you in a hushed, hurried tone as her grip tightened around your shaking hands, "If there are no boats, then you shall find a cavern, find refuge in there, you'll be safe, I can assure you."
You looked at her with wide, teary eyes, completely unsure if you could trust her word, but the sincerity that gleamed in her eyes gave you back that shred of hope you thought snuffed out. It took you a few long moments before you were nodding, and she offered you a small, pitiful smile.
"We must bathe you first, only after we redress you can you go." She explained, furthering her words by telling you that the other maid will leave once she is dressed.
So that's what you did, you let yourself sink into the steaming waters of your bath. As you washed away the grime from the trip, you couldn't help but let your gaze drift to the girl who had turned to gather a towel for you. Her dark hair was pulled back into a bun that you were sure was hurting her scalp, but what intrigued you was the color. What you had believed to be black was actually a deep midnight blue, only noticeable when the setting sun beamed through the small windows.
Then you swore you saw what looked like scales on her collarbone when she bent down, the hem of her dress dropping just a hair. Though you chalked it up to a trick of the eye when she stood, holding a towel in her hand as she helped you stand.
You wrapped the soft cotton around your body before allowing her to lead you back into the main chambers. Her demeanor shifted back into the meek girl you had met the first time you walked into the room, and the other maid walked over, none the wiser to the conversation that had just transpired, and grabbed your other arm.
Once again, the room fell into a still silence, not a word spoken, and the only sounds were the rustling of fabric as both maids worked together to fit you into the gown. Your eyes flickered over to the balcony door that sat ajar on the far left side of the room. The cool breeze from outside washes over you every so often.
"Maid Yang, please finish prepping the princess while I go make sure everything in the grand hall is settled." The older maid spoke softly as she finished fastening your corset, and you felt your heart leap into your throat.
"Yes, ma'am." The younger girl bows before turning to lead you to the vanity, her gaze shifting over her shoulder as she watches the other woman walk out of the room.
The two of you stopped moving as she slipped out, the heavy doors shutting behind her, and a long beat of silence passed between you and the younger girl. Then, once she was sure that no one would venture into the room once more, she grabbed your arm in a hurried manner, ushering you towards the open balcony door.
"Go. Now." Her voice was stern as she peeked over her shoulder when you neared the edge of the balcony, nothing but plush green grass a few feet below. The drop wasn't deadly, but you would definitely gain a few scratches and bruises if you were lucky to avoid any broken bones.
"Thank you." You breathed out with a smile as you turned to look at the younger girl, a pang of guilt hitting your chest. You knew that if you left, you would only be leaving her to take the punishment of letting you escape, but right now, all you could do was make sure that her efforts to help you wouldn't be in vain.
"Go live a better life, Princess," She offered you a sweet smile as she helped you over the ledge of the balcony, your bare feet nearly slipping on the smooth marble.
Then, with one last nod of appreciation, you jump from the balcony, tucking your body to try and minimize as much damage as you could. A sharp gasp fell from your lips as your body collided and rolled on the grass; the ache alone was enough to tell you that you'd definitely have bruises within the next few hours. Without sparing another second, you leaped to your feet, glancing back just in time to see the girl disappear back into the palace, and that's when you realized.
You never got her name.
But you didn't have time to dwell on the trivial things; you needed to get as far away as you could before they sent guards after you. So you ran without looking back, hands gripping the skirt of your dress as your bare feet trudged through the grass. You could feel the thin edges of the grass blades slicing through your bare skin, but the pain was in the back of your mind, pushed even further as you heard shouting in the distance behind you.
Your heart rang in your ears, legs burning as you continued to push yourself closer and closer to the beach. And you couldn't help but cry out when it came into view, tears blurring your vision. As soon as your feet touched the warm sand, you looked around for any signs of a boat.
With heavy breaths, you rushed towards a small fishing boat you saw tied to the pier closest to shore. Your hands trembled as you fought with the rope knot, and sobs tore through your throat. Then the voices grew closer, and your head whipped around.
"There she is!" The head guard shouted as he pointed at you, and your eyes grew wide.
"No, no, no." You weren't going to be able to get that knot undone in time. No, you needed to run before they caught up fully. So, remembering the cavern that the maid had mentioned to you, you ran, kicking sand up in your wake.
"After her!" The kingsmen shouted again, and you barely heard him over the sound of the waves crashing over the rigid rocks near the shore. They only seemed to get angrier the further you ran, as if they were warning you about something unknown or angry about the horde of men that were on your heels.
As you neared the rocky formation on the far side of the beach, your gaze swept all over, trying to find an entrance. Pain shot through the soles of your feet as the jagged rocks sliced your skin wide open, leaving behind trails of crimson blood in your wake. But the pain didn't deter you, no, if anything, it only spurred you on.
Then you finally spotted the entrance as you rounded the corner, and the gaping hole loomed over you as you stopped dead in your tracks. However, the sound of the nearing kingsmen had you pushing your fear to the side and rushing inside just as one managed to grab your arm.
"Let me go!" You screamed, clawing at his hand, and whether it be the pain of your nails in his skin or the silk of your sleeve, you slipped from his grasp and stumbled into the dark cavern. You tried to regain your balance, but your body seemed to be working against you, and you fell to the ground.
"There's nowhere else to run, Princess." The guard's gruff voice sent a shiver down your spine, and tears blurred your vision as you crawled back.
Sobs tore through your lips as they started to surround you in the dark space, and you knew that there was no escaping. You never should have thought about running, knowing that the fate that awaited you was far worse than before. Tears spilled from your eyes as you squeezed them shut, waiting for them to grab you and drag you back to the palace.
A deep growl echoed around the cavern. The sound came from behind you, and your body went rigid. A newfound fear encased your entire being. Not only had the kingsmen caught up to you, but you ran right into a beast's home. At least this outcome would be far sweeter than what the king would do to you once he had his hands on you.
The ground beneath you began to rumble as whatever was behind you shifted; that same growl was heard once more, louder this time. You didn't dare look back, knowing by the sound and the shift in the ground that whatever it was behind you was huge.
"Beast!" One of the guards shouted, drawing their swords, and the man, before he reached towards you. However, before his hand could make contact with you, a large claw swung, throwing the man across the cavern. Even in the dim lighting, you could make out the glittering blue scales on the claw that now sat beside your body.
Despite the fear that held your body captive, you allowed your head to tilt back, tears silently flowing from the corner of your eyes. Your mouth parted, breath catching on the inhale as you saw the head of the beast looming over you.
The head of a beast that you had only seen skulls of in your father's study. One that the people believed to have gone extinct after the war over two decades ago. The scales and horns are a distinct mark of a reptile that you've heard countless tales about, even the tales of people who could shift into these beasts. They were believed to be of dragon descent.
Though you never thought you'd live to see a dragon.
"Kill it and grab the princess." Another guard growled as he charged with his men, and your head snapped back down at the rushed footsteps.
Your heart hammered in your chest as you tried to move away, but your limbs felt like jelly and refused to work with you. A choked gasp fell from your lips when you felt something coil around your waist. Before you could look, your body was lifted from the ground, pulled back until your back met the smooth stone of the cavern wall.
Everything happened way too fast, the shouting. The growls. The cries of pain. Then the low rumble of something building, and your eyes grew wide as you watched the scales on the creature's neck begin to glow a bright blue hue. It slowly rose up its neck, and you didn't even catch the guards screaming to run before a loud roar echoed around you. The sound was loud enough for your ears to ring even after you covered them with your skinned palms.
The once-dim cavern lit up blue as the dragon spewed something that closely resembled water, but it glowed. An almost unbearable heat filled the cavern as the boiling water landed on the guards around the dragon.
Then it was silent.
No more screaming or yelling. No more growling. No more roaring. Just⊠silence.
A pained cry ripped from your lips when the water spread across the cavern floors, pooling around your feet and burning the bare skin. Tears escaped your lips as you tried to scramble away, but accidentally placed your hand in the burning liquid.
The sound of a low, guttural growl has you stopping dead in your tracks despite the pain that coursed through your veins. Looking up, you found a pair of glowing blue eyes staring down at you, the sight shocking you straight to your core. You watched with hitched breath as it stepped towards you, tail flicking behind it and all but throwing the unmoving bodies from your sight.
"Y-YouâŠ" You tried to speak, but the words stuck themselves to the roof of your mouth when its tail moved towards you once more. You didn't move an inch as it wrapped around you, but unlike the fear that you had felt moments ago, there was something comforting about the way it tightened around you. Never enough to stop you from breathing, but just enough to make sure you wouldn't slip from its grasp.
You held your breath as it lifted you from the ground, moving your body further into the cavern, but you couldn't see anything. Then your body was being sat down, and you expected more stone, but were met with the cool sensation of water. The chill instantly soothes the searing pain in the soles of your feet, and you nearly cry out in relief.
When its tail released its grip, your body dropped into the shallow water, soaking your gown and sending a chill through you. Yet you couldn't bring yourself to get up; instead, you stayed on your knees, letting the water cool the burns and blisters that had begun to form on your soles and palms.
The sound of movement caught your attention, and you turned your head to find those glowing blue eyes staring down at you. Swallowing thickly, you rose up on your knees, pulse throbbing at the base of your throat.
"T-Thank you." You stumble over the simple thanks, voice hoarse due to all the crying, and you could feel your body begin to grow weak as the adrenaline wore off. You weren't sure why the dragon had helped you; maybe it thought you'd make a good meal, and the others were just in the way. Or it was just saving you for last. Whichever it was would be a better outcome than before, so you were willing to accept it as your vision swam, your mind shutting off, and your body swaying before crashing into the water.
The creature let out a grunt before moving closer to the water, its form shimmering and shifting until a man stood where the dragon once did. His blue eyes never left your limp form, a curiosity bubbling in his chest the longer he watched you, and a familiar warmth spread through his body. Stepping into the water, he grabbed your lax body, pulling you into his arms, and as soon as your shallow breath met the skin of his chest, he knew.
You were the mate he had been waiting for.
His key to going back home.
â
You stirred with a groan, joints aching and protesting with every move as you tried to sit up. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, burning slightly. The area around you was bathed in a warm glow, nothing like the darkness you seemed to recall. Then you remembered where you were and your head whipped around.
What you had expected to find was the same dragon that you had seen before. The one who had protected you from the kingsmen and helped with your burns. However, what you were met with instead was a man, his sharp features illuminated by the orange hues of the fire that he sat next to. But what caused your breath to hitch was the horns that sat upon his head and the familiar blue hues that stared right at you.
"You're awake." His deep voice echoes in your ears, and you blink at him, "The burns were pretty severe, so I put a salve on them; they shouldn't hurt for much longer."
Looking down, you saw that your left hand and both feet had been wrapped with bandages. Curiosity seemed to defeat the fear at that moment. You wondered where the large beast had gone, but as you met the man's eyes once more, you seemed to already know your answer.
"Who are you?" You asked, voice meek as you carefully moved to face him fully, and his eyes shifted down for a few seconds before meeting your eyes once more.
"I should be asking you that," He cocked an eyebrow, setting the stick he had been using to poke the fire off to the side. "The people of this Nation know better than to travel into these caverns, but you? You rushed right in as if you didn't know what lies inside."
"I'mâŠ" Your words caught around the lump that had formed in your throat, and you quickly swallowed it back down, "I'm not from this Nation."
Your answer seemed to intrigue the male before you, and his blue eyes searched your face with a curious gaze. "Where are you from?"
"The Fire Nation." You tell him, placing your hands into your lap, eyes following when his intense gaze becomes too much. It was then that you realized that you were still wearing the gown the king had picked out, and heat rushed up your neck.
"Well, Princess," His words and tone cause your head to snap up. You hadn't told him that you were the princess, but it didn't take a genius to figure it out when the guards had been screaming it. "Why did you come here?"
"My father wanted to marry me off to the Water Nation's King." You weren't sure why you were telling this strange man something so easily, but the words just flowed out naturally. Inhaling deeply, you fully introduce yourself, and Mingi just watches with an unreadable expression, annoyance flickering in his blue orbs when you mention the source of the dress you are wearing.
Once your voice trailed off, the cavern fell into an eerie silence, one that left the hairs on the back of your neck standing tall. Then the man was standing, moving towards you, and you felt your pulse quicken with every step until he was kneeling before you. His dark blue hair framed his face, sharp eyes boring into your own, but you didn't see any sign of hostility.
"My name is Song Mingi," He introduced himself, and your eyes grew wide. You had heard that name in tales since you were a mere teen; he was a dragon descendant duke who was loved by his people and feared by other nations. It was believed that he had died in the war, but as you studied his face, you knew that hadn't been true. It also confirmed your earlier suspicion that he was, in fact, the dragon that had been lurking in this cavern.
"Why have you hidden here? You're a duke." You stated in shock, eyes growing wide as he reached forward and took your injured hand into his. His skin was cool against yours, but it didn't stop the warmth spreading through your body. It felt as if there were a magnetic pull towards him, one you couldn't fight.
"My uncle, he's taken over the estate while I was gone, and I haven't had the strength to return." He began explaining, his thumb rubbing soothingly over your knuckles. Mingi's eyes never once left yours, and you couldn't find it in you to look away even when his next words shocked you: "I need your help, princess."
You couldn't disconcert if he was calling you by your title or a petname, either way it had your heart jumping. His gentle touch had your muscles relaxing, and you blinked slowly as his request settled in your mind.
"My help? What could I possibly do to help you?" You asked, fingers flexing in his grasp when his thumb brushed over the bandage, but the lingering pain was nothing compared to your confusion and curiosity.
"The only reason my uncle's heirs have kept the estate is simply that they believe me to be dead," He tells you, his eyes flittering down to your hand when he felt your pulse jump.
"So why don't you return? They could givâ"
"Yet they will not. They have had it in their grasp for far too long. I need to secure my spot, and to do so, I need to prove I can further my lineage." He explains further, gaze moving up to meet yours with expectant eyes, and it didn't take but a moment for you to realize what he was asking.
"You want me to be your bride?" You asked, voice but a whisper, scared that if you spoke any louder, you'd bring your earlier panic back.
Mingi hummed, fingers tightening around yours firmly when you tried to pull away, "Just for a while, then once I have the estate back, you'll be free to leave and go as you please."
You wanted to tell him that he was crazy, that he had no right to ask this of you when you had just run from a marriage. Yet as you met his blue eyes, you could hear that little voice in the back of your mind again, but this time it wasn't telling you to run. Rather, it was telling you that you were safe.
That you were home.
It only confused you, and you wished you could ask what in the great heavens it meant, but alas, you couldn't. However, as you looked into the man's eyes, you couldn't help but feel that the voice was right. So despite your earlier reservations, you found yourself nodding, eyes scanning his face and lingering on the smooth patches of scales that sat underneath his eyes.
"What about the king?" You asked, eyes returning to his, and your heart leapt at the sight of the smile that tugged on his plump lips.
"Even the king wouldn't dare defy a dragon descendant, let alone a shifter," Mingi reassured you, and his warm smile mixed with his gentle presence was enough to have you relax.
"When would we leave?" Your question was answer enough for the dragon, and he hummed softly, eyes gazing back down at your hand.
"Let's get these healed first, then we can deal with other things after." He told you, bringing your hand to his face, and your eyes grew wide as heat flushed your face when he pressed his lips over the bandage. "Need you healed for a proper return."
The first few days were awkward, unsure what you were to do in such a confined space or what to say to the man who never left your eyesight. You tried to make small talk, but it always fizzled out after a few sentences, and you were left with your eyes downcast, the tips of your ears burning red.
However, the following days seemed to go by more easily; Mingi always made sure that you were fed and that your bandages were taken care of, even going as far as to bring you a change of clothes. He was nothing like the stories had described him to be. The cold and ruthless man you had read about was nowhere to be found; only the gentle giant who treated you as if you were a doll.
By the end of the second week, you had grown comfortable around the man; the earlier awkwardness was nowhere in sight. You found yourself talking to him about your life in the fire palace while he told you stories from the war, even about his own family.
You found yourself growing close to the blue-haired male, his kind ocean eyes all but pulling you further in. The more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself drawn to him, fingers itching to reach out and touch him, brain begging you to do so, but you kept your restraint. You chalked it up to it being that he had been your only companion for the past few weeks.
Then by the middle of the third week, Mingi was walking back into the cavern with a beautiful gown in his arms, and you knew that it was time. You stood from the log you had been sitting on, dusting your hands off on the skirt of your current dress, eyes flickering from his smiling face to the blue gown in his arms.
"For you, Princess." He walked up to you, his larger frame towering over you, and your breath caught in your throat as you smelled the sea salt on his skin. You swallowed thickly before reaching out to take the gown, ignoring the emotions that bubbled in your gut.
"It's beautiful, Mingi, thank you." You murmured as you blinked up at him, and he gave you a lopsided smile.
"Go ahead and put it on, we'll leave in the evening." He nodded down at you, and your eyes went wide.
"But the estate is at least a three-day trek from here."
The blue-haired dragon chuckled as he placed his large hand upon your head, "Who says we're walking?"
You wanted to ask him what in the world he could possibly mean, but he was already moving around you, fingers reaching for the buttons of his tunic. Your eyes went wide as he began removing his tunic. Heat enveloped your body the longer you watched him undress. A soft gasp fell from your lips when he reached for the button of his trousers, hands bringing your new gown to your face, and the sound of Mingi's chuckles filled the air.
You didn't dare to move the cloth, unsure as to what the man was doing or if he was still indecent. Then you felt a large huff of air wash over you, and your breath hitched. Slowly bringing the gown away from your face, your eyes went wide at the sight of the large dragon that was now standing before you, his glowing blue eyes looking down at you.
This time, you couldn't help but stare at his blue scales, glittering under the orange firelight. Nothing but wander filled your eyes as he brought his head down, your hand instinctively reaching up and allowing him to nuzzle into your now-healed palm. His scales were cool to the touch, much like his skin was. Your hand didn't hold a candle to the sheer size of his snout, and when his mouth opened with a hum, you couldn't help but smile at the soft noise.
He then moved his tail towards you, poking the dress in your arms with the tip. Understanding what was meant, you dropped your hand and took a step back. He moved towards the entrance before sitting down, giving you one last glance before averting his attention elsewhere and giving you some privacy.
You didn't waste any time in undressing yourself, holding back a shiver as the cool air of the cavern washed over you. The dress was a beautiful ocean blue, one that closely resembled the scale on Mingi's body. It was a floor-length gown with a sweetheart neckline, and the sheer sleeves flowed past your hands, nearly touching the ground by your feet. You struggled with the bodice for a few moments but managed to set it before flattening out the layered skirt with your hands, fingers catching on the dangling jewels.
"It's beautiful." You spoke in awe as you looked down, twirling slightly, and you heard a high-pitched chirp, causing you to look over. Mingi had turned his head and his gaze focused solely on you, and you looked at him with a bashful gaze.
Swallowing thickly, you thanked the large reptile before grabbing his discarded messenger bag and stuffing his clothes inside, knowing he'd need them once you arrived at your destination. Once you were sure you had everything, you grabbed the heels that Mingi had brought with the gown and moved towards his larger form.
"Let's get this show on the road, Duke Song." You smiled up at him, and he bowed his head slightly before rising back to his full height. He moved out of the large mouth of the cavern, and you followed closely behind, careful of his swaying tail.
Once you were both outside, you could see the remnants of the setting sun, the sky painted in beautiful hues of oranges and purples. You took a moment to look, eyes tracing every curve until you felt a small nudge against your back, and you looked over your shoulder at the large blue-scaled dragon who had lowered his body to the ground. Your heart races at the thought of what he was insinuating, but you knew that this was all part of the plan, nothing more, nothing less.
So you slipped your heels onto your feet before carefully pulling yourself onto the dragon's back, careful of the spines that jutted out. You fix his bag around your body before wrapping one hand around the spine in front of you and tapping his side with the other, letting him know that you are ready.
You held your breath when he began to move, his wings spreading wide as he neared the cliff edge. The colors of his scales were even more beautiful under the setting sun; the mixture of dark ocean blues and vibrant turquoise was mesmerizing.
A sharp gasp then fell from your lips when he took off, the speed enough to knock the air from your lungs as you clung tightly to his back. Tears started to sting in the corner of your eyes due to the harsh winds, and your chest felt tight because of the lack of proper oxygen. You weren't sure how long this went on for, but before long, his body evened out, and the rush of air lessened, allowing you to finally breathe properly.
"My goodnessâŠ" You breathed out as you let your teary eyes flutter open, gaze falling on the city below you before flickering to the glittering sea on the other side. It was beautiful.
Though the high altitude made it difficult to breathe, Mingi made sure to stay low enough that it wouldn't harm you. The last thing he wanted or needed was for you to pass out mid-flight, where he would risk hurting you as he caught you.
You couldn't help the child-like laughter that bubbled out of your chest as you looked around. The sight was something that you would etch into every crevice of your mind, knowing that you wouldn't get the chance to see it again.
Then the sky darkened, and stars began to appear one by one, and your eyes widened. You never got the chance to see the stars aside from trips to the Earth region when you were younger. The smoke from the ever-burning forests in the Fire Nation clouded the sky, blocking your view of the stars. So you soaked in the sight, connecting the consolations you had read about so many times in books from the old shelves of the library.
Mingi's head turned just enough so he could see your wander-filled gaze, and he felt his heart thump against his strong ribs. His blue hues studied your face, making note to bring you out more in the future and hoping that you stayed long enough for you to let him.
It was the dead of the night by the time the Duke's estate came into view as Mingi descended towards the ground. Your grip tightened on the spine in front of you as the harsh winds returned and your breath caught in your throat when he landed, the vibration of the rumble shot through your body nearly making you lightheaded.
The sound was enough to bring the attention of the people residing in the estate. You could hear gasps and shouts as Mingi lowered his body, allowing you to slide from his scaly back. Moving around his large body, you came face-to-face with two men who were dressed peckishly as well as a woman with a child on her hip, then a crowd of what you could only guess were their maids and servants behind them.
"H-How is this possible?" The older man in the front spoke, his voice showing his age as he stumbled forward. Disbelief etched into his features, and you felt movement behind you.
"Greetings, uncle, it has been a long time, hasn't it?" Mingi's voice flowed into your ears, and you turned your head just enough to catch sight of his half-turned form, his horns still sitting perfectly in his azure locks. A blush formed on your cheeks as you realized that he was standing before his family without any proper clothing, and you quickly handed him the messenger bag. "Thank you, my love."
Your heart leapt at the petname, mouth going dry, and all you could do was muster up a smile. The feeling of eyes boring into your side made you acutely aware of the nobility that stood before you, but you had to remind yourself that you were a princessâroyalty.
"Cousin, you should know you aren't welcome here." The other man spoke, and your eyes flickered over to him, a sudden rush of annoyance ripping through your body, and you couldn't stop the scoff that escaped your lips.
"If anyone isn't welcome here, it's the likes of you. You all are nothing but illegitimate blood hoarding something that was never yours to begin with." You seethed, eyes narrowing as you glared at the man, and Mingi stopped mid-button to look at you in shock before a ghost of a smirk spread on his lips.
"You wrench! Who gave you the right to speak to me like that?" The man seethed, stepping closer to you, but stopped dead in his tracks when a low growl reverberated from deep within Mingi's chest, his eyes glowing in warning.
"That is my wife, so you are to watch your tone when speaking to her," Mingi growled, his arm snaking around your waist and pulling you behind him. You looked up at Mingi's taller figure with semi-wide eyes, your heart beating furiously under your ribs as heat crept up your neck.
"W-Wife?" Mingi's uncle was the next to speak as he moved closer to his song, grabbing his arm, knowing very well what Mingi was capable of.
"Yes. Meet Princess Y/n of the Fire Nation, my wife." Mingi introduced you as he allowed you to move back to his side once he deemed it safe to do so. At his introduction, hushed whispers fell over the crowd, and you could see the fear swimming in the old man's eyes, knowing that his title was slipping from his fingers. "Now, shall we move this conversation inside where my wife can be comfortable, or do I need to make a path?"
Your lips parted, breath catching on the inhale at his tone. The power that seeped from his words alone was enough to leave anyone trembling in their shoes. Yet you could only look at him in nothing but astonishment. Not only was he going to get what he wanted while he was here, but he was also making sure you were comfortable along the way. At least you thought that until you remembered that this was only a deal, you weren't actually his wife, and he was just here to gain his title back.
"Quickly, make space for Her Highness and the Duke." The woman with the child told the maids behind her, the child resting her head against the woman's shoulder with a sleepy gaze.
"Thank you, Clara." Mingi gave the woman a smile, and had you not known any better, you would've thought that it was kind. But you saw the hatred and anger simmering deep in his blue eyes.
Mingi wraps his arm loosely around your waist, guiding you towards the estate but also keeping you close to his body in a protective manner. You kept your head held tall like you had been taught since you were a child, not letting their judging gazes get to you.
The inside of the estate was bathed in a warm hue, and the scent of vanilla and bourbon filled your senses. Glancing over, you noticed Mingi's nose scrunched, and the sight has you smiling softly. You move your body just enough for his arm to slip from your waist, allowing you to hook your arm around his.
"Right this way, Your Grace." One of the maids pointed both of you towards the stairs, but Mingi didn't move an inch, his eyes trained on his uncle and cousin, who had just walked into the foyer.
"I think it's best we talk first, we have a lot to catch up on, don't you think?" Mingi asked, eyebrow cocking as he turned to fully face the two men. His stature would have any normal person cowering away, and you could tell it was taking a lot for the two men to keep their composure.
"You want the estate." His uncle stated, and Mingi's lips curve into a wolfish smirk.
"Yes,"
"I'm afraid that's not possible; this belongs to my father." Mingi's cousin spoke up once more with a glare; however, his father grabbed his arm.
"See my dearest cousin, that's where you're wrong." Mingi stepped towards the man, letting his arm slip from your grasp, and said, "This entire land belonged to me before you measly rats came and made yourselves at home."
"How dare yoâ"
"I thought I warned you about your tone," Mingi growled, his claws extending and pressing right against the younger male's throat, breaking skin. "It seems your father failed to teach you proper manners. Now, I suggest we talk like men because it would be a shame for your wife and child to watch as you bleed out at their feet."
Your chest tightened at the threat, and you knew you should be scared that he would so easily take another man's life. But you weren't. No, if anything, the tone he used had a wave of heat washing over you, and you folded your hands in front of your body to keep the trembling at bay.
"Mingi, think of your father." His uncle's words seemed to flip a switch in the blue-haired male, and the room fell into a chilling temperature. Mingi's blue eyes glowed brightly as he glared at the older male, hand encasing his cousin's throat and pulling a choked gasp out of him.
"You have no right to speak of my father," Mingi growled, fingers tightening around the man's throat, and you were sure that if he added just a bit more pressure, he would snap his neck.
Then the sound of the child's cries caught your attention. Your head snaps over to the mother and child who were watching the scene before them in horror. Your heart ached for them, and as much as you wished you could spare the man for their sake, you knew Mingi wouldn't allow it, so you did the next best thing. Walking over to the woman you grabbed her arm gently and caught her attention, she looked at you with teary eyes, a mixture of emotions swimming in her eyes.
"Spare yourself and your daughter from this nightmare. Go, now." You urged her and the crying child towards the stairs, and with a quick glance at the maid who stood nearby, she understood. With a nod, she grabbed the woman's arm and ushered her up the stairs and away from the gruesome scene that was awaiting down below.
"Last chance, uncle," Mingi's voice echoes around the room, causing a shiver to run down your spine, and the older man looks at his nephew in shock. His eyes flickered from Mingi to his dying son, whose lips began to turn blue due to lack of oxygen.
"W-We'll return the estate. Just release him." His uncle begged, panic written all over his face, the moment he noticed his son's movements dying down.
"Not just the estate. Everything. And you lot are to leave without a coin." Mingi growled, his grip growing even tighter, and you feared that he would actually snap the man's neck, so you moved closer to him carefully.
"Yes! We'll return everything!" The old man trembled in his spot as his son's life hung by a thread, and a sinister smirk spread on Mingi's lips. He then released the man, letting him drop to the floor before bringing that same hand to his uncle's face, patting his cheek roughly.
"Good choice," Mingi chuckled as he took a step back, right into your awaiting arms, where his gaze flickered for a moment before the smirk dropped into a snarl, "now get out."
"Clara!" The older man began to shout, but Mingi shook his head, stopping the maid who went to fetch the woman with a pointed glare.
"The woman and child can stay. You two are to leave this instant." Mingi brought his heated gaze back to the two men. His uncle didn't spare another second before hauling his coughing son from the floor and lugging him towards the main doors, ignoring his choked protests.
The foyer then fell into a lingering silence; no one dared to move for fear of being under the dragon's wrath next. However, as your hands wrapped around Mingi's bicep, he could feel his anger and annoyance begin to simmer away.
"You must be tired, my love." Mingi's tone came out sweet, the sound leaving you weak in the knees, even more so when his soft gaze fell upon you, "Show my wife to our chambers, I'm sure you know which one that is."
He told the maids that still stood behind you, and they quickly nodded, showing you towards the stairs, but you cast one last glance at the blue-haired dragon. Mingi offered you a smile with a slight nod of his head, and you felt your shoulders relax before allowing the maids to show you to the master chambers, where they helped you get dressed for bed, and you fell onto the soft mattress, sleep quickly overtaking your body as the events of the day finally caught up to you.
â
You weren't sure what time it was when you woke the next day, but what you did know was that all hell had broken loose downstairs. Without even bothering to change, just grabbing a robe, you shrugged it over your shoulders and rushed down the stairs, where the yelling seemed to rise even louder.
"This isn't your home anymore. How dare you try to take it away!" The woman's voice rang loudly in your ears as you rounded the corner into the main living space.
"This has always been my home, Clara. I'm simply taking back what belongs to me." Mingi stated coolly, eyes darkening as the woman before him huffed in frustration, tears flooding down her cheeks.
"Minâ"
"You!" Mingi's name barely fell from your lips as Clara turned towards you with adulterated rage, and you felt your heart seize as she stomped towards you.
"Clara." The tone in which her name fell from Mingi's lips had your body going rigid, as well as Clara's, as she looked at you with a tear-filled gaze. However, under her anger, you could see something deeperâheavier.
Guilt and worry.
"Why? Why must you take this away from my child?" She choked through a sob, and you felt your heart squeeze in your chest. You took a tentative step towards her despite Mingi's warning gaze, hands carefully taking her and pulling her attention to you.
"Clara, you and your child can still live happily. Go explore the world or live peacefully. You have that freedom now." You spoke in a gentle tone, a stark contrast to the tone that Mingi had been using for the better half of the morning, and you could see her resolve crumble.
"W-Where are we to go? My family would rather be caught dead than bring their widowed daughter home." She cried and your eyebrows furrowed, what did she mean 'widowed'? Her husband was still aliveâŠ
At least you thought so until you glanced over at Mingi, who had sat back on the sofa, his azure eyes trained on you, and you knew that you had missed something. Inhaling deeply, you turn your attention back to the weeping woman who began to slump in your hold.
"I have an estate in my name on the borders of the Fire Nation. You and your child are free to live there until you please. No one would dare to bother you, and if they do, just send them my way." You tell her and her eyes grow wide, completely baffled that you would offer such a thing, but you didn't give her a breath to protest, instead you waved a maid over. "Please help Miss Clara pack her and her daughters' belongings while I draw up the directions,"
"Why are you helping me?" She asked, her voice cracking as she let her hands fall to the crook of your elbows, gripping the skin as if she thought this would be some cruel nightmare the moment she let go.
"Because I know what it's like to be trapped within an unwanted marriage. However, I was lucky to be taken away before it was set in stone. Now I want to help someone else escape that same fate." You told her, and the truth in your words made more tears drip from her long lashes: "Go live the life you have always wished for, raise your daughter with love, and show her the true wonders of the world."
"Thank you, Princess." She bowed deeply, and you fumbled to pull her back up, telling her that it wasn't necessary.
"This way, miss." The maid you had motioned over to the teary-eyed woman, who thanked you one last time before allowing herself to be escorted out of the room.
You stood there for a moment, watching as she disappeared around the corner and up the stairs before turning your attention to another maid, telling them to bring you a quill and paper. Then you finally let yourself meet the dragon's gaze, and your breath hitched at the intensity. Swallowing thickly, you moved towards him, his eyes tracking your every move even after you sat down.
There was an unspoken tension in the air as you waited, hands folded in your lap, and you wished Mingi would say something. Yet he never did, not even when the maid stepped up to the table, holding out the material you had asked for.
"Go fetch Her Grace a blanket." Mingi's voice was low when he spoke, the sound sending a shiver coursing through your body. The cushion next to you shifted as he sat up, his large hand finding the small of your back, and the weight made you swallow thickly. "You sure have a kind heart, Princess."
"Kindness is a virtue that very few have in this cruel world; it's only right to lend it to those who need it." You told him without meeting his gaze, heat creeping up your neck and burning the tips of your ears when you felt his breath against your neck.
"Should I be honored that you've lent me your kindness?" He asked, his voice right next to your ear, and your body froze in the middle of a sentence. Mingi could hear your heartbeat speed up, the sound causing the dragon to smirk; however, before he could push further, the maid walked back into the room.
"Your Grace." She bowed her head before handing the blue-haired male the fur blanket, which he took and unfolded instantly.
"Thank you, you're free to go." He spoke blandly before turning his focus back onto you, only to find you staring at him with scrunched eyebrows.
"It wouldn't hurt for you to lend out that same kindness sometimes, Your Grace." You told him pointedly before turning back to finish up the directions.
"Kindness for me will only lead me to my grave," He told you honestly, wrapping the soft fur around your body and tugging you towards him until his lips were merely inches away from yours as you turned your head in surprise, "you hand out the kindness for the both of us."
"M-MingiâŠ" You breathed out, eyes flickering to his plush lips that were just out of reach, and he knew, but he couldn't let himself fall into the temptation. Not now, not yet.
"But be careful who you hand it to, not everyone will treat you the same." The blue-eyed man warned you before releasing his grasp and moving back. You watched him with wide eyes as he stood, fixing his navy vest that hugged his torso just right before looking back at you, "I've got stuff to attend to. If you need anything, call for one of the maids."
Then, with that, he was walking out of the room, and you were left staring at his retreating form in confusion. Where had that kind and gentle man from the cavern gone to?
However, you decided not to let yourself get carried away with the thought; you knew that he was only using you to gain control of his estate. He would only send you away once he's accomplished his goal. So you decided that you would use the time you have here to do some good, and you would start with finishing these directions.
As the day went on, you found yourself going back to the blue-haired dragon, wondering what he was doing and if he had eaten. Though every time you asked the maids, they reassured you that they had delivered him food.
You tried to hold on to the reassurance as you helped Clara and her daughter climb into the carriage, wishing them a safe journey and to write if they ever needed anything. A soft gasp fell from your lips when the mother wrapped her arms around you, hugging you tightly and murmuring one last thank you before the carriage door was shut. You waved at the little girl as she beamed at you from the carriage window, the sight making your heart swell in happiness.
But as you watched the carriage disappear over the slopes, you couldn't help the lingering anxiety that came barreling into you. The feeling wound your chest tightly, and you rushed back into the estate and towards the kitchen.
"Your Grace," The maids bowed as they acknowledged your presence, and you waved them off before asking about Mingi's dinner. "We were just getting ready to deliver it to His Grace in the study."
"Let me," You grabbed the skirt of your dress and stepped further into the room despite their protests. However, you didn't leave much room for discussion, and they reluctantly handed you the tray after prepping it.
You thanked them before making your way back out of the kitchen and towards the study that you knew the blue-haired male would be hiding away in. The maid at the end of the hall quickly walked over, knocking on the door for you. When you heard the man's gruff voice saying to come in, she opened the door before letting you walk in and shutting it right behind you to offer some privacy.
"You can leave it over there." Mingi waved to the side, not bothering to look up from his papers, and you looked over to see the untouched trays that sat on a table to the side. Huffing softly, you stepped towards him, and as soon as your scent invaded the dragon's senses, his head snapped up, azure eyes locked on you with an unreadable expression. "What are you doing?"
"Coming to make you, you've been eating, and good thing I did," You rolled your eyes before stepping closer to the desk despite the low growl that rumbled from the man's chest. Moving around the oak desk you didn't bother to even look at what he had been reading, instead you sat the tray down on an empty spot before looking at him expectantly, "stop being such a brute and eat something."
"I'll eat after I'm finished," He exhaled sharply before letting his gaze fall back to the papers before him, and that had a surge of annoyance rushing through you.
Biting your lip, you propped your hands on your hips and watched him, your burning gaze causing his scales to tingle, and before long, he couldn't take it any longer. Dropping the pages once more, he turned to look at you with a cocked eyebrow.
"Eat." You told him pointedly and motioned to the food that was sitting, ignored on his desk. He began to open his mouth, and you already knew it was some kind of excuse, "Mingi, eat or I will tie you to that chair and shove it down your throat."
Your words took the man by surprise, his eyes growing wide by just a fraction, and his pulse thumped at the base of his throat. He hadn't expected to hear those words fall from your lips, but as he stared into your narrowed eyes, he could see the worry swimming beneath the annoyance. Reluctantly, he pushed his chair back and turned towards you, a cocky smirk tugging on the corner of his lips.
"Why doesn't my beautiful wife feed it to me?" He teased, and his choice of words has your heart leaping into your throat, your cheeks warmed fast, color rising before you could stop it. Mingi could see it on your face, and it only spurred him on, "You said you'd tie me to the chair and shove it down my throat, so keep good on your promise, princess."
"You're insufferable," You grumbled, but reached for the spoon nonetheless, gathering some of the food before moving towards the large dragon. Mingi looked up at you with nothing but mischief, and your jaw clenched tightly, "Mingi." Your tone was nothing short of warning, your patience wearing thinner by the second, but Mingi was enjoying it, maybe a little too much. When he didn't open his mouth, you felt that thread snap, and you exhaled slowly. "Fine, you want me to force feed you, then I'll force feed you."
In the next second, you had your knee pressing into his thigh while your free hand grabbed one of his horns, tugging his head back and eliciting a deep groan, and finally, his mouth fell open. Taking the chance, you shove the spoonful of food into his mouth, eyes boring into his, and Mingi felt heat envelope his body.
"Chew." You demanded, letting your hand fall to your side while your other one gripped his horn tighter. Mingi's hand instinctively flew to the back of your thigh, fingers gripping the soft flesh through the fabric of your gown.
You watched as he chewed before swallowing, and his azure eyes darkened into a deep blue, his gaze making your stomach flip. Heat pooled in your gut, and you could feel that pull once more, brain begging for you to give in to the temptation. Mingi wasn't too far behind you, fingers itching to grab and grope at any part of your body he could possibly reach. But before he could, you were slipping away from him, stumbling back and averting your gaze elsewhere as your cheeks and ears burned a bright red.
"Make sure you eat." You breathed out almost breathlessly before setting the spoon down and scurrying out of the room, leaving Mingi there to watch in amusement.
However, as his gaze flickered back to the papers before him, he knew he didn't have time for the trivial things right now. He could worry about it all once he made sure he had a secure place for you to stayâhappy and healthy.
â
The game of push and pull seemed to go on for weeks; one of you would push the other's buttons to the point of their patience snapping, only for them to pull away when things got heated. It was starting to drive you insane, your mind swimming with the possibility that Mingi actually wanted you. But you quickly pushed that thought out of your head when you watched him sort through all the years of finances and deeds.
"Your Grace, your bath is ready." One of the maids spoke, startling you from where you sat at your vanity, mindlessly combing through your locks. Setting down the gemmed comb, you turned your attention to the girl, thanking her before making your way into the washroom.
The dim lighting of the moon reflected off the rippling water, and you couldn't help but be reminded of the azure dragon that sat just downstairs. Hidden away in his study once more.
Letting out a soft sigh, you sat on the ledge of the tub, running your fingers through the warm water. Then you heard a thumpâquiet, but there. The sound had you leaping to your feet, eyes trained on the door as you looked around for any possible escape if it were to be an intruder. Then you heard heavy boots on the floors, and you knew it wasn't any of the maids, and it sure as hell wasn't Mingi.
Swallowing thickly, you moved further back into the room, searching for somethingâanything to protect yourself. Except you couldn't find a thing before the door was slamming open, a man standing in the doorway and blocking the main chamber's light.
"There you are, Princess," His voice sent a chill down your spine, more so when a smirk spread across his lips, "the king has been waiting very patiently for your return."
"I-I'm not going back." You told him, voice shaking as tears brimmed in your eyes, and you were brought back to that fear you had believed to be gone. Your eyes darted all over the room, for a weapon, for an escape, for anything.
"I'm afraid that's not up for discussion." He growled, moving towards you in quick strides, and you did the one thing you thought could possibly get you out of this.
"Mingi!" You screamed at the top of your lungs, the lining of your throat rubbing raw at the sheer force.
"Stupid wrench!" The man hissed, grabbing a fistful of your hair before slamming your head into the wall next to you.
The impact draws a sharp cry from your lips, your vision swimming, and black spots clouding the edges. No, you couldn't pass out. You had to fight. You had to get out. You couldn't go back to that king. Tears of fear and pain mixed as they flowed down your cheeks, nails clawing at the man's wrist as he dragged you towards the door.
Safe. You're safe. He's here.
That little voice in the back of your mind spoke over the deafening ringing in your ears, and you could feel the fear start to dissipate. A comfort fell over you, and as soon as you lifted your blurry gaze, you met the glowing blue eyes of your fated dragon.
"Release her." Mingi's voice was low, but the growl in his tone bounced off the walls of the luxurious washroom, and the man stopped dead in his tracks. His narrow eyes found the male, but his face quickly morphed into one of fear as he realized who it was that stood before him. The man all but threw your body towards the blue-haired male witless scrambling back and Mingi was quick to catch you in his arms.
"Y-Y-Youâ" The man choked on his words as he stepped further into the bathroom, and Mingi felt nothing but unfiltered rage when he smelled the blood that had begun to seep from the gash on your forehead.
"Who sent you?" The dragon demanded as he tugged your weakening body closer to his, fingers grasping your side.
"T-The Water Nation king!" He exclaimed, pleading for Mingi to spare his life, and the taller male's eyes only grew brighter as he stared down at the cowering man.
Mingi's jaw tightened at the mention of the king you had fled from mere months ago. Glancing back at one of the maids, he motioned for her to take your dazed form, telling her to call the doctor after getting the bleeding under control.
He watched for a moment as the pair of women worked together to help your stumbling form out of the bedroom, incoherent murmurs fell from your lips. Once the door closed, he turned his attention back to the man before him.
"Now, I could kill youâŠ" Mingi spoke coolly as he stepped towards the man, who shook his head violently, "But that would only be a waste, so here's what we shall do." The large dragon stopped in front of the man and crouched down, his arms resting on his knees as he watched the man cower into the corner, "First, you put your hands on my wife, my mate." Mingi growled, and in the blink of an eye, his large hand grasped the back of the man's head, slamming it into the wall much like he had done to you.
"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorryâŠ" Weak pathetic pleas fell from the man's lips as he tried to focus his swimming vision.
"Second," Mingi's hand moved his hand from the man's head to his collar, tugging his body closer until his face was mere inches away from Mingi's. "You tell your king that if he dares to lay another finger on her, he'll have the wrath of the dragon descendant duke brought down upon this kingdom."
"Yeâ Yes, Your Grace!" The perp nodded his head, trembling hands rubbing together in another pathetic attempt at a plea.
Mingi clicked his tongue before rising to his feet, pulling the man's body up as well and ignoring his pleas and jumbled words as he escorted him towards the front door, roughly. Once the front doors were open, Mingi all but threw the man outside, watching as his body slid against the jagged gravel.
"You fail your task, and I will hunt you down and skin you alive," Mingi growls, eyes widening just a hair as the blue burned brighter and the man scrambled to his feet, bowing deeply, "get out of my sights."
Then the man was tucking tail and running. Before long, his form was merely a speck in the night, and Mingi stepped back inside. The anger that radiated off the dragon had all of the staff cowering away; his gaze was enough to pierce through anyone's soul.
"Where is she?" He asked no one in particular, and one maid swallowed her nerves and motioned towards the stairs.
"This way, Your Grace." Her voice was meek, heart jumping when the Duke's fiery gaze fell upon her. But he didn't say a word as he allowed her to lead him back up the stairs and towards another chamber door.
Once the door was open, he was waving her away and stepping inside, where he found your motionless body lying beneath the covers. His heart skipped in his chest, and for the first time in many, many years, the dragon felt fear course through his veins. The lingering scent of your blood surrounded the man, and he swallowed thickly as he moved towards the bed where the doctor had just finished up.
"How is she?" Mingi's voice came out softer, his eyes never leaving your sleeping form, and the doctor bowed before rising.
"The blow was pretty hard, and the gash needed stitches," As the doctor explained. Mingi could feel his rage begin to surface once more, his upper lip pulling back into a snarl, the sharp point of his fangs gleaming in the dim lighting.
"I should've just killed that bastard." He growled lowly, fingers tightening around the wood of the bed frame, the wood creaking under his palms.
"She will probably be out for a while, but she should wake up within the next few days." The doctor continued his explanation, paying no mind to the large dragon, and moved towards the bedroom door after Mingi dismissed him.
Once the door closed, Mingi finally released his grip from the creaking wood and moved towards your pale body. He grabbed the armchair that stood nearby and sat down, taking your smaller hand into his. The room fell into a still silence, neither comfortable nor unbearable; just⊠still.
"I'm sorry, my love," The dragon whispers, bringing your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. His lips lingered there for a few long moments as he studied your face, and had it not been for the bloodied bandage that was wrapped around your head, he would've thought you were just sleeping. "I won't let anyone hurt you ever again."
And he spent the rest of that night as well as the many following nights at your bedside. He barely let the maids near you, a threatening growl emitting from his throat when one got a little too close for his liking.
Then, it was early morning on the sixth day, and the sound of birds chirping outside the window was the first sound you heard. Your head pounded as you slowly opened your eyes, only to close them again due to the harsh sun rays. You tried to bring your hand up to shield your eyes from the light, but were stopped by a weight in your palm. Sitting up carefully, you blinked slowly, allowing your eyes to get used to the new brightness before you glanced over.
Your breath caught in your throat when you found none other than Mingi slumped over at your bedside. The evident eye bags under his eyes and the dull shimmer of his once bright scales told you that he hadn't slept in days. A soft smile curves on your lips as you bring your free hand over, brushing his hair from his face, careful not to touch his horns, knowing it'd wake him up.
The sound of the door opening had your shoulders going stiff, head snapping in the direction, only to find one of the maids walking into the room. A gasp fell from her lips when she saw that you were awake, but you quickly hushed her, pressing your index finger to your lips. She quickly covered her lips, eyes flickering from you to the sleeping beast beside you.
"How long have I been asleep?" You asked quietly, and she stepped closer to the bed, a weary gaze shifting from Mingi back to you.
"Today would've been the sixth day, Your Grace." She told you, bowing her head softly, and you nodded before letting your gaze fall back to the blue-haired male. "He hasn't left your side a single day; he refused to eat despite our worries and reminders that you would want him to eat."
You looked at her for a moment before softly pinching the male's cheek, "brat."
"Would you like me to bring you some food, Your Grace?" She asked, and you nodded, giving her a gentle smile before watching as she quietly slipped out of the room.
Then the room was shrouded in silence once more, the only sounds coming from the birds outside and the soft snores that slipped past Mingi's lips. You watched him sleep, eyes studying his face, and for the first time, you were able to really take in his beauty. Your fingers carefully trace every curve, blemish, mole, and scar that you could reach before he was stirring under your touch.
You pulled your hand away from his face when his eyes fluttered open, azure hues focusing on you the moment he woke. Your smile only spread wider as he sat up, eyes wide as if he weren't sure if this were a dream or not.
"Good morning, sleeping beauty." You teased, and Mingi felt as if a ton of bricks had been lifted from his shoulders.
"You're awake." His voice was heavy with sleep, and it sent a flurry of butterflies through your stomach, a soft heat settled across your face, giving you away. Then he was moving towards you, large hands cupping your jaw carefully, and before you could register it, his lips were on yours.
It only took seconds before you were melting into his touch, eyes fluttering closed and fingers gripping the untucked hem of his tunic. Your head tilted just enough to deepen the kiss, easily finding yourself getting lost in his taste.
The way his lips melded with your left your craving for more, fingers pawing at his shirt. Your brain quickly started to fuzz, a warmth seeping throughout your body and begging for more. Mingi sense itâsmell it and a deep groan reverberated through his chest and right into your mouth causing you to whine softly.
"We can't. Not now, you need to heal." He murmurs against your lips, and you wanted to cry out in desperation, but he silenced you with another soft kiss against the corner of your lips. "Once we are legally able to marry, you can have me. All of me."
His words made your stomach twist, the feelings between you finally becoming clear, but there still stood one last obstacle. "What about the king?"
"You are not to worry about him no more," He told you firmly, his gaze hardening, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood tall. Then they were softening once more, "just a little bit longer, princess, then you'll be free. I promise."
Despite the anxiety that ate at every nerve in your body, you nodded, hands finding Mingi's larger one. You knew that he would keep his word, that you would soon be free of your binds. Free to be his. Fully and wholeheartedly.
And just like he promised, a week's time had passed, and there came a sharp knock at the chamber doors where you were resting. Mingi lay by your side with a book in his hand and glasses perched upon the perfect bridge of his nose.
"Come in,"
The maid on the other side opened the door before standing in the doorway to bow, "Your Grace, there is a messenger at the door looking for you and Her Grace."
You felt your heart leap, a smile spreading on your lips as you thought of what it could possibly be, and the hope that it was one thing in particular bloomed. Mingi glanced over at you as he shut his book, pulling the glasses off his face before setting both to the side. Leaning over, he placed a gentle kiss upon your forehead, lips lingering for just a moment before he pulled away.
"Stay here, love, I'll go chat with our guest." He told you before he was clambering off the bed and following the maid out of the room.
You waited with bated breath, heart thumping heavily against your ribs, and you felt as if you could feel the second tick by. Then, finally, you could hear the heavy steps of Mingi's feet, and you sat up on the mattress, the blanket falling to your lap just as the door opened. Your bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you watched the blue-haired male walk into the room.
Mingi allowed the door to shut before he stepped closer to you, his hand hidden behind his back. The anticipation was starting to gnaw at you, and you started to climb off the bed, but Mingi stepped in front of you, stopping your movements.
"It's arrived." He told you, pulling his hand from his back with a flourish and revealing the scroll in his hand. Your eyes widened as he placed it in your hands, the weight heavy in your palms as your thumb brushed over the expensive paper, knowing that it was from a royal.
Swallowing thickly, you slowly unraveled the scroll, eyes scanning every inch of the page, and tears brimmed in your eyes. You looked up at the dragon that stood before you with misty eyes. Mingi reached forward, cupping your face in his larger hands and crouching down to press his forehead against yours.
"You are now officially my wife." His tone was filled with nothing but love, and your heart leaped into your throat.
Tears began to drip from your damp lashes as you brought a shaky hand to wrap around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer, "and you, my husband."
Weeks upon weeks of preparations had begun, Mingi wanting everything to be perfect for you because in his eyes, you deserved nothing less. You found a gown as well as a bouquet of flowers that suited the overall theme, while Mingi made sure everything was in order for the ceremony.
People came and went in the estate, many new faces greeted you, much to Mingi's distaste, but he knew it was only for the preparation. All of the old dainty decorations and furniture had been whisked away, replaced by newer, classier furniture. The decorations a mixture of blues, turquoise and gold, all of which screamed of your soon-to-be husbands knack for picking the sparkly thingsâhis dragon side peaking out just a bit. But you never teasedâat least not too muchâinstead you found it endearing, something that cracked his cold shell.
"Duchess? The tailor has arrived with the veils; you are to pick one today." Your personal maid, Jaeyoung, spoke as she followed behind you through the estate.
You stopped for just a moment as you inspected the new mirror that had been hung in the hall at the top of the staircase. A soft hum vibrated from your chest as your fingers brushed the petals of the flowers that sat in the azure vase, the color reminding you of Mingi's scales.
"Hm, we shall not keep her waiting any longer." You finally turned to give the young girl a sweet smile, and the glimmer in your eyes caused a smile of her own to spread on Jaeyoung's face.
Following Jaeyoung down the stairs, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand tall, the feeling of eyes on your body. However, instead of feeling uneasy, you felt happiness swell in your chest, eyes flickering over to meet the deep azure eyes of the man you were to call your husband in just a few short hours.
Though you could only spare him a passing glance before both of you were whisked away for your own tasks. You were to choose the perfect veil to match your wedding gown while Mingi finished setting up the guest list for the grand banquet that was to be held tomorrow after your wedding night. At first, you hadn't been sure what Mingi had meant when he explained it, but then his vulgar words echoed in your ears, and you became flustered all over again.
'It's a celebration for the bride after we've consummated our marriage and you've been properly bred.'
"We're here, Your Grace." Jaeyoung's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you looked at her with wide doe eyes, as if you were a child who had just been caught sticking their hand in the cookie jar. However, if she noticed, she didn't say a word; instead, she held the door to the indoor garden open, where you found your taller waiting inside.
Yes, just a few more preparations before the ceremony tonight, and the thought left your heart racing with excitement and glee.
â
The ceremony was held in the back of the estate, in the center of the hedge canopy. It was absolutely magnificent and utterly stunning. Something that you had only seen in the pages of your fairy tale books. Your beautiful gown flowed behind you, the soft gusts of wind helping to keep the skirt splayed out as the petals from the flower girls' baskets fluttered down onto it. A mixture of different emotions passed through you, happiness, nervousness, disbelief, you name it, and you were probably feeling it for a small increment of time before it moved on to the next.
Bird chirps in song above you, and you couldn't help but look up to watch them hop along the tree branches. Your veil was obscuring your vision just enough that you had to look down to clearly see the ground beneath you.
Then you came to the entrance of the canopy, music fading, and you felt your pulse thumping against the base of your throat, all sounds dying on your tongue the moment you saw him.
There Mingi was, standing upon the stage before all the townsfolk and other guests, his blue hair styled in a way that showed his forehead while it still framed his face marvelously. His white suit was a near match to your gown, the silver embroidery done with such precision that it looked as if it had been handcrafted by the gods above. And when the wind blew, the tail of his coat flowed behind him, taking your breath along with it. He had become the embodiment of the prince charming you've read about in fairytales.
But by the gods, he looked at you as if you had just hung the stars in the very sky above you, azure eyes glowing softly the closer you approached. Nothing but love and adoration brimmed in his gaze, and had you asked him in this moment, he would say that he thought you were an angel that had been left to walk this earth.
As you neared the stage, you felt your breath catch in your throat, the intensity of his gaze knocking the air from you. One of the noblewomen who had been perched on your side of the stage helped you up the steps, careful of the white lace on your skirt, fixing it so it stayed beautifully spread behind you. Then you were meeting Mingi's gaze once more as he took your shaky hands into his, and for the first time in the nearly eight months you've spent with the dragon, you saw his eyes glassy with tears.
Even during the officiant's speech, neither of you could seem to tear your attention away from the other, smiles matching. Your fingers tightened around Mingi's larger hand as you tried your best to keep your own tears at bay, and thankfully, no one paid any mind to the two of you being lost in your own worlds.
Then, when the time came to exchange vows, Mingi was pulling the veil from your face, having had enough of the obstruction. The action pulled a soft giggle from you before you were tilting your head to meet his gaze once more, this time without the veil, and your heart skipped a beat. Seeing him with the barrier didn't hold a candle to seeing him without it, and by the looks of it, the blue-haired male was thinking the same thing.
"You are absolutely breathtaking, princess." His voice was barely above a whisper, scared that he would break entirely if he spoke any louder. You bit your tongue as you realized then and there that the name was never merely just your title to him; you were and would always remain his princess, regardless of whether that was your official title or not. He then began to recite his vows, his tears finally breaking free with the emotions he was laying before you. Releasing one of his hands, you lifted your gloved hand, cupping his jaw and brushing some of the azure tears that pooled under his eye.
By the time he had finished, you both were crying, tears of pure, unfiltered happiness flowing down your reddening cheeks. Next was your turn, and you spoke freely, never being able to write your words out, but rather speaking from your heart. Each word falling from your lips like an unspoken promise, and love laced every word.
Everyone could feel the love and adoration that was seeping from the two of you, tears of their own pooling in their eyes as they watched Mingi slip the ring onto your left hand. The dazzling diamond had an almost blue hue to it as the setting sun reflected off the gem. It was the most beautiful thing you've seen, save for the man who was standing before you. Once you had slipped his ring onto his own finger, his hand was cradling the back of your head as he brought his lips down to yours.
The kiss was oh-so-similar to the one you've shared countless times, except this time, the emotions you both couldn't put into words were conveyed as your lips melded together. Your gloved fingers grasped at the lapels of his coat, pulling him as close as you could, completely forgetting the audience that sat before you.
Only when your lungs were begging for oxygen did you part, chests heaving with heavy breaths and a smile adorning your faces despite the lingering embarrassment. The crowd around you broke out into cheers as the ceremony concluded, and they wished you the best, while others prayed for your future heirs. Their words made your body warm as you remembered what awaited you once you and Mingi were back behind the closed doors of the estate, while everyone else partied the night away.
Even the maids and other staff were dismissed for the night, ordered to take care of everyone who remained outside.
"NowâŠ" Mingi murmurs into your ear before he sweeps you off your feet, causing you to gasp, arms instinctively wrapping around his broad shoulders. "Shall we consummate our marriage, my sweet little wife?"
Your ears turned red first, trailing up until your whole expression shifted, flustered by the blue-haired male's words. You buried your face in his neck, the soft rumble of his laughter vibrating through your body and making your stomach flutter.
The trek back to the estate passed in a blur, and before you knew it, Mingi was setting you on your feet before the door to the washroom. You glanced over at him with furrowed brows, and he just offered you a smile before opening the door with a flourish. A soft sound fell from your lips when you saw the candles that were placed methodically around the room, petals as blue as sapphires and as white as snow laid on the ground. Then the sweet scent of roses mixed with vanilla wafted around you, nearly taking your breath away.
Mingi slips past you, stepping further into the room until he stands just beside the tub that is filled, the same flower petals floating on top. You began to wonder whether this was what he had been planning so meticulously, and he wouldn't utter a word to you.
"Come here." His voice was low, quiet, almost. Not a command, but not a request, something in between. Something that has heat pooling in your core.
You take a step into the room, then another, the petals on the ground catching on the ends of your dress. Mingi holds his hand out to you, pulling your body closer to his once your smaller hand is placed in his.
His lips leave a searing kiss against your skin as he tugs your gloves off your hands, each kiss warming your body further. Once the gloves were off, he let his hands fall to your waist, leaning down until his lips were ghosting over yours. You bit back a small whine when he kissed your cheek, his fingers undoing your corset with ease.
"MingiâŠ" You breathed out as he undressed you, his lips trailing over all the newly exposed skin until you were standing bare before him.
"So beautiful," He breathed out, tracing his fingertips over every curve he could reach before sealing his lips over yours. The kiss was nothing like the sweet one you shared merely half an hour ago; no, this one felt as if you were trying to consume each other, and maybe you were, but neither of you cared.
Your fingers gripped his coat lapels, pushing them off his shoulders, and he pulled the sleeves off until the fabric joined yours on the ground. Then, without so much as breaking the kiss, you undo the buttons of his tunic. Before long, his clothes had joined yours, and you felt a lump form in your throat as you broke apart, eyes falling to his cock that stood proudly against his lower abdomen. You knew he wasn't going to be normal; he wasn't even human, but the sheer size made your stomach churn in both need and fear.
Mingi's fingers hooked under your chin, pulling your attention back to him, pressing his lips gently against the corner of your lips. "Don't stare, my love, it's already hard enough to restrain myself as it is."
Then he was stepping into the tub, hands on your waist, tightening before he was pulling you in with him. Goosebumps littered your skin as the warm water enveloped your body, relaxing the muscles that had been straining all day with the stress of the ceremony.
Mingi's arms wrapped around your smaller frame, pulling you back into his chest, your head falling back onto his shoulder. The washroom was quiet, save for the rippling sounds of the water and the distant sounds of the townsfolk celebrating. All while the two of you sat in the tub, soaking in each other's warmth, and Mingi's hands roamed your body, his fingers pressing into the plush skin every so often, working out the knots that had formed. He bit back a soft growl as he listened to the sounds of your sighs and quiet moans that would slip past your lips unintentionally.
"You did so good today, princess," His smooth voice sent a wave of heat throughout your body, your thighs subconsciously rubbing together. Noticing the shift of your movements, he moved his hands from your biceps down your waist before squeezing your hips, eliciting another soft moan.
"Mingi." You sighed, head lolling to the side when his lips latched onto the soft skin of your neck, placing a flurry of open-mouthed kisses along the expanse of your skin. The soft scrape of his fangs had a shiver running down your spine, head already spinning. His hands moved from your hips to your thighs, squeezing the plush fat before pulling them apart.
"Just relax, sweetheart," He cooed into your neck, and you moved your hand to cup the back of his neck as his fingers moved to your bare core.
A soft moan slipped past your lips when he found your aching clit with ease, moving in slow circles. His movements weren't rushed or harsh; they were gentle, making sure you felt everything. Your fingers tightened around his neck when he moved away from your bundle of nerves to slip a finger into your tight walls.
"God, Mingi." You whined, back arching as he stretched you open, the foreign sensation had your toes curling, more so when the rough pads of his fingers found the spongy spot deep in your walls.
Chuckling softly, Mingi used his other hand to push your hips back down and kept you in place as you let out another whine. When he slipped in another finger, your eyes rolled back at the stretch, your other hand gripping his thigh to ground yourself, but when his thumb found your clit it was all pointless.
"Cum for me, pretty girl, let me feel you around my fingers." His fingers coaxed you closer to your high, heat flushing your body, making you lightheaded, and with just a few more strokes of his skilled fingers, you were toppling over the edge.
"M-Mingi." You moaned out, nails digging into Mingi's skin as stars danced across your vision.
Mingi continued to work you through your high, relishing in the sweet sounds that left your parted lips. He placed a gentle kiss on your cheek as he pulled his fingers from your still twitching cunt.
"MingiâŠ" You whined, opening your eyes to look up at him, need still pooling in your blown-out pupils.
"Don't worry, love, I'm not done with you yet." Mingi's lips twitched into a smirk as he cupped your jaw, bringing his face closer to yours. Another whine fell from your lips but was quickly muffled by his as he kissed you deeply, the sharp points of his fangs nipping at your bottom lip, threatening to draw blood.
Then his hands were on your hips once more, flipping your body around so you were facing him. The speed makes your head spin, and your hand flies to his shoulders to stabilize yourself. Every nerve ending in your body felt as if it were set aflame, a choked moan falling from your parted lips when you felt his heavy cock against your bare cunt.
"Bloody hell, princess," Mingi groans, fingers tightening like a vice on your body when you started rolling your hips against him. You let out another moan when the rough ridges on his cock caught your aching clit.
In the blink of an eye, Mingi was pulling your body from the now lukewarm water, a gasp tearing from your lungs at the sudden movement. Your legs wrapped around his slender waist, arms tightening around his neck.
Walking back into the main room, he dropped you onto the bed, a small huff leaving your lips as your damp body fell onto the sheets. Mingi was back on you in a matter of seconds, body slotted over yours as he brought his lips back down to yours in a heated kiss. Your brain started to go fuzzy as his lips trailed from yours down your jaw before finding purchase on the sensitive skin of your neck.
"M-Mingi." You choked out as he started to leave hot, wet, open-mouth kisses along your jugular, nipping every now and then, causing your body to shiver. His eager hands moved to the soft skin of your breasts, squeezing the mounds and pulling a pitched whine from your kiss-swollen lips.
"You smell so sweet," He growls against your marked skin before his lips pressed a firm kiss over your perk nipple, then wrapping his lips around it, sucking gently, eliciting a soft moan of his name from your lips.
Once the skin on your breast was slick with his saliva and covered in his marks, he moved down the valley of your breasts. His lips traveled down your tummy, pressing a gentle kiss to each scar, blemish, and mark that he passed, and you watched him with teary eyes. Your heart swelled as he whispered praises against your skin, telling you how much he loved you.
You gasped when he parted your legs, resting them over his shoulders so he could see your glistening cunt. He starts to press gentle kisses along the inside of your thighs, and you could feel yourself growing wetter by the second. Your eyes stayed locked on him as he neared your warm center, then he pressed a kiss against your clit, causing your whole body to tremble.
"Youâre dripping, princess,â He teased as he spread your folds, taking in the way your hole clenched around nothing. A gasp fell from your lips when he buried his face in your cunt, nose bumping your clit as he inhaled your scent, a low growl vibrating from the back of his throat. His hands wrap around your thighs to keep them in place as you start to squirm. A sharp whine falls from your lips, head falling back when he licked up your slit.
Then his lips were wrapping around your aching clit, sucking harshly, causing you to moan loudly, hand flying down, fingers grasping one of his dark blue horns. A deep groan reverberates from the back of his throat when you tug, and another moan escapes your lips, back arching off the bed and pushing your hips further into his face. Mingi was quick to move one hand from your thigh to press it flat down on your stomach, keeping you in place.
"Minâ ooh god!" You cried out when he easily slips two fingers into your wet walls, curling them right against your sweet spot. The sounds of your whimpers and whines only cause the man to grin against you.
"You tasted so much sweeter than I thought, princess," He groans, lapping at your cunt and slowly thrusting his fingers into you. Your fingers tugged on his dark horn, the rough ridges digging into your skin as he buried his face in your cunt, groaning against you, eliciting a series of pants and moans.
Your heartbeat was ringing in your ears as your mouth gaped open, head falling back. Stars danced across your vision, your whole body shaking underneath Mingiâs hold. The pace of his fingers was relentless as he easily found the spongy spot inside your pussy, making you cry out his name. Your whole body tingled as all of your senses became overwhelmed, thighs trembling, threatening to close. Noticing this, Mingi took his hand from your stomach to grip one of your thighs tightly.
You werenât able to give him a warning as you came around his fingers. He continued to suck on your clit in time with his fingers. Feeling you squeeze around his fingers as you cried out his name left Mingi groaning against you.
"M-Minâ" You choked out a gasp, head falling back as he worked you through your orgasm and kissed his way back up your body. He swallowed all of your cute little whines as he kissed you deeply, tongue brushing against the back of your teeth. Your brain nearly short-circuited at the taste of yourself on his tongue, your hands falling to his shoulders.
"Still so tight, love," He chuckled darkly as your eyes rolled slightly when he curled his fingers against your sweet spot. There was no way he was going to be able to hold much longer before he lost it; each moan and whimper you let out wore at his restraint. So he sped up his fingers, his thumb pressing harsh circles against your twitching clit.
"Please!" You cried out, back arching off the bed and against his firm chest. Your mind was starting to short-circuit when he added a third finger, stretching you further. A broken whine fell from your lips, but was quickly swallowed by Mingi's eager lips, stealing all the air from your lungs.
Your hand wrapped around his neck, nails biting the skin when he added a fourth finger, the stretch borderline painful, but as he brushed over your sweet spot, stars danced across your vision. You held him close as you felt your orgasm creeping up on you, and he bit at your bottom lip, enough to draw blood this time. Then he was pulling it into his mouth, sucking on it; the mixture of pain and pleasure pushing you right over the edge with a strangled cry of his name.
"Mingi!" You cried out as he continued to work his fingers into your fluttering walls, prolonging your orgasm for a few moments. He lapped at the tears that had spilled from your eyes, whispering dirty praises against your skin before he was finally pulling his soaking digits from your twitching cunt.
You watched with hooded eyes as he stuck his fingers in his mouth, licking your essence off of his digits. The sight was enough to make your need grow all over again, especially with the way his eyes bore into you. Once he was sure he had licked every last drop of your sweet nectar off of his fingers, he leaned back down over you, pressing his lips against yours again. You mewled at the taste of yourself on his tongue mixed with the tangy, metallic taste of your blood from your lip.
"MingiâŠ" You whined, body growing even warmer as you felt his heavy cock sitting on your lower tummy, the warmth sending goosebumps littering your skin. Your fingers tugged at the hairs on the nape of his neck, lips parting with a gasp when he nipped at your jaw, "Need you⊠need you so bad, Mingi, please."
The sound of your pleas has the dragon growling against your skin, the last bit of his restraint wearing thin, "I need you too, sweetheart, but I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't." You shook your head violently, tears splashing onto the sheets beside your head. "I trust you, Min, please."
And just like that, his restraint snapped, his hands moving to spread your thighs further and lining his ribbed cock with your leaking entrance. The feeling made your body jolt, a moan falling from your lips, and Mingi's grip on your hip tightened. Your whole body seemed like it had been set aflame.
"If it's too much, just tell me, princess." He whispered against your skin, then he was pushing into your tight heat. The stretch was like nothing youâve ever felt before, and your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head as he continued to fill you. âAh, focus on me, love,â Mingi whispered softly, coaxing your eyes open, and you looked at him as tears started to spill from the corner of your eyes. âGood girl.â
"H-Hurts." You whine, back arching against him as more tears spill from your eyes, only to be caught by Mingi's lips, teeth nipping at your cheek, causing you to shiver.
"I know, sweetheart, just a little more, I promise." He cooed against your skin, gritting his teeth as your walls squeezed around him. Then, when he bottomed out, you gasped, eyes rolling back at the full feeling, and you swore his tip was pressing past your cervix.
"Feels good." You breathed out, tilting your head to look at him, and you felt like you were starting to go delirious. The lack of movement was starting to make your thighs shake, your need started to grow tenfold, and Mingi could tell by the way your hips started to roll against his.
A choked moan tore from your lips when he rolled his hips into yours, pleasure washing over you in waves as he hit all the right spots in one single stroke. He grabs your hips when you give him the green light to move, and stars dance across your vision as he pulls out before snapping his hips right back into yours. Your fingers dug into the sheets from the overwhelming pleasure.
"Look at you, princess.â He groaned as he continued his rough pace; it was almost animalistic, if you will. His eyes then fell down to where his cock disappeared into your sopping cunt, and he felt himself grow harder at the sight of the small bulge that formed in your lower tummy every time he pushed into you.
You cried out as he pushed down on your stomach, making you feel him even more as he fucked into you. Your body felt like it was on fire, your mind clouded with so much pleasure that you no longer had any proper words or thoughts forming. Drool spilled past the corner of your lips, trickling down your cheek, and incoherent babbles fell from your lips. The pleasure was so overbearing that your legs began to tremble around Mingi's waist, hips fighting against his hold to rut up into his thrusts. You could feel that coil in the pit of your stomach growing tighter and tighter at an alarming rate with every drag of his cock in your walls.
Leaning down, Mingi's tongue lolled out of his mouth as he lapped at the spit that spilled from your kiss-swollen lips, your hand finding the back of his neck, nails biting at the skin. A loud pornographic moan tore from your lips when one of his hands slid between your bodies, pressing against your clit.
âCum for me, love, please.â He pleaded like he was the one more desperate for your orgasm, but with a few more strokes, you felt that coil in the pit of your stomach snap, and your release gushed out all over his length.
A mixture of his name and broken moans fell from your lips as he continued his fast pace, never slowing down and throwing your body into overstimulation. Your eyes squeezed shut at the overwhelming feeling, pushing more tears out, but Mingi was quick to kiss them away.
âGod.â He groaned as he felt his high nearing, and his hips snapped wildly into yours, making your vision turn white, nails digging into his neck. A mixture of a groan and a whimper fell from his lips as he completely buried himself to the hilt once more as he came, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
The room was filled with heavy breathing as you came down from your high, but the soft sound of Mingi's low, feral growls against your neck made your body tingle. You brought your hand from his neck to the top of his head, fingers brushing over his horns.
All of the air was knocked out of your lungs when he lifted his head from your neck, his blown out pupils and the intensity of his gaze making you shiver. Then, in the blink of an eye, he was pulling his still hard cock from your weeping walls and flipping your body with ease. His hands were quick to find your hips, pulling them up until your back was arched the way he wanted.
"We're not done yet, princess. I've still gotta make sure you've been bred properly," He chuckled darkly as he pressed his tip against your twitching hole, watching as you eagerly sucked him in. You buried your face into the sheets as he pushed into you with one sharp thrust, his tip pushing right against your cervix.
Tears stained the sheets underneath you as he relentlessly bullied his cock into your abused pussy, his hands tight on your hips. Muffled cries and moans were the only sounds that emitted from your body. Your cognitive function to form words flew right out the window.
âSuch a good little princess, hmm,â He cooed, leaning down until his back was pressed against your chest, his lips finding the back of your shoulder. âTaking everything, I give you like a good girl.â The mixture of his deep voice and his soft lips on your skin made your body melt, and if it wasnât for his hold, you would have surely fallen flat on the mattress.
"Minâ Mingi!" You cried out, fat tears falling from your eyes as he continued his relentless pace until your whole body was shaking. âCumming! âM cumming!â Your voice cracked as he fucked you through another orgasm, but once again, his ministrations never stopped, much less slowed down.
White spots started to cloud your mind when he stood up straight once again, using your hips as leverage to fuck into you. Choked sobs left your lips when your body fell into a state of overstimulation. Every nerve felt as if it were on fire.
Then his hand was moving from your hip, pressing against your sternum, and pulling your upper body off the bed. A choked sob tore through your parted lips as he pistoned his hips into yours mercilessly. Your brain felt like it was turning into mush from the overwhelming amount of pleasure.
âYouâre gonna look so pretty all swollen with my babies.â Mingi licked a stripe up the back of your neck, âSuch a perfect mommy.â He cooed as he nipped at your skin, feeling another orgasm of his own creeping up.
âM-MingiâŠâ You whimpered in his hold, your head empty except for the thought of his cock buried deep in you until he was sure his seed would take.
âGonna make sure everyone knows that youâre mine.â He growled before unexpectedly biting down on the nape of your neck as he came. The sudden infliction of pain pulled yet another orgasm from your spent body, your walls fluttering around his twitching cock, milking him for all he was worth.
Pulling away from your neck, he watched with proud eyes as his mark started to bleed, your sweet crimson blood coating his lips. You cried out when you felt something stretching you even more, and it sent your body over the edge once more, this time a weaker orgasm rushing through your bones. Mingi pressed his face into the side of your head, whispering sweet nothings in your ear while you both came down from your high.
"Mingi?" Your voice was hoarse as you spoke, head falling back onto his shoulder, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek as he hummed, "What is that?"
âItâs a knot, sweetheart. Itâll go down in a bit, but for now, try not to move too much.â He explained to you, and you let out a sigh, moving a shaky hand to the bottom of your tummy where you could still feel him pressing against your cervix.
"It's so warm," You babble mindlessly, causing Mingi to chuckle, anchoring your body to his as he kisses your shoulder.
"That just means it's taking," He murmurs against your skin, and you lift your head, brows furrowed, and he explains how different mating with a dragon descendant would be. Then once the knot wore down, he was slipping from your aching walls, laying your body on the bed before crawling over you, lips sealing yours in a sweet kiss that quickly turned heated. "And if we're lucky, you'll be with child by the end of the week."
You smiled up at him, the mere thought of carrying his child making a warmth bloom in your chest, and you pulled him down for another kiss. The two of you get lost in the heat of each other once more, marking the start of a very long night.
â
Neither you nor Mingi left your chambers until the next night, dressed lavishly as you walked into the main dining hall of the estate. Everyone greeted you warmly as you walked further into the room, arm hooked around Mingi's. To others, here it would seem like you were simply clinging to your husband as a newlywed wife might, but while that might also be the case, you were using his strong body as support. Your body is still not fully recovered from the strenuous activities that kept you and Mingi up most of the night.
"Welcome, Duke and Duchess Song." Someone announced as you and Mingi took your seats at the head of the table, Mingi's larger hand resting comfortably on your thigh.
"We wish you and the Duke nothing but luck and prosperity." A noblewoman and her young daughter walked up to you, bowing deeply before offering you a gift that your maid took to join the multitude of others.
This went on for the better half of the night, and before long, you felt a churning in your gut. Swallowing thickly, you move your hand to your stomach, and Mingi was quick to notice. Without breaking the conversation he was holding with another nobleman, he moved his hand from your thigh to cover your smaller hand that lay on your stomach.
You knew that pregnancy with a dragon descendant would be different, and Mingi warned you that if done correctly, you would be with child before the end of the week. Though as you felt something bubble in your gut, you were sure that you wouldn't need the rest of the week, and that alone brought a soft smile to your lips.
Lying your other hand over Mingi's, the cool metal of his ring chilling your skin in a comforting way, and you began to wonder how this came to be your life. Yet as you sat here, overlooking all of your people with your husband by your side, you knew that if given the chance, you'd relive this lifetime and time again.
Synopsis: The reader and the members of Tomorrow x Together are partnered together for a class. The only problem is: youâre given the responsibility of taking care of a fake baby. For a full weekend.Â
WC: 1k
Warnings: None? Itâs a DOLL. NOT a real child.
Library
Soobin:
Tries educating the doll on anime and his favorite girl groups. Probably LOL too.
âThis is Gojo, heâs from Jujutsu Kaisen, heâs my favorite.â (doll starts crying) âoh I see, youâre more of a Yuji girl? Fair enough.â
Would most likely brag to Beomgyu that your âchildâ is better than his.
They get into an argument in which the doll starts crying and Soobin blames Beomgyu (even though he clearly had nothing to do with it)
You would most likely end up doing most of the actual âworkâ like making sure the doll has the fake bottle but Soobin would do more that would work on an actual child, not the doll.Â
I donât think baby-talking a doll would coax it into stopping itâs crying.
Would probably try singing to the doll to get it to sleep.
He definitely struggles the first night, but you both get the hang of it and work around each other to do what needs to be done.
When the project is done, you both get ice cream and laugh about the entire experience.
Probably would coax you into watching JJK with him afterwards.
Yeonjun:
Would drag you to the park to push the doll on the swing set.Â
Also probably the type to flip the doll and claim itâs âtraining to be a ninja.â
Accidentally drops the doll and knocks the battery out⊠at least it seemed like an accident but could he PLEASE hold the doll normally for two seconds?!?
Sets the doll up to watch his dance practices, âyou donât understand! Heâs a dancer just like his dad!â
Names the doll something absolutely ridiculous, âThis is Bart, short for Bertholomew Thitherington the Third.âÂ
When he finally burns some energy you actually find spending time with him and the doll to almost feel like having a family.
He makes sure to take care of the doll when itâs his turn without complaint.
You find him asleep in a random chair, his arm wrapped around the doll while his other hand is off the side of the chair, the bottle long forgotten below his hand.
You end up getting a decent grade but your teacher wonders why the doll has a small hello kitty band aid on itâs face.
Beomgyu:
Joins the fake baby in the yelling and crying. You thought you had to only take care of one âchildâ, but nope itâs two.
âWhy does Clementine get food and I donâtâ âClementine?â âOUR CHILD?!?â
Would probably get emotionally attached and tear up when you have to hand it back in for a grade
Most likely struts into class that day with the baby carrier on his arm while announcing, âMy partner and I are THE BEST parents! We won this.âÂ
It wasnât a competition
Buys a fake mustache and some baby clothes so your doll is the most stylish, but obviously gets a matching fake mustache.
Would order all kinds of food for the doll to âtryâ explaining what everything is as he goes
Probably gives his mother a heart attack by telling her he has a child with NO context whatsoever. Just goes âIâm a dad! Youâre a grandma! Congrats!âÂ
You have to answer his phone and explain the actual situation so his mother doesnât come to the school and drag him home by his ear.
Drags you out to eat after you get the grade insisting that the babysitter has the baby taken care of so you can enjoy your âanniversaryâ.
More so celebrating that somehow you still got a good grade after all this chaos.Â
You actually spend most of the time laughing together and have more fun over the span of the project than you thought you would.
Taehyun:
Instantly tries taking the battery out. WHY is this thing crying AGAIN.
Once you coax him to leave the battery in, since it is in fact part of your grade, he does everything he can to make sure you split the load evenly and that you arenât doing it all by yourself.
âWhy would we name it? We only have it for two days.â
Would bring it to the gym with him, probably figuring out a way to set up the doll so it feeds itself and doesnât interrupt his sets.
Once he gets settled into the routine, he probably ends up doing more of the work despite your complaints.Â
âItâs really not a big deal, just focus on getting your homework done.â
You start to notice him hugging the doll closer to him like itâs going to break any second.
Talks you into going on a âdateâ together to get free ice cream. Says itâs your birthday so he doesnât have to get sung to but still wants some of the free ice cream.
You end up both getting strange looks when everyone realizes you have a doll with you, not a real child, but Taehyun takes the looks personally.
âIâm sorry I got everyone to stare at you.â
The most fun youâve ever had over a weekend just because you were able to fully be yourself around Taehyun.
You end up giving each other random âworldâs best parentâ things as a joke for years to come.
How the hell did you get one that looks like an Oscar?
Hueningkai:
âThis is Petunia. Petunia is my LIFE.â âKai, itâs a doll.â (most dramatic gasp ever inserted here) âHOW DARE YOU.â
Also tries singing the doll to sleep when it starts crying even though it doesnât do anything.
Knowing Kai, he convinces you to get emotionally attached to it too.
The dollâs name just gets more complex as time goes on. Why does it need 7 middle names? Why does it even need ONE to begin with?
He actually does a pretty good job taking care of the doll but gets overwhelmed quickly
You start taking turns or taking over completely and he feels better but takes care of you in return.
Now, sitting on his couch, you are surrounded by 20 billion plushies, still holding the doll while you are being made fun of by Lea and Hiyyih.
Kai takes a picture to remember the moment
Also accidentally sends the picture to the schoolâs yearbook club and it ends up in the yearbook.
Highest grades in the class.
Hueningkai has to remind himself that you wonât be over everyday like you were during the project, but why does he suddenly miss it so much? Or does he just miss you?
Pairing: College Student Taehyung x Fem! Reader
Synopsis: Taehyung doesn't know what to expect when someone knocks on his door at 6AM, but it ends up changing his life forever. All thanks to one sleep-deprived, frantic, thesis-driven student who he can't get his mind off of.
Featuring: The Bangtan boys as Taehyung's roommates and Joshua and Vernon (SVT) as reader's cousins/best friends.
WC: 7.7k
Genre: Crack, fluff
Warnings: Y/n is lowkey crazy but Taehyung finds it endearing.
Notes: Hiya :) I know it's been a minute, I haven't had a whole lot of writing inspiration, but I was able to write this so enjoy! I'm going to continue trying to post when I can but if there's any requests feel free to send them in or even just comment! Thanks for being here! -C
| Library |
Spring Term, Monday, Week 10 (Last Week Before Finals Week) // Taehyungâs POV
The first noise that rings out into the early hours of the morning is a pounding on the front door. Frantic at best, it continues for a couple seconds before it goes quiet, probably waiting for someone to actually open the door, which happens moments later. âUhh, May I help you?â One of the boysâ voices rings out, probably Namjoon since heâs the only other one usually awake at this hour.
âDoes he live here.â A feminine voice states, not asks, with a kind of fervor that sounds like sheâs looking for the suspect of an unsolved case.
âYouâre going to have to be more specific.â Namjoon lets out a small laugh and she sighs heavily.
âRight, sorry. Iâm looking for Kim Taehyung. Does. He. Live. Here.â She demands and I can easily picture Namjoon rubbing his hand over his face.
âWhat did he do this time?â He asks and I take that as a good time to poke my head around the corner to see whatâs actually going on and why my name was being demanded so harshly. A girl I have seen around campus a couple of times is standing in front of Namjoon, definitely a couple heads shorter than him but that doesnât account for the amount of anger that seems to come out of such a small body.Â
At the brief movement of my head coming around the corner her eyes snap towards me, making direct eye contact and putting me in the direct path of her outrage. âYou.â She points at me and walks towards me but I take off running.Â
She quickly chases after me as I loop around the small apartment, making my way back towards the front door where Namjoon halts me in my tracks. âTae, whatâs going on.â He stops me from leaving and I shake my head, my eyes widening in complete disbelief.
âI donât know! Why is she attacking me!?!â I shout and she tackles me to the ground since I wasnât paying attention.
âWhere is it! Itâs been overdue for weeks and you still havenât returned it!â She yells, straddling my waist. I probably wouldâve enjoyed the situation since she was absolutely beautiful but now was not the time and her anger showed exactly that.Â
âWhat?!? Is this over a book?!? What are you, the library police!â I yell in panic and she seems to snap out of her anger in that moment and her eyes widen, not unlike a deer in headlights.Â
âOh my god, Iâm so sorry. Iâm looking for Ethical Approaches to Human Remains. I need it to finish my archaeology thesis and youâve had it checked out for almost the whole term. I didnât know what else to do and you, my friend, are very difficult to find.â She gets off of me and actually helps me up off of the floor.Â
âWait, this is over a book? Didnât you drop that class?â Namjoon butts in and I nod, rubbing the back of my neck with my hand.
âI did drop the class, but I guess I forgot to return the book. Iâm going to go look through my bookcase. Be right back.â I announce and I hear Namjoon start to laugh before they seem to settle on the couch.Â
âDo you need water? Tea? That was one hell of a tackle.â I hear his voice followed by one of the prettiest laughs Iâve ever heard.Â
Quickly shaking my head, I get to my room and scan the bookcase for the one she was looking for. I donât see it. Shit. Sheâs going to pull me across campus by the roots of my hair at this point. I walk out slowly and she snaps her head up to look at me, hope written across her eyes. âWould you want to come look? I canât seem to find it.â I rub the back of my neck again and she nods.Â
âIâm not going to be traumatized right?â She asks teasingly and I laugh lightly.
âNo more traumatized than being tackled by a stranger in your own apartment.â I tease back and her eyes widen again.
âShit! Iâm Y/N. I guess I totally forgot any formalities. Sorry.â She gets shy, rapidly blushing but I laugh before she digs a hole in her head deeper than it already was.Â
âIâm Taehyung, but I know you already know that. This is the crime scene.â I joke and she nods before looking around the room as the door is opened. She quickly sees my bookshelf, looking over to me, probably to ask permission to enter my room which is hilarious after all of the previous events. Still, I just nod and she makes her way to my bookshelf, dropping down to look at the bottom shelf first, making herself comfortable enough to look at each and every title.Â
I sit on my bed, just watching her examine each book until she sees one with the binding falling apart, the cover having been removed for some unknown reason. She picks it out of the shelf and squeals. âThis is it!!! I can finally finish my thesis!â She jumps up which causes me to leap off of my bed, her energy absolutely infectious.Â
âThank you! Thank you! Thank you!â She comes over and plants a large kiss on my cheek before pulling away and looking at me in horror.
âIâm leaving now.â She blurts and rushes to leave the room but I grab her wrist.Â
âWait, hold on. What did you mean by, âI was hard to find?â I ask gently and she looks like sheâs going to spontaneously combust on the spot.
âThatâs a long story.â She laughs and turns another shade of bright red.
âWell since you so kindly burst in here at the lovely hour of 6AM and tackled me to the ground, I think Iâm owed an explanation.â I tilt my head and smile while she tries not to disappear into the carpet, letting out another laugh that sounds more like a scoff.
âI guess thatâs fair. I guess it started at the beginning of this term.â She settles into my desk chair as I sit on my bed across from her, getting cozy since she said itâd be a long story. She scoffs at my position but continues on anyway.
Spring Term, Week 1// Y/Nâs POV -Â
Fifteen. Pages. Minimum.
It doesnât sound that bad in the long run of how much research is going into that and how many of those pages are going to be taken up by graphs and other study material created by some old dudes who have been quoted just about a million times over, probably having been dug up within the bounds of their own research at this point. Yes, this is on me for literally studying the âartâ of figuring out how people used to live through the artifacts they have left for us to dig out of the dirt some thousands of years later.Â
But, at this point Iâm so close to graduation and my upcoming field school that I canât even think about anything else.Â
The first step of this project is figuring what exactly I want to do for this essay that my entire graduation depends on. No pressure or anything. I decided to head to the library and walk around the archaeology section. I grab a couple books to just peruse through and take notes as I go, just hoping I can find anything.Â
I found nothing.Â
I thought I would find at least a sentence that called out to me but nope.
That was until my professor pulled me aside when we were supposed to tell her our ideas and I promptly gave her the âI donât have a single ideaâ look while shrugging my shoulders.Â
âWhat if you go into how the subject has changed over the years? About how the subject has become more diverse and expanded.âÂ
It was like a spark went off in my mind. That was it.
I could go into how the field started out as a subject with a basis of racism (because what doesnât have that. Stupid.) before expanding into how the subject has grown and fluctuated.Â
Brilliant.Â
That day in the library, I sat with the catalog open on my laptop, favoriting any books or peer-reviewed articles that had the same interest, or even just introduced the subject since using books over the years would show a nice timeline.
I grabbed a couple of books and started there, taking down notes from the first two. Running out of time for the night, I put all of the books back on the return cart and start the walk to the lobby of the library.Â
On the way, I pass this student who has his arm easily slung around, who I assume is, one of his friends and he laughs without a care in the world. Absolutely charming like a prince walking out of a storybook. I had never heard a laugh like his and I donât think his laugh would leave my mind any time soon. His friend sees me and winks, so I quickly look down, away from the two men, and hustle out of the building, making my way home about as fast as I got out of the building.Â
Present // Taehyungâs POV -
A loud ringing cuts through the story as she explains yet another thing by throwing up her hands, gesturing around the room. âShit,â She grabs her phone and quickly answers it, âHey. Yeah, sorry Iâm on my way. Yes, I found the book and nobody got killed. See you in a bit.â She quickly hangs up, grabbing the book off of the desk as she goes.
âHey wait, what happened? You didnât even get to where the hell this book comes in.â I ask, trailing after her quickly and she looks around, definitely stressed.
âGive me your phone.â She puts her hand out. I hesitate for a second before handing it to her, seeing her quickly create a new contact, put in her phone number, and hand it back to me. âText me and we can set up a time where I can tell you the rest. I really have to go work on my essay. Itâs due next Saturday and I cannot waste anymore time before that due date. I promise Iâll tell you the rest when I can.âÂ
I nod and she lets out a huge smile. âThank you again for actually having the book, you donât know how much money and red bulls youâve saved me from. See you around, Tae.â I smile back at her, still taken back by just how quickly she is escaping the apartment but I close the door behind her once she turns the corner of the hallway.Â
I opened my phone again just to see her contact that she so accurately nicknamed: âMystery Quarterback.â That got another laugh out of me before I head to my room, deciding to fully start my day since it started off with a jolt, to say the least.Â
(Y/N POV) I throw the door open to the library, catching sight of my best friend, Joshua, who looks absolutely stunned by my disheveled state. âDonât tell me you stayed up all night finding the person who had the book you needed.â He sighs and I give him a tight lipped grin.Â
âFine, then I wonât tell you.â Joshua lets out a groan and we head into the library to our normal table.
âWhat happened? Did you strangle them?â Joshua asks and I feel my face get unreasonably bright red again.
âNo, I didnât strangle him. I did tackle him though. While his roommate watched.â I bury my head into my book that Iâve opened and placed on the table so I donât see Joshuaâs reaction. Doesnât mean heâs quiet about it though.
âY/n. Dude. Seriously? Oh my god what if this is the story you have to tell at your wedding.â He perks up and my head shoots up out of the book, looking at him like heâs insane, which he is.
âYou just criticised me for tackling a stranger and now youâre planning our wedding? Have you lost your mind?!?â I hiss and he laughs.
âWell, was he cute?â He prods and I roll my eyes.
âI guess, I was more focused on the book, you hopeless romantic.â I give him another unamused look and he shrugs, leaning back in his chair.
âA guy can dream. But donât come crying to me when you decide youâre in love with the guy.â I shake my head and get my laptop out, quickly settling into taking notes on the book to use or reference in my thesis.Â
Back to the books we go.
I got a text two mornings later, but I shouldâve known that this man could not wait more than 48 hours to try and get the rest of the story out of me.
[Unknown number]: Hey football star, need some coffee to get through another study session?
Was this him⊠asking me out? No. No way. Heâs just asking to get the rest of the story, but I really need to focus right now, I donât have time to slack off anymore than I already have.
But I guess I could push it for an hour or so.
[Mystery Quarterback]: I have an hour I can spare :) Where would you like to meet? I can buy to make up for tackling you.
[Taehyung (tackle victim)]: 8:30. Meet me at the coffee shop outside of the library on campus so you can get straight to studying afterwards! Also, donât worry about it, your story is payment enough.
I shake my head, smiling lightly at his text before I hop out of bed. I quickly get ready for the day, throwing on my usual library outfit of some t-shirt, my favorite pair of jeans, and my comfort hoodie. I donât always need it in the library since itâs uncharacteristically warm, but it helps the anxiety so I bring it with me everywhere.Â
I grab all of my study supplies, shoving them into my backpack since I pulled some of it out to work on some other assignments that I have due amidst this chaos. I head out quickly, ensuring to lock my door, before making my way to the coffee shop.Â
When I show up, Taehyung is already waiting inside, looking really close at the menu. Almost like it offended him in some way. When I approach the table he looks up with a wide smile and pushes the menu to my side. âWhat would you suggest? I havenât been here before.â He sighs and I canât stop my smile from pushing onto my face at the pout heâs giving the menu.
âI usually get an iced vanilla latte, but I think you should get an iced peach black tea.â I tell him and he looks at me with confusion covering his face.
âTea?â He asks and I nod with determination.
âI have a feeling you arenât a coffee person.â I tell him and he laughs loudly.
âIâm that obvious? Damn. Are you a psych major? You seem like you can read people well.â He teases and I shake my head.
âAnthropology and Sociology with a focus on Archaeology, actually.â I tell him and he widens his eyes in surprise.
âThat sounds so cool. Iâm just a music major.â He shrugs which is met by a confused look of my own.
âJust? Arts are hard as hell, donât discredit yourself.â He smiles at my words so I match his smile before I hop up and head towards the counter.
âHey! I said you didnât have to pay!â He gasps and I smile.
âYou can pay next time! Just sit there and look pretty.â I tease him but the second I turn my back to him I die inside. Why the hell did I just say that? Oh my god. Iâm such an idiot. Also, next time?!? Since when was this going to become a recurring thing? Â
I quickly order and head back to the table, setting down the number before facing Taehyung again who has a smug look on his face. Heâs settled in, placing his elbow on the table, chin in hand, and toothpick in between his teeth. âI did as you said, but that wasnât a very difficult task.â His smug look grows and I want to bury myself into the chair.Â
âIâm assuming you want more story then?â I ask and he shakes his head, sitting back in his chair.
âYou told me you wouldnât until you were done with your paper. I just wanted to know more about the girl who managed to tackle me.â His head tilts with another one of his stupid smirks and I cover my face with my hands.
âIâm still so sorry about that. The study gremlin made me do it.â I drop my hands and look at him with a completely straight face causing both of us to burst into laughter.Â
Our drinks get delivered and we continue talking about all sorts of small things, school definitely taking up a chunk of topics since we had only seen each other on campus before all of this, never actually talking before.Â
By the time the hour is up, I already feel much more comfortable talking to Tae and he walks me to the library, even though itâs a short walk. I find myself wishing the walk was a little bit longer so we could keep talking but I know that I have to get back to working on my essay anyways.Â
âThank you for the drink. I have a new favorite.â He smiles, turning towards me as we stop in front of the library and I return the smile his way.
âOf course, itâs the least I can do. Thank you for the outing, this was nice.â I feel a little pink dust on my cheeks as he nods in agreement.
âIt was nice, wasnât it? Better than tackling me?â He teases and I roll my eyes before laughing.
âOkay okay. Iâve got to get to studying. Text me?â I ask and he nods.
âOnly if you text me back.â I shake my head as I laugh.
âOf course, Tae. See you later.â I wave towards him and head inside, not seeing how he lingered behind just to watch me walk into the building.
(Taehyungâs POV) Honestly, since seeing the way she looked sitting over me after she tackled me, I havenât been able to get her face out of my head. That sounds like the worst possible thing to think about, I KNOW. But, I really canât get over just how pretty she really is.Â
I was able to notice it more today at the coffee shop as well. The twinkle she gets in her eye when she starts teasing me is probably the cutest thing Iâve ever seen. Not to mention that she is able to keep up with my teasing, regardless of the situation. Itâs a nice change from the average girl who seems off put by my teasing. Iâve never meant it in a malicious way, but sometimes thatâs just how itâs perceived.Â
I remember seeing her around campus before she showed up at our apartment. I remember walking into the library with Jimin, who dragged me there in hopes Iâd actually get something done, but I saw this beautiful girl walk towards us. She hadnât seen us yet but she just had this air around her that was magnetic.Â
Jimin had said something, I couldnât for the life of me remember what it was, but I remember laughing, missing her as she walked by. She seemed to leave faster than she was before but I brushed it off. I mean who knew I would see her again, much less in my apartment with the anger of a Great Pyrenees who had a coyote come towards their sheep. Scary.Â
But on her? I couldnât help but think it was also kind of hot.
TAEHYUNG. CHILL.
âAre you still thinking about your attacker?â Yoongi teases as he sits down for dinner across from me and I roll my eyes.
âShe has a name.â I defend lightly and Namjoon lets out a laugh from one side of me.
âY/n is hardly an attacker, sheâs just very passionate about getting her thesis done.â He explains and I nod while Jimin nudges me from my other side.
âOoooooooh Tae Tae has a crush!â He pokes my sides a couple of times before making some kissy faces towards me.
âHe probably loooooves her already. What a weirdo.â Hobi joins the teasing and I roll my eyes.
âIf I did have a crush on her,â I get up, grabbing my bowl before putting it in the sink, âI wouldnât tell any of you morons.âÂ
A couple groans and âCâmon manâ ring out around the table. I laugh and walk back to my room knowing that I threw them off for the night but they were sure to come back with more teasing in the coming days.Â
(Friday, Week 10 // Y/Nâs POV)
[Tae Tae]: Youâve got this! Remember to drink water and take breaks away from your computer!
Heâs been sending me little texts like this all week and today I have the honor of sending a text Iâve been wanting to send.
[Mystery Quarterback]: Guess who just turned in her paper!!!
[Tae Tae]: A full day early!!! Congrats! Drinks to celebrate?
[Mystery Quarterback]: Where were you thinking?
[Tae Tae]: My place? My roommates are throwing a small get together tonight and Iâd love it if you joined!
âGirl! He likes you!â Joshua squeals and I quickly flip over my phone.
âJosh.â I deadpan him and he rolls his eyes.
âY/N! Come get drinks at my place! Please show up! Be my girlfriend!â Joshua raises his voice a couple octaves so I smack him with a rolled up piece of paper.
âShut up, Shua, he doesnât like me like that.â I blush lightly and he rolls his eyes.
âSure, Iâll believe that when he asks someone else out. Now letâs go get you ready, you have to look hot for your man.â He winks and jumps off of my couch, running back to my room to go through my closet. I roll my eyes but follow him anyways, knowing thereâs no talking Joshua out of something once he sets his mind on it.
Damn him, he was right. I look hot.
Joshua sent me out of the door to the other apartment and there is already music playing when I knock on the door. The man who opens it is the same one who opened the door when I was on my rampage so I instantly turn red. âIâd like to start by apologizing for tackling your roommate.â I state and he bursts into laughter.Â
âEhhh, he deserved it. Iâm Namjoon, by the way. I realized I never got your name last time! Come on in.â He moves out of the doorway so I can step in and take my shoes off.
âIâm Y/N. I guess tackling him worked since I got my thesis done.â I laugh a little and he cheers.
âThatâs amazing! Congrats!â He closes the door and makes his way inside the apartment where Taehyung bounds over to me.
âYou made it! Come meet my roommates.â He gives me a boxy smile which causes me to return a smile of my own. His smile is just contagious, I canât help it.
I end up meeting Jimin (who recognizes me from the library), Yoongi, Jungkook, Hoseok, and Jin. They all welcome me with open arms and a couple drinks before we all get to playing video games or arguing over random things. I didnât expect to be so instantly comfortable around all of them but they always made sure to include me in conversations if they got too far into inside jokes. By the time midnight rolled around, I decided that I should probably head home since I hadnât actually gotten a healthy amount of sleep in months.Â
âWait, let me walk you home!â Tae stumbles over the coffee table but makes his way to me by the door anyways.
âAre you sure? Itâs not that far.â I get a bit quiet since I donât like inconveniencing others.
âYou just said it yourself, itâs not far. I think Iâll survive.â He teases so I relax a bit and we head out.
The walk to my apartment isnât long but yet again I wish it were. However, Taehyung seems to read my mind as he smirks towards me. âSo, how did the book end up being so hard to find? I thought you pulled it out at the library?â
âThatâs the thing, I put it back! I didnât think itâd get checked out!â I laugh and shake my head, knowing I canât get out of telling him more of the story right now.
Spring Term, Week 4 // Still Y/Nâs POV -Â
Checked out. Youâve gotta be kidding me. I need this book.Â
âJust work with another book for now and wait for the person to return it.â Joshuaâs suggestion makes sense but it also pisses me off that itâs a logical thought. I wanted to get this book over with now, but no. Some other student had to go and check it out. Fine. Whatever. I can work with this. I tell the library employee to add me on the hold list for it and spin away from the desk, heading back to the section where I found the other books.
I settle down with one book and let out a grumble when Josh takes his seat next to me. âDamn you for having a logical brain. I was about to track down the idiot who borrowed it.â
Joshua lets out a laugh and flicks my forehead lightly, âYou canât just do that, y/n. Itâs also not even overdue so you couldnât have gotten it unless they returned it in the next couple of days.â Again, this makes sense, but I donât want to hear it. Heâs always right, itâs annoying.
âGive it three weeks. Theyâll return it when itâs due and you can use it.â He suggests and I huff, slouching down in my chair, dramatically opening the book on the table in front of me.
âFine.â
Week 7
âHONG JOSHUA.â
âWhat?!? Damn, Iâm sitting right next to you!â He groans as I storm back up to the table. I sit down with a huff and he rolls his eyes in response.
âItâs overdue. The idiot hasnât returned it.â I grumble and he shakes his head.
âDonât call someone you donât know an idiot. Maybe they just forgot about it and will return it in a week. Youâve done that so many times yourself.â He points at me since he thinks he made a genius point so I slap his hand away.
âI need to find this book, Shua. This thesis is due in three weeks. What am I going to do.â I bite the skin around one of my fingernails and he shrugs.
âUse a different book?â I glare at him and then think back to our conversation before the book was overdue.
âI can track them down.â I state and Joshua laughs.Â
âYou can NOT do that. Do you know how creepy that sounds, y/n?â Joshua is met with my look of determination though. âY/n. No.â
ây/n. Yes. Be right back.â I shoot up out of my chair and practically run down to the circulation desk, almost scaring the poor employee sitting there.Â
âCan you tell me who checked out Ethical Approaches to Human Remains?â I ask, throwing on my nicest face that I possibly can with the amount of stress I feel at the moment and the employee just gives me a look of almost horror? Not sure.Â
âNo? Thatâs not the kind of information we just hand out.â He shakes his head and looks down, effectively cutting off the conversation since I know I wonât get more out of him. Damn bookworms. Shit.
I throw myself back down in my seat and Joshua gives me his iconic âI told you soâ look which is met with me flicking his forehead before attempting to look through the library database to find another book that could possibly match up to this one.
But I already started with this book and all of that research (though itâs not done) wouldâve been for nothing. I swear I will get my hands on that book and there is no way Joshua can stop me.
Present
âDamn you really did have a vendetta against me.â Tae laughs and we show up in front of my door.
âI guess I did, but you had my book! What was I supposed to do?!?â I sigh and he lets out another small laugh.
âWell this is me.â I smile up at him and he nods.
âSleep well, I need you to rest to tell me the rest of the story.â He gives me a large smile before pulling my head towards him to kiss the top of my head. I flush instantly and he seems to also realize what he did because he quickly ushers me inside, again wishing me a goodnight.
When the door closes behind me I canât help the disbelieving laugh that leaves my mouth. What the hell just happened?
(Taehyungâs POV) Why did I just do that? Sheâs going to think Iâm weird now. I canât believe I just kissed her head. Iâm never going to show my face to her again. Might as well just dig a hole and jump into it now!
Wait.
She kissed my cheek when she got the book from me. We can just call this even! Yeah. Okay just stay cool Tae. Itâs all going to be alright.
âTae.â I snap my head towards Jimin who laughs at my reaction alone, probably due to my wide eyes, âYou okay, dude?â
âYeah, yeah Iâm fine.â I start to space out again but Namjoon comes up from behind me, throwing an arm around my shoulders.
âDid you not see how he was with y/n? I think our little Tae Tae has a crush.â He teases so I throw his arm off of my shoulders.
âPlease. I do not have a crush on her. She tracked me down and tackled me over a book.â I grumble and Jimin just laughs in my face.
âOh, itâs not just a crush, Joonie. Our Tae is in looooove.â Jimin drags out the last word and I roll my eyes at his dramatic phrasing.
âJust because I like her doesnât mean Iâm in love.â I grumble again and both Jiminâs and Joonâs eyes go wide.
âHe admitted it! Our babyâs all grown up!â Jimin starts fake crying and walks into a hug with Namjoon. I roll my eyes and walk down the hallway towards my room, ignoring the laughter that follows me.Â
Okay, so what if I like her? I liked spending time with her and it definitely helps that sheâs absolutely beautiful. The more I think about it the more I realize how Iâve been gaining feelings for her. The way that we can spend hours together talking about everything and nothing at the same time. The way I just feel fully comfortable around her and like I can fully be myself. And of course, the way that we are able to tease each other back and forth without pushing it too far.Â
I donât need a crush, but if thatâs not what this is I donât know what else to call it.
I end up seeing her on campus before one of her finals, but sheâs walking around with another guy. Sheâs laughing and looks like a literal ray of sunshine. I donât miss, however, that he has his arm thrown around her shoulder and she leans into him.
Two seconds later, she sees me and jumps out of his arms, running up to say hi to me. Maybe they arenât dating then? Maybe itâs her brother? They look somewhat alike? What am I saying, no they donât.Â
âTae!â She runs up and stops just in front of me with a bounce in her step. âThank you again for the book! I was able to talk to my professor and she said that sheâs already liking what she sees from my essay. You really saved my ass.âÂ
I smile and rub the back of my neck, âI hardly did anything, you were the one who came pounding on my door.â She goes bright red and I notice the guy walk up behind her.
âOh, so youâre the book overdue guy.â He smiles and sticks out his hand to me, âIâm Joshua. Y/n has told me all about you.â He winks at y/n who looks like she wants to explode on the spot. She flicks his forehead and turns back to me with a sheepish grin.
âJosh, this is Taehyung. Tae, this is my idiotic cousin.â She gets flicked back which results in her poking his side in retaliation.Â
Cousin. Heâs her cousin. Oh thank god.Â
âItâs a pleasure to meet you, Joshua. I have to get to a final, but Iâll text you?â I ask her and she nods happily.Â
âNot if I text you first!â I start to walk away but hear Joshuaâs voice go up a couple octaves repeating, âNot if I text you first!â Then there is a smack and I canât help but laugh at their dynamic. It reminds me a lot of my friendship with my roommates.
So she doesnât have a boyfriend! Perfect!
[Y/N the Quarterback]: Want to get ice cream? Celebration for finishing finals!
[Tae Tae]: 4:30?
[Y/n the quarterback]: Bet! See you then!
I havenât seen her for a couple of days, but we have been texting over the time apart. The boys keep teasing me relentlessly, but I canât even tell them that they are wrong because they arenât. I canât even deny the feelings that I have for her anymore so I might as well just acknowledge it. Not to her though, I donât have a death wish.
I arrive at the parlor before she does, deciding to order her ice cream for her since I know sheâll be here briefly. Sheâs always five minutes early to meeting time so when she shows up, the ice cream is being delivered to our table.Â
âTae, you didnât have to!â She gasps as she sits down and it causes the smile on my face to grow, even though Iâm not even sure thatâs possible judging from the smile that appeared on my face the second she walked through the door. She looked as stunning as usual but her hair was pulled out of her face and she just seemed to be kissed by the sun, her freckles popping out more than they usually do. She didnât even have makeup on but she didnât need it, she never did, but it was a treat when she did happen to put it on.
âYou bought coffee last time! Itâs my turn.â I nudge her ice cream closer to her and so she digs in.
âYou got my favorite.â She mumbles to herself, almost in awe, and I canât help the flutter my heart gives. I donât even notice that she looks back up, remembering something based off of how wide her eyes are at the moment. âThe story!â
âYou were scheming.â I remind her and she laughs at the memory.
âScheming is a nice way to put it.âÂ
Week 8, Wednesday // Y/nâs POV -Â
Over the weekend I decided to brush up on two skills. One: Flirting. Two: Code. Did I actually know how to code? No, but I paid Joshuaâs younger brother, Vernon, to do it for me. He told me it would take a couple days so thatâs why I focused on my flirting skills first.Â
I was going to get through to that library employee if itâs the last thing I do. âHi there, do you think you could help me?â I flutter my eyelashes but the short haired person who looks up is not the guy who âhelpedâ me the other day.
âYeah, whatâs up.â She had a really pretty smile and I instantly lost all confidence.
âUmm- nothing, youâre beautiful. I mean- shit. Have a good day!â My voice cracks as I scramble away. Yeah, I was not prepared for that. I was expecting some guy who would do my bidding but I canât do that to her! She could lose her job! I canât have that happening! Shit. What do I do now?
Friday
[The better cousin]: I got a name! Kim Taehyung. Thatâs all Iâve got.
[gremlin cousin]: Thank you Vernon!!!!! Youâre my favorite cousin!
[the better cousin]: Obviously.
A name. I can work with a name. Kim Taehyung. Yeah I can figure it out from here.
Sunday
Itâs taken two days but I finally found his instagram. Why did it take two days? Well, you see, HIS HANDLE HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH HIS NAME AND HE ISNâT FOLLOWING ANY OF THE UNIâS ACCOUNTS. Anyways.
I donât gather a whole lot of information from his instagram but I am scrolling through his page when Joshua shows up out of nowhere, scaring the living hell out of me.
âWhoâs Taehyung?â He grabs my phone, since Iâm too busy trying to regulate my breathing again. âOh wait, he lives on my floor, nice guy.â He hands my phone back to me but Iâm already grabbing his arms.
âWhere! What room! Tell me Josh!â I shake him and he looks at me like Iâm absolutely insane.
âIâm not telling you that, you psycho! What the hell is wrong with you?â He practically runs away from me, but I decide to chase him down. He just runs to my apartment instead and locks me out. Bitch.
âLet me in, coward!â I pound on the door and I hear someone else come out of their apartment.
âCan you keep it down?!?â She yells and I instantly go bright red.Â
âSorry.â I knock on the door again, âJoshua, please let me in. Iâm going to die of embarrassment out here.â My voice comes out higher pitched than it normally is. The door is flung open and Joshua pulls me inside, but doesnât stop his pitch of laughter which has now resulted in him rolling on the floor.Â
âYouâre face! That was priceless!â He lets out between gasps and I roll my eyes.
âGo home if you arenât going to help me.â I grumble so he hops up and pats the top of my head.Â
âGoodbye cousin. Donât stalk random guys!â He skips out of my apartment and I lock the door behind him. Asshole.
Okay. Fine. Plan B.
Monday
I show up at Joshua and Vernonâs apartment completely unannounced with a tray of cookies. These guys never turn them down. I know my cousins.
âDid you find him yet?â Vernon asks as he opens the door and I shake my head.
âNo! Because your Brother,â I glare at Joshua whoâs sitting on the couch with his hands up, âdecided to not tell me where your neighbor lives.âÂ
âWait, how do you know about this?â Joshua snaps his eyes towards Vernon before he connects the dots. âYou DID NOT hire my brother to hack into the library system.â
âMaybe I did, maybe I didnât, Thatâs not important, Josh!â My voice gets a bit louder again and he stands up off of the couch.
âSo now Iâm DEFINITELY not giving you his apartment number, creep! Go home if thatâs what you were trying to do. I know you, y/n, this is getting pathetic. Go home.â Joshua actually starts to sound mad so I calm down. I donât like pissing off my cousins, especially since they are more like siblings to me than my actual siblings so I give up.
âFine, Iâll stop.â I sigh and leave the apartment. I bump into someone walking by when I leave the apartment and he laughs while holding my arms so I donât fall over.
âCareful! You okay?â I notice his tattooâd hands before anything else so I straighten myself up quickly.
âI am, Iâm so sorry, I didnât even see you.â I look up into pretty brown eyes but get distracted by a lip ring. Oh boy.Â
âItâs okay. Just be careful.â He tells me, letting go of my arms. He walks off to an apartment three doors down from Joshua and I finally collect myself once he goes inside.Â
Wow, Iâm a moron. I head home and decide to look up the book to see if I can find it anywhere else. I already tried that once but it didnât work. I donât have any more luck this time so I shut my laptop and just decide to call it an early night.
Thursday
Dear Student,
You are receiving this email as a book you have put on hold has been flagged and will be taken out of the catalog until further notice. If you have any questions, please reach out to library staff and we apologize for any inconveniences this has enacted.
I stop reading there. Oh Iâm going to FIND HIM. I know I told Joshua I would chill, but now Iâm at my breaking point. Itâs the last book I need before I start writing the other parts of my essay.Â
First, I messaged his instagram. Surely, heâd respond right?
Friday
WRONG. Why do men never check their social media?!? What am I supposed to do?!?
I go through his profile and find a couple people heâs tagged in photos but one happens to catch my attention. Lip ring. Tattoos. Theyâre friends!
I decided to message him instead. His name is Jungkook and his profile shows even better photos of him than the state that I saw him in. Why is this guy hot AND has hot friends? What the hell?
Saturday
Jungkook doesnât get back to me either so I go to text Joshua.
Wait. Heâs probably still mad at me. If he isnât, then this would definitely set him off again. I canât do that. But Iâm running out of time.Â
I sit down and start to write my essay without it but nothing is sounding right. I put the essay away and pull out the homework that Iâve been putting off.
Sunday Night
I got way too invested in the âfinding Taehyungâ thing. After completing all my assignments, I realized that I have been completely falling behind and almost lost my grades. Good thing I caught it since finals week is also coming up but that just puts even more stress on my shoulders. I need to find him.
Monday
I canât wait anymore. I have been awake all night, tossing and turning about what to do. I donât want to upset Joshua but I cannot complete this essay otherwise.
(Present // Taehyungâs POV)
âAnd thatâs how I ended up outside of your door at 6AM on a Monday.â She sighs, finally finishing the story.
âWow. All that to just say Iâm attractive is crazy.â I tease and she instantly starts laughing.
âI know, I sound batshit crazy. Iâm happy Iâve gotten to know you though. Iâm also glad you didnât think I was a complete psycho and report me to campus police.â She tries to disappear into the vinyl covered booth and I shake my head, laughing.
âHonestly, I shouldâve but you didnât mean any harm. Plus youâre like half my size.â I tease again and she rolls her eyes.
âPlease, Iâm not THAT short. Plus I was able to tackle you so I wouldnât be talking right now.â She sticks her tongue out at me and I laugh again.
âReady to go?â She nods and we head out of the ice cream parlor. I feel her hand brush mine like it did when we walked to her apartment from mine. This time, though, I actually suck up the courage and lace my fingers between hers. She blushes when she looks up at me but she doesnât let go, squeezing my hand a bit just to make sure it was okay.
We walk back to her apartment, taking our time as we walk across campus, just enjoying the fact that we are outside, together, in the sunshine. âWhat are you doing after graduation?â I ask her gently and she lights up.
âIâm going to field school in Alaska for four weeks! After that, Iâm not sure but I probably wonât go far since I have a really nice set up in my apartment. What about you?â She asks and I sigh.
âProbably also staying in town. My roommates want to do some traveling first, but I think weâre all planning on staying.â I explain and see her eyes light up again.
âSo we can still hang out!â She smiles wider and I perk up at the idea.
âI guess we can. Iâd like it more if I got to take you on some dates instead, though.â I ramble but I know she catches it because we both halt our steps.
âYou want to take me on dates?â She asks gently and I nod.
âI would love to. I have come to really enjoy being around you. You are such a warm person to be around and Iâve really grown to have feelings for you, but I donât want to rush you into anything.â She goes bright red and it takes everything in me to not tease her for how cute she looks.
âI have feelings for you too, Tae.â She starts quietly and then hugs me tightly. I wrap my arms around her and plant a kiss on the crown of her head. âIâd love to go on some dates with you.â She speaks into my chest and it pulls a laugh out of me.
âGood, we may not date yet, but I definitely want to brag about my quarterback girlfriend when the time comes.â She smacks my chest and I laugh again before she laces our hands back together and we continue the walk to her apartment.
ăă»ăă» When your name is called as the tribute for District 12 in the annual Hunger Games, you accept it immediately, this is how people like you die. Thereâs no heroism in it, no surprise, just the usual math of starvation and bad odds. The reaping ends, the train begins to move, and somewhere between the steel walls and the locked doors, you realize two things that could delay the inevitable.
Youâre not half bad with a bow and Choi Beomgyu, the district 2âs golden boy, canât seem to keep his eyes off you.
May the odds be in your favor.
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act iiă € áŽÊᎠê±áŽáŽáŽáŽáŽáŽÊᎠáŽê° ê°ÉȘÊᎠpart one
act iii áŽÊᎠê±áŽáŽáŽáŽáŽáŽÊᎠáŽê° ê°ÉȘÊᎠpart two
act ivă € áŽÊᎠáŽÊáŽáŽÉŽÉȘx ÊáŽáŽx
act vă € áŽÊᎠÊáŽê±áŽ ÊáŽáŽáŽ
he is a serial killer with morals okay almost a vigilante
dni if you're not comfortable with this trope.
genres and warnings: angst, fluff, suggestive, violence warnings, atz as doctors cameos, some gory descriptions, twisted morals, past trauma, questionable stuff honestly esp yunho's intrusive thoughts, read at your own risk.
word count: ~27k
synopsis: you're a crime fiction writer and you move in with dr. jeong yunho despite his strange, strict house rules. he's very private and you don't mind that, but he's also very cold and unapproachable and you're determined to crack through his walls. little did you know your obsession with gore and crime would melt his heart. Soon, you find yourself tangled in lies, secrets and a detective from your past who suspects yunho and his gang as you navigate thru your relationship with him.
manager-nim: @eightmakesonebraincell (i had a dream. we talked about it and this happened-)
âYou know, if you could just help me bring my bags inside instead of staring at me like Iâm about to commit a homicide, maybe you wouldnât have to complain about the noise and not being able to focus on⊠whatever the heck you wanted to do.â
Yunho blinked. Was he hearing you right? When you cocked your head waiting for a response, he licked his suddenly dry lips. âIâm just worried about the amount of bags youâve brought at this hour of night.â
The ungodly hours after midnight. You tucked your hair behind your ears before dragging one of the heavier bags to your room, the floorboard creaking unceremoniously. You heard the groan of your house owner who finally got up after a solid ten minutes of judging you and went to the porch to pick up a bag-
And almost fell on his knees.
âWhat the fuck did you put in here?âÂ
âWhat do you think?â You asked, throwing the bag in your room and going to the porch, snatching the bag and dragging it yourself.Â
âA body?â
âOr two,â you muttered under your breath and again, Yunho thought he was hearing things. âItâs just my books. I thought I mentioned in the form that Iâm an aspiring writer and would be coped up in my room reading or writing most hours of the day. I really wonât bother you much, just help me get my bags inside before the rain gets any worse. I donât want my books getting ruined.â
Begrudgingly, Yunho obeyed, dragging two bags at once just to show you he wasnât weak. You, however, did not bat an eye, much to his annoyance. After bringing in the last bags, he stood in your room looking around.
âIâm not sure this room is big enough for your booksâŠâ
âDonât worry, Iâve lived in smaller rooms with more books,â you finally cracked a smile. âNice to meet you, Dr. Jeong. I thought youâre usually doing night shifts?â
âI had a day off today and planned to sleep, but unfortunately, you disturbed my sleep.â
âYouâre welcome,â you werenât going to let him damper the mood. âSince youâre awake now, might as well tell me any rules about the house so I can finally go fix up a meal for myself. And an apology meal for you, though, as the owner of this house, you should be in the kitchen fixing something for your newly arrived housemate. But⊠I wonât complain.â
Yunho folded his arms, considering you. There was something about you that didnât make him want to kill you in the most painful way, which was odd for him. He recalled the last time someone moved in with him and he almost dissected him alive. âNice to meet you too, y/n. Iâm trusting you read the rules before you decided to move in?â
ââMinimal noise especially during the day, no intervening in each otherâs business, an absolute no to bringing over people even if they are your family- if you have to, on a three-days notice, and⊠no getting to know each other. The workshop in the garage and the upper floor is off-limits.â I believe I got them right?â
âYou have an exceptional memory,â Yunho was impressed for once. âWhy did you move here?â
âIâm sure you read my response in your form too, but to put it simply, I canât afford a nicer place, though Iâm curious why a doctor is living in such a dodgy little house in a shady town-â
âI, too, need to make ends meet,â Yunho explained even though he could have easily ignored your question. âCircumstances. Besides, I get a whole house instead of a cramped apartment in the city, and my workplace is close.â
âI know! Cramped apartments are suffocating. Even though Iâll only own a room here and share the floor, at least itâs a⊠house.â
Yunho nodded. âIâll give you three days to settle down and break any rules except the ones mentioned in the form. Now, I understand that you can cook?â
âAlways been a good cook,â you said proudly.Â
âWe can share the kitchen expenses and if you cook enough for the both of us, I can take 40 percent off your rent. Fair offer, isnât it?â
âPeculiar is what it is,â you told him. âBut I wonât question you. If I have to cook, might as well for the both of us. Saves me money in the long run, and I need to save every penny I can.â
âRight. There are a few cabinets locked in the kitchen, please donât try to open them. I canât think of any other rules right now, but try to keep it down, will you? And again, the upper floor is absolutely off-limits.â
âGot it,â you nodded. âLet me know your usual schedule so I donât think thereâs a serial killer entering my apartment in the middle of the night.â
Once again, Yunho had to stop himself from twitching in surprise. âWhatâs your obsession with serial killers and murders? Youâve mentioned them numerous times in the past half an hour.â
âI think the rules go both ways, Dr. Jeong Yunho,â you smiled teasingly, opening one of the bags and taking a deep breath at the amount of books in it. âBut if you have to know⊠my genres are crime fiction and mystery. I hope I donât scare you away, especially if I ask you something odd about human anatomy.â
Yunho almost gaped at you before shaking his head and exiting your room, absolutely unnerved by you in a mere half an hour. It was crazy- usually, he was the one making people feel alarmed or discomposed, but you were an odd one for sure. However, as with every past housemate, he was sure you were going to get on his nerves and he would have to either bury your bones in the backyard- consequently breaking the âcodeâ- or plan something elaborate and chase you out.Â
It wasnât that he didnât want you to be a pleasant person to share the house with. But when he opened the door at about 1am to a distraught looking girl that didnât even reach his shoulders carrying six bags, some bigger than her⊠he wondered if he should kick you right out and remove the ad he had put in on a few websites looking for a âpeacefulâ housemate. He was sure you must have some thoughts about him too- he wasnât the most welcoming person and people would eventually get curious about his closed-off personality and start snooping around.
For now, Yunho peeked into your room from the stairs- you had your hands on your hips and were assessing the room, probably planning how you could fit everything in there. He checked the time- he needed to leave soon. Praying silently that you would just fall asleep or something instead of snooping around, he went to his room to get ready.
You, though, had no plans to sleep tonight. You needed to set your room and get some sleep so you could meet the deadline of your draft that was due this weekend- only three days away. You assessed the space in the room again- if you could move the bed to the corner, you could place your computer table and chair there which would be arriving in the morning. You could line the books along the rest of the walls on the floor. You didnât need any fancy shelves. Thankfully, this room had its own closet so you wouldnât need to worry about where to fit your clothes.Â
You exited the room into the living room space, wanting to get the bearings of this house. The toilet was right in front of your room and one of the reasons you moved into this dodgy house was that it was⊠a good house. A toilet all to yourself was a blessing, and upon checking it looked clean.Â
The living room wasnât too big but it looked cosy. You noticed a lack of personal belongings and decided to add a few potted plants on the windows soon. There was no TV but you had a projector and if you moved the couch, you could have a whole plain wall which was perfect to watch dramas when Yunho would be away. The kitchen space was at the opposite end with a large countertop in between and it looked like Yunho had most of the kitchen appliances already.Â
And at the end where the main door was, there were stairs leading up to the doctorâs space. Off-limits. You wondered why he was so uptight but you figured that as long as he was letting you live almost for free in return for home-cooked meals and maintaining the house, you could tolerate him. It was strange if you thought about it but you didnât have the luxury to overthink right now.
You finally had a place- better than an apartment, yet something you could afford. You found yourself smiling. You just need to meet your deadlines now and hopefully publish your book by the end of the year- before the publishers change their mind.Â
But first⊠coffee.
You went to your room to get the bottle of your favourite coffee blend, which was really a mixture from a few different brands that you had come up with after years of experimentation. You set two cups on the counter and checked the fridge for milk. You werenât sure about the doctorâs preferences so you made a simple latte like your own. You were just finishing up when you heard the dull footsteps of him descending the stairs.Â
âI made coffeeâŠâ you trailed off- now that he was in a white button down and black slacks with his hair styled, it finally settled in.
Doctor Jeong Yunho was pretty damn attractive.
âUhâŠâ he looked around awkwardly before grabbing the mug and taking a sip, raising his brows in surprise. âThis⊠is actually pretty good.â
You grinned. âMy own blend.â
He made an impressed face and you took that opportunity to ask. âYou donât mind if I make a few changes to this floor, right? Nothing major, just a few plants here and there, maybe get a chair or two, move the furniture around to make space for the projector?â
âIsnât it too early for that?â Yunho frowned. âI might kick you out before that. Or you might end up leaving-â
âIâm sure weâll be fine,â you dismissed. âWhat I mean is, Iâm staying out of your way so you would have no reason to kick me out because I really, really cannot get a better deal than I got with you.â
âSure, then,â he finished his coffee. âDo whatever you like as long as you stick to the rules. Iâll be on my way then.â
You relaxed, mind already buzzing with ideas as you headed towards your room to fix your draft.
â-------------------------------
The trial period Yunho had given you was over and you were now seated in the kitchen with your third cup of coffee since midnight, awaiting your judgement.
Really, you were telling yourself that you shouldnât worry. If you had to be your own judge, you had done a spectacular job of staying out of the doctorâs way except when unavoidable- which was usually right before he left for work around midnight when you would both eat dinner, or his usual shift in the later hours of morning. He insisted that he was fine eating alone and you didnât have to wait for him to eat your own dinner, and yes, he sounded like he could be anywhere but there, but you told him that if you were cooking for him, youâd rather he eat at least one meal with you. For what reason, you didnât give and he didnât ask.
You didnât give because you may be a self-proclaimed good cook but you were also someone who was sensitive. And that meant that if Yunho didnât like something you cooked, you would be ready to take constructive criticism and improve.Â
And he didnât ask because he could see that you were a sensitive one. He knew the moment he told you off for filling the house with potted plants within one day and you almost teared up asking if he didnât like the signs of life around the house. He actually almost laughed at that but when he realised you were serious, he told you he wouldnât take care of the plants. You told him you wouldnât expect him to because the plants were âyour babiesâ and had moved two houses with you already.Â
So yes, you stayed out of his way. You cooked for him. You cleaned the house quite a bit- so much that Yunho almost didnât recognise his own porch because of how different it looked in the span of a few hours that he was absent from the house. He made a point of telling you right after that your trial period wasnât up, and you made a point of retorting with how you were just waiting for him to give in, to which you earned a scowl. By now, you knew that the doctor was not very friendly- at least not immediately. You wondered if that was the reason why he had troubles with his past housemates.Â
When you heard the sound of keys jingling and the door unlocking, you straightened and started heating up the dinner- you kept it traditional today- rice, beef and a lot of side dishes. Perhaps, it was your last attempt to win him over, and your heart was beating loudly with anticipation. You never waited for him to come home and share a meal in the early hours of morning but today, you made an exception. You turned around to greet him-
Finding his clothes stained with what had to be blood. His hair was all messed up as well and he had a bruise on his cheek. You exhaled. âLooks like somebody had a long night shift.â
âWhat are you doing this early in the morning?â He took off his shoes that you noticed were quite muddy. It hadnât rained in a few days so you briefly wondered where he had been, but you shook your head.
No questions asked. That was the rule.
âPrepared breakfast? For you,â you scratched your suddenly itchy neck. âFor obvious reasons. Last attempt to bribe you before you announce your decision.â
Yunho scanned you for a few moments before he said, âI should change first.â
âOf course,â you nodded. âIâll set the table in the meantime.â
Yunho nodded and went upstairs, going to the room at the end of the hallway and dumping his shirt and trousers in the washing machine, turning it on. He needed to get rid of the blood as soon as possible and detergent wouldnât be enough so he grabbed a soap and rubbed the stains on his shirt for good measure- now, the clothes would wash themselves.Â
It was almost a mechanical routine now, he scoffed at how his hands worked on their own now. He went to his room, unlocking it and changing into sweats. Usually, he didnât eat much before sleeping- after all, due to his night shifts, he slept for most hours of the day and breakfast wasnât something he cared about, but the smell of beef was making his stomach rumble. He figured he could make an exception today.
By the time he joined you at the table, there were a variety of dishes in front of him and he raised a brow at you. âYou really went all out, huh?â
âOf course I would,â you shrugged. âBut Iâll be honest. I got most of these side dishes as a gift from one of my friends from work.â
Yunho nodded, thanking you for the meal and eating silently, waiting and waiting but you never asked him about his bloody clothes. Did you dismiss it because you thought it might be from a patient? Or because you simply didnât care? Was he lucky then, having found you as his housemate? Because one of the qualities he needed in his housemate that he simply couldnât have stated in the form was a lack of curiosity or inquisitiveness. It was different than being nosy- he could deal with nosy but not someone who would overstep their boundaries because they were curious.
It was why he was apprehensive of you at first. You were a writer. Writers had to be curious and inquisitive, and you were. He knew you were only beginning right now, but the few occasions you had been curious, he was thrown off. And for the right reasons-
âAs a doctor, do you think itâs more painful to bleed to death or to drown?â
âAs a doctor⊠do you think a sharp pencil stab to the jugular vein could be fatal?â
That was really all you ever asked him. His opinion as a doctor. You asked with such simplicity that he couldnât help but stop whatever he was doing and really think about the answer-
âI personally think itâs more painful to drown. The water burns you from the inside. Bleeding to death⊠you stop feeling things at a certain point and it gets easier from there.â
âWell, it depends on the location of the stab but I reckon if itâs around the base of the neck, it could be fatal. But it would have to be embedded quite deep, and then extracted so a person can bleed to death. If it stays in, thereâs no point.â
And his answers would earn him your satisfaction and suddenly, you would be muttering to yourself and going for your room, probably to note it down. He had done his research there too- if he was going to have you as his housemate, he needed to do a background check on you. He didnât find anything odd in your socials- you tended to stay anonymous and most of your blogs were writing-focused. And when he snooped in your room while you were away grocery shopping, he only found various notes and books on crime and methods of serial killers. He was ashamed to admit he spent quite some time on that book and learned a lot.
So now, having finished the delicious breakfast (you really were a good cook) and finding you uninterested in his whereabouts and the aching bruise on his cheek, he finally cracked the first smile in three days.Â
âIâll let you live if you take care of the house like you have been so far. And you really donât need to wait for me during meals. The rules are still the same.â
You let out a breath you didnât realise you had been holding and laughed in relief. âThank you. Iâll stick by the rules, and Iâll probably have dinner with you if Iâm not busy- I donât like eating alone, to be honest. You can pretend Iâm not there if thatâs what bothers you. AlsoâŠâ
When Yunho urged you to continue, your shoulders relaxed in relief but your brows crunched in annoyance. âDo you have to bring your muddy shoes inside? I just cleaned.â
Yunho looked towards the doorway. âI canât leave them out.â
âWell, I canât have muddy shoes inside, so youâll have to do something about it yourself or else Iâll be annoyed and have to clean them myself and you do not want me cleaning your shoes-â
âOkay,â Yunho waved a hand to shut you up. âIâll take them off on the porch next time.â
âGood,â you folded your arms, considering him. âI think weâre good then.â
Yunho narrowed his eyes. âIâm the one whoâs supposed to be saying thatâŠâ
âWell, now that weâve settled everything, I hope you and I will get along,â you extended your hand and he warily shook it, aware of how small your hand was in his. âNow, since youâre a doctor, I must ask if youâll take care of the loud bruise on your cheek before you sleep. We donât want it looking worse than it already is.â
âIâll take care of it,â he assured, and he couldnât help but continue. âArenât you going to ask?â
âIâll admit that Iâm curious, but I wonât break a rule- and I wonât be tricked into breaking one either,â you winked at him and once again, he found himself smiling. âIâll just assume you had a bad day at work or a rough case. You must often get them as a⊠surgeon?â
He nodded and you started stacking the dishes. âYou can go rest now. Iâve installed a clothesline in the backyard- I really wonder where youâve been drying your clothes all this time, but I wonât ask. You should try hanging your clothes outside this time.â
For a moment, Yunho wondered if he should have kicked you out.
âI just have a question before you disappear,â you turned and he paused in his tracks, wondering if his stealth was worsening. âItâs an odd one, for my book, but⊠approximately how long would a healthy man suffer with a stab wound to this area-â you rubbed the left side of your stomach, â- given the weapon is an old 12-inch kitchen knife thatâs been sharpened way too many times?â
For a moment, Yunho wondered if he had forgotten to lock the cabinet in the kitchen that contained all of his knives. âYouâre uh⊠oddly specific.â
âI have to be,â you shrugged.
âWellâŠâ Yunho rubbed his chin, thinking of all the patients and victims he had dealt with so far. âCan I sleep on it?â
â-----------------------
Your life was finally not falling apart, for once.
In fact, perhaps this was the calmest that things had been for a good few years now, you mused to yourself as you mopped the floor, your usual instrumental playlist on a considerable volume playing in the living room. Ever since you graduated and had to face the reality of navigating through life as an adult, mostly on your own, you had to tackle a lot of struggles and obstacles. Sure, things got better when you finally signed a contract with a publishing company and started writing for them, but whenever you thought things calmed down, there was always something happening to make you feel like everything was falling apart once again.
Like a few weeks ago when you had to move out of your apartment that you had lived in for three years because the owner decided to sell the building and every tenant had to empty their apartment on a rather short notice. You were compensated but that wasnât enough because everything was so expensive now. You couldnât go back to your hometown- if you went back, you would never be able to leave again. So you scoured the internet and found your current place.
And things were finally okay. You did not have to worry about rent- you were doing a good job at maintaining the house and feeding the owner proper meals and so far, he had no complaints with you (he told you if he ever did, he would make sure you knew). You were now able to keep up with your weekly deadlines and finally able to overcome your writerâs block- all thanks to Yunho.
Over the past two weeks, while you could not say that Yunho had warmed up to you, he was getting there alright. You could tell because he stopped complaining about you overcleaning- or perhaps, he admitted defeat. He also stopped protesting when you joined him for dinner before he left for work at night and it was then you would ask him all the questions you had- mostly injuries related, sometimes medical law, but you found that he was knowledgeable in legal law as well. He was never curious about why you asked him all your odd questions, but one day, he asked you what exactly you were writing.
âIâm writing about a female detective whoâs assigned to a case of serial killings in her precinct. The serial killer is a strange one because he does not have a fixed method of killing and his victim pool has no pattern, and at first the detective believes that there is a group of them which may or may not be working together, but towards the end, I reveal that there was only one⊠and the serial killer was from the same station as her so he always knew what to avoid.â
And that was the only time Yunho looked remotely impressed with what you did- if you didnât count the time he saw you carrying a tower of books and wondered how a tiny thing like you could carry so much. After that, whenever you told him about your progress during dinner (you insisted you needed to talk out loud about it and if he didnât want to hear it, he could say so because you were used to talking to the walls) he would offer clarifications at least about the things that concerned him. You asked him if he had dealt with a lot of fatal wounds in surgery.
âWhen I was a beginner, thatâs when I got the worst of them,â he admitted. âBut I donât work in the fancy hospitals anymore. With some of my colleagues, we opened our own private clinic. The hospital life wasnât for me- at least not right now.â
That was all he offered about his personal life and you didnât ask why he couldnât handle a hospital life right now. Perhaps, he was going through some of his own troubles like you were too. He tended to spend most of his free time out anyway so you figured that medical practice wasnât the only thing he was doing.
Plus, he had a thing for cars- old, beaten up cars that he would fix in his garage that he called his âworkshopâ. He would dedicate his weekend to those cars and would become so absorbed that he would forget to eat. One time, you made a smoothie for him because he had skipped his meal and when you went to the garage and cleared your throat, he appeared in your vision, all rough and messed up. You stifled your smile and raised the glass in your hand. He simply asked you to leave it in the corner and go away.Â
He forgot to drink that and you found it the next day in the same spot, to your dismay.Â
You sighed to yourself when you recalled that day, placing the mop next to the wall while you cleaned the window in the living room. You spotted a car in front of your neighbourâs house where the old couple lived and you figured it might finally be their son paying them a visit. You had actually met the couple while on your way to the convenience store and they asked you if the doctor was giving you any trouble.
âI donât know why he couldnât have a housemate for so long,â the old woman shook his head in worry. âHeâs such a kind young man. He checks on us every weekend even though he is busy and he makes sure we go to our monthly checkups.â
âReally?â That was unexpected. âSounds like a kind young man indeed.â
She laughed. âYou must be a good person if youâve stuck around for this long. If he gives you any trouble, just let me know and Iâll give him an earful, yeah?â
You let out a short laugh, wanting to tell her that it was probably the other way round, but it had you wondering why his previous housemates didnât last long enough with him. He wasnât a very strict person and the rules werenât something one couldnât obey. Was it because of his cold demeanour? You had to admit that he was very mysterious and sometimes, you wondered just what exactly he did other than his medical practice.Â
Maybe curiosity does kill the cat, so you would let it go.
You were just stacking the mops back in the shed when you heard the sound of Yunhoâs bike- you could recognise the sound of his bike now- it wasnât too loud like other bikes but had a deep sound. You turned to find him parking it in the garage and you checked your wristwatch.
âYouâre⊠early today.â
It was half past four, the sun just starting to illuminate the sky. He usually came back when the sun was fully out. He took off his helmet and ran his hand through his hair, scanning you.
âYes, I am,â he got off the bike, not offering an explanation. You didnât need one either. He simply nodded at you once in greeting before going inside-
Leaving a trail of muddy boot prints again.
Cursing at him, you grabbed the mop and started cleaning after him, noticing he took off his shoes on the porch this time. You made a face at the shoes, wishing you could have made it at him and picked them up and wiped them on the grass to get most of the mud off before setting them back on the porch. When you got inside, Yunho cleared his throat.
âYou donât have to take care of my shoes, Iâve said it multiple times-â
âI just cleaned,â you clenched your jaw, turning to him. âLook. Youâve got rules in this house, and as your housemate, Iâll state my rules too.â
âOh?â He looked amused. âPlease, carry on.â
âWipe your shoes on the grass before you take them off on the porch,â you exhaled, a weight off your shoulders. âI hate it when I have just cleaned the entire house and you come from work with your muddy shoes trampling all over my hard work.â
âTrampling might be a strong wordâŠâ
âYou get my point,â you glared at him and he straightened, nodding. This was the first time he saw you angry and-
He was trying his best not to laugh right now.
âAny other rules?â He managed to ask without cracking up.
âJustâŠâ you looked around. âOh yes, Iâve got one. When you wash your hands in the sink, you should wipe your hands with that towel-â you pointed at the twin bunny hand towels hanging by the hook you attached on the wall next to the sink. âYou can use the blue one. I have the towel for the purpose that you donât go around spreading a water trail after yourself.â
This time, Yunho turned around and finally let out the laugh he had been holding back and you stood gaping at him, wondering if you should congratulate yourself for finally making him laugh or if the bubbling thing in your throat was your anger worsening. âWhat? If you donât like that, you can kick me out.â
âNo,â he turned around to face you, looking down. âIâm⊠sorry. I wonât do that again, Iâll abide by the rules. You donât have to get so angry-â
âIâm not angry-â
Yunho stifled another smile, shaking his head as if to stop himself from laughing again and you narrowed your eyes.Â
âYou can laugh in front of me. I donât bite.â
But perhaps, that was the wrong thing to say. His smile faded and he went back to being the same, cold doctor. âYou should go to sleep now.â
Just like that, he dismissed you. He dismissed you like any other time you almost cracked through his cold, mysterious demeanour. And just like always, you let him dismiss you and left him alone.
He might not kick you out for setting these rules but if you continued to try to get him to break this wall he had built all around him⊠he would have no other option. Curiosity could kill you, you knew, but you were so curious about what kind of a person he was. You didnât have many neighbours but the old couple insisted he was very kind and friendly when Yunho had been anything but friendly to you. He had been distant, unapproachable, sometimes talkative but rarely smiling like he had today. You refused to believe that this was who he was. He had the brightest smile and the most heartwarming laugh that you heard today, and you vowed to yourself that even though he might kick you out for crossing boundariesâŠ
You would make him laugh. Slowly, and surely, you would break him.
â--------------------------
Yunho had had a few eventful days and perhaps, work was the only place he felt at home now, surrounded by all of his friends who knew him. Knew who he was. Knew and didnât judge him for being the kind of person that he was. Sure, in his own home, he felt comfortable too (except for when a certain someone started nagging) but his true home was with his people.
And to find you pop up at his workplace without a notice made his eyes twitch in annoyance and realise that the urge to kill you might not be as strong as before but it was there alright.
âWhat are you doing here?â He said through gritted teeth, surprising not only the old lady from next door but also the staff who walked past you.Â
âJeong Yunho, that is no way to talk to a lady!â The woman said, shaking her head in disappointment and when you saw Yunhoâs features soften when he met her gaze, you scoffed. âShe was kind enough to walk me here- Iâm having a lot of trouble with my vision all of a sudden.â
âYou should have called the ambulance then,â Yunho frowned, taking the womanâs hand and guiding her across the hallway, disappearing at the end and you pursed your lips, deciding to take a seat in the waiting area.
You looked around- the clinic was big enough and the staff had been kind. It looked like it ran well. There werenât many people here right now- only a few patients in the waiting and you read the board to see that there were a number of doctors available- a gynaecologist, dentist, paediatrician, psychiatrist, nephrologist, eye specialist, ent specialist and orthopaedic surgeon. You were reading the names of all the doctors when you felt eyes on you and you saw a man in a lab coat watching you with mild amusement. You looked away but when you realised he was still staring, you raised a brow at him and he finally approached you.
âI happened to see your interaction with Yunho earlier, and couldnât help but wonder if you were the new housemate weâve heard so much about?â
You were rendered speechless- first of all, he seemed to be pretty damn close with Yunho. Either that or he was nosy, but you knew Yunho wasnât the type to keep nosy people around. And thenâŠÂ
The housemate âweâ had heard so much about?
âUh⊠Youâre telling me that Dr. Jeong Yunho talks about me? Here? At his workplace? Who might you be?â
âIâm Dr. Jung Wooyoung,â he extended his hand and you shook it. âIâm the dentist here, and an old friend of Yunhoâs. I donât know if he mentioned but our friend group opened up this clinic here.â
âHe mentioned colleagues, not friends,â you told him and he shook his head in disappointment. âBut nice to meet you, doctor. Iâm y/n, the housemate Yunho talks about a lot- all good things, I hope?â
Thus, Wooyoung started retelling every conversation he had with him about you and you found him very easy to talk to. There was just something about him that invited you to relax and let loose, and soon after you heard that Yunho had told them all about you being a nagger and a clean-freak weirdo writer, you were complaining about how Yunho was borderline mean to you and you found it hard to believe that he was the warm, kind and funny person that Wooyoung insisted he was.
âI mean⊠the lady that I brought with me? Our neighbour? I told her she was wrong when she said that Yunho was a kind young man, but youâre saying heâs the funny one? I havenât seen him smile in days, Wooyoung.â
âHeâll get used to you in no time,â Wooyoung waved his hand in dismissal. âYou just gotta keep trying. Me? I cracked him in two days.â
âNo way,â you laughed. âIâve only made him laugh once and itâs been about a month-â
âHavenât you got patients waiting for you, Dr. Jung?âÂ
You froze, turning around slowly to see a tense Yunho standing at the corner, watching you two for god knows how long. You were about to apologise to Wooyoung for keeping him back but Wooyoung scoffed at Yunho.
âI expected better from you, mate. I like this one- Iâm taking her to Hongjoongâs room,â Wooyoung said, getting up and helping you up too, steering you by your shoulders towards the hallway even though you protested and when you looked back to catch a glimpse of Yunho, you caught him shaking his head in disappointment-
But he let out a chuckle. He probably thought you couldnât see him. He probably laughed because of Wooyoung. But he was going to get so mad at you-
âDonât worry, he wonât kick you out,â Wooyoung almost whispered, winking at you. âIf he tries anything, you come to me, okay? Iâll handle him.â
âThanks,â you smiled awkwardly. âWhere exactly are you taking me?â
âI would have taken you to Mingi, whoâs Yunhoâs oldest friend and would have given you tips on how to make Yunho give you the princess treatment, but heâs a little occupied right now so Iâm taking you to Yunhoâs second-oldest friend, Hongjoong.â
âWhen I accompanied the neighbour lady, I didnât mean to intrude,â you paused in your tracks, looking at Wooyoung. âIâm not sure I should be here-â
âItâs okay,â Wooyoung assured you with a wide smile. âRelax. Yunho is not some big angry dude whoâll give you an earful at home. Iâll explain- and by now, he probably knows that Iâm the one whoâs basically kidnapped you.â
You laughed, allowing him to guide you to the eye specialistâs room and when you went inside, you saw the doctor packing his belongings. When he raised his head and brushed the dark strands away, he frowned at Wooyoung.Â
âThe guest doesnât look too pleased to be here, Wooyoung.â
âThis is Yunhoâs housemate,â Wooyoung grinned cheekily and Hongjoong said a loud âohâ, greeting you. âSheâs the writer, Hongjoong. The crime fiction writer.â
âAh,â Hongjoong nodded. âI read your book when Yunho told us who you were- âIn the Silent Hoursâ? Amazing read.â
You were genuinely touched. âThank you so much. I wish I could say something, but Yunho hasnât told me anything about you all.â
âWe know,â he laughed. âHe can be like that. I hope you had a good experience visiting us, though, and if you have any concerns, you know where to come.â
You looked at Wooyoung who was smiling proudly. âI have way too many questions but I wonât ask- Yunho has a âno interfering in personal livesâ policy,â you said and they laughed as if that was the funniest thing Yunho could have done. âIâll drop by with cookies some day, if youâre okay with that?â
âSounds great!â Wooyoung clapped.Â
âI should really get going now and catch up with Yunho on our neighbourâs condition,â you said, excusing yourself and they enthusiastically said goodbye, making you unable to contain your smile as you made your way back to the entrance where Yunho was discussing something with a nurse-
Goodness, he looked so fucking hot in that lab coat with his hair done. You were positive his outworldly proportions were what made a boring lab coat look so attractive-
He caught you staring and when he finished talking with the nurse, he slowly made his way to you.
âWhereâs grandma?â You asked. âDid you find out whatâs wrong?â
âWeâve referred her to the nearest hospital and called her family- it seems to be a case of infarct and sheâs lucky that sheâs still walking and functioning like normal save for her eyes.â
âOh-â
âAnd thanks to you bringing her so soon, weâve managed to minimise the damage,â Yunho actually smiled this time and you let out a breath you didnât realise you had been holding. âSheâs resting right now- theyâll take care of her until her family comes.â
âThank you,â you smiled.Â
âWellâŠâ Yunho checked the time and you did the same- it was almost 2 which meant he would be off soon. âItâs almost time to go home. You walked here?â
âYeah,â you said. âI should get going then.â
When Yunho didnât say anything, you said bye and turned to leave but then you heard the familiar voice of Wooyoung shout âtake her home, donât be an ass!â and you stifled a grin, facing Yunho to assure you that you would be okay walking-
âI mean⊠weâre going to the same place, so⊠I could make an exception this time- like the other exceptions Iâm making,â Yunho narrowed his eyes at you. âI will pretend today didnât happen.â
âOh, please, Iâll walk myself home-â
âIâm kidding,â Yunho smiled and you wondered if it was the place that made him comfortable enough to joke with you. âI would have considered dissecting you alive if you dropped by for no reason, but really, you did a good thing today. Think of it as returning the sentiment.â
âI really donât get you,â you said, ignoring the reference he made to your last inquiry about dissections, waiting for him when he said he would get his things from his room. When he returned with his bag, helmet and without the lab coat, you followed him outside, repeating that. âI really donât get you, Yunho. You seem like two different people in one body.â
âPerhaps, I am,â he mused. âAnd perhaps, youâre lucky Iâm in a good mood today. Here, wear this.â
He handed you his helmet and you took it, watching him get on his bike. âWhat about you?â
âIâll be fine.â
âNo, you can wear this, Iâll be fine-â
âY/n,â he warned, the sudden change in his pitch sending butterflies in your stomach. âJust do as I say. Now, get on and hold on tight. Iâm not slowing down for you.â
And perhaps, you should have insisted more on walking back home because he sped through the streets, making you grip his jacket tighter with each passing second, but it was so thrilling that when you reached home, you almost asked for a second round. You took off the helmet and laughed out loud, shaking your head.
âItâs not my first time riding on a bike with someone, but itâs been ages. Can I get another ride one day?â
âDonât even think about it,â Yunho warned, helping you get off and then parking the bike in his garage. âAnd I hope you donât have any questions regarding my workplace today.â
âOh, I have many, butâŠâ you motioned to your lips, zipping them shut and Yunho nodded in approval, unlocking the house and going inside first. You muttered âassâ and went to the kitchen, heating up everything you had made today, mind still plagued with the events of today.
â-----------------------
You finished plating the steaks, satisfied at your presentation, the cheese perfectly melted on top of the fried crust. It smelled heavenly and since you now knew that Yunho was an actual food enthusiast and a surprisingly gentle and constructive critic, the simple chore of cooking became something you started looking forward to.
When you lived alone, you never made much effort to cook for yourself, but now, things were different. Your house owner was reducing your rent in exchange for home-cooked meals and you could deliver, so you waited for Yunho who would be coming downstairs any minute- he had informed you that he had to leave for work early today so you prepared accordingly, though anyone could tell you were putting more effort into the meals now.
And that was because ever since the day in Yunhoâs clinic, it looked like he was finally starting to consider you more than a housemate. You couldnât exactly call yourselves friends- the rules were still the same, but perhaps, Yunho liked that you were a person of your word. You never talked about that day in the hospital, neither did you ask him about his friends. You never asked him what happened if he came back home at an odd time or if he suddenly went out in the middle of the night. You both respected each otherâs boundaries and perhaps, that was what made him start opening up to you.
It wasnât much, no. It was the little things- him offering to help you arrange the grocery or join you when you watched netflix. He would scroll on his phone, occasionally comment on whatever you were watching and then leave. It was him actually cleaning after himself when he accidentally brought his muddy shoes inside- you gave him a thumbs-up to acknowledge his effort and even that got him flustered, which you thought was cute. And it was him actually taking interest in what you were writing instead of giving answers to the questions you asked.Â
When you heard his footsteps down the stairs, you pretended to be busy setting the table and he made an impressed face as he took a seat.Â
âThis is new,â he commented, waiting for you to sit before he could dig in.
âIâve had this recipe for a while and finally felt the urge to try it,â you told him. When he took the first bite and nodded in approval, you relaxed and began eating yourself.Â
âItâs been about two months. You donât have to worry about what I think about your cooking. Iâll have it even if it doesnât taste like something straight out of a restaurant.â
âCanât tell if itâs a joke or not, but I like it when the other person starts first- when I cook,â you said. He understood. He always seemed to understand where you came from, which was why you both rarely ever disagreed on things.
âItâs really good,â he said. âAlso, I wanted to, uh, inform you- thereâs a fundraiser happening at the clinic to help the patients who canât afford to pay their bills. If you would like to participateâŠâ
You passed him a side-eye. âThatâs not you talking, is it?â
âYouâre right,â he looked guilty. âWooyoung and Hongjoong forced me to. Something about⊠cookies?â
âOh? They remember?â
âThey said itâs a good opportunity to flaunt your baking skills if youâre up for it,â Yunho shook his head in thought. âI personally think itâs okay if you donât want to bake for strangers-â
âWhen is it?â
âThis weekend.â
âI can do it,â you said and when he looked like he was regretting asking you, you continued, âIf you have some qualms about me personally attending it, I could just bake the cookies and you could take them with you.â
âNo, itâs not that,â he scratched his neck. âItâsâŠâ
âI know, and I donât mind,â you assured him. âI agreed to your terms when I decided to move in here. I wonât interfere in your workspace if that is what you want-â
âNo, itâs okay. Itâs just⊠new for me too,â he admitted and you paused, a bit surprised to hear that. âIâll let you know the timings-â
His gaze stuck on the kitchen counter for a few moments, prompting you to follow it and see that he was staring holes into the knife holder. You looked at Yunho again to make sure if that was what he was staring at and then his gaze went to the cabinet at the left end of the kitchen-
âWhere did you get those knives?â
For a moment, you wondered if his change of tone was something you were imagining until he got up and slowly walked to the counter where the knife holder was, taking out one of the knives and examining it and then almost rushing towards the cabinet at the left end and opening it-
âI told you not to touch the locked cabinets, didnât I?â
You would have perhaps trembled under his dark gaze if you werenât so confused right now. âThe locked cabinets, yes? But that one was unlocked?â
Yunho glared at you, knife still in his hand. âWhen did you check it?â
âI was looking for a knife strong enough to cut meat and I found this cabinet unlocked-â
âYou used this knife to cut the meat?â
You could feel your hands get clammy by now, lower lip almost quivering and you hated how small your voice sounded when you said yes. He turned around and almost grunted in pain and you wondered just what you had done so wrong. Almost mechanically, you took another bite of your now cold steak. Yunho came back to his seat but instead of sitting, he dropped the knife on the table with a clang.
âYou knew that cabinet used to be locked, didnât you?â His loud voice shook you and you wondered what effect he would have if he shouted. âYou keep breaking rules without breaking them-â
âWell itâs not my fault it was unlocked, okay?â You shouted this time, dropping your utensils on the table, frustrated. âYou should have locked it properly then!â
Before he could respond, you stormed off to your room, shutting your door with a bang and he slumped down on his chair, trying to take deep breaths, trying to suppress the feeling of disgust he got when he looked at his half-eaten meal-
Because you fucking used his knife to make a meal for him.
The knife he had killed several people with.
How could he forget to lock it? He couldnât recall not locking it, but still, how could he be so careless? How could he-
He heard a muffled sound- it was hard to miss because the house was usually very silent, but it had to be the sound of you sobbing and to his surprise, despite everything, something in his heart ached at the sound. Now that the cloud of anger was disappearing, he realised he had reacted irrationally. It was his fault for not making sure the cabinet with his murder weapons was locked. He kept them in the kitchen so it wouldnât be suspicious if someone saw, but still, he should have hidden them well. And then what he said about you continuing to break rules when he himself invited you to the fundraiser-
Yes, Wooyoung suggested it but it was ultimately him who invited you. Yunho shook his head, disappointed in himself and wondered what to do. He came to the conclusion that for now, he needed to collect his thoughts while you sobbed. Shit, he thought. He must have scared you a lot. He had been told way too many times that he was a scary person when angry, and you did not have to see that when you spent an hour making him such a good meal.Â
So, disappointed and praying to the heavens above that you at least washed the knives properly before you used them, he resumed eating, almost gagging through the rest of the meal and when he was done and had one glass of cool water down his system to calm himself, he finally mustered the courage to get up, be a man and apologise to you.
The thing about you, he realised since you moved here, was that you were odd in a charming way. When he was looking for a housemate who would maintain the house and cook, he didnât expect someone who was so dedicated to the task. You were busy too, but it looked like you had shifted your schedule to adjust to his. When he was gone to work, you slept, and when he came back, you would be waiting for him. You had added life to this house and he couldnât believe how much his mood had changed now that the house looked like a home and he ate well.Â
You always gave and gave, expecting nothing in return. Perhaps, thatâs just who you were. A good person, someone he could only wish to be. Someone who only wrote about horrible crimes instead of actually committing them. Someone who believed that her house owner was a respectable doctor and not a part-time serial killer as well.
That was debatable too. He had a purpose- he didnât kill randomly. He only killed the people who deserved it. But that was a story for later- he couldnât come into your room and tell you that reason, so what the hell was he doing standing in front of your door?
Yunho knocked gently and when you fell silent but didnât respond, he knocked again.Â
âY/n? Can I come in?â
Silence.
âPlease?â
It was the gentleness in his voice that made you mutter a small yes, but only after you wiped your tears away. Truth be told, you werenât that sensitive. You werenât sure why you ended up throwing a tantrum and crying tonight but you figured it was long due now. You just wished you could explain to him without becoming a mess again-
And then he opened the door, looking worriedly at you. Worriedly, with his brows scrunched and actions hesitant and you found your vision getting blurry with tears again.Â
Dammit.Â
You looked away but from the corner of your eye you saw him look around the room once before hesitantly walking to where you were- on the floor, back resting against the bed. To your surprise, he sank down next to you, mirroring your position.
âI donât know how to say it, but Iâm sorry,â he almost whispered. âI shouldnât have reacted that way. Itâs my fault.â
A fresh stream of tears left your eyes and you werenât sure if it was because of what happened earlier or what he said now. He couldnât simply come inside your room and apologise and act like it wouldnât affect you.
âWill you look at me?â
You wiped your tears and turned to face him, hesitating to meet his eyes. He understood. He shifted a bit towards you. âNo explanation will make it better, and Iâm ashamed that I reacted this way when itâs my fault that I left that cabinet unlocked. I shouldnât have gotten angry at you when you do so much for me without asking.â
âYes,â your voice was quivering as much as your lips. âItâs your fault. I mean⊠I wonât ask but they are just knives, Yunho.â
And then you were crying again at the absurdity of it all and Yunho decided to take responsibility. He patted your head awkwardly and when you buried your head between your knees, he drew closer and wrapped his arms around you, rubbing your back.
âHey, Iâm sorry,â he attempted to sound sincere- he was, but you didnât need to know that he was also stifling grins. âI scared you, right?â
âYou did!â You cried. âDo you know how awful you look when youâre angry? And holding that knife? I thought you were going to stab me, Yunho.â
And this time, Yunho laughed heartily, making you laugh as well and push him away. He put a hand on the side of your face to cup it, still laughing as he said, âPlease. Who would cook for me if I killed you?â
âI donât know,â you pouted. âYou have a lot of friends. Maybe one of them could cook for you.â
Yunho smiled at that, wiping your tears away and you suddenly felt conscious of the position you two were in, though he didnât seem to realise it yet- or he was ignoring it, for once. âSorry for almost yelling at you. And sorry for saying everything that I did.â
âItâs okay,â you assured him, scanning his features now that you were looking at him up close for the first time. You noticed how warm his eyes could look, how soft his features actually were. He looked perfect, and if it werenât for all the rules that would cost you a living space, you would have crossed a lot of boundaries by now. âIâm sure you had your reasons- and I should have asked when I found the cabinet unlocked.â
âBut that doesnât justify my behaviour one bit,â he shook his head. âNow, will you come out and finish your dinner?â
âBut-â
âI have finished mine,â he told you. âAnd now you should too. Iâll go heat it up.â
With a pat to your cheek, he left the room, leaving you wrapped in his clean and manly scent. You sighed deeply, avoiding the mirror but wiping your face before taking a seat back at the table. You watched him set the table for you.Â
âYou should go now,â you said. âYou had to leave early. Iâve probably held you back a lot, Iâm sorry-â
âIâll go when you finish eating,â he insisted and you shot him a glare before picking up your fork.
âJust so you know,â you said as you took a bite, Yunho watching you earnestly. âI donât usually become a crying mess like I just did. Iâm stronger than that.â
âWhatever you say.â
âI am,â you glared at him again. âBut I have my limit too. And today was all the pent up emotions from the previous two months.â
âAll because of me, huh?â
âDonât think too highly of yourself,â you teased. âI have other things to worry about too.â
âOf course you do,â he smiled.
âYep. Like deadlines. And chores.â
âI hope the fundraiser wonât conflict with your deadline?â
âIt wonât,â you told him. âYouâre assuming Iâll attend.â
âIâll make sure you do,â he said as you finished eating the last bite. âBecause Iâm the one whoâs inviting you.â
Perhaps, this was another step towards a relationship more meaningful than housemates. PerhapsâŠÂ
He was finally starting to consider you a friend.
â-------------------------------
Sometimes, Yunho wondered if it was a good decision to have you as his housemate.
It wasnât that you were doing anything wrong, no. You were perfect. Goodness, you were perfect and he both loved and hated that. He had no idea how he got lucky with you- and he was not thinking about the fact that he got to have delicious meals at home or his place looked maintained.Â
It was about the things he could talk to you about, and hell, he didnât even talk to you much. You probably had no idea how much he enjoyed your little questions about what was the most painful way to die or how you would kill someone in a certain context- it was the only time, perhaps, that he could be himself. He had spent a long time being convinced by his friends that he was not a bad person inside, and perhaps, they were right. But if they wereâŠ
Why did he enjoy talking to you about this stuff so much? Was it because these secrets were a burden to him, even though his friends knew? He never told them the details so perhaps, talking about killing people and hurting them in detail with you helped him in some twisted, cathartic way. Whatever it was, he was certain that he was getting addicted to watching you get impressed by his knowledge about such things he claimed was from years of his surgery practice, and he was also ashamedly addicted about how unhinged you sounded when you talked about the criminals in your fiction.
He was positive you couldnât be an undercover-something. You couldnât even hurt a fly, let alone a human. But the way you got excited when you talked in detail about a certain type of wound or method of torture⊠he often found himself zoning out and simply staring at you while you talked. Perhaps, he was the unhinged one, but he found you so attractive when you talked about what you loved writing about, and he was very close to asking you about what made you write such gory crime fiction novels. He would be breaking his own rule of not interfering in each otherâs personal lives, but all rules be damned- he had to know what drove you to write all of this.
He was also pretty sure you werenât as naive as you looked and probably found his habits weird. There was no way he could look redeemable after the knife incident. While you were gone the next day, he personally sanitised all of them because he was sure you were going to keep using those knives. He figured it turned out to be okay in the end- he had to change his murder weapons and method soon anyway. The police were starting to connect a few dots and he was sure they would come with a search warrant any day.
But perhaps, it was a good decision to have you in this house. If the police ever came, you could help with Yunhoâs image. He felt guilty for using you for that purpose now that he was almost starting to care about you despite his principles but⊠in the end, it was all turning out to be good. All was well.
A bit too well, if he had to say, as he watched you get a little too chummy with Mingi and Wooyoung. You had done a good job at the fundraiser, having baked dozens of cookies and with some strange ribbon packaging you claimed was cute. He took care of the stall but you still brought a lot of decoration from the house to give it a personal touch, and not only the visitors but the staff were also impressed by your skills. Now that the event was done and you were wrapping up everything, Mingi and Wooyoung had casually joined you to help and to praise your work. Yunho didnât miss the subtle glances they threw in his direction as if to tease him, and what could he say?
It was working.
âAre you gonna keep watching her like sheâs your next target or are you going to make a move?â
Yunho shut his eyes in mild annoyance before looking to his right where Seonghwa stood with his trademark smile, nodding at the visitors who greeted him before they left. If anyone knew that behind the kind smile of the paeds doctor was one of the masterminds of their team that essentially rooted out the evil from the societyâŠÂ
âIâd rather watch. I know Mingi or Wooyoung will say something stupid if I approach them now.â
Seonghwa chuckled at that. âSheâs done a good job today. Sheâs extraordinary, Yunho.â
Yunho narrowed his eyes. âDonât tell me that you two were discussing her novel when you took a break in the cafe.â
âYou know what I think?â Seonghwa almost whispered as if letting him in on a secret. âIf she was a part of our team, we could actually succeed in working with the police.â
âHow?â
âThink about it,â he bowed at one of the elders who passed by. âImagine her next work is about what we do. Crime fiction to others, but something the police could use to clean up our mess, yeah?â
Once again, Yunho was in awe of the way Seonghwaâs mind worked. âThe police would use that to arrest us.â
âOr they would turn a blind eye and let us do their dirty work. Two sides of the coin,â Seonghwa patted Yunhoâs back and left to join Hongjoong and Yunho considered what he had said. When he saw Mingi pick something out of your hair, though, he decided heâd had enough.
âAh, youâre here,â Wooyoung had a shit-eating grin on his face. âY/n, now is your time to tell us if youâd like to change your houseowner.â
âNah, Iâm good,â you grinned, meeting Yunhoâs eyes who looked pleased to hear that. âThis one is good at pretending I donât exist so sometimes I feel like I own the house myself.â
Mingi laughed loudly at that and Yunho smiled in embarrassment. He was guilty, yes. When you noticed his ears getting red, you laughed. âIâm just kidding. I really couldnât have a better person as a housemate.â
âYouâre lying,â Wooyoung smacked your arm playfully and you put the last of the things in your duffel bag.
âYou wonât understand,â you simply told Wooyoung and chanced a glance at Yunho who no longer looked embarrassed and offered to take your bag. You let him and said your goodbyes to the two, waving at the rest of the staff who told you to come again (with baked treats) and you followed Yunho to the parking lot. This time, you had made sure he had a spare helmet and when he noticed you grinning, he asked you what was so funny.
âNothing, Iâm just excited to ride your bike again,â you giggled like a kid. âI kind of have a thing for bikes.â
And there it was. Another reason Yunho felt his heart pound rather uncharacteristically.Â
Perhaps, that was what prompted him to break one of his biggest rules and ask, âWould you like to have dinner somewhere⊠with me? You must be too tired to make dinner at home, and I know a quiet spot if youâre up for it- if not⊠thatâs okay too, we could order something instead-â
He paused when he noticed your smile growing and he raised a brow in question. You wanted to tell him that he was rambling (which was cute as hell) but you only nodded. âIâd love to. Youâre right, Iâm tired- and a quiet spot sounds nice at this hour. I wonât say no to a longer bike ride too.â
Yunho chuckled at that as he put on his helmet. You followed and got on the bike behind him. âItâs not gonna be a short trip if youâre okay.â
âIâm good!â You assured and he told you to hang on tight as he started the heavy bike and started driving towards the darkening horizon. You put your hands on Yunhoâs shoulders but as he sped on the emptier roads, you resorted to clutching the sides of his jacket and rested your head on his back, watching the view. You loved how quiet it got in your head at times like these and it almost made you wish this moment would never end.
You didnât know how much time passed but finally, Yunho started slowing down and you looked up, finding yourself at the riverside. When he parked in an empty space, he got down first and helped you down. You took off your helmet and smoothened your hair, looking around. It seemed to be a remote spot that the tourists had not yet discovered and the pretty lightning bordering the sidewalk illuminated the benches at the distance and-
âFried chicken!â You grinned. âI didnât know what I was craving until I smelt it.â
Yunho smiled, motioning you to follow him. He led you inside where you placed your orders and you both decided to take one of the tables outside. There werenât many people here anyway so you were going to enjoy the cool river breeze.
Now that you sat in front of him, it finally settled in that you were outside with Yunho for the first time. That he offered to take you out for dinner. It didnât help that he looked absolutely dreamy with his dark hair falling messily on his forehead and his shoulder looking even broader in the black jacket he wore, and when he ran a hand through his hair, swiping it away from his forehead-
He met your eyes and you realised you had been staring. You awkwardly sipped your water and looked towards your left, urging yourself to focus on the sound of the waves instead of the sound of your erratic heartbeat. You cleared your throat. âHow did you find this spot? Itâs beautiful.â
âI used to live near here when I was little,â he smiled and you thought there was something sad about it.Â
âOh, your parents must still live around here then?â You wondered and when his smile fell, you knew you had asked a question you shouldnât have.Â
But to your surprise, he answered, âThey passed away when I was in highschool. I had to move out soon, so I couldnât come back here for a good few years.â
âOh, Iâm⊠sorry to hear that,â you said and he told you it was okay. âI can tell why this place is close to your heart though. Itâs wonderful here.â
âYeah, it is,â he said and you were glad your chicken arrived at that moment, breaking the awkwardness from your conversation. âHow did today go? Youâre quite popular at the clinic now.â
You grinned, âNobody can resist chocolate chip cookies, apparently. Wooyoung said I helped raise a lot of money.â
âYou did,â Yunho confirmed and you both took a bite of the chicken. You groaned in appreciation.
âI donât know if it's the river or the vibe,â you said after swallowing the first bite. âBut doesnât the chicken taste so good here?â
âThereâs a reason I brought you here,â he laughed at the way you stared at the chicken. âGood food and a killer view.â
It took you both a few pieces to get comfortable and this time, when you asked him about the clinic and all his friends, he answered all your questions. You learned that Yunho and Mingi were school friends and Yunho met Hongjoong at the end of highschool. Their group expanded over the years and today, after years of studying and working together, they had their own place.Â
Yunho also asked you about your recent progress and you complained about your publishers. He then asked where you were originally from and he learned that you were from a small town at the outskirts of the city and had a younger brother but your relationship with your family was a bit strained so you didnât visit them often. He also found that you didnât have many friends, just a few you met annually. He realised then why it was so easy for you to get comfortable with Wooyoung and Mingi- perhaps, they reminded you of your friends, or maybe you missed normal human interaction.Â
As you finished eating, you asked him what urged him to really bring you here tonight. Yunho looked at you as if to make you reconsider your question but when you held your front, he finally gave in. âJust wanted to say thanks.â
âFor what?â
âFor everything,â he shrugged. âYou do a lot. I havenât done anything in return.â
âUh, forty percent off?â
âYeah,â he laughed. âJust accept the sentiment and shut up.â
âYes sir,â you saluted and he paid the bill, insisting it was his treat even though you asked to split the bill. âWell, if you wonât let me pay, maybe we can walk a little before we go?â
âThat makes no sense, but okay,â Yunho said, shaking his head in amusement and you took the lead, going towards the edge to peek down at the river and then you started your stroll.
âIsnât it nice to get some fresh air?â You commented, taking a deep breath. âNo worries, just the river and us.âÂ
Yunho nodded silently and you grinned. âIf you have more spots like these⊠donât hide them from me.â
âJust this one,â he admitted and you nodded, satisfied. âWhat about you? Do you have a spot like this?â
You had⊠until everything went horribly wrong. You had a place so close to your heart that you hadnât visited in years-
âYou okay?â Yunho asked worriedly, having noticed your smile drop.
âUh, yeah,â you pursed your lips. âI had one. I donât go there anymore- bad memories.â
âAh⊠sorry I asked-â
âItâs okay,â you assured. âIf I grow the guts one day⊠Iâll take you there.â
âYou donât have to-â
âJust shut up and accept the offer,â you winked at him and he grinned at your statement. You noticed you had already walked around the area, the parking lot in your vision now. Before you could walk towards it, Yunho called your name, making you pause in your tracks.
âCan I ask you something?â
âSure?â
âDid you mean it when you said⊠earlier at the clinicâŠâ Yunho put his hands in his pockets awkwardly, trying to phrase it better. âWhen you-â
âWhen I said you were a good housemate?â You asked, internally smiling because you just knew he would end up asking you to elaborate. âI meant it.â
âWhy? I have been anything but nice.â
âThatâs a lie,â you pointed out. âJust because you have a few rules youâre strict about doesnât mean youâre not nice company when youâre in a good mood. And you answer all my weird questions without judgement!â You clapped your hands. âWhat more could I ask for?â
When you saw that he didnât look convinced, you took a deep breath. âTo be honest, my life was falling apart before I moved in with you. Everything started going wrong at the same time. It was too much and I really thought I would have to go back to my hometown- and I would go anywhere but there. So when we made a deal? Yes, I thought you were strange at first but I couldnât complain, and now that weâve⊠warmed up to each other a bit, youâre not bad company at all, Yunho. You may still be an asshole about your rules,â you laughed and he joined, the corners of his lips curving downwards- was he flustered? âBut I can see why the people at the clinic like you. Youâre quite dependable.â
âThatâsâŠâ
âToo much?â You laughed. âIn short, you gave me a nice deal and my life is finally back to normal, and youâre a good person, you idiot. Thatâs all Iâm saying.â
âI think youâre getting a little too comfortable with me thoughâŠâ
âYeah?â You walked towards the bike. âSays the guy who basically took me on a date.â
And there it was again- the flustered smile of his that was so endearing, the ears turning red and the nervous laugh as he wondered what to do, where to look. You laughed out loud, finding it quite funny.
âYouâre a very easy prey, Dr. Jeong,â you teased. âQuite easy to get to.â
âDid you really think of this as a date?â He held his helmet, waiting for your answer and you thought about it.
âPlatonic date?â You wondered. âOuting? Icebreaking party? Whatever you wanna name itâŠâ
You faltered when he stepped closer and looked down at you, scanning your face. Suddenly, you were so conscious of the proximity between you two. The dim lights made his gaze look darker and you wished you could take a peak in his mind. He brought his hand up and tucked your hair behind your ear ever so gently, lightly caressing your cheek-
And then he poked you in the middle of the forehead, making you wince out loud.
âIâm still the grumpy mysterious owner,â he quoted what you had said to Wooyoung today and you gaped at him, wondering if he had heard the entirety of the conversation. âSo donât get too ahead of yourself, okay?â
You rubbed your forehead, muttering okay and complaining about how he could have just said so. But when you wore your helmet and settled down behind him, clutching at the sides of his jacket, he held your hands in his and you couldnât even digest how his big hands engulfed your small ones before he wrapped your arms around his waist.
âItâs better this way- Iâm speeding,â he said.
âI really donât get you, Yunho,â you told him and he cast you a glance before starting to drive, speeding as promised. You were pretty sure he wouldnât have cared if you held on to the sides of his jacket like earlier or his shoulders for dear life butâŠÂ
But you wouldnât complain. So you rested your head against his back again, bodies flush against each other and you let yourself feel whatever you were feeling for the ride back home.
â----------------------------Â
It was a good day today- somewhat productive because you were almost done writing your book and the editor was pleased with your work too. Yunho was having dinner with his colleagues tonight so you decided not to cook and just have the leftovers from yesterday for dinner then and went to your room to finally sort out the mess you had been avoiding ever since you moved in-
The books.
While you had lined all your books along the walls, creating towers of them that you were scared would one day fall on you if you ever made a clumsy mistake, you had realised that perhaps it was time you let go of some of the books. You could already feel your heart being broken at the thought but your room was starting to look too congested compared to the rest of the spacious house so you would have to make a little sacrifice.Â
So you spent hours sorting through the books and almost didnât hear Yunho coming downstairs until he knocked on your room, eyes widening at the books around you.
âYeah, I know Iâm a mess,â you said. âAre you leaving?âÂ
âYeah,â Yunho nodded, laughing in what seemed to be shock. âDo you need⊠help?â
âNo, Iâm just sorting them out,â you dismissed, though surprised at the offer. âIâll be fine.â
âOkay,â Yunho was still lingering at the doorway. âWell, I donât know when Iâll be back, soâŠâ
âHave fun,â you looked at him, grinning. âIâll be fine. This is something I do annually.â
âIf you say so. Donât get lost in there,â he teased and you rolled your eyes, shooing him away.Â
And that was that. You didnât even realise how much time passed- you kept getting distracted as you held each book in hand and recalled the memories associated with it. It was only when the doorbell rang that you frowned, checking the clock. It was 09:47 pm- who could it be? Not Yunho- he had his keys. Maybe the woman from next door?
But when you opened the door to two grown men with badges around their necks, you did a quick scan, realising two things- that they were detectives, and one of the faces was way too familiar.
âGood evening, miss,â the younger one said. âWeâre Detectives Lee and Seo from the station-â
âY/n?â The older one- the familiar face called your name and suddenly, it clicked-
It clicked. Everything you had buried deep inside you, somewhere so deep that you hadnât thought about it in perhaps a year, was suddenly out and washing over you like a wave of cold water. Everything from about two decades ago started flashing in front of your eyes and you gulped down the thing stuck in your throat with immense effort.Â
âDetective Seo?â Your voice sounded small even to your ears.Â
âItâs been a while,â he looked as confused as you. âI didnât expect to see you here- doesnât this house belong to a Doctor Jeong Yunho?â
âYouâre right,â you told him. âI live on the first floor on rent.â
âI see⊠Can we come in then?â
âIf youâre here to meet Dr. Jeong, heâs not home right now-â
âWe can wait,â he told you. âBesides⊠itâs been a while- wonât you invite us for tea?â
âYou canât just visit so late at night and expect tea,â you folded your arms, finally getting a grip. âWhat is the purpose of your visit, really?â
âWe really needed a statement, or anything from the doctor,â Detective Seo said. âLet us wait for him for half an hour, and then weâll leave.â
You considered kicking them out but then figured they could wait. Yunho would probably be late and they would have to go back after half an hour without anything. Plus, it didnât look like Detective Seo was about to budge anytime soon. The other detective also looked intrigued and you gave in, allowing them to the living room though just like two decades ago, Detective Seo made a point of roaming around-
âThat your room?â He pointed at the mess of books and you stifled the urge to pass a biting remark.
âYes, I was a little busy as you can probably see. Please, take a seat.â
While you asked Detective Lee if he would like some tea, you kept an eye on the older detective who was now looking around the living room. You turned on the kettle- there was no way you were going to serve them the fancier teas you had. They would have to make do with teabags.
âHow long since you moved here?â
âIs that related to your current investigation?â You asked and he scoffed.
âCome on, y/n. Donât act like weâre strangers here. Are you still in contact with your family?â
And there it was.
âNot really,â you simply said. âI moved out for college and only visit annually.â
âHowâs your mother doing?â
Your mother. Your brother. The people who destroyed you.
âSheâs okay, probably,â you said. Your voice was already starting to crack, and that was not a good sign. The kettle turned off and you poured the boiling water carefully into the cups, wondering if Yunho returning early would make things better or worse.
âI moved here around that time too,â he said, taking the cup from you with thanks and after giving the other to Detective Lee, you went to stand near the kitchen, folding your arms again. âI visit a lot though. I heard your brother got into a good college.â
âYeah, well,â you pursed your lips. âI suppose he did.â
âDo you still blame yourself for what happened back then?â
You pretended to not hear that question and asked the detective to take a seat. It was getting annoying now that he walked casually towards the kitchen, scanning the notes stuck on the fridge- Yunhoâs âeat your dinner plsâ that you only noticed now, your to-do list and grocery list, and the silly magnets. He made a face and placed his empty cup on the sink-
And then he spotted the knife holder.
âThatâs a lot of knives,â he commented.
âI cook. A lot,â you said, wishing you had made that teabag tea for yourself too- anything to keep you from squirming. The detective looked at you suspiciously before taking his hand out of his pocket-
âDo not touch my knives, Detective,â you glared at him. âCan you please get out of the kitchen and wait in the living room?â
âIâm just looking,â he dismissed you and to your annoyance, took out one of the knives to examine, and then the other, then the other-
âI said, do not touch my knives.â
Yunho, who was standing outside the house near the kitchen window that was slightly ajar so he could hear everything, felt his heart swell in pride and admiration- he had never heard you state anything as strongly before. He contained in his sigh of relief, wondering if now was the right time to barge in.
Truth be told, he had spotted their car as soon as he entered the street and at first he thought that you had broken one of the rules and invited someone but upon a closer look, he realised with dread that the car belonged to the detectives who had just recently connected one of the cases with his clinic. He parked his bike in the garage and when he heard voices from the kitchen window, he went to eavesdrop and realised that they had just entered.
âNo need to get so angry over some kitchen knives,â Detective Seoâs voice was stern. âWhat do you need so many for anyway? Are they yours?â
âIâm the only one who can cook,â you were seething now. âAnd whatâs it to you?â
âWell, this one looks oddly familiar.â
âYeah? Itâs for cutting vegetables, Detective. I bet your wife owns it too- if you have one. That oneâs for dicing, the one on top for fish because I feel like it remains stinky so itâs only for fish. You have a problem with that?â
Yunho stifled a smile- you were rambling now. He wondered why you didnât simply tell them that they were his knives originally. He was positive the detectives would be connecting the dots right away and going back for an arrest warrant-
âWell, you see,â Detective Seo picked the longest knife out. âThis one?â
âFor meat,â you muttered.Â
âThis one matches the murder weapon in the case weâre investigating,â he looked at you. â12 inches, dull but sharpened far too many times.â
âYeah?â You scoffed. âSo someoneâs committed murder with a kitchen knife? Theyâre a genius.â
âHow so?â
âWho doesnât own a kitchen knife?â You almost cried. âTheyâre probably making a fool out of you, go back to your home and look in your kitchen. You probably have a 12 inch dull meat knife too.â
âHow would you know?â Detective Lee asked this time. âThat theyâre making a fool out of us?â
âWhy else would they use such an inconvenient weapon? Either for the thrill, or to make a fool out of you. Or both. Just⊠put the knife back, okay?â
âYouâve always been an odd one, and you always knew way too much,â Detective Seo put the knife back but narrowed his eyes at you. âWhere were you on the 17th around midnight?â
âAround midnight, every day of every year for the past few years, Iâve been home. And I hope you go raiding everyoneâs kitchen now that you know what your murder weapon looks like. Also, why are you even here? To investigate me? Again?â
âWe came for Dr. Jeong-â
âYou think he goes around committing murder only to operate on them later in his clinic? Heâs a doctor, for Christâs sake,â you shut your eyes, feeling a burning sensation in both your throat and eyes. âPlease, leave. You can meet Dr. Jeong elsewhere- Iâll ask him to contact you.â
âAnd why are you getting so jittery?â Detective Seo asked. âIs there something youâre hiding again? Someone youâre protecting again? Or are you just protecting yourself-â
Yunho couldnât take it anymore- heâd heard enough, and the whimper that left you made his vision dark for a moment. Rushing to the front door, he unlocked it and entered, shutting it a bit loudly to prove a point-
And saw you standing in the middle of the room, curling in on yourself, eyes weary. If hearing you sound like that wasnât enough, having to look at you in this state was worse and he wished he had acted earlier. He didnât know what took over him but he rushed to you and wrapped you in his arms-
And when you buried your face in his chest, relaxing instantly in his grasp, red hot anger ran through his veins as he assessed the detectives who stood awkwardly around him.
âHow dare you make my girl cry?â He almost growled, wrapping his arms tighter, almost possessively around you. âWhat are you doing here?â
Detective Seo shook his head in disbelief and Detective Lee took the lead. âWe came to talk to you about a few things- itâs very hard to reach you-â
âSo you come barging into my house and bombard someone unrelated with questions and make her cry?â Yunho scoffed. âA phone call? Summoning me to the station? Or at least a search warrant, which I bet you donât have, just like before. Shall I report you for misconduct?â
âCome on, donât be like that,â Detective Seo finally butted in. âY/n and I were just catching up- weâre actually acquaintances-â
You shook your head in Yunhoâs grasp to let him know that you did not want to be a part of this âcatching upâ and Yunho patted your back.
âShe says otherwise,â Yunho caressed your hair. âI donât care if youâve met before. Youâre clearly unwanted. Please, leave. You have my number, you can contact me later, but do not make the mistake of coming here again. And do not try to make contact with her again.â
Shrugging, the detectives left, Detective Lee muttering a silent apology on behalf of them both. When you heard the doors sound shut, you tried getting out of Yunhoâs grasp to let him know he didnât need to do that anymore-
But he only deepened the hug, leaning down this time to hold you better and you sighed at that. He rocked you gently back and forth, all the while caressing your head gently as if he meant to lull you to some calm space- and oh, was he successful. You were no longer crying.
Hesitantly, he broke away a bit to see if you were okay. Your eyes fluttered open, a bit red from crying and he cupped your face, wiping your tears.
âWhy did you let them in, y/n?â
âI didnât mean to, Iâm sorry-â
âNo, itâs okay,â he assured you. âDid they force themselves inside?â
âNot really, but they were insisting on coming inside and waiting,â you sniffed. âDetective Seo- the older one⊠he knows me from when I was a kid and he started to get a bit too comfortable-â
âI know,â he told you and when you frowned in confusion, he said, âI actually heard a bit of it while I was parking.â
âA bit?â
âMost of it,â he admitted, breaking into a smile. âYou did not have to defend my kitchen knives with all your might, y/n.âÂ
You chuckled at that. âI donât know, I got so angry! He kept walking around and it was annoying me so much- I thought giving him tea would make him sit, but no, he had to walk around with a cup in his hand-â
Yunho shook with laughter, shaking his head. âI canât believe Iâm saying this, but youâre too adorable at times.â
âAnd⊠I canât believe Iâm hearing the word adorable come out of your mouth,â you looked at him in disbelief. âWho are you? And where is Dr. Jeong?â
âItâs just Yunho,â he smiled and you smiled back, spending a moment just looking at him and realising that you were still way too close, in his arms, your heart fluttering uncontrollably.Â
âWell⊠just Yunho,â you said, your hands on his waist feeling clammy. âThank you for coming at the right time. And thank you for⊠what you did.â
Yunho took a deep breath. âAre you okay?â
You pursed your lips, looking away. You could not answer that, because even if you lied to him, you would break down anyway. Detective Seo had opened the dam of unwanted, ugly memories and you were definitely not okay. You wouldnât be for a while now-
But it looked like Yunho had made it his lifeâs mission to make sure you would feel okay. He brought you back in a hug and this time, you didnât cry. You simply wrapped your arms around his waist better and listened to the sound of his heartbeat which somehow calmed you. To your surprise, he planted a kiss on the top of your head before he squeezed you in assurance.
You broke away to look at him. âWhatâs got you so⊠clingy and fluffy all of a sudden? Not that I donât like it, butâŠâ
Yunho tucked your hair away from your face, kissing your forehead this time and pretending he hadnât heard that. It wasnât the first time he got a closer look at you yet he committed everything to memory as if it was his first time seeing you. He couldnât answer your question either, becauseâŠ
He was pretty sure he had fallen for you a little when he heard you earlier. The way you never let the detectives think about him for even a second when you were being cornered with the knives- he was absolutely sure that you had not done that unintentionally. Sure, he had initially thought that if he ever got in trouble with the police, you could make a good cover, but now you had protected him on purpose. He would ask you about that, but firstâŠ
âDid you eat dinner?â
âUh⊠no. I forgot.â
Yunho shook his head in disappointment. âI go away for one meal and you forget to eat.â
You pouted and he led you to the chair, making you sit. He poured a glass of water for you and after you drank it, he asked if you made something today. You told him you didnât cook today and he sighed.
âSo you only cook for me?â
âI like cooking⊠and I like cooking for you,â you pouted again, feeling exposed.
âBut not cooking for yourself?â Yunho asked, making you look at him. âWhy wonât you cook for yourself?â
You shrugged. You didnât have an answer for that.Â
âWell, Iâm not a good cook, but Iâll see what I can doâŠâ he got up and you told him he did not have to, that what he did for you tonight was enough, but he told you to shut up and opened the fridge, taking out the kimchi and then looking through the cabinets-
âRamyeon sounds good? Thatâs one thing I can cook well,â he grinned.
You nodded, getting comfortable and watching him roll his sleeves before he washed his hands in the sink, drying them with the blue bunny towel and then you stopped noticing what he was doing and instead noticed the veins on his arms, the faded scar near the elbow that probably ran up his upper arm, his broad shoulders and narrow waist, the dark hair that curled at the nape of his neck-
And those beautiful, beautiful hands that were now setting the pot on the table. You blinked, coming back to reality, and thanked him for the meal. He watched you eat for a few moments before he said, âIâm sorry you had to go through what you did today. Itâs my fault.â
âYunho,â you sighed, âItâs not.â
âIt is,â he shook his head. âThe detectives seemed to have created some ambiguous connection between me and their recent murder case. The victim used to be my patient, so theyâve been trying to visit me for a while but I kept putting it off- I really donât like when they visit my workplace-â
âOf course,â you nodded. âNo one would like that. You donât have to explain it to me, Yunho. You donât have to tell me anything-â
âForget the rules,â he clicked his tongue in annoyance. âI want to explain because you canât just put yourself between me and the detectives. How could you try to protect me without knowing whatâs going on? And donât try to deny that you werenât doing exactly that.â
You took a bite and thought about it while you chewed. Once you swallowed, you answered. âIâve known Detective Seo for twenty years. Iâve known you for what? Four months? Five? Guess who I trust more out of the two.â
Yunho looked away, somewhat in disbelief but again, overwhelmed by the way his heart was fluttering and his stomach was in knots. âEven when Iâve given you nothing?â
âItâs enough- I donât need to hear your life story to trust you,â you finished eating the noodles. âI know who you are, and thatâs enough.â
Yunho sighed internally- Wooyoung had warned him of this. He had practically manifested it. He had told Yunho that the way he talked about you and the way he treated you were very different and he needed to start manning up and ignoring whatever he was feeling inside. That had been in the earlier months. And now?
You claimed you knew him. What did you know, really? The person who set strict rules and got angry when he thought you broke one of them and made you cry? The doctor who got angry at you for bringing a patient to his clinic and later thanking you because you saved her from something worse? The person who took you to the place he loved yet told you nothing about it? What did you really know-
âI know you,â you began and Yunho wondered if he had said those thoughts out loud. âYouâre the person who I thought was an asshole but I trusted because you⊠you have the kindest eyes. Even when you almost stabbed me to death-â
âThatâs on you overthinking-â
âYeah, Iâm joking,â you laughed. âBut⊠you get what I mean. I donât need to know who you were, I know who you are. The doctor whoâs too busy to take care of himself and his space. The person whoâs everyoneâs favourite at the clinic. The house owner whoâs actually quite funny but takes a while to open up. The friend who helps me with my work in so many more ways than he realises. And⊠the man who is surprisingly protective and caring.â
Yunho buried his face in his hands- he couldnât look at you now. He couldnât-
âI donât know why you keep holding yourself back, but can I ask what prompted you to do whatever you did earlier? You didnât have to hug me like that,â you drank the rest of the water in the glass, waiting but he didnât look at you. âYou didnât have to call me âyour girlâ and shoo them away. You canât just do things like that and expect me to remain normal and pretend it didnât happen the next day- because Iâve had enough too. Iâve had enough of you staring at me like Iâm either someone you want to kill or someone you want to⊠do things to. Also, while weâre talking about that- and yes, Iâm rambing, but you really need to stop touching me so casually- I hope you have a rule about that somewhere too-â
Yunho finally removed his hands from his face and locked eyes with you. When you didnât look away, wondering if you were going to regret this, he got up, making your heart sink thinking you really had made an awful mistake this time-
And then he leaned down towards you and to your utter surprise, he pecked your lips gently- once, twice. And then he pulled away to lock eyes with your wide ones.Â
âCan I take responsibility then? For my actions?â
When you nodded without realising that you had, he smiled, going around the table and sinking down to his knees. For you. You found your hands moving of their own accord, cupping his face with almost trembling hands for the first time and running a hand through his hair, finding them softer than you had imagined. You laughed in disbelief and knelt down to kiss his forehead- you didnât have to kneel down much thanks to him being so tall. You joined your foreheads and just let that moment sink in, waiting for him to do something but it was as if he had completely submitted himself to you.
âYunho,â you breathed, âWonât you kiss me?â
All Yunho wanted was to obey. He tilted his head, your lips brushing and then he brought his hands to your bare knees, sending shivers through your entire being. While he caressed the skin, he pecked your lips cautiously and you almost cried at how hesitant he was. You took it upon yourself to lock your lips with his and that was all he needed to kiss you back, immediately taking lead and kissing you almost desperately as if he had waited a lifetime for this moment. You moved your lips along his, settling in a comfortable rhythm and you realised you quite liked the position-
But Yunho had other plans. He broke apart, gripping your legs in one arm and getting up, making you latch on to him with a squeal which earned a laugh from him as he settled you on the empty kitchen counter, now able to meet your eyes better. He stared at you intently for a few moments, his arms caging you between them and brought your arms to rest on his shoulders, linking them around his neck.
âIâd say something about how it took you way too long,â you kissed the tip of his nose. âBut Iâm afraid youâll think Iâve always fantasised about this and leave me here and go in your cave.â
âNever again,â he promised, capturing your lips in a slow and gentle kiss. You had all the time in the world now and a morbid part of your mind wanted to thank Detective Seo for paying a visit tonight even though you despised him. Yunho swiped his tongue across your lips and you gladly opened up for him, the kiss getting heated as his tongue explored your mouth, clashing with your tongue. You couldnât help but marvel how you both fit with each other so well.Â
You didnât know how long you made out like that. Neither did you care, but naturally, you both broke apart and shared a giggle. He opened his arms for you and you gladly hugged him- his hugs were probably your most favourite thing about life now. He laughed at how you wrapped yourself around him like a cat so that he didnât even have to hold you, simply wrap his arms around your back as he walked to the living room but you muttered âmy roomâ and he obeyed, walking in that direction-
And halting.
âWhat do you want me to do? Throw you in the pool of books and make out? Might hurt a littleâŠâ
âOh, goodness,â you twisted in his arms to see the mess that your room was in right now. âI was sorting out books because I really have no space anymore and I was going to give away some tonight-â
âBut you could put them in the living room? The shelves have some space?â
You hadnât even considered that. You looked at him. âCan I use that space?â
âI mean⊠youâve taken over the whole floor anyway,â he shrugged. âWhat harm a few books are gonna do?â
You smacked his arm and he laughed, putting you down on the floor. âWell, I should clean my mess then. Donât want you complaining about how unruly your housemate is.â
âIâll help,â he insisted and you scoffed.
âThereâs no space for you to set a foot-â
âThen make some.â
âOh?â You shot him a dirty look. âNo plans to leave?â
âDo you want me to leave?â He asked cockily and you shook your head, immediately shoving a few books away and making space on the rug where he settled down and pulled you down in his lap, snuggling his face in your neck.
âTell me about these books,â he muttered, his breath caressing your neck and before you could comment on the position, he kissed your neck lazily.
Well⊠perhaps it was better to shut up and obey.
âThey are a part of me,â you smiled, picking the nearest one and reading the title while he continued kissing and sucking at your neck. âThis one I read recently. I think youâll like it- itâs about doctors- ah.â
Yunho smiled against your neck when you squirmed in his grasp. He had been teasing your sweet spot for far too long now and finally got to hear your pretty moan. âReally? Whatâs it about?â
âDoctors,â you muttered, tilting your neck and he dived back in. âAnd the problems they face, the power dynamics- Jeong Yunho, I swear to god-â
Yunho laughed deeply against your skin, drawing away to observe the reddening spot. You tried shifting in his grasp but he held you in your position. âTell me about another book.â
âYeah?â You scoffed when he started peppering kisses along your shoulders. âWhat if I just smack you on the head with one?â
âTsk, tsk. Already?â
You shifted in his lap successfully this time and before you could yell at him, he was kissing you on the lips again and as you melted in his hold, you tossed the book in your hand away to cup his face.
Sorting the books and cleaning the mess could definitely wait.
â-----------------------------
Though you and Yunho had crossed some obvious boundaries now, you were unsure how that would affect the rules of living in his house. You werenât only his housemate now, so perhaps, the rules could change?Â
You started wondering about that after a few days. You hadnât made anything official yet- he was still working a lot and barely had any time for himself but whenever he got home, he would find you and wrap you in his arms while he asked you about your day. When you asked him the same, he would simply smile and say something like âjust the usualâ or âbusy day todayâ.
Nothing more. He probably recognised the look in your eyes- the look that said that you wanted more. Perhaps he ignored it on purpose. Perhaps, whenever he kissed you after, it was to make up for the lack of an answer.
If you thought about it objectively⊠you didnât really mind. Work is work- what could doctors really share about their work? But you knew he wasnât simply going to work, especially when he sometimes came home looking like he had been running for miles or with blood on his clothes. Surely, doctors wore a gown or something while operating or handling patients. His lab coat never had blood on it, so why would he have blood on his clothes and why would he sometimes look like he got in a fight? He could definitely feel your apprehension even though you pretended to be okay about it.Â
Perhaps, he liked you because you didnât ask. That didnât mean you werenât curious- now more so than ever. It wasnât like being whatever you were to him now gave you any right to probe, but you couldnât help pay a visit to his clinic tonight and see if he was really working a night shift- he had gone out in a rush earlier muttering something about an emergency. You only went to make sure he was okay, was what you told yourself-
It was certainly not because of your growing suspicion of what he really did. Nor was it because you wanted to double-check how Detective Seo told you that Yunhoâs clinic had separate staff for night shifts and he definitely didnât need to be present every night. It definitely wasnât because Yeosang slipped when he accidentally told you Yunho had no shift a few nights ago when Yunho himself had told you he had one. And it definitely was not how you suddenly realised one day while writing your novel that Yunhoâs answers to your odd questions were a bit too specific- like when you asked him about being stabbed in a certain location with a certain weapon and he slept on it and had a rather specific answer the next day. His answers were always a bit too detailed.
You would have ignored all of it but you found yourself inside the clinic and learned from the kind lady at the reception who thought it was cute that you came to check on him that Yunho only had one night shift a week. But according to what he told you, he had night shifts five days a week.Â
Just what was he doing?
You absently walked home and instead of writing, you just mindlessly cleaned the nooks and crannies in the living room, your mind too numb to think of possibilities. Perhaps, you needed to start defining things with Yunho- beginning with what your relationship was, exactly, and if it was more than housemates you both definitely needed to talk about a few things-
When you heard the door unlock, you looked at the time- it was almost 4 in the morning. You hadnât realised how quickly time passed. Yunho entered, looking pretty much the same as he did when he left. You managed a smile and he told you he would be right back, rushing upstairs. You went to wash your hands in the meantime, wondering if you should ask him- would he be angry to learn you went out looking for him? Would he appreciate your concern, or would he shut himself away like he has always done-
âY/n?â Yunhoâs voice brought you back to your senses and you realised you had been zoning out in front of the sink, the tap still running water. âYou okay?â
âYeah, just tired,â you told him, drying your hands and going towards the kitchen to get yourself water. You needed to get a grip.
âYou donât look okay,â Yunhoâs brows were furrowed in concern. âDid something happen while I was away?â
âI promise Iâm fine,â you said, though you were sure your smile was still unconvincing- or maybe Yunho was just too good at looking right through you. âHow was your night shift? Did you get a lot of patients tonight?â
âIt was okay,â Yunho exhaled deeply. âA few. Not too busy.â
You nodded slowly. For a moment, you wondered if he was doing night shifts in a different workplace. Perhaps, he had never lied and you just hadnât figured out that he had jobs at two different places-
âYouâre staring,â Yunho commented, tilting his head in thought. You broke eye contact, scanning his clothes- as neat as when he left for âworkâ. âYou didnât meet Detective Seo, did you?â
âNo, why?â
âThatâs the only time Iâve seen you look like this. Come on, youâre making me worried,â Yunho took a step closer, tucking your hair behind your ear. âWhatâs wrong?â
âItâs stupid,â you laughed, deciding to tackle at least one thing tonight. âYouâll make fun of me or you'll shut yourself in your cave.â
âYou need to stop calling it a cave,â Yunho laughed a bit.
âUntil I see it, itâs a cave to me,â you shrugged. âWho knows what you do there?â
âYou want to see it?â He asked, absently caressing your cheekbone and your eyes widened.
âThat⊠is not what I meant- Iâm curious, yes, but I donât want to invite myself up there.â
âWell,â Yunho put his hands on your shoulders. âIt looks horrible right now- itâs messy and if I bring you upstairs, youâll forget youâre tired and start cleaning the mess. Some other day?â
âWhenever is okay, itâs probably boring and plain,â you said dismissively and he nodded in satisfaction.Â
âThen what is really weighing on your mind?â
âShit, I thought you forgot about it,â you muttered but he wasnât going to let you go. His grip on your shoulders tightened a fraction. âLook, Iâm not trying to be that person and I really, really donât mind how we are and what we are-â
âGet to the point-â
âWhat are we?âÂ
Yunho blinked. âSorry, what?â
âWhat are we?â You sighed. âI love what we are. I donât mind it one bit, but I feel like weâre still housemates and thereâs still this wall between us and if thatâs how things should be⊠I can work with that. I just⊠I wish there wasnât such ambiguity- stop grinning like an idiot, will you?â
âWell,â Yunho stifled another grin. âWhat do you think we are?â
âI donât know,â you pouted. âThatâs what Iâm asking.â
âI donât know,â Yunho shrugged, straightening and bringing you closer so you were almost flush against him. âI donât think weâd be doing this if we were âjust housematesâ.â
âMy point exactly,â you muttered. âIâm confused. What rules still apply? Can I interfere in your personal life? Can I ask you more than I should? Thereâs still so much I donât know about you and sometimes I feel like youâre miles away, Yunho.â
Yunhoâs heart ached- he wanted nothing more than to bare his entire soul in front of you. He had considered that seriously over the past few days. He was pretty sure if anyone in this world would understand his reasons for what he did and still want to be with him, it would be you, but what if he was wrong about you? What if he had signed himself to an inevitable heartbreak? If so, how could he ever recover?
âIâm right here,â Yunho kissed your forehead. âYou can ask me anything but can I answer at my pace?â
That was enough. You nodded and he smiled, pecking your lips. âThank you.â
âIâll wait for you,â you told him. âAnd I know youâre curious about a few things too- you can ask me anything and Iâll answer at my own pace. Okay?â
Yunho couldnât help it- he cupped your face and kissed you, wondering how you were so perfect. How could you trust him like this? He sometimes wondered if he was dreaming- there was no way you were real. And he told you that every day, just like he did now, and just like always, you smacked his arm as you blushed.
âYou should tell me something else- Iâm kind of tired of hearing that,â you laughed.Â
âNothing else makes you laugh like this,â Yunho kissed you again, lingering. âYou know I love it when you laugh.â
You kissed him back, forgetting all your worries and you felt the exhaustion wash away from your bones as he bent down to pick you up so he could kiss you better. You wrapped your arms around his neck and let him take you to the living room- to the couch which was probably your favourite place in this house now, where Yunho and you would spend hours with each other.
As he settled you down on the couch, he broke apart and locked eyes with you. âWell, do you still think weâre just housemates?â
âGod, you really got stuck on that one, huh?â You poked his chest. âOkay. Youâre what? My boyfriend?â
Yunhoâs lips parted and a smile crawled on his lips. âI kind of like the sound of that.â
âGeez, have you never been in a relationship,â you teased and he laughed out loud.Â
âJust not like this one, no,â he traced your lips with his thumb. âYouâre⊠different.â
âBet you told that to everyone before me,â you scoffed and he pecked your lips to shut you up. You smiled into the kiss, your hands wandering down his chest and stopping at his hips, snaking up his shirt on his bare skin which earned a light groan from him. You instinctively squeezed his side-
And he stopped kissing you right then. You wondered if you had done something wrong and when you drew apart, you realised he looked as if he was in pain. You frowned, your hands still there while Yunho stifled another groan and when you pressed on both his sides, he finally exhaled-
âYouâre hurt, arenât you?â You whispered, drawing his shirt up without permission and gasping when you saw a big red bruise on his right side as if he had been punched.
âY/n,â Yunho called in warning but you werenât having any of it anymore- you pulled his shirt up and if Yunho hadnât been bracing himself up on either sides of you to keep himself from falling on top of you, he would have stopped you, but now you were staring at his upper body in horror and worry.
You let go of the shirt and it fell down to cover his secrets. You looked at Yunho who couldnât meet your eyes. âWonât you let me help you? Wonât you let me take care of you?â
Yunho simply sighed, wondering what to do, what to say. He knew this day would come eventually but he hadnât imagined it to be like this. He let you gently push him back on the couch and without a word, you went to your room. He slumped down, rubbing his face-
Of all the days, it had to be today. Had to be tonight when he made a mistake and hurt himself. You reappeared out of your room with a medical kit and settled down next to him.
âYouâre the doctor, Yunho,â you said and showed him the ointments and medicines in the kit, noticing a number of scars on his body and finally getting a good look at the scar that ran up his arm all the way to the middle of his upper arm. âTell me how to take care of you.â
Yunho passed you a look, finding the lack of expressions on your face kind of disturbing. Just what were you thinking? He sighed and took out the ointment for the bruise- one he had in his room as well and would have used had he not been distracted by you. You nodded and took the ointment, spreading it along his bruise and gently rubbing it in. Once done, you got up and inspected the rest of his upper body.
âAre you sure thatâs the only place youâre hurt?âÂ
âYep,â he assured you. âYou can relax now.â
You scoffed at that, putting the kit aside and folding your arms as you looked at him. âLook⊠If you donât want me to, I wonât ask, but youâre not just a doctor. Iâm right about that, arenât I?â
When he didnât respond, you understood. You were right, and he probably couldnât say anything. âDo you trust me, Yunho?â
âY/n, itâs not about trust-â
âJust tell me- do you trust me?â
He locked eyes with you. âOf course I do. If I didnât⊠I would have kicked you out long ago, y/n, and I would have never....â
That seemed to satisfy you and when he found the faintest hint of a smile on your lips, he finally relaxed a bit. âI trust you, but there are things I cannot tell you- not right now.â
âI know,â you nodded. âYou can stop lying about your night shifts- just say youâre going somewhere. I wonât ask until you tell me.â
Yunho blinked in surprise- just how long ago had you figured him out?
âAlso⊠I would appreciate it if the next time you get hurt, you let me know instead of surprising me like this.â
âDo you⊠know something youâre not telling me, y/n?â
You smiled at Yunho. If he wasnât so genuine with his words and his feelings, you would have demanded answers, but what you had with him was special in its own way. No questions asked wasnât such a bad rule- because you knew that when he answered your questions, you would have to answer his too.
âDo I? I donât know,â you shrugged. âBut I have a feeling that you and I arenât so different, Yunho.â
Yunho wished he could tell you who he was- his friends insisted he was not a âmurdererâ like he would often call himself but a vigilante. A hero to most, an enemy to the others- especially the police who had been on his tail for a while now. How could you possibly be the same as him? He had killed people with his own hands, and though it could be argued that he only killed the worst of criminals, if Hongjoong hadnât been there the night his parents were killed, he could very well be in prison for attempted murder or worse.Â
All these years, as he killed one corrupted individual after another, he was convinced that he was the one who was truly corrupted inside. He was the one who needed to meet the fate that anyone who encountered him did. His friends, especially Hongjoong, were aware that there was a twisted part inside him that took joy in the simple act of killing people- people who stole from others. Stole their loved ones, their life, their hard work. You couldnât possibly be as bad as him, could you? There was absolutely no way-
âStop thinking so much,â you whispered, placing your hand on his and he immediately shifted so he was holding your hand, squeezing it as if he needed some assurance. âI just want you to be careful, okay? Whatever you do⊠stay safe, will you?â
âHow can you trust me so blindly?â Yunho asked.Â
âI told you, right?â You smiled. âI know who you are- at least to me. Thatâs enough for me.â
Yunho smiled back, burying his face in the crook of your neck and you wrapped your arm around his bare shoulders, burying your hand in his hair and caressing them gently. You let go of Yunhoâs hand only to trace the long scar on his arm, wishing you could ask how he got it but you would wait. You kissed his temple and he sighed, nuzzling against you.Â
âIâm afraidâŠâ Yunho confessed in a voice so small you were wondering if you were hearing things. âIâm afraid youâll run away when you learn who I am.â
Your heart sank at his words. He was just like you. In all your previous relationships, you made people run away from you. You could never give them what you wanted. They would find you too secretive or too accepting. Little did they know that you were only hiding your ugly past and trying your best not to let it interfere with your life.Â
âYou couldnât possibly be worse than me,â you told him and that prompted him to lift his head to look at you. âIâm convinced Iâm a monster. Could you love a monster, Yunho?â
Yunho took in your blank gaze as you said those words and he realised that perhaps, you were right. Perhaps, you were just like him too, with some twisted part inside you, something that had you convinced that you were a monster.Â
And if that was the case⊠he could love you. He wanted nothing more than to love you and tell you that you made him feel human even at his worst, so he leaned forward to kiss you slowly, letting you know what he felt through the way he held your waist and brought you on top of him, through the way he held you so close to him and sighed when you wrapped your arms around his, through the way he started trailing kisses everywhere on your skin. And when you gave him more, he accepted it. If that was the last time you would ever look at him and not feel horrified, he was going to make sure he made you feel loved so he forgot about all his worries and smiled at you playfully, beyond relieved when you bit your lips in excitement.
âYouâre going to be the death of me,â Yunho whispered, sucking at your neck- he had a thing for that certain spot, you had realised now.
âWe havenât even begun, though,â you commented and Yunho paused, considering your words. He experimentally snaked his hand up your thigh and when you only kissed his temple in response, he understood.
An invitation.
âShall we take this to bed, then?â
You nodded, sharing an open-mouthed kiss before he got up and started going towards your room.
If only he knew that your invitation was for the same reasons as his.
â---------------------------
For all your talk about trust, you sure were walking on the fine line that marked trust from betrayal.Â
And if things hadnât turned out the way they had been turning out for the past two weeks, you would have never been here. You scoffed internally as you took another turn into a dark alley, a safe distance behind Yunho so he wouldnât notice your presence- anything to convince yourself that you were only doing this to make sure he would be safe. To make sure he wouldnât hurt himself again-
Because you had a gut feeling that something was going to happen tonight, and your gut was never, ever wrong. Your gut had saved (or doomed, it could be argued) you two decades ago. You could trust yourself with that.
Though, again, that was debatable as well. Was it your gut that had you all nervous and hypervigilant or was it the growing suspicions about Yunho?
Because a few days ago, Detective Seo called you and requested that you visit the station. You would have ignored him had he not been so polite for once. Ultimately, the reason you visited him was because you wanted to clear his suspicions of you and get him off your tail- you had finally settled in this town at peace and you couldnât have the detective ruining that.Â
And also, a small part of you wanted to learn more about why he suspected Yunho.Â
You discovered during your visit that you were right- your involvement in his investigation of Yunho made him suspicious of you. You learned that the reason he was so intent on having Yunho come to the station and give a proper statement was because a few of his alibis no longer held any validity- he had said something about a night shift when he had none. The detective didnât like how the doctors and a few of the staff members around him were so uncooperative and secretive. If that wasnât enough, the detective was still curious about the 12-inch knife in your kitchen.Â
He joked about how he or his colleagues didnât own a 12-inch meat knife at home- apparently a non-professional one was usually 7 to 10 inches long. You told him that it was irrelevant but when he mentioned how his suspect had stopped using kitchen knives a few months ago and switched to a dagger of a unique built, it had you wondering-
The detective didnât know those knives actually belonged to Yunho, which was why he was also suspecting you now. What if you told him? What if the timing of the change of the murder weapon matched?
You only asked the detective if he really believed you were capable of wielding daggers and he shook his head in denial. You then asked if he really thought the surgeon could be a suspect in his case.
âI canât tell you what it is, but we have substantial evidence to keep an eye on him, at least. If itâs him, heâs not alone.â
And thatâs what got you thinking if you were wrong about who Yunho and his friends were. Especially when only a couple days later you went to visit them at the clinic with some fresh cookies and you got a peek at the register at reception that had a schedule of all doctors and you learned that Yunho had no night shift for the rest of the week-
Only to find him lying about it and hearing the news about the murder of a renowned politician while he was god knows where.
You didnât ask Yunho why he lied about the night shift because he had agreed not to make up that excuse again. You casually confirmed with Wooyoung if he had really been at the clinic that night and he told you he had, but you werenât done there. You double-checked with the young girl at reception in the clinic- she was quite a fan of your cookies and now that she knew you and Yunho were close, she willingly confirmed that Yunho had indeed not been at the clinic that night. Neither had any of his friends.Â
You wished you could simply confront Yunho and ask but he was still hesitant. And really, you would have let everything be. You would have waited for him, but tonight?Â
Tonight he told you he was going to the clinic to meet up with Wooyoung and give him some company during his boring night shift. Pretty believable, but your gut twisted as soon as he stepped out and you knew that you just had to make sure that he was going to the clinic. You covered yourself with a jacket and scarf, grabbed the keys and wore your shoes-
Changing your mind and going to the kitchen to grab a little something before finally stepping out.Â
And thatâs how you got here, one bus ride and a good walk later, deep in some abandoned part of the town following Yunho through the alleys until he stopped abruptly, making you take a few steps back and hide yourself in a corner. Strangely, Yunho seemed to be inspecting the area. What for, you didnât know. He looked around and checked if the gate at the end of the alley was really locked. After thorough inspection which made you wonder if he was looking for someone or something, he started walking in your direction, probably to leave. You discreetly slid down and away so he would cross you without looking in your direction, and thankfully, he did.Â
You sighed, wondering if tonight had been a waste in which case your guilty conscience wouldnât let you sleep for a good few days unless you came clean to Yunho. You were just following him back because you were pretty sure you would get lost otherwise when you spotted another man at the opposite end of the street. Instinctively, you hid again and waited for the man to continue along that street and get out of your way-
Except he turned in the street in Yunhoâs direction.
You made a face and decided to fall behind the two- surely the man would be on his own way soon, except there was something odd about the way he was walking-
He was walking just like you had been- short, quick and silent steps, a good distance behind Yunho to avoid encountering him. Was he following Yunho too? How did he know Yunho would be here? Had he seen you- did he know you were here? It was too dark to make out who he was.
The two turned to another street and the man kept following him even after the crossroads, confirming your suspicions that Yunho was being followed. Perhaps, Yunho had been waiting for this man when he had been looking around the alley-
A sharp glint near the manâs thigh caught your attention and with a sinking heart, you realised-
The man was wielding a weapon. Something sharp that looked an awful lot like the very knife you had hidden inside your jacket.
You froze for a few moments that you knew would cost you something. There was just too much to consider- the feeling of impending doom, the worry for Yunhoâs life, the fight-or-flight response making its way to control your future actions and worst of all, the feeling that you were back where you had been when you were still a child trying to protect your father from a situation just like this.
And as the manâs pace quickened and the distance between him and Yunho got shorter, you let the child that had murdered a grown man to protect a loved one take over. Just like that night, you raised your knife in the air without realising when you actually took it out of your jacket. And just like that time, you found yourself running towards the man- this time, experienced and calculating. You would have to congratulate yourself for being so certain about what you were doing-
âYunho, watch out!â
Though Yunho recognised your voice immediately, the fear in your voice was unfamiliar and he turned around with dread pooling in his nerves, his eyes widening as he tried to process an unfamiliar face of a man with a weapon aimed at him- way too close- and then your figure, perhaps as unfamiliar this time, running towards the man. Yunho instinctively dodged the attack and before he could react further, you collided with the man, crashing on the floor with grunts.
Every nerve in your body screamed as you both clawed at each other while trying not to hurt yourselves, getting nicked here and there and before the man could actually think and overpower you, you buried the length of your knife between his collarbones, effectively disarming him and the manâs eyes widened as he whimpered in pain-
No.
âY/n,â Yunho almost cried as he sank down next to you, spotting the horror in your eyes and in that moment, he knew only one thing- that he couldnât let you burden yourself with having to live with blood on your hands. He inspected the stab on the manâs neck, sucking in his breath when he realised the knife in your hand was from your kitchen- the same damned knife he had spilled blood with. The man coughed blood and your grip on the knife finally loosened as you realised just what you had done.Â
While you remained frozen in your spot, Yunho realised that the man was beyond help though with the current position of the knife in his throat, he was going to bleed to death for a long while before he could let go. So Yunho made a decision and gently unwrapped your hands from the knife, squeezing them to make you look at him.
âY/n? Are you with me?â
His voice felt miles away, drowned by the ringing in your ears and you could only blink. Yunho took a deep, shaky breath. âDo you trust me?â
You didnât know how long you stared at him but he gently shook your shoulder, making you crawl away from the shivering body of the man. âY/n, do you trust me?â
This time, you did hear him and you nodded slowly, still in a trance. âYunho- save him, please-â
Yunho had his answer. He slid the knife out of the spot between his collarbones only to stab him on another spot in his neck not far from the original and you watched in horror as the man groaned once before falling limp. Yunho put a hand over the wounds as if that could possibly stop the bleeding and then he asked you to take off your scarf. You werenât sure you heard him right but with his free hand he started to unwind the scarf from around your neck. You didnât make any effort to help him- you simply watched him wrap your scarf around his neck to stop further bleeding-
âHeâs dead,â you practically spat out. âWhy do you need to stop the bleeding now?â
Yunho didnât answer. Once his hands were free, he bent down to pick the man and started walking back to the alley, stopping when he realised you werenât following him. He turned to look at you, eyes void of emotions. âArenât you going to come?â
You got up with immense struggle, looking around- why was there no one to help? Why was this abandoned area so empty in the middle of the night? You grabbed the manâs knife and started following Yunho, your hands and legs shaking uncontrollably and each step got harder to take. When you reached the spot Yunho had checked out earlier, he laid the manâs body down and you finally sank to the floor, drawing your knees to your chest and trying to breathe. You could hear him talking into the phone to someone, giving them the address.Â
All you knew was that you had killed someone. Again. And this time, your father wasnât there to protect you and take the blame. This time, you werenât a child who needed such protection. You were an adult and you had killed-
You felt arms wrap around your figure and you finally let out a shaky sob though your eyes remained dry. Yunho rubbed your back and asked you to breathe with him, drawing away and rubbing your cold hands in his to share some warmth- though his were just as cold. You could only see the blood on your hands, on your clothes-
âY/n, listen to me carefully,â his deep voice echoed inside you. âYou didnât kill the man, okay?â
âYouâre lying,â your teeth were chattering with cold and fear now. âI killed him.â
âNo,â Yunho shook his head. âYou protected me. I killed him.â
âYou canât do this to me, not you too,â you finally cried. âNot you too. I killed again, and this time, Iâll take responsibility.â
Yunho took a moment to process what you had said as he scanned your figure- everything finally started to make sense though there was still so much he needed answers to. âListen to me. You didnât deliver the killing blow. I did. Iâm the one who killed him.â
âYou and I both know he would have died anyway,â you locked eyes with him and Yunho knew then that it was no use trying to convince you that you werenât to blame. âYou just made it easier for him.â
Yunho didnât respond to that. He simply kept rubbing your hands as if that could turn back time and make things right. When you heard the sound of footsteps, you got tense and almost panicked but Yunho assured you it was just his friends and everything would be okay soon. You watched Wooyoung and Mingi assess the situation, not reacting much and numbly, you let Wooyoung accompany you to his car. You kept looking for Yunho though and Wooyoung smiled a bit despite the situation, assuring you that he would be right there.Â
While on your way, Wooyoung made sure you were warm and made you eat a few bites of chocolate, telling you you would need it. You asked him how he was so calm right now- was it not his first time that something like this happened?Â
âSomething tells me itâs not your first time either, y/n,â he simply responded and you fell silent after that.Â
You shut your eyes and let your mind wander about what was going to happen next. Sure, you felt a sense of security being around Yunho- he had done something you could never have imagined- but there was still a small part of you thinking about how this was the end for you. You were going to go to prison. Perhaps you would meet the same fate as your father. Your mother and brother would certainly be pleased to see you behind bars. You could hear their laughter and the âI told you soâ even now-
âY/n?â Yunhoâs gentle voice made you open your eyes. âWeâre here.â
You looked at âhereâ which was another abandoned area with dimly lit streets and a warehouse which Hongjoong was unlocking the doors of. Yunho helped you out of the car- you definitely needed that since your legs were still wobbly. You noticed that not everyone made it back and you asked him where they were.
âTheyâre taking a detour- theyâll be here in a few minutes.â
You nodded and followed him inside and if the circumstances would have been different, you could have appreciated how well organised the inside of the warehouse was, looking like a home with couches and games and fridge and enough space to do anything and everything. It looked like a hideout and you smiled faintly before sitting on the couch. Hongjoong brought you beer and you gladly accepted, taking a few gulps and letting Wooyoung wrap a blanket around you, letting Yunho clean the blood off your hands and spotting the cuts littering your hands and arms. Now that there was enough light, he could spot the numbness in your eyes.
âAre you okay?â
âYeah,â you nodded, suddenly breaking out of your trance. âAre you? Did he hurt you?â
âIâm okay,â he breathed. âDo you need anything?â
âNo, Iâm good, IâŠâ you looked at your scarred hands. âIâm⊠okay.â
âY/n,â Yunho took your hands in his again and you met his worried eyes. âHow did you know? Why did you follow me?â
âI⊠I didnât mean to, Iâm sorry,â you sighed and he squeezed your hands. âIâm sorry-â
âItâs alright, but I need to know what happened tonight so I can help you, okay?â Yunho said and you nodded, straightening.Â
âI knew you had no night shift today- I saw in the register by chance,â you told him and he nodded. âSo when you said you were going, I knew you were lying. I would have let you go, trust me, but⊠I had a feeling something was about to happen. Or maybe⊠maybe I was just too suspicious- because Detective Seo said if it was you, you werenât alone-â
âYou met Detective Seo again?â He asked, his tone still gentle but you spotted Seonghwa looking at you apprehensively. âWhy?â
âHe called me to the station a few days ago because he was suspicious of me- the knives,â you let out a nervous laugh and Yunho nodded, understanding. âHe told me his suspectâs murder weapon and method had changed and the timing was just a bit off. He knew it couldnât be me but we have history so he just needed to make sure.â
âDid you tell him about Yunho- or anything?â Seonghwa asked.
Yunho gently warned Seonghwa but you told him it was okay. âHe doesnât know the knives belong to Yunho and he is just suspecting him because apparently your alibis are invalid now. Thatâs all heâs got on you, actually.â
They all sighed in relief and you heard the doors open, the rest of them joining you and exchanging drinks. âYouâre all oddly calm about all of this.â
âWeâre doctors,â Yeosang commented. âWe have to be calm at times like this.â
âYouâre oddly calm too,â San noticed.
âThatâs what I said,â Wooyoung quipped in and Yunho asked you if the boys were overwhelming you but you shook your head no.Â
âCan you tell me what happened next? Why did you follow me?â
You took a deep breath. âI said Detective Seo and I have history. When I was little⊠about two decades ago, I⊠we lived in a small town, the four of us. My father was in debt and he often had to run away from gangsters and loan sharks. One day, he got cornered by one of the men and he had a gun- he looked like he was about to shoot my dad. My mom was protecting us- me and my brother, but I⊠I did what I could to protect him. I went to the kitchen, grabbed the first knife I saw and stabbed that man multiple times in the back.â
âOh, y/n,â Yunhoâs voice sounded pained and you heard a chorus of sucked breaths and exhales. Your hands started trembling again and Yunho squeezed them, planting a kiss to your knuckles which just made tears pool in your eyes.Â
âI did that to protect him,â your voice was just as shaky as your hands now. âThat man died and my father ended up taking all the blame to protect me from the police. Detective Seo was in charge of that case and he always suspected me- especially because my mother and brother started hating me for putting my dad in such a situation. He found all of it odd. So tonight⊠I had a feeling just like that night- like something bad was about to happen. Or maybe Iâm just making up that excuse to cover the fact that I betrayed your trust and followed you to see just what you were up to-â
âNo,â Yunho embraced you, planting a kiss on top of your head. âEven if you followed me because you were suspicious, you were right to do so. I shouldnât have lied about the night shift- anyone would have suspected me after that. It just slipped- itâs my fault.â
âItâs not,â you wiped your eyes, drawing away. âI shouldnât have followed you-â
âYou saved me,â Yunho smiled at you. âYour gut feeling, your suspicions⊠they were right. If it werenât for you-â
âBut I killed him,â you cried. âYou cannot take the blame for it now.â
Seonghwa cleared his throat. âWeâve uh⊠identified the man. Yunho, you might want to tell her who you really are.â
Yunho nodded, wiping your tears away. âDo you want to stay here? Or do you want to go home?â
âI think Iâd like to go home⊠if thatâs alright with you guys,â you said and the boys assured you that it was. Yunho got up and took the car keys from Seonghwa, sharing a few words with him and Wooyoung and Mingi asked you if you needed anything. You told them you were fine but you would like to be in the comfort of your own home right now and they understood.
âIf Yunho bothers you too much, you can call us,â Mingi teased. âWeâll take care of him.â
âI think itâs the other way round, but thank you,â you finally laughed. âCan I ask- what will happen to that man? The bodyâŠâ
âYunho will let you know- you donât have to worry about anything,â Wooyoung assured you and when Yunho extended his hand, you took a deep breath and took it.
You were going home, and you were finally going to learn who Yunho was.
â--------------------------
It was surreal to enter your home now, Yunho by your side and the weight of the events from the past few hours hanging over your shoulders. You both went to change first and you found yourself unable to look at your reflection in the mirror as you washed your face and hands. You took a few deep breaths to calm down, as best as you could manage in that moment before leaving and finding the smell of chamomile tea in the living room. Yunho motioned for you to join him on the couch and you passed a tight-lipped smile before obeying. You sipped the tea and waited for Yunho to gather his thoughts.
âWhen I was in high school,â Yunho finally began and you shifted towards him to watch him. âOne night, a serial killer decided my parents were his next victims. He followed my mom home and killed both of them, and I⊠I wasnât home- by the time I came home, he was done killing them.â
âOh, dear,â you held Yunhoâs hand. You couldnât imagine what he must have felt.Â
âI saw him leaving,â Yunho sighed deeply. âHongjoong was with me- he witnessed everything. He tried to stop me from going after the killer but I grabbed a metal rod and went after the man. He had a knife and thatâs how I got this scar,â Yunho pointed at his arm. âHongjoong saved me that night but I lost a part of me that night. A part that was human. I became almost animalistic, trying to find the killer.â
âDid you ever find him then?â You asked.
âI did, but after he died,â Yunho slumped back on the couch. âI couldnât get my revenge. It wasnât long after that incident. I lost my mind and was about to become the very killer I hated. Hongjoong saved me yet again- he knew that I wouldnât stop at anything now. I was getting into a lot of fights and basically ruining my life.â
âHow did he save you then?â
âHe handed me a dagger and told me to do what I must with it,â Yunho admitted. âI was shocked because usually he was the one hiding anything that could become a weapon from me. But then I realised that I was only trying to protect innocent people like my parents. I would aimlessly walk the streets and help anyone who needed it.â
âThatâs⊠very you,â you smiled and Yunho shook his head.
âIâm not a good person, though,â he said. âSomehow, we found each other, the eight of us. We select targets- corrupt politicians, rapists, offenders⊠especially the people who are public figures and lead double lives. We send hints to the police so they can do their job but when they donât⊠we take the matter into our own hands.âÂ
âOh,â you frowned. âThe politician a few days ago-â
âNot me,â Yunho shook his head. âThough he was my next target.â
âSo you⊠kill them?â
âWe only kill when someone is powerful enough to get away with all their crimes,â Yunho admitted and your heart sank dangerously- hearing it from his own mouth now, it finally started to feel real.Â
âIsnât that⊠okay?â You wondered. âThe police canât do anything and they would only cause further harm if they are alive.â
âYes, butâŠâ Yunho tucked your hair behind your ear. âI shouldnât enjoy it so much, should I? I think Iâm twisted like that, y/n. I feel no remorse.â
You looked at him- how could you tell him that you understood? That you were okay with that? He would tell you over and over again that it was wrong, because he knew that too. You knew that too, yetâŠÂ
âItâs kind of ironic then, that you all are doctors, right?â You finally said and he coughed, making you laugh a little- more in disbelief than in amusement. âSo all your night shiftsâŠ?â
âWe meet up at the warehouse to plan and work on new cases,â Yunho said.
âAnd the man that IâŠâ
âWe identified him- the boys are digging up further but weâre suspecting heâs the copycat killer.â
âThe copycat killer?â You repeated in disbelief. âCopying who- oh.â
Yunho pursed his lips guiltily. âThose kitchen knives⊠they were murder weapons. Now you know why I got so angry when you used them to cook.â
âOh, goodness-â
âDonât worry, I sanitised them,â he said as if that could make things better. âWhen I stopped using them, someone kept murdering people with similar weapons. And not just carefully selected scum- innocent people. It was why Detective Seo suspected me at first and then let me go easily because it just didnât match. He probably figured out that someone is copying the real killer.â
You took a deep breath. âI killed⊠a serial killer?â
âYes,â Yunho held your hands, making you face him. âDo you know how badly the events of tonight could have turned out?â
âBut he was going to kill you,â you said. âHe had it all planned- he was waiting for you, Yunho. You could have been seriously hurt tonight- do you realise that?â
âI canât believe youâre still worried about me,â Yunho almost cried. âDo you have any idea what went through my head when I saw you throwing yourself in the way to protect me⊠I thought I was going to lose you, y/n. Why did you do that?â
âI canât lose you,â you simply said. âIt felt like I was back to being that kid trying to protect my father. Why did you kill him without knowing who he was? Why did you try to take the blame, Yunho? Do you know how scared I was when you did that?âÂ
When Yunho didnât respond, his eyes tearing up, you continued. âI thought it was happening all over again. You would take the blame and I would have to live with the guilt. Iâve lived with guilt for far too long, Yunho. My father⊠he never made it out of prison. He was never a criminal and I guess the other prisoners found out, and they⊠they killed him. My mother and brother never forgave me after that. Do you think I could live with something like this again?â
Yunho wiped his eyes. âI understand, y/n, I really do,â he nodded. âBut you have to understand that I was scared for you tonight. You shouldnât have done any of that- the police will find the manâs body with all his crimes soon, but even if he was someone innocent, you shouldnât have done that-â
âI did that to protect you,â you smiled. âWhatâs so hard to understand about that? Just like you delivered the killing blow to protect me, yeah? Why did you do that?â
âBecause I love you,â Yunho breathed. âAnd I couldnât bear to see that broken look in your eyes.â
âBut weâre both broken in our own ways,â the tears finally rolled down your cheeks at his confession and he laughed a little, wiping them away as he cupped your face. âIs that why youâve been so distant? So unapproachable? You thought you were broken and no one could love you?â
When Yunho nodded, you shook your head. âWell, I might be just like you then. And I love you for who you are. I love you for the way you tried to protect me, and I love you for still loving me when I told you who I am.â
Yunho finally relaxed and laughed, bringing you in for a hug and you got in his lap, wrapping your limbs around each other. You hugged him good and tight, telling him that he didnât have to be so guarded anymore- he could be himself with you. He kissed you and told you that you could stop being so scared as well. You found yourself content in his embrace as you both shared your pasts and concerns, assuring each other that everything would be okay and helping each other process the events of tonight, Yunho treating the various places you got nicked and patching you up. You were still scared and anxious but he was there for you, holding you even as you fell asleep.
There was no place he would rather be anyway.
â----------------------------
âThe snake in the suit was cornered now. With a grim realisation, he wondered if he should have listened to the lanky cop on his case that he couldnât even bother to remember the name ofâ he probably meant well when he suggested the snake be careful now. What would the snake need to be afraid of? The snake was a predator. It only needed to worry about finding prey.Â
However, the predator had become the prey now, defenceless in front of the masked spider who wielded his weapon of justice- a beautifully carved dagger with a golden hilt. For the first time in his life, the snake wished it had been a gun instead so his end would have been quick. However, just like the snake had enjoyed wearing the face of justice to the public while circulating drugs to the desperate, the spider enjoyed wearing no mask when he prosecuted his targets. The spider had one purpose to serve- so why not enjoy it?
The spider leaned into the snakeâs ears, holding the tip of his dagger under the snakeâs chin as he whispered, âI sent you countless warnings, didnât I? I told you what fate you would meet if you continued down this road. Prison would have been a playground for you compared to the hell Iâm about to show you.â
Any ramblings of mercy went up the spiderâs head- he couldnât hear anything anymore. With a kick to the snakeâs stomach, he made him sink to his knees before he swiped the dagger along his cheekbone, producing a spurt of blood. The snake let out a choked whimper and the spider cocked his head, wondering which part of his body to ruin nextâ hey, y/n⊠Iâm pretty sure itâs not that deep.â
âItâs fiction, Wooyoung,â you simply winked but Wooyoung wasnât having any of it.
âYunho, tell me, did you really cock your head and wonder which part of him youâd like to ruin next?â
Yunho only bothered shooting Wooyoung a dirty look in between arguing with San and Jongho about a recent case they had at their clinic- something about how to perform a specific type of stitch that would be seamless.Â
âWhat do you think, Yeosang?â Wooyoung elbowed the man next to him. âDonât you think sheâs overdoing some of it?â
âWell, what do you want me to write? âYunho went and killed the politician who had been circulating drugs all around the provinceâ. Plain and simple like that?â
âI think she writes gore to cope,â Yeosang commented. âIâve been seeing a pattern and- wait, was I not supposed to point that out?â
You looked at Mingi for help who looked moments away from bursting into laughter. âYou might want to switch your psychiatrist, y/n.â
âI think Iâm good with you,â you grimaced at Yeosang who looked like a deer caught in headlights. âThis one should stick to the kidney stuff instead of treating the mind.â
âYou heard her,â Mingi clapped, finally bursting out laughing. âStick to being a nephrologist.â
âI donât even know how people can have you as their psychiatrist,â Yeosang narrowed his eyes at Mingi and you shook your head in amusement- this banter wasnât new. âWhat do you tell them? This too shall pass?â
Wooyoung snorted at that while Mingi raised his finger at him, trying to come up with a retort but failing and sulk-walking to Yunho, resting his head against his shoulder. You smiled at how Yunho naturally adjusted to have both of them in a comfortable position while continuing arguing with the Chois.Â
It had been a couple of months since that fateful night. You were still trying to process most of what happened that night and the boys were always there to help you with that, going above and beyond. While at first you had been apprehensive of them- rightfully so- now they were almost like family to you. You found that all of them were extremely hardworking and ambitious, but also very gentle and kind. Or perhaps, you were receiving special treatment as Yunho often joked.Â
Yunho gave you all the time and space you needed to sort your thoughts out while continuing being there for you- you were amazed at how good he was with that balance. He never let you feel overwhelmed or alone. He answered all of your questions about him and he just knew when you wanted to talk about your own feelings. He would ask you what you were afraid to find the answers to and then help you navigate through the tangled web that your thoughts were. When he suggested you go to Mingi for âtherapy sessionsâ, you asked him if he genuinely thought you needed therapy and if Mingi was really the right person to go considering his role in what they did.
âI mean⊠Mingi is sort of my therapist too,â Yunho admitted to your surprise. âOne thing about him is that he understands. No matter how sick or twisted you think you may be, he understands and he guides you to your own solution to that. Surprisingly, heâs the one who helped me overcome my rage and trauma of my parents, not Hongjoong.â
That really got you thinking and when you went to your appointment with Mingi in his clinic, he asked you what role you would like him to play- a stranger and just a therapist, or who he really was. You preferred the latter and soon, you found yourself looking forward to going to those sessions. You could now talk about what happened with your father without feeling an immense sense of guilt because even though all this time you knew it was not your fault, you simply hadnât made peace with that. Mingi also helped you realise that what they did- the âvigilanteâ stuff- it wasnât lawful. It might even be wrong and you needed to acknowledge and remember that.
And you did. So when Seonghwa and Hongjoong came to you with an odd proposition, you took your time thinking about it. You spent a few days away from everything, back in your hometown to visit your mother and brother and this time, you could actually talk back to them when they mocked you about going to your fatherâs grave when, according to them, you were his murderer. That time away helped you sort through the final knots in your mind.
And when Yunho came back home that day to the smell of a freshly cooked meal in his house, he had to take a moment for himself. He spread his arms as soon as he saw you and you crushed him in a hug, giggling like kids. You were back in his arms and that was all that mattered to him. You informing him that you agreed to Hongjoong and Seonghwaâs proposition was a bonus.
âSheâs a crime-gore fiction writer, Wooyoung,â Hongjoong finally said. âYou canât expect anything less from her. Besides, the details make it look less believable, which means less people will suspect that what she writes is not wholly fictional.â
âExactly,â you nodded. âGood one by the way, Yeosang.â
âYeah, I was going to say that,â Hongjoong laughed. âI once went to Mingi too. He told me that exact line and thatâs when I decided I didnât really need therapy.â
âAh, I didnât know that,â Yeosang laughed. âNo wonder heâs sulking so much.â
âHeâll be fine,â Seonghwa chuckled and you didnât miss the adoration in his eyes as he glanced at Mingi. Seonghwa turned to you, closing your book and placing it on the table in front of him. âI think you did a great job. Itâs a very engaging story and the facts are present for the wise ones if they can connect the dots. I quite like it, y/n.â
âThank you,â you smiled. âI owe it to you both. Youâre really good editors- itâs too bad you both refuse to take credit.â
âIt would only raise suspicion,â Hongjoong dismissed. âYouâre the writer. Weâre only, uh⊠inspirations?â
âInspirations,â Wooyoung repeated. âI know exactly who would be pleased to hear that. Our favourite detective.â
âI heard from a source that he spent two hours trying to convince his coworkers that what you were writing wasnât fiction,â Hongjoong scoffed. âHeâs been quite silent lately.â
âThe excitement must have dulled now- itâs been weeks since this book has been out,â you said. âI think he might be starting to take pointers now. He texted me a few days ago asking which politician he should keep an eye out for next.â
âWhat did you say?â Yeosang asked.
âI told him the next book could be about a detective who refuses to leave a poor girl alone,â you grinned, the group bursting into a chorus of laughter. âHe enjoyed that joke, actually. I think heâs warming up to me now.â
âHe better not,â Yunho finally joined, putting his hands on your shoulders from behind you. âI donât want him obsessing about what kitchen tools we use these days. Shall we go home now?â
You nodded, saying goodnight to the boys and exiting the warehouse with Yunho. A bike ride later in the chilly night, you were home and just like always, grinning as you entered- you still loved the bike rides.
âOh, tomorrowâs Sunday,â you clapped, suddenly remembering. âWe get to sleep in. What do you wanna do tonight? Movie?â
âHmm, letâs see,â Yunho pretended to think, a grin creeping up on his face as he tackled you in a back hug and swung you around once, making your laugh echo in the house. âI think Iâll skip.â
âWhatâs got you so mushy tonight?â You asked- Yunho was swinging you both back and forth, his cheek resting against yours.
âNothing,â he muttered. âI just still canât get used to the fact that youâre real.â
You chuckled at that- you knew that Yunho absolutely loved the sight of you getting along with his friends, working with them, and actually supporting them. You insisted it was because the world really needed less criminals prowling around and while Yunho agreed, he also knew that part of the reason you agreed in the first place was because of him and he told you that he sometimes couldnât believe that you could love him despite what he did.
You only told him once that a sick part of you definitely enjoyed killing those men if that meant you got to protect your loved ones. He remembered what you said- that everyone had something ugly like that in them- they just hadnât been desperate enough to realise it yet. And thanks to you, Yunho was discovering a new side of himself- someone passionate and gentle and human. Sure, he had been that with his friends before, but with you, it was definitely different and new.
âSays the 6 foot tall handsome doctor slash biker slash vigilante. It canât get hotter than that,â you teased.Â
âBet you moved in because of that.â
âMaybe I did,â you teased. âWasnât it the best decision you made, agreeing to let me move in?â
Yunho thought about it for a few moments, humming to himself. âI could think of a few better decisions Iâve made-â
You smacked his arm, getting out of his grasp and muttering you were going to bed first and Yunho laughed loudly at your antics, following you as you walked towards the stairs and when you noticed him, you sped up, giggling when he started running after you. You barely made it to his room when he had you in his arms again and was peppering kisses all over your face.
âYou didnât let me finish,â he said. âThe best decision I made was probably letting Detective Seo rattle you out while I stood outside and listened.â
You gasped loudly. âYou did all of that just to have an excuse to kiss me, didnât you?â
âWho knows?â Yunho shrugged teasingly. âMight not have gotten a better chance.â
âCome on, say it,â you started unbuttoning his shirt. âWhen exactly did you fall for me?â
âLetâs seeâŠâ he thought about it while you took off his shirt and ran your hands across his toned chest, tracing all his scars like you always did. âCould have been when you scolded me about the boots and the water trail and ordered me to use the bunny towel.â
âSheesh, youâre that easy?â
âYeah, Iâm simple like that,â Yunho muttered before drawing in to capture your lips in a slow, sensual kiss. âItâs the little things you did that made me a mess way before you defended me with all your might.â
âThat was the first time you laughed,â you smiled at the memory, turning him around so you could make him sit on his bed. You got in his lap and he squeezed your thighs in appreciation. âI think you had me right there too.â
Yunho shook his head at your confession and you grinned, pushing him to make him lie down. He loved it when you did that and took your time appreciating him, kissing all his scars and massaging his scalp as you drove him a little crazy, rolling your hips on his crotch suggestively once in a while. And he let you take your time because once he took charge, once he flipped you so you were under him and let his hands run all over your body as he kissed every inch of it, and once you were skin to skin-
MAIN M. LISTÂ |Â ASKÂ | PUTTINâ ON THE RITZ COLLAB
YOU LEAVE WITHOUT PACKING A THING.
The house is still asleep when you slide the window open and slide out, the winter air biting at your hands. Your fingers feel raw as you climb out the window onto the fire escape, the metal stinging to the touch. Your breath fogs despite the fact you're barely breathing, too afraid to make a sound.
With frozen fingers, you push the window shut, heart hammering as it squeezes. You freeze, squeezing your eyes shut. The cold nips at you, wind pulling at your clothes that aren't thick enough for winter and scraping against the back of your neck.
Sucking in a breath, you force yourself to shut the window the rest of the way. Turning, you creep further onto the fire escape, desperate not to make a sound. In the distance, New York is awake. She never sleeps, but she's loud tonight, the sound of sirens carried on the wind, the roar of a Model T somewhere a few blocks over.
The fire escape is blessedly quiet as you navigate down, too cold, too alert, too nervous. You nearly miss the last step on the way down, stumbling onto the frozen street. As soon as you're on level ground you're moving as fast as you can, pulling the thin jacket around you as you go.
Your fiance always said you'd never make it three blocks without him knowing.
You make it eight.
The train yard is loud, though you can barely hear it over your chattering teeth. You're so cold you can barely think, driven only by fear. You become a passenger to the fear, letting it drive you through a tangle of metal train cars and clanking metal, the night sky twinkling above you as you find a freight train, near ready to leave.
You don't think. You swing up into a car, uncaring where it's going or what's inside. You don't care. Anywhere is better than here, and any direction that's away from your rotten fiance and his violent hands is good enough for you.
Heavy wooden barrels fill the train car. They're unmarked but rotund, hammered bands of steel keeping the frame intact. You weave between them, looking for a nook dark enough for you to hide - warm enough to not freeze to death. For a brief moment, you think that might not be so bad. Better than dying at the hands of your fiance or his family. Better than letting him put marks on you were you can't see them, better than-
Voices startle you. From a distance, you hear the rolling slam of train car doors and metal locks sliding into place. You panic, diving for the corner of the train car behind two barrels, tucking yourself into the shadows. It isn't warm, but you can no longer feel the icy teeth of the wind scraping across your skin, threatening to bite.
Tucking your hands between your thighs, you hold your breath. Male voices approach the car and you listen as they jump in and walk around briefly, taking stock. You can't see them, but you make yourself smaller. You've always been good at that, and it works now. They don't see you tucked in the corner, jumping back out before rolling the door shut with a clang that makes you flinch.
You don't breathe until the train starts moving, the sound of the whistle and the lurch forward startling you. You shiver violently, relaxing a fraction as you lean back into the cold metal of the wall, pressing your hands between your thighs to keep them warm. It only works a little, but it's the best you can do, eyes fluttering as you breathe in the smell of wood and something dark and rich.
The train rocks back and forth, the sound of the clicking tracks and liquid sloshing in the barrel. You feel yourself relax for the first time in weeks - shoulders sagging, breathing leveling out. There's no way for Vin to catch up to you now, and it makes you smile tiredly, a sliver of pride leaking through your exhaustion.
Your fiance always said you'd never make it three blocks without him knowing.
You've now made it eight and some change, train chugging to somewhere far off away from him and those who would force you to marry him for the sake of power and a name.
-
The train coming to an abrupt halt startles you awake. You groan, neck stiff, muscles locked and cold. Everything hurts from sleeping in the cramped corner of the train car, bones popping as you sit up straight, alert to the sudden halt. You don't know how long you've been asleep, but it's still dark in the train and you feel exhausted.
Curling in the shadow, you wait for the sound of voices, the opening of doors. Your intention is to get off in whatever city you've landed in and start a new life. Pick up a job waitressing, maybe. Or at one of those exclusive places they sell bootleg alcohol and don't ask questions. Anything to get you a little bit of cash and get you somewhere warm.
You smile, thinking about this new life. You imagine yourself in a smoky lounge, tucking cash in your pocket after giving strangers smiles and-
The screaming rips your illusion in half.
You sit up straight, hand flying over your mouth to suppress the startled sound that slips through. A man screams somewhere in the distance, the sound wounded and terrified. It's cut off abruptly, the silence so heavy that your ears start to ring, goosebumps rising on your skin from more than the cold.
The silence doesn't last. Another scream pierces the night, this one closer, raw and guttural like an animal being torn apart. You press yourself deeper into the shadows behind the barrels, knees drawn up to your chest, heart slamming against your ribs so hard it hurts. The cold has seeped into your bones, making every shiver feel worse. You bite down on your lip to keep from whimpering, tasting the metallic tang of blood where your teeth break the skin.
Footsteps approach, slow and deliberate, crunching on the gravel outside the train car. Your breath hitches, fogging the air in front of you. The door to the car rattles, metal groaning as it's shoved open with a force that makes the whole car shudder. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself invisible. The footsteps enter now, soft but unmistakable, padding across the wooden floor between the barrels.
There's a pause. You don't dare breathe, hoping they can't see you. You hear a soft inhale and then the scuff of feet.
"Well, well," a voice says, velvet soft. "You are most certainly not the Amontillado I was looking for."
Your eyes snap open, and there he is, standing just beyond the barrels, silhouetted against the faint moonlight spilling through the open door. He's beautiful in a way that doesn't make sense to your brain, short circuiting. Medium length dark hair falls around his face in waves, framing sharp features that look ethereal enough to be in a painting. His eyes are dark, flashing silver briefly as he crosses through a shaft of moonlight toward you, his gait impossibly smooth.
He tilts his head, studying you, and another scream rips through the distance. You flinch, cowering in your corner, stomach churning. You hear a man begging, screaming no - a wet gurgle cuts him off.
The man in front of you doesn't flinch. He doesn't even glance toward the noise, just continues studying you, something close to amusement on his face. Then he sighs, looking up at the dark ceiling of the train car.
"You," he says, sounding tired as he looks back down at you. "Are a most unfortunate stowaway. What in the world are you doing here, little mouse?"
You stare at him, frozen. Your mind races as the screaming picks back up again, fainter this time but no less horrifying. You stare at this man and realize he expects an answer, his brows raised, watching you and waiting.
Licking your lips, you murmur, "I justâŠ" You think about what to say but you don't know what. So you're honest. "I just didn't want him to hurt me anymore."
The words hang in the frozen air between you. You don't elaborate, don't say anything else. You stare at him, the fear mounting, your fingers numb either from the terror or the cold, you're not sure.
He stares at you then sighs, seeming to make a decision. He comes toward you and you press further into the wall as he moves the barrels out of his way with no problem. You blanche - the barrels must weigh far more than he can lift, but you watch as he picks them up with no effort.
"Don't scream," he murmurs as he reaches you, crouching down. As he does, you catch the faintest whiff of him - sweet, like jasmine. He shrugs his coat off, offering it to you. "You are a very unlucky woman, but I'm feeling empathetic tonight. Put this on before you freeze to death."
With a shaking hand, you reach for the jacket. He becomes unnaturally still as you take it, his pupils dilating slightly in the dark. You look away, his eyes unnerving and predator-large in the dim of the train.
His jacket is thick and woolen, the smell of jasmine intensifying. You pull it around you, warmth making you melt a little. It cures the worst of your shiver and you clutch at it instinctively, clinging to the lifeline.
"Listen to me." His voice is barely above a whisper and you look back up at him. "I'm not going to hurt you. I need you to stay close. Don't look at anything or anyone. Let me guide you. Can you do that?" You nod and his mouth twitches. "Good girl. Let's stand, yeah?"
His hands wrap around your arms and he pulls you to your feet. Your legs wobbled, cramped from the cold and the cramped position. He steadies you with ease, his touch surprisingly gentle. You let out a shaky breath and he makes a sound - something almost fond - and brushes the hair from your forehead.
"Stay close," he reminds you, fingers lingering on your forehead. "I'm Jeonghan, by the way." You give him your name, breath fogging around the shape of it. "Pretty. Tasteful. Like Amontillado."
Jeonghan slides an arm around your waist, pressing you close to his side. His body is solid and warmer than it should be in the freezing night. You don't pull away, too stunned and too terrified to do more than follow as he leads you toward the open door of the train car.
It becomes immediately clear why he told you not to look at anything.
Outside the train car is a slaughterhouse. You freeze in the doorway but he tsks and jumps to the ground, turning to pick you up by the hips and swiftly puts you down. You suck in a sharp air at how easily he does it, movements quick and effortless.
Bodies are everywhere. Train workers lie scattered across the yard, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles, throats torn open, blood pooling in the dark. The metallic scent hits you, thick and coppery and your stomach turns over. You duck into his arm as he hushes you gently, hiding your face.
"Come on," he murmurs, arm tightening. "We have to walk, Amontillado."
You can't help but look, stomach lurching. There are figures - people - bent over the fallen men of the train yard, their mouths pressed to necks and wrists. The scene confuses you, bloody faces pressed into the flesh of the fallen, blood running down chins and necks as their throats gulp-
The word slams into you, impossible and yet you don't know how else to describe what you're seeing. You've read Dracula before, but what you see here is worse, the ravenous hunger displayed in red carnage too real, too vivid to process.
Another scream makes you startle. You see a worker pinned under two of the creatures, his legs kicking futilely as they rip into him. Blood sprays and you clap a hand over your mouth to stifle your gasp.
Jeonghan doesn't react. He leads you through the carnage, his steps sure and unhurried. Casual. Like he does this all the time.
One of the vampires turns toward you, a burly man with wild eyes and blood matting his beard. He straightens when he sees you, his eyes flashing unnatural silver as he steps into the moonlight, grinning, mouth a gash of red and teeth.
"Ah-ah," Jeonghan warns, his words hissed. "Mine. Please finish and load the casks in the middle car. They're what we were looking for."
The vampire dips his head slightly. "Understood, boss."
Jeonghan keeps you moving , guiding you past the worst of the bodies, stepping carefully over pooling blood that steams in the cold. The yard is vast, tracks stretching into darkness like black rivers, and the vampires are finishing their work - dragging corpses into neat piles, licking crimson from their fingers, wiping mouths on sleeves. The silence is heavier now, the screams gone, replaced by the occasional wet smack of lips or the crunch of bone under boots.
Your teeth chatter despite the jacket, and he notices, pulling you even closer so your side is flush against his. His body radiates heat in a way that feels wrong for the season, wrong for anything human, but you lean into it anyway, desperate for anything that isn't the biting wind or the copper reek of blood.
"Why did he call you boss?" You murmur, eyeing the car he leads you toward. It is eerily empty in the train yard. You realize they have - the vampires - have killed everyone else. "Are you a gangster or something?"
"Hardly."
Despite the violence, it relieves you. You hadn't run from the mafia into another. Though you think this might be worse.
"I'm in charge of a rather complex operation," Jeonghan tells you, opening the car door. You let him usher you inside, the interior cool. "One of which, you have just stumbled upon."
You swallow. "Why save me, then?"
He glances down, that faint smile returning, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "Empathy, as I said. And perhaps curiosity. A little mouse who ran from one wolf only to stumble into a den of them. I think it would be a shame to let all that effort go to waste, Amontillado."
"Why do you keep calling me that?"
"Amontillado is complex. Fresh. Lingering." He grins. "And it's my favorite."
Your fiance always said you'd never make it three blocks without him knowing.
You make it to Long Island, the moonlight shining through the car window as a vampire slides into the cab of the car next to you, looking down at you with a glint in his eye that you can't tell if it's curiosity or hunger. Or both.
-
The Hamptons are like nothing you've ever seen. Not that you've seen much outside of your tiny life in Manhattan. Snow dusts the ground in patches, glittering under the moonlight like sugar scattered over the extravagant lawns. Grand houses line the sides of the roads, their stone walls covered with overgrown ivy.
Winter is quiet in the Hamptons. You wonder what it looks like during the summer, full of life and light and parties that only exist in myth to you. It's beautiful in a lonely way, the empty fields stretching toward a dark horizon broken only by the occasional barn or silo. No crowds, no push of bodies on sidewalks, no blare of horn.
Most importantly, no Vin.
While the Hamptons isn't as far as you wanted to get from him, you think it's far enough. For now. You glance at the vampire next to you and think that Vin wouldn't be able to get to you here anyway. Not with the strange creature sitting next to you, his eyes flashing silver occasionally when the moon catches them just right.
Jeonghan feels you looking at him. He flicks his eyes to you, tilting his head as he drinks you in. Once again you're put off by the way his eyes dilate, pupils larger than they should be. They're beautiful in an unnerving way, a tingle starting at the base of your spine under his stare.
"First time out of the city?" He asks, voice quiet.
You nod, not trusting your voice yet. The car turns onto a smoother drive, the road narrowing as it curves toward the coast. Lights flicker ahead, gas lamps lining a long driveway. An estate emerges from the night, massive and made of all stone. The windows glint warmly against the dark, towers rising at the corners covered in winding ivory.
Your breath catches. It looks more like a palace than a house, a fantasy capture on pressed magazines and where people whispered about bootleggers and oil barons throwing parties until dawn in the summer. The car pulls up to the grand entrance, gravel crunching under tires, and the driver kills the engine.
Jeonghan exits first, offering a hand to help you out. You take it, stepping out on legs that feel like jelly. The air smells like salt and pine, sharp and cleaner than anything you've ever breathed in. You take a few gulps of air, the cool burning your lungs. He makes a sound like he's amused before he tugs you forward toward the steps that lead up to the mansion.
It's even more imposing up close, the double doors carved of heavy oak. You hesitate a little at the carved gargoyles, a strange piece of architecture in a place like this. Jeonghan brisks past them, opening the door with a gentle push, like the house answers to him.
"Welcome," he teases, ushering you inside.
Warmth hits you immediately, such a relief that you can't help but make a small noise in the back of your throat. The air carries a faint scent of wood polish and cigar smoke, warm and inviting. The grand foyer is made up of marble floors veined in gold, a staircase sweeping up toward the shadowed upper levels. Paintings line the walls, dark depictions of stormy seas and dark florals. A grandfather clock ticks in the corner, the pendulum swinging slow and steady like your pulse.
You stand there, dripping melted snow onto the pristine floor, feeling small and out of place in your thin clothes and borrowed jacket. The amount of wealth in front of you is something you've never seen before. Your family had money - not you - and your fiance had money too, but not like this. Not the old money that keeps these houses heated even when they're empty in winter, and full of life in the summer.
"What now?" You ask, voice small in such a vast space.
Jeonghan turns to you, dark eyes searching. "Unless you have somewhere else to go, I'd presume you're stuck here."
Stuck. The word twists inside of you. You'd been stuck in Manhattan, too. Until you finally ran, knowing it was better to die of the cold than it was to die at the hands of a violent man who wanted only your family's name and money. Not you. Never you.
"Stuck." You repeat the word, voice hollow. "I've been stuck my entire life."
"The world out there isn't kind to strays. Especially the kind like you, who have seen something they shouldn't have. My kind don't leave witnesses."
Nervousness coils tight in your chest, your hands fidgeting with the jacket's hem. "But you said you wouldn't hurt me."
"I won't." There is an unspoken yet that lingers between you. But he softens anyway, sympathy - either fake or real you can't tell - crosses his face. "I give you my word. But being with me does have consequences. There are rules and dangers, others who won't hesitate like I did. You have to trust me, and I have to trust you."
Trust. The word tastes bitter, after Vin's lies and the crack of his hand. You look at the closed door behind you, knowing that outside lies nothing but the cool winter of the Hamptons, empty until summer. Here though, it's warm. Here, there is a roof. A creature that could kill you, but perhaps would stand between you and Vin - and Vin's family.
"You're free to leave, if you wish," he murmurs. "You will be safe from whatever cruelty you've run from, if you're lucky. If you stay though, you will find a different sort of cruelty here. Never to you, but you will see things you're not used to."
You look up at him. "But you won't hurt me?"
"I won't hurt you."
It shouldn't be enough. But in a world like yours, filled with mob bosses and men who rule the city and every block of your home, you think that the promise of not hurting you is good enough. It's the only one you've ever received.
"It's enough," you whisper.
He hums. "I wonder what is so bad that you'd choose me over what you're running from, Amontillado."
"The mob."
"Indeed?" You nod. "You are unlucky. Come. You need rest."
He offers his arm, and after a beat, you take it. He leads you up the staircase, steps creaking faintly under your weight but silent under his. The banister is smooth mahogany, carved with intricate vines that twist like veins. You're suddenly reminded of blood, of the people in the train yard, the sounds.
Your stomach flips. There's no turning back now. So you let him lead you up, tired and sore and still a little cold.
The upper hallway stretches long and dim, gas lamps flickering in sconces, casting shadows that dance on wallpaper patterned with subtle florals. Doors line the walls, heavy wood with brass handles, every detail intentional and rich with an artistry that is beyond you.
Jeonghan pauses at a door near the end, turning the handle with a soft click. The room beyond is a dream. A four-poster bed dominates the center of the room, draped in velvet curtains the color of midnight. A fireplace sits cold, but Jeonghan drifts toward it, immediately setting himself to the task of lighting it. You follow him, eager for warmth.
Windows overlook the dark grounds, heavy curtains - to block out the dawn, you realize - covering the glass. A vanity sits in the corner, mirror framed in twisting gold filigree. A wardrobe looms opposite, closed tight.
Flames lick to life. You hold out your hands, thankful for the heat as Jeonghan rises in one fluid motion. He looks like the devil, the orange light from the fire turning his face from angel to demon. Despite the heat, you shiver, staring at him as he cocks his head, looking at you like he doesn't know what to do with you.
"This room is yours," he says. He gestures toward a door. "There's a bath through that door. I can send for a tailor for clothes in the morning. You look dreadful and unless humans have rapidly adapted in a way I'm unfamiliar with, you're going to freeze dressed like that."
"IâŠ" You hesitate. "You don't have to do that."
"I don't have to, you're right." He walks toward the door, steps silent. "Like I said, I was feeling empathetic, Amontillado. And perhaps I'm loath to see such a pretty thing snuffed out after fighting so hard to keep burning."
His words make your stomach flutter. You watch him go, unsure how to thank him. Unsure if you should thank him. Unsure if this is all a mistake and if he's going to kill you and drain you when you let your guard down, a liar to the end, just like Vin.
Jeonghan pauses at the door and levels you with a look that feels like he can sense your fear again. "Sleep. We'll talk more tomorrow night."
Tomorrow night.
Because you won't see him during the day. You swallow thickly, nodding. "Thank you, Jeonghan."
"Lock the door if it makes you feel safer. Though nothing here will harm you without my say."
Then he's gone, the door closing softly behind him, leaving you alone. You stand there, heart pounding, the jacket still wrapped around you smelling like jasmine. The fire pops, and you move finally, shedding the coat and sinking onto the bed's edge.
For the first time all night, you lay down on a bed, sinking in. It's softer than anything you've ever known, and you wonder what it would be like to live like this, surrounded by softness. By richness.
Sleep drags at you, and just as you begin to fall asleep, it occurs to you that perhaps you've just traded one cage for another.
-
You wake with a start, sucking in a warm breath of air as you sit upright. The room spins, unfamiliar and confusing as the last dregs of your nightmare start to melt away, flashes of images sticking to you: Vin's snarling face, your mother's iron cold hand on your wrist, blood pooling in your mouth, cheek stinging as your father yells.
The room is dim, fire refused to glowing coals that cast a faint orange glow across the velvet curtains. Your heart begins to slow as you remember where you are. You're not in that tenement apartment with thin walls and shouting neighbors, with Vin's heavy footsteps and angry shouting.
You draw your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. The memories of last night settle around you like sediment in water: the fire escape's icy bite, the train yard with pools of blood, Jeonghan's voice cutting through the wet sound of flesh parting and blood spilling.
Shaking it off, you get up and pad to the curtains, peeking between them. Late afternoon slips through the velvet, pale gold light turning the snow outside sugary. The grounds of the estate stretch wide and white, oaks stripped bare from the winter, icicles hanging like crystals from their branches. A frozen fountain sits sentinel in the drive, a detail you'd missed the night before.
Beyond the estate, you see the Atlantic. It rolls grey and restless, the horizon swallowed by clouds. No people. No movement except the wind. It seems that this lonely house is smack in the middle of the extravagance of the Hamptons, but the winter has chased everyone else away.
Everyone else except the man who'd brought you here last night.
Turning away from the window, you look at the door to the bedroom. You'd taken his advice and locked it last night to feel better, still small and a little afraid in this strange house. Now, you wonder if it's safe to explore. Jeonghan had said he would see you the next night and he hadn't forbad you from exploring during the daylight hours.
Curiosity overrides the lingering tremor in your hands. You need to move, to map out this place in your mind, to find exits in the event you need them again, to prove to yourself that you're not trapped.
The hallway outside is hushed, gas sconces turned low, their flames steady behind etched glass. Doors line both sides, dark wood gleaming, brass handles cold under your fingertips as you test one. It's locked so you don't push further, drifting toward the staircase. The bannister is smooth under your palm, dingers trailing along the carved vines, half expecting them to twitch and come to life in this strange place.
Downstairs, the foyer is empty, afternoon light slanting in through the tall windows, dust motes floating in the air. The grandfather clock ticks slowly in the corner, the only sound to accompany you as you turn left toward an archway that leads to a parlor. Velvet settees in burgundy and marble-topped tables fill the room. Empty crystal decanters glinter in the sunlight, tossing rainbow prisms around the room.
A beautiful grand piano sits in the corner. You drift toward it, noting that there's no dust, despite the lid being closed. The sheet music is yellowed at the edges - Mozart, you realize. Your lips twitched, tapping the top as you wonder if it's Jeonghan who plays.
You pass from the parlor, drifting room to room. Each one unfolds, richer and more marvelous than the last. There's a dining hall with a table stretched long enough for banquets, a conservatory with walls of fogged glass and full of ferns and orchids that are sleeping under the frosty panes, a billiard room with scarred felt and perfectly racked cues.
Paintings watch your exploration from every wall. The gilded frames are filled with stern men in high collars and ladies with keen eyes. You shiver as you pass them, wandering until you find a set of ancient double doors cracked open, the smell of paper and wax luring you in.
You step inside, the warm lamplight spilling over you. Your breath catches - it's a library. It's massive inside, shelves climbing three stories high with ladders on brass rails. Leather spines in every color line the shelves, some with gold lettering, some in lettering you can't read at all. It smells like paper and ink, drawing you in.
It's dark inside as you drift toward a shelf, your fingers tracing titles. Poe. Shelley. Things in Latin and French you don't know how to read. You smirk when you see Stoker, pulling the tome from the shelf and drifting toward the lamplight as you finger through the thin pages.
You settle on a rug on the floor, closest to the single floor lamp that's on. Even with the lamp, it's a challenge to read, the darkness of the library pressing in as you squint at the opening lines of the story - though now real, perhaps - interested in what truths you might find.
A needle-thin awareness prickles at the back of your neck. You look up, turning over your shoulder, heart skipping as a chill settles in. You see nothing at first, eyes struggling to adjust in the dim light. You nearly write it off as paranoia from the subject material in your lap when you see it, the outline of a shadow near the stacks, just at the wavering edge of lamplight.
Panic locks you in place. There's a man standing in total shadow, tall and broad-shoulder. You can barely make out his face, but you see him cock his head, the lamplight reflecting off glasses. Your heart begins to race when you see the unnatural silver flash of his eyes - vampire.
He drifts forward and yet he hardly seems to move at all. One second he's in total darkness, the next he's in the orange glow, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes your instincts scream predator. His lips part, revealing the barest flash of fang, and a low growl vibrates from his chest - quiet and gentle, but it vibrates through you, terror unlike anything you've ever known thrumming through you.
"Wonwoo."
Jeonghan's voice slices through the tension like a blade. You flinch, looking at where Jeonghan has appeared in the doorway. He's in a white shirt that's open at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He steps forward and appears between you and the vampire - Wonwoo - in the blink of an eye, impossibly fast.
"We have a guest," Jeonghan says. "I apologize - I haven't had a moment to tell you and I didn't think our little Amontillado would go wandering." Jeonghan glances at you, eyes glittering. "She's braver than I thought she is. Let's leave her be, please."
Wonwoo's jaw tightens, a muscle ticking. His gaze flicks from Jeonghan to you, hunger warring with something colder - resentment, maybe. He exhales through his nose then turns, vanishing into the shadow again. You blink. One moment he's there, the next he's gone, a phantom among the stacks.
Jeonghan drifts toward you and crouches, sighing. "Breathe. You're safe."
It isn't until he says something that you realize you're shaking. You swallow and nod, snapping the book shut in your lap.
"I didn't mean to tresspass. I was just looking."
"I know. It's alright. You did nothing wrong."
You look up at him and he gives you a lazy smile before leaning forward to pluck the book out of your lap. He huffs when he sees it, holding it up, cover toward you, as he arches a brow in question. You flush, looking at your hands in your lap.
"Thought I could learn a thing or two."
"Stoker doesn't get much right," Jeonghan chuckles. He offers you a hand and you take it, letting him pull you up. His touch is warm and steady, thumb brushing over your knuckles briefly before he releases you. "I should have warned you not to wander at first. You're not a prisoner here, you are certainly free to treat the house as your own. But a gentle reminder that this house has teeth."
"How many teeth, then? Besides you."
"Three. Wonwoo, who you just met. He's particular about territory and he doesn't like people in his library without warning, so please ask for permission next time. Junhui you don't have to worry about, he is incredibly kind and is fond of humanity. SoonyoungâŠ" Jeonghan pauses, expression darkening. "Soonyoung struggles. He is a gentle soul, but blood calls to him louder than the rest of us. Stay away from the east wing unless you're with me, yes?"
You nod. "No east wing. Understood."
Jeonghan studies you a moment longer, then offers his arm. "Let me show you properly. No more surprises."
You slip your hand through the crook of his elbow, fabric of his shirt soft against your palm. Your heart races and you wonder if he can tell, the twitch of his mouth something between smug and genuine. You let Jeonghan lead you back through all of the rooms you toured yourself, but now with his soft voice pointing out things you never noticed before.
In the parlor, he sits at the piano, lifting the cover. You grin, drifting toward him as his hair falls forward in his eyes while his fingers run over the keys. It's not the sheet music in front of him, but it's something darker and more melodic, the sound swirling around you.
Your eyes fixate on his hands, watching the way he plays. They're delicate and fluid, moving over each key intimately, like stroking a lover. It makes you flush as you listen to him until he finishes, the last note dying in the warm air.
"It's beautiful," you murmur.
He glances up, dark eyes wide. "The piece or the player?"
Heat creeps up your neck. You look away, but not before catching the spark in his gaze, something warm and teasing. It tugs at your heartstrings. You don't know what to do with warm and teasing, so used to Vin's vitriol and cool dismissal.
Jeonghan picks the tour back up, leading you down into the wet cold of the cellars. You shiver, following him down the stone steps. Lanterns glitter to life as he passes, the soft yellow glow throwing light and shadows.
At the bottom, you step into a room with vaulted ceiling overhead and crates lining the walls, each labeled with something innocuous. He drifts toward one, prying the top with that same inhuman strength he'd used the night before to reveal dark bottles inside.
Your breath catches at the sight. There are dozens of bottles of amber liquor and dark crimson, vicious in the low light.
"Bootlegging is popular among us," he says, voice low. "It's made it easier for us to run blood. We run both blood and liquor across the East Coast - New York, Boston, Phildelphia." He taps a bottle of red. "The real cargo is the blood. It makes it easier for us to live in the open when we have a supply."
"The train last night - was it carrying both?"
"It was." He drifts closer, eyes darkening. "So imagine my surprise to find you among my well-paid for Amontillado, hmm?"
"Do all your⊠endeavors go that way?"
He sharpens. "No. Those men last night were trying to steal from me."
"Oh."
Jeonghan closes the crate and leads you back up the stairs. His hand brushes against the small of your back when you stumble, leading you carefully out of the dark and back to the top. Your skin tingles despite the separation of fabric, and when he steps away, you realize you wish he wouldn't.
"Tell me about you," he says, crossing his arms behind his back as you stroll toward the conservatory. "Not the escape. But before. Why you were running."
You chew your lip, suddenly embarrassed to recount your life to him. How to tell him that you could have had an okay life if you were good at being seen, not heard, if you could just say the right thing at the right time. If you could just accept Vin's apologies and flowers that always followed harsh words and a smack.
"My family business wasâŠ" You start, looking for words.
"The mob." You nod. "So you said."
"My family wasn't very high up but the son of a powerful man thought I was pretty. My father paid for his seat at the table and promised me to him." You look at your hands, hating the way your voice constricts. "Like I was property."
"You're not property." You glance up at him. His eyes are dark, something you can't read in them. "And I need you to know when I say mine - it is different among my kind. It is only true in protection, not ownership. I told you you were not a prisoner here. I meant it."
"Thank you, Jeonghan."
Jeonghanâs gaze lingers on you a moment longer, something unreadable flickering behind those dark eyes. Then he offers the smallest nod. "Come, there's still more to see."
He guides you through the rest of the ground floor with the same patient cadence heâs used all evening, never rushing or crowding you. You pass a smoking room lined with leather-bound books of poetry and shelves of crystal decanters, a conservatory annex where orchids sleep under frost-laced glass, a solarium whose leaded windows overlook the frozen sea beyond.
Every room feels both lived-in and impossibly untouched, as though the house has been waiting decades for someone living to walk its halls again. Jeonghan moves through it all with casual ownership, fingers occasionally brushing a carved chair rail or trailing along the edge of a marble mantle. You notice how he never quite touches anything for long, as though the textures of the human world are both familiar and faintly foreign to him now.
You wonder what it must be like to be a vampire. You don't know much about them beyond the violence of the trainyard and the pages of Bram Stoker's Dracula. You have no idea how much of Stoker's recount of them is myth or fact, but Jeonghan seems human enough, once you look past his stillness and the silent way he moves. He smiles earnestly, eyes crinkling. He has secret smiles when he seems to remember something.
Still. There is a hint of melancholy about him, a touch of sadness that you can't really understand as he shows you the pieces of his home like he's introducing you to relatives he hasn't seen in a long while.
Eventually the tour curves back toward the center of the house. He pauses at an arched doorway you hadnât noticed earlier, half-hidden behind a heavy velvet curtain. Warm light spills from the other side, carrying the faint scent of coffee and something buttery.
âThe kitchen,â he announces, drawing the curtain aside. âI thought you might be hungry.â
You hesitate on the threshold. The kitchen is far larger than anything you've ever stepped foot in. Copper pots hang from iron racks overhead, gleaming softly under pendant lights. A long island of black marble runs down the center, flanked by high stools. Windows line one wall, snow drifting being frosted glass.
Jeonghan glances back at you. âYouâre allowed in here, Amontillado. In fact-" He pats the countertop beside him. "Up you go."
You blink. âOn the counter?â
âYes. Itâs the best seat in the house when Iâm cooking.â
Thereâs a playful lilt to his voice that makes your stomach do an uncertain flip. You climb up carefully, the marble cold through the borrowed clothes. Jeonghan doesnât comment on your bare legs or the way you tug the hem down self-consciously - he simply starts pulling out materials for breakfast.
You watch as he gathers eggs, butter, a small wheel of cheese in wrapped paper, a bundle of chives. He unwraps a loaf of bread that looks as though it was delivered today, the crust still dark and crisp. He sets a cast-iron skillet on the burner and lights the gas with a quick twist of the knob, every move efficient and practiced.
âI donât usually keep food in the house,â he says conversationally. "When it's just me and the others, the pantry is mostly empty. When we have large parties, I simply cater. But after last night, I had several things delivered at dawn. Figured you needed more than survival instinct to live on."
You let out a surprised laugh. âYou ordered food? For me?â
âUnless youâd prefer I let you starve. Which would be terribly inconvenient, considering Iâve already decided I like having you around.â
Heat crawls up your throat. Instead of acknowledging his comment, you say, "I didn't imagine vampires cooked."
âWe donât need to eat.â He cracks eggs into a bowl with one hand, the motion practiced, elegant in its refinement. "But some of us remember how. I enjoy it. The rhythm of it. The way heat changes things. The small alchemy of salt and time. I used to like feeding people."
The admission is quiet, almost offhand, but it lands somewhere deep in your chest. You watch the way his forearms flex beneath rolled sleeves, the careful way he folds chopped chives into the eggs. Thereâs something intimate about witnessing it. He's entirely different from the man who led you through blood and gore just the night prior.
Jeonghan slides the omelet onto a plate and adds two thick slices of break slicked with butter into the pan, toasting them briefly before removing them and adding them to the plate. He turns to face you, setting the plate next to you with a small flourish, followed by freshly squeezed orange juice.
"Eat," he says softly, leaning one hip against the counter as he crosses his arms. "I know it's technically evening, but breakfast should be enjoyed at any time."
You pick up the fork. The first bite is impossibly good and you make a small, involuntary sound of pleasure and he grins. "Good?"
"Better than good. I haven't eaten anything since⊠I left."
His expression softens. He reaches over and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You freeze briefly, but if he's put out by your reaction, he doesn't show it. He simply watches you, those dark eyes uncanny and incredibly open. And kind.
It sends a shiver down your spine. You don't know the last time someone looked at you with kindness, and yet the creature in front of you has made you feel more cared for in the last twelve hours than most of your family have your entire life.
"If you want more, I'll make more."
You smile, soft and small. "You said you like feeding people."
"I do."
"Why?"
He considers the question, gaze drifting toward the window where snow has begun to fall again in slow, fat flakes. âBecause once I was human. And once I was hungry in ways that had nothing to do with blood. I remember what it felt like to be taken care of. To matter enough that someone would stand at a stove and make something warm for you. I suppose I'm selfish and I like the reminder."
It reminds you of what he said last night: I was feeling empathetic.
You think it might be more than that, that perhaps that under the sharp, playful exterior of the vampire is something that longs for kindness in an overly cruel world. You don't say so, but Jeonghan's actions speak louder than the casual cruelty you saw last night.
Jeonghan watches you finish the last bite of toast, the way your tongue darts out to catch a stray crumb from your lower lip. He doesnât speak right away. Instead he reaches past you to collect the empty plate, his sleeve brushing your bare forearm.
He sets the plate in the deep porcelain sink, runs water over it for a moment, then turns the tap off and dries his hands on a linen towel. When he faces you again, he seems inquisitive. He leans against the counter, arms crossed as his eyes drink you in. You feel a little exposed under that heavy gaze, fidgeting as he assesses something.
âIâve been thinking,â he says. âAbout last night. About the train. About how easily you could have died in half a dozen different ways before I ever found you behind those barrels.â
"I know. My fiance said I wouldn't make it three blocks without him."
"Is that so?"
You nod. "But I made it all the way here."
âSo you did.â One corner of his mouth lifts, not quite a smile. âAlive. Warm. Resilient as I've ever seen in a human.â His gaze drops briefly to your mouth, then returns to your eyes. âIt occurred to me that I might have use for someone like you.â
Your heart stutters. "Use?"
"My business requires a certain kind of performance. We move products through human channels. Speakeasies and backroom deals, deliveries that need to look legitimate to anyone wearing a badge or asking questions. The humans we employ are useful, but they're not one of us. They don't know what we are. They know that we're something, but it's a risk for us."
You straighten, realizing where this was going. You wipe the crumbs from your fingers, nervous but interested. You've never had a job before, and you don't dare to hope that Jeonghan is giving you one now, but you listen eagerly.
"You've already proven your worth to me," he continues. "You ran from a man who would have killed you for less than what you saw last night, and you didn't scream once. Didn't run away in the night. I need someone I can trust with the daylight side of things. Someone who can walk into a club at noon to check inventory and smile at the suppliers or charm the cops. I'd like that someone to be you, if you're up for it."
You blink, stunned. No one has ever asked you to do anything that mattered. Not like this. Your father wanted you silent and ornamental. Vin wanted you to be compliant and decorative. Even your motherâs rare moments of attention came with instructions on how to sit, how to speak, how to disappear into the background of powerful menâs lives.
What Jeonhan is offering you is the opposite. He's not offering marriage or to be a decoration. He's asking if you want a role. A purpose. Agency to do something on his behalf. He must see the realization cross your face because his expression softens, just a fraction.
âThereâs no obligation,â he adds quickly. âIf you say no, nothing changes. You stay here as long as you want. You read in the library. You eat whatever ridiculous quantity of food I have delivered."
"And if I say yes?"
"Iâll teach you. Everything. How the liquor routes work. Which speakeasies are ours and which ones we tolerate. How to spot a fed before he opens his mouth. How to move money without anyone noticing the blood on it.â
"Really?"
He smiles. "Yes. And Iâll keep you safe while you learn. No one will touch you. Not Vin. Not his people. Not mine.â
Your pulse is loud in your ears. Were this Vin asking, you'd feel like it was a trap. Some sort of trick question to get you to give him a reason to hurt you. But Jeonghan stares at you earnestly, no threat hanging above your head, no punishment for saying no.
A choice.
It's a choice, which you have little experience with. Jeonghan gives it to you freely, leaving it up to you whether you want to learn something new, to have a job - an important one, one that requires trust. Respect. The very thought of getting to be important to someone - of getting to help - makes your heart race.
A few hours ago, you were ready to risk freezing on a train to go somewhere far away. You'd had no plan other than to pick up whatever job you could, to scrap something together from nothing. You'd been desperate and ready to risk your life to get away from Vin and your family, willing to do anything.
"I've neverâŠ" You pause, taking a breath. "No one has ever asked me to help with anything important before."
"I don't want you to be quiet or invisible." He takes a step toward you, then hesitates. He seems to want to move closer, but he thinks better of it, leaning against the counter again. "A woman willing to do what you did last night deserves a chance at being something, Amontillado. I want to give you the chance to be sharp. To be seen."
You think of your fatherâs study, the way heâd talk business over cigars while you were sent to the parlor to embroider or pour tea. You think of Vinâs apartment, the way heâd lay out your days like a schedule. How he'd tell you when to smile, when to look away, when to pretend the bruises were accidents. You think of every time you were told your worth was in your face, your name, your ability to be handed from one man to another like a signed contract.
Jeonghan's gaze rests on you. You look at him - this creature who could kill you with a flick of his wrist - and feel heat in his gaze. Vin looked at you like something to be shown off. Jeonghan looks at you like you might be the missing piece in his carefully constructed world. Someone who could walk into rooms where people lie and cheat and kill, and walk out with information, with leverage, with power.
You've never had power before. The allure of it is hypnotic, a pull to something you've only dreamed about having. You know that helping him means stepping deeper into this world, that last night's trainyard of blood and violence will become commonplace. If you say yes, youâre choosing to stand closer to the monsters. Youâre choosing to become complicit. Useful. Necessary.
But you'd be protected in a way you'd never had before, and important enough to make your own decisions. Defend yourself, even. Maybe.
The option to say no is there too. To live a life hidden here, under Jeonghan's care. But you want more than safety. You want purpose and you want to know what it feels like to be the one making choices instead of having them made for you, even if the choices are dangerous.
You lift your chin, leveling your gaze with his. "I would like that."
His pupils flare, black swallowing the silver flash for a heartbeat. Then he exhales softly, almost laughing as the tension thrumming through him eases. You realize he thought you were going to say no, and you delight in having surprised him.
âTomorrow night, then,â he says. âAfter dark. Iâll take you to our flagship in Manhattan. Youâll meet the staff, see how the front room operates, learn the signals we use when somethingâs wrong. Youâll wear something that makes you look untouchable.â His gaze travels down the length of you, lingering on bare legs, then back to your face. âIâll have clothes sent up. Something black. Something sleek. Something that says you're protected.â
The possessive edge to the words should frighten you. It doesnât. Not when he says it like a vow instead of a chain. Not when youâve just chosen to walk into his world with your eyes open.
Jeonghan grins and steps forward, offering you a hand to help you down from the counter. You slide your palm into his and he helps you down, but doesn't let go of your hand right away. His thumb strokes over your knuckles once, slow and deliberate.
"Rest," he murmurs. "Read. Bathe. Eat again if you're hungry, ask for me to make you a meal. Whatever you want. Explore, so long as you stay away from the east wing, yes? You remember?"
"Yes. That's where Soonyoung is."
He releases your hand but stays close. âAnd Amontillado?â You look up at him. âWhen we step outside these walls tomorrow night, you walk like you belong there. Because you will."
With a small grin, he leaves you there, drifting from the kitchen and through the curtain, a silent wraith. You sit there a moment longer, replaying the decision in your head. Fear and exhilaration twist together until you canât separate them. Youâve just agreed to work for a vampire. To lie to people. To handle money thatâs been laundered through blood. To step into rooms where danger is as ordinary as the sky is blue.
But for the first time in your life, the choice was yours. Three blocks and some change away - further than Vin said you'd ever get - you feel lighter than you have in years.
-
Dracula sits in your lap as you curl into the deepest armchair you can find in the salon downstairs. Your legs are tucked beneath you, the fire in the grate burning down to embers. It's quiet, night turning late as you flip through the pages of your book, engrossed with the way the letters in the novel unfold, feeding you pieces of information that you're sure aren't fact, but rather embellished mysticism.
The door to the salon opens and you look up to see Jeonghan step inside. The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled to the elbows, his hair slightly mused. He pauses in the doorway, eyes finding you immediately.
"Good," he grins. "This is a good place to do it."
You close the book slowly. "Do what?"
He doesnât answer right away. Instead he turns back toward the hall and makes a small gesture with his hand. Two men in dark suits enter behind him, each carrying leather cases and several garment bags folded carefully over their arms. Another man follows them, noticeably taller than Jeonghan with a lean, elongated frame.
His face is arresting, with sharp cheekbones and dark hair that frames dark, cat-like eyes. He's handsome, drifting gracefully into the room to perch on the settee, elegant as ever, dark eyes looking at you with interest.
Jeonghan closes the door behind him, drifting to lean on the bookshelf closest to you. The two men begin popping open their suitcases, revealing measuring tape, samples of fabric, and more. Your interest piques as you glance at Jeonghan, who smirks.
"Measurements," he tells you. "Can't keep wearing borrowed things forever, Amontillado."
You set the book aside and stand, the ill-fitting trousers and shirts a little baggy in some places and tight in others. Jeonghan watches you, his eyes missing nothing, gaze lingering a little. There's nothing overt in the way he looks at you, but you feel something in his gaze anyway, your face warming as you turn toward the tailors, heart pounding.
The man on the settee lifts his hands in a small wave when your eyes settle on him, curious. "Junhui," he says. "Jeonghan said he'd appreciate my opinion. I like clothes." He tilts his head, studying you. "It's nice to meet you."
"You too," you murmur, turning as the lead tailor steps forward.
"We will begin with measurements, Miss." He gestures to the open space between settees where the younger of the two men - his apprentice, you think - sets a small step. "Please stand on this small platform."
You hesitate only a second before stepping onto the makeshift platform. Jeonghan doesnât sit. He leans one shoulder against the bookshelf nearest you, arms folded, watching with that same unhurried focus. Junhui shifts closer, perching on the edge of the settee so he can see both you and the tailors clearly.
The tailors begin to take your measurements, encircling tape around your bust, your waist, your arms. Junhui and Jeonghan watch in silence. Junhui's gaze is clinical and precise, while Jeonghan's makes the side of your face heat. You swallow past a knot in your throat, turning this way and that as the tailors work efficiently.
"She has a bit of a delicate build," Junhui notes. "Perhaps we can play that up without making her look fragile. Let's go with high necklaces but cut to show the line of her throat. Nothing that says look at me but rather says you should be looking."
Jeonghan makes a small sound, his fingers tightening briefly against his biceps. His eyes don't leave you for a second.
Junhui gestures to his own body for reference along the waist. "Create cinches here for her. Can I see the fabric? I'd like dark options - emerald, sapphire, burgundy. Nothing pastel. She isn't a debutante, though she is untouchable."
He glances at Jeonghan on the last word, smirking. Jeonghan doesnât react outwardly, but there's a subtle shift in his posture, his gaze darkening just enough that his eyes flash that unusual predator silver when he tilts his head. Heâs still leaning against the shelf, still casual, but thereâs a tension in him now, coiled and quiet. Like heâs imagining you in every garment theyâre describing. Like heâs already seeing the way the fabric will lie against your skin, the way it will shift when you turn, the way it will look under speakeasy lights when youâre standing beside him.
The thought sends heat crawling up your neck. You look away, focusing on the measuring tape as the apprentice moves to your inseam. The apprentice kneels, fingers delicate on the inside of your thigh, and Jeonghan makes a sound. Everyone goes rigid, your eyes flicking to his.
"Careful with your hands," he murmurs. "That's all."
When your eyes meet his again, he doesnât look away. Thereâs no smirk, no teasing lift of his brow. Just that steady, intimate stare. You hold his gaze for longer than you mean to. Something shifts in the air between you that you don't understand, but you feel goosebumps spread down your arms as the tailors finish their measurements.
"We have what we need," the lead tailor says, bowing his head toward Jeonghan. "The first pieces will be ready by tomorrow evening."
Junhui stands, stretching like a cat. âYouâre going to look devastating. Come find me in the north wing if you're ever looking to play cards."
You manage a small smile. âThank you for your help."
He winks, then glances at Jeonghan. âIâll leave you to it. See you tomorrow night.â
Junhui slips out, followed by the tailors, who murmur polite goodbyes and promise delivery. The door closes behind them with a soft click. Jeonghan pushes off the bookshelf and crosses to you in three silent steps. He stops just a step away, close enough that you smell the jasmine and faint cedar of his shirt.
"You can go back to reading. Dracula, was it?" You flush and he grins. "It's okay. Tell me what you think when you're finished."
You nod, throat tight. "Thank you, by the way. For the clothes but⊠also everything."
âYouâre welcome, Amontillado.â
He doesnât touch you. He doesnât need to. The air between you hums as he dips his head, eyes lingering for only a moment before he drifts out of the room, soundless as ever. When the door clicks shut behind him, you drop into the chair again, heart pounding, head reeling.
-
Winter dusk settles over the Hamptons. You stand in your room - because it is your room now - turning in the full length mirror as you examine one of the dresses the tailor dropped off for you just an hour ago. It's a black dress made of crepe de chine, clinging to you like a second skin. The neckline is high like Junhui recommended, but frames the hollow of your throat, a subtle invitation of vulnerability in a room full of vampires that you think is meant to lure them in.
Your fingers tremble slightly as you smooth the fabric over your hips. This isn't the threadbare cotton dresses of your old life, nor the gaudy silks Vin paraded you in at mob dinners. This feels like armor, sleek and sensual, designed to make you move through the world with purpose. Untouchable, but not invisible. There is a difference in the two, and knowing that leaves a new hum resonating in you as the grandfather clock downstairs chimes.
Taking a deep breath, you remove a coat from the wardrobe, also newly delivered. It's heavy, and furlined, the collar thick to keep the wind off of you. You throw it over your arm and head downstairs, hurrying to not leave Jeonghan and Wonwoo waiting. Jeonghan had instructed you to meet them in the foyer at seven sharp, and you don't want to disappoint him from the start.
At the base of the stairs, Jeonghan leans against the banister, one hand in his pocket, the other idly tracing the vines carved into the wood. His suit is midnight wool, cut sharp and flawless, a white shirt open at the collar to reveal the pale column of his throat. Wonwoo stands just behind him, his black suit more severe, his hands clasped behind his back like a sentinel.
Jeonghan glances up as you approach, lips parting slightly. For a heartbeat, he is utterly still, a predator frozen in the act of spotting prey. His gaze sharpens and then softens immediately, like he's controlling an instinctual hunger as his gaze travels the length of you.
Heat blooms under your skin everywhere Jeonghan's eyes linger. You've seen desire before - Vine's was crude and greedy, a claim staked with bruises. This is different, a sort of awe that makes your heart beat faster as you reach him. Jeonghan's pupils dilate, and you feel a ripple of something go through him, a palpable change.
"Amontialldo," he murmurs. "You look utterly devastating."
"Thank you."
Wonwoo clears his throat politely, drawing your attention. His expression is stiff, jaw tight beneath his glasses, but there's no hostility, just a guarded politeness. "Sorry for the other night."
"It's alright. I won't intrude again."
His mouth twitches. "The library is open to you. Perhaps just⊠knock."
Outside, the car is waiting. Jeonghan offers you his arm and you take it, the wool of his sleeve warm against your bare fingers. His touch is light, but the proximity is intoxicating - the faint jasmine scent of him, the solid warmth. Wonwoo falls behind you as Jeonghan pauses at the front to help you shrug on your coat before leading you outside into the cold night, snow crunching under your boots.
The car idles for you, and the same driver from the other night opens the door. You slide in across the leather seat, Jeonghan's hand helps you before he follows, settling beside you. Wonwoo takes the other side, bracketing you between them.
Sitting between two vampires is odd. Wonwoo is stiff, leaning into the door. You think it's to offer you a little comfort, which you're grateful for. Jeonghan's presence is the opposite. His knee knocks into yours occasionally as the car drives through the frozen Hamptons, sometimes lingering. You glance at him to find him watching you already, tension thrumming through him like a plucked string. He doesn't speak, but his gaze flicks to your mouth briefly before he turns to watch the world pass by out the window.
You wonder if he feels it too, a single magnetic thread between you. You shake off the thought. If there's any desire there, you think it might be the instinctual one to bite you, the one that he clearly makes an effort to retrain as he watches the world pass by. Wonwoo stares straight ahead, stiff as a statue, but you catch the subtle flare of his nostrils, as though scenting the shift in the air.
It must be difficult for them, you realize. You're pressed between them, your blood probably a temptation. You try to make yourself smaller, shrinking in on yourself to make it easier on them, to-
"Don't do that," Jeonghan murmurs. You glance at him, eyes wide. "We're perfectly comfortable. Aren't we, Wonwoo?"
"Quite."
You nod, relaxing a little as Jeonghan's mouth quirks before he looks out the window.
The drive to Manhattan stretches long and silent at first. Bare trees claw at the starless sky, their branches like shadows against the night. The car's heater hums, warming the cabin until it's nearly stifling. It isn't until the city is blooming on the horizon, a spill of lights against the oil slick of night that Jeonghan breaks the silence.
"The first place we're visiting tonight is simply called The Red." His voice is soft, barely above a murmur. "It's our flagship, essentially. It fronts as a high-end jazz club, but the real business is below. Liquor for the humans, blood for us. Tonight you'll meet the staff and learn the signals. It's just about learning. No tests."
"Stay close," Wonwoo adds curtly. "The Red is our highest concentration of vampire customers. You won't be able to tell them apart from humans for the most part."
You nod. "I will."
The car weaves through the traffic as it plunges into the city's heart. Manhattan is alive and roaring, streets gleaming wetly from melty snow, reflecting the lights from neon advertisements for Coca-Cola and the newest Broadway show. Pedestrians huddle in fur coats, breath fogging the air, small areas lit by alleyway warming fires and the flash of police lights.
Your car arrives at a nondescript brick building in Greenwich Village, its facade unassuming and a single sign that denotes the building as a laundry service. Jeonghan helps you out of the car, the winter air biting as he leads you up the steps behind Wonwoo. Wonwoo raps three times on the door and waits until it opens.
"Evening, boss," a burly man greets.
Wonwoo claps the man on the shoulder and steps in, you and Jeonghan after him. The store is a dry cleaners. There are racks and racks of clothes in wrapped plastic and garment bags, a small counter ready to take orders with a till. A hallway leads back toward additional storage closets and offices, but it's otherwise entirely normal.
You glance at Jeonghan who grins, and nudges you to follow Wonwoo down the hallway, his fingers lingering at the small of your back. Wonwoo opens a door that leads to an office with a wardrobe, to which he then opens to reveal a false door and a set of stairs. You startle as he walks down the steps, vanishing into the dark.
"Careful," Jeonghan murmurs, breath against your ear as he guides you. "Don't miss a step."
As you go down, music swalls. The air grows heavier, scented with rose perfume, whiskey, and something metallic. The speakeasy unfolds before you like a living dream, all low ceilings and gas lamps that cast golden pools of light amid velvet shadows, illuminating booths upholstered in red leather. Couples lean close, lips brushing ears amidst laughter, the air heavy with cigar smoke.
Tables scatter the floor, covered in white linen stained with rings of spilled drinks, crystal ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts. The bar dominates one wall with bottles of amber and crimson liquids glinting behind it like jewels in the dim light. Bartenders in crisp white shirts move with practiced grace, pouring from unmarked decanters, their eyes sharp, missing nothing.
Someone offers to take your coat and you let them. You're unsure where to look, the entire speakeasy a kaleidoscope of sound and color - flappers in beaded fringe dresses that shimmer under the lights, en in pinstripe suits and fedoras cluster in groups, cigars clamped between teeth.
Jeonghan steers you through the throng, his presence a shield as he leads you to a large, empty booth in the corner. "This is ours. Always."
You slide in first, the leather cool and yielding against your thighs through the dress, sticking slightly to your skin in the humid warmth. Jeonghan follows, his thigh pressing against yours as he settles with his arms stretched either way across the back of the seat, not touching you, but close. Wonwoo takes the outer edge, his stiff posture a contrast to Jeonghan's relaxed elegance, eyes darting around.
A waitress approaches immediately. She's pretty, a young woman with pretty emerald earrings and a tight dress. "Gentleman andâŠ" Her eyes flick to you, surprised. "New face?"
"She's with us," Jeonghan says over the noisy din. "You'll adjust to her. The usual for Wonwoo and I." Jeonghan looks at you. "What are you having?"
"Old fashion," you answer haltingly, looking from Jeonghan to the waitress. You've never had one, but you'd watched your father drink them, always wanting to try. "Rye, not bourbon. Extra bitters, if you have them."
Vin never let you order, always deciding for you like you were a child. Here, Jeonghan's lips curve in genuine pleasure, his fingers grazing your shoulder in approval. The waitress nods before slinking off, melting into the crowd.
"That's Ella," he tells you. "Very sweet, sharp. Probably the most loyal person we have, for a human. She knows we're something but not what. She handles the front bar, spots trouble before it brews."
Wonwoo shifts. "The signals are key here. See the bartender over there?" You lean, looking at the tall man behind the bar. He's broad shouldered and taller than anyone else in the bar, his hair slicked back and shining under the light as he flashes a smile at someone. "That's Mingyu. Note the pocket square in his jacket. What color is it?"
"Green."
"Good. Ella acts as a spotter. She'll tell Mingyu code words and the colors of his pocket square changes to alert the workers. Red means problem - feds or a rival, really anything that means one of us needs to address it to assess whether we need to clear out. Blue means someone is asking too many questions. Green is good. Yellow means shipment of liquor has arrived, orange means blood. You only need to handle yellow."
You nod, absorbing it, questions forming. "How do you hide the specialties?"
Jeonghan's eyes sparkle with that delight again, leaning closer so his shoulder presses yours. "Clever question. The liquor comes in marked as laundry detergent. Blood crates will be marked as ammonia."
Before you can respond, Ella returns with drinks. Two of the glasses are wine with a hint of something metallic - blood. The other is your old fashioned, the orange peel making the air tangy. You thank her and take the drink, sipping. It's strong enough to make your eyes water, scrunching up your face as it burns all the way down.
As Ella leaves, another man walks over, slender and elegant as a knife. "This is Minghao," Jeonghan says, gesturing to the man who bows his head a little. He's one of the most beautiful people you've ever seen, dark eyes shadowed in the dim bar. "He's our manager, but he can only work the night shift." You nod, understanding - vampire. "I'd like him to show you some things so you can handle the day shift."
"Really?"
He grins. "I meant what I said. Go, learn some things. I'll be watching." His eyes flicker to Minghao. "Take care of her, please."
His hand squeezes your knee under the table. It makes your heart lurch and you grin as Minghao steps to the side for you to slide out of the booth. You follow him to a small office behind the bar. It's cramped and lit by a single desk lamp, walls lined with shelves of leather-bound books.
Looking at Minghao, you know there's no way you would have been able to mistake him as a vampire after seeing Jeonghan and the others. His movements are too fluid, steps too silent. There's an eeriness about him in the dark that wars with his hypnotic beauty, voice soft as he introduces himself.
Minghao pulls a ledger out of a desk, pages filled with coded entries, dates and quantities with cryptic notes squeezed into margins. He taps to a line and glances at you as you allow yourself a single step closer, trying not to get into his personal space.
"See here," he says, tracing a line. "This is where we track inventory and payments including payoffs to cops and others. This book being accurate is paramount. What do you notice on this section of the page here at the bottom?"
You lean, licking your lips nervously. The faint citrus bite from your orange twist is still there as you look at the bottom of the page in question, trying to make sense of it. The numbers are easy, though you don't know what the items are - not yet. You can do math though.
You point to a line. "Here. This delivery is for ten items, but the payout equals that of twelve." You drag your finger up the pay. "Here is the same product at ten items for the right price. It should match but it doesn't."
"Meaning?"
"Whoever managed the delivery either overpaid on accident, or skimmed money off the top and disguised it as a price increase."
Minghao grins. "Smart. Yeah, caught someone saying there was a tax increase but Jeonghan talked to our supplier and confirmed there wasn't." He snaps the book shut and replaces it the drawer. "You're good at math?"
"I try. Never did anything with it, but I used to watch my fiance count money." Minghao raises his brows. "Ex," you tack on. "I'm not with him anymore."
You can tell he has questions, but he doesn't ask them. He simply nods and passes you a piece of paper. You unfold it to see it's a key for all of the product in the book, a code for each line item and what type of alcohol it is.
"You'll need to learn all our suppliers and who to trust," he says, leading you out of the office and into the hall. "If you start shadowing me, I can walk you through it. How good is your memory?"
"I'm not sure."
"Was Ella wearing jewelry?"
That makes you pull up short, thinking back to the waitress. "Yes. Emerald earrings."
His mouth quirks. "Good. You remember random details."
Minghao leads you back through the haze, turning to you. "We'll start you on daylight deliveries in about two weeks. Shadow me a few nights first. Learn the faces and the codes." He nods toward the booth as he heads to the bars. "Go on. Boss is waiting. Tomorrow, we start in full."
Giving a grateful smile, you slip back toward Jeonghan, sliding into the booth next to him. His thigh brushes yours as you settle and he gives you a little grin. Wonwoo acknowledges you for only a second before he goes back to scanning the crowd, watching closely.
"Well?" Jeonghan murmurs, breath fanning against your ear as he tilts toward you a little. "How'd it go?"
"Good, I think. He was pleased I remembered what kind of earrings Ella had on. He wants me to shadow him before I start daylight shifts."
"Emeralds. Matches her eyes when the light hits right." He tilts his head, dark hair falling forward as his cool fingers brush your shoulder briefly. "Good. Minghao wouldn't waste time with you if he thought you were unfit. I assure you."
The evening unspools like a glitterying thread around you. Jeonghan's murmur is a constant in your ear, pointing out the subtle tells of the patrons with a casual grace. You listen to each word and when you're brave enough, point out the things you see, the shifts in the room. The way a woman looks at her husband fearfully, the way another wears gloves too long to hide what you suspect are bruises.
Jeonghan's eyes darken when he realizes what type of observations you make. His jaw ticks and his gaze lingers on the male partners you point out, men who aren't regulars exactly, but frequent his bar enough that Jeonghan knows of them.
He knows of everyone. He seems to have some sort of knowledge about every person in the bar, even if it's their first time. You're unsure if it's a vampire thing, or if he can just overhear the dozens of conversations happening under the shield of jazz music and noise.
As your gaze sweeps across the bar, your eyes land on Mingyu. He's shaking a brass shaker, arms flexing. When he lowers his arms, you note the red square in his pocket and you stiffen.
"There's a red square in Mingyu's pocket," you breathe.
Jeonghan nods, humming as his finger idly traces the rim of his glass. He nods toward a man in a corner both to a wiry fellow in a rumpled suit, fingers tapping a staccato on his table. "Fed. Ella already let Mingyu know, which is why the red. Wonwoo will take care of it momentarily. No mess."
Wonwoo shifts minutely, his knee a solid barrier against yours on the other side, a silent counterweight to Jeonghan's fluid warmth. He doesn't speak much, but when a group of rowdy patrons edges too close to your booth, his eyes flash silver, and the air thickens just enough to send them stumbling back.
"You're probably wondering how to tell the vampires from the humans," Jeonghan notes.
You nod as Wonwoo slides out of the booth, drifting toward the man in the corner. You watch him change dramatically, shifting from stoic and cold to warm and friendly, shaking the man's hand.
"Minghao feels obvious," you note. "Once I knew that vampires existed, I mean. He's beautiful in a way that feels⊠wrong."
"Mhmm. It happens that way sometimes. Anything else?"
"Your eyes. They flash silver in some light."
"Good. Predators eyes. Without that, though? Can you pick the vampires out?"
Turning your eyes to the crowd, you try. But the crowd blurs together under the warm gaslight. Flappers laugh with their heads thrown back, men in pinstripes lean close over drinks, a couple sways on the small dance floor. Everyone moves, breathes, blinks. No one stands out as obviously other.
"I⊠can't," you admit, cheeks warming. "They all look the same."
"Good. That's the point."
"It is?"
He nods. "The differences are subtle. Deliberate. We spend centuries learning to mimic. But once you know what to look for, you can't unsee it." His finger traces an invisible line along the back of the booth, pointing without moving. "The woman in the silver dress at the bar - look how still her shoulders are, even when she laughs. Vampires lack natural movement and we sometimes struggle to replicate the fullness of life."
He nods toward a man in a charcoal suit near the piano. "Him. Breathing is shallower. Almost performative. We only do it when we remember we should."
Before you can ask more, movement catches your eye. The wiry man in the rumpled suit walks with Wonwoo, who is gesturing wildly with a smile on his face as they walk toward the back of the bar. Minghao is near the door, a blend of silver eyes and shadow as Wonwoo leads the man - the fed - down the hallway. Minghao shuts the door behind them and stands in front of it under the guise of smoking a cigar.
Minutes stretch. The music swells, then dips. Then Wonwoo reappears at the edge of the crowd - not back through the door at all. You raise your brows, watching as he walks to the booth smoothly and retakes his seat. He's still the same measured calm, but there's a flush to his necks and cheeks that wasn't there before.
Jeonghan leans in again, voice velvet-soft. "See that? The flush. Fresh from feeding. It's the only time we look truly warm. The blood brings the illusion of life back to the surface."
You nod, swallowing thickly. "Got it."
"That's how you'll know, eventually. When one of us has just fed. The color doesn't last long, but it'll be a warning for you. Freshly fed vampires are stronger, though a little less alert from the blood lust. Vampires who haven't fed are more unpredictable and sharper."
You nod, filing the detail away like a key. Wonwoo settles back into place without comment, though his posture seems fractionally looser, the tension in his jaw eased. He meets your eyes for half a second before returning his attention to the room. You think of him that night in the library, the way he had drifted forward, ready to end you there.
It unsettles you a little.
The night wears on. Jeonghan continues his quiet lessons, pointing out alliances and rivalries, naming the vampires among the humans with a tilt of his chin. Wonwoo interjects once or twice, voice clipped but polite. By the time the gas lamps dim and the crowd begins to thin, Jeonghan signals Minghao with a subtle raise of his glass to shut down.
Together, the three of you slide into the car. The drive back to the Hamptons is quiet, the city's roar fading to the hush of empty roads, snowflakes scattering like ash against the windows. You lean into Jeonghan's side without thinking, exhaustion pulling at your bones, his arm a loose curve around your shoulders. Wonwoo stares out at the dark, silent as ever, but you catch the faint softening of his jaw when you stifle a yawn.
It's cold when you get out, pre-dawn light tinting the sky. Jeonghan walks you up the wide front steps, his hand still wrapped loosely around yours. Wonwoo lingers a beat longer in the car before sliding out, coat collar turned up against the wind. He gives Jeonghan a single, unreadable look, then nods once at you with the barest twitch of a smile on his face. He drifts off, fading into the shadows of the home, leaving you with Jeonghan.
Jeonghan leads you up the stairs, the grandfather clock in the foyer ticking with each step. At the top of the stairwell, you pause. He hesitates, turning to face you. He doesn't rush or ask what's wrong. He simply waits, dark eyes patient.
"Thank you, Jeonghan."
He raises his brows. "What for?"
"For tonight. For giving me something more than just a place to hide. For giving me a choice. It's nice."
Jeonghan studies you for a long moment. You can barely make out his eyes in this light, but they're dark, pupils large, predator black. He lifts a shoulder, a barely-there shrug. "It isn't much."
"It's everything to me."
Something shifts behind his expression, soft and unguarded that he doesnât bother to hide. His mouth curves, not the usual teasing tilt, but a slow, genuine grin that reaches his eyes and makes them crinkle at the corners. He reaches for you, gently tugging you by the hand until he's kissing your knuckles gently.
"You deserve more, Amontillado. But I will give you what I can." Your heart stutters as he tugs you down the hall gently. "Dawn is coming. Sleep, you deserve it."
You nod, throat too full to speak again. He releases your hand reluctantly, stepping back just enough to give you space to slip into your room. He winks at you before you shut the door with a soft click. You lean against it for a moment, still wearing the black dress, still carrying the faint scent of whiskey smoke and jasmine on your skin, heart pounding.
Outside, the first pale spill of dawn floods the yard, and for the first time in years, sleep finds you easily.
-
The weeks slip by like snow melting under the first weak spring sun. You settle into a rhythm at the Red, shadowing Minghao turning into running the books yourself most afternoons. It's mostly checking crates against manifest, spotting the occasional discrepancy before it can grow into a problem, and letting Minghao know.
Youâve learned the suppliersâ names, their tells, the way certain delivery boys linger too long at the back door when they think no oneâs watching. Youâve learned which cops take envelopes without looking inside and which ones need a smile and a quiet word first. Youâve even started recognizing the regulars who come in during the day pretending to pick up dry cleaning, and youâve gotten good at keeping your face neutral when you catch the faint metallic glint in their eyes.
Jeonghan is constant. Not in a way that feels suffocating like it had with Vin, but in the way the cold tide of the Hamptons is constant, always there, pulling gently, retreating just enough to let you breathe. He appears most evenings when you're finishing up, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed, watching you with a smirk that you've come to think is something equal to fondness.
He always teases, light and playful banter, velvet words that make your stomach flip. But never pushes or crowds, never lingers too long. It's maddening the way he looms near you but not as close as you'd like him to, frustrating when he murmurs clever girl, Amontillado, before drifting away again.
It's always the same with him. The touches last long enough to spark heat under your skin, then vanish. Jeonghan keeps an entirely respectable distance. You tell yourself it's nothing - he's charming that way, like the moon. Distant. Beautiful. Constant.
You chalk it up to instant. To blood. Not to you. It only makes you like him more - more than you should, even. More than is safe. You keep that bit tucked away like a secret coin, something you only let yourself turn over in the dark when the house is quiet and you can't sleep, wanting to stay up and talk to him but knowing your schedule is flipped.
You belong in the sun, he'd told you. Only problem was that you wanted the moon.
Today the office smells of old paper, ink, and the faint citrus of the orange you peeled earlier. The bar is empty, lights off save for the desk lamp. Minghao shuffles in, readying for the nightshift. He ruffles your hair affectionately as he kicks snow off of his boots and hangs his coat on the back of a chair.
"How was today?" He asks.
"Fine. There's an entire load of red that Mingyu said smelled weird, though."
"Hm, I'll check it out. You're good up here?"
"Mhmm."
You keep working, the scratch of your pen the only sound until the buzzer on the desk rings. It's from the door upstairs. You frown, setting the ledger aside to let yourself out of the office and walk upstairs to the laundry front. A man is standing at the front desk and your frown increases. Minghao typically locks the front door when he comes in, especially if Tony isn't working the front to let people in.
"Hi," you greet, something your skirt down. "Can I be of any assistance?"
The man turns to you. His hands are in the pockets of his charcoal overcoat. He's tall and lean, his dark hair swept back, suit immaculate. Your gaze sweeps across his shoulders - they're too square, too pushed back. His head is cocked at an odd angle, and as you count his breath, you note that he breathes too slowly. Practiced.
There's a flush to the man's cheeks and as he peers at you, his pupils dilate. Vampire. You know the signs now. A vampire who has fed recently. You put yourself behind the desk, a deliberate choice to separate the two of you as he watches you. His nostrils flare and you watch as a shiver goes through him.
"I was told this was the place to get detergent."
Code. He wants blood - more of it. Your smile is pinched. "I'm afraid we're closed for book keeping. If you come back during our open hours-"
"I just need a little."
"You'll need to come back when we're open, sir."
He doesnât answer. Just takes one slow step forward. Then another. The floorboards donât creak. Your hand slides toward the small electronic alarm under the counter, but before your fingers can press it, he moves.
He's blinding fast, vaulting over the counter in a single fluid motion. You don't scream - you've learned better than that - but you do grab the heavy brass statue from the shelf behind you and swing it at him. It catches him across the temple with a sickening crack. He staggers, surprised, but he doesn't go down, hand snapping out as claws rake down your arm.
Pain blooms white hot, blood welling fast. You stumble away from him and slam into the wall. He lungs again, fangs clashing and you kick out hard, screaming this time. Your foot connects with his knee, making him stumble. He still comes at you though, hissing, eyes silver and furious.
A blur crashes through the doorway from downstairs. You barely register the vampire that drags your attacker backwards. You make out blonde hair and a white shirt as the newcomer hauls your attack to his feet and drives him into the wall hard enough to crack plaster and send an explosion of dust forward.
They hit the ground in a tangle of limbs and snarls, an arch of blood splitting the air as you hear a wet rip. The blonde tears and tears and tears, the sound wet and violent until your assailant stops moving. You look upward, realizing as the blonde rises that the vampire's head is no longer attacked.
Your savior is heaving, standing and backing away from you rapidly. Blood covers his face and the front of his shirt, bright red, his eyes flashing molten silver in the low light. His pupils are blown so wide there's almost no iris left. He's trembling violently, every muscle coiled tight.
You press yourself flat against the wall, blood dripping steadily from your arm onto the floorboards. The copper scent fills the small space, thick and cloying. His eyes drop down to your arm. A ripple goes through him and he presses himself against the far wall, sliding toward the shop door.
"Don't move," he murmurs, voice low. "Please don't move." His hands flex. "Minghao!" His shout is raw, terrified. "Minghao!"
He takes a single, jerky step back, then another, putting distance between you even as his body visibly fights to close it. His nostrils flare again, pupils dilating impossibly wider at the scent of your blood.
âIâm sorry,â he rasps, voice cracking. "I was carrying something in for Minghao and heard the commotion and came upstairs. I'm not supposed to come upstairs when you're here. I'm not good with people. Not yet. I'm sorry-" He cuts off, shivering as he squeezes his eyes shut. "Minghao, please!"
You realize, with a cold jolt, who he is. Soonyoung. The east wing. The gentle soul who struggles. The one whose blood calls louder than the rest. Heâs trying so hard not to look at you, trying not to breathe. His entire body is vibrating with restraint, the shivers violent.
Footsteps pound up the stairs, and in a moment, Minghao is there. "Soonyoung, don't."
A low, animal sound rips from Soonyoung's throat. His control snaps like a taut wire and he launches toward you. Minghao is on him, catching Soonyoung around the waist and hauling him backward as he screams for Mingyu.
Mingyu appears in the doorway a second later, broad shoulders filling the frame. He doesn't hesitate, grabbing Soonyoung's arms to help Minghao haul him backward down the stairs. Soonyoung thrashes, snarling rattling up the hall as they get him to the bottom where you hear his voice break into desperate apologies that fade as a door slams shut somewhere.
Silence.
Youâre still against the wall, breath ragged, arm burning. Blood has soaked your sleeve to the elbow, dripping in slow, steady drops on the floor. You slide down until youâre sitting, knees drawn up, pressing your good hand over the worst of the gashes. The pressure hurts, but it slows the bleeding. You focus on breathing. Ignoring the dead vampire, you tear a strip of cloth from the bottom of your skirt with shaking handles and wrap it tight around your forearm.
A few minutes later, the door to the front slams open. You freeze, looking up fearfully, but it's Jeonghan who rounds the counter. He freezes for half a heartbeat when he sees you, then he's across the room in a blink, crouching in front of you. His hands over, not quite touching, his eyes dark and storming.
"Amontialldo," he says softly. "Please look at me." You do. His pupils are normal, no silver. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"
You shake your head. âJust the arm. Deep scratches. I fought back. Hit him with the ledger. Kicked him. It slowed him down a little."
"You did good."
He reaches for your arm, carefully and slowly. He peels back your makeshift bandage just enough to see the damage. His expression doesn't change, but his fingers tighten fractionally.
âThese will need stitches,â he says quietly. âAnd cleaning. Come on.â
Jeonghan helps you stand, one arm around your waist. You lean into him, legs unsteady. He lets you, guiding you toward one of the back offices that only serve the purpose of making the front look legit. He opens one of them and sits you down at a desk, fumbling around until he finds a first aid kid. It's old, but there's gauze and antiseptic.
His hands are cool and steady as he works, crouching as he cleans the blood from your arm. You watch him. He doesn't shy away from the blood or lean in too close, his movements entirely methodical. Careful. You wonder what kind of control it takes for him to do this, to touch the blood and not take.
You think of Soonyoung.
"Soonyoung was here." Jeonghan looks up sharply, hands pausing. "He helped. I guess he heard the noise and he came upstairs. He⊠apologized too. said he wishes he was better with people."
"He's been trying for years. For some of us, the blood never quiets. Not really. He stays in the east wing because it's enough for him. Coming up here today to help you was a risk for him. Not a small one."
"If me living at the house is too much-"
"It's not. It helps him practice control. He's good at a distance. It's when exposed to blood that he⊠struggles."
Jeonghan finishes the bandage, taping it securely. Then he stays crouched in front of you, hands resting lightly on your knees. You meet his gaze. For once thereâs no desire there. No teasing, no playing. Just him, steady and present.
"You're allowed to be afraid," he says after a moment. "You're not going to get demoted for it."
"Thank you," you whisper.
He smiles and it warms you. "Always, Amontillado. How about we get you home, hmm?"
Jeonghan doesnât let go of you the entire walk to the car. His arm stays firm around your waist, supporting most of your weight. The driver is already waiting, engine idling. Jeonghan helps you into the back seat, careful of your arm, then slides in beside you. The door closes with a soft, final thud. The car pulls away from the curb, tires crunching over slush, and Manhattan begins to recede behind tinted windows.
You lean your head against the seat, eyes half-closed. The pain in your arm has dulled to a deep, throbbing ache under the makeshift bandage, but every bump in the road sends fresh sparks up your nerves. Jeonghan doesnât speak. He just keeps his hand on your knee, thumb tracing slow, absent circles over the fabric of your skirt.
The drive to the Hamptons stretches long and quiet. Snow has begun falling again, fat flakes catching in the headlights. You watch them drift past, letting the rhythm of the road lull the worst of the adrenaline crash. Jeonghanâs presence beside you is steady heat against the winter chill seeping through the glass. When you shiver once, he shrugs out of his coat without a word and drapes it over your shoulders. It smells like jasmine and cedar - smells like him.
By the time the estate gates swing open, the sky is totally black. . Jeonghan helps you out of the car, arm around you again, and guides you up the wide front steps. The foyer is warm, lit low by gas sconces, the grandfather clock ticking its slow, familiar heartbeat. He leads you up the staircase, past your usual room, to one at the end he's never shown you before.
His room. You know it immediately by the smell of jasmine and cedar.
Itâs darker than yours, walls paneled in deep walnut, heavy velvet curtains drawn against the windows. A fire is already burning low in the grate, casting long orange tongues across the floor. The bed is massive, draped in charcoal linens, but he doesnât take you there. Instead he guides you to a low leather armchair beside the hearth and eases you down.
âStay,â he murmurs, voice rougher than usual.
He disappears into the adjoining bath and returns with a medical kit that's larger and far more comprehensive than the one upstairs at the Red. He kneels in front of you again, but this time he's closer, the heat of him intoxicating.
He unwraps his work from earlier, careful not to tug. The fabric peels away with a wet sound that makes your stomach turn. The gashes are ugly and jagged now that you look. His jaw clenches so hard his teeth click together, and you look up at him. It isn't hunger that you see. It's rage, pure and black in his eyes, so violent you freeze.
Without speaking, he threads a curved needle with suture silk. You watch his hands, steady and elegant. He distracts you from the pain in your arm until he murmurs, "This will hurt."
"I know."
The first stitch pulls a sharp gasp from you. The needle bites, the thread pulling through an eerie feeling. You focus on breathing while he works, watching him with a fluttering heart. By the time he ties off the last knot and snips the thread, sweat beads on your forehead and your good hand is squeezing the arm rest.
Jeonghan sits back on his heels, studying his work. Fresh gauze, taped securely. He exhales through his nose, long and slow. When he looks up at you, his eyes are still that same unfathomable black, so full of rage that it pins you to the spot.
"If Soonyoung hadn't killed him, I would." Jeonghan's voice is so soft you almost don't hear him. "I know you getting hurt is sometimes an inevitability, but seeing it enrages me. More than I thought possible. I wasn't.. I didn't know I would be this angry."
You swallow. The fire pops behind him, throwing shadows across his face. He's beautiful. You're reminded of the first night you'd met him, his face half shadowed in the dark of the night. You'd thought he looked like an avenging angel then, beautiful but terrifying. He does now too, only this time, you're not afraid of him.
Not in the slightest.
âWhen I found you in that train car,â continues, voice like velvet, "curled between those barrels, half-frozen and heart hammering so loud I could nearly taste it⊠I saw myself. A small, stubborn thing that refused to die. That would claw and scrape and run until there was nowhere left to run. I liked that. Still do. More than I ought to, probably. More than what is wise."
He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, close enough that you can see the faint silver rim around his irises - not hunger, but something deeper. Something raw.
âThe idea of anyone putting hands on you makes me see red. Especially him. Especially Vin." He swallows. âIâve spent decades learning control. Decades pretending nothing touches me. And then you climb out of a window in the middle of winter and stumble into my world, and suddenly everything I thought Iâd buried feels so close to the surface, Amontialldo. Closer than ever before. And I love it. Love that I feel again."
Your heart is loud in your ears. You study him, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hair falls forward to shadow his eyes, the careful way he holds himself even now, like heâs afraid one wrong move will shatter something fragile between you.
All these weeks youâve told yourself his touches were casual, his smiles habitual, his gaze only instinct. Youâve watched the silver flash in his eyes and labeled it hunger for blood, not for you. Youâve kept your own feelings folded small and secret, afraid that naming them would be a mistake.
You think of the first night in the cold metal train car, the jasmine scent hanging on his coat, the way he'd called you Amontillado like it was a private joke. The realization isnât sudden. Itâs slow, like ink spreading through water. Youâve been falling for him in pieces, like listening to him play piano right before you inevitably go to bed, like the way he likes to cook meals because it makes him think of being human. Of being alive.
âI like that you feel that way,â you admit, voice small. âI like that I matter to you. No one has ever cared before."
Jeonghan stills. The firelight catches in his eyes, turning them molten. For a long moment neither of you moves. Then, he reaches up slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. You don't, and he cups your cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. When you don't pull away still, he leans in.
The kiss is careful at first, almost tentative. His lips are cool, soft, tasting faintly of copper and winter air. You exhale against his mouth, surprised by how gentle he is, how restrained. Then you tilt your head, just a fraction, and something in him gives.
He deepens the kiss, slow and hungry in a way that has nothing to do with blood. His hand slides to the nape of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, holding you like if he lets go, you'll slip from his fingers. You reach for him with your good hand, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, feeling the steady, unnecessary beat of a heart that serves as nothing more than to pump blood that isn't his through his body.
When he pulls back, itâs only far enough to rest his forehead against yours. His breath is cool against your lips. "I've wanted to do that for weeks. Since you started looking at me like I might be salvation instead of the damnation I have often felt like."
You laugh. "I still think you're both."
"Probably." His mouth twitches. "Are you alright? I don't want to push."
"I want you to."
A slow smile curves his mouth. It isn't the teasing that you're used to, but instead something softer. His eyes darken, the silver rim flaring briefly before he reins it in, that eternal hunger subdued for now. He leans in to brush his lips against your forehead, then your temple, trailing kisses down your jaw, tongue darting out to taste you. It feels so good, a shiver crawling up your spine.
"Good," he whispers, breath tickling your ear. "Because I've been patient for weeks, Amontillado. I've been watching you bloom in my world and it's been divine torture not having you."
You let out a quiet laugh, the sound breathy and a little shaky from the adrenaline still simmering in your veins. "Torture? For a vampire? I thought you were all about eternal suffering."
"I'm not Wonwoo."
He stands slowly, offering his hand to help you up. You take it, letting him guide you toward the bed. The room feels warmer now, the fire's glow casting long shadows that dance across the walls. He eases you down onto the edge of the mattress, then kneels again, this time between your knees. His hands rest on your thighs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles through your skirt. He looks up at you, eyes round, questioning.
"Go ahead," you breathe.
You lift your hips slightly as he slides the fabric up, exposing your legs inch by inch. The cool air hits your skin, contrasting with the heat building under your skin like a furnace. He drags his mouth across your knees, your thighs, pushing the fabric as he goes. When he reaches your panties, he hooks his fingers under the waistband, glancing up for confirmation. You nod, and he slides them down slowly, discarding them gently.
Your breath hitches as he parts your thighs wider, settling between them. He leans in to press a kiss to your inner thigh, then another higher up. His lips are cool, but the sensation ignites fire wherever they touch.
Carefully, he eases you to lay back on the bed. You're careful about your injured arm, letting it lay out to the side as the other twists in the sheets while his fingers come up to trace your folds, wet and warm. He finds your clit, circling it slowly as he watches your face, lips parted.
"Like that?" He asks when you make a little sound.
"God, yes."
The pressure is light at first, building gradually as he learns your rhythm. He dips lower, one finger sliding inside you with ease, the cool intrusion making you arch. He's so gentle, curling it just right to brush that spot that sends sparks behind your eyes.
It feels maddenly good, your lids fluttering as you writhe under the feeling. He pumps his finger slowly, fixing his mouth on your inner thigh, sucking your skin gently. You feel the scrape of his fangs, the heat of his mouth, the press of his fingers against your front wall and it makes you fall apart.
"Good girl," he praises as your hips cant toward his hand. "Take what you need."
Jeonghan adds a second finger, stretching you slowly. It feels good, your head pressing into the mattress as you arch into him. Your skirt bunches around your waist, shirt sticking to your sweaty skin as he works you, mouthing at the inside of your knee, whispering against your skin.
"Good girl," he whispers, letting out a little moan.
He pumps his fingers in and out at a languid pace, thumb still circling your clit, building the tension. You feel the tightening in your gut, toes curling, eyes squeezing shut as bursts of color pop behind your eyelids. You shiver again, muscles twitching.
"Jeonghan, I'm-"
"Let go. I've got you. Come for me, Amontillado."
His fingers curl deeper, and you shatter, clenching around him hard as you come. He doesn't stop, drawing it out until you're trembling, oversensitive and breathless.When you come down, he withdraws slowly, pressing a kiss to your thigh before he crawls up to hover over you, bracing on his elbows.
"Hi," he breathes.
"Hi.
He grins, dipping to kiss you deeply, hands active as he peels you out of your skirt, your top, your bra. He's so delicate with you, handling you like something precious, treasured. Not rough and impersonal like Vin - never like Vin.
Jeonghan leans up to peel his shirt off, his body sculpted and narrow. He deserves to be painted, captured in some half-shadowed light on canvas. An angel. A demon. You run your good hand over his chest and he shivers, capturing your hand in his to bring it up to his mouth, kissing the pads of your fingers.
"You're beautiful," you murmur.
"Not as much as you.
He lowers himself to kiss you again, trailing them from your lips down your neck, across your collarbone, to your breasts. His mouth closes over one nipple, sucking gently while his hand teases the other. It makes you arch, his name dripping from your mouth.
Jeonghan kisses lower, down your stomach, until he's settled between your thighs once more. His eyes meet yours as he leans in, tongue flicking out to trace your folds. The wet slide of his tongue parting you makes you moan, the sound broken and fractured. He grins and does it again, pupils blown out, never leaving yours.
He takes his time, lapping slowly, savoring every reaction. When he focuses on your clit, sucking gently, you thread your fingers into his hair, holding him close. He hums, pleased at the feeling of your fingers tightening, nails scraping against his sensitive scalp. His tongue circles your puffy clit until you're climbing again, hips coming off the bed.
It makes him growl a little. He doubles down, sucking harder, mouth greedy and reverent, the sound of his mouth unholy against you. You come undone a second time, crying out sharply as he pins your thighs open, licking you through it with broad, lazy strokes of his tongue until you're spent.
Climbing back up, he kisses you softly, sharing the taste of you. His hands roam your body, soothing, worshipping. He sheds the rest of his clothes, and you take in the sight of him, hard and swollen and leaking. You reach for him but he shakes his head, lowering himself until he's nose to nose with you, eye lashes fluttering against yours.
"You sure?" He asks.
A choice. Again. Always a choice - your choice.
"Please," you murmur, pulling him closer.
Jeonghan nods, rolling his hips to slide his cock through your messy folds, both of you breathing hard. He slides a hand between you, pressing on the head of his cock until it presses against your entrance. You let out a strangled sound and he grins, sliding into you slow and torturous. He groans, burying his face in your neck.
"Fuck," he rasps. "Feels so good. Smell so good." His tongue darts out to lick at your pulse and you roll your head to the side, giving him access. "Not tonight. Maybe one day."
Jeonghan starts to move then, slow and deep, each thrust punching the air from your lungs. You can barely breath, the feeling of him sliding home so good that you scratch at his lower back with your good hand, pressing him closer, breaths shaky.
"That's it," he pants. "You take me so well. So beautiful like this." His hand slips between you, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing in time with his thrusts. One more for me. Let me feel you come around me."
His thrusts deepen, slow and grinding, hitting that spot relentlessly. He's pressed close to you, chest sliding against chest, your legs wrapping around his hips. It drives you mad, having him this close to you. His mouth catches yours, a tangle of tongue and teeth as he works you to another high, the slide of your tongues broken only by desperate sounds.
Jeonghan nods when he hears your sounds, spurred on. He rolls his hips in a slow, deliberate glide that drags the length of his cock through your cunt, your walls fluttering around him. His mouth finds yours again, messy and desperate, tongues tangling in time with the slow roll of his hips. You taste salt and yourself and something faintly metallic.
He shifts his angle just enough that the head of his cock drags perfectly over that spot inside you with every pass. Your back arches off the mattress, a broken cry muffled against his lips. He drinks it down, swallowing every sound you make.
âFeel that?â he whispers when he pulls back just enough to speak. âRight there. Thatâs where you need me, isnât it?â He punctuates the question with another deep, grinding thrust that makes stars burst behind your eyelids.
When you come again, it's with Jeonghan's name on your tongue. He drinks it down, mouth pressed to yourself, breathing in time. He follows moments later, thrusting deep one last time and stilling, a low groan escaping as he spills inside you. He stays there for a moment, your chests pressed together, your heart pounding.
Jeonghan shifts carefully, easing out of you gently. He doesnât pull away far - only enough to reach for the discarded blanket at the foot of the bed and draw it up over both of you. The heavy wool settles, trapping the shared warmth of your skin together.
He gathers you against him without a word, turning so youâre tucked into the curve of his chest, your bandaged arm resting carefully across his waist. His chin settles atop your head, one hand splaying wide over the small of your back while the other threads lazily through your hair. The motion is slow, meditative, each pass of his fingers grounding you.
For a long moment neither of you speaks. Outside, the snow continues to fall in thick, silent sheets, hissing against the window as it melts. You trace idle patterns on his chest with your fingertips, following the faint ridge of a scar.
"How'd you get this?" You ask.
"Before I was turned," he murmurs. "Turning heals the body, but it also freezes you. I like it, though. Makes me feel more alive."
You press your lips to the scar in silent acknowledgment. âI like it."
He stills for a heartbeat, then tilts your chin up so he can look at you properly. In the dim light his eyes are dark velvet. âIâve lived a very long time,â he says quietly. âSeen empires rise and fall, watched people I cared for age and die while I stayed the same. I thought Iâd forgotten how to want anything beyond survival and control. Thank you for reminding me what it's like to want something."
You grin. "I made it a lot farther than three blocks, didn't I?"
"You did," he sighs. "My brave little Amontillado."
PAIRING:Â Hitman!Junhui x Spy!Reader
SUMMARY:Â You and Junhui have the perfect life together. Sure, you've failed to mention you're a spy for Clockwork and he never mentioned being a hitman for Protocol, but what couple doesn't lie? The lies work - until Junhui is tasked with killing you, his perfect wife who has secrets he never dreamed of.
TOTAL WC:Â 15,647
AU:Â 1920s Era, Action
GENRE: Established Relationship, Angst, Smut, Romance
RATING:Â 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
WARNINGS: General violence, fighting, action sequences, shootouts, illegal activities especially for the 1920s, attempted assassination between spouses, mild depictions of blood and gore and death, mild bullet wounds and stitching, a lot of internalized guilt and shame, both characters are lying to each other about the same thing, some angst throughout, explicit sexual content including oral (f. rec), unprotected vaginal sex, mild overstim, mild praise kink, vaginal fingering, lil bit possessive during sex, multiple orgasms, multiple positions... I think that mostly covers it.
AN: I am so excited to be releasing this today! I hope that Junhui's debut on my blog is as good as the people deserve and lives up to the hype! More Junhui to come soon, but for now, enjoy my Mr. and Mrs. Smith inspired world :) This is not beta-read sorry :/
A/N 2: This is for the Puttin' on the Ritz collab by @studiosvt and I could not be more honored to be apart of this project.
MAIN M. LISTÂ |Â ASKÂ | PUTTIN' ON THE RITZ COLLAB
JUNHUI ALWAYS SAYS YOU'RE A GOOD WIFE, BUT YOU KNOW YOU'RE NOT. Junhui excuses a lot of your behavior though, because he is a good husband. He is everything a good husband ought to be - hard working, intelligent, kind, strong, and doting. Better even, is that he's not exactly a traditional husband, which might make the neighbors think he isn't a very good one. He doesn't ask questions, he doesn't chastise you when you keep unexplainably strange hours and business travels, and he doesn't get mad at you.
Ever.
You know you're not a good wife. You're a decent cook and you cook meals as often as you can. You always send holiday cards to his coworkers. You make sure to pack him lunches. You kiss him when he goes to work. You sit through tutoring sessions with him, letting him think he's teaching you Mandarin. You show up for all of the neighbors party's on his arm, and you leave him to his hobbies without pestering him to clean up the house or do chores.
But you're a liar and good wives don't lie to their husbands.
Outside, the city that never sleeps is wide awake. The cab rattles up Fifth Avenue, the horn blaring as a Model T Ford roars past, the chrome reflecting under the glow of the streetlamps. Overhead, the skyline is filled with shadowy outlines of the buildings, the Woolworth Building tallest among them, watching over the city. Your eyes snag on a billboard for Lucky Strikes, bright and bold against the night sky.
Glancing at the slim watch on your wrist, you realize you're late again. Your business meeting had run long, and though Junhui thinks you were off in Brooklyn selling medical equipment, it's a far cry from your real job spent tangled in coded messages and back-alley assassinations for Clockwork.
Your agency demands perfection. Your husband does not, thank the Lord. He had agreed to meet you at the Harringtons' holiday party in their Upper East Side townhouse - probably because he expected you to be late - and he was probably fending off back-handed compliments and inquiries about where is your slippery wife?
Junhui wouldn't mind. He never did.
That was because he was the perfect husband. Your perfect husband that you lived with in your perfect home, a graceful brownstone on East 77th Street. It was a late-Victorian building made of warm brown sandstone, flanked by wrought-iron gates and a manicured front stoop. It was the perfect home inside and out, with parquet floors and walls paneled in dark walnut and decorated with the perfect art.
It was a perfect home for a perfect couple. You'd chosen it together three years ago, shortly after your wedding when Junhui's investments in radio stocks and automobile companies began paying well. He traveled nearly as often as you did - Chicago, China, Paris, London - but the house waited in its perfect little shadow.
Pretending to be perfect was a requirement. Junui didn't have to play the part, though. You did.
The taxi pulls up to the curb and you pay the driver with a crisp bill. The air has a chill bite to it when you step out, the faint scent of coal smoke drifting from nearby chimneys. Your heels click on the pavement as you hurry up the steps, the fur stole around your shoulders scratching against the silk of your dress as you go.
You briefly touch the necklace at your throat to ensure it's there - a gift from your husband when he had visited his parents in Shenzhen. You'd changed in a hurry at an agency safe house downtown, but you made sure to look every bit the part of a dutiful wife to a successful financier, including wearing the beautiful and often thoughtful gifts he showered you in.
As you reach the door, it opens. You startle when you see Junhui smiling at you, as though he had been waiting by the window for your arrival to time welcoming you just right. Which he had been. You'd seen his familiar silhouette on the second floor, but you hadn't expected him to beat you.
"There you are," he says softly, smiling.
He's dressed in a tailored black dinner jacket that pulls tight across his broad shoulders, a crisp white shirt with a wing collar underneath. The silk bow knotted at his throat is knotted with precision, but you reach up to tweak it anyway, just because you can.
Junhui's hair is slicked back, the lamps in the hallway turning his skin gold. Your heart skips a little as he escorts you inside, a strand of dark hair escaping his slick back to brush endearingly over his brows. You can't help but stare a little at his face - handsome and expressive, and a large part of the reason you'd noticed him at a gala five years ago.
A little flare of possessiveness goes through you. You wonder if he has any idea how all the wives of his friends wish they were married to him instead, the handsome and mysterious businessman from overseas.
As always, he doesn't ask where you've been. He never does. Instead, he reaches for your hand and leans forward, pressing a light kiss to your forehead. "You look stunning, tiÄnshÇ. The Harringtons will be envious. Mrs. Harrington was asking about you - said she missed your deviled eggs at the bridge club."
You force a smile, the guilt twisting like a knife. "I'm sorry I'm late. The client in Brooklyn was particular."
He waves it off, helping you out of your stole before hanging it in the hall closet. "No need to say sorry, my love. I finished up early at the office today. Seungcheol was in a mood about the margin calls, but nothing a good lunch at Delmonico's couldn't smooth over."
Your heart squeezes when he chuckles and shuts the closet door. If your husband had any idea how often your business dealings brushed against the very financial world he navigated, he'd be dizzy and confused for days.
Junhui is intelligent, which makes your role as his wife more challenging than most people of your profession were willing to take on. He dissected market trends, turning modest inheritances through calculated risks in utilities and aviation stocks. He's the kind of husband who notices things but doesn't say anything, and you love him for it.
You shouldn't love him. You do anyway.
It's hard not to. He's unwaveringly kind, always tipping waiters generously, remembering birthdays for neighbors and secretaries, volunteering on the weekends to tutor kids in English and Mandarin alike. And doting - flowers delivered just because, notes tucked into your pockets, evenings spent rousing you from the couch to move you to bed.
And he is stuck with you for a wife. He calls you a good wife, but good wives don't lie. Spies do, though.
The Harringtons' part waits, full of jazz and bootleg champagne. Another evening of playing the perfect couple. Another evening of secrets.
Inside the Harringtons' home glows bright against the December night. The air is thick with the scent of pine from the massive Christmas tree in the corner, cigar smoke, and sweet perfume. A jazz trio plays in the corner of the parlor where Junhui escorts you, his hand steady and warm at the small of your back.
The moment you step into the room, heads turn. Not dramatically, but you feel every eye flicker to you - you're trained to know that kind of thing - every gaze appraising.
"There she is!" Charles Harringtonâs voice booms from across the room. "The elusive Mrs. Wen at last. We were beginning to think you'd been kidnapped!"
The small circle around him chuckles quietly. You smile but he has no idea that you have been kidnapped. Thrice, in fact, when you were younger and less experienced with the agency. Once recently on purpose as part of an interrogation.
"What a ridiculous notion, Charles," you laugh back, approaching with Junhui. "Only delayed by a very stubborn client. I'm afraid Brooklyn doesn't keep the same hours as Manhattan."
Junhui laughs that low, easy sound of his, dispelling tension before it can gather. "She's braver than most."
You think your husband would make a good spy. He works the room without even trying, nodding here and shaking hands there, dipping to compliment women appropriately and warmly. People like him because he makes them feel seen without ever making them feel studied, which is important in crowds like this.
You accept a teacup from a passing tray and sniff lightly. It's bootleg gin with a twist of lemon and when you take a sip, you wince. It's not very good gin, but with the laws around alcohol, who really can get good gin? You sip while Junhui drifts toward a knot of brokers near the fireplace,
Caroline tucks her arm through yours, steering you toward the buffet. "Come, let me show you what everyone's been raving about. The oysters came in this morning straight from the Sound. By the way, your deviled eggs were the talk at bridge club last week - which you missed. You'll have to give me the recipe."
"It's nothing special. Just a little paprika and too much mustard."
"Nonsense." Caroline flutters her fingers at you. They're covered in rings, a mix of antique and new. "Everything you touch turns gold, it seems. Junhui is a lucky man. And so patient, too! Most husbands would be positively feral if their wives were running around Brooklyn."
You feel the comment for what it is - a gentle probe. You're used to the women trying to ferret out your secrets, all of them more eager than the last to unwrap the mystery that is Junhui's wife. You meet her smile like you always do, unwavering as you sip your gin.
"He's very understanding," you reply. "I'm the lucky one."
She hums, agreeing but not liking your dodging of her question. She won't press until she's had more cocktails, at least. Caroline is not the boldest woman in the circle of people you tentatively call friends, but after a few drinks, she'll be demanding answers you won't give.
Across the room, Junhui catches your gaze. He tilts his head slightly, a silent question - are you alright? You nod once and he gives you a small, private smile. You smile back, heart still racing a little.
Stupid, traitorous heart.
The music shifts and turns the energy in the room, couples dancing. One of Junhui's friends - Chan, as you recall his name - offers you a dance. Junhui winks at you and you sigh, letting the younger man pull you into a dance.
You don't like dancing, but the muscle memory kicks in. Clockwork had you trained in all manner of skills, including dancing. It was a useful skill when you were at galas and parties, using it to move about the room as another form of surveillance.
When the song ends, your partner bows to you and you thank him for the dance, drifting toward your husband as he turns to you with another cup of gin. You step close to him and he leans down, breath fanning your ear as he murmurs, "Why is it you always look ready to start a coup?"
"It was only a small one."
He smiles and kisses your temple. "And this is why I don't play bridge with you."
"You don't know how to play bridge, Jun."
"I'd learn for you."
There he goes again. You don't know what to do with him. This song and dance is both familiar and strange. You'd married Junhui because you could and because it was allowed within your line of work. Marriages made people of your skill set seem normal. Harmless. And Junhui had been vetted and cleared, as normal as they could get.
You hadn't intended to marry him because you liked him, but you certainly did. Which is why you felt rotten guilt every time you thought too much about it, how he had no idea that his wife had an entire double life eliminating people that a secret agency deemed too dangerous to continue living.
Because that's mostly what Clockwork was about. World advancement and keeping humanity in a forward propulsion was Clockwork's main goal, which meant that the agency had its fingers in all manner of realms: political, financial, corporation, social, casual, cultural, environmental. There is no shortage of influences across the globe that your agency doesn't have, and you are only one of its thousands of agents.
You sip your gin, letting the burn ground you. The party swirls on, louder and looser now. Someone has opened the French doors to the terrace and cold air rushes in, carrying the scent of snow and distant coal smoke. A few brave souls venture into the cold to smoke, the acrid smell of cigarettes drifting in with their laughter.
Junhui eventually sets his cup on a side table, turning to face you with a soft grin.
"What?" You ask, laughing as he pries the cup from your hand to set it down.
"Dance with me?"
It's not really a question but you nod anyway as he takes your hand to draw you into the slow sway of the next song. His palm is warm at your waist, his other hand cradling yours, fingers rough. You always thought it was strange that he had such rough hands for a financier. You ignore it, resting your cheek against his shoulder, breathing in the bay rum and the faint trace of cigar smoke.
"You're quiet tonight," he notes softly, switching to his native tongue. You smile. It feels like you get a part of him no one else does. "Are you alright?"
"Long day."
It was. You'd killed a man today, but you can't tell him that. So you settle for this, swaying against him with the steady beat of his heart pumping underneath your cheek. He doesn't push you - he never does.
You look up at him - really look. The soft glow of the chandelier turns his eyes warm and dark, the single escaped strand of hair still brushing his brow. For a single, reckless second, you want to tell him everything. You want to tell him how you'd been recruited right after you turned eighteen to an agency more secret and elusive than the CIA. You want to tell him sometimes your weeks on trips are spent overseas hunting people down. Extracting information. That even when you're halfway around the world, you hope your gentle husband is reading a book in his study.
You don't tell him. You can't.
Resting your head against his chest again, you think how nice it is to have the perfect husband and how sad it is that he has a rotten wife.
-
The clock strikes midnight as Junhui stands in the alley behind the speakeasy on Mulberry Street, a siren wailing in the distance. The air smells like the rotted garbage coming from the flowing bins and the metallic tang of the rusted fire escapes above him.
His gloved hands are steady, keeping his hands dry from the warm blood that flows from the neck of the man in his clutches. The Clockwork agent gurgles, wet and desperate before he sags forward. Junhui lets him crumple against the cold brick wall, blood spattering as he goes. The body hits the ground soundlessly - no noise, just how Junhui prefers it.
Silence is Protocol's highest priority, and tonight, he is very much that.
He wipes the blade methodically on the man's coat, noting that it's a nice make from Paris. He only knows fashion because you like fashion, and he thinks that maybe the next time he's in Paris he should grab one himself. You'd like that, he's sure.
Junhui tucks the weapon back into the hidden sheath at his ankle and stands. His pulse is even and his breathing is controlled despite the adrenaline rushing in his veins. He scans the hallway, but the only witness to the murder is a stray cat prowling near the dumpster with luminous eyes.
As usual, it was too easy. Clockwork operatives are often arrogant, too reliant on their skills and their agency's aura of inevitability. They always were. Junhui stares down at the man with a flicker of irritation. The self-righteous architects at Clockwork think they're better than everyone, molding the future and the world to their vision of engineered perfection.
Sighing, Junhui straightens his tight, the silk smooth under his fingers. You'd bought him this tie for Christmas a few weeks ago. He makes sure to wear it often and to make sure you see that he's wearing it. He likes when you buy him things, even though he certainly deserves nothing for you. You're the perfect wife buying her seemingly perfect husband gifts, but if you had half the idea of the rot inside of him, you might not spoil him so much.
He steps out into the alley, merging into the foot traffic on Mulberry, the chill January wind whipping at his overcoat. Horns blare from taxis on Canal Street and the faint sizzle of chestnuts from a vendor's cart reaches him as he walks, hands shoved in his pockets to keep the cold out.
The walk to the subway is brisk. Businessmen stagger from speakeasies, ties askew, breath fogging in the cold. Junhui pauses to buy a newspaper from a newsboy, tucking it under his arm as he goes. Blending in is as important as possible. No one knows there's blood on his gloves and a murder weapon hidden at his ankle.
Protocol had trained him well. They'd recruited him early at university as an economics theory major, his mind and intelligence surgical - exactly the type of agents they like. His background in martial arts through his childhood proved lethal as well, making him the perfect blend of already dangerous and easy to teach.
He'd risen quickly, specializing in clean hits that required little glamour or grandeur. Being unnoticed was his preference, and he was good at it.
Except when it came to you. You had noticed him at that art gala five years ago, wandering over to him and asking him what he thought of the art. He'd recited something rote from his flashcards he had looked at in case someone had asked him his thoughts, but he hadn't expected to need them. You surprised him like that all the time, and he surprised himself by wanting to see more of you after that night.
Surprised himself even more when he asked you to marry him.
Junhui's life isn't exactly fit for marriage, but it works. You're busy as a medical supplies seller, traveling around the boroughs and often other cities. It's a strange job for a woman to have, but he doesn't care. It keeps you happy and out of the house when he's gone, which is really all that matters.
He boards the uptown train, finding a seat in a half-empty car that rocks northward as it takes off. The lights buzz overhead, casting harsh shadows on the faces around him. He takes it all in with a single sweep, a habit that he will never let go. No one here pays attention to him - there's a pair of young lovers murmuring in the corner and a single hotel worker asleep, his head against the window.
Junhui leans back against the vibrating window, the cold glass pressing through his coat to his shoulder. There's no one here who can give him any trouble, so he shuts his eyes for a bit and lets his mind wander back to you.
You're probably asleep by now, curled under the heavy quilt in the brownstone you share together. The image brings a faint smile to his face. You're a good wife, despite the whispers from the neighbors about your erratic schedule and why you have a job at all. Women don't need jobs.
But your job makes you happy, and Junhui is in the business of keeping you happy.
On more than one occasion Charles Harrington has told Junhui he should be asking more questions about a woman who travels around Brooklyn at night. Junhui doesn't ask questions, though. He never does. You don't ask questions about why a financier needs to come home after midnight from meeting with a private client, so shouldn't he return the favor?
Sometimes he wonders if you have affairs. He can't help it. He wouldn't blame you if you did. You say and do all the right things - and yet Junhui isn't around nearly as much as he should be. Plus, you're not very intimate. Junhui's guilt doesn't let himself touch you often, too afraid to kiss you the way he wants and breathe you in like he desires, knowing that it's the ultimate betrayal to do so while lying to you.
Husbands shouldn't be liars.
But no, Junhui dismisses the idea of you stepping out on him. It's not in your character. You're loyal and steadfast, and you like to pack notes in his lunches. You send holiday cards to his invented coworkers, let him delve into hobbies without a word of complaint, even if it's piano sessions that stretch into the night. You never complain about the lack of intimacy, never push for more.
You're just you. Perfect.
The train jolts to a stop at 77th Street, the doors opening with a hiss. He exits into the quieter residential part of the city, the wind carrying the promise of snow and the gas lamps lighting the way. Your home waits at the end of the block, the windows dark save for a single gold glow of the hall lamp you always leave on for him.
He smiles. It's a small thing, but it tugs at his heartstrings as he ascends the stairs. Coming home to you is far too easy when his marriage to you is mostly supposed to be a cover up. It makes him look normal in a world full of couples - that's what he told Protocol, anyway. It wasn't out of some silly attempt to make a normal life or anything beyond that except⊠he does like you.
Inside the house is dark. His shoes click on the parquet floors and he can smell lavender that you'd probably been burning again. He hands his overcoat in the closet and shuts it as silently as he can before he moves upstairs like a shadow.
The bedroom door is ajar, a sliver of moonlight spilling through. He pushes it open gently and sees you asleep on your side, one arm draped over his empty pillow, the quilt pulled to your chin against the winter chill. You look ethereal, your lips parted faintly, the tiniest snore leaving you.
Fondness surges through him. He has no idea how he ended up with someone like you, how he, with hands forever marked with violence, ended up with someone as kind and patient as you are. He creeps over to you and gives you a brief kiss on the brow, unable to help himself. It rouses you from sleep immediately but he hushes you.
"Y'okay?" You mumble.
"I'm fine, I'm sorry I'm home late. I'm going to shower."
"Okay."
He smiles at you. "Go to sleep, my love."
"Mhmm."
You thud back against the pillow and he smiles before heading over to the adjoining bathroom. He waits to turn on the light until he has the door shut behind him, unwilling to wake you again. He avoids looking in the mirror - he knows what he'll see: young, handsome, incredibly manicured. The perfect man who seems unassuming. It's all an act, the sins hidden beneath the curated surface.
Junhui strips methodically: jacket over the hamper, shirt unbuttoned to reveal the faint scar from a botched hit a few years ago. Thankfully it had happened before you, and he was able to use the excuse of surgery when you asked about the scar.
Steam billows when he turns the shower on as hot as he can get it. He feels like it's important to burn away the sin of the kill when he comes home to you, too afraid to get into bed like you'll smell the blood on his skin or sense the darkness in his shadow.
As he lathers soap, he thinks about the Clockwork agent briefly - the surprise in his face, the bubbling sound he'd made when the knife went in. Another life ended, another contract closed.
Protocol owns him. They have since they recruited him. Junhui never expected it to matter, but as the lies pile up, he feels worse and worse about it. You're as safe as can be with him, but sometimes he wonders if it would be a better life to give you over to someone who can be there for you more often.
When the shower is over, the silence is deafening. He rushes to pull his pajamas on, itching to be in the bed that smells like you and near your warmth. He exits the bathroom, letting his eyes adjust to the dark bedroom, smiling when he sees you're still sleeping.
He gets into the bed and you murmur incoherently in your sleep, shifting closer to him. He wraps an arm around you without thinking and your warmth seeps into him, chasing the alley's chill away.
For a fleeting moment, he lets himself forget the blade and the alley, pretends the kill didn't happen. Here in this bed with you, he's just Mr. Wen and you're Mrs. Wen. He's your husband, the financier, nothing shady, nothing nefarious.
It won't last long. Tomorrow morning he has to find an excuse to tell you he has to leave for Paris in two days. The assignment had come before he'd even completed his hit tonight, a terse telegram in one of the many safe houses assigned to him.
Two days to prepare for a hit isn't much, but he's used to it. It isn't a lot to go off of either, which meant it is a high profile hit. They hadn't even given him a name or affiliation, and he isn't sure what look for the flower meant. Junhui is smart though, and he has a feeling he'll know what it means when he sees it.
Tomorrow, he'll tell you over breakfast. Apologies, love. It's off to Paris. You'll nod and kiss him easily and pack his lunch without question. The cycle will repeat.
Junhui closes his eyes and pulls you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. You sigh and melt into him, and for now, it's enough. But tomorrow, the lies resume like clockwork.
He smirks at the joke before finally giving into sleep.
The wind coming off the river is sharper than he expected, the damp chill of water and the faint rot of algae wafting to him. Below, Rue du CloĂźtre is a churning river of people. Parisians in heavy coats hurry past the cathedral's facade while tourists cluster together and snap photos with box cameras.
It's hard to hear anything up here with the wind, but the clatter of hooves on cobblestones and the shrill honk of a black car trying to navigate the narrow bridge echoes to him as he finishes his set up, adrenaline pumping already.
He's set up on the flat roof of an old ecclesiastical residence, the kind of old and rotted place no one looks at. He wishes he had an overcoat, the thin shirt doing very little to keep him warm. Warm is a luxury he can't afford today, dressed in grey to blend in with his surroundings with a compression scarf pulled up to cover his lower face.
A rifle rests steady on its bipod, a sleek prototype from Protocol with a silencer and a modified Berthier with a German-made telescopic sight that lets him count the threads in a jacket on his victim if he needs to. It's obscene in its precision, and it required him several forged and real documents to get it through security and onto the private plane he took to get here.
Junhui watches below, shivering in the early morning. He's been here since first light, watching the cathedral steps, the parvis, the bridge. The crowd thickens as the morning wears on, and he watches a priest in a black cassock moving with purpose toward the side door.
No flower though. He's not sure what exactly it means, other than he'll know when he sees it. Not even the women here are dressed in floral, but the fleur de lis is everywhere. Somehow, he thinks that's not what the message meant, though. So he waits, mind straying errantly to you on occasion.
He'd felt his usual stab of guilt when he told you he was going to Paris. You'd simply smiled and told him to bring you back something pretty. The perfect wife, letting him disappear like always. He doesn't deserve you. He thinks he never has.
Sighing, he moves the scope, strafing right and then left. A flash of gold flints in the sun, small but unmistakable. He thinks nothing of it first, adjusting the scope to fix the focus. He's got the scope on a woman's throat, the delicate chain of her necklace glinting in the light. The lotus pendant on the thin chain shifts as she walks and Junhui's blood turns cold.
The pendant looks exactly like the one he'd purchased you in Shenzhen. For my wife, he'd told the jeweler, smiling because you remind him of a lotus - pure and resilient. He adjusts the scope again, heart pounding as he zooms out.
And sees you.
His stomach drops. The rifle trembles for the first time in years and he readjusts, hoping his proximity to the church lends him a miracle as he prays that it's a trick of the light, that a stranger is wearing the same necklace. But the profile sharpens and he sees the line of your jaw, the way you tilt your head, the small scar on your chin you'd told him was from a childhood fall.
You're here. In Paris. At the exact coordinates that Protocol had given him, at the exact time. With a flower he gave you.
You stop in the middle of the parvis, suddenly still. The crowd flows around you like water around a rock, a vendor bumping into your shoulder. You don't react, though. Your head turns, sweeping the crowd like you sense danger. Junhui's heart is hammering, his hands shaking as he watches you through the scope until you suddenly lift your eyes, sweeping the rooftops.
Your gaze lands impossibly on his position. He knows you can't see him - there's no way. He's three stories up with the sun at his back, and his in shadow. But he recognizes the look on your face, a predator suddenly aware there is something bigger and scarier than them hunting. Your shoulders go stiff and he tracks the way your hand twitches toward your coat pocket.
Panic slams into him. Not you. Not the woman who kisses him goodnight, who leaves notes in his lunch, who makes the brownstone feel like home instead of a safe house. The rifle is suddenly too heavy in his hands. How can you be the target? And why are you here? Only a single answer makes sense, and he cannot even think the words, lest they come true.
Suddenly, you bolt. It makes Junhui lurch, jerking the scope to track your movements but you immediately blend into the crowd. He curses and tears the rifle away, shaking as he breaks the weapon down and shoves the pieces into its satchel with frantic speed.
Gravel scrapes under his boots as he bolts for the stairwell, heart hammering. The stairs are dark and narrow but he takes two at a time, bursting onto the street level and startling a flock of doves. The crowd is thick, bodies pressing close. He weaves through them, shouldering the satchel as he scans for you.
Terror grips him. What if you disappear? What if Protocol has a backup for you? What if you're here to kill him?
He cuts through a narrow passage off Rue du CloĂźtre. He spots you up ahead, your coat flashing as you turn into a shadowed courtyard entry. He accelerates, boots splashing in shallow puddles, his hand slipping into his pocket for the concealed gun on instinct.
He steps into the courtyard mouth just as you whirl, a gun in hand pointed directly at him. His heart squeezes painfully, both of you freezing. A thousand emotions flit across your face in that second, the gun trembling in your hand as you stare at him, open mouthed. You look as terrified as he feels.
"Junhui?" Your voice is barely above a whisper, voice cracking.
A patch of sun hits you between roofs. You don't squint in the light, trained to stare at him. The light catches on your necklace, the lotus looking right back at him. Find the flower. He sure has, he just hadn't expected it to be his wife.
"Hi, love."
-
You circle the parvis of Notre-Dame slowly, the cobblestones uneven beneath your low heels. The cathedral looms above, its twin towers dark against the pale sky. Gargoyles leer down at you, watching you as though they know what you're here to do. Perhaps they do. You're not particularly religious, but the marvel of Notre-Dame inspires a healthy respect for religion as you eye the stone facades.
The air is sharp with the smell of the Seine, the damp stone and river mud serving as a faint undercurrent to the coal smoke from barges sliding past on the water. Tourists cluster together near the main facade, collars turned up against the wind. You duck your head as you walk, your necklace swinging with every step.
Clockwork's instructions had been simple, delivered through the encrypted telegram in your hotel room: enter the cathedral, eliminate the woman in the blue coat near the altar, no witnesses, vanish.
Bone-deep anxiety has clung to you since you docked in La Havre. Junhui had mentioned his business trip was in Paris as well, though you know he's off doing finance deals or something in the Bourse. He's somewhere buried in tickers and ledges and here you are walking toward a holy place to will a stranger.
Still, the feeling won't leave you.
The anxiety gets worse, turning to a sharp prickle at the back of your neck, the same instinct that has saved you in back alleys and safe houses over the years. It's the instinct that tells you someone is watching you.
You pause near a vendor cart selling postcards of the rose window, pretending to browse. Your eyes sweep the crowd, but there's no one obvious or lingering too long. You move again, circling as the wind picks up, carrying the scent of chestnuts.
The prickle sharpens.
You stop in the middle of the parvis, the crowd flowing around you. A vendor bumps into your shoulder and murmurs a quick apology in French, but you don't listen to him. You tilt your head, eyes lifting slowly as you scan the rooftops across the way. There's a bunch of old ecclesiastical buildings, their grey roofs slick with frost and chimneys.
Sunlight catches something - metal bright and brief. Your heart lurches when you realize it's the unmistakable flash of a rifle scope glinting from a high vantage point.
A gunman. Your stomach drops. Clockwork hadn't mentioned backup, which means this is opposition. Protocol, most likely. Their agents have been trying to kill you for years, but the paid thugs aren't nearly as refined as they think they are.
Without thinking twice, you bolt.
You weave through the tourists, shoulder clipping a man, apologies lost in your flight. The parvis gives way to a narrow street and you fash down it, your breath coming out in short gasps as you run, coat flapping. You hear nothing but your own pulse as you turn right and then left, ducking under an archway and past shuttered shops with faded signs.
What you need is a dead end, somewhere to wait and eliminate whoever follows. The gun in your pocket is loaded with two shots - enough to get the job done.
The alley narrows further, the walls high and mossy, sunlight barely reaching you. You spot a courtyard up ahead, a small and forgotten space behind an old residence, the iron gate half opened with ivy crawling over it. Perfect. You slip inside, drawing your gun and turning, ready.
Footsteps echo, fast and deliberate. You ready yourself, widening your stance as a shadow appears at the gate and -
Your husband stands there in a gray shirt, compression scarf pulled down around his neck, pistol in hand but low. His hair is mused from the wind, strands falling in his eyes that widen when they see you - shock, followed immediately by something raw and pain.
You freeze.
"Junhui?" The word comes out cracked, a million thoughts racing through your mind.
He doesn't move closer, gun still raised. "Hi, love."
The courtyard feels too small, the walls pressing in. The damp air is thick in your throat, and the lotus necklace burns against your skin like a brand. You stare at him - your husband - the man who kisses your forehead, who plays piano in the parlor, who never asks where you've been. Here. In Paris. With a rifle bag on his shoulder.
The pieces crash together.
"You were on the roof." Your voice was shaking. "That was you."
He nods. "Assignment."
The word turns your stomach to acid. Assignment. Not finance, not stocks. Assignment.
"Protocol?"
He swallows, gun lowering a little as he nods. "Clockwork?"
Understanding hits you like a physical blow. His agency has hated yours and vice versa for years. Clockwork's vision of controlled progress doesn't quite match with Protocol's military pragmatism, and somehow despite both agencies vetting, the two of you have married enemies.
Or have you? Has he known all along? You're not sure, but the horror on his face is either well practiced or genuine. You don't lower the gun just in case, despite the fact that he sags, defeated.
"You're here to kill me," you tell him. It isn't a question.
"I didn't know it was you. Until I saw the necklace. The flower." You don't move. "I'm not going to kill you."
"How do I know that?"
"I guess you don't." He puts his gun in his coat pocket and holds both of his hands up, a white flag. "Kill me if you wish."
His words hit like a slap. You recoil physically, your arm dropping as you lower the weapon. He seems a little relieved, but you're horror stricken. Kill him? You don't think you could, even if your life was on the line. Which it is, the two of you facing each other, breath misting the air.
"What about you?" He asks, drawing you from your whirlwind thoughts. "Why are you here?"
"Assigned to some woman. I obviously didn't complete it." You tuck your gun away carefully, eyeing him carefully. "I saw the flash on your scope."
He frowns. "The sun was behind me." You lift a shoulder. You're unsure what reflected off his scope, but perhaps it had been divine intervention after all. "We have to get moving. They're expecting confirmation. If we don't, they'll send someone else."
"We?"
He nods, checking a watch. "You're my wife."
"I'm⊠I'm Clockwork. You're Protocol."
He lowers his wrist and looks at you - really looks at you. You study him, your heart hammering, a dull ache in your chest blooming. He's still Junhui - at least he looks like it. He's your husband with warm brown eyes, who speaks softly and loves to kiss you on the forehead, who is patient and kind and steady.
And apparently he's a contract killer. But he didn't kill you. You hope it means something.
"You're my wife," he says again, softer this time.
Junhui extends his hand, slow and careful. He's wearing gloves but you take a few tentative steps toward him, placing your hand in his. His fingers close around yours, and even through the leather, they're warm. You step closer and he pulls you through the gate and into the alley, keeping you close.
"We're going to need to run," he murmurs looking down at you. "Just trust me enough to get us somewhere. Then we can talk. Can you do that?"
You think about it. Your training is telling you to kill him and run, to save yourself. But every instinct you have that is not the rained spy is looking at him - the man you married, the man who has rubbed your back when you were sick and warmed your hands in his pocket - is looking at you with nothing but honesty.
It's stupid. You know it is. Protocol isn't known for their spies as much as they are for their hitmen - Junhui would have been taught to blend in and run, but they're not an intelligence agency the way Clockwork is. They aren't taught to manipulate to the degree you are.
So you nod. You see the relief pass on his face as he tugs you gently, both of you breaking out into a run.
The city presses in, the narrow passageways smelling like damp stone and yesterday's rain. Your breath syncs with his, footsteps matching, the panic there but shared now. Not once does he let go of your hand, tugging you out of the way of a passing bike and into the safety of his arms for a brief moment.
Junhui leads you to a small doorway behind a boulangerie, the scent of fresh bread wafting out. He pulls out a compact telegraph key from his pocket, and for a second you think he's going to notify Protocol he has you in his hands. Your heart starts to slam in your ribcage, realizing that the love you have for him - that you're not supposed to - has been your undoing. Still, you don't reach for your weapon, unwilling to kill him even if-
He catches your panic. "I'm telling them you're dead," he notes, voice dry.
"Oh."
You do the same, tapping out a coded message to your operatives at Clockwork. It'll only buy you hours - maybe a single day. You're not sure.
"We need to get out of Paris," he says. "Home will be dangerous, but if we're going to survive we need to go there first." You hate that you agree. "Le Bourget? Private flight?"
"Yes."
Junhui hails a taxi near the river, the water dark and choppy under the bridges as an afternoon storm rolls in. You sit close to Junhui as the driver navigates the city, but not touching, the space between you heavy. Your mind spins - the brownstone waiting back home, its walnut panels, the piano - a life of mutual lies catching like tinder and burning down around you.
-
Le Bourget airfield is bustling with activity in the afternoon gloom, hangars looming like metal beasts under the gray sky. The smell of fuel hangs heavy in the air and the hum of propellers whirring buzzes in your ears as you cross the wet tarmac.
Junhui's hand hovers at your elbow as you walk, not quite touching. You feel the loss of his touch acutely, a small ache at the sudden distance between you. You don't know where you stand now, the man you've known for the last five years suddenly a complete stranger.
Somehow, you feel it only serves you right.
Junhui leads you to a waiting plane, the engines warming with a low rumble that vibrates through you. The plane is small, the cabin cramped with leather seats worn from use, the air inside tinged with tobacco. You climb aboard, settling into a seat by the window, rain streaking the glass like tears. Junhui sits across from you, the space between your knees too close in the small plane, knocking awkwardly.
Tension threads your shoulders as the plane readies for takeoff. You feel exposed and out of control - it was Junhui who arranged the flight, assuring you that he could do it discreetly and safely. Still, there was no guarantee there were Clockwork or Protocol agents already working on knocking your plane out of the sky and into the Atlantic.
The thought unsettles you as the plane taxis and takes off, your ears popping as the city falls away below Paris, a patchwork of stone and river. You watch it shrink, the Eiffel Tower a distant spike on the horizon.
Your mind whirls like the propellers, skipping between the flash of his scope and your agencies turning you against the other. But mostly your thoughts are on the man across the way from you. Your husband. The man you thought was perfect, who called you tiÄnshÇ and kissed your forehead. The man who is Protocol, a killer like you, but from the opposite side.
You weren't supposed to, but you'd fallen for him along the way. You wonder now if that was on purpose, if he had lured you into his arms to act as a shield of normalcy. Your intention had been to seem normal and married, but you'd fallen for the way he smiled at your broken Mandarin, the way he kept the notes in his lunches, the quiet evenings where he'd play piano.
But now? Doubt creeps in, cold and insidious. Was any of it real for him?
The plane levels out, the rumble steady now. You turn from the window and look at him. He's watching you already, expression unreadable.
"How'd you charter this without Protocol?" You ask. "Sounds difficult."
He hesitates, then nods. "Someone in Interpol owed me a favor. From a job a few years back. Clean flight, no records."
Interpol. It shouldn't surprise you - he's Protocol after all, with connections in shadows you never imagined. It's another small layer peeled back, revealing the man you didn't realize was your husband all this time.
The cabin is silent for a long moment, just the hum of the plane and the rain on the fuselage. Finally alone, the questions he seems to be holding bubble to the surface.
"Can we talk?" He switches languages, watching you dubiously.
"Of course we can. You first."
His lip twitches. "So you do speak it fluently." You flush, caught. "You learned way too fast. I'm a good teacher but your accent was always good."
"I speak seven languages."
"I speak eight."
"Show off."
He leans back, the smile fading as he looks you up and down. "It started in college," he tells you. "I did study economics at Columbia. I was good at it. Money was tight with my family in Shenzhen and me in school. Protocol approached my senior year and said I had potential. Offered training, pay, and a way to send money home." He pauses, fingers drumming. "Martial arts from childhood helped. I specialized in going unnoticed."
You listen, heart aching. The man he describes is the one you married - intelligent, steady. But now this one is darker. Something else.
"And me?" You ask. "At the gala?
"I was there for a job," he admits. "You approached me and asked about the art and I recited flashcards but⊠I didn't anticipate you. You were smart and funny, and I liked you. After I checked that you were safe - which was wrong, I should add - the agency realized marrying you made me look normal. Protocol approved."
The words land like a punch even though you saw it coming. Cover. Normal. Not love. Not the way you'd fallen for him, piece by piece. You'd thought maybe it was real - that despite your lies, he loved you. But for him, it was a necessity. Fondness? Sure. But you were a tool to appear harmless.
It serves you right, you suppose, but sadness swells. You've been in love with him for years - or were, before this. The man who called you angel, who never pressed for intimacy despite your guilt keeping you from touching him most nights. And here you are expecting him to love you when he did the very thing you were supposed to do.
He's succeeded where you have failed.
It breaks something in you and you cross your arms over your chest, suddenly needing it like armor. If he notices, he doesn't say anything.
"Your turn," he urges.
You swallow, nodding as you start, your throat tight. "Clockwork recruited me when I turned eighteen. Right after high school. Saw potential in my test scores or whatever. Trained me in everything - codes, killing, covers." You pause and look at the wedding ring on your hand. "The gala was a surveillance job. You stood out - handsome, different. I approached on impulse, which was rare for me. Didn't intend to keep seeing you until I did, and Clockwork thought a husband would help me blend in."
He nods, absorbing it. The plane dips slightly, turbulence rattling the cabin. You grip the armrest, mind still spinning. Three years of marriage, built on agency approvals. Lies on lies. And now, exposed.
Neither of you speak for a while. You watch out the window at the clouds, the grey Atlantic stretching below. Your stomach is in knots, the truth between you doing nothing to seal the gap. It only pushes you further apart.
Finally, Junhui breaks the silence. "I don't want to kill you."
"I don't want to kill you either."
"The agencies won't stop. We're loose ends now."
You nod, the reality settling like lead. They'll hunt. Aggressively. No mercy for traitors.
"I fear we're at a deadlock."
He nods. "We have to escape their reach."
"How?"
The urge to reach for him is strong. You don't, though. Not now that you know it's not the same, that this isn't the same for him as it is for you.
"Collect what we need. Cash, papers. Then go our separate ways. Safer that way and harder to track."
The words slice through you. Separate ways. It breaks your heart, a sharp, quiet pain that steals your breath. You'd imagined - stupidly, perhaps - a life together, even now. Running away as one. But he's right. And perhaps it's better for him to be fond and not in love so it makes this easier, to be at a deadlock in which no progress can be made.
"Agreed," you nod.
He looks at you, something unreadable in his eyes, but you turn to the window, watching the clouds. You reserve the part of you that wants to beg him to stay, knowing you don't deserve it and he doesn't want to.
The flight drags, hours of tension and unspoken words. You land in New York under cover of night, sleet slashing the tarmac. When you step out of the plane and he hails a cab, you know nothing will ever be the same.
-
The plane touches down with a jolt. Junhui looks at you but you're staring out of the window, face turned away. The cabin feels too small, air thick with the tension of unspoken words and the faint scent of fuel seeping in from outside.
Junhui stands first, offering a hand to help you up. You stand up on your own, movements reserved, eyes not quite meeting his. It makes his heart squeeze, knowing now that everything was a lie.
He'd fallen in love with you slowly and unintentionally. He'd thought maybe it was mutual - always felt guilty for it - but now? Doubt poisons everything. You're Clockwork - were Clockwork. The marriage was a cover. He was convenient. Safe. Normal.
The sadness twists in him like a blade, even though he was supposed to be doing the same thing to you. But for him it had turned real. Foolish, really. But he's glad there's enough fondness in you to let him live, to part ways.
He'd suggested separate ways not because he wanted it, but to save what little pride he had left. If you didn't love him, better to let you go without begging. Without admitting how much that it hurt.
The pilot nods as you exit, no questions, just like Junhui had paid for. Outside, the sleet stings Junhui's face, wind whipping through his coat as you both rush through customs and back out into the wind to hail a cab. The driver is an older man that complains about the weather, but he takes the cash as you both slide into the back.
Despite the small space in the back of the car, there's a chasm between you. He wants to bridge it - wish he could. He wants to reach for your hand and pull you close, to tell you that it was real for him. That he had been lying, but not really. Not all the time. But he doesn't. You're reserved now, words sparse, gazed fixed outside of the window.
The silence stretches, broken only by the slosh of tires on wet roads and the driver's occasional cough. Junhui's mind races, replaying every moment over the last five years with you - the gala where you'd approached him, your smile bright and charming. The proposal he'd made because he couldn't imagine life without you. He night's he'd held back from you, guilt over his lies making him afraid to take more than you offered.
He'd thought you were content, that what you'd had was enough. But it was all a facade for you. Cover. The word echoes, bitter. He loves you - fiercely, achingly - but it was never real for you. And he doesn't blame you one bit. He cannot hold you to trial for a crime he was also committing.
Sadness swells, a silent grief that makes his chest tight. He will miss you more than you know. It's the right call, despite the fact it makes him want to fall to his knees.
The brownstone appears like a ghost in the sleet. He helps you out of the cab and you let him this time, though you step away from him the moment you're outside. The stoop creaks under you both as you hurry inside, the key turning into the lock with a familiar click.
You head upstairs without a word, movements quick. Junhui follows, heart heavy, watching you rush into the bedroom to start packing. He stands in the doorway for a moment, the reality hitting him. This was his home, a perfect life that he'd clung to, even if it was built on lies. Now it's ending and you're eager to go.
He moves to his side of the closet, packing his own things - cash from a hidden safe, false papers tucked into a book spine, weapons from certain shoes. His fingers linger on the tie you'd given him for Christmas, silk smooth, a reminder of you. He keeps it, wanting to hold on even when you're gone.
In the middle of folding one of his shirts, something prickles at the back of his neck. It's the same instinct he's had before ducking before being shot at. The house is too quiet, the sleet outside rhythmic. He glances up, drawn to the window where your back is turned as you pack, the curtain half-drawn. A red dot appears on your bag, small and steady.
His blood turns cold.
"Get down!" He yells, lunging across the room.
You startle, but he tackles you to the floor just as the window shatters, glass exploding inward. Bullets spray through the bedroom, thudding into the walls, splintering wood. Junhui's body covers yours, shards of glass raining down on you both. Pain blooms in his shoulder - glass or a bullet graze, he doesn't know - but adrenaline surges.
"They know," he gasps, rolling off of you. He pulls a pistol from the nightstand.
You nod, gun drawn as you both turn. Another spray of bullets rips through, punching holes in the wallpaper, the chandelier downstairs crashing. The house shakes with the assault, sleet cutting in through the broken windows, cold and stinging.
Junhui crawls to the edge of the bed and looks over to see shadows moving outside. There are three figures in black downstairs advancing on the stoop, rifles up. He fires twice through the window, the suppressed pops lost in the chaos.
"Back stairs," You tell him, already moving.
A bullet whines past your head, embedding in the walnut paneling. Junhui's heart lurches but you don't flinch as you return fire, turning into a woman he doesn't know at all. He follows, shoulder burning still, pistol steady as he shoots at a figure bursting through the front door below. The man jerks and falls, but more come in, footsteps thundering.
The back stairs are narrow and dark, the air thick with fust. You descend first, sweeping the landing as you clear it while Junhui covers you, exchanging fire. A shadow appears at the bottom but you fire once, the man crumpling. Junhui is suddenly thankful that you're trained and lethal.
The kitchen explodes into view. Bullets shatter the window over the sink as Junhui grabs a knife from the block, hurling it at an assailant charging through the door. The blade hits the man in the throat, blood spraying in a crimson fan as he falls. You snatch a revolver from a hidden drawer - Junhui realizes it's his - and fire at another in the hall.
"How did you know that was there?" He asked, stupefied.
"I thought you were just trying to protect the house," you admit. "I assumed you didn't know how to use it. It was sweet."
He doesn't have time to be offended as the kitchen erupts into chaos, men pouring in through the door from the garage. They're dressed in tactical gear like the rest, faces masked, rifles swinging to take aim.
You're too close for guns. Junhui shoves you around the island cojunter top as the first gunman shoots at you, the bullet pinging off the fridge. You squeeze the trigger of the revolver as you duck, feeling the click of the rotating chamber as you unload the full round into the first man, his vest catching them before you catch him in the throat, red spraying.
Chamber empty, you grab the cast iron skillet off the stove as another man charges Junhui. Your husband doesn't hesitate, ducking under the barrel of the rifle as twisting as he drives his elbow up into the assailant's ribs. You hear bones crack but Junhui doesn't stop, slipping behind the man and kicking out with a foot directly in his back, sending him forward.
The third man comes for you, dropping his rifle in the closed space to grab your arm. You swing the skillet hard, catching him across the temple. He goes stumbling, blood trickling from a gash. He recovers quickly, tackling you against the cabinets.
Pain flares in your back as things shatter, the drawers rattling behind you. You knee him in the groin, buying a second to scramble for a knife from the butchers block. His hand snaps out, iron clad on your wrist as he tries to keep you from the weapon. You snarl and throw your head forward, pain exploding behind your eyes as you use your head to crunch his nose.
Across the room, Junhui has turned into a weapon. His strikes are blindly fast, driving his palm up into his opponents nose before bring the knife down across the chest, the arms, the neck. He drops down and spins, sweeping the man's feet from under him as he goes down in a wet gurgle, vanishing on the other side of the island.
The man grappling you pins you to the counter and you scream, reaching for the knife, fingers slipping as his grip locks around your throat, squeezing tighter than anything you've ever felt. Panic flickers in your chest, air cutting off, vision spotting. You stomp on his instep and elbow him hard in the gut but he ignores it, dragging you across the counter and toward the garage door.
Then he's gone, thrown to the side as Junhui yanks him, chest heaving with rage. The violence in his face is raw as you choke down gasps of air, mouth wet with spit as you suck in breaths.
"Do not," Junhui growls, slinking forward. "Touch my fucking wife."
He collides with your attacker, sending them both into the wall. Plaster cracks under their weight as Junhui lands a series of strikes to the mans face, middle, ribs. The man gasps and Junhui grabs his head in both hands and twists violently, a loud crack echoing before the man goes limp to the floor.
Panting, Junhui turns to you, his shoulder wound seeping through his shirt, glass shards glittering in his hair. His eyes scan you frantically, rage morphing into panic. He storms over to you, cupping your face gently, turning your head side to side. "Are you hurt?"
"No," you rasp, voice hoarse from the choking. "Thank you."
He lingers a moment longer, something flaring in his face before he nods, hands dropping reluctantly. "Let's go."
You both plunge into the garage and you bolt for the motorcycle that Junhui never uses. It's a sleek, black Indian Scout. You'd never asked to ride it and he never really bothered with it, only using it on the summer nights when you were out of town. He assumed you didn't like motorcycles, but now you don't hesitate.
"Come on."
"Are you serious?"
"Get on," you demand, moving toward it.
You reach the bike first, swinging a leg over the seat without pause. The engine is cold, but the key is in the ignition. You twist it, thumb the starter, and the bike roars to life.
"You can ride?" He asks, as you kick the stand up and rev the throttle. "Since when?"
"Since I was twenty, get on."
Junhui swings on behind you, arms coming around your waist automatically. His grip is tight and he feels your hammering heart as he presses his chest to your back. You drop the clutch and twist the throttle, the scout lunging forward.
The acceleration is brutal, the front wheel lifting a bit before you muscle it down. He lets out a startled breath against your neck as you peel out onto the street, the bike fishtailing. You learn into it and the bike straightens, rocketing down the block as gunfire pops behind you.
Sleet and wind sting his eyes. Neither of you are dressed for this but he clings to you as you flick the bike through the street, taking the first corner harder, nearly laying it down. He lets out a shriek and a curse as you straighten out, gunning it.
"Where the hell did you learn to drive like this?"
"Clockwork," you yell. "Some of us learned more than guns!"
He laughs, the sound vibrating through him. He doesn't know what to think as the wind screams in his ears, biking roaring under him.
You weave through the late night traffic on Fifth, dodging Model T's and taxes, the bike's headlight cutting a white blade through the sleet. He turns to see a sedan following you and he curses. You steal the breath from his lungs again when you cut left onto a side street, narrow and barely wide enough. You downshift and fishtail as you come out of the side street and onto the road, swerving around a car.
Junui's arms flex around you, one hand sliding up to brace against your shoulder. "You're insane!"
You don't respond, but the admiration sings in his veins, nearly warm enough to fight off the bitter cold as you drive through back roads. He gives you directions as you drive, the two of you shivering as you lose your pursuers, cutting through the city.
His hands stay firm on you. He feels you shiver and he pulls you tighter, trying to keep you warm. At least, that's what he tells himself. He knows he's doing it to keep you a little longer, anchoring himself to you like he can keep you. He wonders if you feel the same fracture he does.
He wonders if it matters.
Dawn is grey and cold when you finally slow, the Scout's engine ticking as it cools. You're both shivering as you kill the engine and pull up in front of a farmhouse with a sagging porch and oaks surrounding it.
Junhui slides off first, offering a hand. You take it, shivering and shaking. You look up at the house, tears frozen on your face, lips swollen with cold. "What is this place?"
"Friend of mine. Not Protocol. From college. He's in Milan."
Minghao's place is cold as you step in. Junhui bolts for the fireplace, knowing it's dire to get it going. You stand in the threshold of the living room, trembling and freezing as he manages to get the dry wood lit. He turns and gestures you over. You come wordlessly, nearly collapsing as the orange flames lick over the logs.
Both of you hold your hands to the fire, trembling. It almost hurts to feel heat again, both of you shivering in silence as the fire roars to life. Slowly, you both sit, unwilling to move from the flames.
"We're safe," Junhui murmurs, tired, switching languages on instinct. "We rest first. Then plan."
You nod, slowly getting up to move to a chair, the distance between you vast.
-
You step out of the shower, steam curling around you. You dry off quickly and change into pajamas Junhui has given you - they're not exactly your size, but they work. Everything in this house belongs to Minghao who hadn't been preparing for you to stay, but Junhui swears he won't mind anyway.
Reentering the bedroom, you stop short. Junhui is standing in front of the small dresser mirror, shirtless. He's turned around, trying to look at the injury on his shoulder, the lamplight carving shadows across the muscles of his back, the narrow taper of his waist. He prods at the graze, wincing as he looks at it.
He sees you reflected and straightens, hand dropping. "Sorry, it's the only mirror in the house."
"Let me help," you say, setting your things down and rushing to him.
He nods as you riffle through the bathroom for medical supplies. Minghao thankfully has a simple one and you make Junhui sit on the edge of the bed as you wet cotton with antiseptic. He smells clean like the shower he took immediately before you, his skin warm as you near him, heart hammering.
Suddenly, it feels too intimate. You shake off the feeling - he's your husband. So you kneel on the bed, mattress dipping under your weight. Up close, the graze looks a little worse thank you though, jagged and angry. You feel a pang in your chest. He didn't complain once during the ride, didn't mention the pain. Just held on to you on the bike, arms tight around your waist.
Carefully, you start to dab at the wound. He doesn't hiss or make a sound, but his muscles twitch under your fingers. He turns his head to watch you, dark eyes intense. You swallow, feeling the tension crackle to life as you watch. You're close enough that you can feel his breath on your face, your fingers nimble and careful as you clean the cut.
"When did you get this?" You ask, voice quiet.
"The glass."
You realize what he means. A piece of jagged must have caught him while he was shielding you - protecting you - from the spray of glass and bullets that moment he saw the sniper before you did. It makes you feel guilty immediately. How stupid of you to turn your back to the window, even for a moment. You're lucky he was there - lucky he still cares.
The heat of him radiates toward you and you fight a shiver as he watches, eyes half-lidded. You could count every single one of his lashes this close, but instead you put down the pink-tinged cotton and exchange it for a needle and thread.
"It's not deep," you murmur. "But I think it needs stitches."
Carefully, you pierce the skin and pull the thread through. He doesn't react. Instead, he says, "You're pretty good at this. How many times have you done it?"
"Oh? Are we exchanging work stories?"
His mouth curves. "Indulge me."
It makes your stomach flip when he says it. You pause as you think about all of the times you've stitched someone or yourself. It feels weird to think of a story to tell him, the barriers between you suddenly gone.
"I've done it a lot," you admit. "Sometimes on myself, but mostly on other people. One time in Vienna a partner I was working with was shot in the leg during an extraction. I had to stitch him up in an awful basement with almost no light. He lived but Joshua literally never forgave me for the scar."
"Well Joshua should mind his tongue when speaking to you."
Your mouth twitches as you pull another stitch through. "What about you?"
"Botched hit in Berlin. The one on my chest."
You pause, narrowing your eyes. "You told me you got that in surgery."
"I'm a bit of a liar, love."
Your heart races from the nearness of him, his knee brushing your arm as you shift to tie off another stitch. You've been this close before, but never like this, vulnerable and exposed, everything tripped away.
"I had to patch myself for the first time in Shanghai," you continue. "It was in an opium den. Could barely figure out where the hell I was from the contact high."
"I've been there." You give him a look. "Protocol sends me to a lot of places, angel."
The nickname makes your heart trip over itself. He's called you that since the early days of your relationship when you were pretending not to speak Mandarin and letting him teach you, the warmth and fondness for him just as strong as it is now, despite the lies.
"I'm sure you had lots of pretty girls to stitch you up." You don't know why you say it, but it's out before you can stop it.
"None as pretty as you."
You don't know how to respond, your fingers shaking. You tie the last stitch, snipping the thread, your hand lingering for a second too long, craving the warmth. He's quiet, watching you with an expression that you can't read.
"There," you whisper. "Done."
He flexes the shoulder, looking away from you to the injury. You use the break in tension to shift away from him, sucking in air, wishing you felt cooler than you did.
"Thank you," he murmurs.
You stand, suddenly too aware of the charged tension. "I'm going to start dinner."
Junhui nods, but his eyes follow you as you head out the door, clicking the bedroom shut behind you.
In the hall, you lean against the door, heart pounding. The closeness - the heat of his skin, the shared stories - it's too much. You love him, but you know that your marriage wasn't built on love. It was built on deceit and versions of yourself you never really let the other have, and now you don't know what to do with it.
The kitchen is sparse, but the cupboards are filled with canned goods and a variety of spices. You light the stove, flames flickering to life as you rummage for potatoes, onions, and spices. Stew is the only answer for dinner tonight, and you're thankful there's at least chicken stock in the pantry.
Your hands move automatically, chopping, stirring, but your mind is on him. The graze, his quiet admission of jobs, the way he let you help without protest. Footsteps creak and you flinch, turning with the knife raised. It's Junhui, shirt on and hands up.
"Sorry," he notes and you drop the knife, sighing. He watches you for a moment before walking toward you. "Let me help."
You nod, handing him the knife for the onions. He stands too close, his arm brushing yours as he chops. The space is small, the stove's heat warming the room as you work together. It feels normal, almost, the two of you working in perfect tandem that you've built over the years. You stir the pot, making room for him as he leans for salt, arm brushing yours.
Junhui is different now - quieter, more intense - but he's still him. His mouth curves when his eyes flicker to you, something fond and understanding. It makes you nervous, the desire and sadness gnawing at you. You itch to touch him but you're unsure you can.
When the food is done, you eat at the small table, stew steaming in bowls. The fire crackling from the living room is the only sound as you both eat quickly, avoiding his gaze that keeps finding your face from across the table.
After, you clear the plates, doing anything to put space between you, thoughts spinning and full of him. You don't know what happens now - where to go or how to leave him. You watch him as he grabs blankets from the hall closet, intending to sleep on the couch - away from you, away from everything you've built.
You feel the fracture in your heart widen, the separation between you looming and wider than ever. The question falls from your lips before you can think twice, unable to stop yourself from asking any longer.
"Did you ever love me?" The words hang there, Junhui freezing. "Or was it just a cover all the time? I assume the latter, since we were fond but never very intimate, I guess. But I just - did you ever?"
Junhui freezes, the folded blanket clutched in his hands. The firelight paints him in flickering orange and gold, catching the way his composure cracks. He sets the blanket down slowly, moving toward you as he shakes his head."
"I loved you from the start," he murmurs. "Before I even married you. Marrying you was convenient, but I fell in love with you at that stupid gala. You asked me about that painting and I panicked and recited an entire catalogue of notes memorized the night before and you laughed - not at me, in delight. Like you found something unexpected and wonderful. And I remember thinking that I was the worst thing that could happen to you."
He laughs once, a small, broken sound as your heart hammers in your chest, breaths coming fast.
"You made it worse by being you," he admits, softening as he takes another step toward you. "You did small things for me, made my life perfect in ways that mattered. You never asked anything of me, you just⊠were there for me. I thought if I stayed gentle, if I stayed careful, if I never asked too many questions, maybe youâd never realize what kind of monster was sleeping beside you. I thought the guilt would be less if I never took more than you offered. So I kissed your forehead and pretended that was enough.â
Junui's palm is warm when he cups your face and turns you to look up at him. His thumb swipes across your cheek and you realize you're crying. His face is pained as he looks down at you, freehand snaking around your waist to pull you chest to chest with him, warm. His heart beats in time with yours as he looks down at you, gaze searching.
"It was never enough," he admits. "I love you so much it makes me sick with it. Every time you came home late I wanted to pull you into my arms and ask where youâd been. Every time you smiled at me across a crowded room at one of those awful parties I wanted to drag you into a coat closet and kiss you until neither of us could breathe. I didnât. Because I thought it would make me evil to take what I wanted and lie to you at the same time."
You hiccup a sob. "I thought you didn't want me. You said you wanted to go our separate ways on the plane."
"I suggested it because I thought it was what you wanted. Because I thought letting you go was the kindest thing I could do for the woman I love."
"You absolute idiot!" Junhui blinks as you hug him, pressing your face to his chest. He laughs, a little confused as you squeeze him. "I took the forehead kisses and the gentle hands and the soft words and tried to convince myself it was enough, because I thought that was all you wanted from me and all I thought I deserved!â
"Really?"
"Yes, you oaf! I was so guilty for lying to you that I accepted what love you offered and felt grateful for it. Asked no questions. Thought I was awful."
He laughs squeezing you tighter, arms warm and secure and home. The arms of your husband, the Junhui you've always known.
You pull away from him a little, looking up at him. "When you said separate ways on that plane, I thought my heart was going to cave in. I agreed because I thought thatâs what you needed. Because I thought you didnât love me the way I loved you. And I was going to let you go. I was going to let you walk away because I thought it was the kindest thing I could do for the man I love.â
He cradles your face again, eyes dark as he looks down at you. Tears cling to your lashes and you sniff unceremoniously. He smiles, fond - in love - fingers pressed to your cheeks.
"What do you want, tiÄnshÇ?"
You reach up slowly, fingers trembling as you brush the hair from his face, his eyes shining.
"I want my husband," you tell him, heart racing. "All of him. The man who tutors neighborhood kids on weekends. The man who remembers birthdays and tips too generously. And the man who comes home with blood on his hands. The man who shielded me from bullets tonight. The man whoâs been carrying the same guilt I have for years.â
For a single heartbeat, the world narrows to just the space between you. Then he moves, pulling you in - not gently or careful like you're used to - but desperate, with half a decade of starvation. He kisses you like he's starved, his mouth warm and wet and tasting of the salt from your tears.
You kiss him back, fisting his shirt in your hands, the years of things you've held back crashing through you - guilt, longing, terror, the stupid, vicious love you have for him. He makes a sound in the back of his throat and pulls you in closer, desperate for you.
When you finally break apart, his mouth doesn't go far, his lips ghosting across yours as he murmurs, "WÇ de TiÄnshÇ."
"LÇo xiĂ ng hÇo."
He stares down at you, snorting, unbelieving. "We really need to talk about how you pretended not to speak Mandarin."
"Yeah?"
"Yes, but right now I have other things on my mind."
You raise your brows, heart skipping a beat. "Like what?"
His lips curve into a slow, predatory smile, one you rarely see. It's possessive and hungry, your stomach knotting as he knocks his nose against yours. "Making love to my wife."
The words hang in the air, sending a shiver down your spine. Before you can respond, he scoops you in one fluid motion, his arms strong and sure beneath you. You gasp, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist, your hands clutching his shoulders as he carries you toward the bedroom.
He moves effortlessly, body honed from years of training, muscles shifting under your touch. He kicks the door open with his foot, the wood creaking in protest, as he enters and throws you on the bed. You laugh, the breath escaping your lungs as he smiles at you while pressing you backward into the mattress, leaning over you.
Junhui shrugs his shirt off in a swift pull, revealing the scars you now know the stories to - the stitches on his shoulder fresh and delicate. There's no pain on his face now, just unrestrained hunger as he presses his waist to yours, leaning to kiss you again.
"You have no idea how often I've wanted this," he murmurs. His hands find your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make you arch toward him. "To claim you all the time. Often."
You reach for him, sliding your fingers through his hair as he kisses you again, teeth clashing. His weight on you is comforting, the mattress dipping under you both. He braces one knee between your thighs, breaking the kiss to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jawn and down your throat. He nips the skin there, soothing the sting with his tongue. It makes you whimper and he groans in response, the flat of his tongue sweeping up your neck.
"Jun," you whisper, shivering.
He pulls away just enough to strip away your top, his eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of you bare. "So beautiful," he growls. "My wife. Mine."
Junhui's hands roam, calloused palms skating over your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. You arch into the touch, heat pooling low in your belly as he lowers his head to catch a nipple in his mouth. The sensation makes you writhe, his tongue swirling, teeth grazing just enough to send sparks of pleasure-pain shooting through you. You gasp, hips bucking instinctively, making him chuckle.
"Patience, my love," he teases.
His free hand slides down your stomach, hooking into the waistband of your pajama bottoms and panties, tugging them off in one rough motion. The cool air hits your exposed skin, but it does nothing to cool the fire inside of you. He tosses them aside, gaze fixed between your legs where you're wet and aching for him.
"Look at you," he breathes. "Have you been waiting for this too? Waiting for me to take you apart like you deserve?"
"Yes." His fingers trace the inside of your thigh, teasing higher but not quite touching where you need him most. "God, yes."
He hums in approval, shifting down the bed until he's kneeling between your legs, his broad shoulders forcing your knees apart. You feel exposed, breaths coming in quicker as he looks up at you, pupils blown and fucked out when he hasn't even touched you.
"I want to taste you first," he murmurs, pressing a wet kiss to your knee. He kisses your inner thigh, your muscles twitching. "Want to make you come on my tongue. Can, I love? Will you let your husband devour you?"
"Please," you laugh, breathless and desperate. "Please, Jun."
He doesn't need more than that. His hands grip your thighs, holding them open as he leans in, his tongue flattening against you in one long, slow lick from entrance to clit. The sensation scrambles your brain, his tongue hot and wet. Your back arches off the bed as you suck in a harsh breath, his mouth closing against you as he groans. The vibration goes through you, making you squirm. He holds you harder, tongue diving in deeper before circling your clit lazily.
"Shit," you gasp, the curse leaving your lips before you can stop it.
Junhui laughs as you twist your fingers in the sheet, his mouth lethal against you. He switches between broad strokes and pointed pressure, sucking your clit into his mouth gently before releasing it with a pop that makes your toes curl. You feel the way you melt in his mouth, arousal and spit dripping from your cunt to the curve of your ass. He chases it, tongue hungry and greedy and you let out a broken sound.
He's relentless, possessive in a way he has never been with you all this time, tongue fucking you in shallow thrusts that have you grinding against him. One of his hands leaves your thighs, drifting to slide two fingers into your heat, curling upward to press against your front wall. Stars burst behind your eyes, one of your hands going to his head, fingers twisting in his hair.
"So tight," he murmurs, words muffled against you. "So perfect."
He suctions his mouth on your clit, sucking in time with the thrust of his fingers. Pleasure curls in your stomach and you feel yourself teetering on the edge, squirming in his hold.
"I'm - shit I'm gonna-"
"Come for me," he pants. "Let me taste you."
His fingers thrust harder, tongue circling your clit until you shatter. Your orgasm crashes over you, body convulsing, thighs clamping around his head as you ride it out. He doesn't stop, licking you through it, drawing out over sound until you're shaking and oversensitive. Only then does he pull back, lips and chin glistening with your release, grinning.
"You taste like heaven," he rasps, leaning up to kiss you deeply, letting you taste yourself in his mouth. You moan into it, nails dragging down his back.
Junhui's fingers drift back between your legs, pressing in again. You whine and he hushes you with a kiss, stretching your cunt around three of his fingers, thrusts gentle.
"You can take it," he whispers. "Want you ready for me, yeah? You can do it, my love."
You nod as he pumps them slowly at first, scissoring to open you up. It feels so good, the edges of your vision blurring while his thumb circles your swollen clit in lazy strokes. The overstimulation borders on pain, but it melts into pleasure, your body singing.
"You've been holding back too, hm?" He asks. "All those nights I could have had you like this writhing for me."
"Yes," you pant. "Wanted you so badly but didn't know how."
Cur curls his fingers again, hitting that sweet spot over and over again. Sweat beads on your skin and it feels like your heart is going to pound out of your chest, slamming in your ribcage as you arch, head pressing backward into the mattress.
Junhui attaches his mouth to your throat, sucking the tender spot underneath your ear as he works you toward another orgasm. The slide of his chest against yours, the way he groans - it all makes you come again, squeezes his fingers hard as you flood his hand, making him curse.
"That's it," he praises. "Just like that, love."
He withdraws his fingers with a wet slide, bringing them up to this mouth, sucking them clean with a hum of satisfaction. You look at him, dazed as he grins and kisses your forehead. You press your hands to his shoulders, anchoring your knees to his hips and he only has a second of warning with your grin as you roll, flipping him under you.
Junhui looks up at you with stars in his eyes as you lean up on your knees, panting. His hands automatically go to your hips, squeezing as you catch your breath, looking down at him. His mouth is swollen and covered in spit and slick but you don't care - he's the most beautiful creature you've ever seen.
With shaking hands, you help him out of his pants, only making room so he can kick them down before you have him pinned under you again, letting you grind against his leaking cock. He groans and you grin, watching as his eyes squeeze shut as you tease him, the heat of your cunt nearly unbearable.
You reach between you, grabbing his hard cock, pumping a little before you line him up at your entrance, the thick head pressed tight against you. He hisses, watching as you sink down slowly, taking him inch by thick inch. It's a lot and you feel the air punch from your lungs until you're ass it flush to his thighs, stretched so tight you can barely breath.
"Fuck," he bites out. "You are fucking perfect. I love you."
You grin. "I love you, even though you were going to leave me."
"I'm an idiot."
"Yes," you agree, gasping as you start to move. "You are."
It's slow at first, your hips rolling in languid circles. The friction feels so good, his cock dragging against your walls, hitting deep. His hands roam, squeezing your ass, thumbs digging into your hipbones to urge you a little faster.
"That's it," he rasps. "Use me."
Emboldened, you pick up the pace, bouncing now. Every thrust feels like it knocks the sense out of you, sweat slicking down your body as you try to catch your breath, thighs trembling. His hips thrust up to meet you, driving deeper, and you lean forward, nails raking down his chest.
"Mine," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around your back to hold you to him. "No more holding back." You whimper and he thrusts up harder, gasping. "You're going to come on my cock, aren't you?"
You nod, unable to find the words, the angle letting him hit that spot inside of you that renders you useless. He takes over, banding you to his chest as he thrusts up hard and fast. It's too much, making you clench around him as you come with a scream, body sliding against his.
In one smooth motion, he rolls you, pressing you into the mattress. He's buried deep till, the weight of him pressing into you makes you delirious. He uses a hand to pin yours above your head, his hips grinding into yours, public bone pressing your clit as you whimper his name.
"One more," he begs, his thrusts turning deeper and slower. You nod as his free hand slides between you, gently circling your clit. "One more for me, love. My perfect fucking wife."
The overstimulation is torture, your body on fire, every nerve singing as he pulls you toward another high. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, hands squirming in his grasp as he pins you.
"That's it," he whispers, pace faltering as he starts to fall apart.
You come together, vision whiting out as you squeeze around him. He lets out a broken sound, burying himself to the hilt, spilling inside of you as he twitches. You can barely breathe, both of you tangled together, hearts pounding in sync.
He presses gentle kisses to your shoulder, murmuring in Mandarin, all the things he's always wanted to say - everything you needed to hear. You hold him close, never wanting to let go, uncaring that you were never the perfect wife and he was never the perfect husband. You're perfect for each other, two congruent pieces of a puzzle.
"I love you," he says again, voice rough. "From the moment I meant you."
"I love you," you whisper. "Before I even approached you."
-
The sun hangs low over the Aegean, painting the whitewashed walls of the stone house in gold. Naxos is beautiful this time of year, the sun painting the small kitchen with cracked blue tiles in the perfect light.
It's a simple thing - two bedrooms with a terrace overlooking olive groves that slope down to the sea. Junhui stands on the terrace now, sleeves rolled to his elbows, nursing a cup of coffee from the beans you'd found in Chora. You watch him from the doorway, arms crossed loosely, still wearing the faded linen dress you'd thrown on after your morning swim.
He glances over his shoulder and catches you staring. A smile curves his mouth, the same one he used to give you at flashy New York City parties.
"What are you staring at?" He asks.
"My very beautiful husband." You step closer, slipping your arms around his waist from behind, cheek pressed to the warm plane between his shoulder blades. "You know the ladies in Chora love you?"
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through you. "Do the ladies in Chora know I am desperately in love with my wife? And also that she could kill them without a second thought if she got jealous?"
Junhui turns in your arms, careful not to spill the coffee on you as he sets it down on the railing. He cups your face with both of his hands, warm from the mug. The callouses on his hands are the same calllouses you've always known, his thumbs brushing your cheeks.
"I'm retired," you tell him, squeezing him tighter. "No more killing for me." You pause. "Unless they keep staring at you, then perhaps."
⏠pairing: cinema worker! hansol x fem! reader
⏠word count: 9.8k
⏠warnings: (pls read carefully) mentions of food, alcohol, homophobia, misogyny, themes of lavender marriage and class divide, major mentions of war (world war I) and war related injuries, main character death, smut.
⏠genres: psychological horror, tragedy, romance, 1920s nyc setting.
credits: to @strangergraphics for the dividers, to literal angels on earth @gyuswhore and @shinysobi for being the best beta-readers ever!!
This fic is written for the puttin on the ritz collab by @studiosvt, forever grateful to the team for coming up with such amazing collab ideas and being the most supportive fam ever! <3
playlist
- lo vas a olvidar by rosalia and billie eilish
- exile by taylor swift and bon iver (!!)
- safe and sound by taylor swift and the civil wars
author's note: part of my valentine's day event, lmk if you'd want to be tagged :)
i really recommend reading this one very carefully akshually there are a lot of easter eggs i left hehehe
Prologue
1918, the western french front
He somehow stumbles into a makeshift safe-house. The bullet that had pierced his upper chest is still lodged somewhere between his rippling flesh. Warm, sticky blood oozes out of the deep cut slashed across his chest, splitting his skin apart.
Outside, it is a cacophony of shots being fired and the constant thuds of bodies that follow. He doesnât remember when was the last time he inhaled air that wasnât saturated with soot and the metallic scent of bloodâŠor when was it that he looked up and saw a clear sky instead of the orange fumes of fire, death and decay.
There is no sensation in his left leg anymore...just angry violet skin hosting several broken bones within. The iron smell of his own blood and that of others around him swarm his senses as he waits it out.
Just a few more hours.
Ceasefire for the day.
Someone would come and help him. They ought to.
For now, he must find some way to avoid attracting attention with his garbled moans of pain. His fingers shake, or perhaps itâs his vision wobbling with intense agony, as he reaches down in his pocket to retrieve a long, sweat soaked strand of wool. It mustâve been white someday, but now, it is more rusted from dirt, blood and overuse. Yet he holds it reverently between his fingers and begins looping, spinning and tangling it between his digits. The machine guns dull, his vision clears and through the dense war around him, something soft and pure envelopes him.
Between his fingers is now stretched a smiling string figure. A doll. The tear that clings to his lower lash is thicker than the rest, heavier with meaning and memory and love. He carefully bunches the thread up and places it back into his pocket. His chest feels warmer now.
Or perhaps, it's just his shirt soaked with his blood.
(three years later)
Manhattan, New York, 1921
The woman in the turquoise cloche hat rolls her eyes when her weepy husband demands yet another napkin from her. She reaches for her purse regardless, shoving another bunched up piece of clean fabric in his fist for his damp cheeks.Â
âKeep it down, will you?â she hisses, embarrassed eyes darting around apologetically when he sniffles again.Â
But the man grumbles something fleetingly unkind about women and their inability to interpret and empathize with art, and ruins another one of her lacey handkerchiefs with an abhorrent mixture of snot and tears.Â
The woman only shakes her head.Â
He has always been like thisâloudly and pretentiously emotional over things that might barely jerk a half-hearted wince out of her at best.Â
Now, before one labels her apatheticâshe has tried...heavens know how hard.Â
For him, she has pretended to laugh until her cheeks hurt at the unfunny displays of rowdy caricatures of foreigners at the theaters.Â
For him, she has dabbed corners of her drier-than-the-Arizona-summer eyes after his colleagueâs daughterâs revoltingly off-tuned piano recitals.Â
For him, she has ooh-ed and aah-ed at the paintings of things that donât matter simply because he rejoiced when someone validated what he deemed was the reasoning behind the choice of a certain hue by the artist.Â
But itâs not the early 1900s anymore and sheâs no longer his shy, teen bride. Theyâve been married for over twenty years, and even the most skilled actresses can perform for so long.Â
Now she only waits for his seemingly endless sobbing to halt so that she can focus on what remains of the film casting greys and blacks on the ivory sheet.Â
The movieâsensational among the crowds of her husbandâs likeness, and laced with a very predictable endingâthat plays in front of her is named âFoolâs Paradise.âÂ
What an appropriate name, she thinks to herself while eying her husband clench the fabric in his wrinkled fists and stare wide-eyed at the screen as if it were some holy revelation.Â
She grows wary of the sight pretty quickly, and returns her focus back on the screen only to be ambushed by the sudden appearance of half a dozen alligators whom the once blind hero tries to fight to win over his lover.Â
Exasperated, the woman wrings her head away from the screen, from her husband, from the lazy reconciliation thatâs bound to happen on screen, counting down minutes until she can leave her seat.Â
A rosy valentineâs eveningâwasted.Â
As she mulls over her fate, still soured over the now wasted tickets to a new and emerging jazz singer from the orient, Lee Seokmin's show that she had wanted to attend instead of coming to the cinema, a brief movement outside the flapping wooden paneled door catches her eye.Â
The figure looming outside is hidden under a huge hat, an enormous tweed coat and looks fragile and smallâŠperhaps a young boy?
Strange.Â
Itâs the last show of the day. Then what is he waiting outside for?
His occasional peeping through the gaps puts her on alert. Something about the jittery energy, the nervous fidgeting, the constant hiding and seeking makes her conclude that it must be a pickpocketâthere have been way too many of them in Manhattan lately.Â
The thunderous round of applause, the final few sniffs and the spluttering compliments as the movie ends drown out the alarms ringing in the womanâs head. But sheâs already on her toes, determined to corner the supposed crook before he can wipe his hands on the bulging wallets of New Yorkâs nouveau elite.Â
âHey, you!â she calls out as soon as she bursts out.Â
She gears up her throat to scream for help in case the figure attacks her or makes a run for the exit. But her angry exclamation only makes him flinch. He buries his flushed face deeper into the scarf.Â
Behind them, the cinema-goers have already begun milling out of the stuffy, dark roomâimmersed deep into the discourse about the actressâs beauty and blissfully unaware of whatâs unfolding at the entrance.Â
The woman takes a closer look, or attempts to, because her captive is already fleeing. But instead of running away, he seems to be sliding towards where she has just emerged out of.Â
Taking advantage of his lithe body, he attempts to slip inside the now emptying roomâno visible solicitation of theft or mischief.Â
But the woman is smart enough to grab onto the sleeve of his coat, even though he begins wringing his hand.Â
Something is not right about the person in front of her.Â
It takes her a moment to realize what it is that grated on her about this overenthusiastic attendant in the first placeâŠthe softness of face, the swell of chest under the low buttons of the coat, the doe-eyesâŠ
No.
Thatâs an absurd thought.Â
The community here is still too conservative for that.
So she presses on:
âThe show has ended.â She exclaims, âyou cannot go inside now.â
Another short lived struggle. Another hand tightening over the coat. The flesh under her fingers seems too soft to belong to aâŠÂ
âLet me go.â The person grumbles.Â
Any doubts that were holding the woman away from believing what her gut had concluded melt away the moment her captive lets their voice slip out. The person in the womanâs stronghold isnât some naughty pickpocket or a bony little servantâbut a young girl dressed in a manâs clothes.Â
The woman lets her go at once, and when she does, a soft strand of the girlâs hair escapes from her hat which she quickly tucks back in and disappears inside the dark room leaving the woman more confused than she was before.Â
The projector inside the room is dying slowlyânothing more than a haggard glow trembling in the stale airâand her husband is glancing impatiently at his pocket watch as he waits for her outside the theater.Â
âWhat was that about?â He asks, only having witnessed a sliver of the encounter. âWho was the boy?â
âPippaâs son.â The woman lies, tightening her shawl over her shoulders. âTold him to say hi to his mother for me.â
âž»
You look around one last time.Â
Fifty odd seats. All empty.Â
Still, just for precaution, you crouch down and search underneath them too.Â
Once youâre satisfied that youâre alone in the room with a flickering projection of âThank you!â on a washed blanket, you finally clutch the hat in one hand and the scarf in another and free yourself from the claws of their itching, swampy heat.Â
Your skin sighs deeper than your lungs, the scarlet flush watering down to a faint pink as you begin unbuttoning the coat several sizes too big on you. The air inside the room is stagnant and salty with all the tears it has witnessed today, but it seems as good as a fresh morningâs breeze when it settles in your hair.Â
Maybe itâs the freedom from your hefty paraphernalia, maybe itâs the tingling, funny feeling beginning to climb its way from the butterflies in your stomach to the fireflies in your chestâbut you find yourself giggling mere moments before he creeps up behind you to cage you and pull your back flush to his chest.Â
âHansol!â you laugh, even when nothing about the little kiss he presses against your temple is funny.Â
But perhaps laughter is the only sound of homecoming.Â
âYou almost got caught there.â He remarks, resting his chin over your shoulder and slipping his fingers over your own to undo the last few buttons of your coat.Â
You help him take it off you by shrugging your shoulders out, âI thought she was about to screech and cause a scene.â
âWell, you are unchaperoned and cross-dressed in Raymondâs cinema house.â He drapes the coat over a seat lazily, âand if thatâs not scandalous enough, youâre trespassing at midnight.â
âOh, please.â you huff out, plopping onto the cushiony seat and tapping the one next to you for him, âthereâs women out there finishing off their evening shifts right now and having a smoke in the parlour next door. Not my fault your employer is still stuck at least half a century behind.â
Hansol tries his best to block your view of the giant pamphlet peeling off a corner on the side wall that reads, âNO UNCHAPERONED WOMEN ALLOWED PAST SIX IN THE EVENINGâ among other outdated rules.Â
But you read it out loud, like you do every night you come and visit him. Always alone. Always disguised.
âYou know Raymond only keeps that up because heâs terrified his clientele will complainâŠthe people around here are still too traditional about stuff like that,â he mutters, sinking down beside you. âIf it were up to him, heâd let dogs and ghosts in, so long as they paid.â
âAnd yet,â you say, plucking an invisible piece of lint from his lapel with theatrical delicacy, âhere I am. A woman. A scandalously unaccompanied one at that. And your ghosts-and-dogs-loving boss would have a fit.â
Hansol brushes a hand, warm and careful, against your jaw.Â
âYou arenât unaccompanied. Not anymore.â
âThatâs what makes it worse,â you tease. âIâve been accompanied by a criminal.â
âA criminal?â He blinks.Â
âAiding and abetting, Hansol. Harboring a fugitive in your cinema of all places.â
He laughs quietlyâsoft, pressed-through-his-teeth, the kind of laugh he only ever lets out when he knows the walls wonât listen. The lamp behind the projector sputters one last time, dimming the room into an amber-tinted hush. Outside in the street, taxis honk and someone shouts a drunken goodbye; the world moves on without knowing youâre here, perched between shadows and the sweet leftover scent of celluloid.
He leans back, shoulders touching yours, knees angled towards you like heâs always been pulled by your gravity. For a long moment you listen to the projector cool, clicking and shrinking as metal contracts.
He reaches for your fingersâtentatively, as though asking without wordsâand you let him lace them between his.
âYou looked so terrified when she held you,â he murmurs. âSure youâre alright?â
âI amâŠnow,â you assure him, resting your head on his shoulder. The rhythm of his heartbeat under your cheek slows your blood down. His shirt smells faintly of the oil used on film reelsâsharp, metallicâbut underneath it is something familiar, something that always softens the parts of you the world keeps trying to harden. His shirt brushes your jawline as you curl instinctively closer.
He adjusts you slightly in his arms, like it is nothing and everything all at once.
Hansol hums. âI hate that you have to hide like thisâŠby dressing up likeââ
âA man?â you supply. âI think I make a fine one.â
âYou make a terrible one,â he corrects, grinning now. âYouâre too pretty for it.â
That makes you kiss him. Just a quick peckâshort, but oh so sweet.Â
âHappy Valentineâs day, Hansol.âÂ
You begin to pull away, but his hand cups your faceâcalloused yet gentleâstationing you nearer for him to kiss you better. Deeper. Tentative yet passionate at the same time. His breath shudders before it mingles with yours, warming every single fibre of your physicality.
The kiss is slowâŠso slow that it makes you feel every single movement, every single touch, with such profoundness that it almost aches. Almost. Because Hansol has this way of dulling every pain that exists in your being until it withers down into nothing but a blossoming warmth in your spine.Â
And just like that, something scarlet blends into the night-sky.Â
âHappy Valentineâs, my love,â he mumbles against your skin. And then, as if the kiss was still unfinished in his books, he recaptures your trembling lips with his scorching ones. This time, more territorial and surer, like a dying flame leaping right back onto a new, diesel drenched log. Your knuckles shiver as they graze his jaw, too stimulated by his kiss.
By the time your bodies detangle, your toes hurt from curling too much inside your shoes and the perfume on your wrists has fully bled into his collar.Â
Instinctually, you suck your bottom lip in, wanting to soak whatever it is of him thatâs lingering on them.Â
An affectionate titter escapes him at the sight of you so wrecked and gone by a simple kiss. He cradles your head, resting his forehead against yours, âI need to show you something.â
You take a moment to catch your breath before whispering:
âGo ahead.â
The knot in your belly tightens with anticipation when he gives you another little kiss, gets up and disappears behind the seats. You hear the familiar whirring of metal and plastic as he skillfully loads a strip of film on the reel, adjusts the apparatus and after a few short minutes, the once ghastly white sheet in front of you is drenched in sepia tones again.Â
âIs this some new movie?â You ask when he reappears.Â
âYes, I want you to be the first one to see it.â
âOh, lovely,â you squeal, winding your arms around his bicep when he leans closer to you, âwhatâs it called?â
âRites of Passage.â
Displeased, you scowl, âwhat an unfortunate name.â Â
You had expected it to be a romantic melodramaâtheyâre all the rage these days.Â
As if sensing your unease, he assures, âit is a love story.â
âI hope it doesnât have a tragic ending.âÂ
Hansol stays silent at that.Â
And then, âit ends the way it needs to.â
âDo they find happiness in the end?âÂ
He smiles, âyesâŠyes, they do.âÂ
âThen I have no qualms with what happens in the rest of the story.âÂ
Before you, the first flicker of a vibrant amber light quivers on the makeshift screen. Dust motes drift lazily through the projector beam, catching gold as the picture sharpens into focus. You lean further into Hansolâs chest, watching it half-heartedly, expecting the familiar grand opening shotârolling hills, a train station, something suitably dramatic.
But the opening is rather quaint and even though it is a new one, you feel like youâve seen this film before.Â
A serene shot of a garden tucked somewhere between a row of terraced housesânarrow, almost secret, the sort of place only two kids would know how to find. The projection is all black and white, like new movies always are before they rot into sepia. But you think you know just exactly what the color of flowers that the little boy picks in a little basket is, or what shade of green is the little girlâs coat. There is no sound, but youâre already in on the jokes the boy tells to make the girl laugh.Â
Not like an imagination. But like a memory.Â
Hansol rests his cheek on the crown of your head, his warm breath brushing over the wisps of your loose hair.Â
The boy on the screen tangles a long strand of wool between his little fingers, spins it around skillfully, and in a matter of seconds, conjures up what seems like a string doll between his stretched palms.Â
âRemember when you used to perform these string tricks?â you ask him, fondly remembering all the different stars and animals and figures heâd entertain you with.Â
He laughs, soft and balmy, âyes, and youâd always ask me to make a doll at the end of them all.âÂ
âI loved the string-dolls youâd make.â
âI know, dolly.â You feel his fingers tighten over your shoulders when calls you by the name only he ever calls you by.Â
Before you, childhood matures into teenageâan uneven mix of awkward yearning and silent confessions. Distances grow, but so do the depths of feelings. Glances in public squares or intense staring under the old pine tree on a hill-topâas if the juvenile hero wishes to etch every curve and blip in the heroineâs face into his psyche.
It is so saccharine, so dreamy.Â
Yet you feel a build-upâŠlike any moment now, the bubbling potion of love is going to tip over and spill into a dark, rotten goo. Like every little dream that floats over a cloud for so long, this one too is about to meet its scorching fate when it crosses the sun.Â
Your breath hitches and with the sudden tension in Hansolâs jaw, you wonder if he feels it tooâthis near dread.Â
But before anything could happenâa villain bursting in and kidnapping the girl, or the ground splitting open by some ancient curse and swallowing the hero whole and leaving her to embark on a quest to bring her lover backâthe reel stutters.Â
The sound is jarring, like something snapping between the rusty metal but refusing to let up. A rhythm of defiance to break, but also a refusal to let the pictures move forward leaving you stuck with a static scene where the hero is halfway through a door as the heroine holds his hand back.Â
âItâs stuck.â Hansol announces, gently unwrapping you from around him to go examine the projector, âI guess we overused it.â
âBut we couldnât even make it until the intermission.â You pout, a bit too upset over not finishing a movie you had no intention of seeing in the first place.Â
âNext time, dolly,â he promises, still fiddling with the film-strip.Â
You stay at the cinema for a little while after that, carefully vigilant yet carelessly in love at the same time. You whisper the happenings of your weeks to him so softly that even the room seems to shrink smaller for the walls to be able to hear you clearer. But the very next moment, you fail to swallow in your overenthusiastic squeaks when Hansol shares just what new movies Raymond plans to showcase at the theater next week.Â
He shushes you, barely controlling his own beaming smile at your fanatic spirits.Â
âAh, Rudolph Valentino is so charming in the posters,â you exclaim, clasping your palms together, âIâve heard it got a background score so romantic that it makes the audience weep!âÂ
âWe plan on handling the weeping by playing the new movie of that Chaplin fella right after,â he says, âwhatâs it calledâŠâthe kidâ?â
âOh Hansol⊠I feel so alive these days.â You have no idea where it comes from, but the sparkle in your eyes is enough to light up the whole midnight. âThese filmsâŠthese flickering little miraclesâtheyâre not just stories. Theyâre⊠theyâre the city.â
He tilts his head, and you lift your hands as if sculpting the feeling out of thin dust motes drifting through the projector beam.
âNew York is growing so fast I can hardly ever catch my breath. Every week thereâs a new building stretching higher, a new crowd pushing through Times Square like theyâve been summoned by some invisible conductor. And these moviesâŠthey move just like the city moves. Quick. Restless. Unafraid.â
You turn to him and arenât surprised when you find his face mirroring the utter reverence your words hold for a place that others might brush off as nothing more than an amalgamation of concrete and blinding lights. Maybe this is why you hold all your words, all your thoughts within yourself all day longâas excruciating as it isâbecause you know no one thatâs not him would ever listen to you with this relevance.Â
There seems to be this invisible thread that ties the centre of your chest with his and syncs your heartbeats until theyâre nothing more than a background score for the movie that is the city you both grew up in.Â
âSometimes I think New York is dreaming right through us. That sheâs sitting in these seats with us, humming along to the Valentino score, laughing with Chaplin. Sheâs becoming something bigger than any of us can grasp, and the cinema⊠itâs the only place I can hear her properly.â
Hansol watches you, the corners of his lips tugging upward with a quiet awe. You feel a blush rise, but you continue, unable to stop now that the words have burst open.
âI love this city like I love you,â you confess. âLike a friend, or a secret, or something Iâm afraid to lose. And when I watch these filmsâŠthese new, daring, impossible films, I feel like Iâm watching someone I adore so deeply grow up in front of me.â
Outside, a distant streetcar clangs its bellâsharp, urgent, alive. The sound threads into the stillness of the empty theater.
âAh,â you breathe, sitting back with a little laugh. âHear that? Thatâs the city reminding us sheâs awake. She never sleeps anymore.â
âShe never sleeps,â he agrees, something softer than mere amusement in his eyesâŠdeeper and more sincere, like devotion. âBut I know she sighs when you talk about her like that.âÂ
Your lips dip into an irrepressible smile. He always does thisâeffortlessly putting these profound conclusions to your spirited ramblings as if putting a final bow on a bunch of randomly picked wildflowers and turning it into an expensive bouquet. Â
It only motivates you to carry on with a discourse that many would brush off as nothing more than a nonsensical love letter penned by a dramatic, young girl towards something so inanimate. âPeople say the rush in the veins of this city is unbearable nowâŠthis maddening passionâthey think it's ruinous.â
âIsnât that exactly what they used to say about us when we were growing up?â Hansol prods, âit is always unnerving for them to see life stretch and expand in its own skin. The city, just like kids, isnât pliant anymoreâŠyou cannot hold it back from chasing what it seeks.â Finally, his eyes settle on yours, âjust how they couldnât hold us.â
Your lashes flutter shut, your face inching further closer into the curve of his shoulder. Your voice is half muffled into his sweater when you speak, âI wish we were as brave as New York. I wish that we didnât have to hide, that we could just run wild like her.â
Hansol doesnât immediately answer, he lets your rueful grief settle down in the air around youâbreathing it, soaking it. And once he can feel the shallowness dissipate from your inhales, he speaks, âyou know why the lights here shine so bright now?â
There are a hundred logical explanations to that, but youâre aware that logic is long forgotten in this exchange between you and him.Â
He continues, âyou light a flame to illuminate something. But it also means youâre casting a shadow at something else at the same timeâsomething you donât want to see. It only makes you think, there could be so many secrets New York nurtures in these shadows behind its bright lights.â
âJust like us?â You ask.
âJust like us.â he affirms, his low voice the only evidence of his existence in the pitch darkness that envelopes you.Â
You wonder what would happen if someday the spotlight tilts and shines directly at the two of you, when no matter how hard you try to outrun it and seek the shadows, it catches up to you. Because thatâs what light does, doesnât it? Finds and blinds.Â
But for now, you choose to hide hereâshadowed enough that the world canât quite catch you, yet bright enough that he can.Â
âž»
Lee Seokminâs birthday arrives every year with a reminder of whom he shares it with.Â
He tries to cheer up, attempts to brighten the gold in his smile even more on this particular day, answers all the letters and cards he receives. But always, in the back of his mind, thereâs the shadow. His shadow. Itâs been over three years, yet thereâs no escaping the truth behind the life that he lives now. The ring on his finger. The woman who resides in his guest-room.
On this particular day, she sleeps until late noon. Â
Good, he tells himself as he pretends to read through the details of the show he is supposed to sing at the upcoming week, itâs good that sheâs resting.Â
The flimsy curtains do little to stop the breeze that carries the remaining frost of the East-coast winter inside his townhouse. Seokmin stutters, contemplating shutting the glass-panels up, but ends up deciding otherwise and rather walks towards the open balcony to feel the sun on his skin.Â
Itâs a serene neighborhood, safe, suburban and saturated with greensâof nature, and of money. The houses all around are occupied by people like him, people whose life flourished when the city began flourishing a few years back. Bankers, performers, business owners, hoteliersâŠheâs the only celebrated Jazz singer around, though.Â
So celebrated, in fact, that the glimmer of his raw talent and the honey in his voice drown out the color of his skin. Thereâs white men begging him for tickets to his shows nowâcan you imagine?Â
He should gloat and yet, he doesnât. Because Seokmin, before anything else, is someone who is aware. He worked hard for this, trained until his throat felt akin to sandpaper, sang like a madman at gigs that paid him in half a loaf of bread. But he also knows that all that talent, grit and experience can only mask so much about his identity that the people in this country are âwillingâ to tolerate.Â
His fame and riches helped him gloss over his foreignness, but he can never overlook the significance of the attribute that the woman fast asleep right now adds to his life.Â
Slotting himself into the New York high-society as a Korean man with nothing but sheer luck and acumen to back it up is one thing.Â
Trying to explain why he had no wife or fiancee or any romantic inclination towards women without painting himself red like a target is another.
Thus, thereâs nothing for him to gloat about without first acknowledging the lifeline he has been given by his âwifeâ, even if it means that he has toâ
âGood afternoon,â your voice is softer today, yet strong enough to pull his attention back inside the house, âand happy birthday, Mr. Lee.â
Youâre all dressed up already. A giant coat that hides whatever it is that youâre wearing, only a hint of your stockings and the new pair of your low-heeled Mary Janes visible for him. Despite all the color that youâve dusted over your face, the softened edges of your features and the droplets of water still clinging on to the tips of your hair make you feel strangely unfinished. Like a painting waiting for its final stroke.Â
âThank you,â he smiles, clearing his throat.Â
ThisâŠarrangement, carefully crafted and deliberated on by the both of you, has allowed the two of you to co-exist for almost half a decade now. Yet, he still finds himself at a loss of proper words that he can say to you. Where are the lines here? What are the oddities?Â
You seem more at ease around him than he does, though. Because youâre beaming, extending something towards him. Thatâs when he notices itâthe tray full of little sweet treats clutched between your palms.Â
âOh, right.â he stutters, quickly grabbing the first dessert his fingers reach and scarfs it down whole.Â
Thank God, they had been on the cooling rack for a while, or else he would have put himself out of business for a week by burning his throat with molten sugar straight out of the oven.Â
That makes you laugh. This awkward, nervous energy which youâve tried to soothe out of him through repeated assurances and affirmations. You always tell him that you feel safe around him and that you can just exist like friends. Perhaps, siblings?Â
But he finds it hard to come around.Â
And considering just how grave his situation already is when it comes to definitions and labels, you let him be.Â
You place the tray back onto the counter but box two pieces of cakes into a tin container, clearly planning on taking it out with you.Â
âItâs his birthday too, you know?â You inform Seokmin, even though he doesnât ask.Â
Seokmin considers his words for a long moment, still standing in the middle of the room, his hands sticky with the powdered sugar.Â
âAh yes,â he finally says, âI remember. Vernonââ
âHansol,â you correct him sharper than you intended.Â
Seokmin blinks, watching you uncertainly as this strange rage surges and ebbs within a split second between your brows.Â
âIâŠIâm sorry,â you stutter, âhe justâŠHansol is his true name, you know?â
âYes,â Seokmin nods, âyes, indeed. We ought to respect that.â
âI am glad you understand.â You lower your gaze, feeling impossibly ashamed of your little outburst.Â
The next few moments pass in thick silence as you press the lid shut and move towards the coat-rack to fetch your hat.Â
Seokmin tries to ease what just happened there.Â
âItâs a bit too obsolete,â he points at your enormous hat, clearly teasing, âdonât you think?â
You scrunch your nose in faux annoyance, âbut I love it. Even though it's a thing of the past.â
Seokminâs smile flutters at the corners but you miss it completely, too busy smoothing over your outfit one last time before you leave.Â
âThings of the pastâŠâ he mumbles, strolling back inside the kitchen. âThings of the past.â
âž»
You meet Hansol again on his birthday, four days after the eventful valentineâs evening. This time, you donât have to crossdress as a man to enter Raymondâs cinema-house.Â
âI took special permission to have you here today.â Hansol had told you, while gearing up the projector to reload the movie, âThe rite of passageâ, that you had left unfinished from your last meeting.Â
Strangely enough, the reel ended up getting stuck again, this time, a mere thirty minutes before the ending. That wouldnât have dejected you as much had you not been left hanging at a rather depressing part of the storyâa scene where the boy gets drafted to be shipped off across the Atlantic for war.Â
Turns out, the plot twist whose dread you could feel in your bones ever since the movie began only took a mere five minutes to play out on the screen. A letter, a summonâdecisive and final.Â
A crest in the budding romance. A tearful goodbye. An anxious audience.Â
Uncharacteristically, you had burst into tearsâŠnot when the scene played out, but when it got stuck on the creased forehead of the heroine. Almost like you were being made to wait with her for her loverâs return.Â
âDo youâŠdo you think heâll come back?â you ask, the wet patch under your temple on his sweater beginning to dry now that youâve gotten a better hold over your tears.Â
Hansolâs voice reverbates under your cheek pressed to his chest, âpeople do not always return from wars, dolly.â
âBut you did,â you whisper, âyou came back.â
You begin to sit up, the damp strands of wild grass poke into your skin through the flimsy fabric of your stockings as you shift from his lap and onto the ground.Â
Hansol follows you, sitting halfway up and leaning back against his palms planted over the mud.Â
The hillside he brought you on for a stroll after seeing just how wrecked the abrupt interruption made you is a mere blip against the New York skyline. The city throbs below you like it is preparing for bed, muted pastels washing over every building as the sun begins to soften. The skyline stands tall, quiet and sure, like it has seen generations of lovers unravel and rebuild on the very patch of soft foliage you are sitting on.Â
He watches the infamous city-lights begin to flicker to life, one-by-one, before finally answering you.Â
âI came back, but not the same.â
You shift to look at him, but heâs staring into nothingness, like heâs also still remembering that movie scene from before. The frozen moment of grief suspended in dim light. A soldier arrested in time, a girl paused at the edge of loss.
You donât know whether heâs thinking of his own war that shaped him, or the years between then and now.
But after a moment, he turns to you, eyes gentler than his voice.
âNot the sameâŠâ you hate the way his words tremble, like he has to forcibly wring them out and leave them to find their own meaning.Â
So far, your lives have been shaped by circumstances so colossal and way beyond your control that persistence is not just a trait, but a mechanism of survival. It is the only way you know how to keep movingâthrough grief, through joy, through the quiet, brittle moments that fall somewhere in between.Â
Thus, even in the fragility of this dipping evening, your persistence to make this better stands its stubborn ground.Â
âThings donât have to remain the same for them to be good.â You eagerly cup his face between your cold palms, âdonât you always say how change is the only constant?â
That reminder of hope, of those tid-bits of philosophy that have somehow succeeded in not letting his smile succumb to the horrors that life has thrown at himâit gently guides him back to you.Â
The veil of the past grows thinner and thinner over his eyes, and it only encourages you to distract him more.Â
âI mean look,â you laugh, trying your best to mask the nervousness as you begin unbuttoning your coat. âYou always make fun of me for wearing those drab, shapeless garments, donât you?â
The coat slips off your shoulders, pooling around your knees pressed on the soft grass. Underneath, the curves of your body sway shyly under a weightless fabric that, surprisingly, ends at your mid-thighs.Â
You had felt too brave putting it on earlier in the day. The dress, a gift from your friend Mildred who insisted it was all the rage these days, was so unlike your usual tailored attires of long skirts and lace-colored blouses. The thin straps barely holding the attire together make you feel so naked to a point that the blush on your cheeks flushes down and settles over the exposed skin of your shoulders, prickling it with this strange sense of heat.Â
âItâs the flapper look,â you explain to his gawking eyes as Hansol watches you as though youâre something holy and forbidden. âI thought it was time for some change in myself.â
For a long moment, he says nothing. Just looks.
His throat bobs. Once. Twice. Like heâs trying to swallow down everything heâs feeling in the momentâwonder, fear, longing, the aching edges of a man who doesnât know if heâs allowed to want something soft again.
Finally, quietly, he murmurs, âYou look like trouble.â
You huff a laugh, pretending it doesnât shake. âGood trouble, I hope.â
âThe best kind,â he says, more like a revelation to himself than a confession to you.Â
Your fingers brush over the loose fabric skimming your hips. You curl them into fists, trying to subdue the itch which makes you want to grab your coat and put it back on and just bolt awayâbut not before making Hansol promise that heâd forget what he just sawâŠwhat you made him witnessâŠwhat you just offered...Â
But his fingers work faster than yours, curling over your waist and pulling you flush until your chest mashes against his. Little knots of burning desire bunch up and explode all at once in every single inch of your body when he does that. Your lips part at the audacityâof his, and that of yoursâand the sight of you like thisâŠshell-shocked and wild-haired twists something carnal in him.Â
Instead of pulling you out of this state of collapse, he only submerges you deeper when he kisses you like he has never before. Hungry, open-mouthed, lustful. You donât even attempt to fight it when his tongue slips inside your mouth, stealing away the sweetness that lingers inside of you.Â
And that act of submission only seems to fuel him further into searing his touch deeper into the form of you.Â
âDivine,â he pulls away just enough to whisper that, his voice dark and hoarse, âthatâs what you are.â
He worships you with his words and his tongue some more before heâs pushing you around until your back meets the ground with a harsh impact. Itâs not enough to hurt you, but just right to make you moan.Â
âHansol,â you plead.
For what? You have no answer.Â
His lips come down on whatever trembling flesh he can findâyour wrists, your collarbones, your shoulders, the slight swell of your chest.Â
He moves lower and lower until your thighs press together with the foretaste of whatâs about to follow.Â
No matter how many times youâve been here in this exact state, the sight of his face pressed between your legsâcurious eyes gaging every little scowl, every little whimper that escapes you while his parched tongue laps at you, prods against you, cajoles you to let him in deeperânever fails to ravage your sanity.Â
Hansol canât help but grin when the much shorter, looser skirt pools around your hips on its own. His fingers have already worked through the layers of fabric that shield you from him and when the slickness that has gathered at your apex coats the tips of them, his head spins.Â
âOh, heavens,â he huffs out, dipping his finger deeper into your fluttering walls. The warmth, the soft clench, coupled with how you clasp your eyes shut but the tears still roll downâit almost undoes him right then and there.Â
His breaths turn ragged with every plunge of his fingers that make you convulse and arch off the ground. Air, he needs some air in his brain to better remember what is unfolding before him until eternity. He half-heartedly unlatches his fingers from your weeping core after a particularly passionate stroke against your nub to remove his sweater. All through it, you continue to tremble on the ground, cold mud clinging onto your skin as you attempt to reach out for him with your arms.Â
âHansol,â you call him back, âpleaseâŠâ
âI know, love, I know.â He muses, still lost in the fierce gravity of you.Â
You feel something small and hard pelt against your skinâthe buttons of his shirt as he wildly rips it open.Â
The white linen finally gives way for your vision to settle on his skinâtaut with labor and illuminated just by the moonlight under this pine tree.Â
The need to touch him that emerges out of you is so palpable, that it makes him lean down a bit, allowing your fingers to rake all over the hardened ridges on his abdomen to the smooth expanse of skin over his chest. His heartbeat turns chaotic and relentless when your touch lingers on the long, scarlet scar that runs across his sternumâa ghost of his skin that they took away from you.Â
âYouâre perfect,â you admit, regardless.Â
âIâm yours.â He echoes, like that somehow concludes the whole truth of him.Â
You donât falter, âthen make me yours, too.âÂ
A guttural sound escapes from the back of his throat as he half undoes, half rips your undergarments and kisses you down there with this undeniable hunger. You can only arch further into him, offering more. The taste of you never ceases to tip him over the edge of control.Â
He eats you out greedily, alternating between long stripes and shameless, open-mouthed kisses to a point where every exhale of yours comes out with a desperate moan. He sucks you so hard that you feel he intends to break you.Â
Your fingers fist around the strands of somethingâhis hair or the grass, you canât discern anymore. As a matter of fact, you donât want to. Because that would mean shifting a part of your attention from him towards something thatâs not him. And you donât want to do that, not even for a split second.Â
âI wish you could see how you look right now,â he mumbles, the vibration of his voice amplifying your pleasure tenfolds. âSo ruined alreadyâŠyet begging for more.â
That prompts you to imagineâyour body, lying dishevelled and open on a patch of grass somewhere so public as clay accumulates underneath your fingernails while he buries his face deeper and deeper between your legs like a parched man searching for an oasis.Â
You feel your limbs beginning to go limp under his ministrations, a telltale sign of the arrival of something that snatches all your coherence away from you and leaves you a blushing, blubbering mess of Hansol. He makes you welcome it with open arms with a final, scorching kiss on top of your aching folds, right over the little root of pleasure that has been bearing the delicious torment of his calloused fingers.Â
By the time the coil of tension snaps, you are sobbing. Tears flow freely down your face, collecting the dirt that has gathered on your face from the struggle.
A molten blush crawls up from the column of his neck and flushes throughout his face when he re-emerges from between your legs that lie listless on either side of his body. From one side, the city lights cast just enough illumination across his face for your half-lidded gaze to catch the thick arousal that coats his gleaming lips.Â
The sight makes you shut your eyes close for good before you lose your mind.Â
Strong hands wrap around your thighs, angling your ankles to settle around his waist while he holds you down with his body weight. Your lips part with an involuntary moan as humiliation of reveling in the feeling of being overpowered this way begins shrouding your mind.Â
Hansol calls your name under his breath, then his hand departs from fondling your chest in favor of his rock-hard length.
He lines himself up with your entrance, the blunt head positioned right by your gaping, quivering hole. He nips at your skin once, perhaps to distract you from the overwhelming pleasure laced with pain as he pushes deeper into you.Â
But the ache doesnât subside, not when your hips gyrate against him eagerly, effectively pulling him halfway inside of you.Â
You mewl, suddenly too aware of the fact that you can never get used to the feeling of that first stretch, that delicious ache.Â
âDollâŠbe patient.â He begs.Â
âN-need youâŠHansol.â
âI know, love, itâs written all across your body.â He slots his fingers with yours, âbreathe for me, go on, breathe.â
You obey, or try to. Because every single one of your inhales crests, and every single exhale splutters. The only thing you can do without struggling is calling out his name again and again.Â
Hansol whimpers when you cry, the pressure of your walls around him an intoxicating bliss. He plunges his remaining length inside of you with a breathless gasp causing your vision to blur.Â
The fact that you canât determine where pain melts into pleasure and where you end and he begins is already so nervewrecking. So when he begins rocking in and out of you, gentle one moment and reckless the other, you find yourself scrambling for control before Hansol can drive you to utter lunacy. You donât know how it happens, but you succeed in pushing him until heâs on his back. His length slips out of you in this brief tussle, making you whine. But you donât stay at loss for long because the very next moment, youâre climbing on top of him. His whole body jerks as he pants and the only thing that makes sense is for you to push him back inside your sensitive core.
The lust on his face makes you shiver when you brace your hands on top of his broad shoulders for support.Â
Grass and dirt dig deeper into your knees as you begin moving up and down over and over again on his hard length. Your entire body convulses with every debauched plunge, your breaths breaking before they can even make it out of your throat.Â
Below you, Hansol watches you with actual stars in his eyes, his mouth still wet and pupils blown out yet gleaming with the brilliance of a thousand moons even in the exhausted darkness.Â
It is a tranceânothing more, nothing less.Â
He smoothes his palms under the hem of your dress to clutch either side of your waist, providing you additional support with your erratic movements. The action aids you gain better control, but your desperation is no less frantic.Â
You clench him like youâre proving some claim. You call out his name like thatâs the only prayer you ever learnt.Â
You begin to find a rhythm in how to roll your hips in a way that pleasures you both, but your lover offtracks your entire train of thoughts when he begins angling his hips to meet you halfway up. Even from underneath you, he dominates this sinful act as he begins pistoning in and out of you, forcing you to adjust to the pace he sets for the both of you.Â
You have no choice but to clamp your drooling mouth over his and oblige. His grip over your waist tightens like a punishment as he penetrates your tight heat, making you succumb entirely to his mercy.
This isnât just sex, this isnât some fleeting desire.Â
This is love, finally given an actâŠand boy does Hansol make you perform.Â
The hot, white daze rapidly expanding from the corners of your vision quickly overtakes your senses, choking you with overwhelming pleasure as he continues to sink in and out of the messy wetness between your thighs. You shatter with a broken gasp on top of him and like he had been waiting for just that, he quickly follows suit. Warmth and bliss bloom into something tangible and thick inside of you as he fills you with all he has to give you in the moment.Â
âI love you,â you break apart, sure and unwavering even when his eyes turn into a shade of onyx that you cannot recognizeâsuch is the intensity of this moment.Â
âI love you,â you drawl, your eyes rolling behind your lids as your bodies sway in tandem in the aftermath of this heat.Â
âI have loved you,â he says, long after your world has suspended. âAnd I will always love you.â
âž»
The water instantly turns murky with dirt when Seokmin rinses the washcloth in it.Â
The household helper changes the basin almost instantly, bringing in another set of fresh towels before leaving the couple in the privacy of their bedroom.Â
Seokmin tries again, softer this time. The water is warmer, but the grime plastered behind your ear is impossibly stubbornâwonât come loose unless he applies at least some pressure against your raw skin.Â
Your face scrunches up in pain and you hiss, the sound is so soft, so little, that it shatters him all at once. He pauses, letting you shift into a more comfortable position. There are no visible injuries on your body, just a weary kind of damage.Your skin is chilled to the touch, still holding onto the bite of a cold nightâs wind even though youâve been inside for nearly an hour. Tiny goosebumps pebble your arms and legs, never fully settling. The dirt isnât just on your face; itâs dusted throughout your hair, accumulating under your nails and in the little crevices of your arms.Â
âShall I?â he asks, long fingers fisted over the damp, warm towel.Â
Meekly, you nod.Â
He pats your skin with utmost tenderness, wiping away the little trails of mud with his thumbs, picking the dried bits of dead leaves and shriveled flowers from your hair. The tactile act provides the benevolence needed in this moment against the things that hang heavy and unsaid in the air between you two.Â
âStaying out all night like that,â Seokmin finally thaws the uncomfortable ice, âI thought you were smarter than that.â
The light rebuke isnât that of annoyance, but rather disappointment. Your lashes cast down with a prickling sense of shame.Â
âYour temperature is abnormal,â he continues, quite concern weighing his expressions down, âthereâs a possibility that the scratch on your knee is infectedâŠwe need toââ
âItâs not fair.âÂ
Your voice comes out so hoarse and jagged and you immediately wince when your throat burns.Â
Your statement startles Seokmin. What exactly is unfairâhis rightly placed concern? The cruel gossip amidst the servants outside?Â
âWhat is not fair?â he asks quietly.Â
Your lips part, but your voice betrays youâstill too raw to be overused.Â
Seokmin shakes his head pitifully, offering you a cup of warm water and honey. But you donât even attempt to reach for itâyour wild eyes focused in a corner of the room where the carpet peels off the floor.Â
Just when he tips the cup closer towards your cracked lips:
âItâs not fair that Raymond keeps him away from me all the time,â you begin to complain, âhe had to leave for work before I could even wake up.â
The cup almost slips out of Seokminâs grasp, but he quickly recovers. By now, he is very well versed with the drill.Â
You barely even notice that though, because youâre already off on a tangent of your own.Â
âI must talk to Raymond about this,â you declare, fumbling with the blanket draped over your knees, âthis is simply cruel and inhumane!â
Your resolve doesnât falter when you finally look at a very stoic looking Seokmin with this impervious hope, âsay, Mr. Lee, youâd employ Hansol to work for you, wonât you? I donât know how that never crossed my mindââ
Before he responds to you, he abruptly gets up from the bed and asks the servants waiting for his next orders outside of the room to just take it off for the day.Â
Then, he marches back into your bedroom and opens the curtains wide.Â
You squeeze your eyes shut at the onslaught of sunlight, your lids flutter as they struggle to adjust to the sudden brightness. They feel impossibly dry, yet brimming with tears at the same time.Â
Seokmin calls out your nameânot like a command, but more like an urge. Heâs holding your elbows, you realize. By the time you finally recover, the first thing you gage is the absolute anxiety over Seokminâs face. This pale look of utter horror and discomfort like heâs choking onto somethingâperhaps his own words.Â
âMr. Lee,â you whisper, it comes out like a question. âWhy are you holding me back? I need toââ
Seokmin says your name again, softer this time. And then, âplease, listen to me.â
âBut itâsââ
âNo, please. Just breathe for a moment.â
âBut Hansolââ
âIsnât here anymore!â Seokmin didnât mean to blurt it out like that, but he does.
And with how the color drains from your face, he instantly regrets it.Â
He can see the truth that youâve stitched deep inside your bones, in an attempt to forget, curl its way up your spine and towards your head. But thereâs still that stark defiance that your heart pumps in your very veinsâone that youâll let yourself be blinded by, even if it means never seeing even a speck of light ever again.Â
Seokmin tries to fight it on your behalf, âhe isnât hereâŠhasnât been for years. Ever sinceââ
You jerk your arms away from his hold.Â
âStop lying!â you scream, âall you do is lie. Your entire existence is a lie!âÂ
Seokmin knows exactly whatâs happeningâthis provocation, this reflection of pain turned outward because your mind cannot hold it in any longer. Itâs the same script every time, but it never gets easier to watch.
âYou justâŠyou just donât want me to be with him because that ruins your perfect little plan,â you speak more to yourself than to Seokmin now, âbecause if Raymond lets him go, youâre afraid youâd lose your pretend-wife and hence, your reputation. People will know you only married me to save face! That you prefer men over women!â
âHansol is not here,â he repeats, barely audible. âYou know this. You do know this, even if youââ
You press your palms over your ears, cheeks completely soaked with hot, uncontrolled tears.Â
âStop it! Stop lying to me Mr. LeeâŠâ you stumble off the bed, away from him, âfor the love of God, stop being so cruel!âÂ
Seokmin can feel his own composure beginning to fracture, but he pushes through it, because someone has to stay steady. And it will never be you.
He takes a step forward as you struggle to put your coat back on, his hand carefully extended towards you. But you gasp with sheer horror, your eyes bulging wide as you flinch away from him like heâs your predator.Â
âI canâtâI canât do this anymore.â You shake your head frantically, âI canât stay married to you to save your face while the love of my life rots away in a dingy cinema-room loading and unloading love stories that he might never get to live.â
Seokmin watches you helplessly as you put your shoes on with this haphazard urgency. Like if you donât act now, something precious and pure will once again be swallowed into the belly of the Earth. A vicious act of thievery, a cruel annihilation of love.Â
âI need to finish watching the movieâŠâ you repeat, âI must finish watching the movieâŠâ
Seokmin knows better than to stop you right now, so he waits for a beat until you disappear down the stairs and then, he follows you to the theater where your childhood sweetheart Hansol once worked before getting forcefully conscripted into the army half a decade ago.Â
âž»
Raymond sees her every time when she pretends to sneak in, but never stops her. His weathered, grey irises are full of sorrow for the poor girl.Â
Today, she rushes in unabashedly. No disguise. No attempt to be invisible.Â
Her steps are erratic, her coat half unbuttoned. Her hair sticks to her sweaty forehead in rivulets and if anyone saw her eyes, theyâd be flinching away from her as if she were a rabid animal.Â
Raymond considers going after her when she barges inside an empty cinema-room, one that she always slips into. The same one that her lover once helped operate.Â
Sometimes, she stays there for a few minutes.
Most times, she spends hours.Â
Just when heâs about to check in on her, a hand clasps his shoulder. Lee Seokmin, the jazz singerâŠher husband.Â
âPleaseâŠjust, let her be.â He pleads, reaching inside his pocket to settle whatever loss this interruption would cause Raymond.Â
Raymond doesnât accept the wad of cash.Â
Just walks up to the chalkboard and erases all the schedules for the day.
âž»
The screen is already drenched in the images stuck where you had left them. Hansol mustâve loaded the projector already. Hopefully, this time, it wonât stopâŠeven though you wish it did.
âHansolâŠâ you call out in the dark, this little beacon of naive hope shadowing what you already knowâthat perhaps, now, he wonât show up.Â
Persistenceâthe language of your love letters to him.Â
You try to wield its powers again. âHansol, love, donât hide now. I have enough savedâŠeven if Mr. Lee refuses to help us, we can goââ
A loud screech, the tell-tale sound of plastic reel spinning against metal.Â
The movieâŠthe rite of passageâŠbegins to play again.Â
What a grotesque name.Â
You refuse to acknowledge it by prying your eyes away from it even though the faces on the screen begin morphing into the ones you recognize. Yours. His. Seokminâs.Â
You try to run away, but something cements you on spot.Â
âI need to show you somethingâŠâ
Lovers severed by war and tethered by longing.Â
â...it is a story of loveâŠâ
And one of loss, too.
â...it ends the way it needs toâŠâ
An ending stripped off contentment for anyone involved.Â
You feel a strange sensationâsomething whirring inside your ears and making your focus wobbleâŠa weird vertigo. Almost like youâre peering down the edge of a cliff, your naked feet sweat-slicked and taut over the loosening sand.Â
The world seems like a single flip away from something irreversibleâŠyet, inevitable. Time. Like youâre one with the clock. No coming back. No bringing back.Â
On the screen, the hero is plucked out of his lover's arms and given an anglicised name.Â
Vernon, a name that traces back to an alder tree. Hansol, a name linked to a pine tree.Â
Did everyone who ever named him felt his presence akin to a balmy shade of a tree as well? Away from the blinding lightsâŠa soft life that tumbles and giggles in the shadows.Â
At the end of the movie, the hero dies.Â
The heroine goes mad.Â
The once opaque, ivory sheet of the projector turns into a mirror.Â
Thereâs a gap inside of you nowâŠlike something scooped out of you. Something akin to a sweet poison which had to be sucked out or else it would have melted your insides.Â
You wonder if you would have liked that gradual necrosis. If that heaviness that seems to have been vaporized out of you was the only thing harnessing you here.Â
The hinges of the door creak when it opens and Seokmin enters, the matured yellow of the afternoon sun slanting its brilliance on you.Â
But you donât shrivel away anymoreâŠyou donât close your eyes.Â
