metamorphosis, born in fire then i fly away @outofconcheol - Tumblr Blog

Trigger (k.sy)

PAIRING: Soongyoung x f. reader SUMMARY: You have been Soonyoung’s entire world from the moment he met you. When you marry someone else, Soonyoung’s world ends. WC: 31,694 AU: Mafiaverse, Cyberpunk, Childhood Friends/Exes to Lovers GENRE: Smut, Heavy Angst RATING: 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: Full warnings available under the cut. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS VERY CAREFULLY. There are triggering parts of this fic on screen. A/N: Happy Early Birthday to the first installment of the Syndicates collection, Baby! Baby is maybe one of my single favorite things I've ever written, and has brought me SO many people and friends and fun readers to my blog! Baby was originally written and posted on sailorrhansol when I had that blog, and it was quite the event when that blog was deleted, then resurrected (has since been deleted by me). This fic is a re-telling of Baby entirely from Soonyoung's point of view, so it includes scenes we've seen before through an entirely different lens, as well as a ton of scenes we've never seen - including what Soonyoung was up to all that time Baby was married. I hope you love this as much as I do - I have been waiting to deliver this for months. A/N 2: This isn't beta read but I did edit it which is unusual for me so hopefully the mistakes are not crazy. We'll see.

COLLECTION | ASK | NOW PLAYING: TRIGGER | READ FIRST: BABY

WARNINGS: Graphic violence generally associated with mafia behavior, mentions of murder and blood, on screen murder, themes of codependency and obsession, references briefly to Soonyoung's father being tough on him, a lot of internal angst throughout, Soonyoung discovers his parents bodies on screen, intense depictions of grief and shock, angry Soonyoung for a lot of this fic, lots of thoughts/mentions of difference in social standing between Soonyoung and reader, brutal breakup scene, recreational drug use and drinking, bar fights and jealousy, on screen suicide attempt via drugs, cage fights/violence, mentions of torture that happens off screen but the victim is briefly on screen, Soonyoung not caring if he lives or dies for a bit, a lot of derealization/depersonalization, Soonyoung feeling like he's just a body/not human for the second half, depictions of panic and anxiety, just... lots of blood. Most of this is a recreation of Baby but there are new scenes with added violence, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected sex, oral (f. receiving), a little bit of groveling, fingering, emotional sex.

If our love is a drug You’re the one with the trigger Shoot me down, shoot me down I don’t wanna remember you

KWON SOONYOUNG IS CRYING THE FIRST TIME HE MEETS THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE. He hates crying because his dad hates when he cries. Soonyoung’s father has told him over and over again that crying isn’t a way to solve his problems, but Soonyoung can’t help it.

He twists his fists tighter in his mother’s skirt, clinging to her. He knows he’s here because he’s supposed to make friends, but the last time he’d tried to make friends had been at school and they’d hurt him. He hates being hurt - it makes him cry.

Everything in the unfamiliar foyer seems too big. The floors are impossibly shiny, the high ceiling stretching upward in what feels like a never ending spiral. It smells faintly of flowers - not like his house that smells like vanilla when his mom bakes. His house is large too, but not like this house, with its sprawling jungle outside and massive bulk of building.

Sighing, Soonyoung’s mom crouches down. Her eyes soften as she brushes the tears from his ruddy cheeks, her touch warm. He sniffs, trying to catch his breath as she gives him a look that he knows means enough. It’s not as scary as when his father does it, but Soonyoung knows his mother is giving him the opportunity to collect himself.

Soonyoung loves his mom. He tries not to let it dictate everything he does for fear of his father calling him a momma’s boy, but he can’t help it. His mom is the smartest and most loving person Soonyoung knows, and she knows exactly how much vanilla to add to his cookies and when to give him time to process emotions.

Emotions have always been hard for him to process, which is why he cries all the time.

“You’ll be fine, Soonyoung,” his mother promises. Her voice is gentle but firm and he sucks in a breath and nods. “You’re here to make friends with the Choi family. You remember they’re friends of ours, right?”

Soonyoung does. He’s never been here before, but he’s seen the Tower before, a terrifying man who frowns a lot and makes even Soonyoung’s dad bow with respect. The Tower is the most important person to Soonyoung’s father - besides Soonyoung and his mother, of course. It is his father's job to protect the Tower, to be his most loyal friend, to be the sword and shield.

Movement catches Soonyoung’s eye. He glances over to see you peeking from behind your mother, who gives you a sharp look. You sigh and step around her, staring at Soonyoung with your nose scrunched. You link your hands behind your back, watching Soonyoung with the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen.

He thinks you’re an angel. He doesn’t know much about angels, but he’s heard they’re supposed to be the most beautiful creatures in the world. When he looks at you, he thinks you must be an angel. It’s the only explanation.

A boy steps out of what Soonyoung thinks is the kitchen. He’s older than both of you, his stride confident and self-assured. He walks like the kids at school with money and parents in high positions. His eyes narrow when he looks at Soonyoung up and down, unimpressed. Soonyoung stands a little straighter, realizing this must be the Tower’s son.

Soonyoung doesn’t understand a ton about the Choi family, but he does know the Tower is number one, which makes the Tower’s son pretty important. Soonyoung immediately feels a need to be careful around this boy, knowing that weakness won’t be appreciated.

“Seungcheol,” your mother chides. “Don’t be rude to our guests.”

The boy - Seungcheol - glances at you. Soonyoung watches you and Seungcheol exchange some sort of silent communication and realizes you must be siblings. There’s a little bit of Seungcheol in your face, though you’re softer and younger. You shrug at your brother and Seungcheol sighs, turning to face Soonyoung. He bows politely, not too low, not too high - the perfect, practiced bow.

“It’s nice to meet you, Soonyoung.” The Tower’s son straightens, his eyes dark. “Are you here to play video games?”

No, he almost says. He’s here to become friends with the Tower’s son. Even at a young age, Soonyoung understands this. His entire purpose here today is to become what Soonyoung’s father is to the Tower, but to Seungcheol. To love him, to protect him, to honor him.

Soonyoung straightens a little. He can do this. He’s always been up to any task - albeit, after a little crying - and when he looks at his mother for permission, he sees that she’s pleased. “He is,” she tells Seungcheol. “We thought it might be good for you to become friends. All three of you.”

Soonyoung looks at you again. His heart soars. He didn’t realize that he would get to be your friend too. If he’s being honest, he enjoys that prospect better. Seungcheol looks a little too scary and like he takes everything too seriously, where you look quiet. Kind. Pretty.

“Do I have to?” You ask your mom, frowning.

That makes Soonyoung deflate a little. You don’t seem eager to be friends with him and it stings a little. Thankfully, your mom tells you that you do have to get to know him. It makes it a little better, but Soonyoung shifts from foot to foot, suddenly angry that you don’t want to play with him. Makes him feel like the kids at school.

“Why don’t you want to play?” Soonyoung asks, a little frustrated.

“I’m not any good.”

Oh. That makes sense to him. He doesn’t like things he’s not good at either, but he wants you to stay with him, so he says, “That’s okay. I’ll let you beat me.”

Seungcheol groans. “Ugh, don’t let her win. Come on. I got the new Grid Fighters game on the Reality Rift console!”

“No way!”

Grid Fighters is hard for anyone to get a hold of. No one at Soonyoung’s school has been able to get it - much less afford the Rift console - and he’s been watching videos online of cool streamers playing it, living vicariously through them. The idea that the Tower’s son has it sends Soonyoung running after Seungcheol, excited to try it out.

When you don’t follow, Soonyoung stops at the door. You’re rooted to the spot next to your mom, mouth down turned. Soonyoung recognizes the look on your face - fear. Fear of not being accepted by others when forced to interact with them, fear of not being good enough. Of someone hurting you.

Soonyoung never wants you to feel that way around him.

“Come on,” he whispers. “I’ll let you win, I promise.”

Your smile lights up the room. Suddenly, Soonyoung decides he will let you win no matter what, so long as he gets to see you smile like that again.

-

Training with you is going to be the end of him. It’s the final thought Soonyoung has as you fling him over your back, sending him sprawling to the mat. You’re small but you’re strong, your fighting skills incredibly deceptive. Anyone who doesn’t know you might see the polite and curated daughter of the Tower of the Choi Syndicate, but Soonyoung knows you’re more than that. You can smile and say thank you, but you can also throw a nasty right hook.

Of course, Soonyoung lets you win. He’d decided that the first day he met you. Nothing has changed from the first time Soonyoung saw you smile - except, perhaps, he knows that you’re not an angel. You’re something better, though. Something real and divine in your own way, and as he blinks stars from his eyes from being thrown down to the mat again, he can’t help but grin.

“Holy fuck,” he wheezes, rolling over. He’s covered in sweat, watching it drip onto the mat as he pushes himself up. “Can you let me win for once?”

Soonyoung gets to his feet and looks at you. It takes everything in him not to groan at the sight. You’re not doing anything specific - you’re just existing, covered in a sheen of sweat, little hairs sticking to your temples as you guzzle down water. He watches the bead of sweat slide down your throat as you gulp and Soonyoung’s stomach flips.

Everything you do drives him insane and it’s a testament to his self control that he manages to ignore the way he feels when you’re looking like that, sweaty and disheveled and grinning at him wildly. Soonyoung is grateful that Seungcheol ignores the two of you, working on weighted sets as Soonyoung trains you in hand-to-hand combat.

A single glance at the digital screen across the training room monitors Soonyoung’s vitals. He notes that he’s in the orange zone and winces, knowing that the second you clock it, you’ll know he was going easy on you. You hate it when Soonyoung goes easy on you.

You glance at the wall and Soonyoung knows it's coming when you huff, “Maybe if you weren’t afraid to actually hit me.” You cross your arms, giving Soonyoung a serious look. He opens and closes his fist, looking anywhere but you. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

Seungcheol makes a gruff sound as he gets up to swap the weights on his machine. “He’d put you on your ass, Baby. Lucky for you, he always lets you win.”

It makes Soonyoung wince. Seungcheol has never been too keen on the way Soonyoung lets you win. He’s not too keen on the way Soonyoung does anything for you. Even at sixteen, Seungcheol has made it clear no less than a hundred times the various ways he will put an end to Soonyoung if he ever hurts you.

Soonyoung has to refrain from telling Seungcheol just what Soonyoung will do to him if he ever hurts his sister. Thankfully, despite your teenage bickering and the obvious disinterest Seungcheol has in your general life, the two of you get along well and Seungcheol would die for you. It’s something he and Soonyoung have in common, though Soonyoung doesn’t like to mention that bit too much to the older boy.

Soonyoung is supposed to become a guard and confidant to Seungcheol. Not you.

Sighing, Soonyoung walks over to you and sits by your feet. He holds a hand up, thirsty. You pass him the water bottle without thinking and Soonyoung has to hide the smirk as he takes a sip. Though the love he harbors for you isn’t a two way street, he likes that you’re comfortable with him. It makes him feel safe.

“I don’t want to hit you,” Soonyoung tells you, lowering his voice so that your brother can’t hear him. He takes another sip of your water and bumps against your leg. You grin and he smiles up at you. “I just don’t like the idea of you getting hurt.”

“Everyone treats me like a baby.”

Well, that was true. As the youngest member of the Choi family, everyone has handled you with kid gloves your entire life. Soonyoung is as guilty of that as anyone, but he also challenges you when others won’t. You’re the single person he isn’t afraid to speak his mind around, even if it's to disagree with you.

“You are,” he points out. “But it’s not a bad thing. For example, you say jump and everyone asks how high. Even my dad.”

Soonyoung’s father primarily answers to the Tower, but it extends to the Tower’s immediate family, including his daughter. Thankfully, you don’t give the Sentinel or any of his Swords much of a problem. You are fiercely loyal to your family, incredibly well-behaved, and the only person that you give a hard time is Soonyoung.

He doesn’t mind. He likes that you feel free enough with him to push his buttons, that you can ask him to break curfew with you and to sneak bottles of wine from the cellar late at night. He would never tell his father that, of course. The Sentinel would rather Soonyoung spend his time getting to know Seungcheol, not you, but it’s too late for that now.

“What about you?”

Soonyoung looks up at your question. “What about me?”

“Jump.”

It’s such a simple word. Soonyoung isn’t sure you understand its gravity. He wouldn’t just jump for you. He would do anything for you. He’d determined that from day one. If you asked him to jump off a building, he would do it no questions. If you asked him to steal you away from your family and take you somewhere the Syndicate doesn’t exist, he would do it.

Even at fourteen, Soonyoung knows that your life is going to be a hard one. It already is harder than others. All he wants is to make it easier, and if you gave the slightest hint that for a second you wanted something else, he would give it to you with no questions asked.

Grinning and shaking his head, Soonyoung gets up to his feet, setting the bottle of water down. Your smile grows and he feels the pang in his chest, the already sizable love for you growing threefold. Tenfold. He doesn’t know if it will ever stop, this infinite ability to love you.

He knows he shouldn’t love you. His devotion to you makes a wonderful tool to protect you and to give you someone to rely on, but it feels like a loaded gun sitting on the table every time Soonyoung admits to himself that the affection isn’t going away. That he doesn’t want it to.

“How high, Baby?”

-

Rain hisses against the sleek black panels of the family car, tracing silver lines down the windshield. Hyperion sprawls below in a blur of neon, the glow of the city far below the curving road of the Estates District as the car climbs.

Soonyoung presses his sweaty palms to his knees, trying not to fidget. His suit collar bites into the back of his neck, irritating and itchy but if he keeps squirming, his father is going to notice. Tonight will be one of those nights where Soonyoung’s father is watching everything and everyone, even if he’s not on duty.

Which means Soonyoung has to be perfect.

His mother’s hand brushes his shoulder, warm and grounding. “Stop scowling. You’ll get wrinkles when you’re older.”

“I’m not scowling,” he mutters.

“You always scowl. Even when you’re trying not to. Lord knows you get it from your father.”

Soonyoung’s father grunts on the other side of his wife, amused. His mother’s dress catches a flash of streetlight, giving the illusion that she’s spun from the rain herself. Soonyoung’s mother has always been the most beautiful woman to him - besides you - and when he glances at her now, he softens a little.

Next to her, Soonyoung’s father watches outside of the windows, eyes ever vigilant. He stares at the city below like he can pinpoint every person who means to do the Choi Syndicate harm. Soonyoung is pretty sure he might be able to. As the Choi family’s Sentinel, his father is the sword, shield and eyes of the Syndicate, their best line of defense.

Soonyoung is supposed to be him one day. He’s not sure how.

“Remember why we’re here,” his father intoned, voice low. “You’ll represent the family, not yourself. Don’t let your eyes wander where they shouldn’t.”

Soonyoung’s jaw tightens. “I wasn’t planning to cause trouble.

“You never plan it. It just happens.”

Soonyoung’s mother exhales, laughing. “He’s sixteen, Jaehwan. Not a Sword yet. Let him breathe.”

“He’ll be a Sword soon enough.” He hesitates, and then softens, turning from the window to look at Soonyoung. “And I know you don’t make trouble. You’ll make a fine Sword.”

It’s as good of a compliment as any. It isn’t that Kwon Jaehwan is cold or mean to Soonyoung - he’s quiet and a bit distant, but he makes his pride known. Most of Soonyoung’s friends have awful fathers - he shivers thinking about Vernon’s - and parents who pay them little mind. All things considered with the Sentinel’s position, he should be a worse father.

But he’s not. It makes Soonyoung admire him, even when he’s afraid of him. Kwon Jaehwan is a respected man who commands loyalty, fear and admiration all in one fell swoop. It’s why your father made him the Sentinel of the Syndicate after he took over.

The Choi Estate rises from the mountain like a citadel forged from obsidian and light. Soonyoung sees it only for a moment before it vanishes in the inky, dark green of trees and rain. The walls of the estate are high and guarded, and there’s a heavier security presence at the guard house at the gate tonight than usual.

When the driver rolls down the window, the security team realizes it’s the Sentinel immediately. Soonyoung expects to be waved right through, but under the scrutiny of the Sentinel, each sword carries out their full duties, searching around the car with a dog, checking the trunk, and the underneath of the car.

Jaehwan’s mouth twitches, unbothered by the formality of it all. He trained these men and women to be thorough - even with him.

They’re waved through and the car crawls through the gate as it opens. Soonyoung has been to the Choi Estate hundreds of times - he's here almost every day. It’s still just as imposing as always, a dense network of tropical plants and jungle hiding random offshoot roads that lead to smaller guest houses and a winding gravel road that eventually ends up at the main house.

The main house in question rises up in all its grandeur against the night sky. All four stories of windows are lit up, making the house glow with ethereal gold. Dozens of cars line the curving driveway, valets running back and forth from the steps to park cars as guests pour inside.

An attendant with an umbrella opens the door to the car, escorting Soonyoung with an umbrella over his head. It feels strange to be catered to like this. Typically, it’s him doing this kind of stuff. But tonight he’s a guest, and he’s supposed to be treated like a guest, even if he throws an awkward wave to the young Swords of the family that he played video games with a few days ago.

Inside the main house is a wonderland. Chandeliers of molten glass hang above, walls of shifting holo-silk, guards hiding in the shadows in matte black. He can sense the electricity of the party, eyes catching as servers dressed in shifting colors of silver and white walk around, making it look like there are ghosts moving about the home.

Soonyoung follows his mother and father through the crowd. People part for his father like water on rock, spilling to the side and bowing their heads as he goes. He’s respectful about it, greeting those he knows well with a few words, nodding to those he’s unfamiliar with. The Sentinel is a guest tonight, but it’s obvious he’s still on duty - he always is.

There are two ballrooms in the Choi manor, but they’re in the main one tonight. As soon as they walk into the gilded double doors, Soonyoung’s father murmurs to his wife and kisses her on the cheek before departing to find the Tower. He gives Soonyoung a single look that means watch your mother, which Soonyoung happily accepts.

After you, his mother is his everything.

Turning to Soonyoung, his mother touches his lapel, straightening it with practiced hands. “Just you and me. Don’t disappear. Let me show you off first.” He smirks and rolls his eyes but she laughs, kissing him on the cheek. “You look handsome tonight. Come on.”

Inside, the ballroom feels alive with power. Soonyoung isn’t used to being in a room with the full suite of Syndicate powers. The Tower is here, and with him, the gravity of his family commands everything. Seungcheol is near his father, tall and steady, a living shadow of the Tower’s authority. He nods at Soonyoung when he sees him followed by a wink that means they’ll talk later.

Vernon threads through the crowd, briefly catching Soonyoung’s eyes. He nods but is caught up as his girlfriend passes him, her hand catching his as they trail after Yoon Minji, the Wisdom of the Choi Syndicate. Soonyoung tries not to shiver. Of all the people he’s afraid of, Minji might be somewhere near the top of his list - Jeonghan’s mother is formidable.

As promised, Soonyoung’s mother shows him off. She catches up with old friends, her armed linked with Soonyoung as he escorts her. Her job here is to be a socialite and accept niceties with her fine, young son on her arm. His job is to dote on his mother and accept the compliments on his father’s behalf.

It’s a dance he’s familiar with.

While his mother speaks to Lee Yeonseo, the head litigator of the Choi Syndicate’s personal family firm, Soonyoung’s eyes wander. It’s not that he’s not interested in the conversation - he is entirely fascinated by the fact that there is an entire armada of lawyers dedicated to Choi family matters, especially the Lee family who all dedicate themselves as personal litigators for the Tower and his family. But he’s tired and he hasn’t seen you yet and -

He spots you across the room. You’re unmistakable. Even in a room packed with wealth and glittering decoration, you draw the eye effortlessly. You’re in a black dress, the cut sharp and deliberate. Your laughter cuts through the party and Soonyoung’s heart begins to race. He feels the familiar ache for you bloom, an obsession he has not managed to tamper.

You’re here, and he can’t approach you. Not right now, anyway. He wants to close the distance, to reach for your slipping sleeve or to tuck the loose strands of hair back into place behind your ear, but the crowd of people and the knowing flick of his mother’s eyes keeps him rooted to the spot.

So Soonyoung stands there, chest tight, anchoring himself to the conversation and counting down the minutes until he can find a way to slip away and make his way over to you.

Just as Soonyoung begins to turn away, you glance toward him. For a heartbeat, the world stops. He sees the way you light up, excited to see him. You don’t stop your conversation, but yours eyes stay on him, a smile spreading across your face, nose crinkling in that familiar way.

“Don’t.”

Soonyoung flinches to notice his father has slipped up behind him. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You don’t need to,” the Sentinel says, sharp and cutting. “The Tower’s daughter is not for you.”

“She’s not for anyone. She’s for herself.”

His father studies him before signing. “You think so?”

Silence. Soonyoung doesn’t know what to say. Soonyoung would never dream of you being his - unless you wanted him to be. He can’t imagine that you do, but if. If keeps him up at night. If keeps him asking how high every time you tell him to jump. If makes him so lovesick that sometimes he can barely stand it.

“You’ve got your mother’s heart,” his father says finally, voice softening. “Too full. Learn to guard it, or someone will use it to cut you open, Soonyoung.”

Soonyoung swallows, jaw tight. He nods, turning away from you to pretend to key in to the conversation his mother is having. He can’t stop thinking about you, though. The sound of your laughter. The way you play the part of the beautiful daughter of the Tower so well when he knows you’d rather be lounging somewhere on property with a cigarette and ganging up on Chan with Angel.

The conversation at hand fades. Soonyoung senses the shift of power as he turns his head a fraction of an inch to see the Tower approaching. You’re right behind him, grinning at Soonyoung like the cat that ate the canary. He swallows past a lump in his throat, glancing at your father who greets Soonyoung’s family warmly.

“Soonyoung!” The Tower says, voice low but banished. “It’s good to see you.”

Soonyoung bows respectfully, keeping his eyes down. “Tower. It’s an honor.”

“You’re so much taller than I remember you.” The Tower looks at your mother and shakes his head. “He is handsome as the devil. I hear he’s smart, too. A little bit of a temper - reminds me of Seungcheol - but that’s okay. We need that.”

A faint flush crawls up Soonyoung’s neck. You slide up next to your father, leaning on your tip toes to press a quick kiss to Soonyoung’s mother’s cheek. “My mother is looking for you in the billiards room. They’re playing protocol.”

“Ah! She told me she got me a new set of tiles. Will you show me where the billiards room is again, sweet?”

“Let the boy show you,” Jaehwan says. “He knows where it is.”

The Tower laughs and claps Soonyoung on the back. “Keep your mother safe on the way, yeah? You’re gonna make a good man one day, Soonyoung.”

Soonyoung’s father hums. “He is.”

Sighing, Soonyoung holds an arm out to his mother. He was hoping to steal you away. It’s obvious you’d meant to do the same, but just as his mother says her goodbyes to the Tower, you tilt your head toward the west terrace garden. He quirks a brow and you grin, turning away from him as you ask his father something.

Biting his smile back, Soonyoung leads his mother to the billiards room. She knows where it is - she’s been here a million times. The ploy was no doubt for his mother to get you alone to herself so she could talk to the girl that Soonyoung is so obviously in love with, but thankfully, Soonyoung’s father didn’t want that.

After he drops his mother in the billiards room and greets all of the women with their clove cigarettes and gushing compliments, he escapes the crush of guests to find you again. You’re in the terrace garden as expected, shielded from the nonstop rain by a glass dome that turns each drop into suspended silver.

You sit on a bench, propped backward with one hand as you crane your neck to look at the rain on the glass. You have a champagne flute in the other, the drink sparkling with the low light of the glowing stones on the path through the garden.

He approaches quietly but you sense him anyway, turning to grin at him. “That was fast. I thought the old women would keep you longer.”

He snorts. “They tried.”

“Can you blame them? You look all brooding and serious tonight.”

“Have you met my father?”

“I quite love the Sentinel.”

He snorts again and sits down next to you. You offer him a sip of your champagne and he shakes his head. He tries not to go stiff when you shift so that you’re leaning against him, the weight barely there but enough to send his pulse racing. “Dad is serious about me being in line tonight.”

“Same. It’s exhausting.”

Soonyoung hums. The words hover between you. The two of you are from the same world and yet sometimes he can’t help like he’s worlds apart. When he was younger and he realized how serious your role was within your family’s hierarchy, he dreamed himself a prince to steal you away and take you somewhere you could do anything but be the serious, loyal daughter of the Tower.

He still wishes that for you sometimes. He wonders if your family knows that you like to paint. Or that you’re really good with numbers and that your talent is wasted on playing socialite. He wonders if they know that artwork makes you cry, and at more than one gala in the past few years he’s caught you wiping away tears over staring at an old painting.

You’ll never get to be the girl who paints or wanders galleries alone, but Soonyoung wishes he could give that to you.

“You’re too quiet,” you tease him, nudging his shoulder with your own.

“I don’t need to be noticed tonight.”

“Well. Lucky for you, I’ve noticed you. You look handsome.”

He swallows the lump in his throat. You have no fucking idea what it does to him when you say that. He knows that it doesn’t mean anything - not in the way that he wants it to. What you mean is that you notice him because you notice everything. You’re smart for a fifteen year old, and if someone let you, you’d be able to run the Choi Syndicate one day.

That, though, is Seungcheol’s future job.

Noticing is in your nature. In fact, it’s what makes you so good at talking to people and moving in gossip circles. He wishes he had an ounce of your subtlety, and maybe his parents wouldn’t know how over the moon for you he is.

“I hate when you’re quiet,” you murmur.

“I’m still loud. There’s just a time and a place now.”

“I suppose you're right.”

You both let the quiet settle while the part hums behind the glass. The rain drums its rhythm, steady and silver, a world apart from the chaos inside the party. Soonyoung likes this. The silence doesn’t feel heavy, and he senses the soft shift as you tilt your glass back for another sip, your head tilting against his shoulder.

And then, inevitably, Seungcheol’s voice cuts through the terrace, sharp and precise. You straighten and move away from Soonyoung immediately as Seungcheol enters the terrace. He looks relieved only for a split second before his gaze leaves his sister to Soonyoung.

Seungcheol’s eyes darken. Soonyoung says nothing as you stand, sighing dramatically as you ask your brother what now? Seungcheol is here for you, but his eyes are on Soonyoung, narrowing a fraction. Seungcheol is one of Soonyoung’s best friends, but the Tower’s son has finally shifted from the cocky cool kid to the broody, astute teenager he’s expected to be.

And he’s become especially protective over his little sister.

“I’ll see you later?” you ask.

Soonyoung nods and gives you a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He won’t but that’s okay. “You look lovely, by the way.”

You grin over your shoulder as you skip over to your brother. “Bye, Soonyoung.”

He watches you go, chest tight, every instinct screaming at him to follow you. Seungcheol’s stare keeps him rooted to the bench, though. Your brother vanishes behind you, leaving Soonyoung underneath the glass dome alone with nothing but the rain and the distant hum of the party.

The terrace is where his father finds him. Soonyoung glances up as his dad walks in, carrying a wave of silence with him. His dad’s footsteps are silent as he walks over, sliding his hands in his pocket.

“Still out here?”

“It’s quieter.”

His father gives him a knowing look. “The girl was out here.”

“She lives here.”

Eventually, he sighs. “You fight like me, but you love like your mother. It’ll save you one day. Unless it kills you first.”

Soonyoung closes his eyes, feeling every word land heavy, grounding him even as longing twists tight inside. Rain hums above, silver light refracting through the dome, endless. For some reason, he feels like that little boy who used to cry all the time again, the sudden twist in his throat, the telltale feeling of an emotion he doesn’t know what to do with.

“Come on, son. Let’s go home.”

-

The streetlights smear neon across slick asphalt as Soonyoung navigates the empty mountain road, tires splashing through puddles. His chest tightens with each passing second, a knot of dread forming. He is two hours past curfew. On a week night. His mother is going to kill him. Worse, she’s probably going to tell his father and he’s going to kill him.

Soonyoung’s phone died two hours ago - he knows it’s not an excuse. His mother won’t care that Vernon and Chan are bullshit at tracking time, and it won’t matter that they were just playing video games. All that matters is that Soonyoung has broken the rules, and he knows better than to break his mother’s rules.

The Kwon Estate is smaller than the Choi’s by a mile, but it’s still large. It rises like a phantom against the night, black walls etched with faint gold inlays. The gates are closed and silent, but with the press of a button, they roll open for Soonyoung’s car.

Unlike the Choi family, they don’t have active security here. There is an alarm system and advanced measures and a wonderful guard dog that is probably asleep in Soonyoung’s bed, but beyond that, the Sentinel and his son are enough to defend the home.

Both of his parents’ cars are in the garage when he parks. Of course they are. It’s just past two in the morning. His father is usually out later than this, but why wouldn’t he be home on the single night that Soonyoung breaks curfew and needs to have his ass chewed out.

Getting out the car, he hustles to the door adjoining the main house. He pauses when he gets there, hand hovering over the handle. He listens for sound and hears nothing. He’s not exactly sure what he’s listening for - his mom will be asleep and his dad is probably waiting in his study for him to get home.

Something nags at him, though. His chest hammers and he shakes his head. Calm. Just be calm. There’s nothing wrong and you’ve been out all night.

He steps inside, eyes scanning. Nothing is wrong inside. He sags, a little annoyed with himself as he crosses through the kitchen, grabbing a tangerine as he goes. He knows his own anxiety at the punishment that awaits is eating at him, but he can’t help it.

Toeing off his shoes at the door, he jogs to the stairs that leads up to the bedrooms. He takes them two at a time. He gets to the second landing, turning to go to his bedroom, but he pauses. His parents’ room is on the opposite end of the hall, door slightly cracked. That makes him frown.

Soonyoung considers going to his room to shower before facing his father. He should. That is the sensible thing to do. But the opened door doesn’t sit right with him, and the idea that something might be wrong is too much for him to just go to his room.

He moves toward their room instead, steps careful and deliberate. Each step feels too loud in the quiet, his pulse hammering in his ears. He hates the way suddenly, everything feels too loud. Too staticky. He swallows past the lump in his throat as he reaches their door, reaching out a hand to push it open.

A nightmare waits for him.

Soonyoung’s father lies sprawled across the bed. His eyes are open, expression frozen in shock. There’s a gash at his throat, neat and clean. No struggle visible, no chaotic blood spray. It’s deliberate. Pointed. A professional’s work. Bile rises in Soonyoung’s throat as he swivels.

The tangerine in his hand hits the floor.

He doesn’t even register his mother at first. He forces himself to step into the room and the scent of copper hits him, iron-rich with a soft undercut of familiar perfume. She’s sprawled next to his father, half under the cover, one hand curled under her cheek like she had been rising from bed. The other dangles limp - she hadn’t even made it to turn the lamp on.

His mother. The woman who held him when he cried, who laughed until his chest hurt, who scolded him when he ran headlong into danger.

Soonyoung’s ears start to ring. He feels his heartbeat like it is a living, raging thing, pounding in his chest so loudly that he can barely hear his own heightened breathing as he rushes over, hands shaking.

“No,” he whispers. His knees buckle as he drops to the floor, crawling toward his mother. “No, no, no.”

He presses his fingers against her face, brushing darkened strands of her hair from her cheek. They crackle under his touch - dried blood, he realized. Her cheek is freezing. Too cold. His vision narrows, focusing only on her. His chest begins to heave, lungs burning as panic threatens to overwhelm him.

“Mom,” he works out, voice cracking. “Mom it’s okay. Mom.”

Soonyoung’s mother doesn’t move. He leans forward, cradling her head against his shoulders. Tears burn his eyes. His father’s body presses against his vision, a background detail he cannot process yet. His mother. His mother. He can’t breathe, can’t think. Every instinct honed for violence and for danger fails him in the face of his mother’s death.

Right now, he isn’t the son of the Sentinel, the man who reacts. Right now, he’s the son of Kwon Aejeong, the boy that cries.

Grief paralyzes him. He bites his lip, tasting blood. His fingers dig into the fabric of her nightgown, desperate for a connection, for warmth that isn’t there. She’s gone. He knows it. But he doesn’t know what to do now.

Somewhere, thunder rolls in the distance. It makes his head snap up, but he’s alone in the house. Alone. The house is utterly still. He realizes he should call someone. The Tower. Anyone. But his hands are shaking too violently to hold a phone steady.

Soonyoung takes a deep breath and turns to the nightstand. His hands are shaking when he sees his mother’s phone. He can barely get the holoscreen to light up, hands shaking so much he can barely type out the only phone number that comes to mind.

His breaths come in short, harsh gaps, matching the pulse pounding in his temples.

“Hello?” Your voice is rough with sleep.

“Baby.”

“Soonyoung? What phone number is this?”

“You have to…” He stammers, voice cracking. “I need. I don’t know what to do.”

“Soonyoung what’s wrong?” He can hear the sudden focus in your voice. He wishes he felt as calm. “Soonyoung, talk to me.”

“They… my parents.”

“The Tower is coming.” He can hear you on the other line screaming for your brother. “Stay put, Soonyoung. Are you safe?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. Stay on the phone with me-” You get cut off, voice muffled. “- tell daddy something is wrong at the Kwon Estate. Get Vernon, we’re going.” More muffled sounds and then you’re talking to him, “Don’t move, okay?”

He swallows, nodding even though you can’t see him. “I can’t move.”

“That's okay, Soonyoung. Stay with me,” you insist. “Don’t leave me, okay? Help is coming.”

Soonyoung leans over his mother again, curling around her small body. He presses his forehead to her hair, the scent faintly clinging. He cannot hold back the sobs anymore. They erupt, violent and ragged, spilling over all his other instinct to try and calm himself down.

He rocks her gently, whispering her name over and over, as if saying it enough might bring her back. His father’s presence looms at the edge of his mind, stern and disapproving in life, now just another cold body to grieve beside.

“I’m here.” Soonyoung glances at the phone in his hand. The call is still connected, your calm voice a tether to reality. “I’m not leaving you, Soonyoung. It’s okay.”

“I was supposed to be here. I could have-”

“No, Soonyoung. Don’t.” He sniffs, nodding. “Just breathe, okay? I'm right here.”

He breathes. He cradles his mother, his body trembling. He whispers apologies and small, frantic words that make no sense. Outside, it starts to rain, a relentless drum against the windows, the world carrying on as though nothing has happened. Yet here in this room, his universe has shattered.

He fights to stay upright, to breathe, to keep some semblance of control. But the sobs continue, echoing in the empty house, a primal sound he cannot contain. His father’s body lies beside her, and he finally allows himself to glance, to mourn the man who was both Sentinel and tyrant, stern but protective.

Gone.

The thread of your voice keeps him tethered, keeps him from unraveling completely. But the room smells of blood and perfume, and he realizes nothing will be the same after this.

Engines and the low rumble of tires on the driveway breaks the heavy silence. Soonyoung lifts his head slightly, ears straining, heart thudding. Floodlights swing across the estate grounds, cutting through the shadows of the house.

Footsteps thunder through the home. Soonyoung doesn’t move, watching as lights turn on and figures flood the bedroom, the Tower among them. He’s flanked by several Swords, guns out and masks on.

Soonyoung doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. His hands still rest lightly on his mother, fingers gripping the fabric of her nightgown. He feels dizzy. Distant. The world seems to have only narrowed to the two bodies on the bed, the smell of blood, the racing of his pulse.

“Soonyoung.” The Tower’s voice cuts through the din. “I need you to come over here.”

He swallows, nodding once, almost imperceptibly. No words come. Nothing seems real yet. His body moves on autopilot, obeying the ritual he’s been drilled in his whole life: step aside, let the leader take control. But the shock makes him mute, a frozen boy in the ruins of his own home.

Footsteps echo in the hall. Soonyoung’s peripheral vision catches movement. The Swords swivel, guns raised at the intrusion but then the Tower yells to hold. Vernon and Chan appear first, face pale in the flood of light. You’re right behind them, hair wet from the rain, eyes wide. Vernon and Chan hesitate but you don’t, crashing through them as you move straight toward Soonyoung.

“No,” the Tower snaps at you. “Leave. Now. This isn’t your place.”

You ignore your father. You reach Soonyoung, sliding into the space beside him, wrapping your arms around him without hesitation. Soonyoung blinks, stunned, as the contact jolts him out of the haze just enough to register the press of your body against his. You’re warm. Not cold, like the bodies on the bed.

“Come with us,” you whisper, tugging. He doesn’t move at first. “Don’t. Come with us. With me.”

“I can’t…”

Vernon appears next to you. He reaches out a hand, grabbing Soonyoung’s forearm. Vernon’s hand is warm and sure, squeezing. “Come with us.”

The Tower steps forward, rigid, fists clenched, voice like steel. “I said-”

“We’re leaving,” you snap back. Your father seems ready to argue, but Seungcheol appears, a real adult the tower can trust. You tighten your hold on Soonyoung and swivel him toward the door. “We’re taking him with us. We’ll go downstairs.”

Soonyoung leans into you, unsteady, shaking, mute except for the occasional ragged intake of breath. He closes his eyes for a moment, letting your presence anchor him. He lets you and Vernon pull him toward the door where Chan is waiting, pale faced and hand outstretched to receive the three of you.

The four of you herd him downstairs, the rain continuing its steady percussion against the glass. Like you promised, you take Soonyoung to the living room. Vernon presses a cold bottle of water to Soonyoung’s neck, relief flooding through him as Chan uncaps water and forces Soonyoung to drink. Seungcheol stands in the corner, half tuned in to what they're saying upstairs and half shielding the three of you from view, fingers twitching.

And you? You hold him through it all. Fierce. Refusing to let go.

His entire world. The only thing in the world that he has left.

-

It’s gray and cold the day Soonyoung buries his parents. The grounds are crowded, faces blurring into a sea of solemn expressions and whispered condolences. It’s all fucking meaningless. Soonyoung sits rigid, shoulders squared, hands clasped tight. No tears come.

He’ll never cry again.

Every gaze that lands on him makes him want to scream. They expect him to react to their sympathy, to do something. He doesn’t bother. His grief is his, not anyone else's. The boy who once would have openly shown his pain is dead.

Fury simmers under his ribs, dark and violent. It coils in him like an ugly, hungry thing, hardening his muscle and sharpening the tension in his shoulders. The only thing that keeps him from blacking out in fury is your warm hand wrapped in his. It’s familiar and solid, an anchor in the sea of his rage.

Death and murder is not a stranger in the Syndicate. Until now, though, Soonyoung always considered himself untouchable. His father was the Sentinel, the highest ranking heavy in one of the most powerful families in the city. Murdered unsuspectingly with his wife by an out-of-town hit man paid for by a low level Syndicate that didn’t even matter.

Had it been one of the Kim or Yong families, it might have started a war. But this was an insult. A no one who managed to sneak up on the fucking Sentinel on sheer dumb luck.

It fills Soonyoung with equal parts shame and hate.

He grips your hand like iron. He’s sure your hand is going numb by now, but you don’t ask him to let go or soften his grip. You suffer with him, the only one allowed to share his grief. To see the storm raging underneath. You’re in this moment with him, the only piece of his life that matters anymore.

The Tower glances at your hand in his. Soonyoung doesn’t flinch. He stares right back at the Tower, daring him to say something. Soonyoung doesn’t care what the Tower thinks anymore, and if he wants to take his daughter away from Soonyoung, he can try.

Today, the Tower decides it isn’t worth it.

Hands reach toward Soonyoung, names and faces he cannot remember whispering condolences. He doesn’t respond. You navigate the ritual for him, bowing and nodding, accepting respect and sympathy on his behalf. You are his shield, an interpreter in a world that no longer makes sense to him.

Time stretches. Faces blur. The ceremony moves on, but Soonyoung remains rigid. Coiled tight. The last guest departs. The gates close. Silence descends like a weight. Soonyoung does not loosen his grip on you. He does not look at the empty rooms, the cold beds. The house is a tomb, but you are solid, warm, alive. The only thing real.

He leans slightly, just enough to rest his forehead against the top of your head. Your warmth is steady against his chest, your hand entwined with his, and for the first time in hours, he lets himself breathe a little.

In the hush of the empty room, Soonyoung’s heart pounds. He loves you. He loves you more than anything else in the world. Fiercely. Silently. Entirely.

He doesn’t say it. He doesn’t need to. His love for you is his burden to bear, not yours. His fingers tighten around yours just slightly, and the weight of that small connection between you is good enough for him. Any scrap you give him, he’ll take.

For now, he’s in love with you, and it’s enough.

-

The training room thrums with the low beat of synth. Sweat glints along Soonyoung’s collarbone, his veins bright beneath skin. The neon strips on the ceiling pulse in time with the music, the screen on the far wall displaying vitals as he punches the training dummy in front of him until he can’t feel his hands anymore.

Soonyoung is keenly aware of Seungcheol and Vernon watching him. He ignores them, breathing out sharply between his teeth as he jabs at the dummy, hitting it hard enough to send it careening. Soonyoung gulps down a few breaths of air as he walks over to it and rights it, shaking out his hands before squaring up to attack his fake enemy again.

Seungcheol’s shadow cuts through the red glow of neon. “We should talk.”

“Why?”

Once upon a time, Soonyoung would have never dreamed of speaking to Seungcheol this way. Seungcheol is going to rule the Syndicate one day, and Soonyoung is supposed to take his side as his most trusted shield. Right now, it doesn’t feel that way. He feels irritation at Seungcheol’s presence, knowing where this conversation is going to go.

He’s known it since last night.

Soonyoung couldn’t help himself. Hearing that you were going to one of your mother’s galas with a date had set him off in a bad way. Picking fights didn’t used to be Soonyoung’s thing, but lately it’s all he feels like he’s good at doing. Plus, the kid he’d fucked up was a bully anyway and had been giving Seungkwan trouble from Soonyoung’s understanding.

He deserved the cracked orbital Soonyoung gave him.

“You need to tell me what’s going on with my sister.”

Soonyoung stills. He keeps his gaze straight forward, the flicker of red across his hands like neon blood. “There’s nothing going on.”

“Let me be clearer, then: what’s going on with you as it relates to my sister?”

“We’re friends.”

“Bullshit.” Seungcheol’s tone sharpens. Soonyoung hears the Tower in Seungcheol’s voice. He has half a mind to be proud. “You think I don’t see it? Every time Baby is near you, you stop breathing. Every time someone else is near her, you look ready to tear them apart. You sent some fuck ass to a hospital yesterday because you were jealous.”

“I sent that fucker to the hospital because he was pushing around Seungkwan who is four years younger than him.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me.”

Vernon exhales and comes over. He reaches to grab Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Cheol-”

“No,” Seungcheol snaps, shaking Vernon off. “He needs to hear this. It’s not just any girl we’re talking about. It’s my sister. The Tower’s daughter. The one person in this world I will not let your obsession damage.”

Obsession. Soonyoung hates the way Seungcheol says it. He makes the love Soonyoung have for you seem like a curse. Maybe it is. But Soonyoung would rather die than let anyone hurt you - doesn’t Seungcheol see that? Doesn’t he understand that you’re the only thing in Soonyoung’s life that feels clean?

“You think I’d ever hurt her?” Soonyoung asks, voice low.

“That’s not what I’m afraid of,” Seungcheol scoffs. “I’m afraid of what others will do because she’s important to you. She’s the daughter of the Tower. The sister of the future Tower. She already has a target on her back. But you? You’re a future Sentinel. Your future is promised in blood and written in violence, and your attachment to her makes her vulnerable in ways I never could.”

Seungcheol steps so close that Soonyoung can smell the cologne lingering under sweat. Seungcheol is only a little taller than him now, but he’s broad. Thick in the arms. He’s a good fighter, but he’s refined in a way that Soonyoung isn’t. Soonyoung knows refinement can be a weakness.

He immediately feels shame for the way he calculates the probability of beating the son of the Tower in a fight. He can’t help it, though. He’s been programmed from a young age to read every threat, and right now, Seungcheol is tracing his fingers along Soonyoung’s fight or flight instinct.

“You know exactly what the threat of being a Sentinel brings.” Seungcheol glares. “You’ve lived it.”

Vernon hisses Seungcheol’s name but Soonyoung doesn’t hear it. All he hears is the hammering of his pulse in his ears as the room narrows to a focus. Flashes of his mothers face splash across his memory. How cold she was. How she hadn’t even made it out of bed. The way her perfume lingered, mingling with iron.

Soonyoung’s stomach roils. The room feels smaller, like the walls are pressing in. He takes a step away from Seungcheol. Vernon’s saying something to Seungcheol, low and steady, but it’s static against the roar in Soonyoung’s skull.

You’ve lived it.

The words loop. He has lived it. He’s lived what being the Sentinel’s son means, what it costs to guard the Tower. He’s lived seeing his father give his life over to the Syndicate to keep it going. His mother and father both had died for that kind of devotion.

Soonyoung’s mother only died for being married to his father. Soonyoung knows that. It was the risk she had taken when saying her vows when they got married. In love and in death. She probably always knew that the reason for her death would be the man she was married to.

A man that Soonyoung is supposed to become.

“Soonyoung.” Vernon’s voice cuts through the buzz. “He didn’t mean-”

“Yes, he did.” Soonyoung’s voice is unrecognizable. He drags a hand through his hair and lets out a shaky breath. “He’s right.”

“I didn’t say it to hurt you.”

Somehow, that hurts worse. Hearing Seungcheol’s deflated voice is worse than if the Tower’s son had been trying to hurt his feelings. He knows that he wasn’t, though. Seungcheol loves you the way an older brother should. He gives you trouble, he picks on you, but he’s protective. Shields you. Is a steady bulwark for you in the chaos that is your life.

It is Seungcheol’s job to tell Soonyoung the truth, and the truth is that Soonyoung can’t love you. At least, not the way he has been.

“I know exactly what my future is, Seungcheol.” Soonyoung’s voice comes out clipped. His heart rate enters the red zone on the wall, flickering as it climbs. “I know the violence. The blood. The way people look at me - you look at me - like I’m an animal almost feral. I already know.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightens. He looks like he wants to argue, but Vernon cuts in first, stepping between them again. “Hey. Enough. Both of you.” His tone is softer, calmer. “All Seungcheol is saying is that you need to be more subtle. He’s not asking you to get over your feelings just... The entire world can’t know, okay?”

Soonyoung stares at Vernon, then at Seungcheol. His throat is dry, his body vibrating with something too close to grief. He moves to the side of the room and sits down on the edge of the mat. The cool floor bites through his sweat-soaked shirt. His heart’s still hammering, but slower now, an ache instead of a sprint.

“I just want her to be safe.”

Vernon comes to sit down next to him. “We know.”

Seungcheol runs a hand over his face. “Just be better about hiding it. I’m not asking you to stop loving her. I don’t think you could, and frankly, that kind of devotion means you’ll choose to protect her over anyone else. I need that. Just. Do better. You have to.”

Soonyoung doesn’t answer. The silence stretches until Vernon stands and claps Seungcheol on the shoulder, pulling him toward the door with a muttered let him cool off. When the door shuts, the room falls still.

He sits there for a long time, breathing in the smell of the cleaner that mists through the ceiling to de-sanitize the room the sweat on his skin. His knuckles are split and bruised, blood welling in tiny beads along the ridge of bone. He flexes his hand and feels the sting, the blood weeping down his fingers.

For a moment, he pictures you - the curve of your smile, the light in your voice, the way you say his name like it means something soft instead of sharp. It calms him down like it always does. He lays back on the mat, staring up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes as he replays Seungcheol’s words in his head over and over again.

You’ve lived it. You’ve lived it. You’ve lived it.

Seungcheol’s words are all Soonyoung can think about as he leaves the training room and goes to his own bedroom. He’s taken up residence at the Choi Estate now, and living down the hall from you is torture. Vernon and Seungcheol’s rooms are between you, thankfully, but it doesn’t mean that it’s not divine suffering when Soonyoung sees you walk by at night in pajamas or sees you first thing in the morning.

Hot water sluices down his back. He closes his eyes, trying to erase the haunting memory of his parents’ bodies. The Tower’s wife had recommended therapy for Soonyoung, but the Tower had scoffed at that. Blood and violence was something that Soonyoung needed to get used to. Therapy was never going to help him.

Children of the Syndicate were promised a life of violence. He was better off than most because his family was so high ranking, but he knew the lower down the rung you got, the worse it was. He thinks about Angel, whose mother tried to kill her as a child. Only Vernon intervening had saved her life. He thinks about Vernon, whose father had tried to end his life. Angel had returned Vernon’s favor and taken the life of a well-equipped Sword when she was barely a teenager.

Soonyoung has been lucky. The only death he’s seen is his parents. It was enough to kill the soft boy inside of him though, replaced with something that longs to feel. That wants to hurt just to make sure he isn’t numb.

Hair damp and still shaken, he throws himself into a computer chair after his shower. His hand still hurt, but he wants the mindlessness of video games to try and take his mind off the pressing ache of earlier.

Fate doesn’t feel the same way. He hears the knock on the door just before he puts his headphones on, and he already knows who it is. No one else knocks that gently. He stands up to let you in, but you’re already slipping into the door, leaving it open behind you.

Panic and desire crash together in his chest. Panic because you had to pass Seungcheol’s room to get here, desire because you’re dressed in thin pajamas that make him lose his fucking mind, and because he can smell the vanilla perfume on your skin and in your hair.

“I have a favor to ask,” you murmur.

Soonyoung frowns. You’re twisting your fingers together, shifting from foot to foot. You won’t meet his eye, even when he arches his brow and ducks his head to try and catch your gaze. It makes him a little nervous.

“What is it? Why are you so nervous?”

“It’s a weird favor.”

“Are you going to ask me to hide a body?”

“What? No!”

He smirks. You’re cute when you’re annoyed. “Then it’s not that weird of a favor.”

“Fine. I want you to kiss me.”

Soonyoung’s smirk vanishes. He’s glad he’s not in the training room still, or you’d see the way his heart rate enters the red zone immediately.

“You want me to do what?” He’s half delirious, half terrified of the request. He pulls you closer into the room and shuts the door behind you, heart thundering. “Where is your brother?”

You frown. “I have no idea.”

Soonyoung swears under his breath. He moves away from you, trying to put space between you. The room is dim, lit only by the glow of the AetherLink behind him, a frozen streak of color over his bedroom walls. It paints you in a blue light, making you look ethereal - like the angel he thought you were as a child.

“You can’t just-” he sighs, lowering his voice. “Did he see you come in here?”

“Why are you being weird? I’m in here all the time. You live here.”

He laughs once, sharp and hollow. “I’m being weird? You just asked me to kiss you. Neither your brother nor your dad want you in my room in the middle of the night.”

“Since when? Look, I’m sixteen and I’ve never been kissed, and Lin just lost her virginity to Jeonghan. What happened to when I say jump you say how high?”

“Oh, don’t start with me. Who cares if Lin is giving it up to Jeonghan? She blew Wonwoo like two weeks ago. It’s not a competition.”

Soonyoung hates Lin. She’s the daughter of one of the high up Chariots which makes her important enough to be in your circle of friends, but she’s a shit starter. It was Lin who had suggested you take a date to the gala, and it was Lin who often tried to poke fun at Soonyoung’s proximity to you.

He fucking hated her.

The look on your face makes him wince. You fold in on yourself, arms crossing your chest, shrinking in the blue light of his room like you want to disappear. It makes his chest ache - he doesn’t know what you want from him, exactly. He doesn’t know the right thing to say, but he wants to.

You have no idea what you just asked of him, though. You’ll never know how much he’s wanted the press of your mouth against his, the ghost of your breath against his skin. He’s spent years learning to hold his love for you in his fists until it cuts him, and here you are asking him to kiss you not because you love him, but because you don’t want to be outpaced.

He watches your throat work, watches the tremor of emotion building behind your eyes. You turn away before he can stop you. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Guilt crashes through him. He doesn’t know why, but your feelings are hurt. Girls are complicated and though he understands you better than most of them, the hurt that flashes across your face and the telltale sound of tears in your throat make him crumble.

“Baby-”

You try to bolt. Reflex takes over and he snatches your arm before you can escape him, dragging you back toward him. The instinct to soothe your pain and do whatever you ask of him overrides everything else.

“Don’t be like that,” he murmurs.

“I’m not being like anything. It was a stupid favor to ask.”

He groans. You refuse to look at him, leaning away to hide your shame. “Would you look at me?”

“No.”

He exhales through his nose, trying to keep calm. “Why are you being so difficult?”

This is the version of you he knows best. Defiant. Stubborn. Outspoken. You’re not like this for anyone else because you’re not allowed to be, but this is the you he loves the most. The one who refuses to tell him whatever is wrong because you don’t want to. It makes him love you more.

It makes him think of the time you tackled Angel when you were kids because she had punched Seungcheol. You’d been far less refined then, a little terror that made the Tower laugh and tell everyone you had your mother’s fire. You still do - he sees it now as you try to tug away from him - but there’s that Choi mountain coldness to you too.

You twist in his grip, still trying to pull free, but he doesn’t let you. “Well, if I’m so difficult, then let me go.”

“Baby.”

“Just let me go.”

“No.” The word comes out before he can stop it. “Why do you want me to kiss you?”

You flinch, the sound of your embarrassment sharp enough to make him wince. “Forget I even asked, just let me go!”

Soonyoung hears the crack in your voice and he panics. “Fuck - are you crying?”

“No!”

You’re definitely crying and he groans. “Baby, look at me.”

When you refuse, something inside of him snaps. He pulls you to him, harder this time. You make a startled noise and before he can remember how stupid this is, he presses his mouth to yours. The world goes absolutely quiet around the two of you, even the pounding of his own heart distant.

Your lips are tentative, but when you lean into him, his resolve snaps entirely. He presses in closer, the scent of your vanilla and skin flooding his senses. He feels like his blood is on fire as you grow a little more confident, pressing your lips firmer to his.

Soonyoung has kissed girls before. He imagined every single one of them was you. This is nothing like that, though. It feels like his first time taking frostbyte, a high so quick and powerful that he cannot imagine letting you go.

But he has to. All you asked for was a kiss to even the score with your friends, and he’s done that. You don’t need anything else - don’t want anything else from him. So he pulls back, looking down at you. Your eyes flutter open and his heart squeezes. He’s close enough to count all your eyelashes, close enough to bend down and kiss you again if it wants.

He does want.

“You have pretty eyes,” you whisper. He almost laughs at how much it hurts to hear you say that to him. “I’ve always thought you had beautiful eyes.”

Footsteps crash up the stairs, you brother’s voice calling your name. The memory of earlier shatters the moment and Soonyoung drops your arm. He takes a step back from you, needing room to breathe. For you, you’ve gotten what you wanted, a kiss to tell your friends about. For Soonyoung, it feels like his world is on fucking fire.

“There’s your kiss,” he mumbles. “Is there anything else you need from me, or do I need to jump too?”

The words taste wrong the second they leave his mouth. He doesn’t mean to sound angry because he’s not. At least, not with you. He watches your face for a heartbeat too long. Confusion flickers there, immediately followed by hurt before a mask of composure slips over your expression, a skill you’ve learned to use at parties.

You don’t say anything for a heartbeat, and when Seungcheol calls your name, you leave. You give him a single look at the door before slipping out into the hallway, the click of the door shutting loud in the silence of Soonyoung’s room.

For a while, Soonyoung doesn’t move. He just stands there. He can still smell you, sweet and sharp, the vanilla clinging to him. He runs his tongue across his lower lip, tasting the lip balm you’d left there. He lets out a shaky breath and presses the heel of his palm to his chest like he can quell is hammering heart.

He shouldn’t have kissed you. He knows he shouldn’t have. But you’d asked and that was all it took. One look, one tremor in your voice and everything Seungcheol said earlier was meaningless. That’s how it’s always been with you, though. Soonyoung has always abandoned rationale for you, like that time he tackled Angel for fighting with you at your birthday party.

Soonyoung had sworn to himself just hours ago that he would get his head on straight and find a way to start guarding the way he felt about you, and you’d come in and immediately wreck his plans. All that conviction was nothing at the thought of you.

He sinks down on the edge of his bed, elbows braced on his knees. He stares at the blue glow of his AetherLink still paused on the home screen. His hands are shaking. He pressed them together, but they don’t stop. He thinks about how soft your mouth was, the way your breath hitched when he pulled you toward him. The sound you made. It replays in his head on a loop.

“Fuck,” he sighs, falling backward on the bed.

Usually, Soonyoung’s room smells like teakwood. Right now, it smells sweet and cloying, overpowered by the smell of you. He hates the way it makes his head spin. Hates the way that he knows he fucked up. He imagines Seungcheol and Vernon’s faces if they knew. The disappointment and fury, the fear.

The thought of it cuts him deep. Soonyoung already knows what comes next. Tomorrow, he’s going to try to put distance between you. He’ll avoid you and it’ll eat him alive to do it, but he’ll try. And then you’ll come around, bright and unbothered, and he’ll look you in the eye and fall in love all over again.

He’ll fail. With you, he will always fail.

-

Victra’s mouth is hot against Soonyoung’s neck. It feels good and he grins, tipping his head back as she presses herself closer to him. The vibrations from the music pulse through his bones, thumping in beat with his heart. Above him, the neon casts fractured shades of blue and violet over the crowd. It makes the world appear dreamy and slow, though it’s probably more to do with the combination of drugs and alcohol in his system.

The crowd writhes around him, bodies grinding together. Holographic dancers twist and undulate above the floor, skin glistening as though real, beads of sweat catching the lights. He notices details most people would miss, like the way Victra smells distinctly of resin, the way Taps slip through the crowd offering hits of frostbyte and packets of resin, the way teeth gleam too white and eyes flash, too dilated.

Soonyoung tracks every single one of the Taps, but he tracks the other people he knows, too. Even fucked up, he’s aware of everyone in the room. He’s a Sword of the Choi Syndicate, and even though it’s his night off, he’s never really off.

He also notices you.

You’re perfect on the velvet booth like a queen in a gilded cage, a glass of champagne in your hand. You scan the crowd too, your eyes sharp and precise. Even all the way down here with another woman sucking marks into his neck, Soonyoung can feel you. Is drawn to you.

When your eyes land on him, he sees the twitch in your expression. He smirks at the small, nearly imperceptible flare of your nostrils, the way you tilt your head and turn away in frustration. A rush of satisfaction hits him, wild and uncontrollable. You’re jealous and it makes him feel alive. So rarely does it get to see it.

Once he’s noticed, he can’t stop. He knows you’re watching him and he loves it. The world is too bright and too loud, colors flashing in sync with the music, making every surface shimmer. His body hums with the electricity of it and the excitement that you’re watching as he puts his hands on Victra’s hips, as he grinds her into him.

Every instinct at him screams to walk up to the second floor landing where you’re sitting and to press his mouth to yours, to see if you’ll melt into him or fight him. He can feel it in the tight coil of his chest, the way his stomach roils, blood racing. He wants to push you. Wants to see what you’ll do if he presses you.

So he decides to push.

Soonyoung’s eyes don’t leave your booth as he wends his way through the crowd, pulling Victra along. He leads her up the stairs, aware that Mingyu and two of Victra’s friends have fallen into step behind him. By the time he gets to the top and security waves him through, he sees Wonwoo’s hand outstretched toward you as you inhale a small bump of frostbyte off a knife.

Jealousy flares in Soonyoung. It takes everything in him to tamp it down, watching the way your eyes roll back and you scrunch your nose through the burn, trying to keep your eyes from watering. He sits down in the booth next to Vernon, his eyes pinned to you as you sniff a few times, leaning back to talk to your brother, who looks dead next to you.

Victra and her friends help themselves to drinks. Soonyoung stares as you as you turn from Seungcheol, nodding. You’re momentarily caught up in the lights, tilting your head up to look at the lavender butterfly holos floating above. It paints your color in a wash of purple and lilac, and you’re so beautiful in that second that Soonyoung has to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from moving over to you.

Blood blooms in his mouth. Victra turns to him and presses another kiss to his throat. He lets her, leaning back against the couch with his eyes fixated on you, his mouth turning to metal as you come to your senses and drop your gaze to him. His stomach tightens as your eyes drop to Victra, eyes flashing.

Good.

It isn't that you love him. Not like he loves you. But you're possessive, and Soonyoung is your favorite thing. You hate when your favorite thing is under the attention of someone else and not you. It's a game Soonyoung has learned to play recently, knowing that this is all he'll ever get from you - little reactions, little flares of frustration.

Grinning, he leans his head back against the booth, letting his eyelids flutter shut. For the barest moment, he can pretend that Victra’s wet mouth under his ear is yours. The thought makes him shiver, until Vernon is jabbing Soonyoung in the jibs to get his attention.

“Baby is asking for you,” Vernon hollers over the pulsing music.

Soonyoung glances your direction again. You’re sitting stiffly on the edge of the booth’s seat, staring at him with a stormy expression. He nods and peels Victra off of him, happy to plop down onto the booth next to you to see what it is you need. He hopes its him you need, but when you point at your brother and ask for a stim pop, the dream deflates a little.

“Then you can go back to your little public sex session,” you tack on, heated.

Soonyoung grins and makes a cat noise at you. He likes you like this, all fire and heat. Your mother’s side of the family is known for their fire and passion, the phoenix symbol meaning more than just legacy and ash. You’re cold like the mountain of the Choi family too, but this version of you, spitting angry and trembling is best.

It means you care - care about him, specifically.

Soonyoung leans forward to pull a stim pop out of his back pocket. He always keeps them, needing them to stay awake during long shifts. You make a noise of protest when he leans into you and he grins as you shove at him, annoyed but not meaning it. You don’t push him hard, just enough to let him know you’re angry at him.

He presents the stim pop and you snatch it away from him, turning your back on him to shove the pop into your brother’s mouth. Soonyoung looks over your shoulder at the future Tower of the Choi Syndicate and winces. Seungcheol has had way too many drugs tonight, and a stim pop is exactly what he needs.

“Why are you being a brat?” Soonyoung asks, leaning into the back of the booth.

“Go away.”

He smirks. “Baby, please don’t start with me.”

“I’m not starting fuck with you.”

He knows. It’s him starting with you. He watches as you fawn over Seungcheol for a moment. Your brother has opened his eyes as he sucks on the stim pop, cheek round with the candy. Soonyoung is glad. Seungcheol was a little worse for wear, but he looks like he’s at least aware of his surroundings now, his eyes flashing between Soonyoung and you.

“Why are you mad at me?” Soonyoung asks.

He knows why, but he wants to hear you say it. You don’t, of course. Instead, you growl, “I’m not mad at you. Go away.”

“You definitely are. What did I do, hmm? Tell me.”

“Please fuck off.”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes but gets up. He’s more than happy to let you rage in your corner if that’s what you want to do, so he stumbles back to his seat where the girl he’d left behind looks frustrated. He doesn’t blame her. Someone else has had his attention all night. He tries to apologize in his own way, leaning over toward her and pressing his mouth to Victra’s.

She tastes all wrong. He can barely concentrate on the kiss because instead of vanilla chapstick, she tastes like liquor and the bitter taste of frostbyte in her gums. Soonyoung ignores it, dipping his tongue into her mouth, trying to get lost in the kiss, trying to drown himself in the heat of her lips to ignore the fact that she isn’t you.

It’s been two years since Soonyoung kissed you in his room and he can’t stop thinking about it. He’s never tasted you like this, never licked into your mouth or heard you sigh. But he dreams of it. It’s the kiss that never should have happened, but it fucking haunts him, even in this chaotic corner of the club.

You call Wonwoo’s name. It draws Soonyoung’s attention, pulling away from Victra’s mouth. She doesn’t mind, pressing kisses along his jaw as Soonyoung looks at you. You scoot toward Wonwoo, asking for more frostbyte but you don’t need more.

Drugs aren’t really your thing. You dabble in them occasionally, happy to have a high with your friends while you’re all out like this, but you don’t do them often enough to know how to handle them. Soonyoung sees you reaching for more and he reacts on instinct, snapping a hand out to snap his fingers at you and tell you no.

It makes you bristle, turning to him with all snapping teeth and rage. He feels Vernon cringe next to him but Soonyoung doesn’t care, eyes on you as you yell, “Don’t fucking whistle and snap at me! I’m not a dog.”

He hadn’t meant to make you feel that way. He just needed to get your attention on him and not the glittering powder in Wonwoo’s pocket. By the looks of it, you don’t need more. Your eyes are the size of moons, hands shaking, tongue licking your lips over and over again.

“Baby,” he pleads. “You don’t need more. Your pupils are the size of Mingyu’s big ass head.”

Victra goes stiff next to him. “Baby? Are you serious?”

Soonyoung groans. He knows what it sounds like - he has to go through this misunderstanding with every girl he brings around while you're there. “Chill out, Victra. It’s her nickname.”

Whatever you shoot back is lost in Soonyoung’s irritation. Everything feels too hot and Victra’s hands on him make him itch. He leans forward as you move to sit next to Wonwoo, who looks far to excited to ply the daughter of the Tower with drugs. To Wonwoo, this is exciting - you never party like this with them. To Soonyoung, it’s a red flag. He knows you’re mad and the last thing he meant to do was make you snort more shit up your nose to cope with it.

“Wonwoo,” Soonyoung thunders, knocking Victra’s hands away. “Don’t you dare give her that.”

Wonwoo is stuck between a rock and a hard place. No one has ever told you no, but everyone knows Soonyoung is not someone to fuck with. Soonyoung is a Sword - Wonwoo isn’t. He’s not even really a Tap, but he’s somewhere in the middle of the chain without an official title. Which means that both you and Soonyoung outrank him, and he’s not sure who to listen to.

Victra tries to pull Soonyoung back to the seat and it sets him off. “Stop clawing at me.” He turns back to you, your eyes blazing. “Baby, please stop being stubborn for one moment. Just one.” Victra starts bitching at Soonyoung, but he ignores her, eyes on you. Only you. “If you’re mad at me, be mad at me. Stop blowing shit up your nose to prove and point and be a bitch, though.”

Wrong thing to say. Soonyoung knows it’s wrong as soon as it’s out of his mouth. He doesn’t mean to call you a bitch, because you’re not. At least, not in a way that would make him call you that out loud. But the lights are too bright and the sour taste in his mouth is getting to him and his head is starting to hurt, all signs that his high is wearing off and that the long nights are getting to him.

“I’m not proving fuck,” you spot. “And Victra’s right, go fuck her in the bathroom or something and stop telling me what to do.”

“So it is about her?” He asks, caught between pleasure and worry. You’ve never fought about this before - especially not like this, in front of everyone with drugs pumping through you to fuel the rage.

Soonyoung doesn’t even catch what Victra says to you. He’s too focused on the glassy look in your eye and the hurt that he sees there and he feels sick. He hadn’t meant for it to hurt like this - he thought you might get frustrated because you like to hold his leash, but he hadn’t expected the pain looking back at him.

He feels like a fucking asshole - he is a fucking asshole.

There’s not much time to think about it. Whatever Victra said to you sets you off. Soonyoung blinks in surprise as you launch out of the seat toward them, knocking over glasses and bottles. Seungcheol’s arm snaps out to catch you by the waist and pull you back toward him.

Soonyoung’s hand goes to Victra’s thigh to pin her down but she’s up on her feet in seconds as Seungcheol subdues you, seeing a window of opportunity. Before Soonyoung can knock her back, Angel is on her like a rabid dog, slamming the girl into the booth and pinning her knee to the girl’s stomach.

It is chaos that Soonyoung can barely control. Angel pins Victra to the seat while her friends start to rise from the booth. A bucket of ice goes flying, spraying freezing cold water over Soonyoung and the others. He shoots to his feet, arm shooting out to grab one of the girls who was with Mingyu to keep her from getting to you across the table.

You’re screaming like a banshee, feet kicking out and knocking over bottles. Glass shatters and champagne sprays, drawing the eyes of everyone outside of your table. Security starts to come over but Soonyoung is pulling Victra from underneath Angel’s knee and shoving her toward Mingyu, hollering at him to take her.

One of the girls is bleeding, her brow split open from the ice bucket that hit her square in the face. Soonyoung doesn’t cringe. He just blocks them from entering the booth again, ignoring Victra as she throws every curse she can at him. Security helps Mingyu, wrangling the three women toward the steps while trying to assess the blood gushing from the one girl’s face.

Running a hand through his hair, Soonyoung turns back around. Wonwoo is picking glass off of himself while Vernon and Angel clear their side of the booth. An attendant shows up to start cleaning and Soonyoung gives him a nod of thanks, heart hammering and head spinning from the chaos of it all.

You’re talking to Seungcheol quietly, your brother caging you in as he murmurs something to you. Soonyoung sees you deflate and nod, sagging against the seat as whatever Seungcheol tells you lands. You nod and Seungcheol rises, giving you space as you pant through the rage.

Seungcheol gives Soonyoung a look. A few years ago, he would have started a fight with Soonyoung. Now, he just seems tired and annoyed. Soonyoung brushes shoulders with Soonyoung as he goes to sit next to you, your brother body checking him a little as he does. It makes Soonyoung grin - it’s not a threat, but a warning, more frustrated than angry.

Color swims above the two of you, painting you in fuchsia. Soonyoung looks up at the glitter of lights, feeling the anger deflate from you, replaced with something colder and more reserved, the phoenix turning into the mountain.

“Jealousy is crazy on you,” Soonyoung offers. He says it because he wants confirmation that it is jealousy, that the display of rage and chaos is because maybe - just maybe - you like him when he’s only yours. “I kind of like it.”

“Don’t do that to me ever again.”

Soonyoung laughs to hide the flutter in his heart. If he’d known he would get this kind of reaction, he wouldn’t have done it. But now that he knows what kind of reaction you would give, he can’t stop thinking about it.

His eyes drop down to your mouth. He thinks about that night in his bedroom when you asked him to kiss you, when you pressed your lips against his. It has followed him every day for two years, the ghost of your lips impossible to shake. He wants to kiss you now, but he doesn’t dare. Not when he’s still unsure about your jealousy, not when it feels fragile.

“I’m serious,” you continue. “Don’t ever do that to me again, Soonyoung. Not to me.”

Soonyoung nods and leans into you, melting into the seat. It’s small but he lets himself have this, everyone else be damned. You put your hand on his thigh and he nearly groans, feeling the tension bleed out of him as he puts his head on your shoulder, tired and wanting nothing more than to stay like this forever, the scent of vanilla lingering on his skin.

It’s the first time that Soonyoung realizes maybe you like him too.

-

Killing is not at all like Soonyoung imagined. There's no adrenaline rush, no gut-wrenching remorse. There's just the mechanical pull of the trigger and the sound of the electric charge of the gun. The body slumps to the ground like a wet coat, flopping over in the rain-slicked alley. Soonyoung stares at the body, the water in the street turning pink under the blue neon, blood flowing from the mess of skull.

He doesn't care.

The dead man had been a Rook of the Yong family who'd been trying to extort someone in the club thumping behind Soonyoung. Soonyoung had been watching him all night, waiting and gathering information until Old Man Vero confirmed he wanted the Rook dead. So he did exactly that, grabbing the man by the back of the neck and dragging him out here to beat him within an inch of his life before ending it.

Soonyoung looks at his hands. The knuckles are split and bloody, already bruised and growing darker. He flexes them. He can't feel any pain, but there's a popping feeling in his right hand that feels wrong. Broken, maybe. He doesn't really know. The frostbyte eating away as his exhaustion keeps any of the pain in the back of his mind, somewhere dull and distant.

Red and blue glows from billboards overhead. Soonyoung can hear them in the distance, advertising AetherLink upgrades with new virtual reality that makes people forget their shitty lives. He's never tried alternate reality - he doesn't need to. His life is shitty but at least he has you in it. There's no reality in the world that a computer can give him that is better than the one he has with you, even if you're not his.

The plasma gun is heavy in Soonyoung's hand, barrel humming faintly with residual energy. It smells like wet concrete and fried street food from the cart down the block, and he absently realizes that he's hungry. Hunger is the only thing he feels as he stares at the body bleeding out. The fleshy material of meat and white chips of skull don't bother him. He tilts his head, frowning. He thought it would be more splatter, but the rain washes away the gore.

Soonyoung should feel something, probably. His father had drilled it into him over late-night talks in their old house, back when the Sentinel was alive and teaching Soonyoung how to be a Sword.

"A man feels when he kills," his dad had said. "Guilt, rage, even satisfaction. But if you feel nothing, you're no better than an animal. A tool. And tools get discarded when they're dull."

Holstering the gun, Soonyoung stares at the body. He waits for the wave to hit - regret, maybe. For ending a life that had parents, maybe a kid, debts to pay. Or pleasure, the dark kind that other Swords whisper about in the Choi estates billiards room after a job, drinks in hand and eyes glazed.

There's nothing.

Soonyoung turns away and dials for a cleaner to come dispose of the body. He doesn't even do it himself, impersonal, uncaring. He doesn't care where the body ends up, he just knows it needs to be disposed of.

The Lower District pulses around Soonyoung, alive in a way that Hyperion's underbelly can be at this hour. He hears the side door to the club open and looks up, nodding when he sees a cleaning team before he shoves his phone in his pocket and walks out of the mouth of the alley, boots splashing in grimy puddles.

Hawkers shout from their carts at him as he passes. He can see Choi Syndicate Taps moving from club to club and prowling lines to get into clubs, pushing stim, frostbyte, syndust and more. Holographic dancers writhe in the windows of brothels, their forms glitching a little in the rain. He pays them no mind, even when the live girls come out when they see him, calling to him and reaching for him.

He doesn't let them touch him. He has no interest in them. He used to let women touch him and fuck him when he was younger, trying to erase the smell of your hair and the sound of your laughter. He doesn't do that now - not since that night years ago you'd fucked up some girl he brought to a booth with him. You'd told him to never do that again, and he hasn't tried.

Hasn't tried to learn where that jealousy came from, either, whether its the desire to hold the leash or desire for him.

Soonyoung weaves through the crowd, shoulders hunched against the rain as it turns to a downpour. The kill doesn't bother him, still. Not the way it should. What gnaws at him is the lack of response - no pulse spike, no shaky hands. No brief cringe of horror. Nothing.

He wonders if he's broken - maybe fucked up beyond repair. He hasn't cried since the night he found his parents slaughtered in the bedroom of his childhood home, but he's surprised at the total lack of response.

His father would be ashamed, seeing him like this. A loyal Sword who executes without a flicker, who has become nothing but an animal that bites.

Soonyoung ducks into a dive bar called Echo Void. It's tucked under a towering apartment building that's crumbling and probably a single bad day away from coming down. It's the kind of place where low level Syndicate members mingle with partiers chasing oblivion and other dark pleasures.

Dim lights pulse to synth beats from a DJ platform in the corner, VIP booths shrouded in holographic privacy fields that flicker, their shitty quality unable to hold the wall for long. The air reeks of spilled drinks, sweat and the acrid tang of someone smoking syndust in the shadows.

He slides onto a stool at the bar, the worn leather creaking under him. The bartender is a grizzled woman with cybernetic eyes that glow blue. She looks him up and down but she must see something in his face because instead of asking him questions, she pours him a double of whatever nasty ass liquor they serve here. It goes down his throat, turning the inside of his chest into an inferno.

Finally, he feels something. Even if it's the physical effects of rotgut alcohol that could probably make him blind if he had enough. He's not even sure it's alcohol - it could be gasoline for all he knows. He doesn't care much, lifting a finger for another.

One drink becomes two. Two becomes four. Four cascades into something else. The alcohol blurs the edges but it doesn't fill the void. It doesn't make him feel. Soonyoung thinks back to the violence of it, the way he'd split the mans lip, then his nose. Felt the crack of ribs under his boot. He feels nothing, so he signals for another drink, hoping that maybe if he gets drunk enough, he'll feel guilt or pleasure or something.

It does nothing. So he pulls the packet of frostbyte from his jacket. It glows faintly under the neon light, laced with something else illicit and dangerous. He doesn't mind, so he taps it out on the bar's edge, ignoring anyone who looks at him. Most people don't. He snorts it quick, the burn racing up his nose.

The hit slams into him fast - colors sharpen, the synth music throbs in his ribcage like a second heartbeat. He breathes in a few times, the air sharp and cold and damp. He taps out another line, breathing it until his vision swims and his thoughts fractured like broken holos.

The bar spins around him - laughing partiers in booths, someone asking him for a hit. He tosses them the pack, uncaring that there's a solid 300 credits worth of product in it. He can afford to lose it, just like he can afford to kill someone without consequences in a shitty back way alley.

Soonyoung thinks about you. You're probably back at the Choi Estate either curled up reading a book in your room or sparring in the training room to burn off whatever you're pissed off about today. It makes him smile, imagining the way your eyes light up when you fight, the way that your smile lights up the darkest fucking corners of the world.

He wants to go home to you, to stumble through the iron gates and find you in the atrium or in your room with it's sheets that smell like you. He wants to tell you how he feels nothing, how he pulled the trigger and didn't care. How it scares him just a little that he thinks he's the animal his dad gated, that maybe Seungcheol and Vernon were right about him, he's too far gone for you.

You'd listen to him. He knows you would. You always listen to him, with that steady gaze that grounds him when the world feels like it's slipping away. You make him feel. You're the only thing that can.

So he gets up from the stool and transfers credits to the bartender. It's far too many, but he doesn't care. He has a singular focus on his mind, feet slipping and tripping as the world spins. He's too fucked up to get home on his own, but if he calls a car, the driver will tell Old Man Vero how fucked up Sonyoung is. He's like a son to the Tower, every move of his is watched.

Outside, the rain has turned to mist. It clings to him like second skin, neon bleeding into the puddles and turning the streets into broken kaleidoscopes of pink and cyan. His head is a mess, flipping between memories like a broken projector: Dead Rook. You, smiling. His mom, throat slashed. You flipping him in the training room. Dead Rook. The smell of your shampoo as you brush by him in the parlor.

He needs to get home. Home is the estate. Home is you.

The train station is a ten-minute weave through the Lower Districts derelict streets and back alleys. His legs move on autopilot, boots splashing, frostbyte still fizzing under his skin. A Tap tries to sell him something before seeing who he's talking to - everyone knows Soonyoung's face here. Everyone knows he's a Sword.

The underground platform is crowded with late-night club kids in holographic jackets and tired shift workers heading home. Soonyoung leans against a pillar, forehead pressed to the cool metal, breathing in deep. It smells like rot and piss and his stomach rolls. He decides to breath through his mouth instead.

When the train screeches in, he shuffles on and drops into a seat, the cracked pleather sticking to his damp jacket. The train takes off, rocking him on loud tracks, the lights flickering above him making the world flash in and out of reality.

He changes lines. Each station smells worse than the last until he's walking up into the Upper District at the base of the mountain road where the public lines end and the private estates begin.

The climb is gonna be a fucking bitch. He realizes how ill-planned this was. Now Soonyoung has to walk the however far the distance is up winding mountain roads.

With the frostbyte starting to wear off and leaving a sick, cottony ache behind his eyes, he realizes it's going to be a bitch. Still, if he can just get to your door. If he can just hear your voice. He knows the nothing will stop.

So he walks.

The air up here is cleaner and colder, the pine and wet stone replacing city rot. The ascent is brutal, kilometers of switchbacks lit only by the distant city and moon. His lungs burn. His thighs tremble. Every step feels like walking through water. Halfway up, he has to stop, hands on his knees, retching into a ditch while the mist swirls around him. Nothing comes up but bile and the faint shimmer of frostbyte residue.

Soonyoung laughs once, a cracked sound that echoes of the trees. His father would hate this. The great son of the Sentinel, puking on the side of the road because he killed a man and felt nothing and then tried to burn the nothing out with drugs and cheap liquor.

Pathetic.

He keeps walking.

Finally, he gets to the gates. The men working the guard house give him wary glances. They wave him through, though, and he hears them mutter under their breaths as the gates open for him and he passes through, gravel crunching beneath his boots as he walks between dense forest.

The estate grounds are quiet, the main house a fortress of dark glass and stone looming in the distance when he breaks the treeline. Motion lights flicker on as he crosses the courtyard. Only a few windows glow faintly as he walks up the steps and lets himself into the house when the biometric scanner.

Soonyoung doesn't go to his room. He drifts up the stairs to his hall but turns left where he usually turns right. His knuckles are raw when he finally steps in front of your door. He stares at his hand as he lifts it but doesn't knock for a few minutes, his breath shaky and ragged.

The high has mostly bled out of him now, but he's still cross faded on the dregs of frostbyte and alcohol. Swallowing, he knocks and leans against the door, waiting as his heart thuds so loud he's sure you'll hear it on the other side.

Please be awake. Please open the door. Please don't let me be nothing tonight.

The door opens and the entire world goes still.

The lilac glow from your room spills over him, washing the hallway in soft purple. He can't lift his head yet, his forehead pressed to the wall, one palm flat against it just to keep himself upright. The walk up the mountain has scraped the last of the frostbyte out of his blood, but everything else is still there, dragging him down.

"Soonyoung?" Your voice peels away a layer of rot.

He manages to drag his chin up an inch to look at you. He wonders what you see. Does the light catch the sweat in his hair, the dried blood flecked across the collar of his shirt? Your eyes flick to look down the empty hall behind him, then back to him.

"Where are Cheol and Vernon?" He hears the stress in your voice and guilt punches him in the gut. He didn't mean to make you afraid.

"S'cheol's working," he rasps, tongue heavy. "Vernon went to Angel's."

He watches your face shift. You're so god damn beautiful it makes him want to fall to his knees. He would, for you. He would worship you the way Angel's psycho mother worshiped her god, with a feverish devotion. He'd give anything to you - everything to you.

"Are you-" You dip your head to dry and catch his eyes. "Are you drunk? Or high?"

"Yeah."

You don't hesitate. Your hand closes around his, warm and steady. You pull him into your room and he stumbles forward, heavy and useless. The door clicks shut behind him. He's in your room. Safe.

Soonyoung can't look at you. Not yet. He keeps his gaze on the floor while his heart slams against his ribs. You're standing close enough that he can smell your sleep-warm skin and the faint trace of vanilla. You feel like the only clean thing in the fucking world.

You reach for his collar but he flinches. "Not mine."

You don't say anything. He takes three crooked steps and collapses on the edge of your bed, elbows on his knees. The mattress dips under his weight. He wants to tell you sorry for sitting on it without your permission, but he can barely stand. He still can't look up and if he sees your eyes, he thinks he'll crack open and spill the rotted yolk hidden in the fragile shell of his heart.

He hears you move closer, careful, like he's a wounded animal that might bolt or bite. He supposes that's fair. You crouch in front of him. He can see your bare feet, the soft curve of your ankles, the way your sleep shorts ride up just a little to make his chest ache with something.

Finally. Not nothing. He can feel again, and all it takes is this, sitting in your room with you a few inches away.

"Soonyoung," you whisper. "You're scaring me. Do you need me to call Cheol or Vernon?"

He shakes his head. The idea of Seungcheol seeing him like this in your room makes his stomach turn. Vernon would understand, but he'd be wary, still. Neither your brothers would like him here in your room like this very much, the smell of violence and something darker on him.

"Let me call Vernon-"

"No," he whispers. "No. Sorry. I just-"

He can't finish the sentence. The silence stretches for a moment. Your hand settles on his knee, gentle and waiting. He stares at it, suddenly seeing the lifeline. The burden becomes a little easier.

"My dad always said I should feel something." The words slur a little. "Always said that you should feel something when you kill someone. If you don't, it means you're nothing more than a beast with base instincts. Not intelligent or refined."

Your fingers tighten. You don't interrupt. You never do.

"I felt nothing. Fucking nothing."

Soonyoung risks a glance at you and his heart thuds. Your face is tilted up toward him and you're on your knees, eyes wide and fierce, softened with worry. Your mouth is pinched and the way you look at him sends him reeling.

"What do you mean?" You whisper, coaxing it out of him.

So he tells you.

"There was no guilt. I didn't even flinch. It was so easy, like fucking breathing. That's not what my dad wanted me to be. He always said that those who felt nothing were just baser creatures. That we were better because we were made better."

"I think your dad wanted a lot of things. You being alive was the most important of those things, Soonyoung."

His name on your lips makes his eyes flutter. He wants you to say it again. Wants to hear it a million time. A billion. Infinitely.

"I'm just tired of feeling fucking empty," he admits, voice rough. "I don't give a shit that I killed someone, Baby. Honestly? I was fucking looking forward to it. I thought maybe - just maybe - I would feel something, even if it was guilt or horror or satisfaction. There was nothing."

Soonyoung looks up at you. He doesn't know what he expects on your face, but you catch him off guard. You surge forward, sliding between his thighs to wrap your arms tight around his middle. Your cheek presses to his chest, right over the place where his heart is hammering like its trying to reach you.

He freezes. His arms hang useless at his sides. He doesn't deserve this. Doesn't deserve you holding him like he isn't something broken and rotten.

You don't let go.

Slowly, his arms come up. He can't help himself. You are all he's every wanted, and you're here holding him. He circles his arms around you, tentative at first, then firmer. He buries his face in your neck and breathes in, muscles uncoiling. You smell like home.

"I don't feel like a person sometimes," he admits. It's a weight off his shoulders to say it out loud. "It's like the ability for me to feel anything died forever ago. Like I killed it so I didn't ever have to hurt again. Now I only ever feel when-"

He cuts himself off. He can't say it. It's too honest and when you hear it, you'll want to fix it. Because you always want to fix it for him. You spend too much time prioritizing him and he lets you because he's greedily and helpless and wretched, and if he lets you fix it this time, he thinks it'll cross a line.

"You only ever feel when you what?" You ask. "You can tell me if you want. Whatever you need."

You don't ask. Don't demand. You leave it up to him. The fact that you even make it a choice - that you tell him if he needs to unload, he can - breaks him.

"I feel when I'm with you." He sucks in a breath. "I feel most like a person when I'm with you."

And it's true. Soonyoung has only ever felt like he's functioning when you're around. His senses are sharper, his humor comes alive. Without you, he's the quiet blade that makes everyone unsettled. With you, he's his old self, loud and arrogant and wild. But he needs you the way a body needs a heart, and without you, he's something mindless that can only follow orders.

"Okay," you say, like it's the easiest thing in the fucking world. "So stay with me. Be a person with me."

The laugh the leaves him is wet. He realizes he's near tears, the words spilling out of your mouth both his saving grace and his worst doom. If you mean even half of what he thinks you do, he'll never leave you. You'll have to kill him to get rid of him, and he'll let you. If you keep him, he'll never be able to let you go.

Your father won't allow it. It's not proper. The Tower's daughter is not made for the future Sentinel. Soonyoung's destiny is to put Seungcheol first. That's already fucked up and impossible, but at least right now, everyone can pretend.

Soonyoung knew from a young age he wasn't allowed to have you. His father told him. His mother told him. Seungcheol and Vernon even told him. You seem to be the only person in the world who isn't in on it, who doesn't get it. And why would you? No one has ever told you no.

"I'm not made for you," Soonyoung whispers.

"Yes you are," you snap, nails digging into him. "If I make you a person, then how could we be made for anyone else but one another?"

He goes quiet. His heart is pulsing in his ears. You grip him hard enough that he knows he's going to bruise. He stares at you and see's the burning in your eyes, the seriousness of your statement. You're not going to let this go, and not for the first time, he sees that spark of madness reflected in your eyes, a mirror of his own.

No one has ever told you no. Soonyoung can't either.

"If I stay right now," he whispers, resolve fading, "You will never get me to leave. Do you understand? I won't…" He swallows. "I will be incapable of ever letting you go. Ever. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

It's stay or die. He doesn't say it in as many words, but that's what he means. If you ever intend to pull away, he will die. It is that simple.

Your arms tighten around him, a threat and a promise. "Try to leave me at your own peril, Kwon Soonyoung."

- Soonyoung has killed so many people in the last three years that he's stopped counting.

Bodies blur together, some in rain-soaked alleys, some in soundproofed rooms like this one. It smells like blood and cheap disinfectant in the warehouse. A single hanging bulb swings overhead, throwing sickly, yellow light across the the plastic sheet Angel laid down earlier. The man strapped to the metal chair is a nobody - just a runner for some bottom feeder gang that thought they could skim. His face is already swollen and bloody, and as Angel circles him in her rain slicker and boots, Soonyoung knows it'll get bloodier.

Angel makes an art of this. It's why she's a Rook in the first place. Soonyoung understands Angel in a way that no one else does, save for Vernon. Everyone thinks that people like Soonyoung and Angel feel nothing. That they torture because they're sadistic. People don't understand that it's the opposite - they feel too much, and the only time that it really comes to the surface is with the vulnerability of torture or their romantic partners.

Torturing someone requires a strange kind of intimacy. Fishing for information, hurting someone and dragging it out, making them talk - it requires a kind of honesty with oneself that most people can't stomach. If Soonyoung wants to get someone to tell him something, he has to be just as honest, exposing himself in the way he asks questions or the way he comes up with pain and punishment.

He learned that about himself a few months after his first kill.

Soonyoung stands off to the side, arms folded. His hands are slick with blood, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow. The guy in the chair lets out a wet gurgle coughing on blood and split teeth. Soonyoung is good at this now. He can break fingers in exactly the right order, ask questions in exactly the right tone. The man in the chair is flayed skin away from giving up the name of whoever paid him to skim from the Choi shipment.

Angel flicks her knife shut and wipes a smear of blood on her thigh. "I think I want to use the peeler. Thoughts?"

Soonyoung nods, but his jaw is tight. The phone buried in his pocket buzzes again - the third vibration in ten minutes. He doesn't need to look to know who it is. There is a very angry heiress waiting for him at dinner that he was supposed to be at… an hour and a half ago.

He shifts his weight, boots scuffing the plastic. The motion draws Angel's eye. She tilts her head, sharp as ever. Sometimes, she reminds Soonyoung of a velociraptor from the old movies Vernon likes. Angel always tilts her head when examining someone, sharp eyes missing nothing, pupils dilating as she takes in information.

"You're twitchy tonight," she observes. "Got somewhere better to be?"

He exhales through his nose. "I'm late."

Angel's grin is demonic. She knows exactly what he means. Everyone in the estate knows what that means. The Tower of the Choi Syndicate is who Soonyoung belongs to, but it's not the Tower that holds him by the collar. It's his very impatient, very quick to anger daughter, who he was supposed to have dinner with tonight.

He promised.

But everyone knows how tough it is, these days. The Tower has been punishing Soonyoung for three years straight, sending him on back-to-back jobs, scheduling interrogations that run long on purpose, keeping him bleeding or bloodletting the Lower District while his girl waits for him somewhere else.

Again.

"Go," Angel says, waving a lazy hand. "I'll finish up here. Hansol can help me dump the parts." The man starts to cry when he hears the word parts. Soonyoung suppresses a laugh, knowing Angel did it on purpose. She turns her back to him, a dismissal. "Tell Baby I give her my love."

"She might lock me out."

"She might."

Soonyoung doesn't argue. He heads to the sink and washes his hand, scrubbing the blood with antibacterial soap as the man behind him starts to beg for his life again, telling Angel he doesn't know the name of the person who paid him. By the time Soonyoung is stepping outside and closing the padded door, the man is screaming, his cries for help shut off as soon as the door shuts.

Rain beats down on the warehouse. It's at the edge of the Lower District in what used to be Warehouse District boundary. Now, it's a nondescript building where Soonyoung and Angel have bloody sessions.

Soonyoung's bike roars to life, neon splashing from the wheel well as it turns on. He can barely see out the rain slicking on his helmet but he gases it anyway, peeling out on the wet pavement.

The ride up the mountain is a blur of wet asphalt and trees. It's fucking freezing, his knuckles white on the bike's grips, engine humming between his thighs. By the time the gates open for him, the adrenaline form the warehouse has curdled into something sick and heavy in his gut.

He ditches the bike in the garage, boots echoing as he jogs to the main house. He's almost two hours late now and he needs to shower before heading to the dinner he's supposed to be at you with - some fucking fancy gala that he didn't want to go to, but planned on attending for you.

Most of the house is quiet. He takes the stairs two at a time, heading for your room that he's been living in for three years now. His old room waits empty and dusty, unused since he moved into yours. He heads for it now, pushing open the cracked door and stops dead.

You're sitting on the edge of the bed you share, still in the dress you wore to dinner. He nearly groans - not upset, but in pain. You look otherworldly, in deep plum silk that clings to every line of you, sleeves slipping off your shoulders. Your hair is pinned up in the way that he likes, a few strands loose.

And your eyes are on fucking fire.

He smells the blood and warehouse disinfectant clinging to his skin. He doesn't want to talk to you like this, but he has no choice. There is no waiting - not with you. He closes the door behind him with a soft click that is louder than any gunshot he's ever squeezed off.

"Hi," he says, voice rough. He peels off his shirt and throws it in the corner of the room, trying to put distance between you and the blood. "I'm sorry. I'm here now."

The weight of your anger is like a blade between his ribs. The inky glass of the window reflects back exactly what you're seeing - blood dried on his neck, a bruise blooming across his ribs, the faint red imprint of someone else's teeth as their last ditch effort to fight him. He looks like a weapon that has been used too hard, too often.

"I know," he starts, voice low. You've said nothing but the weight of your silence is deadly. "I know I fucked up. I thought I could wrap up and-"

"Two hours, Soonyoung." Your voice cuts through him. "Two hours after you promised. After I waited for you and showed up late. And then had to explain your absence. After I sat there like some sad little heiress waiting for her Sword to remember she exists."

"Baby-"

"And they all understood, you know what I mean? That's the business and well that's the life. They all felt bad for me, but they said I'm not supposed to expect anything from you - it's the Syndicate first." She scoffs. "Fucking joke."

Soonyoung approaches you slowly. You watch him, eyes flashing, but you don't pull away. He sinks to his knees, palms on his thighs facing upward in supplication. "I know. It's my fault, Baby. I'm a fucking idiot. I don't ever want you to feel that way."

You get angrier. "It's not even your fault! You think I don't know he does this on purpose? Knowing he's been an ass?" Soonyoung tries not to laugh, despite it all. Hearing someone call the Tower of the Choi Syndicate an ass is funny. "I'm going to talk to him."

It lands like ice water over his head. "No." He catches your wrist and cradles it to his chest. He always feels better when you're palm is against his bare chest, like as long as you can feel his heartbeat you'll understand him. "You don't go near him about this. Promise me."

"Soonyoung-"

"He'll escalate. You know how he works. If you confront him, he'll send me out of the city. Somewhere you can't follow."

You frown. "He wouldn't do that."

Soonyoung cannot fault you for the blind spot with your father. To you, Choi Moojin is your father. The man who raised you. Who kissed your scrapes and read you stories. To Soonyoung, he is the law. He is the key holder to the shackles around Soonyoung's wrist. He is the only thing letting Soonyoung have you out of sheer mercy.

The Tower would have sent Soonyoung home in pieces if he was anyone else. He knows this. Soonyoung's father and his longstanding history with the Tower has bought him this tiny mercy, this little sliver of allowance that Soonyoung gets to have you. But it's on the Tower's condition, time, and watch.

You'll never get it - you don't have to. It's Soonyoung's burden to bear.

Soonyoung leans into you. You let him and he presses his forehead to your stomach like he's praying at an altar. "Let me fix it, Baby. Let me make it up to you."

He feels you fold. You look down at him and he sees your shoulders sag. You thread your fingers through his hair and he lets out a pitiful sound, broken and needy. Your nails scraping against his scalp feel good, nearly making him catatonic.

"And how are you going to do that, Kwon Soonyoung?"

"Watch."

Soonyoung rises slowly, mouth brushing the line of your throat as he stands. His hands slide up your arms and over your shoulders, fingers curling into the straps of your dress. The silk sighs to your waist in a dark puddle when he pulls it. You're bare underneath save for lace panties the same color of the dress, and the sound he lets out is fucking wrecked.

With careful hands, he peels the dress off you. As soon as it hits the floor, he kisses you like a man drowning, deep and desperate, licking into your mouth until you're both gasping. His palms skate over every inch he can reach, greedy and worshipful. He drops to his knees again, this time pressing open-mouthed kisses down the center of your chest, tongue tracing the curve of one breast, teeth scraping just enough to make you arch.

"Missed you all day," he breathes against you. "Every second I wasn't with you, I was thinking about you. About this."

He mouths his way lower, slow and deliberate, leaving wet trails against your skin. When he reaches your hips, he hooks his fingers in the lace and drags it down your legs, eyes never leaving yours. You let him slide them off you, shivering under his touch.

"Lie back," he murmurs. "Please."

You do, sinking into the pillows. He follows after you, as though pulled by an invisible tether. He spreads your thighs wide, hands sliding under your ass to tilt you exactly where he wants you. He groans when he sees your shinning pussy, fucking beside himself at the effect he has on you. He's addicted to it - thinks about it all the time.

The first lick to your cunt is long and flat, tasting you from entrance to your clit. He groans, brain shorting out at the taste of you. A shiver ripples up his spine as he does it again, in no rush - never a rush with you.

Eating you out is a type of high Soonyoung can't get with anything else. His tongue is soft as it presses into you, circling your clit as he sucks gently. You let out a sound that makes his eyes roll back into his head, his hands pressing gently against your thighs to open you up further.

He stares up at you the entire time, eyes blown wide. You're devastating, twitching with your hands twisted in the sheets as he fucks his tongue into your hole. You're sweaty at the temples, chest rising and falling as you pant, your nipples pert. He moans into you when he feels you clench around his tongue.

You're a work of fucking art. He sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue fluttering. You groan his name and he presses his face into you further, lazy licks turning into something more hungry. He's messy with it, tonguing at your pussy like he needs you to come - because he does. He needs to hear you fall apart, needs to hear that high pitched little squeak you do - and you do.

Your orgasm rolls through you, thighs trembling around his ears. He hums, lips smacking, his tongue still moving soft and lazy, drawing it out until you're nearly crying. He doesn't stop. He slides two fingers into you, curling them the way you like, pressing right against that spot on your front wall that has you twisting in your bed, trying to escape him.

Soonyoung doesn't let you. He seals his mouth over your clit again, sucking harder this time, relentless until your face is burying into the sheets to muffle the sound of his name as you come again, flooding his mouth.

He drinks you down, pressing his tongue greedily to your swollen pussy. He only pulls away when you start to shiver in a way that he knows he's going to lose you shortly, the overstimulation too much. He presses cum-slicked kisses to your inner thighs, your hips, your stomach.

When he finally crawls back up your body, his lips are shiny, the taste of you heady in his mouth. His thoughts are spinning, light-headed with the taste and sound of you. He leans over you, one hand planted by your head on the bed, the other lifting your legs to press them toward your chest.

"Still not done," he murmurs, voice wrecked.

You let him hold your knees to your chest with his stomach as he leans into you, propping your legs there. His hand slides down between your legs, fingers smearing the mess he's made of you. You whimper when his fingers press the sensitive muscles of your entrance and he grins before pressing in three fingers, thrusting them slow and deep.

"Oh fuck," you whisper, voice cracking. "Fuck, Soonyoung. Fuck."

"So sorry I was late," he pants, fucking his fingers into you. He leans his weight into you, making your legs split to make room for him as he woks your pussy. "I won't make it a habit, okay? I don't want you to feel second to anything."

"Soonyoung." It comes out a whine and he growls.

"Fucking love you," he swears, fingers hammering into the spot that has you thrashing against him, wailing his name. "You are second to no one and nothing."

You come again with his fingers buried to the knuckle, his mouth latched to your neck. He works you through it, crooking his fingers, licking the teeth marks indented in your skin until you're limp and trembling beneath him.

Only then does he crawl higher and pull he's fingers out, leaving you wet and dripping. His cock is straining against his pants, a wet spot already darkening the fabric, but he ignores it, the pain of his dick less important than kissing you. It's slow and deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You suck his tongue into your mouth and he groans - you're gonna fucking kill him one day.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against you while you catch your breath. "I'm yours. I belong to you. When you say jump. No one else. Ever."

You reach between the two of you, fingers fumbling with his belt, the metal clinking loud in the quiet room. He shivers, helping you shoving his pants down alongside his briefs. His cock springs free, aching and leaking. When you wrap your hand around him and squeeze, Soonyoung makes a broken, wet sound.

"Please," you murmur against him, pressing your lips to his temple. "Need to feel you. Please."

He groans. "Fuck, Baby. You want it?"

"Yes, fuck."

Soonyoung can deny you nothing. He lines himself up, dragging the head of his cock through your soaked folds, coating himself in your arousal. He pushes in slowly, letting you feel every inch of him as he splits you open. Your cunt squeezes him and he nearly comes right there and then, only years of practice and control stopping him.

When he bottoms out, he feels like he's in another dimension. Fucking you drives him insane - it's an addiction he cannot kick. The way you squeeze him, the way you whisper his name, the way you press yourself closer to him, like you want to live in his skin - it drives him fucking wild.

"Love you," he whispers, capturing your mouth with his. You moan, lips buzzing against his. "Love you so fucking much."

He starts to move, slow and deep rolls of his hips at first, groaning as he drags his cock along every sensitive place inside your cunt. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up wider, thrusting in so deep that he thinks you might come instantly. You're mumbling nonsense, fingers digging into his biceps as he fucks you.

"So fucking pretty," he pants, picking up the pace a little. "Mine."

"Feels so good," you gasp, nodding. You claw at his back and the sting feels good. "Fuck it's so good, Soonyoung."

He growls, attaching his mouth to your neck. You're beautiful like this, folded beneath him, sweaty and wanting. He can't get enough, driving his hips into yours as you whine and thrash on the bed, overwhelmed and thighs shaking, clenching around him so hard his rhythm stutters.

You shove at his chest and he lets you you flip him, rolling him onto his back. He drags you on top of him as he goes. When you sink down on him, both of you let out a pitiful noise. You're a vision on top of him, tossing your hair back, hands pressed to his chest as you grind into him, chasing your own pleasure.

Soonyoung grips your hips, not to take over but to feel you. He watches with his lips parted, wondering how the fuck he's allowed to touch you. The dim neon light of the room spills over you, turning you into a goddess he's ready to worship every second of the day. He watches you with hooded eyes as you roll your hips in tight circles, then lift and slam back down, spearing yourself on his cock over and over.

"Fuck," he groans. "Just like that. Use me, Baby. Take whatever you need."

You do, his name leaving your mouth in little sounds that make him go insane. He's barely keeping it together, but you finally break, coming hard around him, pussy fluttering. You soak his lap and he digs his fingers in, growling as you twitch on top of him.

When you're done, he sits up suddenly, arms banding around your waist to flip you again. You land on your back with a gasp of air as he thrusts in to the hilt. You wrap your legs around his waist, trapping him to you - as if he would ever want to be anywhere else but right here, pressed against you as he fucks you slow.

"Again," he whispers, dragging his mouth against yours. "Come again, I want to feel it."

Soonyoung drops his head as he fucks you deep and slow, making sure to grind his pelvis against your swollen clit. He attaches his mouth to a pert nipple, sucking gentle as he rolls his hips into yours. You arch into him, digging your nails into the back of his neck as you hold him there, shaking.

"Soonyoung, fuck - I'm -"

"I know, Baby. I've got you. Come on."

You shatter again, harder this time. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes, glowing in the neon light of the bedroom. He's reminded of the first time he saw you, convinced you were an angel. He groans, hips stuttering, fucking you through your orgasm until he comes hard, shaking in your hold.

"Love you," he chokes out. "Love you - fuck."

"Mine," you growl, holding him to you as he rides out his high. "Mine."

Soonyoung presses his forehead to yours, breath ragged. He doesn't pull out right away, staying pressed to you, arms wrapped tight around your back. You stroke his sweaty hair, watching him with glassy eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispers again. "I won't be late anymore."

"Just come to me. That's all I want."

"Always. I'm always coming home to you."

-

Soonyoung wakes up before you do, like always. The room is still gray when he wakes up, the tinted windows blocking out most of the light. He rolls to his back, exhausted and sore. He's got one arm curled around you, your spine pressed to his side, your head tucked under his chin. You're warm to the touch, the scent of vanilla on your skin. He presses his mouth to the crown of your head, breathing you in.

He didn't sleep much. Never does when the Tower keeps him out until dawn. He'd come home barely three hours ago, showering three times to scrub the blood and filth from his skin before he got into your bed and wrapped you in his arms, the only place he truly feels clean.

You shift in your sleep and make a small sound that makes his heart do that stupid thing it always does, like it's cracking open and spilling at your feet. He tightens his arm and pulls you close, burring his nose in your hair while his fingers trail up and down your arm.

Like always, he can't seem to stop touching you. His touch seems to wake you up in stages, first you rolling into him, second pressing the back of his chest. He kisses your head, grinning.

Soonyoung eyes the crushed knockout on the nightstand. He'd been surprised when he saw it - rarely do you struggle to sleep that much. "Have trouble sleeping?"

"What?"

"There's lines of crushed knockout on your nightstand, Baby."

You jerk away from him so fast it startles him. Sheets tangle around your legs, making you fumble as you're up and out of bed before he can grab you. You trip toward the bathroom, leaving him confused, mouth open. You don't pay him any mind, ducking into the bathroom and slamming the door shut.

He's on his feet in a heartbeat, panic clawing up his. throat. "Hey-" He says your name, his palm pressed flat to the wood, heart hammering. He hears you vomit on the other side and before he thinks twice, he enters the bathroom.

You're on your knees, clinging to the toilet, shaking so hard that your teeth chatter. It scares him more than anything else could - he has never seen you like this.

Soonyoung moves without thinking, going to resolution mode. He opens the cabinet and cracks open an anti-nausea inhalant, hurrying over to you and holding it out to you. You snatch it without looking at him, your hands trembling so bad you almost drop it.

Distress claws at him. He's seen a lot of death and killed a lot of people, but nothing has made him nervous like this. He sits back on his heels, feeling helpless suddenly, his hands opening and closing at his sides. He doesn't know if he's allowed to touch you, and it takes more effort than he's proud of to resist.

You inhale the medication, slow and deliberate, shaking as you blow out breaths through your mouth. He wonders if you're sick from the food or the knockout or drinking - you don't do much drinking and drugs anymore, and the knockout might be making you sick.

"Thanks," you rasp. "Just hungover. I need a shower."

You're lying. He doesn't know how he knows, but he does. His heart trips over itself, brain trying to figure out what he missed, what he did. You've never lied to him and you've never lurched away from him, which means something happened in the last twelve hours since he's been away from you. He racks his brain, trying to think of what he could have possibly done.

"Alright," Soonyoung says slowly.

He doesn't know what else to do, so he goes to the shower, fully intending to start it for you. You make a sound and he hesitates, glancing at you nervously.

"Alone, please."

The words hit him like a blade between the ribs. Usually you're the one asking him to come shower with you. You like the intimacy of it, like when you get to run your hands over his shoulders and wash away the blood. He likes it because it feels holy, like each time your fingers sweep away the blood, he's born anew.

"What's wrong?" Soonyoung asks. His voice is small, like he's suddenly a boy again.

"Nothing. I just want to shower."

You're lying. You won't even look him in the eyes. He can't remember the last time you tried to do that, to avoid his gaze because if you looked him in the eyes, he'd see right through you. He thinks it might have been when you were teenagers and asking him to kiss you in his room.

Something in Soonyoung turns feral and screaming. He feels it rising, the animal park of him that tears throats out - but this time it's scared. His fight or flight is kicking in and he feels backed into a corner, hands twitchy.

"You can talk to me-"

"I just want to take a fucking shower, Soonyoung." He recoils like you slapped him. He has to blinked to make sure you haven't, the words stinging like a physical blow. "I don't need you crowding my space every five seconds."

He steps aside. He stares at you, unsure what to do. He thinks about falling to his knees and apologizing for whatever he's done, but you dismiss him with a cool, "You can go."

"Alright."

Soonyoung shuffles out, numb. When the door shuts between you, it feels like a gun shot.

Confused, he sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. He stares at the bathroom door, willing for you to open it and let him in, to say sorry and to tell him what's wrong. He half expects you to. When you don't, he starts to spiral, starts to go through all of the winding roads that could have led here, replaying that last twenty-four hours to figure out where he went wrong.

He comes up empty.

Leg bouncing, he counts down the minutes. He doesn't leave his spot on the bed, staring at the door until he hears the shower turn off. His heart hammers every second he waits for the door to open, and when it does, you don't look at him. You walk straight to the closet, still dripping.

Swallowing, he gets up and follows you because he doesn't know what else to do and because never in his life has he known how to stay away from you. He stops in the doorway, watching you walk through the closet. It's massive - nearly as big as his old bedroom - and filled with clothes that belong to the both of you, one side yours, one side his.

You go to your section of black and start tearing through hangers. He feels his stomach drop - did someone die and he doesn't know? Is that what you don't want to tell him, that someone close to you is dead? It can't be Vernon, he was just with him, right?"

"What's going on?" Soonyoung asks, nausea rising.

You don't turn. "I'm marrying Kim Yijun."

The world turns. Soonyoung braces the doorframe for a moment as his vision tunnels. For one, endless second there is no sound in the entire world except the blood roaring in his ears. It takes him several moments to put together a sentence, the words sticking in his mind like glue as he peels them apart.

"Is that supposed to be a joke?" He can't think of anything else. "I'm not interested in pranks this morning."

"It's not a prank. The Tower has asked this of me and I'll be doing it."

Rage is something Soonyoung is familiar with, but this type of rage is new. It hits him harder and faster than any drug, his vision pulsing red for a few moments as he clings to the doorframe, trying to steady himself.

Of course it's the Tower. The fucking Tower.

"What the fuck are you talking about? You're not fucking marrying Kim Yijun."

Soonyoung walks towards you. He needs to see your eyes, needs to touch you. Needs you to know that he doesn't care what the Tower has asked of you, that Soonyoung can help you, that he can get you out of this. He already has a plan forming, trying to stop the bleeding, reaching out to grab you-

You whirl on him, finger out. "Don't come near me?"

"Why? Because you know you'll lose your resolve? Because the second I touch you, you'll drop whatever the fuck this is and let me help you?"

Soonyoung knows you better than he knows anyone else. He knows every fear you have, every dream, every love, every hate. He knows the sound of your breath, the exact color of your eyes in the sun. He knows what makes you happy, what makes you sad. He knows-

"I will scream," you threaten. His mind short circuits. "I will scream and Seungcheol and Vernon are right down the hall. Whose side do you think they'll take, with your reputation for violence?"

It's the cruelest thing you've ever said to him. It makes his stomach curdle, the bile in his gut burning so bad he thinks he might throw up. His mouth waters, the telltale sign of vomit and his vision blurs a little - with tears or something else he doesn't know.

"Fuck you," he says, voice unsteady. "They know I'd never hurt you."

"Do they, Soonyoung? I hear some of them call you a mad dog because you attack with no regard for anything. Do you really think they trust you entirely with me?"

No. No. They don't. Seungcheol and Vernon have always made that clear, even when they were teenagers. No one trusts you with him. Not entirely. Not even Angel. The world looks at you with him and sees someone who needs a safe passage out, who needs an escape plan.

Suddenly, Soonyoung is eight years old again, standing in your foyer crying because the world is too big and he's too small, and the only person who ever made him feel safe is looking at him like he's an animal, like he's a threat.

He's going to be sick. He's going to vomit. He's going to kill someone - himself - he doesn't know. The urge to hurt, to maim, to do something, to hit something, to break - it nearly makes him sob, every part of him shaking as he glares at you, seeing right through you.

You don't want to do this. If you think you're fooling him, you're an idiot. He sees right through that vicious veneer you're hiding behind, trying to wound him and rage bait him into storming out and leave you to your father's commands.

"You are not marrying Kim Yijun." Soonyoung says this with absolution. He will fucking die before he lets you. "You don't even want to, don't try to lie to me about your feelings or insult me thinking you can bait me. You love me. You are mine."

"I belong to the Choi family and it's what my family needs from me. I will do my duty."

As though from a dream, Soonyoung recalls a conversation with his father years ago. Soonyoung was younger then, and feeling stubborn at a party. She belongs to herself, he'd told his father. The Sentinel's response had been a sad you think so?

It's only now that Soonyoung realizes what his father meant.

"Fuck your family!" He screams, slamming his hands on the marble counter top that stands between you. The impact sings up his arm and the jewelry safes in the counter rattle. "You have a duty to me. I told you I would not fucking let you go. You're not doing it. I'll fucking kill him, you think I won't? I'll murder every last one of them-"

"You don't tell me what to do, Kwon Soonyoung."

Your voice turns to steel. He knows this voice. He hears it only on occasion, and never with him. You speak to him not as you, but as the daughter of the Tower. You speak to him as an heiress trained and bred for ruling, for commanding men and women smaller than you. You speak to him like he's beneath you - because he is.

He knows it. He's always known it.

"I will do this," you growl, voice shaking. "And you will obey." He glares at you, but you don't waver. "When I say jump, you say how high. You've always known that."

No. No no no no no nO NO NO NO NO NO NO.

This is all wrong. This isn't how any of this is supposed to go. Soonyoung begins to panic, licking his lips. He tastes metal - he doesn't remember when he bit through the side of his tongue, but blood blooms in his mouth as he shakes his head, refusing to hear you.

"Don't to this to me." He doesn't know what else to do to stop you. He sees your resolve and he breaks under it. He can't win this arguing with you, so he switches tactics and begs. "I can't - you know I can't. I - please. I can't do this."

It has to work. You have to hear the sincerity, you have to see what this will do to him. He told you - he told you - all those nights ago. He told you that you'd never be able to leave him, that he wouldn't survive it. That it would destroy him in a way that nothing else could.

For a split second, the pain in your eyes is so visceral he thinks he's won. He feels a brief moment of relief, so sure that you're going to crack and let him help.

Then the moment is gone. The stone cold mountain of the Choi family moniker slides into space and Soonyoung watches you kill any sort of hope of fighting this, of letting him get to you. You stare at him with an expression so alien he feels himself take a step back, more afraid of you than he's ever been.

"You can," you tell him, dismissive. "And you will, because I told you to jump, Soonyoung. Now ask how high."

-

Soonyoung's suicide attempt doesn't work.

It's not for lack of trying. He takes so many knockout pills that when he falls down in the safe house he's been staying at, he feels the life start to flicker out of him like the buzzing of a dying insect. His vision whites out. His heart slams once, twice, then stutters like it's trying to tear itself free of his ribs.

For a single, perfect second, there is no you. No Tower. No Kim Yijun. Nothing. Just static and the sound of his own blood screaming.

He wakes up, though. He realizes he's still breathing, still here. There's vomit all over the floor next to him and crusted on his mouth and he groans, realizing his body saved him, at some point.

He tries again.

Soonyoung sits on the floor with his back against a couch, hands shaking. He melts down frostbyte over a spoon, ignoring the acrid smell and the fact that he's never done this before. The flame dances under the spoon's belly, beautiful and clean. When it liquefies, he puts it in the needle.

He ties off his arm with a belt - it's all he has. The needle is dull and he doesn't remember where he got it from, but he doesn't really care. He slides it home in the crook of his elbow, right over the vein that will send the frostbyte right into the bloodstream and straight to his nervous system.

He pushes the plunger slow - the rush is violent.

Soonyoung falls over, needle scattering. He can barely breath, his heart beating so hard that he's relieved - this will work. This will be the end. Except he can't help but roll over and vomit again, puking blue all over the carpet until he's gasping for air.

He screams. Soonyoung has a body built for war, trained to survive Syndicate torture and and conditioned to keep standing long after it should fall. He's conditioned to refuse death and he hates it, screaming his rage into the empty apartment until his throat bleeds and his finger nails are bloody.

When the sun rises, he's still alive. He hates himself for it. He lays on the floor, barely breathing, barely seeing, staring at the gun on the table. He could do it. He could crawl to the weapon and put it in his mouth and pull. He's thought about it a hundred times, a thousand. But something about it feels wrong. Too violent.

Soonyoung thinks you should have killed him. It would have been easier. You've always been stronger than he has. It's why you were able to do what your father has asked, to swallow your pride and grin and bear it. Soonyoung is fucking weak. He doesn't know how to do that. Doesn't know how to live without you.

So he wishes you'd just end it for him, to put your finger on the trigger and the gun to his head. You've virtually done that anyway. Why not just go all the way? Aim it at his chest? Let the darkness take him?

It's a pathetic fucking excuse. He berates himself over and over again, telling himself he's weak. That his father was right. That Soonyoung's love makes him worth nothing, turns him into something useless. A mindless tool to kill.

So he does what he was bred to do.

The first man he kills is a Yong runner who made the mistake of bragging in the Salt about the new foreign guns coming in. Soonyoung finds him outside of a whore house, drags him into the alley, and beats him to death with his bare hands. He doesn't ask the man questions - he isn't looking for information. He doesn't even stop when the man stops screaming. He keeps going until he tires himself out, then he moves on.

Soonyoung burns through the Lower District like a plague. Every night he comes back to the safe house covered in someone else's blood. Every day he gets his assignments from Old Man Vero and goes on a killing spree. He doesn't even get the answers Vero is looking for. He just turns his victims to pulp and moves on.

It's Jeonghan who tries to talk to him first. He corners Soonyoung at a bar, nudging the younger into a shadowy alcove. Soonyoung wants to shove Jeonghan away, but he's just as wary of Yoon Minji's son as he is the step daughter, too much of the Wisdom hammered into Jeonghan and Angel to make them easily dismissed.

"You're going to get yourself killed," Jeonghan warns.

"Good."

"You think dying is the answer?"

Soonyoung scoffs and shoves past Jeonghan. "I died a long time ago. This is just a body. Who cares."

Soonyoung has no mind. Soonyoung has no goals. Soonyoung has nothing to care about.

He's just a body.

-

A few months pass.

- A year passes.

- Soonyoung keeps counting. He hates it. He can't help it.

-

Another year passes and Soonyoung counts every single day the way other people count breaths. He knows exactly how many days it's been since you killed him but simultaneously doesn't know the day at all. He lives in the liminal space between exactness and nothingness, floating back and forth between knowing every detail of his life since you left him and knowing nothing at all.

Tonight is one of the worse nights. He doesn't see you much, but as he stands on the balcony of the Grand Atrium in the Legal District, he spots you immediately. You're impossible to miss, even for someone not as devoted to you as he is. Beneath him, the gala swirls in crystal and silk and holograms, but you could be the fucking center piece.

You're in Kim green which makes Soonyoung sick. The dress clings to every line of you that he used to trace with his mouth. Your hair is swept up, exposing the slope of your neck. He imagines his teeth marks are still there, that he's left something permanent on you, something everyone else has to see.

Yijun's hand is on the small of your back and Soonyoung grinds his teeth. He watches, fingers twitching as Yijun leans in to say something against your ear. You laugh but it's polite, not real. He knows your manufactured laugh better than anyone, and it's both heaven and hell to hear you but know that it isn't real.

You never look up. Not once. He's not sure if he's miserable or grateful for it. He doesn't know if he can stand to see your eyes or if it'll make him feel better, a temporary high. He stands there for four hours and twenty minutes, watching Yijun lead you through the party, watching you tilt your head just so to let your husband kiss you briefly on the cheek.

Soonyoung doesn't move. Doesn't breathe.

He's just a body.

When the night finally ends and the last of the Choi family drifts out into the rain, he rips the earpiece from his skull and stalks away from the balcony. He doesn't have to go very far. He'd selected the girl from the Han family hours ago, keeping tabs on the silver dress and the way she grins at him.

Everyone wants a go at him since you left him. It doesn't matter.

He's just a body.

Soonyoung doesn't remember her name when he coaxes her to his car. She giggles all the while, flashing him a smile. He knows she's thrilled - everyone has been talking about the abandoned Sword of the Choi Syndicate. Sleeping with him is a sort of game the women like to play now, trying to get under your skin and sleeping with him because they think it'll bring them closer to the fold.

Everyone wants to fix him. Every girl he brings to his apartment thinks they'll be the one, that they're different. They can mend him. Heal what's broken. Pick up the pieces. But Soonyoung isn't broken - there's nothing to fix.

He's just a body.

The apartment is bare. Concrete walls. No photos. A bed. He doesn't turn the lights on when he brings the woman in. She says his apartment is nice. He doesn't care if she's lying or not. He just pushes her up against the door first, pulling her dress up to fuck her hard and fast. He closes his eyes and pretends its you.

Soonyoung takes her to the bed next, ripping off the dress. He doesn't care that he ruins it. It's in his way and she's eager, wet and open, begging and whining his name. He ignores her seeking hands and flips her over where she can't reach him so he can spread her thighs and drive into her.

Every thrust is mechanical and disconnected. He doesn't pretend its you anymore - it's not working. Instead, he just thinks of you. He thinks about your mouth, the way you used to gasp his name, the way you used to curl your fingers in his hair when he made you shake.

He comes with your name locked behind his teeth.

After, the woman tries to curl into him. He recoils, flinching away from her. He's on his feet in a second, walking toward the bathroom and turning on the shower. He doesn't care what she does after, he just wants the hot water to wash everything away.

He looks in the mirror. There are red marks all over him - he hadn't even realized he let her touch him. They tear down his chest and around his shoulders, wrapping around his waist. There are teeth marks too that he doesn't remember getting. He ignores them to get in the shower.

He's just a body.

Soonyoung scrubs himself raw. He feels the skin peeling away, the harsh scratch of the sponge painful as he grinds it into himself. The water is so hot he feels light headed, the room spinning until he can't take it anymore and he steps out the shower. He takes a few breaths and looks at his arms and chest. The marks are still there, so he gets back in. Scrubs again.

He doesn't feel clean - he never does. He scrubs anyway, working at the scratch marks until his skin is so raw that the air stings when he steps out. He thinks they're still there, but he realizes it doesn't even matter.

He's just a body.

- The Pit is buried three levels beneath the Lower District in the Under City. Once upon a time, Soonyoung hated the Under City. If you knew he was here - he wipes away the thought. It doesn't matter what you do or don't know. Soonyoung isn't your responsibility anymore - you'd made that fucking choice for him.

It smells horrid in the Under City, a network of black market augmentation clinics, undocumented brothels, and Tap centrals that smell like burnt sugar. At it's inception, the Under City was supposed to be a network of extended living for service workers and for more people to live. The thought of people being force to live underground was barbaric even to Soonyoung, but the Choi Syndicate had blocked the bill for it, forcing the City Council to expand apartment buildings into the Warehouse District for workers.

A single good deed breeding evil unintentionally, as often happens.

Soonyoung sits in the crowded room, the concrete pillars throbbing with violet holo veins. The floor is stained permanently with rust brown, and the cage in the center is warped chain link with razor wire at the top that sparks when hit.

Though it's unofficial, the Choi Syndicate owns The Pit. The fights, the bookies, the Taps dealing syndust and frostbyte - they're all under the Choi banner. It had belong to the Yong family a generation ago, but Yoon Minji has perfected the art of hostile takeover.

Soonyoung comes here weekly now - three, four nights. Whenever he feels like it. The smell never improves and the crowd leaves him feeling dirtier than ever, but he can't stop, a new addiction he can't quit.

He's shirtless, his tattoos slick with sweat in the neon light. His knuckles are already split from two fights he's had tonight, but the grin on his face is wide and sharp. He feels alive, like his blood is singing. Or maybe that's the syndust. The frostbyte. He doesn't know, but he feels like he can breathe and like thoughts of you are farther away here, like you can't reach him, unwilling to step foot in the hell hole he's hiding in.

Junhui walks down the steps from the cage, wiping blood from his split eyebrow with the back of a taped hand. He's the only regular that Soonyoung speaks to - Choi-owned house fighter with sharp cat eyes and reflexes faster than most Swords. He sees Soonyoung coming and starts shaking his head long before the Sword can get there.

"Don't," Junhui mutters. "You're already bleeding all over, man."

Soonyoung grins. "The night's still young, Jun."

Soonyoung spots his next target lounging in the crowd on a couch. Kang Daeho - Reaper - is a Yong family Sword that's been coming here for months. Soonyoung has watched him fight - he fights with the same, mindless rage that Soonyoung does. He's in line to be a potential Sentinel for the Yong Syndicate, and for some reason, that doesn't sit well with Soonyoung.

Mentally unstable members of the Syndicate shouldn't lead the military. Soonyoung would know.

Reaper smirks when he sees Soonyoung coming. The crowd parts around the Choi Sword like water, watching him go, eyes flicking back and forth between Reaper and Soonyoung. They realize the potential of the matchup - and the stupidity of it. But they're in neutral - theoretically - territory, and Soonyoung feels like testing himself.

"Kwon," Reaper grins. "You're here more and more these days. Pretty prince likes to bleed?"

Soonyoung smiles, all teeth. "Pretty prince likes to fight people his own caliber."

Reaper leans forward. "You want the cage, Mad Dog?"

"Yeah, but I'll even make it fair since you like an advantage." Soonyoung reaches into his back pocket and reveals a sleek, matte black karambit. The knife is curved and lethal, shining in the light as he tosses it at Reaper's feet. It spins on the concrete. "I'll get nothing."

"You suicidal, Kwon?"

"Just bored."

Soonyoung turns his back on Reaper. It's an insult. He knows it is and by the sound of the crowd around him, they know it is. Junhui is watching him with a guarded expression, frowning as Soonyoung nears the cage.

"What are you doing?" Junhui asks, growling the question through his teeth.

Soonyoung ignores him.

Instead, he palms the cage door, feeling the faint vibration of the razor wire crackling overhead. The metal is warm from the last fight, streaked with someone else's blood. Maybe Junhui's, maybe Junhui's last victim. He doesn't know. It doesn't really matter. Nothing matters here except the moment he steps into the cage and turns, watching Reaper approach.

Soonyoung's eyes dart to the floor where he left the knife. It's not there, despite Reaper looking unarmed as he steps into the cage, the crowd surging forward to get a good look at them. The door closes behind the Yong Sword and locks shut, the click lost under the roar of the crowd.

He rolls his shoulders, watching Reaper as they wait for bets to be placed. Soonyoung tries to shake the tremor working it's way up his spine. It isn't fear - never fear. It's anticipation, the kind that burns and that makes everything else feel far away, left to fade into static.

Behind Soonyoung, Junhui's voice comes through the chain link, "He's doped to shit, Hosh. Be careful."

Junhui's right. Reaper's eyes are blown wide, nearly swallowing his irises whole. Soonyoung shrugs in repsonse though. He knew that already. He doesn't really care.

The Pit lights dim, leaving only the violent violet glow humming through the pillars and the overhead wires sparking faintly. It throws jagged shadows across Reaper's face, making him look like an ugly gargoyle. The thought makes Soonyoung start laughing and Reaper gets pissed.

He launches himself at Soonyoung, predictably aggressive. Soonyoung slips under the initial punch, feeling the heat of it. He returns with a sharp jab to Reaper's ribs and a blinding hook to the jaw, sending the crowd roaring.

The press of bodies makes the cage creak. Soonyoung grins as Reaper stumbles a half step, rage chewing through him. He spits blood on the ground. "Soft hands, Kwon. Too much luxury."

"Show me how to hit, then."

Reaper obliges, lunging at Soonyoung with a flurry that's more strength and muscle than refined technique. Because that's the difference between Soonyoung's fighting and this wasteful excuse for a Sword - Soonyoung is refined with years of fighting people better than him. Reaper only ever punches down.

Soonyoung blocks the first strike and rolls the second off his shoulder, burying his knee in Reaper's gut. The man wheezes, eyes furious. Soonyoung smiles and presses his advantage, striking upward with his palm to Reaper's chin, followed by a sweep that sends Reaper to the ground.

The Pit goes feral around them. Soonyoung laughs, spreading his arms wide as the crowd presses against the metal, the cage warping under their weight. Reaper scrambles up to a knee behind him, panting, blood dripping from his now.

"You're fucking dead," Reaper spits. "Little cunt."

"Show me."

His hand darts behind his back, quick and practice, the steel karambit glinting in his hand. A wild ripple goes through the crowd as they scream at Reaper to gut Soonyoung. They don't care who wins, they just want to see someone get carved clean.

No one calls off the fight. There are no rules once someone is in the cage, even if they're cheating. Soonyoung circles Reaper, grinning the entire time, adrenaline pumping in his veins. He feels the vibration of the crowd and he comes alive, opening his arms eagerly again as Reaper charges him.

Soonyoung barely dodges the first slash. The second grazes his bicep, opening up a ribbon of red on his arm. He feels the sting and the warmth of blood and his heartbeat spikes with utter clarity. A clean, cool feeling washes over him.

The next swipe catches him across the ribs, opening up a shallow line of scarlet across one of Soonyoung's tattoos. He doesn't care. He slams into Reaper with his entire body, sending the man back into the chain link. The crowd grabs at him, slipping their fingers through the fence, poking, prodding.

Reaper rips away from them, surging forward. Soonyoung stands in the middle of the cage and lifts a hand, flicking his hand in a come hither motion. Reaper charges. He's so angry and off balance that it takes the fun out of it when Soonyoung ducks under the swipe and punches his opponent in the kidney.

The man goes down hard. Soonyoung doesn't stop though. The crowd eggs him on and he gives them what they want, raining a fury of blows onto Reaper, his knuckles splitting, his hands cracking. He see's red - in his vision and on his hands and on Reaper's face. Soonyoung feels the stab of the blade in his thigh but he doesn't stop. He hits and hits and hits until he has Reaper on the floor under him.

Soonyoung goes for the throat. He presses his arm into Reaper's thick neck, leaning away as the man tries to grab for the knife in Soonyoung's thigh, grab for Soonyoung's arms - anything. He thrashes and Soonyoung laughs, leaning over him with blown eyes as he chokes the life from the Yong Sword.

Around them, the crowd frenzies. He hears them screaming and throwing things into the cage as Reaper's legs kick out under Soonyoung. His face goes from red, to violet, to purple. The slaps come slower, softer. Soonyoung presses harder, feeling the crack of a windpipe.

Reaper gives two wet rasps. One.

Then he sags, eyes rolling back. Soonyoung doesn't let up. He counts every thud of his racing heart, his pulse loud enough in his ears that he uses them to track the seconds, to make sure that this isn't a blackout, that it's death.

Finally, he relents. The crowd is screaming for him when he rises and spreads his arms, laughing, face tilted up toward the light. Junhui watches from the crowd, silent and unmoved. Soonyoung doesn't care. Soonyoung lets the crowd scream for him. No - not him. For the weapon he is, not the person he is, because he's not a person.

He's just a body.

-

It smells like rust and wet concrete in the warehouse. Rain hammers the corrugated roof in sheets, loud enough to drown out the low throb of Vernon's music leaking from his earbuds. they're crouched behind a stack of shipping crates stamped with the dragon of the Yong family, watching men and women from the Yong Syndicate load crates unto an unmarked van.

It's a simple job tonight. Confirm the contents of the shipment, tag it, get out. No bodies unless absolutely necessary. Which is why Soonyoung has no idea why Jeonghan has asked Soonyoung and Vernon to preside over this. Their specialty is bodies.

Vernon nudges Soonyoung with an elbow. He glances at Vernon, who pulls one earbud out and tilts his head toward the far exit. Soonyoung shrugs and follows Vernon as they drift along the wall, boots silent on the oil-stained floor. Laughter echos behind them and Soonyoung's jaw flexes.

"That's not the job," Vernon whispers. Soonyoung looks up and realizes his hand has moved to his gun. Of course Vernon noticed - he notices everything. Vernon is as close to a replica of Angel and Jeonghan as anyone outside the Yoon family can be.

And he's right. So Soonyoung breathes through his nose, trying to remember what it feels like to care about orders. Vernon is still watching him in that patient way of his - infuriating.

For once, Soonyoung waits. They watch as the Yong members finish loading the crates and slam the van doors. Vernon takes something out of his pocket and clicks it, looking at the group of workers before he stands to his full height and throws something hard at the van. The ping of the beacon against the wheel well is lost in the sound of rain as it leaves the warehouse.

Soonyoung pulls his phone out and shows Vernon the blinking beacon as it drives away. Vernon nods, pleased. Together, they slide out of the warehouse and into the pouring rain. Vernon's silhouette is black next to Soonyoung as they rush through the dark. The city is a neon smear in the distance, the air of the Warehouse District tinged with salt.

For a while, they don't speak. Soonyoung doesn't know where they're going - he just follows the Rook, their boots splashing in trash-choked gutters as they move block after block.

Finally, Vernon glances at him. "You're off course."

"Tell me something I don't know. She ask you to talk to me?"

Vernon blinks, rain water clinging to his lashes. "No. This isn't about her. It's about you."

Both of them stop walking. Rain drums on the hood of Soonyoung's jacket as he stares at Vernon. The Rook stares back, his face painted red by the neon pharmacy sign, his dark eyes unreadable.

"You're not going to get promoted to Sentinel like this," Vernon says. Simple. Efficient. "You can't turn every job into a bloodbath because you're trying to feel something that isn't there anymore."

Soonyoung's throat works. He wants to laugh - wants to punch something. Wants to disappear into the rain and never come back. If it were anyone else, he would spit in their face. But it's Vernon - Vernon who never asks for anything. Vernon who sat with him the night his parents died and didn't say a single fucking word, just passed him a water bottle and let him cry.

Vernon who has never brought you up to him since you broke up. Ever.

"Yeah," Soonyoung answers eventually. "I know. You think I don't notice they look at me like I'm broken?"

"Then stop breaking." Soonyoung scoffs then. Vernon's eyes flash and Soonyoung is reminded that Vernon isn't a sword, but he is a Rook - and a dangerous one. Beneath the layers of calm, Vernon is lethal, a weapon made for applying pressure. "Man, stop acting like you don't fucking matter."

"I don't."

"Pretty fucked up thing to say to me." Vernon puts his hands in his pockets. "You matter to me. To Angel. To Chan. Even to Seungkwan, usually."

"Yeah, well."

"Well what?" Vernon challenges. It's the first time Soonyoung's ever heard him mad. He steps closer to Soonyoung, challenging him. "You think us caring doesn't count? So what - if we died, you don't give a shit anymore?"

"That isn't what I said."

"It's how you act. Stop treating our love for you like it doesn't fucking matter. Pretty shitty thing to do."

Soonyoung's mouth opens and closes. The rain keeps falling and he stares at Vernon. It's probably the most eye contact they've made since they were teenagers in the training room and Vernon was trying to warn Soonyoung about his affection for you. Now, Vernon is unwavering, his mouth a flat line.

For the first time in a long time, Soonyoung feels bad. If it were anyone else, it might be less effective, but with Vernon, it catches him off guard. Makes him unsettled as Vernon waits, hands in his pockets, shoulders loose like he's ready to stand here all night in the rain. He probably is.

"I didn't mean it like that," Soonyoung finally mutters, chagrined. "I just… don't know how to carry it anymore. All of it."

Vernon rolls his eyes. "Then stop carrying it alone, dumb ass."

It catches Soonyoung so off guard he laughs, a wet and unfamiliar thing. The neon sign above them flickers, bathing them in red, then dark, then red again. Soonyoung's chest feels too tight, like Vernon has wedged a knife in and is cracking it open.

Instead of pushing, Vernon steps back, tilting his head toward the end of the block where the car waits. "Come on. I want ramen. Angel is probably hungry."

"I don't like that one ramen place she likes."

It's such a normal response that Soonyoung blinks in surprise - he hadn't expected himself to go with it. Vernon doesn't make a big deal of it, walking off to the car to leave Soonyoung hurrying after him. Their shoulders brush and Soonyoung doesn't retreat for once, suddenly feeling a little less hollow and a little more him.

"Yeah, well. Too bad. You've treated her like shit. She gets first choice."

"Alright, I guess."

For the first time in longer than he can remember, Soonyoung thinks perhaps he's more than just a body.

Maybe.

-

The Tower is dead.

The words don't feel real yet. Rain sluices across the blacked out glass of his apartment windows, the low hum of thunder in the distance vibrating through the walls. Soonyoung rubs a hand over his face, sitting on the edge of his mattress in nothing but black sweatpants. He stares at his phone, the call from Angel ending ten minutes ago.

It feels weird. He doesn't know how he should react. He's hated the Tower for so long now that he thinks he's supposed to feel pleasure, but he doesn't. There really isn't anything there. All that's left is a what next?

Choi Moojin had been sick for a while. Ever since your mother died, he'd been a shadow of himself. Seungcheol has been slowly taking over for so long that it feels like the transfer of power already happened, like your brother has been the stoic leader of the Choi Syndicate for years now.

There's a lot that needs to happen. Soonyoung has never been through the death of a Tower, but he knows his days are about to become sleepless. Seungcheol will need to weed out anyone who seeks to unseat him or doesn't want him to inherit the title - though Soonyoung can't imagine there's much of that. He'll need to establish his panel of confidants and potentially switch Architects and Wisdoms if he feels like it, and -

A phone rings. Soonyoung looks down at his phone and frowns. His phone isn't ringing - it's still open on the call logs that shows when Angel dialed in. It takes him a second to realize that the ringing is coming from his nightstand.

Dread hits him like ice water. He only keeps his gun and the burner phone he owns in his drawer - his burner phone that he has for you, the only person in the world who knows that number, specifically given to you in case you ever needed him.

Soonyoung dives toward the drawer, ripping it open and fumbling with the device as he picks it up, hands shaking. He answers on the fourth ring, his voice trembling "Where are you?"

"The Kim family has turned on the Choi's," you whisper, voice raw. "They're mobilizing for a full-scale attack in roughly two hours. The Yong family is helping them. They're at the estate and all over the city. Anyone who is important to us regardless of position will need to be warned. The Yong family is handling the Pearl District and the Salt."

The world narrows to a single point of focus. He's already moving, pulling on a shirt. He rips open his weapons locker and the motion lights flicker on, flaring blood red across him. He texts Jeonghan a red alert code on his phone, tossing it aside.

"How many men at Yijun's estate?" He drags his pants on one handed, wedging the phone between his shoulder and face. "Are you armed?"

“There are men at the guard house and one walking the perimeter. It’s just me and Yijun inside, I think Minchan is leaving. I’ve got a knife.”

He straps guns to his leg and slides knives into the holsters at his thigh. “Where are you in the house?”

“Bedroom, second landing to the right and all the way at the end of the hall. There are windows but they don’t open.”

You recite everything back to him with meticulous clarity. His heart is slamming in his ribcage so hard he thinks about that time he tried to kill himself with frostbyte. He feels like that now, like this might send him over the edge, because he understands what you're saying and he can't bare it.

The best he can do for you is keep you calm and tell you exactly what you need to do to survive the next thirty minutes. He doesn't know if you can, but he prays to any god that will hear him that you do.

"Listen to me," he says, voice soft. "The second we start moving into position to accept the assault, they'll know something is off. When that happens, Yijun is going to try to kill you, do you understand?" You say nothing and he slams his weapon's locker shut. "Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"I need you to fight back." He swallows past the sudden sob in his throat. "Either kill him or hold him off until I'm there."

"You need to warn-"

"Don't worry about the fucking Syndicate! We'll be fine." He glances at his phone to see Jeonghan calling him. He ignores it. "You've given us more than enough time. I need you to be entirely focused on yourself."

"Okay."

"Do you have frostbyte?"

"Maybe?" He hears you move on the other end of the line. "Yijun might have it in the nightstand."

"Take some." Soonyoung heads for the door. "Not enough to fuck you up, but enough to pump that adrenaline and make your head clear. I will be there in thirty minutes."

"Okay."

Rain hammers down outside. He flies down the stairs, the phone pressed to his ear. He's not willing to hang up on you. He ignores Jeonghan's call again and pings your location. Twenty-seven minutes. He needs to cut it in half.

"Hey," Soonyoung says when he realizes you're still there, breathing heavily. "Do what I said. Do the frostbyte and kill him if you have to." Jeonghan starts calling again and his heart aches. "I have to go."

"Okay."

"I'll see you in thirty minutes." He says it because he needs it to be true. Says it to will it into the universe. He's never been good at that, but he tries it now. He swallows as he runs to his car, rain warm against his skin. "I love you."

It kills him to say it, but he needs you to hear it. Soonyoung needs you to know it, because if he can't say it to you again-

He can't think about it. Not right now as he dials Jeonghan, peeling out in his car. Jeonghan answers breathless and angry but Soonyoung cuts him off, "Full scale. Kim and Yong family moving on us in two hours. Yong in the Pearl District and the Salt. I'm going to extract the Tower's daughter."

"We're moving." Jeonghan shouts on the other side of the line. "We're sending a team to-"

"I'm faster."

"I'll send medical your way in case."

"Call your mom. They'll target her and Old Man Vero. Probably Angel - she's working-"

"Vernon is on her now. Wisdom is in her safe house already." Soonyoung's car fish tales as he hits the road, flying. "Bring her home, Soonyoung."

He intends to.

Soonyoung barely sees the city flash by. He drives like a demon straight from hell, applying every single trick of street racing Seungkwan has ever taught him. Soonyoung isn't much for fast reflexes behind the wheel, but he tries. For you. He tries for you, because every minute he's stuck in traffic is another minute closer to your death.

He cannot fathom the end of you. So he doesn't let himself. He focuses on the drive and hopes that the information you've risked to give him pays off. Jeonghan and Seungcheol have to handle the Syndicate now - Soonyoung's only concern is you. His friends will need to make it through the next however many hours alone until he can get you somewhere safe.

Safe.

How many times has Soonyoung driven to this exact estate and stared at the walls, thinking of climbing them? How many times has he thought about killing this family, taking you away, and driving you to the safe house be bought for you? The place he painstakingly built for this exact purpose, to extract you and take you back.

Countless, probably. You were never safe so long as you were hidden in the belly of the Kim family, and it was foolish for the old Tower to ever think you would be.

The Kim Estate sits on a hill, dark as cold glass. Soonyoung kills the engine and gets out the car, running in the rain. The gatehouse is exactly where he remembers it, lit with gold light and manned by two guards.

They don't see him coming in the rain. He appears like a phantom, gun raised as he steps into the open door and kills the first guard. He shields his body with the dying guard as the other turns to him, but he doesn't need to. Soonyoung pulls the trigger and kills the other guard before she can stand and she dies in her chair.

He leaves them bleeding as he jumps the fence, hands slick with blood. Wet earth sucks at his boots as he jogs. He slinks past the koi pond and marble statues of some deities he knows nothing about. He knows every inch of the Kim Estate grounds, having memorized it years ago when he used to dream about coming here in the dark and taking you back.

He never did.

Soonyoung finds the guard on perimeter and shoots twice. He falls, dead somewhere in the wet grass. Soonyoung keeps moving toward the house, the inside lit up with lamplight. He goes to the front door and curses when he realizes it's a biometric lock, forcing him back out into the downpour to find the guard on perimeter.

Cutting off the guard's hand costs him time he cannot afford to lose. He curses as he bolts back to the front door, slamming the bloody hand against the scanner. It flashes green and Soonyoung is through the door, tossing the part somewhere on the front long where it fucking belongs.

It smells like cedar wood inside the house. He enters with his heart hammering, gun raise, knife out. He spots the steps and climbs them. He strains his ears to hear anything, but there's nothing but the rain against the windows and his own ragged breathing as he climbs.

He's so nervous he doesn't see the vase near the top of the stairs. Soonyoung crashes into it and curses immediately, knocking it over. He fucks it all to hell and runs down the hallway, forsaking stealth for time.

Please be alive. It's all he can think as he approaches your bedroom. Please be alive, please be alive, please be alive, pleASE BE ALIVE, PLEASE-

You're on the ground covered in blood and for the briefest moment, Soonyoung doesn't see you. He sees his mother, laying in her bed with her palm under her hand, barely away, covered in scarlet. He blinks and he sees you again, panting, knife in hand, teeth bared.

Yijun is behind you, neck gored and bleeding. You're so slick with blood that it makes Soonyoung hesitate for the barest of seconds, taken aback. He's never seen you anything less than perfect and right now, you look like a creature from another dimension, face swollen, nose broken, eyes feral.

You're alive, though.

Soonyoung drops the gun. It's stupid - he doesn't know if he's actually clear the house. But you're alive and you're on your knees and you're alive. He grabs your face, hands trembling as he presses your cheeks between his palm, turning your face side to side to examine you.

"Where are you bleeding?" He asks, trying to find the source of the blood. You don't answer him, blinking up at him, pupils the size of saucers. "Baby. Hey, I need you to answer me. Where are you bleeding?"

You blink at him and your words come out heavy and syrupy. "S'mostly his. Maybe broke my nose."

Fuck. Fuck. He knows you can't feel the pain because of the drugs and adrenaline, but he needs to get you out of here. His finger brushes across your cheek, butterfly soft, as though he might break you. He fears he might - you look fragile right now, delicate like a moth's wing.

"Can you walk if I help you?" You shake your head. "Okay. I'm going to lift you up, alright? Tell me where it hurts so I don't hurt you, Baby."

"Ribs."

"Left or right?"

"Right."

"Okay, tell me if I hurt you okay? I'm going to take you home."

Home. He doesn't mean the Choi Estate. He doesn't mean his apartment - never his apartment, filthy and sullied by other women. He means away from here and with him. Because your home is with him and no where else. It always has been.

"Thank you."

Your voice is soft and broken. He looks at you in surprise, leaning back to catch your eyes. You're crying - he's not sure you even realize that you are. The tears streak through the blood and fuck, even like this, you are the most beautiful creature he's ever seen.

"You didn't have to come get me," you whisper, voice small.

It shatters something inside of him. Don't you know? Don't you know what he would do for you? That even in his darkest moments where he waited to die, all he thought of was you? That even when he tried to hate you and when he tried to burn away every piece of himself, if you had asked, he'd have been there in a second?

You obviously don't know. Stupid. He'll worry about it later. Right now, all he cares about is getting you out of this house and somewhere safe, knowing that the walls are closing in on you both fast. He lifts you gently, trying to be careful with your ribs. You hiss anyway as you lean into him.

"Of course I did," Soonyoung murmurs softly. "When you say jump, remember?"

He's not sure you hear him. You're barely lucid, the fight draining from you now that he's here. You let him lift you and cradle him to his chest and you're so much lighter than he remembers. It makes him sick. He glances at Yijun's body and a thread of savage satisfaction goes through him. You haven't just murdered Yijun - you've ravaged him, tearing through his throat to the spine.

Soonyoung spits on the floor of your bedroom and carries you out. Your head lolls against his throat and he tightens his grip on you, hyper aware of your shallow breathing against his neck. He tries to be as smooth as he can down the stairs, worried about jostling you. If you feel pain, you don't show it. You just cling to him like if you let go you'll die.

He gets it. When Soonyoung puts you in the passenger seat of his car, he has to convince himself to let you go. His hands linger for a second and he stares at you as your eyes flutter, barely awake. He runs his fingers across the crown of your forehead, remembering the shape perfectly.

His phone starts to ring and he snaps out of it. Standing, he closes your side of the door gently and rounds the car, getting in and starting the engine. He looks at you again before he puts it in drive, heart fluttering, worried. He's pretty sure you have a concussion, a broken nose, and broken ribs, but you otherwise seem unharmed.

Swallowing, he hits the gas, tires peeling on the road. You sag toward him, like you're seeking his presence. He can't help it - he reaches over the console for you, wrapping his hand in yours. You don't squeeze back but your fingers twitch so he doesn't let go as the phone rings again.

He answers. "I've got her. We're heading to our meet location."

"Do you need a med team?" It's Seungcheol who asks. "Yes. Send one to our location. Nothing deadly. Broken bones."

"We're about to accept assault. Take the long way."

"Heard."

"Soonyoung?"

Soonyoung swallows thickly, tightening his hand on the wheel as rain washes over the window. "Yes, Tower?"

"Thank you, brother." Seungcheol pauses. "I love you."

"Love you too."

Soonyoung drives, his hand in yours after years of suffering, the sound of the rain pattering on the roof of the car as he drives toward the coast. You mumble something and he turns to look at you, split between making sure you're okay and not driving off the road.

"What, Baby?"

"Had to," you mumble. He's not sure if you're actually awake or aware the words are coming out of your mouth, but you continue to mumble. "Had to. Didn't want to. Was gonna kill you, though."

"What do you mean?"

"Dad?"

He frowns. "Dad?"

You nod and groan, like it hurts to think hard. He tries to hush you, but you seem dead set on getting this out. "Didn't want him to hurt you. Hated him for it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I did it to you."

Slowly, he puts the pieces of what you're saying together. His stomach twists, equal parts rage and regret that he hadn't thought about it sooner. He doesn't know what to say, staring out the rainy dash, the black water of the coast ahead with Hyperion a glowing smudge of neon to the west.

"Moojin said he would kill me?" He asks, cause he needs to hear it for sure. "That's why you did it?"

"Yeah." You sniff. Then, quieter. "I'm glad he's dead."

Soonyoung's heart aches. Not because he feels for your father, but because he knows it isn't true. He wonders how long you've wrestled with hating and loving your father. You'd always been so unaware of the lengths the old Tower would go to, but Soonyoung never faulted you for it - and he doesn't now.

You drift to sleep again, conversation forgotten, and he lets you. He hopes you don't remember saying that you were glad your father was dead. In a better state, he doesn't think you would say it again. He understands the complexity of hating something you held so dear to you - he just never imagined he would get it back.

Soonyoung doesn't let himself think of the past. He decides in that moment he only wants to move forward, that he has his sights set on the what comes next. He has loved you his entire lifetime and he's prepared to love you for hundreds of more - thousands of more. He doesn't care about anything before now. Now, he has you in the passenger seat, driving you to a safe place he carved out for you, like he always knew it would come to this.

As long as he can be with you, Soonyoung knows it'll be enough.

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