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STOCKHOLM₊˚⊹♡ J.YH | 12 (2/2) - FINALE (m)

jeong yunho x afab! reader (feat. ot8)

for mature audiences only, minors will be blocked.

masterlist

⟢ a/n: THIS IS THE SECOND HALF OF PART 12 | this does NOT in any way, shape, or form depict who / how any of ateez are irl. please do not take this fic as fact on their personalities or actions, please and thank you.

⟢ summary: the grande finale™

⟢ total word count for both parts: 56.4k (128 pages....)

⟢ warnings: MINORS RUN FOR THE HILLS | swearing, captive reader, conditioning, use of names (daddy, angel, sir), psychological warfare, manipulation, mentions of death/dying, PTSD, brief/indirect mention of SA

18+ THIS IS THE FINAL WARNING.

posted: 04.05.26

⟢ [CLOSED] taglist: @cocostar1117 @sw33tsaturday @mangalovesanime-blog @ciderxi @aurorasjoongie @violatedvibrators @prchiquita8 @mythicalthing @stolasisyourparent @thenewblackcanvas @lucatiny @whyismingi @0x11s @jellyroll22 @eshia16 @scarletxatz @jkayy-prodian @honghwalvr @0mrrp @h0efor2ho @ickssspencer @nadinenaya @ayleekay2006 @freyaphoria @daydreamqueenjaycee @lol-imtrash2000 @sweatyracoon @oceanside-view97 @holykstan @rellz-bellz @hwxbibi @sksngs @haven-cove @dollysecrets @sitycc @nadinenaya @onlyforwoosan @a1avav @cotton-candycloudz @blu-kyl @fancypeacepersona @mingtiis @the-silent-listener09 @luvrgirlkumi @sugar-spice-bitch@lovemollywho @maliabobea15 @rockstarsanie

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The next time you wake up, you’re alone.

Everything hurts but also… doesn’t. Like something is blocking you from feeling any of the pain from before. A dull, underlying discomfort.

You don’t remember much of what happened, why you ended up here, wherever you are. There’s a black hole in your memory that turns everything fuzzy and confusing. What you do remember is how cold you were, near freezing. Cautiously, you move each finger one by one, and wiggle your toes, making sure all were accounted for. You remember two loud, sudden noises. Someone else got hurt. Two others, you think. You can’t recall who, though.

You remember being touched by strangers. The thought terrifies you all over again, and you slowly squeeze your thighs together, testing for any soreness. You don’t feel anything. A huge mental weight suddenly lifts off of you, and you sink further into the bed, turning your head to the side to cry in relief. Daddy would’ve been so mad…

When you eventually open your eyes, the first things you see are balloons.

Odd.

Off to the side, they float on a large shelf beneath a large flat screen television, telling you to get well soon in funky fonts. Underneath the balloons are an array of gifts, each one differing in packaging and size, and a teddy bear perched on top of the pile like a throne. You wonder if they’ll find and give you Puppy sometime soon. That would be a greater comfort than the teddy bear, even if it did have a cute red ribbon tied around its neck. But you breathe a sigh of relief upon the sight of all the gifts. A wave of comfort washes over you at the thought of Yunho sending you all of these. He must not be mad at you anymore, and sent you these, knowing how scared you are here. You can’t wait to see what he got you.

You see that they have also placed a small Christmas tree in the corner.

Right… you remember, it is Christmas – or at least it was recently.

You groan as you shift to get more comfortable, and feel a small tug within your chest. Your eyes fly open and you panic once you see multiple tubes protruding from your chest and arm. Immediately, you want to rip whatever is in there out, but your hands are still restrained. A rough scream that sounds just like Yunho’s name tears from your throat and two nurses run in, trying to calm you down.

“No!” You try to scream at them, but it comes out as a breathy, broken cry, “No! Leave me alone!”

Both nurses back off right away. One of them calmly tries to explain to you that you’re in the hospital, and the tubes you see are to drain the fluid in your chest, and an IV to keep you hydrated. You don’t respond. You regress further.

Daddy hasn’t given you permission to speak to any of these people.

He’ll take the presents away if he finds out.

He’ll leave you here.

You press your mouth together, refusing to say another word. Curling up on your side, you don’t even look in their direction. In this position, there’s an added pressure somewhere in your chest and a pull in your shoulder that you don’t like. Yet you don’t move. You hate that they’re looking at you. They’re not allowed to.

One of them brings the teddy bear over, setting him down on the foot of your hospital bed, leaning against the footboard. Eventually, after checking your vitals and trying – and failing – to ask you a dozen questions you don’t want to answer, they leave.

You break down as soon as you’re alone again.

You don’t understand… why did Daddy leave you here? He would never leave you out in the world unprotected, no matter what. He didn’t even assign one of the boys to stay with you. It just does not make sense. The not-knowing overwhelms you, and your temples begin to throb from stress.

The only comfort you can find is in being asleep. So you’ll sleep until Daddy comes to get you.

Until he brings you back home.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Sleep is something you’re not really afforded.

You wake up often due to the pain, sometimes pressing the button for the nurse to administer more pain-killing drugs to your system, and several times throughout the day – and night – people walk in to poke and prod you. They keep asking you questions. The same ones, every single time, every single shift. It’s always loud, bright, and disorientating. You hate it here. You miss the blackout curtains throughout the apartment, shielding you from this blinding light. You miss waking up snuggled next to Yunho. You miss that safety.

The nurses finally freed your hands from your sides earlier this morning and you don’t even thank them. You hid your hands under the blankets, like a child that didn’t want to give you their favorite toy. In your somewhat newfound freedom, you pulled the blanket higher over you, so you really didn’t have to look at anyone if you didn't want to. It’s easier to block out the world this way.

By mid-morning, you’re unable to fall back asleep, which you kind of anticipated. Still, it’s desperately annoying. One of the nurses that had come in when you first woke up stands by your bed, checking your vitals and typing something into her laptop. She checks on the dressing that covers your wound. You watch her work for a while. You decide that you dislike her the least. She keeps the shades drawn, having noticed your agitation when the sunlight streamed into the room. And so far, she’s been nice. She can read what you want better than the other nurses.

You startle her by speaking.

“Where is he?”

She jumps and clutches her chest, not expecting a question from you. But she quickly regains her professionalism and asks, “Where is who, dear?”

“Da–” You think twice in the middle of saying it. You need to be specific. “Yunho.”

“Yunho?” She repeats.

You nod twice.

“I– I don’t know, dear. Is he your boyfriend?”

You drop the conversation there, frustrated. And partly because you don’t know how to answer her question. Whatever your relationship is, it’s so much deeper than that.

“You say his name a lot in your sleep,” she mentions, resuming her typing after flicking through your chart again.

She looks up at you, hoping for an explanation, but you just turn onto your side, closing yourself off. You don’t move again until she leaves, and even then you wait a few extra minutes to make sure she’s gone.

Sleep drags you down out of nowhere. It’s welcomed.

But of course, it doesn’t stay with you for too long.

“Honey?” A woman’s voice stirs you out of your deep slumber about two hours later. A gentle hand shakes your shoulder, just enough to wake you up. You grumble and rub your eye, intent on ignoring whoever this is and going back to sleep – it doesn’t register that you’re no longer restrained just yet. But she speaks again, and the words catch your attention. “Someone’s here to see you.”

Your eyes open and you push yourself up all at once, looking around the room. Did they find him that quickly? Is he going to take you home? A dangerous hope blooms within you, watching the door.

“Your parents are right outside. Do you want to say ‘hi’ to them?” The nurse asks.

Parents…?

The word feels foreign. Wrong. The only person in the world you have is Yunho, you know that. Your parents stopped looking for you. They don’t care. Their faces are blurry, names forgotten.

You don’t say anything to the nurse, staring at the mattress in silence, hoping she’ll go away. You hope everyone will just go away. The nurse gives you a minute to answer before going to the door, waving two people in.

A roughly middle-aged man and woman enter your room slowly. The woman clutches the man’s sleeve, staring at you through watery, round eyes. The man holds a small present in his shaking hands. They appear to be exhausted, maybe jet-lagged. There are dark circles under the man’s eyes like he hasn’t slept in days. They both look at you like you’re a ticking time bomb, ready to detonate at any second.

“Hi sweetie,” the woman says softly, keeping her distance even though you can tell it’s taking a lot of effort on her part to do so.

The man chimes in, “Hey, kiddo.” He stops himself from saying more.

The nurses must have said something to them.

Again, you don’t reply. You keep your eyes on them, watching and waiting for them to do something that Yunho wouldn’t like. Their being here… it doesn’t sit well with you. There’s absolutely no way Yunho would ever let them see you. Especially not unsupervised. For the hundredth time, you wonder where he is, why he’s letting this happen.

The two people in your room dare to come closer, and you tense with each step.

Misplaced blame shrouds them both.

Once they’re close enough to see the extent of your injuries, the woman collapses into one of the chairs near the bed.

“Oh, my poor baby.” She cries, unable to tear her gaze from the violent purple and red bruising that covers every inch of your throat up to your jaw, and down towards your chest.

Ugh.

This display of emotion annoys you – or maybe it’s hearing the nickname Daddy gave you coming from someone else’s lips. You even roll your eyes, though you instantly feel guilty for doing so. She weeps harder, covering her face with her hands as she tries to pull herself together. The man places a hand on her shoulder, and the small action triggers something.

A memory.

You remember the airport, waving goodbye to… someone. A man and a woman, the man’s hand on the woman’s shoulder. To control her? To comfort her? You can’t tell anymore. They had waved goodbye until you were out of their sight. They had shouted encouraging words after you so that they may follow you on your journey, far from home.

They had picked you up from school, taken you to doctor’s appointments, held your hand in the dentist’s chair, let you sleep in their bed when you woke up from a nightmare. One of them coached your soccer team when you were a kid, you just couldn’t remember which one. You loved them once.

This was all lifetimes ago, now.

You’re different. You’re not theirs. They stopped looking for you. They gave up.

Yunho would have torn the world apart if you ever went missing. He wouldn’t have stopped his search, not for anything. Of this, you’re certain.

“I’m sorry,” the woman says through sniffles, plucking a tissue from a nearby tissue box and wiping her eyes. “We’re so sorry, sweetie.”

You don’t look at them. You don’t want to, even though your body naturally starts to relax around them. It’s recognizing them before your brain does. The heart monitor records how your pulse gradually begins to slow to a normal pace.

The man changes the subject, pointing out the pile of presents. “Looks like you didn’t miss Christmas after all.”

You almost shrug. The most he gets in response is a slight twitch in your left shoulder.

“Do you wanna see what you got?” He asks.

Yes. But not with them. You don’t want them to touch what Yunho got you. The man picks one of the presents up, bringing it over to you. The tag is written in unfamiliar handwriting.

To: Y/N

From: All The Staff ♡

Oh… well, that’s nice of them, you suppose. All you do is stare at it, unmoving. It’s not from Yunho, so you really have no desire to open it.

But the man takes it upon himself when you don’t unwrap it. Growing more and more agitated, you clench your teeth, hands itching at your skin. You don’t want your first present to be from strangers. No.

You look away before you can see what it is.

“Oh wow,” he says, pulling the gift out of the box. “The staff got you a weighted blanket. That was nice of them.”

Your shoulders hunch and you bow your head, not wanting to hear. He places it over your legs, and it takes every single ounce of self-control to not throw it off of you like a petulant child. The weight of it feels claustrophobic, meant to keep you here forever.

“Gotta make sure to thank them when they come in again,” he reminds you innocently, but that’s the last straw.

He doesn’t tell you what to do. You press the call button for the nurse to come back in. You hope it’s the one you like.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” The woman asks, worry lacing between every syllable. Her eyes are still red from crying. “Are you in pain?”

Right away, the nurse you want comes in, her eyes sweeping across the room, trying to figure out what you need.

“Hey, honey. What’s going on?”

Keeping your head off to the side, all you do to answer is point over at the door. It only takes the nurse a second to realize what you want.

“Okay, no problem. Mom, Dad, we’ll see her tomorrow, okay?”

You want to correct that, to say that you don’t want to see them tomorrow at all, but remain silent. They’ll just keep coming back anyway. Deep down, you know you’re expected to go home with them. But that’s not what Yunho wants.

The woman cries again as the two of them leave, escorted out by the nurse, and you can hear her until she reaches the end of the wing. You don’t relax until you know they’re gone. With a swift kick, the blanket falls off the side of the bed, and the weight is gone as well. That’s enough excitement for one day, surely.

A knock on the door shatters that hope.

Thankfully though, it’s just the nurse from before. She lets herself in quietly, picking up the discarded blanket and setting it down over the back of one of the chairs instead of placing it back on you. Smart.

Then she sits down.

Neither of you say anything for a while, and you don’t look at her. You watch the clock like it’s the most fascinating thing to you, never wanting to miss a single second. You tap your finger against the mattress, the one with the pulse oximeter on it.

“It’ll all get easier,” the nurse says, this time startling you. “Just takes time, you know?”

She doesn’t expect a response, and you don’t really give her one. However, a shrug in response from you is still considered progress. She’ll gladly take it between the alternatives. You suppose she’s right, but you’re not happy about it. You don’t want to get used to a new normal, whatever it may look like. The uncertainty of it all scares you.

There’s another bout of silence.

“Your parents don’t know who ‘Yunho’ is… do you know his address or number?”

You used to know his number, but you haven’t exactly seen your phone in about a year. You’re pretty sure Yunho chucked it into the Han River the same night he took you. He couldn’t have it potentially alert your location and bring the police right to his doorstep, per se. You bite your lip, shaking your head. It’s frustrating to be able to remember select, small details like that, and not what happened recently. Or your parents.

Wanting more answers, you point at your throat and chest and then your wrist, hoping you’re making it clear you’re asking when this all happened. Two days ago? A week? The nurse tilts her head, confused. You point towards the Christmas tree and tap your wrist again.

After a few moments, she seems to understand.

“How many days since…?” She gestures to your injuries.

You nod, looking down again.

“It’s December twenty-seventh today, so… four days ago.”

Huh. So that’s why the man said you didn’t miss Christmas after all, even though technically you did. You woke up only yesterday, the twenty-sixth. A brief memory of being happy to know the date again flashes in your mind, but you can’t place when that was. December something. Someone had told you the date… who was it? Why can’t you just remember?

You look up at her, as if she has the answers. Speaking of names you don’t remember, you point at her nametag, unable to read it. You’re sure she’s told you before but you weren’t exactly in a get-to-know-you mood yesterday.

“My name?” She clarifies. You nod. “Jiyeon.”

Pretty. It’s nice to put a name to a face. You repeat it over and over in your head so you can maybe remember it later. Hopefully everything else will come back to you in time. It’s just going to be frustrating for now. At least you still remember Yunho. The thought of him is keeping you somewhat grounded while you’re here, though it raises a lot of questions you don’t have the answers to. And no one here knows who or where he is, which brings up even more unanswerable questions.

A loud siren blares through the hospital halls, calling all available medical staff to one of the rooms. An automated voice announces that it is a ‘Code Blue’ and Jiyeon springs up from her chair at once, telling you that she’ll be right back before rushing out. Before the door closes behind her, you see other nurses sprinting down the hall as well. You blink, and you’re alone again. The announcement stops after about another minute or so.

Jiyeon doesn’t come back right away like she said she would. Eventually, you just stop waiting for her to return. The silence creeps in, burrowing into your ears and you paw around at the blankets to try and find the remote for the TV. You find it on the table next to you, within reach. It’s similar to the remote you are used to in Yunho’s apartment, which is helpful. With a push of one of the buttons, the television blinks to life. Color explodes across the screen.

You relax once you see it’s some sort of children’s cartoon program, something that Yunho would allow you to watch. It entertains you for a while, but it quickly becomes too overstimulating. The voices and sound effects mixed with the bright colors proves too much for your head to handle at the moment. The channel switches to the news. The two anchors relay all the information about a recent bus crash somewhere in the city before moving on to a singing program, and you decide it’s good background noise. You lower the volume a little more, and turn on your side, intent on trying to fall asleep again.

An hour later, with no success, you just listen to the news anchors once they reappear on screen. You don’t want anyone to come in, but you are antsy that Jiyeon already broke a promise to you. She said she’d be right back. You know it’s selfish of you to think you’re the only patient that she should pay attention to, but you can’t help it. However, you guess you’re used to being alone.

Unfortunately, you’re not left alone for long. A nurse you don’t think you’ve met before comes in, alongside a tall man. A doctor in a long white coat, holding a clipboard. On sight, you instantly tense up, scooting farther up the bed to put distance between you and him. Your pulse quickens, and each pound of your heart hammers against your bruised chest.

“Hi, Y/N,” he says warmly, standing at the foot of your bed. “Glad to see you awake. I’m Dr. Ahn. I just wanted to touch base with you and see how you’re doing.”

You bring your knees in so your feet are no longer that close to him. If he’s going to touch you, you’re going to see him coming towards you first, which gives you time to act. You don’t like him saying your name so casually.

He’s obviously been briefed that you are refusing to speak, because he doesn’t wait for a response from you. He flicks through your chart like he’s reading the newspaper.

“Your vitals are looking good, so no issues there. We’ll be taking the chest tube out this afternoon, see if your lung is doing what it should be on its own. Your parents are gonna be here all day, so if you want them in here when that happens, just let us know.”

You glare at him as he gets closer, checking your IV bag. The squeak of his shoes against the floor make you nauseous. He notices you staring and offers a small smile.

“You’re very brave, you know,” he says, patting your knee. You resist the urge to bite his hand off. Your skin crawls, astounded at his audacity. A wave of anger and fear crashes into you all at once, and you shove his hand away. You ignore the surprise on his face, more preoccupied with how frightened and fed up you are. Can’t they just get all of this over with so you can go home? At this point, you’ll walk back. You don’t care if that’s what you have to do to get back there.

The doctor says something to you, but you ignore him. You watch the door, waiting for Yunho to come in and kill him for touching you.

The young nurse speaks up next, taking his place beside you.

“Y/N, I’m Nari. I’m a sexual assault nurse examiner. I would like to perform a Sexual Assault Forensic Exam on you, but only with your permission. It’ll be entirely up to you if you want to send the results to the police as evidence. Do you think that’s something you’d like to do?”

You freeze. Sexual assault?

Your pulse skyrockets. Is that what they think this is? Is that what you’re a victim of? Is this why they’re keeping Yunho from you? They don’t understand. No one does. Yunho didn’t put you in the hospital, surely not. He wouldn’t. He’d never hurt you this bad. Even when he had burned you, he made sure it wasn’t bad enough of an injury for you to need a visit to a hospital. He’s smarter than that. Minor injuries, or death. No in between, and certainly no hospitals. You breathe heavier and heavier, suddenly feeling like you can’t get enough air into your lungs.

Both of them see that you’re getting worked up again and back away, getting out of your space.

“It’s okay, honey,” Nari says, trying to calm you down.

You want to yell at them, scream, cry, throw things, but you force yourself to keep quiet and still. If they think Yunho made you into such a mess, you won’t just play into that theory so easily. No. You won’t prove them right by acting up.

You flip that same switch that always straightens you out. Suddenly you’re calm, indifferent. You can’t let them continue to think that Yunho was a bad influence on you, so you’ll be on your best behavior. However, you’ll still keep the no-touching boundary. You’ll talk to people when they’ve earned the right. You breathe normally again, settling back against the hospital pillow like nothing happened.

Dr. Ahn and Nari stare at you, utterly perplexed. You don’t meet their stunned gazes. In fact, you only look up again when you hear Dr. Ahn leave.

“It was nice meeting you, Y/N. I’ll see you later to remove the chest tube, alright?” He’s already halfway out the door before he finishes his sentence.

Nari lingers for a little longer before leaving as well. You almost relax once she’s gone but you hear her run into someone just outside your door.

“Jiyeon!” She says, “I’m glad I caught you.”

You perk up. Jiyeon was on her way back to your room.

“What’s going on?” You hear Jiyeon say, lowering her voice.

“Okay so… she’s refusing the SAFE,” Nari starts, seriousness lacing through her words.

Jiyeon exhales. “Okay,” she says, processing that as Nari continues.

“And she responded badly to Dr. Ahn. I think we should keep the male staff to an absolute minimum when it comes to treating her.”

“I agree,” Jiyeon says. “I’ve been trying to tell them.”

Your heart warms a little upon hearing that. She’s been sticking up for you even when you’re not around to hear it. She probably doesn’t realize you can hear her now.

“I’m gonna try and hold off the detectives until tomorrow. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah, she’ll be off the chest tube and in less pain, I think that’ll be okay. Her dad said the family lawyer flew in this morning, too. I’ll talk to her about it. I don’t want her getting caught off guard by such a big visit.”

“Okay… alright, thanks, Ji. Have a good rest of your shift.”

“Thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Knock knock.

Your door gently opens, and Jiyeon peeks in. You’re still curled up, knees bent and feet flat on the mattress, absentmindedly running your hand over the soft blanket.

“Hey, Y/N,” she smiles as she comes in, settling back down in the chair she was in earlier. “Doing okay?”

You nod, keeping your expression neutral.

“Good. Listen, I wanna talk to you about tomorrow. There are some people who would really love to come talk to you, and just figure out what’s been going on the past year. I can try to be in here with you, or, if I’m not available, I can get Mijoo to be there.” Mijoo must be the other nurse, the one who told you that your parents were here.

Jiyeon waits, giving you space and time to say anything before continuing.

“Y/N… I want you to know that all of these people, they just want to help you. Our number one goal is to help you in any way we can. Does that make sense, honey?”

The words impact you, but it just takes a while to process and believe them. They sound genuine coming from her, but you can’t say the same for the others that she’s talking about. Your trust is not so easily earned anymore. Especially not here. Jiyeon is nice, yes, but that doesn’t mean you trust her as much as you did Yunho or–

Oh my god–

There were two shots that night. Both hit their targets.

Three bodies in the snow.

Unbeknownst to Jiyeon, a certain word she said triggers a memory or two. There’s a familiar voice in your head, “There are other people who want to help you. Protect you.”

“Angel, please let me help you.”

Seonghwa’s injured. Mingi’s shot. They’re hurt. Hell, you don’t even know if they’re alive or dead. You cover your mouth with your hands.

Jiyeon’s voice cuts through your panic, “Seonghwa and Mingi?”

You realize you must have said their names out loud without even noticing.

“They came in with you,” she says, scooting her chair closer. She doesn’t try to touch you, which you appreciate in this state. “They’re here, don’t worry.”

“Alive?” You ask, and she hides her reaction to you speaking quite well, maintaining a calm demeanor.

“Stable,” she confirms. “I can’t really tell you anything else, for privacy reasons.”

The sigh of relief that leaves you is from your very soul.

Stable. Alive. Not dead.

If only you knew anything about Yunho.

“Can I see Seonghwa?” You hear yourself saying before you can stop yourself.

Jiyeon shifts, fidgeting with her ID badge. “I– I don’t know, honey. That may not be such a good idea.”

“Why not?” You ask, not understanding why you shouldn’t be allowed to see him.

She shifts again, avoiding eye contact with you, clearly trying to think of a professional answer that will satisfy your question without saying too much. She looks over her shoulder, towards the door. You follow her gaze, not understanding why she’s looking over there.

“I’ll ask,” she says finally, faking a quick, small smile. You don’t return it. “Anyway– back to what I was saying about tomorrow. Do you think you’ll be up for that?”

You almost forgot what she even said. It takes you a long moment to remember. Something about people who want to talk to you, that either she or Mijoo will be with you while they talk to you, how they want to help. Something tells you that you’ll have to do this eventually – it’s not something you can ignore.

You nod, even shrugging a little.

Jiyeon sighs with a small grin playing on her lips, and she pats the bed. “Great. I’ll let them know.”

She gets up to leave again, but you make a small noise, like a cat not wanting their owner to leave for work. There’s something you want to say, on Yunho’s behalf. It takes you a couple minutes to force the words out, pushing past the mental block.

“It’s… not assault,” you manage to get out. Jiyeon’s eyebrows furrow, but she says nothing, waiting for more. “He– he didn’t sexually assault me.”

Now her face is unreadable, but it’s clear she doesn’t believe that at all. It’s rather jarring when she doesn’t say anything back to you. She just pats the mattress again, and sees herself out.

You look away too quickly, missing the two policemen guarding your door.

You deflate once the door clicks shut behind her. The teddy bear continues to stare at you, still leaning against the footboard. You’re rather surprised you haven’t kicked it off in your sleep yet. Or maybe you have, and someone put it back on the bed.

Whatever.

You pull the blanket up and over you, ready for this day to be over already. At least you got some answers, though. Seonghwa and Mingi are accounted for. They’re both here, somewhere. Since you have similar injuries, you bet that Mingi is probably even on the same floor as you. Two people you know and are familiar with. They’re here and they’re ‘stable’.

It’s quite a comforting thought.

You hug the blanket, tucking it under your chin where the bruises aren’t so bad, and decide to try and sleep again.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You get about three hours of sleep before you’re woken up to remove the chest tube from you.

Gladly.

Every time you breathe, you can feel it rubbing against your ribs. It’s rather uncomfortable.

It’s a semi-quick procedure, albeit a bit painful as it’s being removed. Later, they wheel you into a room to be X-rayed, to make sure your lungs remain expanded, working properly. Judging by the satisfied looks on the nurses faces, it must be a success.

By the time you get back to your room, you’re exhausted, but you already know you’re not going to be able to go to sleep until tonight. You eat your lunch quietly, finishing everything on the plate and showing Mijoo when she comes back in to take the tray away. You flick through the same channels before finally giving up and landing on the sports network. It’s a replay of a baseball game from over the summer. You’ve never been interested, but you remember Yunho talking about a team he liked several months ago. You can’t think of the name of the team for the life of you, but you know it isn’t either of the ones on screen right now. Hm.

You’re trying to figure out and understand the rules of the game when there’s a soft knock on your door. As usual, you don’t really react, but your eyes instantly snap to the door, waiting to see who walks in.

It’s two men. One is obviously a police officer of some kind, complete with a badge pinned to his chest. You’re taken aback by his presence entirely. The second man, you don’t recognize at first. Dressed head to toe in black, sunglasses on even though he’s indoors, face mask, and black fluffy hair. It’s the hair that gives him away, as well as the sweater he’s wearing.

“Seonghwa!” You gasp, sitting up.

He takes his sunglasses off, looking over at your window. Of course you still had the shades drawn. He won’t need his glasses in here. Unsteadily and slowly, he makes his way over to the chair by your bed, taking your hand in his when you reach out for him. He sets something down on the floor that you didn’t realize he was holding before. His eyes linger on the officer who stays put by the door, waiting to see if he’ll break you two apart.

“Hi, angel,” he says quietly, like talking any louder will earn him another concussion. The officer shoots him a look, which Seonghwa sheepishly looks away from.

You lower the TV volume, as well as the volume of your voice, “Are you okay?”

He shrugs, glancing down at his sunglasses that dangle off of his free hand. The obvious answer is ‘no’. You both know that.

“Linear skull fracture. Could’ve been worse. I got discharged today,” he says, lightly touching the back of his head. On instinct, he checks for blood when he lowers his hand back down. “Are you okay?”

You squeeze his hand, bringing it closer to you. “Yes… kind of. They want to bring in detectives tomorrow to talk to me.” As you finish your sentence, you look over towards the officer. He doesn’t look like he’s paying too much attention to what you’re saying. Then again, you could be wrong.

You still have no idea what he’s doing here.

Seonghwa nods, taking that in. He pulls his face mask off too, putting it in his pocket. His lip is split but healing, the skin there a noticeably darker color. The dark circles under his eyes are fading, and his skin has more color to it than before. That’s good. He looks much better than last you saw him. He looks alive.

“You should talk to them.” He clears his throat, playing with the face mask and sunglasses in his hand.

“Okay…” you acquiesce. Only Seonghwa could’ve made you agree to do that. Him or Yunho. Maybe that’s why the nurses let him in to visit you.

Seonghwa chews the inside of his cheek for a moment or two, looking down at your intertwined hands before seeming to remember something.

“Oh yeah,” he mutters to himself, leaning down to give you what he had brought in. It’s a little gift bag, with sparkly white tissue paper peeking out at the top. You prop yourself up even more. He glances over at the pile of presents on the desk, comparing the size of some of them. He hopes you like what they got you.

“The boys and I, um… we got you this.”

You unlock your hand from his so you can open your gift, setting the tissue paper down on your lap to unveil two items: a leather-bound journal, and a small, flat box. You pause, knowing what type of box this is. Seonghwa’s leg bounces from nerves, alternating between watching you open it, and the baseball game that apparently just got interesting. You take the journal out first, flipping through the fresh, blank pages. The edges are silver lined. The leather feels expensive, definitely high quality, and there’s a pure white ribbon attached to the spine of it for you to use as a bookmark.

“I needed a new one,” you murmur, saying it more to yourself than to Seonghwa. “Thank you.”

You set it down on your lap, peering into the gift bag to see if that box is still inside. It is. It wasn’t an illusion or trick of the light. You pick it up like it’ll break, glancing up at Seonghwa as if to verify that they really got you jewellery of some kind. His leg keeps bouncing rapidly, carefully watching your reaction.

Engraved within the deep maroon lid, is the word, ‘Cartier’, and your heart skips a beat. No way. When you lift the lid off, you’re met with a stunning silver bracelet, thin and delicate and beautiful. There are tiny black stones intricately embedded into the silver, and you look back at Seonghwa for answers on what they are.

“It’s obsidian,” he explains rather sheepishly, “it’s meant to um… it’s supposed to protect you. At least, that’s what Wooyoung said.”

“Wow,” you breathe, almost too nervous to take it out and try it on. It looks so dainty and fragile nestled between the velvet interior of the box. “It’s just… it’s so beautiful. Thank you.”

Seonghwa scoots forward, taking it from the box to help you put it on. It’s so light against your skin, and it catches what little light filters through the shades effortlessly. If you thought the journal was expensive, this must be worth so much more. You bring your wrist up to your face, looking at it closer. Every single detail is perfect. How did they– why did they do this for you?

“You deserve it,” Seonghwa says, as if he was reading your thoughts.

There’s a long pause between the two of you. The baseball game and the accompanying commercials break up the silence adequately. Your free hand keeps touching the bracelet, running your finger over the deep black stones. It’s much prettier than the hospital one you have to wear. The officer keeps staring at Seonghwa, like he’s waiting for him to make a wrong move, or say the wrong thing. Occasionally, you’ll steal a quick glance over to both of them before returning back to the game. Before long, you and Seonghwa just pretend to be interested in it, unwilling to talk about anything serious just yet.

“Do you…” you swallow hard, hoping he’ll actually tell you something about this. “Do you know why Yunho hasn’t come to see me? Is he still mad at me?”

Seonghwa pales.

The officer clears his throat. Seonghwa stops talking. You glare at the officer, anger flaring up.

“Can you give us some privacy, please?” You ask, tone more impolite than your words. When the officer doesn’t move, ignoring you to just continue staring directly at Seonghwa, you almost lose it. You’re so tired of not being listened to here. And the way he’s just standing there silently, observing and eavesdropping like an invasive ghost is making your fucking skin itch.

“An– Y/N, he has to be in here with me… it’s for your safety.” Seonghwa explains in a meeker, unsteady voice.

“You won’t hurt me,” you insist, a little surprised at how much you actually believe that. It was barely a formed thought in your head before you said it out loud. It must be true. “He won’t,” you say to the officer, trying to convince him.

Seonghwa takes your hand again, “It’s alright, it’s alright. He has to be in here to make sure that we’re both safe. That we’re not mixing up our stories.”

You bring his hand closer, frustrated tears starting to gloss over your eyes.

“I don’t understand…” you mumble dejectedly. “I can’t even remember most of it.”

He gets it. His memory is just as patchy, if not worse due to his injury. “No one’s expecting anything from you right now. All you need to do is focus on getting better.”

You try to agree with him, stubborn as you are. You know he’s right. In time, you will know everything, you’re sure. It’s just hard to be patient when there are gaps in your memory you’d really like to fill. Which brings you to ask your next question.

“Have you seen Mingi?” You ask, suddenly very interested in your blanket, avoiding eye contact for now. You feel kind of stupid for asking, but are curious nevertheless. Of all people, you know that Seonghwa will give you the answers you’re looking for if you ask him.

He sighs shakily, squeezing your hand tighter. “I’ve heard that he’s okay. I’m not really allowed to see him.” It’s obvious that he’s trying extra hard to cherry-pick the words he uses in front of you and the officer.

‘Keep it vague,’ they had told him before entering your room. ‘Don’t push it.’ Jiyeon had to pull so many strings to even get him allowed to be in the room in the first place. Even more to allow him to bring the gift in. Seonghwa knows his lawyer is probably freaking out right about now. Oh, well.

“But– why–?” You shake your head, pressing your free hand to your forehead. You know you should just drop it, but you can’t. “Seonghwa, where is Yunho? Tell me.”

He leans back, away from you and peeks over at the cop. This, he knows, he really cannot say anything about.

Basically, he only knows what Wooyoung and Jongho told him. Both of them came to the hospital yesterday to visit him, and to supply him with some updates, as well as your gift on the off chance he’s allowed to give it to you. In a word, the two of them are conflicted about their roles in all of this. They feel just as guilty, but were never as involved as the rest of the group. Hongjoong, effectively, saved them from most of the legal trouble the others are currently facing now. They’re free. They spent one night at the police station, answering questions, and that has been it so far.

Hence, the need for a cop or two outside your room, as well as Mingi’s. It makes everyone who knows more details about this than the general public feel more at peace, knowing that there are two that essentially ‘got away with it’.

Wooyoung and Jongho told him that Yunho has been charged with aggravated assault since neither you, Seonghwa, or Mingi died. However… they’re having a hard time finding any concrete evidence to pin any of the attacks on him. They have the group as witnesses to the shooting of Mingi, but nothing else. Just word of mouth simply isn’t good enough. It’s highly likely that Mingi will testify against Yunho, so his security will be ramped up soon. Apparently, since the boys told them, the cops working your case have been trying to find any evidence that links him with the manager’s death, and the girls before you. The apartment has been picked apart piece by piece, swept through by forensic teams and equipment. Evidence collected, bagged, and shipped off for analysis. The detectives have a lot of grieving families and loved ones looking at them for answers right now. The pressure is building.

You are their miracle. The one who can put him away for good.

The question is: will you?

“Tell me, Seonghwa. Please?” You shake his hand, trying to convince him.

“He…” Seonghwa gradually begins to shake, pulling at the collar of his sweater with his free hand, looking anywhere but at you. He’s just so nervous as to how you’ll react. The only way to find out though, is by telling you.

But the officer beats him to it.

“He’s been arrested. That’s all you need to know.”

Seonghwa winces, and you blink.

First of all, you’re angry that the cop so rudely interrupted your – what should be – private conversation, and secondly, what he said just doesn’t compute.

“Was Hongjoong arrested too?” You ask Seonghwa in a quieter voice, ignoring the cop once again.

He takes a deep breath. “No… not yet, at least. But they’re gathering evidence against us–”

“What more evidence do they need?” You interrupt, gesturing towards yourself.

“What?” He asks, eyebrows furrowing together in total confusion.

“Hongjoong shot me.”

Now Seonghwa is really taken aback. Who told you that?

He blinks before repeating his last question, “What?”

“Hongjoong shot me.” You repeat yourself as well. In your patchy memory, what you do recall seeing clear as day is Hongjoong reaching for the gun right before you were shot, and holding it in his hand afterwards. It makes sense to you that that is what happened.

The cop in the corner starts to get antsy, silently making sure his bodycam is still recording everything accurately. Anything said in here has to be reported back, especially if it relates directly to the case. You saying that someone else shot you could be detrimental to the aggravated assault charge they booked Yunho with.

“A-angel, no…no, no, Hongjoong didn’t shoot you. Yunho did.” Seonghwa says as gently as possible, subconsciously leaning farther back to avoid a potential explosion. This time, the officer lets the pet name slide.

“How do you know?” You snap at him. “You were unconscious almost the whole time.”

He doesn’t even flinch. “Wooyoung and Jongho told me.”

Well… Wooyoung and Jongho were definitely awake during that whole ordeal, so it’s hard to discredit what they say. Nevertheless, your mind argues against believing it. They’re just trying to demonize Yunho, surely. Of course.

“No, that… he wouldn’t… that doesn’t make sense.”

Your breathing turns erratic, though you fight to control it. The thing is, it does make sense.

Even if you deny it, your memory reorders itself.

Hongjoong trying to get the gun away from Yunho, he grabbed his arm, not the gun. Not until after you were already on the ground. Even then, you try to reason against your memory that because he touched Yunho, the shot was accidentally aimed at you. That explanation would satisfy you if you didn’t remember moving to protect Seonghwa at the same exact time. The look of pure shock on Yunho’s face… wasn’t because Hongjoong shot you. It was because he shot you.

Well… you always knew he would. He’d made it clear to you that he would. This is an outcome you’ve been trained to expect if you acted out. You stood in front of a loaded and aimed gun. That probably counts.

Contrary to what Seonghwa expects, you process this information quietly. There’s no outburst. Not yet. Just a silent realization that you’ve been wrong. Confident in your incomplete and ungrounded recollection. You go into damage control right away. It was an accident. He didn’t mean to. But there’s a price to having your memory begin to repair itself: the truth. You had prepared to die. You accepted it.

And yet the knowledge that Yunho isn’t coming to bring you home nearly kills you. All the time you wasted in this room waiting for him, wondering why he let you come here…

So, you attach yourself to the nearest person. As usual. You clutch Seonghwa’s hand with both of yours, desperate to keep him here. Maybe he’ll take you back to the apartment. You can wait there until Yunho is released, right? They can’t make you go home with your parents. You’re an adult. But you can’t convince yourself that you can function on your own. And you can’t ask Seonghwa to uproot his life, though a selfish part of you wants to. However, before you interrupted him, he mentioned that the police are gathering evidence ‘against us’.

The thought of losing Seonghwa next is almost catastrophic.

Your pulse spikes, beeping incessantly on the monitor. Unfortunately, the cop notices. And, with the worst timing imaginable as you feel the world as you know it on the brink of falling apart, the officer takes a step towards Seonghwa.

“That’s enough. Let’s go.”

Without a fight, Seonghwa stands, sending an apologetic look your way.

“No, no, don’t–” You pull him back, “Please, please don’t leave.”

“It’s okay–” He tries to reassure you, but the cop pulls him by the arm, breaking you two apart.

You call his name again, but the officer hurries him out, calling for a nurse. You don’t want a nurse. You want him to bring Seonghwa back to you. Alone, preferably. Body shaking uncontrollably, you throw the blankets off of you, and set your feet on the ground, trying to remain steady. You’re already out of breath by this point, and sobbing rather loudly from distress. Not a good combination for your lungs. Again, your pulse increases its pace.

You don’t even hear Jiyeon come in, but suddenly she is at your side, helping you lay back down. No one is listening to you. Jiyeon said they care, that they want the best for you, so why can’t they just give you what you obviously really want?

Jiyeon is saying something to you, but the world suddenly seems so far away and way too close all at once. The feeling of her hand around your wrist causes you to panic, reminding you of the rope tied around it a few nights ago, as well as the restraints on the hospital bed, and you twist and yank it out of her hold. You must’ve accidentally scratched her because she too pulls her hand back quickly, keeping it close to her chest as she assesses the damage done to it. Nothing bad, but you definitely scratched her hard.

Another nurse runs in, then two more. Jiyeon shoos them out before they can crowd your space and overwhelm you more, calmly but firmly telling them that she’s fine and to go back out. It was her own fault, touching you in this kind of state. She’s just worried about you.

Once back down against the pillows, you keep your hand on your chest. You’re not sure why… maybe you’re just waiting to feel your lungs collapse or your heart stop. Something to blame this panic on other than the truth.

The truth that everyone you have loved has left or is leaving you.

“Honey, let’s calm down now. Tell me what’s wrong.” Jiyeon prompts after checking your vitals to make sure you’re stable.

“They took him,” you sob, looking back at the door to the room, hoping and praying he comes back in. “I– I got upset ‘n panicked so they t–took him away.”

Jiyeon nods sympathetically as you talk, giving you the space to air everything out that’s weighing on you.

“I ruined it, I ruined everything,” your voice pitches all over the place. “They’ll never let me see them again.”

The door doesn’t open, no matter how many times you look over at it, and no matter how hard you internally beg him to come back. No one is coming to save you anymore. That plan has already been carried out. Yunho’s locked up somewhere, Seonghwa isn’t allowed to see you unsupervised, and even if you decided that you wanted to see him as well, you’re sure Mingi is beyond off-limits now, too. Especially if and when he tells the truth.

God… everything is such a mess, and it’s all your fault. If you had told Yunho about the plan to get you out, maybe none of this would’ve happened. There’d be hell to pay, sure, but you wouldn’t have disappointed him as badly. If you didn’t look at Mingi through rose-colored glasses, maybe you'd still be in the apartment, impatiently waiting for Yunho to come home. Mingi wouldn’t have been shot. Seonghwa would’ve never gotten hurt that badly. Yunho wouldn’t have been taken from you. Glancing around at your hospital room, a heavy thought makes you sink deeper against the pillows.

Technically, you aren’t even supposed to be here. And you don’t just mean in this hospital.

You wipe your eyes with the corner of the blanket until Jiyeon hands you a couple of tissues. They’re from the box that your mom had used that morning. Another wave of guilt crashes over you, remembering how you’d been rather mean to her.

She lets you cry it all out. You’re not sure how long that takes. When you eventually calm down just enough to speak again, you crumple the tissue in your hand, staring at it for a moment.

“Are my parents still here?” You ask, tossing the tissue into the nearby trashcan.

Jiyeon nods. “They are. They’ll be here tomorrow as well.”

You bite your lip. You’re not ready to see them again, moreso out of fear that you’ll end up hurting them again. But it’s a nice thought that if you need them, they’re available. It’s a tricky thing to want to be alone, but not feel alone.

“Tomorrow…” you echo, not finishing the rest of your thought out loud. Maybe tomorrow you can try again. Your eyes flick over to her, hoping she understands.

As usual, she does.

Once she makes sure you’re calm for the time being, she jots down your vitals for her notes later, and sighs.

“Okay, honey,” she says, and pats the side of the bed again, “I’ll talk to them. Get some rest for now, I’ll have Mijoo bring in some dinner later. Okay?”

You respond with a short hum, retreating back into your silence. Maybe it’s best if you’re just seen and not heard after all. Maybe Yunho was right… of course he’s right. But something demands to be said. It sits uncomfortably in your mouth, pressing against your teeth and blocking your airway until you let it out. Jiyeon twists the door handle, just about to let herself out.

“I was supposed to die…” you mumble, sniffling into your pillow. You trace the silver bracelet against your skin.

Jiyeon freezes in place, the door halfway open. She doesn’t look back at you, doesn’t try to put you right. The staff assigned to you have recently been notified of what happened.

She knows you’re right.

The door closes behind her with a small click, and you’re alone again. And being alone is exactly what you wanted, and at the same time, your biggest fear.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The rest of the afternoon into the evening goes by less eventfully.

You manage to sleep, even sleeping through your prescribed dinnertime, and wake up to a tray covered in tinfoil to keep the food hot. You eat slowly, having no one to show your progress to, and come to terms with the fact that Yunho isn’t going to find out if you ate everything you’ve been given or not. It’s rather hard to ignore that so far, they haven’t given you proper utensils to eat with. More like knives and forks for kids, rounded and blunt so as to not inflict any potential damage to the user. The spoons are always nice, though. You lazily push around some of the rice left on your tray, a little unnerved that no one’s watching you anymore… and a little relieved.

No more newcomers or visitors come into your room for the rest of the day. As night creeps in, you keep replaying your interaction with Seonghwa. You wish you can just be… you don’t know. Normal? Is that the word? Everyone looks at you like you’ll shatter any moment, and they’re basically right. You pretty much proved that today. But what he said sticks with you: “No one’s expecting anything from you right now. All you need to do is focus on getting better.”

So that’s what you’ll do. Yunho placed him in charge of you while he was gone, and now it’s just extended time. You follow directions, you obey orders. That’s what you’re good at. That’s what you can concentrate on for now, until you and Yunho can see each other again.

If they’ll let you.

You run a hand through your hair as if to push that thought away, but your hand gets caught halfway through. Ugh… you haven’t bathed in way too long. You look towards the bathroom, hesitant to go in. Mijoo had told you how to properly wash around the stitches and bandages to avoid any infections or accidentally removing them. It’s just… the water.

Facing the water by yourself is more daunting than you know it should be. But you feel just gross enough to at least try. You decide to at least stay in there long enough to wash your hair, you feel like you can still smell the forest air from each strand.

It’s a slow trek from your bed to the bathroom, often taking breaks to breathe and reset. Luckily, it’s not too far of a distance. You manage a small grin at your efforts when you finally reach your destination, this being the farthest you’ve walked by yourself since you’ve been here. But now, you have to continue standing up and face one of your biggest fears. One hurdle down.

Flicking on the light, your ears ring at the sudden, blinding brightness of the sterile room. It’s a small space, no bigger than Yunho’s closet. The strong scent of the level of cleanliness in here disagrees with what you just ate, but you try to ignore it as best you can.

You almost back into the door when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the bathroom mirror. For the first time, you see how bad your injuries still are. Nasty red and purple bruises cover your throat and neck, your chest is basically grey from the severity of the surgery you underwent, and your eyes and cheeks are both sunken in. You’re scary. A patchwork nightmare. After being so used to keeping up appearances for Yunho, this is like getting a lightning bolt straight to the brain. This is what Seonghwa saw when he walked in earlier today. You cover your face with your hands.

“Oh, god…” you lean against the door for support, sneaking another glimpse at your startling reflection. You’re not just smaller, you’re diminished. The hospital gown wilts off of your thin frame like it’s meant for someone else, there’s a matching cut on your bottom lip that’s similar to Seonghwa’s, and a hauntedness about you that doesn’t sit right at all. A would-be corpse stares back at you through the mirror. You can almost see the dirt that’d be covering you, embedded into your decaying skin.

All you want to do at this moment is to wash that corpse away.

Undressing winds you, but you’re too determined now. You have all night to sleep, and you know you’ll feel much better once you’re clean. It’s just the process of getting clean you have to get through now. That’s your one and only goal for tonight.

The rush of the water hitting the tile nearly decimates all of your confidence in one fell swoop, though. You have to grit your teeth and close your eyes, pushing back against the memories as they come. You force yourself to breathe deeply as you finally step into the shower, the warm water only comforting for a fleeting moment. Turning your back to it helps a little, and after a while your shoulders start to relax, no longer tense and hunched by your ears. The lack of curtain aids you tremendously, as you can see the entirety of the bathroom at once, knowing you’re still safe. No one’s watching you or keeping track of how long you’re taking. You can take this as slowly as you want to.

Keep going, you tell yourself.

It also helps to imagine that Yunho is just outside, waiting for you to return to bed, even though your brain keeps replacing him with Seonghwa. Now that you know what you looked like today, you feel a huge crash of embarrassment overcome you more than anything else. You forget your fear just for a second, leaning a little farther back than you are ready for. The water cascades down, dripping off the ends of your hair and you freeze.

This part is the biggest hurdle.

You’re not in the apartment… you’re not in trouble… you control it.

You have control.

The droplets that drip past your ears kind of make you want to die, but you push through it. Little by little, you tilt your head back, letting more and more of the water fall over your hair. You cover your face with your hands, keeping it as dry as possible, and just sit with the discomfort for as long as you can. Instead of any feelings of accomplishment, you only notice the beginnings of panic stirring somewhere in your body. Time to wrap it up while you’re able to keep yourself in here. Shampooing is easy, and you get through rinsing your hair okay, repeating the process even slower than before.

By the time you get out, you still don’t feel very proud. Not yet. You’re exhausted, and ready to lay down again. What warms your heart as you finally step out is thinking about how much Yunho had praised you after every bath since that day he corrected you. To the best of your ability, you combat every negative, fearful thought with something you think Yunho would say to you. How proud he’d be. It’s enough to keep you on your unsteady, weakening legs to redress and open the door back out into the room.

Halfway back to bed, that’s when the exhaustion really hits you. You sit down in a chair by the window and catch your breath. You’re not dizzy, but you’re definitely caught between the borderline. Looking up, you see that your water is both mere feet and hundreds of miles away.

“Fuck…” you sigh.

Your hand jumps to cover your mouth, horrified. You look around the room out of instinct, waiting for someone to yell at you for saying such a vulgar word. You know better. Only Daddy is allowed to say that word. Yet the room stays the same. Nothing happens. No one redirects you.

But they’ll have it on camera, you tell yourself. In the dark, you try to find where they’ve hidden theirs. You don’t see any.

You’re digesting this when something blinks at you from outside.

Something white casts the faintest glow past the edges of the shades that cover the windows. High in the sky and constant, unblinking and unmoving – at least not that you can see from where you are. It is no plane or light atop a building.

The moon.

You hadn’t seen it in such a long time. In all honesty, you had stopped trying to look for it, especially after Yunho covered up all the windows. The sunlight in the apartment could only creep in around the sides, lighter than air and able to weave its way past the smallest opening. The moonlight was never granted access to you. But this moon tonight is full and glowing brightly, and you wish you could see it properly beyond the shades.

It hits you hard: you don’t have to wish to see the sky anymore.

You lean forward before stopping and looking back over your shoulder, just waiting for someone to stop you at any second. You sweep the room one more time for cameras. Maybe you’re tired and missed one because you didn’t look hard enough. Regardless, no matter how hard you search and double check, you find none. Your hand pulls the shades back, only about two inches, just to peek. No one appears behind you. The shade lifts easily, opening even further. No one intervenes.

The window is now fully uncovered, unobstructed. And you’re unharmed. Your forehead presses against it, your breath fogging up the glass as you exhale through your mouth.

The snow is in the process of melting away, only a couple of inches left on the ground. The roads below, from what you can see, are completely clear with the amount of hospital traffic in a big city like Seoul. There’s no one outside on the streets, just a couple of nurses, doctors, and other hospital staff leaving work for the day, pulling their puffer coats closer to their bodies as they juggle their car keys and bags. Stoplights take their turns turning green, yellow, red, and cars glide past to dozens of unknown destinations. You decide you like the world like this, with less people and quieter streets. Sleepily humming instead of the shouting of car horns, the music in stores to entice people inside, the hundreds and thousands of strangers that you’ll never know the names or stories of.

You wonder if you’ll feel like this forever, always looking at life from above and never from within.

It’s quieter in the world that Yunho has kept you in. Safer… right?

‘You’re safe,’ says the voice that sounds more and more like you, slowly advancing forward again, venturing back from her forced hibernation. The other voice in your head is still there, just without her pedestal and carrying less authority than before. Less weight to each word. That one doesn’t have too much to say tonight, which is a first.

You stay by the window until sleep beckons you, unwilling to sleep so uncomfortably in the stiff chair. When you finally tear yourself from the view, closing the shades again and tucking yourself back in bed, you fall asleep with moonlight flooding the entire suite. Though a part of you misses the tealights, you think this is not a bad alternative.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Head clearer than it has been since you woke up, the next day carries the calm theme from last night.

You’re still selective on who you give your voice to – Jiyeon is off today, so you’ve been mostly silent so far – but there seems to be… life within you again. More than what the staff have seen thus far. It’s promising. It’s better. Everyone’s feeling a similar cautious optimism to your sudden switch. Although they’re quick to note your ever-present, continuing aversion to male staff.

Which is why you’re still nervous about meeting with these detectives soon. They’re supposed to be here in two hours, and you don’t feel ready. Exactly what you’re not feeling ready for, you’re not sure. It’s not something you can pinpoint exactly and neutralize the problem. Unfortunately, you’re sure you’ll find out if and when the detectives do something to unintentionally set you off. You sigh, once again feeling out of control in a situation that hasn’t even happened yet.

You push your empty lunch tray further away, like it’s offended you by overstaying its welcome. Your hands itch to wash it, to be good. The television is a good distraction. Today you’ve got it tuned into a nature documentary. You have a theory that maybe seeing the outside world inside may help you assimilate back into it later if need be, although deep down, you really hope you don’t have to. It’s the fear talking, but it's so loud and impossible to ignore. It’s the self-doubt that makes you want to give up and turn the TV off altogether, the memory of going out onto the balcony and feeling fresh air again hitting you hard. And the woods… that’s a whole other battle.

Let’s just say you’re very happy the little Christmas tree in the corner of your room is fake. The scent of sap and bark will haunt you for quite a long time.

At two o’clock, you’re making some progress, walking around your room, still avoiding the pile of presents you’ve yet to open. The gift Seonghwa gave you is enough. You’re just trying to build up endurance again, impatiently wanting to walk without difficulty. For some reason, it felt much easier to walk last night. Maybe it’s because at night it feels like less eyes on you, no spotlight from the sun even if the shades block most of it out. The day just feels too exposing. There’s too many people who could walk in and start fussing over you. You don’t want that. You know your limits better than anyone else.

You may as well have spoken it into existence though, because you’re just catching your breath when you hear someone coming right up to your door. As if you’re getting caught doing something you’re not supposed to be doing, you quickly sit in the chair by the window that you were in last night. The door opens just as you sit down. At first, you avoid eye contact with whoever it is, hoping that they don’t comment that you’ve moved. Giving yourself something to do to really sell the nonchalance, you play with your new bracelet again. The person in your room pauses near your bed, mere feet from you. You almost cover the bracelet protectively, not wanting them to ask where you got it… or who gave it to you.

“I’m glad you liked our present,” a man’s soft voice says, cutting through the silence.

You react at a record speed. You know that voice. It’s the same one you heard in here yesterday.

“Oh my god–! Seonghwa!” You nearly shout, standing up a bit too quickly than you’re used to.

He must see you stumble or sway, because he makes it to your side in two strides, hands ready to catch you if you fall back into the chair. But you’re determined. You stay upright. You resist the urge to paw at him, to make sure he’s real and that he’s here again so soon. He fusses with you to sit, to rest ‘like he told you yesterday’, he nags. If it was anyone else, you’d be staring daggers at them right now. With him, it just warms your heart, and you cooperate, sitting down slowly and smiling as you watch him drag a chair over to sit with you. You’re just happy he’s here.

He’s wearing sunglasses indoors again, so the bright lights of the hospital must still be bothering him. You look over at the shades, just in case they can be drawn any tighter to totally block out what little light comes in.

“Technically you asked for me specifically, so they let me come back. Still supervised, of course.” He answers your question before you even ask it. You look away from him for the first time and see a different officer than before, standing by the still-open door. “The door will just stay open the entire visit. Alright?”

Honestly, you’ll take it. It’s a small price to pay if it means that Seonghwa is allowed to come see you.

“Yes, sir,” you say habitually.

You watch his small grin slip completely from his face. The room feels a bit colder.

He supposes he can’t just expect all the ‘training’ and trauma you endured to just melt away all at once merely because you’ve been freed of Yunho, but he can’t deny that it shocked him back into reality. Such a small, simple word, and yet the history within its use is ten months long.

Seonghwa ignores the moniker usage, and does a really good job of pretending that that doesn’t affect him at all. But it does. You can tell it does.

You self-consciously look away, hand still covering up the bracelet as if you’re scared he’ll take it away as a result of his disapproval of your word choice. Gifts are never permanent, never your sole property. They are privileges, not rights. Based on a reward system, they’re the best way to steer you towards good behavior – following rules, staying quiet, knowing your place.

Luxuries can be taken away.

“I– um,” you stall, trying to change the subject, “how– how are you?”

Glad to shift the focus somewhere else, Seonghwa replies, “I’m alright. How about you?”

“Okay. I have my ‘meeting’ soon… the lawyers.” You glance at the clock, hoping that time hasn’t somehow jumped forward an hour. You hope this time Seonghwa will stay for longer.

He scratches the back of his neck. “Right,” he says, keeping his tone as natural as possible. “I had one of my own this morning.”

There’s an uneasiness to his voice there that you pick up on. He still hasn’t removed his glasses, so you can’t tell if he’s looking at you or not. Something’s not sitting right, and it’s not just because of a certain word slip. He must notice your look of concern, because he rolls his shoulders back, trying to relax himself. The facade he kept up around you at the apartment is getting to be too heavy to carry with him now.

“The story will break tomorrow,” he says through an obviously fake grin, trying to make you not feel guilty about it. He keeps his eyes fixed on the floor. Once or twice, he looks up at your bracelet that you’re still playing with.

It takes you a minute to understand what he’s saying. You adjust how you’re sitting, just to give yourself something to do. All you can say in response is, “Oh.”

‘The story’... reported by outside perspectives with a mystery narrative. No one has asked for your side of it all yet. The boys have probably already given their testimonies, their witness statements as to what happened. Days ago, most likely. That’s one thing you forgot about while staring out the window last night: the world keeps turning. It doesn’t wait around for you. But that’s what today is for. The public can have their crumbs of facts and multitudes of theories about you, but only those closely involved will ever really know the truth of all of it.

“Listen… as far as, y’know, the legal aspect of everything, we want you to know that we will accept any charges you wish to file against us.”

There’s a grim, solemn air around Seonghwa that unsettles you. The cop by the door side-eyes the two of you but ultimately says nothing. He’s better than the one yesterday, that’s for sure.

But… charges. You vs. all of them. Your legal team against eight different sets. Nine stories, all with varying perspectives. You wonder if anything you say will hold any weight to it on account of how bad the fogginess in your memory has become. You wonder if Seonghwa’s worried about the same thing. He keeps subconsciously touching the back of his head, making sure nothing is behind him that could hit it. You desperately want to ask how that happened, but it’s probably a not so pleasant subject to talk about. You’d rather avoid making him feel more uncomfortable than he already is.

In the silence between you, Seonghwa just listens to the background noise coming from the hospital hallways. The nurse’s station is mere feet from your door, so he lets their quiet chatter fill in the spaces. What he said to you is true; they will accept any charge brought onto them. It’s the very least they can do for you, to accept full responsibility for not doing more.

The public is going to eviscerate every last one of them, and they brought it on themselves the countless times they could’ve gone to the police and didn’t. All for the same result. Yunho threatened to drag them down with him, and it’s happening, albeit by their volition.

A gentle, repeated three-note chime coming from his phone seems to pull him back from his brief stupor. Automatically, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small medicinal bottle. You watch as he taps two white pills into his palm before popping them into his mouth, chasing them down with water.

“Pain-killers,” he explains, twisting the cap of the water bottle back on. He leans back in his chair, but not before feeling the air around where his head will be, and sighs. The exhale comes from deep within his chest. You watch his hands, searching for something. He notices you looking.

“What?”

“You’re not wearing your ring.” You point out.

Seonghwa looks down at his hand, as if to confirm. “Yeah,” he mumbles, “it just… doesn’t feel right anymore.”

In all honesty, he didn’t think you’d even notice. He had taken it off on the second day of his hospital admission, when Yeosang and San had come to visit him. It felt heavy in his palm, like a weight that he could no longer bear. He’s not quite sure where it is, as he told San to take it back to the dorms, wherever they had all put theirs. The only ring missing from the pile is Yunho’s, but it has more than likely been confiscated by that point already.

“What time is your meeting?” He asks, changing the subject.

You glance at the clock on the wall. “It’s at three,” you inform him, finding a stray piece of hair to play with. You lean back against your chair, mirroring him. “How long can you stay?”

At this, he hesitates. The officer by the door offers no help or answer.

“Well… I can stay until the detectives get here.” He says uncertainly. Again, the cop says nothing to contradict what he says.

You nod. “My parents may get here before them.”

“Ah…” Seonghwa rubs his arm, a subconscious way to try and calm himself. “I doubt they’ll want to see me hanging around you.”

“I asked for you,” you counter, leaning forward again for emphasis, wanting him to hear and remember that part. “I get… I get nervous when you’re gone.” You admit in a murmur, barely audible.

Seonghwa still doesn’t look at you, staring off a thousand yards into the tile floor, his hand on his arm pausing a couple of seconds every so often before continuing the attempt to soothe himself. Honestly, he doesn’t know how to feel right now. He supposes he should feel flattered maybe, or content with knowing that his presence is beneficial to you, but is it really? He fears that his presence only keeps you stuck… he reminds you of Yunho based on association. That name you called him by earlier only proves that. Although he knows there’s no one else around that you trust right now, he doesn’t feel very deserving of that trust. He should give you space after today, let you rebuild a new relationship with your parents, and restart a normal life. As normal as you can possibly achieve after all of this.

“Still, you should be with your family,” he says carefully, “I think it’ll help.”

You don’t say anything right away, unhappy that he doesn’t volunteer to stay. You’re behaving like a child, you know that, but you can’t help it.

“If they weren’t here, would you stay?”

Seonghwa picks up where you’re trying to go with that question at once. “A– Y/N, don’t replace your parents with me. Give them time.”

Of all people, why must Seonghwa not listen to you, either? Your fuse never used to be this short. Why is it sparking and hissing now?

“What if I don’t want to? I asked for you specifically–”

“You only asked for me because you’re not allowed to see Yunho instead.” Seonghwa snaps, speaking before he could think.

The flames of his words settle in the short distance between you two. He pinches the bridge of his nose, wincing at the throbbing in his head as well as what he just said. Hopefully the painkillers work fast, his vision is already going black around the edges every other time he blinks. If he’s honest, he doesn't regret saying it, moreso how he said it. It’s a sentiment he’s been harboring since the first day he was assigned to look after you. Something far from love, but a relative fondness. A soft spot just for you that he doesn’t know what to do with. Nothing about your situation nor your relationship with him is easy to navigate or filter through. He’ll keep his distance because he wants to do the right thing, show his support for you always but never cross an invisible line he’s drawn for himself.

He won’t be like Mingi. He won’t believe your traumatic attachment to him is real, or healthy for that matter. It’ll only hurt you in the end.

At the same time, he knows he’s hurting you now.

You lean back again, wrapping your arms around yourself defensively.

It’s not true… it’s not. You’re happy to keep telling yourself that, even if you don’t fully believe it. It doesn’t matter anyway.

The blunt truth of the matter you’ve been avoiding and ignoring like the plague is that Yunho has been arrested. He’s not coming back for you. Not anytime soon. The detectives coming to your room today are going to take whatever you say as evidence against him. Even if you don’t say anything, they’ll take it to mean you’re so traumatized, the whole ordeal has rendered you mute. No matter what, you’re not going to be allowed to see Yunho ever again.

You swipe at the tears that pool in your eyes, refusing to let them fall. If they do, you’re afraid that the cop may take Seonghwa away again. God dammit, you think before mentally berating yourself again for using another swear word, even just in your head.

“I didn’t do that for someone I don’t genuinely care about,” you sniffle, speaking to him but keeping your eyes down.

Seonghwa’s breath hitches slightly, and you wonder if he’s starting to cry underneath those sunglasses. A petty part of you thinks, good, I hope he is.

Besides, you only jumped in front of a bullet meant for him.

But you think back to when you had upset him only a few nights ago now, in the living room in the middle of the night. It never feels good to intentionally hurt the ones you care about. The ones you let in. You’re just lashing out because he struck first, trying to get the last word in. Very Yunho-esque.

Needing to lie down, you stand shakily, slowly trudging back to bed. With time, eventually you calm down. You let Seonghwa sit there, working it out on his own, until the clock nearly runs out. The officer whistles for his attention, breaking him out of another dissociation, and signals him that it’s time to leave. You don’t shy away from looking at him this time.

When he’s only a couple of feet from the door, you call out to him one more time.

“Seonghwa?”

He looks over his shoulder. The officer does too.

“I’d still like you to come back… if you can.” The insinuation of the incoming chaos ahead is thinly veiled in your words.

Seonghwa nods once, internalizing what you said, and leads the officer out. It’s a bittersweet change from yesterday, when he was basically dragged out.

Barely granted two minutes of silence and alone time to process everything, there’s another knock on the door. This time around, you know who it is.

Your dad opens the door slowly, like he’s trying to not startle you.

“Hey kiddo, it’s us.”

Your mom follows suit, a small bakery to-go box in her hands as she comes in. “Hi, sweetie.”

You swallow hard, managing a small “Hi…” in return.

Your mom looks like she could explode, cry, and laugh all at once. It’s a lot to contain so as to not overwhelm you.

She’s really trying her best to hold it together for you. It’s thoughtful. You remember she was a sweet lady. Always wanted the best for you, supported your dreams no matter what.

Naturally, mainly because it’s such a bright pink color, your eyes drift to the bakery box in her hands. She places it on the portable table near your bed. Her perfume smells familiar… like home somehow. It’s nice.

“Don’t feel pressured,” your mom starts, “I know you just had lunch not too long ago but… you used to love the chocolate cupcakes I used to make for you, so I just…” she trails off, knowing she’s over-explaining herself a bit too much.

Your eyes light up – you haven’t had cake in god knows how long. And your favorite, too.

You grab the box and set it on your lap, sitting up against the pillows. Once open, the chocolatey smell hits you at once and the corners of your mouth twitch, almost grinning. Your parents try not to stare at you, not wanting to make you feel like you’re under a microscope while eating, and you appreciate that as you take a small bite of the cupcake.

Perfect.

It’s so rich and decadent your eyes close as you chew.

“Thank you,” you mumble, placing the cupcake back in the box to eat later. You don’t particularly want chocolate all over your face when the detectives arrive. And, you’ll enjoy it more when you’re not as full from lunch. Maybe you’ll find a way to ask her for another one.

Your dad helps you put it back on the table and goes over to the window to retrieve a chair for your mom to sit in. He drags it back to its original spot near the bed and you just keep looking at it. Seonghwa had been in that chair mere minutes ago. You’re not sure how kindly your parents would take that piece of knowledge; Seonghwa had gotten so antsy at the idea of being seen in here with you by them.

“So,” your dad says, standing by your mom who is placing her purse down by her feet, “did they tell you about talking to the detectives today?”

You nod.

“Okay, good. We’re also gonna have a lawyer here as well. She’s really good, I’ve heard.”

You’re not really sure how to respond so you just… nod again, looking down at your lap, picking at your nails.

Your mom notices how fidgety you’re becoming and asks, “Who gave you that? It’s beautiful.”

She points to your bracelet with a small smile, curiosity in her eyes. Your heart drops to your stomach. Do you tell them? Yunho had beaten it into you not to lie, but you really don’t want to deal with a lecture or horrified reactions or worse, the two of them making it impossible for Seonghwa to come see you. Something tells you it will already be borderline impossible without their help.

“A friend,” you say carefully. Not a lie, but not a very detailed answer either.

The universe has such divine timing for you because before either of your parents can ask anything about this ‘friend’, there’s a knock on the door. You hide your sigh of relief as they turn to look towards the three people who enter, two women and a man. One of the women and the man are dressed similarly, a slight step above business casual, while the other woman is dressed formally, everything tailored and sharp down to her briefcase. All business. But she smiles at your parents and instantly goes over to shake their hands and mention how good it is to meet them in person and not over the phone. Then she turns to you. There’s still a smile on her face but her eyes change into something more serious.

“Hi, Y/N, I’m Choi Hyein, I’ll be representing you in this case.”

She pauses then, but not to wait for you to say anything. Her pause feels intentional, giving you a chance to really look at her, and to register that she’s on your side for this. She is no threat and no enemy. It’s definitely reassuring.

The two detectives linger about six feet from the door, measured and alert. The man scans the room like he’s mapping it. The woman lingers half a step behind, already pulling a small recording device from her pocket. You stiffen at the sight of it. But you’re grateful that they don’t crowd you; there’s already so many people in here – more than you’re used to – and they’ve been advised to give you your space.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” the man says, voice steady. “I’m Agent Lee. This is Agent Jang. It’s nice to finally meet with you. We’re here to take your statement.”

You simply nod politely, not quite sure what to do with your hands. For now, you just keep them on your lap, still twisting and playing with the bracelet.

“I know this is overwhelming,” Ms. Choi says, voice pleasant but serious. “So we’re going to walk you through this carefully. If anything becomes unclear or too much, please don’t hesitate to ask for clarification or a break.”

Her words make you feel less trapped. You’re not going to be forced through anything if you panic. Hopefully, you won’t, but the exit ticket is nice to have just in case. A choice. Options.

You’re in control.

“Okay,” you breathe, straightening up a little more.

The detectives seem to relax, knowing that at least for now, you’re onboard. You may give them the answers they need, the final pieces to fit the puzzle. Your mom gets up and lets Ms. Choi sit in the chair by you, while she and your dad stand against the wall near your bed. The two agents move to the window, Agent Lee leaning against the sill and Agent Jang taking the chair. There’s so many eyes on you.

Agent Jang presses the record button on the little device, crossing her arms and holding it by her elbow. At first, she speaks quietly into it, like she’s talking to herself. “This is Agents Jang and Lee conducting an interview with Y/N Y/L/N. It is the twenty-eighth of December, two-thousand-twenty-five.”

She rolls her shoulders back, clearing her throat as quietly as she can before looking up at you again. Ms. Choi opens her briefcase to retrieve her laptop, intent on writing notes throughout the entire process. You imagine she is also recording this conversation.

“Let’s start from the beginning,” she suggests, leaning forward a bit. “Can you describe what happened on the day you were taken?”

Taken. Like you were plucked out of existence.

“Um…” you itch your arm for no reason other than to just give your hands something to do. Everyone’s watching you. Analyzing you. Waiting for you.

It’s just like the shower: one thing at a time. But last night, you didn’t have five pairs of eyes looking at you the whole time.

You look down, trying to recall as much as you can. Something about ice cream… a nightclub maybe? It was blindingly bright and then harrowingly dark. The air was cold, but less so than your recent night in the woods. You had a coat… or he put his around you? What was the weather? There was something pressed against your face, it made the lights above you swirl and your head hurt until you fell asleep in his car. You woke up in his bed.

“We went out,” you swallow hard.

“Do you remember where?”

You shake your head.

And then comes the question you’ve been dreading since yesterday. Agent Lee is the one to ask it.

“Do you remember who took you?”

The first instinct is to deny Yunho had anything to do with it. Protect and deny everything – clear his name, be good, be quiet, shift the blame elsewhere, go back to him somehow, deny, deny, deny. It wasn’t safe, you could say, someone else was after you. Yunho just let you stay with him until that mystery threat was removed. There is someone still on the run, loose in the world. But you imagine that the police have swept through the apartment by now. They’ve seen the footage and the chemicals he had on hand to knock you out, they’ve probably found the gun.

Not many people in South Korea have a gun.

You’re torn. If he’s already been arrested, though… no– you can’t turn your back on him. This is exactly what he was talking about. Yunho gave you an inch of freedom, leaving you with Seonghwa, and you immediately disregarded all of your rules and responsibilities. But you’re not stupid. Being arrested for his actions towards you obviously means what he did was rather… harmful, to put it into a simple word.

You press your lips together, stress making your arm even more itchy. There’s no clear answer, at least not in your mind. How can you turn your back on him so easily?

“Honey…do you know who took you?” Your mom asks, squeezing your dad’s hand so tight he winces. She loosens her grip for a couple moments before forgetting and repeating the same pressure.

“No,” you say monotonally, “I have no idea.” Your nails leave white scratches against your reddening skin.

The mood in the room shifts, like everyone already knows the answer and you just won’t confirm it for any of them. Your parents look at Ms. Choi, helplessly, as if she can make you give him up at the drop of a hat somehow. They all stare at you in complete disbelief. They look at your body, shadows of intense abuse and malnourishment, shaking like a leaf, your irises dulled grey from seeing too much, haunted by memories and nightmares alike.

“Are you sure?” Your mom presses, her rings digging into your dad’s hand. “You don’t have to protect anyone. You can tell us. Whoever it is can’t hurt you anymore.”

But it will hurt him…

And it will hurt them.

Part of you says ‘fuck it, tell them’. Let all of the boys fry, let them burn, make them watch everything they’ve worked for come crashing down in a shameful spiral. Give them just a taste of your suffering.

But you think of Seonghwa.

Hongjoong, Yeosang, San, Wooyoung, Jongho… even Mingi. The ones who worked tirelessly against their own friend – someone who was once considered their brother – to free you. Do they deserve that? The knowledge of what they’ve done, what they’ve been forced to become a part of, may be punishment enough. You will be the source of their shared guilt and shame forevermore.

You will haunt them to their graves regardless.

That quieter, but equally sinister voice pipes up in your head, reminding you that they’re the ones who tore you and Yunho apart. Though, it is getting harder and harder to be angry with them about that.

The decision you make is not said without a slight waver, that loyalty to Yunho still digging its claws into your vocal chords, but it needs to be said before you tell the room anything further.

“I don’t want to punish the ones who helped me,” you preface.

Based on the vague facts they’ve heard from the detectives, it’s quite hard for your parents to hear the plural attached to that noun. Your dad crosses his arms and covers his mouth, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. Your mom is shaking. A small part of you wants to reach for her.

You don’t.

“That’s a reasonable position,” Ms. Choi says, closing her laptop halfway. “We can advocate for that. We can make it clear that certain individuals acted under duress or made sincere efforts to protect you, which led directly towards your release. However, I will not promise that I can fully exempt them from the law if they are held liable in court.”

The weight of relief that lifts from your shoulders as she talks suddenly slams back down on you again. You wonder if Seonghwa’s lawyer has told him this exact thing already. Most likely. And the others as well. As for Yunho and Mingi, well… their lawyers are going to be in a much harder position if either of them tries for a ‘not guilty’ plea. You have no idea if Mingi is even coherent or awake to have had a talk with his yet.

Regardless, if there’s a chance you can help them, even just a fraction as much as they’ve helped you, you’ll do it.

Agent Jang draws your attention back to her, “Y/N, can you tell us who did this to you?”

Your heartbeat feels erratic, like your pulse is skipping every other beat and then really hammering the next to make up for it. Are you going to denounce him like this? Condemn him like he means nothing to you? You feel like your chest is opening back up again, as if your ribs are trying to crawl out of the wound like a spider. That authoritative, warning voice tries to convince you to not say anything, that he’ll find out and somehow come back to kill you – this time for real.

What if you tell them and he gets out? Will he even want you back?

There’s so many outliers, variables, differing scenarios, all being met with uncertain outcomes. You can’t predict the future. You have no idea what will happen tomorrow…how can you decide the fate of all these people? You were so level-headed and clear this morning. It’s overwhelming that his influence has this much of a chokehold on you.

Even now, you’re just his little puppet, aren't you?

You look down at your arm that you’ve been lightly scratching this whole time, just skin and bones. The image of the walking corpse in the mirror last night pushes to the front of your thoughts.

Just tell the truth. Let them decide, it says.

Maybe you don’t have to make the decision. Everything you say will be without bias, only reciting facts about what happened, and you’ll let them reach their own conclusions. That’s… reasonable, right?

You roll your shoulders back again, breathing in as deep as your damaged lung allows you to without starting a coughing fit.

Your lips part.

All five people wait with barely contained suspense.

The name fights against your tongue, but you push it out anyway.

“Jeong Yunho…”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

One week later…

Your last full week at the hospital feels surreal.

Less people come and go, only your nurses and your parents. Ms. Choi came back three additional times the past few days, but you mostly just let your parents talk to her with you present in the room.

It’s still undecided whether or not you will actually speak at the trial.

The trial itself will be held a few months from now, but there’s no set date yet. Ms. Choi informs your parents that she will be keeping you all updated as soon as she knows anything new about it. Right now, you decided that you will not attend, and Ms. Choi supports this decision. Seeing Yunho again is most likely a very bad idea, especially while testifying against him.

Your parents bought you a new phone, but the most you’ve done with it is peel the protective sheet off of it and set it up. The wallpaper on the lock and homescreens are the default options. You don’t have any photos anymore. You definitely remember taking many when you first arrived here, though. Now, your old phone could be anywhere in the entire world. More than likely, it’s already been drowned in the Han River. You almost envy it some days when the pain medications wear off. It’s a gradual fight towards recovery, but you’re happy that you can at least take deeper breaths.

It’s admittedly been rather awkward between you and your parents, especially after the interview with the agents. Both of them had to leave the room, and you weren’t even exactly giving explicit details of what you went through. Regardless, it was more than they could bear to hear. You can tell every time they see you, they’re replaying what they heard.

It’s been interesting getting to know them again. Every now and then you remember small details and inside jokes, shared memories together, those sorts of things. You’re speaking to them as much as you would if Seonghwa were here.

But you haven’t seen Seonghwa all week.

The story is probably everywhere by now. Globally, more than likely, but you haven’t seen or read a single article about it. There are several reasons why, but mainly because you just don’t want to relive everything through a stranger’s words. Your television is firmly set on the documentary channel and or the drama channel. This is mostly enforced by Ms. Choi and your parents. Anyway, you imagine Seonghwa has his hands rather full, dealing with all of this public outrage and shame brought upon the group’s name. You know it’s almost impossible for him to come see you at all, and yet you find yourself waiting for him to show up every afternoon and evening. Just in case. You really don’t want your last conversation with him to end in a panic, or a heated exchange. Since it’s your last day, your hopes are really being tested as each minute and each hour passes without him coming through the door.

Your parents had left maybe ten minutes ago to go back to their hotel for the night, leaving you to the rare silence of your room, save for the background noise of a history documentary that’s playing on the TV. Something about spies in World War Two. You’re not really paying attention to it, but the snippets of what you do hear sound interesting.

The phone your parents got you is by your side, nestled on top of the blanket. Your curiosity of the severity of the story and how bad it is for the group nags at you to check. You unlock it, but tap on the TikTok icon instead, scratching the itch to be on your phone but not to search the case. The app successfully numbs that nagging feeling to check for about ten minutes, until you stumble across someone talking about your case. No search required.

The person talking in the video refers to your case as ‘unfortunate’, but ‘hot’ at the same time. A lump forms in your throat rather quickly the more she talks about how jealous she is of you.

The video ends with her asking Yunho if she can be next.

By this point, you’re shaking badly, and the comment section is no better. You had hoped there would be a majority of people defending you, calling her out on such a strange and controversial opinion, but what you see shocks you to the very core.

[user1603275809]: my dream ughhhh

[b<3]: ungrateful bitch lmao

[SAW ATEEZ 07/31]: girl move over i’ll be your next victim yunho🤪

You shut your phone off.

Definitely a mistake. You doubt that you’ll reach for your phone again until you get on the plane back home, and even then, you’ll only use it for music. It’s not even the comments and the whole general message you’re getting from the video that hit you the hardest, it’s the fact that they don’t know about the others. The dead girls in the forest. You wonder if they’d laugh online so freely if they knew about them.

There’s an abrupt gunfire sound effect that explodes from the TV, even on low volume and it startles you that much more. You’re quick to change it back to the drama channel, hands shaking as you sit up and swing your feet onto the floor, intent on getting up and walking this off. The nurses have been encouraging you to go on walks, longer and longer distances each time. You’re almost up to a mile without needing a break. Now’s as good a time as any.

Walks help not just your body, but your mentality too. And you need a bit of both right now.

You’d been adamant the past two days that you want to walk alone, without a nurse present and hovering, waiting for you to fail. They’d respected your wishes, but you noticed how they watched you until you’re out of sight or if you caught them looking. Hopefully, because the evening is already giving way to the night, there won’t be as many eyes on you this time.

When you step out of your room, you’re proven right save for the officer that guards your room. The officer outside your door gives you a look but you draw a circle with your finger, indicating that you’re going to be walking around. He makes an ‘ok’ sign with his hand and waits for you to set off. He gives you as much privacy as he can on these walks, remaining quiet and keeping his distance, staying about ten feet or so behind you. The hallways for now are clear in both directions, and the nurse’s station is only occupied by two nurses, facing the opposite way. Jiyeon is one of them. She looks up from the computer, a brief look of concern flashing across her face before she lifts her hand, her pointer and middle fingers alternating to mimic leg movements.

‘Walk?’ She mouths the word. You nod. She nods as well, and just goes back to whatever she’s doing. You’ll miss her.

As you finish up your second lap, you’re already starting to feel a bit better. That video you watched only had a couple of hundred likes anyway. Surely, not everybody thought the same as she apparently does. It’s just hard to forget about it completely… or forgive.

A male nurse opens a door to a room you’re just about to walk by, and he wheels out what looks like a medication cart. You stop to let him go with a small bow, and glance at the name written on the wall to indicate who is occupying this room.

Someone named ‘Song, M’.

Nosy by nature, you can’t help but peer into the room before the door closes. You can hear the steady, rhythmic beat of a heart monitor, and all the lights appear to be off, just like how you like your room to be. The soft glow of light from the hallway is always enough to keep the rooms dark enough to fall asleep comfortably, but lit well enough to be able to see where everything is. There’s a man propped up in the bed, his face mostly covered by the water cup he’s using to knock back the pills the nurse no doubt just gave him.

You pass by the room and continue your walk.

You don’t think much about it, refocusing on thinking about the flight home tomorrow. Home. You can barely remember what your house looks like. Your parents, upon hearing this from you, have started showing you pictures that were taken in the house, and it’s all slowly coming back to you. There’s pieces being filled in the puzzle again. You imagine it’ll be different actually being there again rather than just seeing pictures of it. They showed you pictures of your room as well, and some different memories from varying ages came back rather easily. Sleepovers and sleepless school nights doing homework at your desk, childhood stuffed animals, shelves full of photos and trinkets collected over the years.

When it comes to your clothes and other belongings here in your old apartment, apparently your parents had received everything a few months ago when it was released from the police. Your old roommates had sent you several of the presents still sitting in your hospital room. The balloons wilted a couple of days ago.

Rounding the corner, from down the hall you can see another police officer standing guard and you look behind you to see if yours is still following you. He is. He looks up at you when he sees you turn around.

“You okay?” He asks, also looking behind him to see if you saw something.

“Yeah, I just…” you trail off, watching the other officer again. He doesn’t look like he’s standing outside your room, he’s too far away. He’s further down the hall, near to where you had stopped to let the nurse go in front of you.

A slow realization dawns on you then. Who else could it be?

Continuing on, albeit at a much slower pace, you stop once again at your room. Wordlessly, the officer assigned to you retakes his post, but you don’t push open the door to go back inside. You hesitate, staring down the hallway.

“Jiyeon?” You quietly call her, moving closer to the nurse’s station.

Her head pops up from her computer again, at the ready. The light from the screen reflects in her eyes, making them partially glow white and blue.

“Who’s in that room?” You ask, already knowing the answer. You just want it confirmed.

Jiyeon follows where you’re pointing with her eyes and leans forward slightly to speak quieter. “I can’t tell you who, hon. Patient confidentiality.”

You bite your lip.

“If I know who it is…” you begin, “are you able to tell me if I’m allowed to see him?”

Jiyeon looks back over towards the room and the cop that guards it. You can almost see her thinking, recalling protocol and hospital rules.

“It’s Mingi, right?” Your voice barely above a whisper.

“Honey, I’m just not sure it’s a good idea for you to see him,” she says gently. “Actually, I really doubt that they’ll let you in.”

You rest your arms on the desk, picking at your nails again. “I know it’s not a good idea,” you agree. You understand completely. Honestly you’re rather bewildered that you’re even asking to see him. “I just… I don’t know.”

Jiyeon sighs, looking up at you apologetically. It’s not her fault. Again, you understand. And maybe it’s for the best that you can’t see him. Maybe he doesn’t want to see you, and then what? More chaos, more heartache, more trouble than you need right now. Even so, that nagging tugs at you.

“Is it possible for me to maybe write him something?”

At that, Jiyeon looks down at her computer again, like the answers are on the screen. She hums as she thinks.

“Possibly. Whatever you write will have to be approved by these guys,” she says, gesturing to the officer outside your door and the one outside his, “so keep that in mind. Some things may be redacted.”

You nod, looking back at the officer outside Mingi’s door one more time.

“Alright,” you say, turning on your heel and disappearing back into your room for the night.

You set about writing your message to him right away, using the new journal and pen that Seonghwa had given to you from the boys. Although, you do spend a majority of the evening staring at a blank sheet of paper. Luckily, the nurse that brings in your dinner doesn’t ask what you’re doing or who you’re writing to. She minds her business, setting your food down with a small smile and a quiet ‘of course’ when you thank her.

The words don’t come easily, and you don’t expect them to. Dozens and dozens of potential things you want to say to him come to mind, but none of them sound or do any good. It has to be short and simple if you want to avoid any potential redactions, but also carry meaning. You dig deep, searching for what you truly want to say. If you were allowed to go into his room and see him, and say anything to his face, what would it be?

Your pen moves not too long after you ask yourself that.

You deliver the note to Jiyeon, on the off-chance she is allowed to bring it to Mingi’s room and she sets it down by her keyboard with a promise that she will have the officers look it over. With a small nod of acknowledgement, you wish her a goodnight and settle down in your room for the last time.

A part of you wishes you had time to look around Yunho’s bedroom the same way you’re taking in the hospital suite you’ve been in for the past week and a half. Just to say goodbye to it, but how were you supposed to know you’d never return there? You sigh as you tuck yourself in one more time even though it’s still pretty early – not yet eight-thirty – and you admire the patterns of light on the floor coming from the hallway and the television. The volume is low in case you wake up in the middle of the night, you don’t want to wake up to dead silence. That’s almost as bad as not being able to see.

But you sleep soundly, letting the occasional quiet beeps from the machines lull you.

And with perfect timing, with twenty minutes left to spend in visiting hours, Seonghwa knocks on your door.

He ignores the side-eye from the cop by your door as much as he can, adjusting his face mask even higher up on his nose so the top of it grazes his bottom lashes. Those dark circles under his eyes from his injury never quite went away on account of the lack of sleep lately. When he pushes open the door, he freezes in place. You’re turned on your side, facing the door, and he can tell that you’re asleep. He hesitates, not sure if he should come in anyway or just turn around and leave. He knows you have an early flight tomorrow.

Just five minutes, he tells himself.

Leaving the door open as instructed, he quietly makes his way over to the chair by your bed. You don’t stir. You look peaceful… healed, at least physically. The lines on the heart monitor jump in a standard, healthy rhythm, and there’s some plumpness to your skin now. It no longer clings to your bones. It’s nice to see you like this.

He definitely stays longer than five minutes, just watching you sleep. He feels like a creep for doing so, but he can’t help but hope that you’ll just wake up on your own and know that he came back to say goodbye. In his head he replays all of your shared time together, internally apologizing to you for all the chances he had of getting you out sooner rather than later, and wishing that he could’ve done more to help. He stares at the fading, leftover patches of bruises around your neck that he put there until his eyes unfocus and his vision blurs. He lifts the heel of his hand to his temple, pressing it there for a second to combat any oncoming dizziness. It’s an internal battle to not cry. He doesn’t feel like he really deserves to.

There’s some murmuring outside your door, and he looks up at the clock to check the time. Five minutes after nine. Time to go. Jiyeon knocks as she comes in.

“Visiting hours are over,” she politely informs him.

Seonghwa fixes his jacket for no reason. “Right. I’m sorry,” he says as he stands, patting his pockets to make sure he has everything and leaves without another word.

Jiyeon catches him in the hallway before he gets to the elevators. “Mr. Park,” she calls softly, jogging after him to close the distance.

He looks over his shoulder, then turns around to face her, awaiting some sort of scolding for staying later than allowed. He’ll take it.

“I’m sorry–” he starts to say, but Jiyeon cuts him off.

“I wanted to thank you. I think you played a big part in her recovery,” she says sincerely. Her words startle him, catching him off guard. It’s definitely not what he was expecting to hear. Seonghwa doesn’t meet her eyes anymore, choosing to inspect the tiled floor instead.

Of course, he denies this. “I didn’t do that much… all I did was upset her each time I came.”

“You remind her of a very difficult part of her life,” Jiyeon says bluntly, not one to sugarcoat, “one that will stay with her forever. But, you’re also part of the reason that she’s safe. You helped to get her out.”

Seonghwa shakes his head, refusing to accept any responsibility of aiding in your rescue. He’s part of the problem that you escaped. Jiyeon steps closer, trying to make him look at her.

“Whether you realize it or not, you’re probably one of the only truly safe people she has right now,” She says. “You’re very important to her.”

He keeps his head down, crossing his arms over his chest and hunching his shoulders.

“ I–I didn't do enough,” he says, his voice betraying him by breaking right at the beginning of his sentence.

Every pent up emotion hits him then. Right there in the middle of the hospital hallway, under bright, accusatory fluorescent lights, outside of your room where he believes he put you, even if he wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger. By not informing the police beforehand, he believes that he is part of the reason you were hurt, indirectly or directly. He promised you that night that you’d be okay. He told you to trust him. Every bottled up feeling suddenly demands to be felt. His stress threatens to make him explode like a pressure cooker.

Jiyeon cautiously places her hand on his back, guiding him into an empty office area and sitting him down. She fills a paper cup with water and hands it to him, advising him to breathe.

“I’ll never be able to m-make it up to her,” he says, close to crumpling the cup in his grip. “I told her she w-wouldn’t get hurt and–”

He stops in the middle, too ashamed of himself to continue. Glancing at the clock, he winces, knowing his manager is probably wondering where the hell he is. He won’t come looking for him though… the whole KQ staff have kind of stopped talking to them unless absolutely necessary. Nevertheless, he feels bad for making him wait.

“From what she’s told me, you did your absolute best to protect her. You kept showing up for her, even now, and that will help her heal in the long term. It’ll remind her that she had someone good by her side at the end of all this.”

Seonghwa sniffles quietly, running a hand through his hair and pausing halfway through.

“She still got hurt though,” he says dejectedly. “She got hurt by saving me. I didn’t deserve such kindness from her… I didn’t deserve to be saved. It should’ve been me instead.”

“She’s alive,” Jiyeon reminds him, “and she’s going home tomorrow because of you. Because of all of you. She didn’t even have to think before she chose to save you. Doesn’t that tell you all you need to know about how much she cares about you? Don’t make her decision meaningless by saying that you didn’t deserve it.”

A beat passes.

Seonghwa nods once, slowly, like he doesn’t quite believe what he’s agreeing to just yet, but maybe one day he will. Her words imbed themselves within his mind, branding into his brain and sticking with him for the foreseeable future.

You’re alive. You’re going home tomorrow.

Except for two snags, not including his own injury, the plan was successful. They achieved what they set out to do: free you from Yunho. They got you out. The risks involved in said plan were well-known, and they knew the level of danger they’d be exposed to if things went south. Despite it all, you and Mingi are both alive and recovering, and Yunho is where he should be: in jail awaiting trial.

Jiyeon hands him a tissue box from one of the desks, and he plucks one from it to blow his nose. He calms down gradually, and she lets him take his time. Glancing up at the clock again, he stands abruptly. He’s way over time now. He wouldn’t be surprised if his manager left him there.

“Oh– I should go,” he says, but doesn’t break for the door just yet. Again, he pats his pockets to make sure he has everything, and pauses when he dips a hand into the one in his jacket. He pulls out a small, torn piece of paper with a number scribbled on it. He’d forgotten to leave this in your room. Dammit.

“I’m sorry, could you please give this to her?” He asks, “It’s… it’s just in case she wants to keep in contact. If you don’t think it’s a good idea though, it may not help her recovery–” he rambles, overthinking.

Jiyeon interrupts him, “Y’know what? Why don’t you stay with her tonight. I think she’d like that. You can give it to her yourself.”

Seonghwa blinks before bowing to her, thanking her sheepishly.

She waves him off, guiding him out of the room and back down the hall to your room. She exchanges a few quiet words with your room guardian, letting him know what’s going on. He side-eyes Seonghwa again, but luckily, says nothing.

“Thank you,” Seonghwa says to her again when she turns back to him, “really. For everything.”

“Of course. Have a good night, Mr. Park.” Jiyeon says with a small wave, already starting to head back to the nurse’s station.

Seonghwa sends a quick text to his manager and takes off his face mask, taking a deep breath before placing his hand on the doorhandle.

This time, your back is facing him as he walks in and you stir when the door is opened again. You sleepily rub your eyes and make a small noise upon hearing someone come in. A nurse, you assume. You lazily drape your arm out to the side to make it easier for her to check your vitals or something. They always need your arm out for some reason or another.

Instead, someone sits in the chair. Someone takes off their jacket. A familiar scent of cologne hits your nose and your eyes snap open.

“Hello?” You ask, confused.

“Hi, angel,” he says quietly, taking your hand that you reach for him with.

“What time is it?” You mumble, looking around the bed for your phone.

“Late,” Seonghwa says with the slightest twinge of a laugh, “they’re gonna let me stay the night with you. Is that alright?”

You nod immediately, worried he’ll change his mind within the millisecond of time between him ending his sentence and you responding. A small grin plays on his lips.

“I’ll stay up–” You start to push yourself upright, but he stops you.

“No, no, it’s okay. I’ll just…” He scoots the chair closer and leans forward, resting his head on his arms. You worry about his back, though. This position can’t be good for his neck either.

You pull his arm towards you until he sits on the bed. Closer, but not what you’re trying to get him to do. Sure, you could outright say what you want, but you’re tired and admittedly still shy around him. So you scoot over, to the very edge of your bed to make room for him. He sighs as he hesitates, and eventually gives in. You unsuccessfully hide your victorious – and honestly, shocked – smile as he gets in next to you in the cramped space. You throw your blanket over him and both of you turn on your sides to face each other. Draping your arm over his shoulder, you play with his hair on the nape of his neck. His eyes flutter closed, allowing himself to relax. He keeps his hands to himself, not assuming that you want to be touched in any way until you tell him.

You breathe him in, snuggling closer to his chest, silently giving him his answer. Your free hand finds one of his, guiding it over your body. The comforting weight of it calms you just as well as any sedative. He presses you close, dropping his arm down towards your lower back, and sneaking his right arm under your neck to embrace you properly like this. You sleepily smile into his chest. His hair is soft between your fingers. The added heat from his body makes the cold hospital room perfectly warm.

You fall back asleep in no time at all.

And so does he.

In the meantime, your little note does make its way to Mingi’s room. The only thing the officers decide to redact is your name at the end. He’ll know it’s from you, but he will be denied that small verification at the bottom of the page. He won’t get to see you or say a proper goodbye. He knows, though, that he doesn’t deserve to. This little note is the best he’s going to get, and he’s grateful nonetheless.

Mingi,

Though I may not feel this way 100% right now, I know in time I will mean what I write wholeheartedly:

I forgive you.

Thank you for helping me.

– ◼/◼

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The morning is rather busy.

Busier like it had been when you first woke up here. Your parents arrive first thing, bags packed and passports already at the ready. You can tell they can’t wait to leave. To bring you home. The butterflies in your stomach are rather agitated at the thought. ‘Pre-flight nerves’, you refer to them as when your mom asks why you’re so antsy.

Seonghwa had left an hour before they got there, around five in the morning. You had set your alarm at that time to give yourself some time alone, to mentally prepare for the day ahead. Instead, that time was spent exchanging Kakao IDs and resuming playing with his hair. Time seemed against you, moving faster than it ever had here before. Each minute seemed to last ten seconds.

He squeezed your hand tight before he left. You can still feel it now.

Much to your surprise, Agent Jang comes into your room ten minutes before you’re due to leave, carrying a lumpy bag. You hadn’t expected to see her again. Your parents greet her warmly, eyeing what she has in her hand.

“Your clothes,” she explains to you, “from when you were first admitted here.”

All you can think to say in response is “Ah.”

She sets it down on one of the chairs and asks how you’re doing. The two of you actually have a nice little conversation for a couple of minutes before she has to go back to the station. You wish her luck as she walks out. For what exactly, you’re not sure, but you think the sentiment of what you said makes itself known. She wishes you all the best and steps out, nodding to the morning shift officer guarding your door. His shift will be short today, although he is going to be accompanying you to the airport. Then, airport security will take you and your parents through.

“I’ll go through them on the plane,” you decide, gesturing to the bag and the presents that all three of you managed to somehow stuff into an extra suitcase and your carry-on. You read some of the tags. None of them are from Yunho.

Your mom crosses her arms, looking at it like it’s a bug. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I just… I don’t want you to be triggered and then we don’t know how to help you.”

You sigh, but not in annoyance. This could very well happen, and happen while you’re 30,000 feet in the air with no escape. But you’re stronger now. “That’ll happen anyway. Doesn’t matter when, really. I’ll tell you how to help me.”

Unconvinced and wary, your mom lets it go. She trusts you on this. You’re the expert on you.

Jiyeon isn’t working this morning, but she did leave you a little card for Mijoo to give to you. You’ll read it later, right now your parents are checking their phones and watches over and over, silently telling you it’s almost time to leave.

You thank the staff as you pass them in the hallways, stealing a glance down towards Mingi’s room again before stepping into the elevator and descending down, back into the world. You don a face mask and sunglasses, feeling a bit like Seonghwa, and tie your hair up. The last thing you want is for people to easily see what you look like now.

As expected and dreaded, the airport is swarming with reporters and devastated fans who all want a glimpse of the girl who survived the idol. Luckily, you’re well hidden by your parents and the officers protecting you. You’re on autopilot until you actually board the plane, ascending and accelerating towards the clouds.

The mini screen helps the ride go by a lot faster. You alternate between movies, listening to the music and closing your eyes, and just resting your head against the window, watching the clouds drift below. You sleep for about an hour, and when you wake up, the plane has already begun its initial descent. Home. Your skin starts to itch again.

To distract yourself, you reach into your carry on for that bag Agent Jang gave you and the note from Jiyeon. Your mother next to you takes her AirPods out, but says nothing to deter you from looking through it. She’ll just keep a close eye on you, watching for any signs of incoming distress while your dad is passed out, still asleep next to her.

The note from Jiyeon is short and sweet, wishing you all the best, and signing her name with a little drawing of a bunny on the side of it. You pass it to your mom so she can read it, and then you start in on the bag.

The clothes themselves are wrinkled from being in the snow for so long and not being dried properly. You don’t unfold your sweater, not particularly keen on seeing the hole where the bullet ripped through the fabric. The pants are bloodstained on the waistband. Your socks are crumpled like your sweater, soaked through and sad looking. You shove the socks and sweater back into the bag, curiosity over. But you feel something in the pants front pocket. Your eyebrows furrow together, not knowing what this could be.

But the second your fingers touch it, you know exactly what it is. And who it belonged to.

You pull the rosary out slowly, almost bead by bead until you’re holding it up in front of your face. The cross at the bottom points directly down towards the bloodstains.

“Who’s is that?” You hear your mom ask through the roar of the engines and your screaming thoughts.

Quickly, you lie. “Seonghwa’s.”

Though visibly tense, she doesn’t say anything further. You’ve told them a little about him. They’re not particularly crazy about him, as they have a harder time seeing him for anything other than being part of the group that took and had access to you. She looks at it like she wants to chuck it out of the plane window. If only she knew who it really belongs to.

You put the pants back in the bag, holding onto the rosary for the remainder of the flight.

The cold metal burns your skin the whole way down.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Eight months later…

The sun warms your skin as it blinds you.

You cover it with your hand as much as you can, squinting and blinking away the eye floaters that creep into your field of vision. Cars rush past, threatening to splash you from the puddles left overnight. It had been an impressive storm, but you slept through most of it.

The sunlight that reflects off the building makes it look like it’s sparkling all over. You remember this place well; at least, the interior of it. You lower your hand and look across the street, heading the opposite direction. The walking signal shines for the pedestrians and you join the crossing groups of people seamlessly.

Seoul in September is always pretty.

That certain floor and apartment right at the very top look down upon you. They didn’t think they’d ever see you again. Last they saw of you, you were being driven out to the woods again. They should’ve known. You’re the only one who survived the woods… twice.

Sadly, there’s no time to gloat or reminisce, as you’re currently running to find your Uber before they drive off.

Once located, you confirm your names with each other and situate yourself in the backseat of the car. It’s rather nice, and you double check that you didn’t accidentally pay for the Uber Black or something. You’re thankful for the strong air conditioning. Tucked under your thigh, your phone vibrates a few times but you ignore it – you already know it’s your mother texting you for the hundredth time today. She has your location on like she did last year, but now she wants live updates in real time of how you’re doing and where you’re going and who with, every possible detail.

You had to really plead your case to her and your father to let you come back.

Before the entire question was even finished, they flat out forbade you from coming back, especially by yourself. It took a lot of persuasion, a couple big fights, multiple reminders that you’re an adult, and a promise to be monitored at all times while there, but eventually they allowed you to fly back. You’re staying at a nice hotel in the heart of the city, somewhere you’re rather familiar with. Yet another topic of discussion you had to fight over. They wanted you to stay with your old roommates, but you vehemently opposed this – you didn’t want to infringe on their lives by staying with them and make them have to babysit you all hours of the day. That’s not fair to them. You did agree to spend the first two nights back in Seoul at their apartment, though.

You’re 99% sure your mom is also keeping in touch with them as well.

Holding in an exasperated sigh at the fourth and fifth buzz of your phone, you shoot a quick text to your mom as proof of life and safety, screenshotting the route you’re taking to your hotel to check into your room. She reads the text immediately and answers with a thumbs up emoji. It’s both comforting and suffocating that you know she’s watching your location at this very moment. It reminds you of where you were last year at this time.

Driver tipped, bags collected, and key handed over, you finally flop down on the plush hotel bed, sighing into the memory foam. You’re looking forward to these next two hours spent alone before you go back out again. You definitely need them.

You unpack, taking your time to set everything where you want it around the room, quietly enjoying how therapeutic small stuff like this feels. Habitually though, you do check in the upper corners of the walls, in the lamps, and in the bathroom for hidden cameras. Every search conducted ends in the same result: finding none. It’s one habit you’ve yet to fully shake off. Another one is how you tend to freeze when you hear people outside of your room, even muting the TV so no one can hear you inside. Once the sound of their voices fade away, you’re okay again.

You try to tighten up. You have to, especially today.

After sending your mom a picture of you, safe in the hotel room, she finally relents and leaves you alone. It’s annoying, but it’s what you agreed on in order to be here, so you force yourself to not roll your eyes every time your phone goes off.

You spend the next hour sitting on the floor in front of your suitcase, looking down at it like the right outfit will just jump out at you. It’s not that you’re trying to look good, just… confident. Confident and put together without overstating it. You rummage through the shirts, pants, socks, and one dress you brought with you, but none of them feel right. Now only thirty minutes before you have to leave, you give up on it for the time being and just focus on your hair and makeup.

Even though you want to, you can’t bring yourself to wash your face. There are good days and bad days when it comes to water, and today is one of those bad days. Instead, you run one of the hand towels under the sink and lightly dab your face with it to feel more refreshed. You forego winged eyeliner simply because your hands are shaking too much and you don’t have time to make them match, and then find yourself brushing your hair right back where you started, standing in front of the open suitcase without a clue of what to wear. In the end, you just decide on some baggy jeans and a hoodie.

You text your mom that you’re gonna nap and stay in the hotel the rest of your night, and switch your phone completely off.

Sunglasses on and purse in hand, you’re out the door.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You’re very hyper-aware of your skin.

Specifically how your clothes feel on your skin, brushing up against it. Your chest hurts. Stress causes some pain flares from time to time, so you’re used to the feeling, but it doesn’t make it any less comfortable. You lightly trace your collarbone through your hoodie with your knuckles, just to ground yourself more. It tells you that nothing is touching your chest or your neck.

You’re glad you chose the hoodie because it is freezing in here. The cold metal of the chair seeps through the fabric of your jeans and takes a while to warm up as you wait. Your nails tap against the metal table in front of you. It’s a rather small room, only two other ‘booths’ like the one you’re sitting at now, and dim. You run your hands up and down your arms to self-soothe and to warm yourself up. Your anxiety grows more and more the longer they make you wait.

Maybe you shouldn’t’ve come here. This was a mistake of gigantic proportions, and you know it. Your hands start to itch instead of soothe. Your bottom lip is already bitten to hell, and you stand up, ready to leave and forget you ever even tried to do this.

But the door opens.

And there he is.

You freeze in place, no longer as put together as you tried to appear. Instead, you’re right back into who you were last year. Your heart hammers against your ribs, trying to escape through them to get as far away from him as it can. You wish your feet would follow.

The rattling and jingling of his handcuffs hitting the small table as he sits opposite you make your ears ring and static erupts in your brain. All systems sound the alarm: danger, danger, danger, get out. But you block it out. There’s glass in between you, he can’t hurt you.

You take a small step forward, back towards the chair you were just in. He watches you like a snake would a mouse.

A heavy sound behind him informs you both that the guard has left, the door shutting behind him. The air around you feels thick, like you have to double your efforts just to breathe normally.

He still looks just as handsome as he did when you last saw him. Dammit.

The metal of the chair scrapes unpleasantly against the floor as you sit back down, ignoring the giant lump forming in your throat. For a moment, you still can’t bring yourself to look at him, but you can feel the weight of his stare. You’re glad you chose this baggy, loose-fitting outfit. Subconsciously chosen so that he couldn’t see your body. Yunho makes a face as he looks at your outfit as he sits there, waiting for you to say something. You can tell that he disapproves.

Your entire body starts to feel feverish the longer you prolong this.

“Hi…” you mumble, clearing your throat right after.

Yunho tsk’s, waiting for a certain word to accompany that greeting. You know which one. You look down at your lap, picking at the skin around your nails. If you thought you felt hot before, it’s nothing compared to now as a fierce blush blooms across your cheeks, warming your whole face.

“I’m not supposed to call you that anymore,” you inform him, still not quite meeting his eyes. He seems to tower over you even while sitting. Was that always the case or did he get taller?

Yunho places his elbows down on the little table and rests his chin on the heels of his hands. The little chain linking the cuffs pulls taut. “Mhm. And who told you that?”

“T-the… my…” you trail off, unable to speak. The words ‘the officers’ and ‘my psychologist’ just die on your tongue.

Yunho smirks, knowing the effect he’s having on you.

“Why are you here, baby?” He purrs, tilting his head to one side.

The pet name makes your skin crawl and a dark part of your mind sing. Your hands begin to shake again, but you just sit on them, trying to remain calm and strong. At least externally. You can do this.

You’re in control.

He’s the one behind bars – well, glass at the moment. He can’t get to you physically, and if he tries, the two guards keeping watch of your visit will tear you away from him before you could even blink. It’s like seeing a shark at the aquarium. Protected and kept apart by the glass, you know you’re safe, but there’s always the same thought that looms in the back of your mind: if the glass suddenly disappears, you’re in his element. At his mercy. Would you scream and kick for the surface, or would you just succumb to him like you used to? An hour ago you were sure of which one you’d pick. Now, you’re not so sure. Not while face to face with the threat itself.

Despite this, there’s a reason you came to see him. You have something for him.

Instead of verbally responding to his question, you simply reach into your pocket and pull out his rosary. His eyes widen at the sight of it. So that’s where it’s been this whole time.

“This belongs to you,” you murmur, stating the obvious. “I w-wanted to return it.”

You can tell you’ve gotten under his skin this time. You don’t feel smug or proud about it. No matter how thick the glass is, you’re still afraid of him. Of all people, you know exactly what he’s capable of. He doesn’t need to touch you to hurt you.

He lowers his hands back down, drumming his fingers on the table. The sound makes your skin crawl. You gently place it down in front of you. He almost reaches for it, like he forgot the glass is there for a second before retracting his hand, cracking his knuckles in quiet and controlled frustration.

“How thoughtful,” he hums, his voice tight.

Involuntarily, you blush again, your lips parting to thank him for such small praise. You nervously run a hand through your hair, trying to pass it off as nothing. The air shifts. The power dynamic between the two of you skews even further towards him.

The smirk that slowly grows on his face is pure evil. Sickly sweet, manipulative. Your skin crawls, waves of adrenaline zip down your spine and into your legs, every instinct telling you to get out there now.

“You missed me, didn’t you?” He sneers, leaning forward to get even more into your space. He lazily gestures to the rosary, “Just wanted to see me again?”

Unwilling to back down from him, you ignore those instincts. You stay put, right where you are. You pull the collar of the hoodie away from your neck, suddenly feeling rather suffocated.

“No.” You say as firmly as you can, not offering him anything more to work with. A simple ‘no’ is good enough.

He laughs, his amusement evident. “You’re not being very nice to me, are you?”

“I j-just… I n-needed to see you in h-here,” your voice wobbles a little as you stammer. You’re unable to think or speak clearly. It’s like your mind’s been suddenly placed on pause, slamming on the brakes while going one hundred miles an hour. You try to remember if you had been like this when he first took you. This pathetic. “I don’t have t-to be nice to you.”

“Look at you,” he smirks, leaning back in his chair, without a single care in the world. Superior to you even now. “Acting so high and mighty all of a sudden. Already forgotten who’s in charge, huh?” His voice lowers in volume on the last sentence spoken, leveling you with just a sharp glare.

You shake your head, refusing to let him get in your head like this. Not without a fight. “You’re not in ch-charge of me anymore.”

Yunho doubles down, his voice a soft purr. The same timbre he used to make you forgive him for almost drowning you in the bath. Sympathetic, warm, caring, safe.

“Aww, poor baby. Is it hard to have nobody telling you what to do anymore? Bet you miss that structure, don’t you?”

“Stop it,” you snap at him, though there’s not a lot of edge to your voice. “I’m not yours.”

“Yes you are. You keep waiting for me to praise you… is that what you want? Need my validation? Need to know I don’t hate you for ratting me out to the police?”

“I only came back for Seonghwa.” You say before you can stop yourself. One of your hands flies up to your mouth before hesitating, twitching in the space between your mouth and your lap. Using every single ounce of courage, your eyes flick up to garner his reaction.

You’ve seen that look before.

Through fire, water, earth, and air, you’ve seen it. You’ve never been so grateful to have a thick pane of glass separating you from him.

From the cold metal of the room, you can smell the forest again. The water burns your throat and nose. The snow freezes your skin. The flames lick at your legs.

His jaw twitches and he laughs once, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s no readable expression on his face, not that he lets you see. His hands curl into fists and he hides them in his lap. His bangs cover his eyes as he looks down, jaw clenching and unclenching.

“Park fucking Seonghwa…” he says under his breath, shaking his head in amused disbelief.

Your hand massages your throat, trying to ease the lump in there. He can’t hurt you. You can leave any time.

So why aren’t you?

You came all the way here to give his rosary back to him, to see him in jail with your own eyes in an attempt to stop your nightmares and paranoia. You’ve done what you set out to do. Leave.

However, you’re glued to your seat, and you start to wonder if he’s right in some of the things he’s saying. Are you still seeking his validation? Even though you wanted to come across as confident and better off without him, that charade quickly vanished upon seeing him again. You instantly retreated back into your timid, obedient self that took months to shed off of your normal behavior. Back at square one, you can’t stop the brutal self-deprecating thoughts that berate and jeer at your failure. How easily you crumble in front of him. How small you feel when his eyes are on you. The past months of work you’ve put in with your therapist and the fruition of progress you’ve been so proud of disappear altogether as if they never happened. As if you never left.

You steal another glance at him, and fight against the intensely strong urge to comfort him, clarify what you meant. You hate seeing him upset, especially when you’re to blame for it. He looks so dejected… you’ve never seen him like this. There’s no fire within him anymore, not like before. You have to really force yourself to not say anything to him. It’s none of his business what your relationship with Seonghwa is or is not, especially when you aren’t even sure.

You wipe your eyes with your sleeve, smudging the mascara and eyeliner.

Don’t cry. Please, don’t cry, not in front of him.

You inhale sharply, trying to collect yourself and keep the tears at bay as long as you can. In all honesty, you just want to put your head down on the little table and scream. You don’t have to explain yourself to him. You don’t owe him anything, right?

It’s a question that’s still hard to answer. Obviously you don’t owe him anything, not a damn thing. But you can’t block out the quiet moments you two shared as easily. The good times you had were so good, even if they will never come close to cancelling out the bad. You think, at least for a period of time, you may have actually loved him. Or, felt something quite close to it. Maybe that’s why you want to explain yourself to him, because you still can’t fully deny that you don’t feel anything towards him anymore. You doubt you’ll ever really know. It’s not that simple. Trying to move on from a man who would burn the entire world for you is not something easily done.

The most terrifying realization you’ve had to face at home was feeling that you may never feel as strongly for someone other than Yunho ever again.

Your shoulders hunch and you shrink in the chair, chin to chest.

What you don’t see as you bow your head, is the drastic and visible change in Yunho. No longer smug or condescending, he becomes distant as he holds back his true emotions. Head down as well, his eyes search the floor, his lap, his hands. For what exactly, he himself isn’t even sure. For once, he doesn’t have a quick, lashing reply to give back to you. He bites the inside of his cheek. He slouches in the chair.

Another fantasy dragged back into harsh reality. Disintegrating right in front of him. Again.

Because as much as he denied it, and despite what he has told you… Yunho really does love you.

You were never nothing to him, you were everything. Telling you that he only loved broken things turned out to not be true. Not exactly. At one time, he thought it was true, but he realized he was only talking through his anger and frustration. Not from any substantial meaning. No, he only let you in as deep as he let anyone else get, just surface level. Treading the water there so he can keep an eye on everyone he allows in. You were dangerously close to venturing further, getting to the very heart of him.

He denied himself of you. From seeing you that night in the convenience store, he denied himself of you.

Call it an act of self-sabotage, or that he didn’t know what he was in for, but he saw something in you that none of the others had. A certain spark, a glow, not just potential for his own sick view of what he could shape you into, but also a strength that told him you can persevere. Kindness, humility, beauty, and a natural magnetic attraction that damn near pulled all the members towards you. Of course Mingi fell for you. And now Seonghwa…

Surprisingly, he’s not mad. Not at all. Actually, for the first time, he feels quite defeated. Seeing you past the glass only confirmed that he’ll never have you the way his soul wants. A rather delusional part of him thinks you still want him. That you’ll always want him. That you love him.

He needs to hear you say it so bad. So bad.

But he won’t ask you. He won’t even entertain the thought. Not when there’s a chance you’ll refuse to say it – he doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle that.

So what can he do? He can either push you away and come to his own conclusions based on how easy it is for you to leave, or he can push you harder, see if you’ll break for him again. Neither one reaps many benefits for either of you. It’s just another assessment of loyalty. Another test.

“Why are you here?” Yunho asks you again.

The rosary starts to turn cold on the table. You don’t have an answer for him. The words just won’t come together in the right order, nor do they hold the depth of what you want to attempt to convey to him. Nothing fits or sounds good enough. Each choice is just as cold and lifeless as this room you’re in, void of any real meaning. None of them hold any weight.

Is there anything worth saying at all?

“I’m not…” you swallow hard, knowing that he’s staring at you without needing to look up and verify, “I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

This silence is different. Instead of coming back immediately with a quip or smug response, he simply lets what you said fully process. He really does seem different. It’s the same kind of mental distance you experienced with him when you and Mingi were still close. Jealousy? Maybe, but you don’t want to assume. For all you know, he could just be pissed off that you’re presumably giving your free attention to Seonghwa instead of him now. He must think you’ve completely abandoned him – which, you know you should do, and yet here you are. But again, Yunho doesn’t know how that specific relationship with you and Seonghwa works.

What you say is true, for the most part. There’s a large part of you that still hungers for his approval, yearns for his touch, misses the idea of him. And there’s another part of you that is comforted knowing that he cannot dictate your life anymore, nor touch you like that ever again. The idea of him you hold onto is your own fantasy, conjured up by the fleeting and counterfeit imitations of care and love that he showed you. Seeing him in here does calm your nervous system though, it tells your paranoid mind that he really is locked in here. He can’t get to you. There are dozens of people, several laws, and physical distance between you that will not allow him to touch you again. The thick glass and the handcuffs aid this thinking as well.

For Yunho, all he can hear is white noise and a sentence he’s haunted himself with for almost a year. His lips press together. He can’t be too surprised that you really were afraid of him the whole time, but again that delusional side of him has been very convincing. It was so easy to believe in his own lie until Mingi derailed it with one fatal blow. Just six words. Now here you are in front of him, speaking freely as yourself for the first time since last February, telling him that you’re not afraid of him.

He’s almost split in half. One side glowing, singing that now you can love him, there’s nothing holding you back from it now, and the other realistic side of him shooting all of that nonsense down. He can’t ignore reality forever.

One of your hands rests on the table, drumming your fingers close to the rosary. He subconsciously mirrors you. Tap, tap, tap.

When he doesn’t say anything for another few silent minutes, you pick your purse up from the floor, placing it in your lap. “I should go…”

Yunho wants nothing more than to jump up and beg you to stay with him. So, he doesn’t. He keeps control, clenching his fists tight, knowing he’s solely to blame for how he ended up. If he was just a little more careful…

He watches you stand, the scraping sound of the chair against the floor digging into his ears. Once again, he holds back what he really wants to say.

“I’ll um–” you pick up the rosary, gesturing over to the guard. Why won’t he speak to you? You shift your weight, not wanting to leave like this. You’ve always been the type to not rest so easy knowing that you’ve said something that hurts someone. Even someone like him.

Ready to go, you don’t move. You don’t knock on the door to let the guard know that you want to leave. You have an idea of why he’s gone so quiet.

“We’re not– Seonghwa and I… it isn’t like that.” You tell him, not as eloquently as you wanted to be.

But it does invoke a response of some nature. A single nod, indicating that he understands as simply as possible.

You continue, “I’m not ready for that kind of thing yet.”

“‘Yet’,” Yunho echoes, surprising you by replying quickly this time. “But you will. One day.”

He sniffs, leaning back in the chair. The rest of his sentence goes unsaid, insinuated and understood by you. ‘And it won’t be with me’.

You bite your lip, hand absentmindedly tugging at your sweatshirt, pulling it away from the healed scars on your chest. Your heart is threatening to leak through them.

“I don’t know,” you admit honestly. Right now, you don’t see yourself getting into any kind of relationship in the near future. You don’t want to. You’re afraid everything will remind you of him. You’re afraid you’ll compare – that fear of never feeling the same level of devotion to someone ever again keeps you alone.

“You will. And he’ll be there, I’m sure.” Yunho fails to hold back a scoff. His nails dig into his palms, close to breaking skin. “But all he’ll do is remind you of me.”

Your muscles tense.

There’s a hurt tone to his voice that he tries in vain to hide. Not enough to be obvious unless you knew him quite well… which you do.

It dawns on you then that the two of you trigger each other so much. He triggers your fears, your perfectionism, your traumas, and you trigger his abandonment issues, his overprotectiveness, and his desperate desire for love. Fake or real. He was so close with you. This time, he felt it. The others told him they loved him like they were reading a line from a book. Too rehearsed, without any feeling. You were the only one who almost convinced him.

You know he thinks it’s easier to just push you away if he can’t have you the way he wants.

And suddenly, you think of something worth asking him.

“Were you going to kill me that night?”

He pauses to keep his true emotions in check. He’s not about to let you read him so easily when it comes to this topic.

“Which one?” He asks, lazily, trying to come across as unbothered, nonchalant, but his eyes betray him.

You can see a slight twinge of wariness, like you’re getting too close to the truth of him. Something he’s hidden from everyone else so seamlessly. That’s how you know you’re on the right track, asked the right question. Also, you’d genuinely like to know. Having the answer, fake or real, may help some of the nightmares you keep having ever since that night.

“The last one,” you clarify quietly.

He clears his throat, procrastinating by readjusting how he’s sitting in the chair, straightening up and crossing his legs. He feels caught. The handcuffs dig into his wrists. The only way he can keep control is to not give you what you want – a straightforward answer, but instead, he speaks truthfully.

“I don’t know,” he says, his eyes landing on the silver bracelet fastened on your wrist.

He wonders who gave that to you… it matches his rosary.

You nod once, knowing that’s the best you’ll get out of him. It does kind of tell you everything you needed to know, though. It pairs well with what you remember from that night, the shock and horror on his face when he realized he shot you instead of his intended target, and his many attempts to try and break out of Jongho’s hold on him to rush to your side. You have your answer.

And now you’re not sure what to do with it. You’re still standing in front of him like an idiot, leaving and not leaving at the same time.

His eyes flicker over towards the door on your side of the room. “You should go.”

That startles you almost, and your feet move immediately, like they were waiting for his permission. You don’t miss how the corner of his mouth twitches, and you’re thankful that this time, he doesn’t point it out. He doesn’t have to. Such a small thing like that all but confirms his delusional side’s way of thinking. He latches onto it quickly as he watches you try to slip through his fingers again.

Even if you choose Seonghwa down the line, you’ll still be his. When you’re just a step away from the door, he lets you know that.

“No one will ever love you as much as I do.”

That nearly kills you. It strikes you harder than a fist or a bullet ever did. Hearing the admission you’d been waiting for for all of last year… it almost makes you crumble completely. You knew it, you knew you were right.

He loved you, and still does.

You feel your breath leave your lungs like you’ve been hit there again. Shakily, you turn to look over your shoulder, expecting to see him basking in his small victory, taunting you that his claws are deep in you even after all of this time apart, and that they will continue to be for the foreseeable future.

Except you don’t see that at all. What you thought was a jeering, condescending comment, doesn’t quite match the look on his face. A mix of a small, knowing smile which you expected, and utter desperation, selfishly hoping you’ll never be able to move on from him, that you’ll always come back to him. As hard as it is to admit it to himself, he needs you. So, he’ll revert back to methods that he knows worked on you once. Manipulation, for one.

The desperation that he fails to conceal is what gives him away. You stand your ground, refusing to fall for him again.

“And no one will ever hurt me as much as you have.” You mean to stay strong, but your voice cracks and wobbles halfway through.

You watch his lips part, his eyes widening ever so slightly.

He's always had a talent for hand-picking words and placing them in the exact order that will make you remember them for months to come. Maybe even years. You really have learned from the best.

You tear your eyes away, and it turns out to be the hardest thing to do. Your fist knocks on the door too hard, too urgently. The guard lets you out quickly and asks if you’re okay. You just nod, breathing erratically. He doesn’t believe you, but you’re already walking away, eager to get the hell out of here. Even well past his line of sight, you can somehow still feel Yunho’s eyes on you. Your teeth start to chatter as you collect your phone from one of the guards, barely audibly thanking them as you hitch your purse higher up on your shoulder. You force yourself to walk slower. High stress, high emotions, and high pace can’t be a good combination for your lungs.

When the sun hits you again, you gasp for the fresh air. The very thing you used to hide from, in this moment, you can’t get enough of it. You sit on a bench outside, hands shakily ordering an Uber that cannot come fast enough. Pressing a hand to your head, you will your body to calm down before you act crazy in front of this poor stranger coming to pick you up. You can imagine the headlines if the driver recognizes you, first of all, and tells the press that you were shaken up after visiting the very same prison Yunho is being kept in.

Your parents would never let you leave the house ever again, much less the fucking country.

For a moment you panic, and then remember the time difference. Both of them are surely asleep now, and you relax at the lack of frantic text messages from either of them. Thank god–

The fresh air helps, a gentle breeze occasionally caressing your hair off of your shoulders. You busy your hands by sending Seonghwa a text.

Luckily, he responds right away. Unluckily, he asks how your visit went.

Obviously, he’d been rather opposed to the very idea of you going to see Yunho by yourself. It led to a fight between you, though both of you saw where the other was coming from. He knows you’re an adult and can make your own decisions, and you know that he didn’t want you to give Yunho another chance to hurt you again. When the anger had subsided, he let you know he’d support you no matter what you decide to do. As always.

By the time the Uber gets there, you still haven’t answered Seonghwa’s question. All you send back is a simple, ‘omw’.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Seonghwa opens the door before you can even knock.

You duck inside, knowing how bad it’d be if anyone saw you going into his apartment. It’s smaller than the one you were kept in, but a lot more lived in. Signs of life decorated every inch of it. He’d told you it’s taken a while for him to adjust to living alone. Whenever he gets out of the shower, he still sometimes expects to see San curled up in his bed instead of his own down the hall.

It’s a temporary place. For now, it works.

You think it’s lovely.

“Hongjoong came by earlier,” Seonghwa says. “He um… yeah, he just told me to say that he hopes you’re doing okay.”

You nod, sitting down on his couch. Something tells you there’s more to that, but you don’t press him for details. All you can think to say in response is, “Oh. Well… tell him I said ‘thank you’ and ‘same for you’.”

“Are you?”

“Am I?” You ask, tilting your head.

Seonghwa sits next to you, one cushion over. “Are you okay?”

You know he wants to know about your visit with Yunho, and you’ll tell him eventually. Right now though, it is the last thing you want to do. You haven’t seen Seonghwa in person since your last day in the hospital, eight months ago. Sitting here, on his couch, not two feet away from each other, all you want is to just… sleep, actually. You want to be held, even though you know it’s selfish to want to ask of him, and fall asleep together like you did last December. Before either of you were hurt.

You push that need down.

“I’ll be alright,” you say behind a weak smile.

He looks like he wants to say something, but ultimately decides against it, keeping his mouth shut. Instead, he places his hand on the cushion between you. He lets you decide whether or not to hold it.

Of course, you do.

The reconnection feels like coming home. So many things are conveyed through just a simple touch. Commiserations, apologies, trust, and admissions that you’re both glad to see each other again. It’s a special, impenetrable bond, and for the time being, that’s good enough for both of you. It has to be. There’s still too many things to work out and work through to be anything other than just… two people there for each other. It’s an unspoken arrangement. Neither of you are willing to admit why it’s needed.

“How are the others?” You ask, genuinely curious.

Seonghwa leans back, resting against one of the pillows on the couch. “They’re alright. We’re still constantly in touch with each other, so… that’s nice.”

Well, the six of them are.

Mingi’s being held in a separate prison on the opposite side of Seoul, on the outskirts of the city. He’ll get out before Yunho does, having taken a plea bargain and willingly cooperated with law enforcement.

You ask about each of them, where they are and what they’re doing. You’re not surprised to know that they all live quite close to each other. Yeosang and San even live in the same apartment complex. It’s nice to know that they’re all still somewhat together despite everything. You’ve been told about the fight Jongho, Wooyoung and San are leading to keep Yunho in prison for longer than he was sentenced. Without the USB or the files from his laptop, they’re trying to find other forms of evidence to get him charged with homicide, and get justice for the girls and the manager. You’ve seen the mixed social media reactions. Some view it as admirable, others call it performative.

Hongjoong and Yeosang are both relatively off the radar, intent on maintaining a low profile. This, apparently, is almost normal for both of them. ‘Chronic homebodies’, Seonghwa calls them. Still, you naturally worry about them.

The three of them are planning to move abroad early next year. Since the three of them were most implicated in the case, the public outrage towards them despite their contributions towards your rescue, and despite your written testimony that they were not privy to the truth of who you were when Yunho introduced them, has proven to be impossible to simply ignore. Not even the ‘chronic homebodies’ want to be sheltered inside forever, anxious about going outside.

Hopefully western Europe will be more peaceful for them.

An hour into talking, you’re now curled up on the couch while he plays with your fingers, making small noises of disapproval wherever he sees that you still pick at your nails and the skin around them. He just doesn’t want you to hurt yourself like that. On more than one occasion, he’s threatened to buy you a fidget toy or something to help you stop the habit.

He closes your hand, setting it down again and rubs his thumb against the back of it. Another hour later, there’s a natural lull in the conversation as the apartment starts to darken. The sun is peeking out from behind some of the taller buildings in Seoul, beginning its early descent.

The two of you stand in his kitchen as he cooks dinner. He swears he’s gotten better now that he has to fend for himself. The money he’s made from being an idol won’t hold out forever, so he’s trying to be smart about it now and not order takeout so much anymore. He offhandedly says that you should have something that Wooyoung cooks sometime, as he’s the best chef in the group, but he gets quiet afterwards. You don’t push it.

You eat in the living room, feet tucked under you as Seonghwa flicks through all the options on Netflix. You eat slowly, but you’re almost halfway done before he picks something from the ‘Oscar Winning’ category. It’ll do for now. Good background noise while you eat. He checks in on you twice, asking if the food is actually good or if you’re being nice to him, and offering to get you more. You wave him off playfully both times, likening him to a mother hen. It’s a nice little dynamic.

Halfway through the movie, the sun has disappeared altogether. You haven’t planned on staying the night with him or anything like that, but he’s not kicking you out either. You look down at your purse on the floor, resting against the couch, making a mental inventory of what you have in there. Wallet, perfume, headphones, fan, gum, pill pouch stocked with Tylenol in case of flare ups, and a portable charger. You sneak a glance at Seonghwa, who’s busy finishing his second serving of food, eyes flicking up from the bowl to watch the movie. It doesn’t feel like you’re intruding, but you hate to overstay your welcome. The unofficial plan you made for this visit was only a couple hours at most. Already, you’re dangerously close to several hours.

A couple minutes later, Seonghwa collects the empty bowls and dishes that have accumulated on his coffee table, and places them in the sink to wash later. He wants to now, but instead he just lets them soak until the movie is over. You watch him as he walks back to you, sitting himself down a little closer to you than before.

You don’t allow yourself to think anything of it. Not even when you adjust the way you’re sitting, leaning towards him. If you think about it too much, you know who you’ll hear. You know what you’ll remember. You’d rather keep the world and everyone in it out for as long as you can. Since arriving here, you’ve been doing a pretty good job so far, despite the state you were in when you left the prison earlier.

It’s comforting knowing that any silence between you isn’t awkward or tense, it’s just natural. Even more comforting to know that you can’t say or do anything that will ever make him lash out or physically hurt you. The bare minimum, you know, but you’re working on it. You just… feel safe with him in the little things.

That’s the tricky part – the little things, they all pile up, don’t they?

You know you may have waded too deep when you rest your head on his shoulder and he sighs, letting his body relax more into the couch. You lift up, thinking he may be opposed to you doing that, but he guides you back down, not making a big deal of it. The rest of the movie goes by with the two of you staying just like that. Nothing more, nothing less.

When the movie ends, you know you should leave.

You engage in polite small-talk about your assessments of the film, coming to a similar conclusion about it: ‘pretty good’. His eyes glance up towards the kitchen sink, and he bites his lip.

“Would you mind if I washed the dishes really fast?” He asks.

“Oh, no, go ahead,” you say, sitting up straight to let him go. “I can um… I should probably go back to my hotel.”

Seonghwa stops mid-stride to turn around and look at you.

“Oh–” he starts to say but pauses for a moment, wrestling with his inner monologue on what to say next. He looks at the digital clock on the oven. “It’s um…”

“Yeah… I don’t want to intrude.” You smile weakly, gathering your purse. It’s not that late yet, but you’re not terribly keen on going back by yourself in the dark if you can avoid it.

Seonghwa fidgets with the hem of his shirt, alternating between looking at you, the kitchen, and the television. You’re not sure what he’s thinking. He hops from one foot to another as you stand from the couch.

“Hwa?” You check on him, noticing his anxious behavior. It’s rare that you call him by that nickname, but you’re trying to do it more often.

He scratches the back of his neck, stuck in his own thoughts.

“I uh… if you want– I mean, you can stay here, if you want.”

You’d tease him for his eloquence if you weren’t busy processing what he’s saying. Now you’re stuck.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you say quietly, looking down at your purse. If you stay, you’d need to ask for so many things from him for the night. Clothes to sleep in for one, a toothbrush, a blanket and pillow for the couch, makeup remover, and… no, not that. You put the end of that thought out of your mind. There’s no need for it, you tell yourself.

Seonghwa steps closer to you, “No, not intruding at all. I’d like it if you stayed, but… if you’d rather leave then that’s fine too.”

In danger of sounding too enthusiastic, you make sure he’s being serious about his offer. “Are you sure?”

This time, he just nods. He lets you think it over.

He watches you place your purse down on the couch. You shyly look back up to him, hoping he’s being serious about his offer. He seems to relax again. A hand reaches out for you to take, which you do, and he leads you into the kitchen. You hop up on the kitchen counter, letting your heels gently hit the cabinets as he washes and dries the dishes. You try to convince him to let you help, at least drying them, but he refuses.

“A guest shouldn’t have to do any work,” he states.

When the dishes are done, he brings you into his room so he can get some clothes for you. His room is very… him. That’s the best way you can describe it. You emerge from his closet, in his T-shirt and sweatpants that you roll up so you don’t step on them. He lets you use his bathroom to take your makeup off and tells you there’s a new toothbrush in its packaging in one of the drawers there. That, there is.

You look away quickly when you place the toothbrush next to his in the little holder.

Y/N, it’ll never work, you tell yourself.

He’s back in the living room when you come out of the bathroom, tying your hair up. He looks up at you from the couch and offers a small smile, and your pick for a ‘double feature’ night. You grin as you take the remote from him, sitting next to him and beginning your search. You’ll show him one of your favorites.

As the movie starts, the two of you resume your earlier positions – you leaning against his shoulder, and him settling back against the couch. This time, he has his arm over the back of the couch, and almost halfway through the movie, he lets it drift closer, but ultimately doesn’t touch you. He’s still so overly cautious. You kind of want him to snap out of it, but at the same time, you feel that much more safe with him. He’ll keep himself close enough to make you feel protected, and not like he’s expecting anything from you. By doing this, he gives you the option to either lean into it or ignore it and keep to yourself. It’s there if you want it, and it’s immediately taken away if you don’t.

You wouldn’t have such a choice with Yunho…

By the time the double feature comes to an end, and the credits start to roll up the screen, you’re sleepily smushed into Seonghwa’s side. He gently shakes you and you mumble incoherently that you’re awake while your eyelids lose the fight to stay open. Very convincing. He turns the TV off and takes your hand to help you off the couch. You wake up just enough to stand and rub your eyes.

“Do you have an extra blanket?” You ask, gesturing to the couch. It’s definitely comfortable enough to sleep on.

Seonghwa blinks before understanding. “Oh, yeah, I do.”

He disappears into his room to retrieve it and hands it to you. You wrap it around your shoulders. He shoves his hands in his pockets, unsure of what to say or do in this standstill. He won’t outwardly say what he wants for fear of sounding like Yunho, and you won’t say what you want for fear of making him uncomfortable. The kitchen light casts shadows against both of your faces. You hug the blanket tighter around you.

It’ll never work.

The polite exchanges of ‘goodnight’ send you both off to sleep.

In theory.

You spend an hour on the couch trying to reclaim the heaviness in your eyelids and the deep relaxation needed in order to sleep, but neither will return.

Two hours later, still with no success, you give up for the time being and scroll on your phone. However, you exhaust all of your social media apps rather quickly – you don’t follow many people anyway. Phone set back down, you get up and shuffle to the kitchen to get some water. You feel like you’re snooping through his stuff as you try to find a glass to put said water in, and eventually pull open the right cabinet. As you set it down carefully on the counter, you note the time on the oven clock. Almost two-thirty. You groan inwardly, knowing you’re probably in for a sleepless night.

Oh, well. It’s better than potentially having a nightmare on his couch, you suppose.

You wince as the cabinet closes a little too loudly, hopefully not disturbing Seonghwa while he sleeps. Trying to be even more quiet, you fill your glass with water and lean against the kitchen counter, just taking in the view of his apartment from there. You like the huge windows in the living room the most. It takes up most of the wall space and boasts a rather pretty view of the city. You take a small sip, the water feeling nice so late at night. Definitely needed.

There’s some small rustling noise from Seonghwa’s bedroom and you freeze, hoping you didn’t wake him up with that cabinet.

But he pads out to the kitchen, rubbing one of his eyes and stopping in his tracks once he sees you.

“Hey,” he says quietly, looking over at the discarded blanket on the couch. “You okay?”

You set your glass back down, “Yeah, I’m okay. Can’t sleep.”

He hums, nodding. “I can’t either.”

Instead of awkwardly standing still in front of each other, he moves to your side to get himself a drink as well. Instead of water, he substitutes it for soju. He reasons it might help him sleep. From the same cabinet, he grabs a smaller glass and fills it up about halfway with soju. He drinks it all in one go, wincing slightly as it burns down. You laugh lightly at his expression, and his ears turn pink. You wonder what type of drunk he is. Maybe one day you’ll find out, you doubt he’s about to get hammered tonight. He takes another shot, and then puts the bottle away.

Something tells you he drinks in order to sleep quite a lot.

You cradle your little glass of water self-consciously. Being here may be nice for you, but it could be triggering him, and he’s just too nice to you to say anything. You look down at his clothes hanging off your body and bite your lip.

“Hey,” he gets your attention, “enough of that.”

“What?” You ask, even though you know he caught you overthinking.

“I want you here. And this,” he gestures to the bottle, “is getting better.”

You lower your head again, feeling caught. He also all but confirmed that what you were thinking is true, or was up until recently.

“I don’t dream if I drink,” he says in a quieter voice. “So…”

Maybe it’s late-night courage, or what have you, but you set your water down and wrap your arms around him in a hug. You’ve wanted to do this since you walked in. Luckily, he doesn’t tense or back away from you like you’re afraid he will. No, he pulls you tighter against him, sighing against your hair as one of his hands rests on the back of your head.

Two broken people in the kitchen, holding the pieces of each other together.

You’re not sure how long you stay like this, but when you two eventually pull away, he takes your hand. He avoids eye contact again, trying to build enough confidence to say something.

“I don’t like sleeping alone,” he admits.

Your cheeks warm. He knows you don’t either. That’s one of the things Yunho told him the night he left. “Me neither.”

Seonghwa nods once. You look back over at the couch. Surely the two of you can be comfortable there for the night? You don’t want to intrude on his private space. You feel like a vampire, you can’t go into a room without being invited first.

This invitation isn’t verbal.

Seonghwa gently leads you into his room before hurrying back to the couch to grab the blanket again. When he reenters, you’re still standing in the middle of his room. God, both of you are so awkward and so overly cautious with each other. You think it’ll just be like this until you both get better mentally. You already plan to talk with him in the morning. For now, you let him know that you don’t feel pressured, and that you want to be here.

He physically relaxes, obviously worried about that until you said something. He gets into bed first, sighing once he settles down. You get in after him slowly, still checking him to see if it’s okay, if he’s not regretting his offer. It doesn’t look like it.

You lay apart, with a few inches of distance between you two, for a couple of minutes, both trying to sleep. It is quickly apparent that this won’t help. You risk moving closer to him, laying your hand next to his. Still awake as well, he plays with your bracelet for a while before he moves to hold your hand properly.

It’s a gradual shift, testing the waters to see what the other is okay with. Eventually, there are no more inches of distance between you, and you’re curling up by his side, your arm laid over his torso, and his arm wrapped around you.

“Does this feel… is this okay?” He checks one more time as the soju starts to kick in, dragging him towards sleep. He fights against it for a little longer, needing to hear your verdict.

You look around the room.

Trinkets overflow off of shelves, a huge monitor on his LED illuminated desk, an equally large Lego collection showcased behind glass, a bladeless fan perched on his nightstand, also equipped with soft LED lights, and small, miscellaneous plants anywhere else there’s room.

You look up at him.

His eyelashes dust the tops of his cheeks as he waits for your reply. He holds a slight tension in his hand, ready to either let go of you entirely, or pull you in closer.

And suddenly, there’s no more forest. No more cameras or fire. No more water or knives or guns, or belts. There’s no more betrayal, tests, or fear. There’s only him. And for tonight, that’s enough. That will make all the difference in the world. Everything else you’ll figure out in the morning, already visualizing the many texts you’ll wake up to from your mother, asking where the hell you are. You’re content to stay right here until your flight home, honestly.

You nuzzle your cheek against the space between his shoulder and his chest. His cheek rests against the top of your head and he gently presses you closer. Both of you breathe in the other.

“It’s perfect.”

END OF STOCKHOLM.

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