what if you had chosen yourself that night? what if you chose to be selfish and ignored your brother when he needed help? what if the future you had dreamed of could have actually been reality?
they say itâs impossible to mourn something thatâs never existed. but if that were true, you wouldnât have to sit in your room at night grieving the life you couldâve have. perhaps that was the heaviest grief you carried, the things you almost had, but never could have. itâs the feeling of being right there, yet letting it slip away between your fingers after making the wrong decision.
because now, all your mornings seem to start the same. waking up to stale air, stepping over the piles of clothes on the floor, and an apartment that reeks of everything that makes your stomach curl in disgust and humiliation when you remember it belongs to you. you donât even check to see if your brotherâs home, you canât bring yourself to care enough to check. you grab your work bag, shoving your apron that smells of grease into your bag and leave as if it was clockwork.
the stairwell smells like mildew and cigarettes. each step creaks like it might collapse under your weight. the air outside isnât any better, sticky with humidity, but youâve learnt to be grateful for anything that wasnât your apartment.
you wait at the bus stop with your headphones on, but with no music playing, merely noise from a new podcast thatâs just enough to drown out the melancholy that comes in the form of your thoughts. your body aches in that same dull, permanent way that feels older than your years. your bus groans to a stop exactly on time. you take a seat by the window when you board, letting yourself lean against the glass that rattles with each bump. you close your eyes. three stops, and then a fifteen minute train ride to your workplace. the same as always.
itâs 7:36am when you find yourself walking to the restaurant from the train station. you shove past salarymen, groups of high school students that stick closely together and tourists who walk way too slow for your comfort. you think nothing would stop your stride, until you spot a poster that catches your attention almost immediately.
taped to the side of a lamppost is a missingâs person poster. glossy, pristine, too clean for the grime of the street youâre walking. on it, a family portrait with polished smiles and designer clothes. the teenage girl in the middle beams with her parentsâ hands resting on her shoulder, with bright eyes, perfect hair, and a perfect life.
âmissing.â the word blares across the top in bold black letters, screaming for attention. beneath it, details about the girl, a plea and other important information youâre able to recite off the top of your head from the hundreds of times youâve read it. you skim past every detail before landing at the bottom, reading a phone number in bright red. âplease call if you have any information.â
you grit your teeth. you donât even realise your handâs ripped the paper from the post, the sound sharp in the morning air. you crumple the paper tight until it cuts your palm, shoving it into somewhere deep in your bag. you donât know why you keep doing this.
the restaurant looms ahead. you continue walking despite the anger that sits heavy in your chest.
the restaurant isnât any better. it smells of stale fryer oil and expired coffee when youâre wiping tables down before the doors open. the smell is grotesque, but it started to feel uniquely familiar in the many years youâve worked in this god forsaken restaurant. your hand scrubs at every table until your reflection distorts on its surface. itâs normal. routine.
until your manager calls you in. he doesnât bother disclosing what for until you shut the office door behind you. he leans back lazily in his chair, eyes skimming over the amount of infractions youâve racked up over the last few weeks. you let your head hang in shame, eyes glued to the red carpet floor beneath you as you bite so hard on your cheek that blood draws.
âbetween disrespecting me, showing up looking like-â his eyes drag over you as he dissects every aspect of your appearance. it makes your skin crawl. âthat. and being mediocre at your job, i have no fucking idea why i keep you around. i shouldâve hired someone else months ago.â
you keep your chin down, because you know better than to talk back. you know better than to yell back and risk your job when he has every right to fire you at that very moment. every word cuts, but you donât flinch. you canât. you need the money.
âiâll do better,â you croak out. âplease. just⊠give me more shifts. iâll prove it.â
he sneers, pretending to shuffle papers on his desk to act like heâs doing something. âfine, but you keep this shit up and iâm finding someone else. donât think you arenât replaceable.â
you nod, swallow whatever pride you have left, and leave. outside the office, you pause for a moment before walking back to the floor. you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to breathe as the humiliation slowly sinks in.
and when you open your eyes, you see him. suna, carrying boxes while he watches you with that same, enraging expression. the one thatâs impossible for you to read.
âthe fuck are you looking at?â you snap, sooner than you had expected yourself to.
he doesnât answer. doesnât even bother shrugging. he just stares at you, as if he sees right through all your anger. you decide you wonât wait for an answer, so you shove past him on your way out of that stuffy corridor.
you find yourself at the bar, slumped over the counter whilst makki and mattsun wipes down glasses. konoha joins in halfway, laughing as the three of you run your mouths.
âsheâs always dumping more than what i can handle,â you complain. âi fucking hate her.â
âthanks for carrying us,â makki snickers, patting your shoulder with fake sympathy.
âwhat, do i need to sleep with her so iâd get some fucking leniency like all you assholes?â you bite, straightening yourself up.
they laugh. a little too loud, and a little too ugly.
âcareful,â matsukawa leans towards you, bumping his shoulder against yours. âshe might start crying if she hears you.â
âof course you would know,â you scoff as you throw your rag at his head. he shrugs.
inexplicably, your stomach twists. you regret the words that left your mouth, but you donât make any sort of effort to retract your statements. you try to reason it out, try to justify your harsh words because she does get around. and yet, something sour and ugly burns at the back of your throat. it stays there, heavy and unmoving when you try to swallow it.
you know itâs wrong. so, you tell yourself that eventually youâll talk to her about it, but your fingers canât seem to stop trembling when she walks by, and you dont even spare her a glance.
you ignore the guilt that comes when she smiles at you. you smile back, though it never reaches your eyes. itâs not like sheâd ever notice. and when you walk away, your nails dig into the flesh of your palm as you pretend to forget what you promised yourself to do. itâs not the first youâve lied to yourself, and it certainly wonât be the last time.
âŠ
the kitchen isnât any better than the floor. at least, it feels that way to suna. the air is thicker, sure. itâs hotter, constantly smelling of oil and something burning. yet, suna canât help but feel that thereâs not much of a difference from dealing with cranky customers and having to hear chefs bark at each other in the sweltering heat.
itâs chaos, watching the chefs work. kyoutaniâs voice booms almost immediately after lev splashes hot oil on himself, burning another portion of his forearms. semi is quick to jump between them, separating them before kyoutani loses his temper. he hisses instructions at them, never failing to give lev an easier task. and throughout all that chaos, sakusa remains unbothered and calm. he does everything with extreme precision. he doesnât let a single movement go to waste.
itâs like a battlefield, suna thinks. itâs intriguing to him.
but what he finds even more intriguing, was you.
suna has never been the type to claim to be anything, but heâs always known that heâs one hell of an observer. suna notices the shift in your posture when you leave the kitchen, how you straighten up the moment youâre back on the floor. he notices how you snap at the cooks one moment, and make your next move with silent efficiency.
he watches your jaw clench, the way your eyes track every corner of the restaurant despite how you pretend that you couldnât care less about your job. he thinks back to when he spotted you outside the office, when you seemed to let your facade fall momentarily. when you thought nobody was watching.
he doesnât quite understand you, but thereâs something about you that makes him want to.
he shakes his head. itâs irritating, because it feels as though every thought heâs had somehow always drifts back to you.
âŠ
when the rush passes, the restaurant bleeds quiet. the staff lingers, too tired or lazy to move fast. youâre wiping down the bar counter when konoha slides the same missing poster across the counter.
âthe hell is this?â you narrow your eyes as konoha shrugs.
âsaw this poster again outside the station,â he states. âshe kinda looks like you. thought it was funny.â
mattsun snatches the poster from the counter as he leans his body weight onto the broom he was holding. his eyes scan the poster carefully, and then his gaze shifts from your face to the girl in the poster again and again until he lets out an amused laugh.
âholy shit. youâre right,â he holds the poster next to your face as a comparison. âyou could actually pull it off.â
you kick the broom mattsun leans on, causing him to jerk slightly as he fumbles. the poster slips out of his hands. just as you were about to grab it, makkiâs hand snatches it and he doesnât waste a single second examining the poster.
âmaybe you should call the number and pretend to be the girl in this,â makki suggests. âeasy ticket out of your dumpster fire of a life.â
you step on his shoe without hesitation. when he flinches, you snatch the poster out of his hand. you donât bother looking at the poster, only giving it a light skim, because youâve seen in a hundred times. you donât let yourself take a proper look.
âyou really think theyâd believe me?â you scoff dismissively as you shove the poster back into konohaâs hands. âi wasnât built for that high society bullshit.â
âwho knows?â konoha skims over the poster once more. âi doubt the girl in the poster would come back and catch you red handed or something.â
âyeah, we all know all these âmissingâ girls are just runaways,â makki slides into the seat next to you. âor maybe rotting in the ground somewhere the police would never think to look.â
âyou canât say that,â mattsun laughs, but he doesnât make an effort to stop him. âheâs right though. missing people have a real low chance of being found, i bet if you showed up at their doorstep pretending to be their daughter, they wouldnât question it and take you in.â
you freeze. the rag in your hand suddenly seems heavy. you open your mouth to say something, anything, really. but the words die on your tongue and nothing comes out. you try to ignore the ache in your throat, and for a second you just stare into your distorted reflection on the counter as if itâs the only thing keeping you anchored.
âhey, i think sheâs actually considering it,â makki nudges you, and konoha and mattsun canât help but laugh at the thought.
âi would never stoop that low,â you continue to wipe the counter as you listen to their loud, teasing laughter.
âsure,â mattsun shrugs. âwhatever you say.â
you look up. âiâm serious.â
âwe believe you,â he raises his hands in mock defeat.
you scoff. they laugh again. loud, easy, teasing. the type of laughter that echoes in the empty restaurant. itâs the type of laughter that makes you feel small, small enough to be stepped on and glanced over. the same way those girls in high school made you feel. but you force yourself to ignore it, squeezing your eyes shut as your chest hammers and your pulse twists into the strange, erratic rhythm.
âlighten up,â konoha snaps you out of your daze. âweâre just messing with you. relax.â
you donât relax. because they arenât aware that the same missing poster sits somewhere at the bottom of your bag, crumpled and rotting along with the countless notices youâve torn from your door. the thought gnaws at you, though. that maybe, just maybe, it wouldnât be the worst thing in the world.
âyeah, sure,â you shake your head, and you force yourself to let out a dry laugh. âiâll consider it.â
makki slaps a hand onto your back, gripping your shoulder as he shakes you. âthatâs the spirit! donât forget to send us some money when youâre rich, okay?â
they laugh, again. you laugh with them, but it isnât real. because your stomach twists, it twists itself into something sharp and unforgiving, something thatâs impossible for you to just ignore. it churns like a storm behind your ribs, and you canât help but tremble slightly as you shove the rag into one of their faces.
they donât notice, though. and honestly? youâre glad they donât, because itâs a lot safer that way.
time blurs as you continue to clean. between scrubbing each table, stacking the chairs, and arranging menus, youâre not sure how much time has passed. at this hour, everything feels dragged out, because the faint smell of burnt oil lingers like it wonât leave no matter how much you try to scrub it off you.
your hands are damp, and your arms ache from carrying trays all day. your managerâs voice still echoes in your skull, every word lodged somewhere deep into the crevices of your skin.
replaceable.
the word follows you down the corridor. it haunts you even when youâre scrubbing away at the marbled countertop. you hate how easily it bothers you, how easily it got to you. you hate how after all these years, after all the shit youâve put up with, some bald middle-aged man in the middle of a divorce can still make you feel as if youâre sixteen all over again.
youâre carrying another load of dirty glasses to the back when a shadow blocks your path, forcing you to collide into them in your daze.
âcareful,â a familiar voice warns calmly.
âwatch it,â you snap, purely out of habit.
you look up, and you feel an instant surge of anger spread through you. suna, with the blank expression that makes you want to punch the hell out of him until he begs for mercy. heâs balancing a stack of produce crates against his hip, looking annoyingly unaffected by the chaos around him.
âmy bad,â is all he says.
you roll your eyes. you immediately take a step to your right to try and walk around him. but the asshole shifts, still in your way.
âmove,â you grit as you feel your palms begin to turn red from how hard theyâre pressing into the plastic tray.
suna raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. âyou were the one who almost walked into me.â
âbut i didnât, did i?â you narrow your eyes at him.
âbarely,â he quips back immediately. âand only because i managed to warn you in time.â
you stare at him, hoping to intimidate him a little. but he just stares right back, and it somehow irritates you more than it should. everything about him irritates you more than it should. the way he always looks so unbothered, like heâd rather be anywhere else than here. the way he somehow manages to look at you as if heâs already figured something out.
âyou always this annoying?â you ask.
he shrugs, and you can feel your anger spike in real time. âonly around you, probably.â
your eye twitches. suna notices. you know he notices, because heâs somehow managed to narrow his eyes at you more than he already had, and you feel as though hes scrutinising you.
ârough day?â suna asks.
your stomach drops, and you immediately hate the question. hate how casually he asked it. hate that he of all people asked.
âmind your own business,â you shove past him, purposefully bumping into his shoulder as you make your way to the counters. you dump your tray of dirty glasses into the sink and let them clatter.
âthat bad, huh?â he asks again.
âi said mind your own fucking business,â you turn back to face him.
suna can only hum in response. he looks at you as if heâs already filing the response somewhere in his brain, as if youâve just confirmed something.
for once, you feel a little threatened by someoneâs mere existence. so you do the only thing you know how to do; you try to fight and ignore it. you push past him again, this time pushing harder so that your shoulder knocks into his. still, he barely reacts.
âyou know,â suna starts, though your back is turned to his as youâre walking away. âfor someone who pretends to be so unbothered, you sure did seem upset after your talk with the manager.â
you stop dead in your tracks, realising heâs referring back to when he saw you try and recompose yourself after the talk with your manager outside his office. slowly, you turn around and try to gauge his expression.
âthe fuck is your problem?â you spat, not caring how harsh you might seem.
âdonât have one,â suna shrugs.
âthen stop watching everything i do,â you roll your eyes.
âhard not to.â
you let out a short laugh, though itâs humourless. âyouâre a fucking weirdo, you know that?â
âprobably am,â suna agrees easily, not even sounding the least bit apologetic.
âdonât you have better things to be doing?â you ask, watching him balance the crates on his hip still.
âprobably,â he agrees casually, again.
âthen go do it,â you gesture at the crates. suna can only shrug for the millionth time, as if he doesnât have any other gestures to do. ânah,â suna responds.
something ugly twists in your chest, because heâs still staring at you. or rather, heâs watching you, really watching you. not at your loud and messy hair, nor the piercings that litter your skin, not even the attitude you carry as a protective mechanism. for some odd reason, you get the horrible feeling that heâs really looking whatâs underneath all of it, despite the fact youâve had little to do with him. and you canât explain why it bothers you so much.
âyou look tired,â he observes.
your mouth opens as if to say something, but youâre genuinely dumbfounded so you just stare at him with your mouth slightly agape. the words hit harder than they should, because heâs not mocking you like mattsun and makki were, not looking down on you like how your manager was, hell heâs not even pitying you the way semi did when the two of you had gone out drinking together and you started to drunkenly cry about your troubles. sunaâs just saying it, like itâs a fact and as if itâs obvious, even.
you suddenly feel exposed, for some reason.
âfuck off,â is all you manage as your jaw clenches.
sunaâs gaze doesnât falter. âokay.â
you turn back on your heel, pushing the kitchen doors open as you walk back onto the floor. you donât look back, but you can still feel his gaze following you. following you out of the kitchen. and even as youâre performing your closing duties, the feeling doesnât leave.
you try to convince yourself that itâs just because heâs annoying. that heâs arrogant, full of shit and probably hasnât lifted a finger his entire life. but none of those explanations felt quite right.
and when you finally step out of the restaurant, the night air hits your face, but you swear you could still feel him. his presence. the way he seems to know exactly how to get under your skin without even touching you.
you hate it. you hate how he somehow manages to weasel his way into your thoughts even as youâre on your way home.
âŠ
the lock sticks when you turn the key. you feel the urge to roll your eyes at how often this has happened. you shove your shoulder into the door and push it open with what little strength you have left, already bracing yourself for the inevitable in your apartment.
but when you step inside, the lights are on.
the tv murmurs from somewhere deep inside the apartment, low and fuzzy as if itâs been left on for hours. you stand at the entrance of your apartment for a second, your work bag still digging into your shoulder.
it feels quieter than usual. you know your apartment is small, but it feels unusually smaller as you process the lack of noise. almost as if the walls have crept in while you were gone. a knot forms in your chest, your mind racing with worst case scenarios.
you let out a shaky breath as you kick the door shut behind you.
itâs too quiet.
you swallow, looking around. the hum of the fridge, the buzz of the tv, the stale smell of smoke that never really leaves. you suddenly feel painfully aware of everything in your apartment with the absence of your brother.
you drop your bag on the floor, causing a pile of his dirty shirts to fall over. you call out his name once. nothing. the knot in your chest tightens. twice. nothing.
âfuck,â you breathe out, letting the panicked and racing thoughts take over.
you fumble for your phone. your mind races with everyone of his junkie friends that couldâve last seen him, his sellers, hell even the police officer who knows you by name due to the amount of times youâve had to pick him up for the station for his antics. you let your thoughts consume you before being forcibly jolted out of your own mind by a loud slam of the bathroom door.
âyouâre in your own head again,â your brother calls out, using a moldy towel to dry his hair as you stare at him.
your shoulders tense before you even realise it. you donât dignify him with a response.
your brother sinks into the couch. he stretches his legs out, head tipped back as he lights a cigarette. he looks fine, surprisingly. his eyes are glassy, sure. but theyâre alert.
âyou scared me, asshole,â you finally manage, picking up your work bag.
he hums, uninterested. he merely takes a drag of the cigarette in between his fingers. you scoff, but he merely clicks his tongue.
âleftover takeout in the fridge,â he states.
you nod once. you donât say thank you.
you search for the cigarettes in your bag, because god forbid you take one of his. in the process, something slips out with the pack, fluttering the floor near your feet. you freeze.
the missing poster.
your brother glances over, but quickly turns his attention back to the tv. you crouch and pick it up before he can see. smooth it out with your thumb without really meaning to.
the edges are crumpled, corners bent soft from being shoved too deep into your bag. the girlâs face stares back up at you, bright-eyed and smiling, framed by people who look like they belong to her. she looks clean. cared for, even. she looks like sheâs never had to think twice before buying dinner.
you shove it back into your pocket.
he watches you for a second longer than usual. his smile fades just a bit, like something flickers behind his eyes.
âyou still thinking about doing it, huh?â he asks casually. careless even, as if heâs asking about the weather.
your chest tightens.
âdoing what?â you snap, your fingers trembling.
âyou know. the posters. leaving me and going toâŠâ he makes exaggerated gestures with his hands. âall that.â
you stare at him. at the way he wonât quite meet your eyes. at the cigarette burning low between his fingers.
âyou really think iâd do that?â you ask.
he shrugs. takes another drag before answering you. âyouâre not that selfless, you know.. no matter how hard you try to act like you are.â
something cold settles in your stomach at his words.
you donât answer. you turn away before he can see your face and move toward the couch. you sit, sink into the cushions like your bones are suddenly too heavy to hold you upright. you light a cigarette with shaking fingers.
the smoke curls up toward the ceiling, slow and thick.
behind you, the tv keeps playing. your brother laughs again, louder this time, already moving on, already forgetting the question he just dropped into your lap like it didnât matter.
you inhale, and then exhale before answering:
âyouâre a fucking asshole, you know that?â the cigarette dangles between your fingers as you stare at the shitty drama that plays on the screen. ironically, itâs about a happy family thatâs being torn apart by money problems.
your brother doesnât answer. he just laughs at another dumb joke before he continues to smoke. something tells you heâs laughing at how eerily familiar it feels. you lean back into the couch as you let the exhaustion take over you. you take another drag, hence deciding to forget your brother even said anything in the first place as your gaze lingers on the missing poster thatâs crumpled up at the bottom of your bag.
a/n â đ€đ yo is this thing still on⊠is anyone still interested in thisâŠ
what if you had chosen yourself that night? what if you chose to be selfish and ignored your brother when he needed help? what if the future you had dreamed of could have actually been reality?
they say itâs impossible to mourn something thatâs never existed. but if that were true, you wouldnât have to sit in your room at night grieving the life you couldâve have. perhaps that was the heaviest grief you carried, the things you almost had, but never could have. itâs the feeling of being right there, yet letting it slip away between your fingers after making the wrong decision.
because now, all your mornings seem to start the same. waking up to stale air, stepping over the piles of clothes on the floor, and an apartment that reeks of everything that makes your stomach curl in disgust and humiliation when you remember it belongs to you. you donât even check to see if your brotherâs home, you canât bring yourself to care enough to check. you grab your work bag, shoving your apron that smells of grease into your bag and leave as if it was clockwork.
the stairwell smells like mildew and cigarettes. each step creaks like it might collapse under your weight. the air outside isnât any better, sticky with humidity, but youâve learnt to be grateful for anything that wasnât your apartment.
you wait at the bus stop with your headphones on, but with no music playing, merely noise from a new podcast thatâs just enough to drown out the melancholy that comes in the form of your thoughts. your body aches in that same dull, permanent way that feels older than your years. your bus groans to a stop exactly on time. you take a seat by the window when you board, letting yourself lean against the glass that rattles with each bump. you close your eyes. three stops, and then a fifteen minute train ride to your workplace. the same as always.
itâs 7:36am when you find yourself walking to the restaurant from the train station. you shove past salarymen, groups of high school students that stick closely together and tourists who walk way too slow for your comfort. you think nothing would stop your stride, until you spot a poster that catches your attention almost immediately.
taped to the side of a lamppost is a missingâs person poster. glossy, pristine, too clean for the grime of the street youâre walking. on it, a family portrait with polished smiles and designer clothes. the teenage girl in the middle beams with her parentsâ hands resting on her shoulder, with bright eyes, perfect hair, and a perfect life.
âmissing.â the word blares across the top in bold black letters, screaming for attention. beneath it, details about the girl, a plea and other important information youâre able to recite off the top of your head from the hundreds of times youâve read it. you skim past every detail before landing at the bottom, reading a phone number in bright red. âplease call if you have any information.â
you grit your teeth. you donât even realise your handâs ripped the paper from the post, the sound sharp in the morning air. you crumple the paper tight until it cuts your palm, shoving it into somewhere deep in your bag. you donât know why you keep doing this.
the restaurant looms ahead. you continue walking despite the anger that sits heavy in your chest.
the restaurant isnât any better. it smells of stale fryer oil and expired coffee when youâre wiping tables down before the doors open. the smell is grotesque, but it started to feel uniquely familiar in the many years youâve worked in this god forsaken restaurant. your hand scrubs at every table until your reflection distorts on its surface. itâs normal. routine.
until your manager calls you in. he doesnât bother disclosing what for until you shut the office door behind you. he leans back lazily in his chair, eyes skimming over the amount of infractions youâve racked up over the last few weeks. you let your head hang in shame, eyes glued to the red carpet floor beneath you as you bite so hard on your cheek that blood draws.
âbetween disrespecting me, showing up looking like-â his eyes drag over you as he dissects every aspect of your appearance. it makes your skin crawl. âthat. and being mediocre at your job, i have no fucking idea why i keep you around. i shouldâve hired someone else months ago.â
you keep your chin down, because you know better than to talk back. you know better than to yell back and risk your job when he has every right to fire you at that very moment. every word cuts, but you donât flinch. you canât. you need the money.
âiâll do better,â you croak out. âplease. just⊠give me more shifts. iâll prove it.â
he sneers, pretending to shuffle papers on his desk to act like heâs doing something. âfine, but you keep this shit up and iâm finding someone else. donât think you arenât replaceable.â
you nod, swallow whatever pride you have left, and leave. outside the office, you pause for a moment before walking back to the floor. you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to breathe as the humiliation slowly sinks in.
and when you open your eyes, you see him. suna, carrying boxes while he watches you with that same, enraging expression. the one thatâs impossible for you to read.
âthe fuck are you looking at?â you snap, sooner than you had expected yourself to.
he doesnât answer. doesnât even bother shrugging. he just stares at you, as if he sees right through all your anger. you decide you wonât wait for an answer, so you shove past him on your way out of that stuffy corridor.
you find yourself at the bar, slumped over the counter whilst makki and mattsun wipes down glasses. konoha joins in halfway, laughing as the three of you run your mouths.
âsheâs always dumping more than what i can handle,â you complain. âi fucking hate her.â
âthanks for carrying us,â makki snickers, patting your shoulder with fake sympathy.
âwhat, do i need to sleep with her so iâd get some fucking leniency like all you assholes?â you bite, straightening yourself up.
they laugh. a little too loud, and a little too ugly.
âcareful,â matsukawa leans towards you, bumping his shoulder against yours. âshe might start crying if she hears you.â
âof course you would know,â you scoff as you throw your rag at his head. he shrugs.
inexplicably, your stomach twists. you regret the words that left your mouth, but you donât make any sort of effort to retract your statements. you try to reason it out, try to justify your harsh words because she does get around. and yet, something sour and ugly burns at the back of your throat. it stays there, heavy and unmoving when you try to swallow it.
you know itâs wrong. so, you tell yourself that eventually youâll talk to her about it, but your fingers canât seem to stop trembling when she walks by, and you dont even spare her a glance.
you ignore the guilt that comes when she smiles at you. you smile back, though it never reaches your eyes. itâs not like sheâd ever notice. and when you walk away, your nails dig into the flesh of your palm as you pretend to forget what you promised yourself to do. itâs not the first youâve lied to yourself, and it certainly wonât be the last time.
âŠ
the kitchen isnât any better than the floor. at least, it feels that way to suna. the air is thicker, sure. itâs hotter, constantly smelling of oil and something burning. yet, suna canât help but feel that thereâs not much of a difference from dealing with cranky customers and having to hear chefs bark at each other in the sweltering heat.
itâs chaos, watching the chefs work. kyoutaniâs voice booms almost immediately after lev splashes hot oil on himself, burning another portion of his forearms. semi is quick to jump between them, separating them before kyoutani loses his temper. he hisses instructions at them, never failing to give lev an easier task. and throughout all that chaos, sakusa remains unbothered and calm. he does everything with extreme precision. he doesnât let a single movement go to waste.
itâs like a battlefield, suna thinks. itâs intriguing to him.
but what he finds even more intriguing, was you.
suna has never been the type to claim to be anything, but heâs always known that heâs one hell of an observer. suna notices the shift in your posture when you leave the kitchen, how you straighten up the moment youâre back on the floor. he notices how you snap at the cooks one moment, and make your next move with silent efficiency.
he watches your jaw clench, the way your eyes track every corner of the restaurant despite how you pretend that you couldnât care less about your job. he thinks back to when he spotted you outside the office, when you seemed to let your facade fall momentarily. when you thought nobody was watching.
he doesnât quite understand you, but thereâs something about you that makes him want to.
he shakes his head. itâs irritating, because it feels as though every thought heâs had somehow always drifts back to you.
âŠ
when the rush passes, the restaurant bleeds quiet. the staff lingers, too tired or lazy to move fast. youâre wiping down the bar counter when konoha slides the same missing poster across the counter.
âthe hell is this?â you narrow your eyes as konoha shrugs.
âsaw this poster again outside the station,â he states. âshe kinda looks like you. thought it was funny.â
mattsun snatches the poster from the counter as he leans his body weight onto the broom he was holding. his eyes scan the poster carefully, and then his gaze shifts from your face to the girl in the poster again and again until he lets out an amused laugh.
âholy shit. youâre right,â he holds the poster next to your face as a comparison. âyou could actually pull it off.â
you kick the broom mattsun leans on, causing him to jerk slightly as he fumbles. the poster slips out of his hands. just as you were about to grab it, makkiâs hand snatches it and he doesnât waste a single second examining the poster.
âmaybe you should call the number and pretend to be the girl in this,â makki suggests. âeasy ticket out of your dumpster fire of a life.â
you step on his shoe without hesitation. when he flinches, you snatch the poster out of his hand. you donât bother looking at the poster, only giving it a light skim, because youâve seen in a hundred times. you donât let yourself take a proper look.
âyou really think theyâd believe me?â you scoff dismissively as you shove the poster back into konohaâs hands. âi wasnât built for that high society bullshit.â
âwho knows?â konoha skims over the poster once more. âi doubt the girl in the poster would come back and catch you red handed or something.â
âyeah, we all know all these âmissingâ girls are just runaways,â makki slides into the seat next to you. âor maybe rotting in the ground somewhere the police would never think to look.â
âyou canât say that,â mattsun laughs, but he doesnât make an effort to stop him. âheâs right though. missing people have a real low chance of being found, i bet if you showed up at their doorstep pretending to be their daughter, they wouldnât question it and take you in.â
you freeze. the rag in your hand suddenly seems heavy. you open your mouth to say something, anything, really. but the words die on your tongue and nothing comes out. you try to ignore the ache in your throat, and for a second you just stare into your distorted reflection on the counter as if itâs the only thing keeping you anchored.
âhey, i think sheâs actually considering it,â makki nudges you, and konoha and mattsun canât help but laugh at the thought.
âi would never stoop that low,â you continue to wipe the counter as you listen to their loud, teasing laughter.
âsure,â mattsun shrugs. âwhatever you say.â
you look up. âiâm serious.â
âwe believe you,â he raises his hands in mock defeat.
you scoff. they laugh again. loud, easy, teasing. the type of laughter that echoes in the empty restaurant. itâs the type of laughter that makes you feel small, small enough to be stepped on and glanced over. the same way those girls in high school made you feel. but you force yourself to ignore it, squeezing your eyes shut as your chest hammers and your pulse twists into the strange, erratic rhythm.
âlighten up,â konoha snaps you out of your daze. âweâre just messing with you. relax.â
you donât relax. because they arenât aware that the same missing poster sits somewhere at the bottom of your bag, crumpled and rotting along with the countless notices youâve torn from your door. the thought gnaws at you, though. that maybe, just maybe, it wouldnât be the worst thing in the world.
âyeah, sure,â you shake your head, and you force yourself to let out a dry laugh. âiâll consider it.â
makki slaps a hand onto your back, gripping your shoulder as he shakes you. âthatâs the spirit! donât forget to send us some money when youâre rich, okay?â
they laugh, again. you laugh with them, but it isnât real. because your stomach twists, it twists itself into something sharp and unforgiving, something thatâs impossible for you to just ignore. it churns like a storm behind your ribs, and you canât help but tremble slightly as you shove the rag into one of their faces.
they donât notice, though. and honestly? youâre glad they donât, because itâs a lot safer that way.
time blurs as you continue to clean. between scrubbing each table, stacking the chairs, and arranging menus, youâre not sure how much time has passed. at this hour, everything feels dragged out, because the faint smell of burnt oil lingers like it wonât leave no matter how much you try to scrub it off you.
your hands are damp, and your arms ache from carrying trays all day. your managerâs voice still echoes in your skull, every word lodged somewhere deep into the crevices of your skin.
replaceable.
the word follows you down the corridor. it haunts you even when youâre scrubbing away at the marbled countertop. you hate how easily it bothers you, how easily it got to you. you hate how after all these years, after all the shit youâve put up with, some bald middle-aged man in the middle of a divorce can still make you feel as if youâre sixteen all over again.
youâre carrying another load of dirty glasses to the back when a shadow blocks your path, forcing you to collide into them in your daze.
âcareful,â a familiar voice warns calmly.
âwatch it,â you snap, purely out of habit.
you look up, and you feel an instant surge of anger spread through you. suna, with the blank expression that makes you want to punch the hell out of him until he begs for mercy. heâs balancing a stack of produce crates against his hip, looking annoyingly unaffected by the chaos around him.
âmy bad,â is all he says.
you roll your eyes. you immediately take a step to your right to try and walk around him. but the asshole shifts, still in your way.
âmove,â you grit as you feel your palms begin to turn red from how hard theyâre pressing into the plastic tray.
suna raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. âyou were the one who almost walked into me.â
âbut i didnât, did i?â you narrow your eyes at him.
âbarely,â he quips back immediately. âand only because i managed to warn you in time.â
you stare at him, hoping to intimidate him a little. but he just stares right back, and it somehow irritates you more than it should. everything about him irritates you more than it should. the way he always looks so unbothered, like heâd rather be anywhere else than here. the way he somehow manages to look at you as if heâs already figured something out.
âyou always this annoying?â you ask.
he shrugs, and you can feel your anger spike in real time. âonly around you, probably.â
your eye twitches. suna notices. you know he notices, because heâs somehow managed to narrow his eyes at you more than he already had, and you feel as though hes scrutinising you.
ârough day?â suna asks.
your stomach drops, and you immediately hate the question. hate how casually he asked it. hate that he of all people asked.
âmind your own business,â you shove past him, purposefully bumping into his shoulder as you make your way to the counters. you dump your tray of dirty glasses into the sink and let them clatter.
âthat bad, huh?â he asks again.
âi said mind your own fucking business,â you turn back to face him.
suna can only hum in response. he looks at you as if heâs already filing the response somewhere in his brain, as if youâve just confirmed something.
for once, you feel a little threatened by someoneâs mere existence. so you do the only thing you know how to do; you try to fight and ignore it. you push past him again, this time pushing harder so that your shoulder knocks into his. still, he barely reacts.
âyou know,â suna starts, though your back is turned to his as youâre walking away. âfor someone who pretends to be so unbothered, you sure did seem upset after your talk with the manager.â
you stop dead in your tracks, realising heâs referring back to when he saw you try and recompose yourself after the talk with your manager outside his office. slowly, you turn around and try to gauge his expression.
âthe fuck is your problem?â you spat, not caring how harsh you might seem.
âdonât have one,â suna shrugs.
âthen stop watching everything i do,â you roll your eyes.
âhard not to.â
you let out a short laugh, though itâs humourless. âyouâre a fucking weirdo, you know that?â
âprobably am,â suna agrees easily, not even sounding the least bit apologetic.
âdonât you have better things to be doing?â you ask, watching him balance the crates on his hip still.
âprobably,â he agrees casually, again.
âthen go do it,â you gesture at the crates. suna can only shrug for the millionth time, as if he doesnât have any other gestures to do. ânah,â suna responds.
something ugly twists in your chest, because heâs still staring at you. or rather, heâs watching you, really watching you. not at your loud and messy hair, nor the piercings that litter your skin, not even the attitude you carry as a protective mechanism. for some odd reason, you get the horrible feeling that heâs really looking whatâs underneath all of it, despite the fact youâve had little to do with him. and you canât explain why it bothers you so much.
âyou look tired,â he observes.
your mouth opens as if to say something, but youâre genuinely dumbfounded so you just stare at him with your mouth slightly agape. the words hit harder than they should, because heâs not mocking you like mattsun and makki were, not looking down on you like how your manager was, hell heâs not even pitying you the way semi did when the two of you had gone out drinking together and you started to drunkenly cry about your troubles. sunaâs just saying it, like itâs a fact and as if itâs obvious, even.
you suddenly feel exposed, for some reason.
âfuck off,â is all you manage as your jaw clenches.
sunaâs gaze doesnât falter. âokay.â
you turn back on your heel, pushing the kitchen doors open as you walk back onto the floor. you donât look back, but you can still feel his gaze following you. following you out of the kitchen. and even as youâre performing your closing duties, the feeling doesnât leave.
you try to convince yourself that itâs just because heâs annoying. that heâs arrogant, full of shit and probably hasnât lifted a finger his entire life. but none of those explanations felt quite right.
and when you finally step out of the restaurant, the night air hits your face, but you swear you could still feel him. his presence. the way he seems to know exactly how to get under your skin without even touching you.
you hate it. you hate how he somehow manages to weasel his way into your thoughts even as youâre on your way home.
âŠ
the lock sticks when you turn the key. you feel the urge to roll your eyes at how often this has happened. you shove your shoulder into the door and push it open with what little strength you have left, already bracing yourself for the inevitable in your apartment.
but when you step inside, the lights are on.
the tv murmurs from somewhere deep inside the apartment, low and fuzzy as if itâs been left on for hours. you stand at the entrance of your apartment for a second, your work bag still digging into your shoulder.
it feels quieter than usual. you know your apartment is small, but it feels unusually smaller as you process the lack of noise. almost as if the walls have crept in while you were gone. a knot forms in your chest, your mind racing with worst case scenarios.
you let out a shaky breath as you kick the door shut behind you.
itâs too quiet.
you swallow, looking around. the hum of the fridge, the buzz of the tv, the stale smell of smoke that never really leaves. you suddenly feel painfully aware of everything in your apartment with the absence of your brother.
you drop your bag on the floor, causing a pile of his dirty shirts to fall over. you call out his name once. nothing. the knot in your chest tightens. twice. nothing.
âfuck,â you breathe out, letting the panicked and racing thoughts take over.
you fumble for your phone. your mind races with everyone of his junkie friends that couldâve last seen him, his sellers, hell even the police officer who knows you by name due to the amount of times youâve had to pick him up for the station for his antics. you let your thoughts consume you before being forcibly jolted out of your own mind by a loud slam of the bathroom door.
âyouâre in your own head again,â your brother calls out, using a moldy towel to dry his hair as you stare at him.
your shoulders tense before you even realise it. you donât dignify him with a response.
your brother sinks into the couch. he stretches his legs out, head tipped back as he lights a cigarette. he looks fine, surprisingly. his eyes are glassy, sure. but theyâre alert.
âyou scared me, asshole,â you finally manage, picking up your work bag.
he hums, uninterested. he merely takes a drag of the cigarette in between his fingers. you scoff, but he merely clicks his tongue.
âleftover takeout in the fridge,â he states.
you nod once. you donât say thank you.
you search for the cigarettes in your bag, because god forbid you take one of his. in the process, something slips out with the pack, fluttering the floor near your feet. you freeze.
the missing poster.
your brother glances over, but quickly turns his attention back to the tv. you crouch and pick it up before he can see. smooth it out with your thumb without really meaning to.
the edges are crumpled, corners bent soft from being shoved too deep into your bag. the girlâs face stares back up at you, bright-eyed and smiling, framed by people who look like they belong to her. she looks clean. cared for, even. she looks like sheâs never had to think twice before buying dinner.
you shove it back into your pocket.
he watches you for a second longer than usual. his smile fades just a bit, like something flickers behind his eyes.
âyou still thinking about doing it, huh?â he asks casually. careless even, as if heâs asking about the weather.
your chest tightens.
âdoing what?â you snap, your fingers trembling.
âyou know. the posters. leaving me and going toâŠâ he makes exaggerated gestures with his hands. âall that.â
you stare at him. at the way he wonât quite meet your eyes. at the cigarette burning low between his fingers.
âyou really think iâd do that?â you ask.
he shrugs. takes another drag before answering you. âyouâre not that selfless, you know.. no matter how hard you try to act like you are.â
something cold settles in your stomach at his words.
you donât answer. you turn away before he can see your face and move toward the couch. you sit, sink into the cushions like your bones are suddenly too heavy to hold you upright. you light a cigarette with shaking fingers.
the smoke curls up toward the ceiling, slow and thick.
behind you, the tv keeps playing. your brother laughs again, louder this time, already moving on, already forgetting the question he just dropped into your lap like it didnât matter.
you inhale, and then exhale before answering:
âyouâre a fucking asshole, you know that?â the cigarette dangles between your fingers as you stare at the shitty drama that plays on the screen. ironically, itâs about a happy family thatâs being torn apart by money problems.
your brother doesnât answer. he just laughs at another dumb joke before he continues to smoke. something tells you heâs laughing at how eerily familiar it feels. you lean back into the couch as you let the exhaustion take over you. you take another drag, hence deciding to forget your brother even said anything in the first place as your gaze lingers on the missing poster thatâs crumpled up at the bottom of your bag.
a/n â đ€đ yo is this thing still on⊠is anyone still interested in thisâŠ
you have known your entire life that your existence is political. second born to the Throne, a daughter no less, your only purpose is to be wed to a prince to strengthen alliances. but you still hope to mean something to your new husband, despite the intentions behind your union.
you are sorely mistaken.
you realise quickly that you are as alone in your new home as you were in your childhood one. this is the fate that has been written for you, the reality you must live. but one knight might change it all when he swears an oath of fealty to you, and means it with every piece of his heart.
pairing: knight!choi seungcheol x princess/queen!reader
genre: medieval au, royalty au
word count: 9.9k
warnings (for this chapter): angst, hurt/comfort, feelings of loneliness and isolation, humiliation, tears, rebellion, some fluff, may have historical inaccuracies, mildly suggestive content, some politics and mentions of war, mentions of death.
series masterlist
One year and one month after your wedding, you receive a letter from your older brother.
It is held gingerly in Seungcheolâs hands one morning when he comes to your chambers to give you a rundown of the schedule for the day. You are not one to receive much correspondence, so you notice the sealed parchment in his hand immediately, raising an eyebrow.
âIt is from your brother.â Your Knight says, a shadow passing over his face. You freeze, your cup of morning tea halfway between your lap and your mouth. You did not expect Mingyu of all people to write to you, especially because he had not reached out since the one and only letter he wrote to you went unanswered over a year ago. Truthfully, you feel like you have nothing to say to your brother. You believed for a long time that he was your only well-wisher in the castle you grew up in, only to realise that he selfishly just wanted to marry you off to scum so he could inherit a stable Crown. You havenât spoken to him since you left.
You hold a hand out for the letter. Seungcheol hesitates. âAre you sure, Princess?â
You give him a dry look, one he has gotten very used to as part of your usual antics. Antics you reserve only for him and your handmaid Eunhee, who is currently peeling fruit for you. Anyone else would call you disrespectful and not a graceful, well-trained Princess. But Seungcheol would never judge. He likes it when you are authentic to yourself; he has stated that multiple times.
The parchment is warm and your hands are stable as you peel off the wax seal and unfold the letter. Mingyuâs familiar, neat scrawl makes something claw at your throat. You read the letter at a more rushed pace than you normally would, because despite everything, you want to know what he has to say. Then you read it again. Then a third time. Neither your Knight nor your handmaid say anything.
Then you finally lower the letter to your lap, and take a deep breath.
âMy parents have passed away.â
Eunhee freezes, head shooting up to look at you. Seungcheolâs posture stiffens in the chair where he sits. His mouth has dropped open.
âHeâs-â You swallow tightly when you hear your voice waver. âHeâs inviting me to attend his coronation next month.â
Seungcheol reaches for the letter. âMay I?â
You let it drop into his hand. You have no secrets from him.
Seungcheol reads over the letter carefully, thick eyebrows furrowed in concentration. You stare at the flames dancing in your fireplace. You hear him sigh and fold the parchment, gesturing to Eunhee. Silently, Eunhee sets down the plates sheâs holding and leaves the room, closing the door behind her with a careful click.
âHow are you feeling?â Seungcheol asks once youâre alone, voice low. You take a deep breath, trying to detangle the mess of thoughts in your head.
You were never close with your parents. Your mother had no intention of having another child after she had already birthed an heir, and the only reason she was willing to have more was to have another son in case the Crown fell upon him. Her reaction to your birth was apathy, to put it mildly. And she had maintained this indifference your entire life. You were raised in the hands of maids and other noblewomen. Your father was a busy man, and you would often go months without exchanging two words with him. This news of their deaths brings back memories that are not very fond, reminding you of the insignificance you felt your entire life, and how difficult it was to finally make your spine rigid, to make your words have meaning. Years of insecurity and feelings of worthlessness had to be undone for this.
âI donât know. I am shocked, I suppose.â You tilt your head, another question entering your mind. âHow come I heard it straight from Mingyu? Wouldnât he have sent a messenger from the castle as soon as it happened?â
Seungcheol nods. âNormally, yes. But you are aware that it is not a reassuring state of affairs between this monarchy and your previous one.â
Right. You do know that. Your refusal to acknowledge this marriage, to consummate it or pay respect to its sanctity, has meant that your parentsâ efforts to form political ties were in vain. The political stability guaranteed by this union did not stand strong. Tensions have risen. You have been a thorn in the side of the reigning King and Queen, as well as your husband, the Crown Prince, so any alliance formed with your blood family is essentially null and void, and exists only on paper. You know your married family is furious at your refusal to comply, which makes them unwilling to cooperate for any sort of relations with your blood family. The only reason you are still in this castle as a Crown Princess is because you are wedded in the eyes of the Church, and no matter how badly your husband and his mother would like to get rid of you, the Church elders and court officials will not let that stand.
There is, also, the fact that none of the Princeâs mistresses seem to be getting pregnant. If this monarchy has any hope of getting an heir, they must hold on to you, or the royal bloodline will die. So all these circumstances, no matter how atrocious, have given you a weapon, leverage, to hold your position. While there are parts of you that are unsure about yourself, that will always be doubtful of your place, you are much more solid on your feet than you used to be when you first arrived here.
In big part, this confidence comes from the man sitting in front of you right now.
That night one year ago, while on his knees and his forehead pressed to your leg, Seungcheol had sworn his life and his loyalty to you in a gesture that stays with you to this very day. Seungcheol recognised a fire in you that everyone always dismissed as petulance and immaturity. But to him, that fire is strength, it is resilience. He believes mental armor is just as, if not more, impenetrable than physical one. And over the last year, he has helped you build it up to what it is today. Your no-nonsense attitude that keeps your enemies under your thumb is all thanks to him and his blind faith in you.
âNowhere near that, Your Highness.â He always protests when you show your gratitude. âYour strength is yours alone. You just needed to know how to harness it.â
âAnd youâre the one who taught me that, Sir Choi.â Your voice is teasing. He huffs.
âPlease do not call me that. You know it sounds too pretentious to me.â
You grin and nudge him. âI know. Thatâs why I call you it. Watching you pout is endlessly amusing.â
âYou sound like Jeonghan.â
That makes you laugh.
Seungcheol has loosened up a lot after being in your service for so long. He meets your eyes, and is unafraid from voicing his opinions, because you enthusiastically encourage it. When you are playful, he indulges it and even plays along to the best of his ability. But throughout it all, he doesnât forget his duty. He protects you fiercely, not just from physical attacks, but verbal ones too. Seungcheol has a lot of influence among the Royal Guard, since he is a garrison commander and has lived in the castle all his life. Most people are afraid of him, and so they donât speak ill of you directly. Any area not within his jurisdiction can easily be dealt with by Jeonghan, who is slated to be the future Chief Councillor to the Crown. You often like to think of it as forming a shield between you and the outside world, and as long as Seungcheol is in your immediate vicinity, you feel completely safe.
It is a no-brainer that your Knight will come with you to attend your brotherâs coronation. What you are endlessly displeased by is the fact that your husband, Seojoon, will be joining you as well.
âHe makes my skin crawl.â You mumble as you stand by your carriage while Eunhee arranges your seating to be as comfortable as possible. Seungcheol, who stands one pace behind you, hums sympathetically.
âMy deepest apologies, Princess. But the implication of him not being there could be catastrophic. We cannot risk that. If your brotherâs nation has any more unrest, or if his enemies realise our alliance with him is weak, it could push them to the brink of war.â
You nod, because you know heâs right. Your home country has always struggled, but it has been particularly harsh for the last few years, with neighboring countries eyeing the territory. Despite the weak political ties, there was still an alliance on paper there, and your brother going to war would pull your country into it too.
âBesides,â you feel Seungcheolâs voice lower a few decibels, and he leans a little closer to you, âthe Princeâs image needs rehabilitation.â
You pull your lips tight to keep yourself from smiling. You have heard the whispers of the Princeâs reputation. His indulgence in worrying amounts of mead, his rowdy gaggle of hunting companions, and the endless lines of mistresses cannot be contained within the castle. Word spreads, especially between workers who go in and out of the castle, and while your own standing with the public isnât favourable, it doesnât matter as much as the Princeâs. You are, after all, disposable, in the Queenâs words. Something she never fails to remind you of. But the Prince needs to be favored, since he has to take the throne. He needs this more than you.
As you wait for the carriage to be prepped, you wander along the walls of the gardens, admiring the new bloom of flowers. Servants move between the convoy, carrying luggage and tending to horses. Seungcheol is busy organising the guard that would escort you, making sure there are no cracks in their formation. He is in full armor, which you rarely see inside the castle. Large plates of steel cover his front, arm and legs. It clinks only slightly as he moves, fitted perfectly to his body. When you feel your breath slow as you watch him, you know you must look away.
You have that questionable habit. You like to stare at your Knight.
The sun hits his dark hair and makes it look a lighter brown than usual, standing out more against his pale skin. The armor gleams, and a small layer of sweat is forming on his forehead. His voice is harsh as he barks orders, booming timbre that reaches you even though you stand afar. You look away because you are in public, and you know people will notice. You already know of the rumors. There are many explanations about why you refuse to let the Prince bed you, and one of them is that you already have a lover, and that you are an unfaithful, scarlet woman.
You donât pay heed to the rumors. Your name is already disgraced. You no longer care, as long as no one says it to your face. And Seungcheol wonât let that happen.
You turn your eyes to the rest of the convoy as the crowd gets denser. Eunhee is instructing the guards handling your personal luggage. Jeonghan is talking to another man towards the tail end of the carriages. Standing some far off are three women, and you feel your blood run cold as you recognise them.
Concubines. More particularly, your husbandâs.
You would recognise them anywhere, particularly Hana. She has a certain reputation within the castle walls, especially in regards to you, since she holds you in no authority and is openly disrespectful. Seungcheol loathes her blatant disregard of you, but the favor she incurs from the Crown Prince is unquestionable. She wears jewelry meant only for royals, bought personally by your husband. It is another reason why the Prince is not liked; he has no respect for the chastity of royal titles. He treats her, a commoner, with more regard than she could ever deserve. She walks through the castle halls like she owns them, wearing layers too scarce for a woman and causing scandal, badmouthing you loudly. She was not trained by royal standards, so she is mannerless. Noblemen and women hate her, but she cares not because she lays with the Heir Apparent at night.
She boils your blood.
Before you can say anything or react, the three women are shown to a carriage at the end of the line. They step into it, talking and whispering among themselves. You bite the inside of your cheek and beeline your way to Jeonghan, your dress billowing in the wind behind you. The man he is talking to immediately falls silent as you approach, and Jeonghan turns to see what has happened. He smiles when he realises that itâs you.
âPrincess,â he greets warmly, âa pleasure as always.â
âHeâs taking his women?â Your voice is hard as stone, ignoring his words. Jeonghan stares, gesturing to the man behind him to dismiss him. The man bows and leaves quickly. He turns back to you.
âHis orders were explicit.â
âMy birth family does not indulge in concubines.â Your voice shakes more the longer you speak. âIf my husband comes with me to attend my brotherâs coronation and brings concubines with him, I will be humiliated.â
Jeonghanâs face softens. He looks truly apologetic. âI told him that. I strongly advised against it, because it will only damage his reputation more. HeâŠ. didnât heed my words.â
Your teeth grind so hard it sends a shooting pain through your jaw. You blink away hot tears before they can fall. Youâre too emotional to notice Seungcheolâs concerned stare at a distance, or how he watches you closely.
It has taken so long for you to be relatively normal about the situation you are living in. Every once in a while, you still stain your pillow wet with your tears, and it took time, but by now you have more or less accepted your fate. This, however, might be too much to bear. Your old kingdom, the people who watched you grow as a princess within their grounds, could not see this. You could not stand for them to witness the constant shame you endure. You have nothing, but you still have your self respect. This will be too much.
Seungcheol seems on guard and rigid as you climb into your own carriage while you do everything in your power to swallow the terrible knot in your throat. You know your distress is making him uneasy, but youâre too busy trying to keep your composure while out in public. Your heart is pounding, and ugly emotions of panic and humiliation are swelling in your chest. Eunhee works quietly to settle you, and before she can ask if you need anything, you are already waving her off. As soon as she leaves the carriage, your face crumples.
Hot, thick tear tracks roll down your cheeks readily, as if they have been waiting. You try to tamp your sobs, your shoulders shaking with the effort. Your napkin gets wet with your tears as you wipe them, but they show no signs of stopping. You donât know how to suppress your onslaught of feelings. Itâs too much to take.
In the distance, you can hear the man at the head of the convoy call for all to move. The door opens. Seungcheol steps in and sits opposite to you. He freezes, takes one look at your face, and his own hardens. You are sure that Jeonghan has told him about the situation, but this is still new to him. Despite how close you are, your Knight has never seen you cry.
âIâm sorry you have to witness this.â You hiccup shakily as the carriage starts moving. Seungcheolâs jaw ticks, a noticeable movement, and he shakes his head quickly.
âYour Highness need not apologise.â He says, and youâre nearly shocked into silence at how his voice shakes. Is it from anger? You cannot tell. Youâve never heard Seungcheol waver. You sniffle and watch him. Somehow, his reaction quietens your own tears. He doesnât say anything more, doesnât look at you, but his leather gloved hands are curled into fists on his thighs. He appears agitated, and you know instinctively that itâs because of your anguish. Somehow, that settles the loneliness growing in your chest. His anger on your behalf eases you. The curtains of the carriage are closed. You sit here alone with him. You think of the grand carriage at the tail end of the convoy that your husband sits in shamelessly with three other women. Your heart squeezes.
âSeungcheol,â you shift yourself to the right to make room, âsit with me.â
Your Knight blinks. âYour Highness, I wouldnât dare-â
âPlease.â Your face crumples again. âPlease.â
He shifts immediately, two smooth movements before he is turning his body and sitting down next to you. You waste no time in scooting closer, until your arm presses against the tough, steel plates covering his. Itâs rigid, but the cold of it gives you stability. Comfort.
âNever, ever plead with me, Princess.â Seungcheolâs voice sounds strained. âIf I donât listen to your orders on one call, I have failed as your Knight. It is beneath you to ask twice.â
You stare straight ahead. Your tears still flow freely, trailing down from your jaw until they wet your neck too. No one has touched you, not even through metal armor, in over a year. You remember Mingyu hugging you before you boarded the carriage on your way to your new home. Besides Eunheeâs hands dressing you and combing your hair every day, the only touch you remember is the delicate kiss Seungcheol laid on your knuckles the day he was declared your Champion.
Your heart squeezes. You are starved.
âHold my hand.â You say, voice barely above a whisper. This time, Seungcheol does not hesitate. Warm, stiff leather meets bare skin. His large hand slides over yours, squeezing tightly. You sigh, your eyes closing. A few more stray tears escape.
You lay your head on the stiff plate over his shoulder as the carriage moves steadily on.
âŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠ..
The journey is brutal, mostly because you spend every day filled with the dread of getting to your destination. Your first few nights within your own lands, noble families along your route host you, grand affairs as they welcome you to their homes, that you attend in a state of emotional numbness. You request that Eunhee stay with you overnight, and she sleeps in a cot in the same room as you. You toss and turn, void of any sleep or comfort, despite the lengths your guests go to for that very goal.
Your only relief is in your carriage, with your Knight.
Seungcheol holds your hand as long as you desire it. He runs his thumb over the back of it, comforting circles of sure, firm leather that ground your rampaging thoughts. You sigh, your cheek pressed to the stiff armor on his body. For a few, blissful moments, your racing thoughts quieten.
âMust you wear this at all times?â You mumble, gesturing to the metal. He chuckles.
âI must, my Princess.â He muses. âHowever else will I be ready to protect you should the need arise?â
You hum and sigh, feeling surety in his touch. He has started saying that, my Princess. Like you are his. You are sure he means nothing by it except a show of his unwavering devotion, and a comfort to you in trying times like these. But it lights a fire in your chest, anyway. You move closer, your thigh pressing to his, and your face heats at the proximity. Layers of clothes and metal plates interfere between you two, but Seungcheolâs grip on your hand tightens. His breath hitches. Your mind runs to places it shouldnât.
Seven days of travel later, you finally arrive at your childhood home.
Mingyu stands at the gate with a grand reception. Prior to your arrival, the convoy was rearranged, and you were placed in the same carriage as the Prince, while his concubines were relocated. Just the thought of sitting in there made you sick, but you sucked it up for the sake of the occasion. You are quick to exit when you arrive, unable to stay in the same space as Seojoon any longer.
Mingyu has aged only one year since you last saw him, but he looks much older. You wonder if itâs the strain of your parentsâ sudden deaths (severe lung infections, he tells you), mixed with the fact that he has to quickly scramble to prepare for the Throne. You know for a fact that he wasnât prepared for this. Well, every heir is prepared to an extent, but Mingyu saw this to be somewhere in the distant future, and not so soon. He is dressed in royal blue and gold, your family colors, and seeing him sends a shock of bittersweet pain through your chest.
Despite everything, you missed him.
The feast arranged for your arrival is grand as anything, and you spend all your time catching up with Mingyu. He speaks to you so warmly that it is almost a shock. You had forgotten what it felt like to be spoken to like you mean something. Immediately afterward, he offers for you both to retire to his private study for more time together, while your husband and your servants are shown to their rooms. Seungcheol asks thrice if you are okay to be alone, and you reassure him that you are.
âI wouldnât mind if you joined us, Sir Choi.â Mingyu smiles. âAnd you too, Chief Advisor Yoon.â
You stare at Mingyu, shocked, when he deliberately leaves out Seojoon, who is sitting at the same dinner table. You can feel your husband stiffen next to you, and his face twists in an ugly sneer. But he doesnât say anything. Jeonghan and Seungcheol both politely decline the invitation, as it would be disrespectful to accept when the Heir Apparent has not even been asked. You feel a sick satisfaction at the way Mingyu has dealt with the situation, returning to your meal and taking a bite to hide your smile.
You ask him about it when youâre walking to his study. Itâs just the two of you, along with Seungcheol, who is five paces behind you, escorting you to where you need to be.
âSeojoon wonât be happy. That was blatant disrespect.â
Mingyu scoffs. âGood. Your marital family hasnât exactly upheld their end of our alliance. My borders are distressed and Iâm hurtling headfirst into a war. If disrespecting my brother in law is going to wake the King up a little, then so be it.â
You huff out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. âYou know Iâm the reason why they wonât cooperate with you. I am yet to give them an heir.â
Mingyuâs voice hardens. âProducing an heir was never part of the deal. It was you in exchange for political stability.â
Your throat tightens. Mingyu falters.
âIâm sorry.â His voice is more sombre now, when his words register to him. You shake your head. You are entirely used to people talking about you like an object.
âItâs fine. Youâre not wrong.â
âI still feel guilty.â
âIâm aware.â
You enter Mingyuâs library through large mahogany doors. Seungcheol gives you a cautious look. You nod at him, hopefully reassuredly. The door finally closes between you.
The fireplace is roaring, lively flames that set the room aglow with a soft, golden light. You settle in one of two armchairs facing it, and Mingyu takes the other one. A chambermaid stands a few feet away, and Mingyu gestures for her to serve tea.
âI was also angry.â Mingyu speaks up. You look at him to continue. His face is colder now, like he has been deeply insulted.
âHe brought not one, not two, but three concubines to his wifeâs birth home, to attend her brotherâs coronation. He has crossed a line.â
You bite the inside of your lip, watching the maid place a delicate cup of tea on the table next to you. You donât reply to Mingyu, because you donât know what to say.
âThereâs rumors, you know?â He mumbles. âTraveling merchants love to spread gossip, and my advisor has a good idea about how public perception is currently looking. Your people are particularly distasteful of him. Iâm unsure of how he will be able to peacefully take the Throne without massive unrest.â
You sigh and nod. You know of the rumors. You also know that they are entirely his doing, so you feel no sympathy for him.
âSpeaking of unrest,â you begin, âIâm more concerned about how things are looking for you.â
When Mingyu sighs this time, itâs pained and heavy. He looks like he bears a huge, invisible burden. You watch him run a hand over his face.
âWeâre being provoked to it.â He says. âThere have been attacks on our entire eastern border. Thereâs only so much we can hold off before we retaliate. Father had been pushing for negotiations before illness took him. Thatâs why we are rushing a Coronation. I need to be in power so I can do something more diplomatic and not let this escalate.â
You stare into the fire, thinking. âBut if it does, we will go to war with you.â
Mingyu nods. âYou will have to. Itâs in writing.â
âRight.â Your mind is racing with just one thought, and despite everything, it seems your brother knows exactly what thought it is.
âThat includes your Knight.â He states.
Your head whips up to look at him. He does not look disapproving, or judgemental. Instead, he has a tiny smile playing on his face.
âIâm not daft, you know? The way he looks at you goes far beyond the realm of duty to the Crown.â
You feel your cheeks burn hot, and you look away from Mingyuâs shrewd stare, scowling. He laughs.
âYou misunderstand him.â You respond. âHeâs very devoted.â
Mingyu hums in a way that tells you he doesnât believe you. âSure.â
Your heart pounds. You focus on sipping your tea, scalding your tongue with the first sip, but you do not care. Mingyu breaks the awkward air.
âHe has a reputation too, you know? Your Knight.â
You look at Mingyu curiously. âWhat do you mean?â
He shifts a little, crossing one leg over the other. âHe leads a garrison known for fearsome battle expertise. He is an excellent fighter. He was the youngest member of the Royal Guard to receive a Knightship. And he comes from a very prominent village of business and trade. Any merchant from your country sings his praises. Your public loves him.â
You feel something like pride swirl inside you. You smile at your cup.
âHe deserves it.â
Mingyu hums.
âIf he fights in this war with his garrison, there is no way we will lose.â
Your grip on your cup tightens. A slow sense of dread takes root in your chest as you think about the possibility of Seungcheol not being by your side, but laying his life on the line at your borders. You try vehemently to push it away. âThere is no war. And there will be none.â
Mingyu says nothing. He only stares. You go back to your tea.
âŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠ
Despite such short notice for arrangements, Mingyuâs coronation is grand as anything. You think this has to do, in part, with the mere presence your brother has. Tall, regal, confident. Like he was born to be on the Throne, like his whole life was a mere filler leading up to this moment. You are truly happy to see him bear the heavy Crown. You have complete confidence in his ability to lead his people.
The feast is grand, the banquet afterwards is even grander. Seojoon seemed to take the slight from your first evening here personally, because in the days that follow, all through the Coronation and the subsequent celebrations, he behaves like a poorly raised child. Halfway through the banquet, he disappears from your side after drinking half the supply of alcohol instead of tastefully sipping it like everyone else. You can hear the whispers of your guests, and you can see Mingyuâs smirk. Jeonghan looks particularly tired, and youâre sure the task of babysitting your husband feels impossible for him. Youâre half-convinced he has fully given up. Word will reach the castle before you even say farewell to your brother. The King will be furious about his sonâs antics and the impression he is leaving behind, as you know his monarchy means everything to him. The resulting damage control will go heavily in Mingyuâs favor so he can make more demands by using the insult Seojoon is giving to him as leverage.
Your brother can be ingenious sometimes.
Towards the end of the celebrations, you finally take leave from the gathering. Mingyu, still not entirely used to the new difference in rank between you two, gives you a hug before you retire for the night. Youâre pleasantly surprised, and a little tipsy as well, so you giggle and return it. Truthfully, you missed this. Youâve been so starved of genuine affection that you donât care if youâre breaking royal etiquette for a moment. Youâre smiling widely as you leave, humming under your breath. Your Knight, who was your escort the entire night, seems to notice.
âYou enjoyed yourself, Your Highness.â Seungcheol muses, one pace behind you as always. âIâm glad.â
You hum and giggle. âI did. I missed Mingyu. He was the only person in my birth home who showed me unfiltered kindness.â
He nods. âI can see that. His Majesty is truly kind. And he cares, despite everything. He will be a wonderful king.â
You turn to look at him. âHe praised you too. Said your reputation precedes you. I was so shocked, Sir Choi. I didnât know how famous you are.â
Seungcheol sighs and cringes visibly, and it only makes you laugh more. When you reach your guest chambers, he pushes the door open and guides you inside.
âIâm sure he exaggerates.â
You scoff in a manner truly undignified for a Princess, kicking your shoes off. Seungcheol watches you flounder around as the door shuts behind him.
âYouâre drunk.â
âI am not!â You give him an appalled look. He raises an eyebrow, but his lips fight to not tick up.
âI will send for Eunhee.â
You groan and step forward. âNo.â
The word drags out of you, long and petulant. Your hands find Seungcheolâs chest, and you fiddle with the array of gold medals pinned to his ceremonial uniform. The deep maroon looks wonderful against his skin, and heâs studded with all his achievements, looking grander than you, you would argue, if you werenât so heavily draped in shiny silk and golden jewelry. Up close, you can smell him, a scent of metal and warm wood.
Seungcheolâs hands shoot up instinctively to yours, delicately circling around your wrists. You can feel his heartbeat on your palm even through his jacket. You watch carefully, his touch shooting like sparks up your arm. He is not wearing gloves. This is the first time youâve felt his skin against yours.
âPrincess.â His voice is cautious. His posture has stiffened because of your proximity. You have never been this close to him before, except when he sat with you in your carriage.
âMingyu said something else too.â You mumble, ignoring his warning. âHe saidâŠ. that youâre in love with me.â
Not in so many words, but you want to see Seungcheolâs reaction. And you get it instantly. His entire torso turns rigid, and subconsciously, his grip on your wrists tightens. His eyes have widened, darting left to right between your own.
âDo you love me, Seungcheol?â You whisper.
All is silent for a few moments. Seungcheol heaves in a breath like itâs a struggle for him. âI pledged you my sword and my life.â
You minutely shake your head. When you step forward, rising slightly on your tip toes, your sigh mingles with his. The air freezes still, like itâs holding its breath, like itâs waiting for the melee to break.
âAnswer me.â You breathe.
Seungcheolâs eyes screw shut. This close, you can count his individual eyelashes. You can see the small smattering of freckles over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. You can see the way his skin is gradually pinkening the longer you stay so close to him.
âPlease donât ask this of me, Your Highness.â His voice is strained. âI have never lied to you. I do not wish to start today.â
Your eyes cloud. Your vision swims. Mingyu was right. He was right.
You step back, blinking rapidly to clear the tears, and the tension releases like the whistle on a steam engine. Seungcheolâs grip on your wrists loosens, then disappears. You see his chest rise in a deep breath, just before he opens his eyes. But he wonât look at you. The second there is distance between you, he falls to one knee.
âPlease forgive me.â His voice shakes as he bows deeply. âI donât deserve your grace, not after breaching your trust in the way that I have. I am a weak human in mind, my Princess. I have wavered. I let myself think of you impurely, unjustly. I will repent for the rest of my days if I have to.â
Your face crumples. Your heart twinges painfully in your chest at the waver in his voice, the genuine fear in it, and somehow, this pain is worse than any you have felt in the last year. The thought that loving you is something that made Seungcheol feel guilty is like knives to your chest. You donât think. Instead, you drop to your knees too.
Seungcheol reacts immediately, hands gripping your arms and hauling you up before your knees can even feel the heat of the stone floor. He is shocked at the action, nearly balking at you as he holds you up. You grip the lapel of his jacket, trying to get your feet under you. He uses the hold on your arms to tug your closer. You freeze, looking up into his eyes.
âThe day you kneel on the floor is the day I shatter my own kneecaps.â He rasps. His words make your stomach twinge. Your face flushes. Your eyes dart to his lips.
âKiss me.â
Seungcheol blinks. You donât know who you have shocked more, him or yourself. But once the words leave your mouth, you realise you want nothing more than this exact thing. It burns through your veins like a desire so aching it leaves your soul empty. You push forward again, despite how strong your Knightâs grip is on your arms, until you feel his nose brush the tip of yours.
âYou said I would never have to ask twice.â Your voice trembles. Itâs so quiet, you are half unsure if he has heard you. âYou said it was beneath me.â
Seungcheolâs eyes squeeze shut again. He pulls in a long, laboured breath. When he opens them again, you feel a tug on your body, and soft lips meet yours with an insistent press.
You have heard of first kisses. You have heard of them in stories told by court entertainers and travellers, by old noblewomen who tell fairytales and sing folk songs. You imagined your own, once upon a time, with a man that is now your husband, who you have never let touch you. But your Knight, your Champion, is present before you, tall like standing oak, but with lips softer than your most delicate velvet, moving over your own with a surety you have long associated with him. You melt into him like heâs meant for you, and he is. He has sworn an oath to be your support, and he keeps it, his hands leaving your arms so one can wind carefully around your waist. Your body meets his in a soft push, and itâs like the tension leaves you like a relieved sigh. You feel fingers card through your hair, a familiar feeling because Eunhee does your hair every morning, but these fingers are thicker, stronger, and they cup the back of your head, tilt it, so his lips slot deeper into yours.
Your trembling hands rest on his shoulders. His body is solid, alive, as it moves with yours. Your breasts push against his chest, his arm that winds around you making sure not an inch of space separates you from him. Your feet almost leave the floor, the balls of your feet barely brushing the stone anymore, his strength holding you up. He feels divine against you. Your inhibitions are lowered, and you mewl into him.
âPrincess.â He breathes into your mouth, voice tinged with desperation, but he never finishes the thought. He kisses you harder, grips you tighter, like letting you go will mean you will drift away. His body curves into you, your own arches into his. He invades your every sense. His tongue runs over your bottom lip. Something tightens severely in your lower stomach.
A thudding sound behind you shatters your high. Seungcheol hears it too. He pulls back so harshly it feels like he is being ripped away, and you immediately stumble back a few paces, turning away from him. There is another thud, and then the door swings open.
âEunhee.â You hear him say. His voice is stable, like he wasnât breathing into your mouth mere seconds ago. Your stomach jolts. âYouâre here. Good. I was just about to send for you.â
âMy apologies, Sir Choi.â Your maid enters smoothly. You donât hear any suspicion in her voice. You donât turn. You feel like your ribs will crack under the forceful pounding of your heart.
âHer Highness has had some wine.â You feel like Seungcheolâs voice is far away, like youâre hearing him through a roaring waterfall. âPlease take care of her.â
You donât hear Eunheeâs reply, but the door shuts shortly after. You feel Eunheeâs gentle hands guide you with a grip on your arms to the large chair next to the fireplace. You want to flinch away, still drowning under the sensation of the strong grip that kept you on your feet mere moments ago. Youâre sure your handmaid thinks you are a little foggy because of the alcohol, as you donât usually drink and canât hold a lot. But your senses have never been more sharp, your mind never more clear.
Once youâve changed and laid down, with Eunhee in her cot already dead asleep, you stare at the dark ceiling, wondering what you have just done. And what you are about to do.
Because you know, with complete certainty, that you will do it again.
âŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠ
You stay at your birth home for three more days before being scheduled to leave. Despite a myriad of new responsibilities for your brother, he spends ample time with you, and any time he isnât with you, you spend catching up with the noblewomen of the castle, as well as your old handmaids. You do miss your old home, since you havenât come back in a noticeable while. Given everything, you donât come face to face with Seungcheol in complete privacy until youâre bidding Mingyu farewell and settling into your carriage. Petulantly enough, Seojoon chose not to sit with you, not that you mind.
You say your last goodbye through the window, smiling and waving delicately. Mingyu smiles broadly in farewell. Eunhee cushions your back to make you comfortable and retreats. Your heart skips when Seungcheol slides into the seat opposite to you. The horsesâ hooves click and the convoy finally starts moving. Seconds after it picks up speed, Seungcheol shuts the curtain. Your eyes meet his in the enclosed space. The first time you have been completely alone with him since that night.
Heat sizzles. It cracks.
His body shifts to the seat next to you, his hand finds its place on the back of your head just like it did the first time. When he kisses you, you feel like new life is breathed into your soul. You return it immediately, scrambling to find purchase over his armor. The first touch of his lips feels like a cold drink on a hot summer day.
âPrincess,â he breathes when you sigh into him, âforgive me. Forgive me. I am weak.â
You can barely shake your head against the grip he has on you. You kiss him harder, scowling when his heavy armor restricts your access to him.
âStop apologising. I want this as much as you do.â
His groan cracks halfway. His lips never leave yours.
âYour Highness, I loathe disagreeing with you, but here I must.â He whispers, pulling away just slightly. You heave in a deep breath. His forehead meets yours and his eyes are wide, the warmest, fiercest brown, peering into yours, dripping with emotion that stabs your frantic heart.
âYou have invaded my every thought for days. I remembered our kiss every night, and I prayed for the moment I could do it again.â
Youâre the one pulling him in this time, kissing him like youâre hungry for it, like youâre starving. Seungcheolâs tongue, hot and insistent, finally crosses the threshold of your mouth. You keen into him. His free hand runs up and down your side, sending tingles over your clothed skin.
Itâs a bump and jolt of the carriage under you that breaks the kiss. Your breaths are heavy, lips swollen and tingling. He is a vision, cheeks flushed, lips dark pink and wet with your spit. You flush at the sight. He brushes your hair behind your ear.
âBeautiful.â He murmurs. âYou are the loveliest thing that has ever graced the soil of my country.â
You feel your face burn hot at the ardency in his words. You cannot even refuse, not even out of modesty. The earnest tone of his voice leaves no room for doubt. He means this with every fibre in him, you can tell.
âStay with me forever, Seungcheol.â
His eyes almost melt. He closes them, leaning his forehead delicately against yours.
âI will never consider anything otherwise, Your Highness.â
Your heart feels at ease.
âŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠ
The castle is in disarray when you return.
You cannot tell immediately, but there is a certain charge in the air. Jeonghanâs face is pulled taut, and you are not used to seeing him so worried. He is usually relaxed and in control, but it seems the King is particularly furious this time. The many months of distrustful behavior from his son have piled up. The Courtâs Councillors donât trust him anymore, especially not as Heir Apparent, and it seems they have planned a certain reckoning for him after his stint at your brotherâs coronation.
You are sure it wonât end well, but you are not bothered. Your head is still in the clouds after the week of blissful traveling you just returned from. You still feel Seungcheolâs lips crowding yours, leaving them tingling. His hands had touched you, your waist, your side, your neck, never straying too much, but his very grip was charged and heavy. His tongue had explored every part of your mouth until you keened into him, and he pulled away to take deep breaths.
âYouâre tempting me, Princess.â He would rasp. âYou are leading me astray.â
And you loved it. You love that he wants you so much that he is willing to break loyalty to the Throne, that he needs you, all of you, your body, enough to defile your purity. You know his oath is different. He swore loyalty to you and you only, and not to anyone else. He got down on both knees for it. You tell him that, whisper to him to show you his devotion, to stand true to his oath and serve you the way he promised he would. His resulting answer would be a strained groan, and his kisses would be even heavier, even hotter.
You are least interested in whatever hell the Prince has landed himself in, but unfortunately, it has left the castle in terrible unrest. You hear of the gossip from your ladies-in-waiting, and despite their catty nature, you know their news is almost always reliable.
âThe Prince is furious.â
âHe thinks he is being publicly shamed.â
âHe is. His Majesty has made jabs in Court. But hearing it from Noblemen and political advisors is particularly humiliating.â
âWhat do you think, Your Highness? Has he talked about it with you?â
You roll your eyes and focus on biting down on a grape, letting the sour juice flood your mouth. âYour Prince is too busy bedding any woman he lays eyes on to pay any attention to me.â
Not that you would want him to, but phrasing it like this puts the blame on him rather than you, and you have grown sharp enough to realise that. You also know that any word you say to these women will go straight back to the Queen, so your sentences have to be careful.
That night after dinner, Seungcheol escorts you to your chambers as always. You have yet to touch him since you returned, and you muse about it as you walk back, but his face is pinched, lost in thought.
âWhat is bothering you?â You ask.
He seems to snap out of it, blinking. He shakes his head. âNothing of your concern, Your Highness.â
You purse your lips. âI still want to know.â
He hums. âWe have been refreshing and developing war plans. To be prepared for what is coming.â
You stop short, staring. Seungcheol freezes beside you as well.
âWe are going to war?â Your voice is tinged with panic. Seungcheol immediately shakes his head.
âNot right now, no. But we need to be prepared for the worst case scenario. Donât worry, Princess. Your brother is adept. He can handle this.â
You nod slowly, taking a deep breath. Seungcheol urges you to keep walking. When you reach your chamber doors, he pushes them open but stays outside.
âI must leave.â He looks regretful. âI left the meeting so I could escort you back. Jeonghan is awaiting my arrival.â
You fight to not smile, but you fail. You feel your face warm.
âYou left the meeting just for this?â
His face softens and he returns the smile. âOf course.â
The hallway is empty. Your night guards are not here yet. Eunhee is next to the fireplace, but the door blocks her from seeing you. Your eyes run over your surroundings again, and when you think everything is clear, you step forward, laying your lips gently against his.
His breath hitches, and he barely has time to respond before you step back, fighting off the giddy smile on your face.
Seungcheol looks shocked, but he huffs out a laugh anyway, shaking his head.
âGood night, my Princess.â
âGood night, Sir Choi.â
He just laughs again, tonguing his cheek as you disappear behind the doors.
âŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠ.
Your mornings have a quiet routine that you have perfected by now. You wake naturally early, an old habit inculcated in you. You wash, and are dressed and seated by the time Seungcheol appears with the morningâs work and any messages. You are not fond of large breakfasts, so Eunhee prepares fresh helpings of the fruit you like, as well as a warm cup of tea. Anything after leaving your chambers is for later, but the first couple of hours of the day are for you only. You enjoy that time immensely, and it grounds you to your reality. You are sure that without this routine, you wouldâve lost your senses a long time ago.
Today is different, however.
You are roused from sleep to the sound of shouting. It takes a moment to register, but despite being sleep addled, your eyes pop open. Thereâs more thudding and shouting, and harsh voices float into your ears, muffled by distance and your heavy oak doors.
âHas anyone gone in or out?â
âNo, Sir!â
âWhat about her maid?â
âShe hasnât arrived yet, Sir. Her usual time is one hour from now.â
You sit up at the sound of heavy footsteps. The door is pushed open and your mouth drops as Seungcheol steps inside. His steely eyes meet your weary, alarmed ones. He closes the door behind him and moves quickly, beelining to the door leading to your bath, his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword. You are shocked speechless, blinking rapidly to clear the sleep from your eyes. He re-emerges, walking in the opposite direction to look behind the heavy velvet drapes on your windows. He checks the lock on the balcony doors before pulling them open and stepping outside. You catch a glimpse of the sky. There is still no sun. The sky is only mildly lighter, and you realise it is the early hours of the morning.
He steps back inside, still hard-faced and on guard. He walks to your bed, sinking down to one knee so he can look under it.
âSeungcheol.â You finally speak, voice slightly hoarse from sleep. âWhat is happening?â
When your Knight resurfaces, this time closer to you, you realise that he looks way more worried than he ever has previously. He looks at the door, which is still closed, and finally lets himself relax, though only mildly. He sits next to you on the edge of the bed. You have the brief thought that you are in nothing more than a single layer of cloth, a linen chemise you always wear for sleep. Seungcheol has never seen you like this. He has never sat on your bed. But one look at the pinched expression on his face tells you that is the least of his concerns right now.
âHas anyone visited you overnight?â He asks, his tone urgent. You shake your head.
âDid you eat anything after dinner yesterday?â
You think. âI had tea before going to sleep.â
âWho prepared it?â
âEunhee. She always prepares it.â
âAnything else?â
âNo. Whatâs going on?â
âHave you heard any strange noises? Anything about the guards moving at night?â
âNo.â Your eyebrows furrow in irritation. âTell me, Seungcheol.â
Finally, he sighs, one hand reaching up to run tiredly down his face.
âHis Majesty the King has passed away.â
You gasp, hands coming up to clamp your mouth in horror. A million questions immediately rush to your brain, but it seems that Seungcheol is ahead of you.
âCourt physicians have confirmed it was apoplexy, a seizure in the humors of the brain.â He explains. âThe Queen is beside herself. Sheâs the one who found him, sitting straight up in bed.â
You are frozen still. You cannot even process.
âMost of the castle still doesnât know, only some chief councillors, court physicians and nurses. The news will probably break at dawn. Everyone is devastated, but the PrinceâŠâ
This is when he falters, jaw clenching and eyes glazing over. âHeâs notâŠ. acting right.â
âHe just lost his father, Seungcheol.â You finally say, your voice shaking. You loathe the man, but you can understand that hurt. You know the King was wildly beloved.
âItâs not that, Your Highness. Heâs strangely erratic. He wants to take over quickly. Heâs already talking about a Coronation.â
Your eyebrows furrow. Coronation? At a time like this?
âMaybe because of the uncertainty? We are looming ever closer to a warâŠâ
He lets out a sigh and nods slowly. âThatâs what everyone believes. Something just isnât right.â
A small silence descends. You think about what has happened, and it hits you that, once your husband officially takes the Throne, you will become Queen Consort. Your duties will change, your routine will shift. Everything is about to be different.
Seungcheol seems to snap out of his deep thoughts, finally looking at you. âI wanted to rush to your side immediately, to check if you were okay. His Majestyâs demise is suspect at best. Jeonghan is convinced the Heir Apparent had something to do with it. If he can, theoretically, have his father killed, thenâŠâ
He shakes his head, as if he canât finish the thought.
âWhat makes you think he had him killed?â Your eyebrows furrow. You still donât believe it.
Seungcheol shrugs. âThese past few days, the King has been harsh on him. His court officials have been egging him on. Plus, with the impending war, him taking the Throne as King means he will take command of troops and form strategies in the field. Had he gone into war as a Prince, he would be expected to fight on the frontlines.â
Seungcheolâs face hardens, like he is disgusted, but he bites his tongue. You know, had it been anyone other than the Prince, Seungcheol would have called him a coward. But respect binds him from doing so.
âItâs just a hunch, an intuition Iâve honed over many years.â He continues. âJeonghan agrees with me. However, the political unrest right now is too severe. Everyone will scramble to establish stable leadership. And as the physician has declared it natural causes, I doubt there will be any more questioning into this, despite Her Majesty the Queenâs hysteria about it. It is open and shut.â
You nod slowly. You trust Seungcheolâs instinct completely. He has never been wrong, and he has never let you down. If he has this suspicion, then to you, it is with sound reasoning. Youâre still reeling at the news, but there is a strange calm in your chest. You know that is because Seungcheol is in your presence. If you had heard the news from anyone else, you would be incredibly distressed right now, but he makes you feel safe.
âIâm glad youâre here.â
Seungcheolâs face softens and his eyes focus on you. For the first time since he came, he smiles.
âYou were my first thought when I heard. I had to confirm that you were okay.â
Your heart lifts. You shift to get closer to him. His eyes shoot down, and his jaw slacks. You watch with amusement as he realises for the first time that you are in your private clothes.
âMy apologies for barging in here.â He says. You watch him make the effort to not look down, instead staring over your shoulder and blinking rapidly. You suppress a giggle.
âYou did it for my safety.â You respond. Slowly, you lift your hand so you can place it over the sleeve of his jacket, running up the bend of his elbow to his bicep. You see his chest rise in a deep breath.
âWonât you stay a little longer?â
Seungcheol risks looking in your eyes. His resolve fails him, and his gaze travels down again. The collar of your chemise dips. This close, he can see the skin past it, and his ears redden. Youâve always been buried under layers and layers of cloth and corset. This is all new to him. His hand twitches. Under his attention, you feel a slight shyness creep up on you.
âI must go.â He mumbles, but his eyes travel hungrily down your torso. You feel a shiver run through your body at how they darken. His attention sends a thrill down your spine, like your nerves are igniting. You love the feeling of it.
âItâs still a while until dawn breaks.â You push forward until your nose nudges his cheek. His lips part and he sighs. You feel it on your bare neck, and it makes goosebumps rise on your skin. He turns his head, and his lips brush yours.
âI canât, Princess. Forgive me.â His voice is strained, and it feels like the sentence pains him. His mouth slides over yours, until it feels like you are swallowing his words. âThe guards have already sent for Eunhee. She will be here in minutes.â
It seems like saying it out loud breaks the tension a little, and slowly Seungcheol pulls away. You sigh and lean back, hyperaware of how heated your body feels.
âI miss you, Seungcheol.â You pout. âIt has been days.â
Your Knightâs lips quirk up in a small, apologetic smile. âIâm regretful, Your Highness. But I promise you, once the dust settles, I am all yours to do with as you please.â
There is a heated promise in his words. You flush deeply and nod. You donât know what to say. Every muscle in your body feels like it is wound up in anticipation. Seungchoel has kissed you breathless, but his lips have never drifted to any part of yours beyond your mouth. You know what his words imply, and the thrill of it nearly leaves you dizzy. You have always known how attractive Seungcheol is, both in body and soul. Heâs your closest companion, and you have never wanted anyone the way you have wanted him, even if you are uncertain of what exactly it is that you want. You never consummated your marriage. You are as pure as the first rain of summer. And you want only him to touch every part of you.
Seungcheol reaches for you, his hand winding around the side of your neck to cup it. He has this habit. He did it extensively in the carriage, and you love it. It comes with a strange sense of possession that grounds you and makes your nerves feel alive. He speaks again.
âDo not leave your room until I come get you. Eunhee will remain here. Likely, your ladies-in-waiting will arrive early in the morning and stay with you for a while.â
You nod. He continues, but this time it is gentle. Reassuring.
âThings will change very quickly. But you need not worry. I am here, always. No harm shall come to you, okay?â
You nod again, heart melting at his words, tilting your face into his hand. You lay a small kiss on his palm. He smiles, caressing your cheek with his thumb.
Finally, he takes his hand away even though you donât wish for him to. You watch him stand and look around once more, sighing and walking to the door. He gives you one final look and smile before he carefully leaves, closing the door quietly behind him. You can hear his voice vaguely through the doors, instructing the guards. You lay back down, staring up at the ceiling.
Things are about to take a drastic turn. But you feel more assured than you have in years.
i canât believe tumblr is free sometimes because i just read this masterpiece of writing for free during eid. like literally my relatives are gossiping and laughing loudly and im reading this like what the fuck i love my life. iâm breaking my silence on tumblr to reblog this authorâs work because this is genuine peak
sypnosis. â your life is absolute chaos. dead-end shifts at a restaurant that doesnât pay you nearly enough to scrape by, debts that never seem to end, living in a small and overpriced apartment with your drug addict brother? all of it has you at your witâs end. youâve always kept everyone at arms length, never letting your guard down in hopes your past will never resurface. but then, a new busser shows up, refusing to budge when you push him away. suddenly, youâre forced to face the truths youâve been burying: about your choices, your walls, and what youâre really capable of feeling.
warnings. â language, violence, drugs, smoking, alcohol, substance abuse, rehabilitation, overdose, hospital visits, dysfunctional family dynamics, self destructive tendencies, anger issues, reader is flawed, mentions of wounds, fraud, strained family relationships, arranged marriages, poverty, slutshaming, hookups (non-explicit), everyone in this is flawed, probably ooc but idc, everyone is 18+, warnings may change
taglist â 8/50 (send an ask, drop a comment to be added)
DISCLAIMER! â this is HEAVILY inspired by @dumdogsâs work, rot. please check it out itâs one of my favourite works to this day 𫶠it is also inspired by a concept i have seen on their page, so please please check their page out, he is one of my favourite authors!
Word Count: 3.7k
Author's note: Wow this has been in my drafts since like May 1 2 1 2 3 release em !! There will be a part two where another LI starts taking an interest in MC... but which LI.. ohoohohoh ( i can't stop writing this trope pls restrain me ) obligatory tag for @noxellaa
Desc: Caleb x f!Reader, mentions of Caleb x MC, a little bit of fluff, angst no comfort, comfort will be in part 2, weirdo behaviour by caleb, arguing
Your evening was going terrible. You were on your way home after a long day, and it had suddenly started pouring even though the weather forecast had suggested otherwise. Looking up, you groaned in misery. The gloomy grey sky reflected your mood, clouds blocking the setting sun as droplets of rain became more and more frequent. And it was just your luck, you had just missed the last bus and your umbrella fell victim to the billowing wind around you.
Cursing at the sky, you were weighing your options: book an outrageously overpriced uber, or let your wallet breathe and run home in the pouring rain. You were pulling out your phone to check the most sheltered route home when you heard footsteps behind you.
Alarmed, you whipped your head around, prepared to attack. "Woah, woah woah. I'm not here to hurt you." A tall figure said, raising both his hands up as a form of surrender. Your eyes widened as you took him in: broad shoulders which were accentuated by his jacket, cocoa brown hair parted at the side, slightly tousled from running over, and striking violet eyes crinkling at the sides due to the smirk curling at the corner of his lips. Damn -- he was absolutely stunning.
He seemed to take your shocked silence as a sign to continue. "I'm Caleb, a pilot in the DAA. I have an extra umbrella here with me, and I saw you stranded here, sooo, I figured you could use it." Caleb says, holding out a red umbrella to you. "Oh, thank you!" You said, fumbling to grab it. You profusely thanked him before opening the umbrella and walking towards your house, only to realise that Caleb was heading in the same direction.
"Looks like we're going the same way, hmm? How about I walk you home? Can't have a lovely lady like you walking home alone in the pitch black." He suggests, cocking his head to the side. The both of you stop in your tracks, and you eye him cautiously. Sure, he was astronomically good-looking, but that doesn't mean you should automatically trust him. You guys just met!
You must have been giving him a lethal stink-eye, because his eyes widened as he quickly stumbled over his words, "Wait- no, I just realised how weird that sounded. I promise I have no bad intentions, but if you don't want me to-" "No, it's okay, I'm fine with it." You cut him off, continuing to walk forward. As he was rambling, you noticed his genuine nature and he didn't seem to have any malicious intent, so you were willing to let this random guy - Caleb- walk you to your house. (You may or may not have chuckled slightly at the way his demeanor suddenly changed from suave to nervous at the drop of a hat.)
The trainee pilot rambled all the way to your house about various things, from his job to friends he had when he was younger. "Oh, there was this one friend I had when I was younger, MC." He said. His tone was different from earlier, more forlorn, but you didn't press. You noticed the faraway look in his eyes, and quickly changed the topic to your own occupation. Caleb's eyes seemed to light up again as he bombarded you with questions about your job and life, making you crack a small smile. Even though your socks were getting wet from the deep puddles in the ground, his inquisitive questions and genuine interest in your replies managed to brighten your surroundings just the slightest bit.
When you stopped in front of your apartment, you shook off the umbrella at the side and held it out to return it to him. "Thanks for walking me home, Caleb. Here's your umbrella." You thanked him politely, securing the strap wrapped around the umbrella. "Oh, no, you can just keep it." Caleb said casually, pushing the umbrella back into your hands. "Save it for the next rainy day. See you around!" He jovially continues, jogging away from your apartment while waving. You wave back with a genuine grin.
After that day, you kept coincidentally bumping into Caleb. You met him while buying pastries at a bakery a few days after the incident, his loud, cheerful voice startling you initially. "Well, if it isn't the umbrella girl! What'cha buying today?" He exclaimed. You hold out your tray to him, with a few of your select favourite confectioneries. "This one's my absolute favourite, the ratio of butter to flour is so perfect it basically melts in your mouth." You tell him, pointing to a specific pastry on your tray. Caleb's periwinkle eyes seem to sparkle at your recommendation, and he used a pair of tongs to plop another one on your tray.
You looked at him in confusion, before he took the tray from your grasp and walked towards the cashier. "Wait, Caleb-" You start, desperately reaching out towards his jacket to stop him from paying for your food. "It's fine, it's on me." He says, swiftly pressing his card onto the scanner before you could grab his arm to halt his movements. You thank him profusely for the second time, while he just shook his head and handed you your baked goods.
The both of you didn't even make it out of the door before half of the pastry Caleb was holding was gone, the tall man happily munching on it. "Woah, this tastes like heaven." He says, crumbs falling off his lips. You chuckle at the sight, reaching out with a tissue to brush them off. His gaze turns towards you, his ears the slightest shade of pink. "Thanks, __." Caleb mumbled, voice uncharacteristically timid.
The second time you met him, it was on a random Thursday evening, while you were taking a stroll through your neighbourhood. Rocks and leaves crunched under your feet, the soft breeze caressing your cheeks. It was always nice to have some alone time once in awhile, the world seeming to quiet down for those few hours.
"Hey, __!" A now familiar upbeat voice calls out from behind you, the force of his steps causing some stray leaves on the floor to drift upwards. You find a smile appearing on your face unconciously. "Fancy seeing you here, umbrella boy." You teased, pausing your walking for him to catch up with you. Caleb chuckles, and over the next few minutes, the two of you fell into easy conversation, the summer air seeping into your skin.
Suddenly, your foot comes into contact with a stray rock in your path, and you unceremoniously trip over it. Holding out your arms, you braced yourself for the grating impact of the concrete walkway. However, you never made contact with the grey path, and instead, strong arms wrapped around your torso, pulling you back up onto your feet. You looked up at Caleb, ready to thank him for what seemed like the thousandth time. But when your gaze finally raised to reach his, a tightening feeling grew in your chest at the sight of him.
The amber hues from the sunset painted his face artistically, every dip and curve of his face highlighted by shadows. You then noticed how his once solid violet eyes now had flecks of yellow and pink in them, sparkling in the evening radiance. He cocked his head at you, expecting you to say something. Once you realised this, you jumped, hastily stammering out a 'thank you' and continued walking at a pace far too fast to be comfortable. The rest of the walk was spent in a mostly comfortable silence, with just the slightest tinge of tension lingering in the air.
You can't exactly pinpoint the moment you started to fall for him. It was less of a 'tumbling headfirst' situation, and more of a 'not realising until you were in too deep' situation. The minor chance meet-ups and interactions you had made you realise how genuine Caleb was, how gentle he was while talking to others and how dedicated he was to his work. The gentle pats on your head, the brushing of your hands, the quiet moments, all of it was enough to make you fall in love with the pilot.
Over the next few months, the both of you only grew closer. You watched him get promoted to colonel, and watched him suffer through the impacts of the toring chip and mechanical arm. And you stood by his side through it all, as some sort of comforting anchor when things got too tough for him to handle alone.
Sometimes, you thought you could see a hint of blush in his cheeks when you leaned in closer than usual, and his eyes darting away nervously to think of a witty response when you sent a flirty comment his way. There were times when you thought that you had a shot, that he actually might reciprocate your feelings.
One fateful day, the both of you were sitting at a dock late at night, the weathered floorboards creaking with each movement you made. Caleb had been silent for an unusually long period of time, prompting you to look over to check up on him. But you were surprised to say the least when you saw him gazing intensely at you, the tips of his ears turning crimson . You leaned on his shoulder, unable to come up with a playful remark to throw at him. He had tilted your chin upwards with his hands that night, asking for your permission bashfully before kissing you. It was gentle and fervent all at once, built-up feelings and emotions crashing into each other like opposing waves.
From then on, you felt like the happiest girl in the world. Caleb was a spectacular lover, attentive and caring. Dates were often, him bringing you to new places and diners to try new things.
However, after a few months, you noticed he had started acting the slightest bit different. More distant, more consumed in his work. Documents piled up on his kitchen counter, and the lights in his office remained turned on even into the late hours of the night. Of course, you didn't immediately jump to the worst possible conclusion - Caleb never gave you a reason to, after all.
You just started paying more attention: silently leaving a cup of coffee on his desk when he got up for a short break, turning on the heater before he even steps foot into the shower to ensure the water is already warmed, picking up stray pieces of scrap paper strewn around his apartment. You never pushed, never demanded attention from him. You were just there, your presence a comforting warmth that Caleb would wordlessly accept with open arms.
Until one day, you came home to see something you wouldn't have expected. "Caleb, I'm home." You call out tiredly, your work being more draining than usual today, and the gloomy weather not helping in the slightest. The fatigue seeps into your bones, and your limbs feel like dead weight as you drag yourself into the living room.
To your surprise, you see an unfamiliar girl sitting down on the living room couch, with Caleb opposite her. The atmosphere is strangely tense, like a big fight had just happened. Honey brown eyes lock with your own, but the contact doesn't last as she hurriedly looks down at her feet. "Caleb, who's this?" She asks, arms still wrapped tightly around herself. Caleb huffs, seemingly annoyed. You notice he's still in his colonel uniform.
After a few beats of silence, you take it upon yourself to answer instead. "I'm __, Caleb's g-" you begin.
"She's __, my close friend. She's just staying here for the time being." Caleb cuts you off sternly, foot tapping against the floor with no rhythm. You're confused - close friend? Unless you were sorely mistaken, you are unequivocally sure that you are indeed Caleb Xia's significant other. You don't push - maybe this is a person involved in one of his missions? But why would she be in your home...
Glancing at your perplexed expression, Caleb's voice softens as he tries to fill the silence. "Ahem, this is pips-MC. I'm sure you've heard of her before." He says. You don't miss the way he almost calls her a nickname. MC looks up at him with a furious expression, fists clenching at her side. "Why did you bring me here, Xia Yizhou?" She mutters. Caleb replies, not missing a beat. "It's for your own safety."
What on earth was happening?
"Caleb, I thought you said you lost contact with MC? Why is she suddenly here in the house?" You inquire, head cocking to the side. He huffs yet again, briefly explaining how she was 'looking for danger' in the N109 zone, and how he had brought her here to keep her safe. "Caleb, I'm not a kid anymore!" MC growls, now standing up to her full height. Your boyfriend still towers over her, unfazed. "You'll always be a little kid to me." He replies solemnly, putting a hand on her head which she immediately smacks off.
After that incident, MC slowly started warming up to the environment around her, including you. She was quite abrasive at first, even trying to escape a few times. However, the two of you actually ended up growing quite close. On days where your work didn't require you to come to the office, the both of you would spend time chatting over a meal. And on days which you did have work at the office, you would shoot her a text asking if she wanted any tidbits or whether she was craving any food.
But you noticed something strange - the stronger your bond with MC grew, the weaker your bond with Caleb became. He started acting colder, more distant, having an expression on his face that signaled to not speak to him unless you were MC. The longer MC stayed in the apartment, the more Caleb acted like a stranger to you. However, it wasn't as if he was busy with work. It was more like he was growing increasingly busier fussing over the new resident in your shared home.
Caleb would constantly check up on MC, much to her annoyance. He would also take extra precautions to ensure she didn't escape, even going so far as to install locks on the handles of her windows. You tried to brush his absurd behaviour off, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt by assuming that he was just overly worried about his childhood best friend. I mean, they were separated for so long - who wouldn't be concerned? You tried to justify to yourself one night, rolling over to the other side of the empty bed.
Caleb's questionable behaviour only went from bad to worse in the span of a few weeks. From constant meddling to obsessive worrying, it became clear to you that this show of 'concern' was clearly not normal. You tried to bring up your frustrations to him sometimes, expressing that you were uncomfortable with the way he treated MC like a captive bird instead of a living human, only to get brushed off and ignored. Your boyfriend's cold demeanor only added on to your anger, and it wasn't long before your low, simmering annoyance boiled over into indescribable rage. He didn't even try to act like he wanted to be your boyfriend anymore, often choosing MC's company over yours.
From rejecting your offers to have a dinner date in favour of staying home to cook MC's favourites dishes, to standing you up at the movie theatre just because MC had a slight fever - these incidents gnawed at you constantly, making you feel insecure about yourself.
It all happened in a blur. One fateful night, you had just come back from a uneventful day at work, briefly greeting MC in her room before deciding you wanted to do some cleaning up around the house. MC immediately stood up when she saw you holding a duster and offered to help, but you politely turned down her offer, insisting you could handle it by yourself.
Humming, you reached for the top of the shelves in the living room, only to accidentally knock a book over. You sigh, bending down to pick it up, only to notice that a small chunk had been carved out of the spine. "What the hell..." You squint your eyes into the miniscule hole, and you were horrified to see a tiny camera blinking red back at you. "What the hell?!" You repeated loudly, causing MC to stumble out of her room.
"What happened? Are you hurt?" She asked, bending down to get a good look at the book you were holding. "The book... there's a camera in it..." You muttered, handing it over to her. MC's expression is complicated - she looked displeased, but definitely not surprised. She merely let out a sigh and shoved the book back into the shelf, making sure it's spine was facing inwards. "Stop spying on me, Caleb!" She huffs in frustration, walking back to her room like it was no big deal. You, however, were stunned - if there was a hidden camera in one of your books, who's to say there aren't many more scattered around the house?
Suddenly, the heavy wooden door creaked open, revealing Caleb Xia in his full colonel uniform. He glances at your shocked state kneeling on the floor, feather duster long forgotten by your side. "Doin' some spring cleaning?" He muses, peeling off his gloves. Caleb's casual tone only served to irritate you further, and that was when you reached your tipping point.
"Caleb, we need to talk." You said seriously, getting up from the floor. Your boyfriend sighs like every word spoken to you would take a decade off of his lifespan.
"I'm swamped, ___. I'm sure we can find another time-"
"I'm serious, Xia Yizhou."
Sensing that you were genuinely upset, he leans back onto the kitchen counter and folds his arms, waiting to hear what you had to say. "Your recent behaviour, Caleb - it's insane. First, you have to do routine checks on MC, then you lock up her windows and prevent any chance of escape, and look what I just found today!" You exclaim, yanking the book from the shelf and tossing it at him.
Caleb catches it swiftly, simply smirking when he realised what was lodged inside.
"These have been here forever, ___. Surprised you just noticed 'em."
"Them? Like, there's multiple?" You question incredulously.
Caleb's calm demeanor and casual tone sent you into a state of disbelief.
"Calm down, I'm just looking out for MC. I've known her forever."
"First, you invite a girl I've literally never met to live in OUR home, and refuse to introduce me as your girlfriend. Then you display this type of obsessive, downright freakish behaviour over her, and you expect me to just go about like it's a normal Tuesday?!" You spat, volume increasing with direct proportion to the amount of fury you felt in your heart.
Caleb looks personally offended, like you just cursed his whole bloodline with the black plague.
"She's not jus' some stranger I picked off the street, y'know. She's MC. My MC." He begins. "I've already lost her once. I won't let her slip out of my grasp again."
"What the fuck, Caleb. I understand that you're afraid of losing MC, but don't you think this is taking it too far?! Just- go to therapy or something!" You try to reason with him, trying your hardest into ignoring her that he called MC his. He hadn't called you a pet name since she moved in.
He pauses for a moment, the silence allowing the both of you to pick up on shuffling coming from the guest room- MC's room. It was clear she could hear the conversation between the two of you, but chose not to get involved.
"... I can only ensure her safety if I take every possible precaution. I'm her protector."
At this point, you just laugh. What the fuck? It's like he didn't even hear a word you said.
"You're a fucking joke is what you are, Caleb Xia." You spat, eyes brimming with tears. "Since her safety's such an important priority in your life that you barely even act like my boyfriend anymore, I'll leave so you can devote allll your time to making sure she's safe and sound."
Without thinking, you wrench open the half-open door with way too much force and angrily stomp out, rushing down flights of stairs clumsily. Only then did Caleb seem to realise the gravity of the situation and dashed to chase after you after a few seconds of standing frozen in place.
You ran, and ran, and ran. The twinkling stars and moon were the only things that illuminated your path, leading you away from that cursed apartment complex. What was once your safe space quickly turned into a hurtful reminder that you would never measure up to MC in Caleb's eyes.
You could feel him close behind, heavy leather boots slamming down onto concrete. Thump, thump, thump.
I can't let him catch up to me. You put all of your previous training and spontaneous workout sessions to good use, and pushed a little bit more. You could feel your legs burning, your lungs desperate for oxygen, your blood rushing to your muscles instead of your head - you couldn't even tell where you were going.
You ran until your ears recognised the familiar creaking of wood - you were on the dock where Caleb had confessed to you. It only made your heart ache even more, like your subconscious was drawing you towards him.
Now, even more disoriented and desperate to escape, you pushed yourself even harder to the brink of collapse, only to realise you were running straight for the ocean, and it was too late to stop.
"___!" Caleb calls out in a panic, and you can hear that he was only at the start of the dock, while you were fast approaching the edge.
With a heavy heart and a barely functioning brain at that point, you could only register water engulfing your form completely, and sinking, sinking, sinking... until the black expanse of the abyss claimed your consciousness.
"This is where it all ends for me, isn't it?"
Part 2 coming soon! Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated <3
CHAPTER THREE: people getting stabbed who have never been stabbed before
CONTENT WARNINGS: unseriousness, murder
SUNA RINTARO HAS LITERALLY FUCKING DIED. WHO'S NEXT? VOTE NOW!
to vote, please send me an ask with the person you want to kill off. you can vote as many times as you want!
image one: a picture of suna's back through the window. there is a gloved hand holding a knife in front of the camera
image two: suna face down on the pavement just outside the apartment with a boot on his back and a puddle of blood beneath him. there is a knife in his shoulder.
an: not crazy about the big reveal via "Attachment: 1 image" but i already committed to it so im doing it. this one was actually really fun to write. is that really iwa? is it someone else? i guess we'll find out. hope u enjoyed ily <3
idea inspired by @tarovrispy | divider credits to @cafekitsune
MAIN MASTERLIST
SYPNOSIS ;
it may be another case of jumping to conclusionsâŠor you may actually have a stalker. when you get informed by your friends that your image is being drawn as inspiration for photos published on an internet blog known as âkeijiâs hiveâ, a confrontation is staged immediately - orchestrated by your own initiative. your friendsâ arenât as approving of your impulsive whims, but you managed to meet up with your âstalkerâ safe and sound. except it isnât quite what youâd expect. turns out, heâs not your stalker, nor is he your secret admirer. and heâs got quite an interesting preposition to make in order to keep his blog runningâŠ
CONTENT WARNINGS ;
strangers to friends to lovers, one sided pining, muse and photographer, my first smau (gulp pls donât cancel me), slight ooc (i write by my own headcanons), slight profanity, kys/kms jokes, set in college, brainrot humour involved, idiots in love, warnings will be updated as smau progresses, itâs better to check individual chapters for warnings, there will be written parts
STATUS ;
ongoing. updates will be random at my own free time when i can writeÂ
TAGLIST ;
iâm not sure if i should start one, comment if you want to be tagged! if requests get a bit much, iâll create a form to fill out
MEET THE CAST!
tokyo helpline engage with caution the real men's den
CHAPTER OUTLINE
â / signifies written content
shot one: don't meet your stalkers p1 â | p2
shot two: don't spill your coffee
shot three: don't forget your high school friends p1 | p2
shot four: don't let your friends plan your birthday â
shot five: don't parry with the drunk â
shot six: don't be nice to me â
CONTENT WARNINGS: murder, dead bodies, blood, unseriousness
BOKTUO HAS MET HIS MAKER! WHO'S NEXT? VOTE NOW!
to vote, please send me an ask with the person you want to kill off. you can vote as many times as you want!
an: i wrote this high as fuck and i just no it makes no sense. we got another close one! im not gonna out anyone for their vote, but there is one person who single-handedly saved suna's life.
