THE MANOR IN WHICH | ENHYPEN.
genre | action, fluff, angst / friendship au, magic au
synopsis | if one wants to test whether a person still has the power of a god, maybe the best thing to do is just ask, not try to turn them into one.
word count | 6368
warning | fighting & violence, injuries (breaking of limbs) / mentions of blood, drugs, death, domestic violence, child abandonment / predetermined reader trait: red eyes
world | one
You remember the first time Minho injected a shot of fentanyl into your eye.
More than the abrupt pain, which was not at all unmemorable either, there were gashes of blood you left on the side of his arms. He had to pin you down under the circumstances that the medical team did not provide any method of sedation. Only a syringe, a glass bottle of fentanyl, and another empirical hypothesis on human drugs and their effectiveness in quelling your Enlightenment.
Enlightenment—Minho coined the term when he began teaching you how to control your ability. It was the third and the final stage of your descension to Godhood, with the first two being Transformation and Possession, respectively. But, more than a stage in your power, Enlightenment is a sentient concept that battled for the ownership of your body. It is a punishment given to you by the God of All. It is the very thing you need to avoid descending toward.
Minho, along with his colleagues, had spent years finding ways to keep you from descending. It was no big deal. Everyone was taught to hone their powers during their teenage years. Almost all the high schools in the country have implemented additional training courses once a week to prevent disasters caused by those unfamiliar with their ability.
Some private schools even went out of their way to renovate their sports courts to better accommodate their students, to insert training classes into the mandated curriculum, and to hire a diverse group of professionals that fit the even more diverse student body.
But, regardless, you understood the distinction between yourself and other children.
Their power was given by the Gods. Your power was to become a God.
The fentanyl comes in when some part of Enlightenment slips past your control. The first time it happened, it had been sudden but not unrecognizable. One of your eyes had been clouded with blood, like having your sight draped with a red veil. You could only see Minho stumbling toward you with the syringe in his hand. You understood what must happen, and while you fought Enlightenment, the Enlightenment fought him.
It was similar to getting a vaccination, except the needle wiggled and scratched to be in your skin, and you feared for your life.
But the pain was gone moments after Enlightenment returned dormant, and Minho’s arms were never rid of those ugly scars.
You also remembered the first time your bones twisted at the beginning phase of Godhood.
Minho had died months prior from murder, leaving you with scattered pieces to remember him by. But, just between you and the higher power, nothing brought out memories of him more than how ill-equipped you were to pull yourself back from Enlightenment’s takeover.
Red pupils were blown over your irises, and you recalled being unable to see anything. In retrospect, it made sense. You were supposed to lose access to yourself. Once Enlightenment was fully reached, the body would belong to it, and you did not deserve to see through its eyes.
You later deduced that you had entered the beginning phase of the descension when your body would transform to be more fitting of a god’s image—the twisting of bones, perhaps to make your limbs malleable.
The bottle of fentanyl on the motel’s bedside table fell and shattered when you crawled to it with your arms and reached up blindly. You wouldn’t have been able to hold it with your fingers anyway, and you had doubted your ability to work through the intricacy of a syringe when you were too busy withering in pain from your broken legs.
You were desperate and almost embarrassed by it, but the helplessness taught you one thing that night, a new thing, which was that impending pain was worse than actual pain.
If someone were to kill you, you would rather it happen immediately than hours later. The knowledge and the wait for death would always outshine the deed.
Knowing your arms were about to be twisted into an irregular shape scared you more than feeling as if it was about to happen. In the end, accompanied by the cracks of your ankles and painstaking wails, you dipped a finger into the fentanyl on the floor and pierced it through your eyeball with your nails, slathering the drug across the back of your eye.
You left the motel the next morning and never returned.
Those have remained the most traumatic moments of your life for years. You have grown to be cautious of your body’s changes to prevent another incident of being surrounded by Enlightenment. Those around you have always diligently pointed out when one of your eyes turns red.
Putting a needle through your eye has become less grand and intimidating with each passing occasion. Nothing much could surpass what happened to you back then.
All except one thing—
“Hi, I’m so sorry, but we’re closed.”
—customer service in the fast food industry.
It was mainly an exaggeration, but sometimes you thought you really meant it when you’d rather go through the beginning phase of Godhood than explain to a customer why you would not be making them a sandwich fifteen minutes past the store’s closing hour.
The boy stalked in anyway, leaving the door to slam close behind him. You knew he heard you because his legs paused briefly when you spoke as if his conscience wanted to listen.
You rubbed your hands under the counter to hide your annoyance. You should have locked the door after flipping the open sign around. This wasn’t the first time people made it apparent that they were illiterate.
You figured if someone with a physically enhancing power wanted to punch their way through, they would have done it regardless of the lock.
However, that was merely an excuse to be careless. When you finally chase this customer away, you planned to text your manager about getting a metal bolted door.
Biting back a humorous smirk from the idea, you quietly cleared your throat and looked up to observe the boy in mutual silence as he stopped before the cash register. His hands were buried in his jacket pocket, but you didn’t believe he was hiding anything besides his hands.
His hair has shades of blond that were irregularly placed enough to feel deliberate. He was tall, a head taller than you at minimum, but skinny like a twig, which made him less threatening. Either way, he was bothersome for barging in when you were closed and ready to head home.
“Are there any wheat bread left?”
“We’re closed.”
Niki raised a brow. He heard you the first time. If only that was a good enough reason to deter him from having to stand in front of the cash register like an idiot. Unfortunately, he has to fulfill the task given to him, or else it’s no more free housing for his sorry ass!
The best he could do was to make everything quick—trailing his eyes down to your chest, he inwardly sighed at seeing the necklace shown to him before entering the restaurant. He hasn’t gotten the full scope of the mission, as he knows what he has to do but does not know why he has to do it.
Heeseung gave him two tasks. First, take the necklace. Second, bring out your power.
Shifting his weight, he shrugged dismissively and tried to continue the conversation. “So what? You can’t answer a simple question?”
“I am not serving right now. I am off the clock,” you said.
“You told me,” he retorted, his eyes widening softly. “But I didn’t ask you to make me anything. I asked if there was any wheat bread left.”
Turning your head away so you could roll your eyes, you returned your attention to him and smiled. “Why would you need to know that?”
“That’s none of your business, is it?”
In your mind, you have reached over the cash register and grabbed his tiny head with your ginormous hand, shaking the attitude out of him and some respect into him as fires circled you like halos circled an angel.
Over the years of working customer service jobs in various settings, you’ve gotten fairly decent at crafting your imaginary torture scenes, where there was little torture and a lot of complaining. But this boy was mind-boggling more than usual because, despite his tall stature, he looked boyish enough to be a student. At least you haven’t met a well-adjusted adult who would color their hair recklessly.
What did that mean? This boy was out here disrespecting his elders in broad daylight.
“Please leave, or I’ll be forced to call the authorities,” you said.
Niki watched your corporate-trained smile, but he grimaced because you even thought about calling the authorities in today’s day and age.
Unique powers have grown so prevalent that there was only a fifty-fifty percent chance that a patrolling officer would meet someone whose power was scored lower than or equal to theirs. Even the usage of old-fashioned weapons, such as a gun, wasn’t foul-proof anymore, given that there were people out there who were basically a walking operating room. The law enforcement was a joke.
But—a thought passed his mind—you could be doing him a favor by letting the police handle him. Even though he has no knowledge of the intricacies of your power, he suspected he wouldn’t want to face off with someone like you. One accidental beam shot down from Heaven, and he would be a standing stick of scorched meat.
Biting back a shudder, Niki pursed his lips in distaste at the recognition that his family had potentially sent him out on a suicide mission.
Was all of this really worth free housing? Getting a job could not be too hard! He looked at your determined face, his gaze floating down to your ridiculously green outfit and the oiled screen of the cash register. He held back a shudder again.
Free housing was worth everything.
“Fine, I’ll leave,” he muttered. “I need something from you, though.”
You raised a brow. “It better not be a sandwich, kid.”
He didn’t reply. Instead, after waiting a beat for your guard to lower even more, he pulled a hand from his warmed pocket and shot it outward, reaching for your necklace.
You have seen this exact movement before. Besides teaching you how to control your power, Minho also taught you how to fight.
Since you would only be using your power a fraction at a time to avoid being consumed by it, you would always be put at a disadvantage to your opponents, who would be able to use all of theirs. Minho told you that learning how to work around a match was necessary, but you knew the real reason he needed to teach you was so you could later be used in jobs the militia group involves itself with.
You never minded it. He practically raised you. He didn’t have a lot, but he made space for you in his shabby, ugly apartment and gave you allowances to spend.
At some point, he had attempted to make meals to provide you with a proper diet, but he wasn’t the kind of man who should step foot in the kitchen, so there was always a trashcan full of takeout boxes. You thought he tried to clean up after himself more when you started living with him, but the house was always a black hole of trash and dirty laundry.
It was no wonder he never brought any woman home, or maybe he kept your presence in mind.
He tried to give you the kind of life a normal kid would have outside of all the testing and training, and you never thought he didn’t care about you.
Like you remembered, Minho’s ugly scars never disappeared, and he never blamed you for anything. He patted your head after giving you medicine and went to the bathroom to clean himself up alone.
After he died, you took one of his jackets and the silver cross necklace he always wore. You sold the jacket at a pawn shop, but you always kept the necklace with you. The necklace Niki was aiming for.
“Tsk.” He clicked his tongue when you grabbed his wrist before his slender fingers could touch the necklace. He was told you were trained to fight. By a veteran, no less. He just wished you had forgotten all about it after so many years.
Pulling his other hand out for another attempt, his arm retreated just as you were about to grab hold of it. You slipped past him, and he took your bafflement as an opportunity to reach for the necklace. He looped his fingers around the cross and yanked it off your neck, causing you to slightly lurch forward. Your chest hit the cash register, but you didn’t allow yourself a second to process the inconvenient pain.
Hoisting yourself with both hands on the counter, you planned to jump atop it and tackle him, but Niki quickly caught onto your plan. Before you could jump, he focused his attention on one of your elbows and, within a second, twisted it with his head. The bone exuded a cracking noise that pierced his uncomfortable ears—he never did get used to the consequence of using his ability.
You lost your balance and fell off the edge of the register counter, your face slamming against the surface on the way down. He wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but not a second later, your functional arm shot up to use the counter as leverage to pull yourself from the ground. You emerged, panting with a nosebleed and, if Niki has to describe it, batshit crazy eyes.
But not red eyes.
“Give me the necklace back!” you rasped out as you crawled onto the counter slowly.
He took a few steps backward, trying to debate to what extent he was willing to continue with the mission for his safety, but his train of thought was cut short once your feet hit the ground. You ran toward him at full speed, one hand held up to grab the necklace in his hand. He cursed audibly and raised his arm to keep the accessory out of your reach.
You pushed him backward in return, deciding to get him to loosen his grip instead of prying the necklace off his hand. Niki stumbled and hit his back against the glass window.
You huffed in acknowledgment; you were right. He was as frail as a twig.
Regaining his composure, he blocked a blow you punched toward his face and held onto your fist. His gaze hardened as if asking you to be the one to give it up, but you ignored his face to focus on his hand.
Your thoughtful expression made him frown. You seemed surprised he had the strength to shake your arm. After a momentary struggle, you decided it wasn’t worth the effort to keep at it, so you abruptly pulled back and went with your leg.
Niki let out a choked groan, feeling a mouthful of saliva kicked out of him as his steps stuttered in response to your feet colliding with his side. His lanky torso was bent to keep his head lower to the ground in case of sudden dizziness, and so you wouldn’t see his twitching eye because your kick reminded him of a long-repressed memory.
He’s been beaten half to death before. He knew how a middle-aged man’s fist felt. You must be stronger than an average person; he could figure out that much simply from your history. The only issue at hand was whether you were under the effects of adrenaline or if you were normally strong enough to kill a man with a single hit.
There have been people with strength-type powers who committed manslaughter before, and he suspected a select group of people with top-percentile powers could kill someone with one punch if they wanted to. You could be part of that group. You haven’t killed him, but he didn’t want to risk finding out if you could.
“I’ll ask again,” you huffed out lowly, your broken arm swaying from your body movement. He was still catching his breath, and you decided tonight wasn’t the night you sent an ambiguous teenager flying. “Give me my necklace back.”
Niki licked his lower lip and straightened his back. He met eyes with you.
Still no red eyes. He was beginning to think maybe they were fed the wrong intel.
Holding onto his side, he panted with deep inhales and quick exhales. It was mercy. Choosing to negotiate when he was occupied was a sign of mercy. You were sparing him, and it was annoying. Not even his father showed him this much restraint, and all he did to this father was grow up kind.
That was it. That was what you reminded him of. His heart was beating out of his chest, the sound ringing heavily in his ears. He could feel the sweat roll down the side of his face, even though he hadn’t moved around nearly as much as he was used to. It was all psychological. He hasn’t felt like this since he stomped to his father’s workplace with the vengeful intention to kill him years ago.
Shifting his gaze to the corner of the floor, he corrected himself with a few slow blinks.
No, it wasn’t that. He hasn’t been this scared since he found his mother lying lifeless on the living room floor after a one-week school field trip.
He slowly looked back at you—he knew your mother passed away too, and the man who took care of you after you were orphaned was killed. He felt for you. He really did. Your desperation was understandable.
If someone tried to steal his mother’s remnants, he would do everything to retrieve them, too. He hated that he had to fight with you, but this was the best scenario to bring out your power, which he was tasked to do.
“It isn’t worth anything,” you said. “It’s just a rusty necklace. It’s not real silver. You won’t get any good money out of it.”
It was stupid to tell him that. Sitting on the counter was a cash register stuffed with money, and if he could see the small necklace hanging around your neck, he must have noticed the register, too. He would have aimed for that instead of your necklace if he wanted money.
“Please. The necklace means everything to me,” you pleaded. “You can take something else. I won’t say a word, I promise.”
Heat traveled to your neck, souring your nerves upon the embarrassment of not receiving a reply after begging. The necklace never wavered from his grip, and he never spoke to you. Pursing your lips, you huffed out a quick breath that bordered as a whimper, and then you readied yourself to advance toward him.
The boy stared at you in silence, his hair tousled and a hand pressed abasing the side of his body. You did a number on him with that kick. It was intentional, but you didn’t want to seriously injure him. He deciphered that. He knew you wouldn’t hurt him when you switched to using your mouth instead of continuing with your feet. Unfortunately, he has to go so far despite every bit of restraint you’ve shown him.
Niki swallowed the knot in his throat as you ran towards him. He looked down at your legs and—crack! You dropped to the ground with a silent scream that got muffled when your face hit the floor.
Tears gathered in your eyes and rolled down as you arched your neck to look at your dysfunctional legs. Your bones fractured, and the pain came from near your knees. You knew that. You could feel it. It must be the boy. He was the one who broke your arm.
How embarrassing! You didn’t want to lay so helplessly before him. But your legs! Your bones! It has to be his doing because it was either him, or Enlightenment was at work.
The feeling was familiar. Flashes of yourself struggling on the motel room floor passed through your eyes, when your legs bent in inhumane ways and the pieces of shattered glass cut the side of your hands.
This was Enlightenment. It’s here.
You could only sob, your eyes darting around to look for a nightstand and a glass bottle of fentanyl, then you tried to remind yourself you were at a restaurant, and the motel was an experience years passed.
Enlightenment must have slipped through your mind because you got too worked up over Minho’s necklace being stolen. This was your fault. You succumbed to the pain of your broken limbs and subconsciously wished, for even a second, that Enlightenment would come forth and heal you.
This was your fault. How dare you wish for a healthy body, you insolent brat! You want the glory of being a God and not the pain of it. You were treacherous and devious and deserve only the worst part of Godhood.
You sniffed away the snot rolling down your nose. Oh, wait, your legs were broken—you widened your eyes at the realization and shifted them to your legs.
Broken, unmoving—oh no, oh no, oh no! What should you do now?
You should crawl to your bag in the back of the kitchen or try to grab the phone on the counter. You needed to call someone, anyone. Your arms still work, correct? Moving one of them, you furrowed your brows in question. You remembered you could move both of your arms back in the motel, and you were alone and destroyed your eye to keep yourself human.
You were at the motel, correct? No. You were not. This wasn’t the motel. Stop thinking about that.
You felt a momentary relief, but you were unable to exhale. You couldn’t really breathe. You only now realized that. You couldn’t hear much of anything either. The air has traveled from your nose to your ears, filling them. It must be the pain—your legs were broken. Stop forgetting that. Your legs were broken. They’re broken. They’re broken. They’re broken.
You hiccuped tearfully at the knowledge that you forgot the very state you were in. You were slowly spiraling into madness. Or descending to Godhood. You have already begun forgetting yourself. Enlightenment slipped past and has already started taking over.
It wasn’t the boy who did this. What boy? You were transforming. Everything Minho taught you has gone to waste—you miss him. You miss Minho. He always wore that necklace.
You remembered hearing him pray to the cross before his death, begging God to show you mercy, that he was willing to take two places in Hell in return for a normal life for you. That was your fault, too. You let that happen. You let this happen. The boy didn’t do this to you.
Niki watched you squirm on the floor as if battling with yourself. He wasn’t sure what he could do past this point, as he had no real intention of taking the necklace from you. Attempting to step away from your fallen body, he felt a sudden grip around his ankles and glared downward.
You held onto his feet with one hand and screamed at him to return the necklace. He gasped in surprise and immediately pulled his feet out of your grasp, pushing himself to the restaurant's glass doors.
Your persistence was admirable, but beyond that, it was disgusting. A body with only one functioning limb grabbing onto him was a nightmarish story to tell.
“Wait! Wait, no, please! I need help!” you wept, hyperventilated, assuming he was planning to leave you all alone. “Don’t leave me here–I’m sorry I kicked you! Please, don’t leave me like–“ you lost your voice in a sharp inhale–“don’t leave me to turn like this, please! I’m scared! I’m scared! Please, help me!”
Niki’s hands trembled as he slowly backed away from you. The door opened before his back could hit it.
“Okay, that’s enough.” Heeseung’s tone was somewhat accusatory, but Niki thought he could be imagining things. Turning around, Heeseung gestured for the quiet boy standing by him. “They’re panicking. Put them to sleep. We are going back to the manor.”
Sunghoon nodded and brushed past Heeseung and Niki to head inside the restaurant. He stepped over your body, the corner of his mouth twitching against his effort to suppress a heavy grimace at the state Niki accidentally left you in.
Crouching down next to your face, he chose to put a hand under your head and his other over it. He did not respond to your flinch but noticed how you gradually calmed down at his touch. He pursed his lips and gave you a small smile when the corner of your eyes turned to look at him.
You blinked slowly in awareness of his presence before averting your gaze. His hand was big and gentle, and you felt his touch acknowledge your exhaustion. It took seconds for your eyes to close and your head to slump into his warm palm.
Sunghoon habitually swiped a thumb over the dry river on your cheek before he released the hand on top of your head to snap his fingers near your ear. Once he confirmed that you were asleep, he carefully reached under your knees and around your back to hoist you into his arms.
Heeseung pushed open the door so that Sunghoon could walk past. He didn’t leave any comment, only flashing Niki a pointed look that was in itself a question enough. Niki frowned, huffing air into his cheeks and blowing them out in disgraceful bursts while Heeseung watched Sunghoon open the door to the backseat. He hummed in agreement when he saw that Sunghoon opted to keep you steady in his arms instead of laying you down.
Heeseung returned to Niki after the car door closed. “Why did you do that to them?”
“You didn’t see how scary they were,” Niki retorted, pulling up the corner of his clothes to reveal a developing bruise on the side of his abdomen. He winced at the darkened skin and pulled his clothes down to cover it.
“Ugh–they are strong, too. I expected it, but I really didn’t think they’d have the power without being fully–“ he rolled his eyes skyward to think–“God-like?”
Heeseung stared at the boy before looking down at the spot where you were previously been lying. Judging by Sunghoon's monotonous expression, and the fact that your pupils were dilated normally, you never allowed your power through.
From start to finish, after having your necklace stolen and your limbs broken, you've kept it under control. Either you have insane determination or lost your power through the years, leaving bits and pieces behind. It wouldn't make you qualified enough to join The Manor, but it would have also made all of your suffering tonight in vain.
Or, even worse, he messed up and you weren’t even the person he was looking for.
Heeseung heaved a sigh. Everything was already in vain. You never ended up showing him what he needed to see. “Go back to the car. I’ll talk to you about it later.”
Niki clicked his tongue and grimaced at Heeseung’s annoyance. He really believed he could have died under your hands, and this was the reaction he received—a judgemental look and a dissatisfied sigh. He’d tell Sunghoon and Heeseung to go to hell if he could.
"Hey, you gave me an end goal, and I worked toward it," he said. "If you hate it so much, do it yourself next time."
“You overdid it,” Heeseung scolded as he pulled his foldable cane out of his pants pocket. He snapped it straight and hit the side of Niki’s leg with it. “You also didn’t find out what we asked you to find out, so don’t give me an attitude and get back to the car. We’re going home.”
“Screw you,” Niki muttered, running a hand through his hair.
On his way out of the restaurant, he shoved his hand toward Heeseung's chest. Heeseung glared at the younger boy, his hands flying up to catch the poorly transferred object to his palms. When he looked down, he saw a silver cross necklace.
You woke up in a bedroom that wasn’t yours.
The sheets stacked on top of you were so heavy they may be designed to force you into slumber, which you’ve just woken up from an amazing one. You could not remember the last time you felt you’d slept for an appropriate amount of time, given you worked several jobs to support yourself.
When you turned to the side, the pillow beneath your head a feathery weight that deepened according to your movements, you saw the light seeping through the edge of the tall curtains.
Hastily sitting up, you slathered your hands down your body to feel for your work uniform and sighed when you realized you were still wearing it. Your arms and legs were moving normally, too. Whoever brought you here last night helped you immensely—the boy who touched your head.
You have a somewhat blurry vision of his face, and you thought you didn’t get to see him for too long before you suddenly opened your eyes in this room. But you remembered you thought he was pretty.
Reaching a hand up to your neck, you touched your naked skin and gently bit down on your lower lip. Your necklace was still gone. That boy with poorly dyed hair must have taken it, or perhaps you could bet on the man who saved you to have retrieved your necklace, too.
Furrowing your brows, your back slowly arched in despair, and you buried your face in your hands. The odds of getting the necklace back were slim; you’ve used up all your luck when someone even walked in and saved you.
You roughened your face by rubbing it, attempting to match your movement with the frustration you felt. There was much you’ve got to do, such as explaining to your manager about what happened and, obviously, concocting a plan to get the necklace back. However, first, you believe you’ve overstayed your welcome, so you should thank the man for his hospitality and take your leave.
The room's floor was carpeted, and out in the hallway, it was waxed. But that wasn’t the point.
You were greeted with a seemingly never-ending hallway once you opened the door. Widened eyes darted from top to bottom, left to right, and then you peeked out of the doorframe to find that you were stranded in nowhere inside what you assumed to be a mansion. Silence filled the cold air, but the place was well-kept and well-lit enough to not appear eerie.
Multiple closed doors were bolted to the wall you came out of, and you wondered if they served purposes other than being a hallway of guest rooms.
A curse left your lips as you walked onto the cold wooden tiles with your bare feet, your face twitching with baffled annoyance rather than amazement. It didn’t make sense that this was the kind of house you woke up to.
How could the man who saved you be wealthy—irregularly wealthy, judging but the size of this building! What was he doing at a sandwich restaurant that pushes out meal deals for poor people quicker than a dog could respond to a doorbell?
“Where do I even go?” you muttered to yourself, your feet tipping left and right as you debated which side of the hallway looked more promising. After a moment’s thought, you stopped to gather yourself.
Your priority was to find the man who saved you, but you've been met with an obstacle: his house maze. What a first-world problem to have, indeed. You could run around the place and pray that you bump into him or anyone at some point. The house was so quiet you thought you could be the only person there.
However, you ran the risk of going further into the maze instead of finding a way out, which would waste both you and the man's time, as he would have no idea where you were unless he installed cameras everywhere, which would then make this house eerie.
You shook your head to get rid of your thoughts, which you supposed were the actual time-wasters. Collecting your composure again, you put your feet together and closed your eyes, letting your head dip slightly into a bow. You pressed a palm to your chest to help yourself concentrate.
“I receive the blessing that I will find what I am currently searching for,” you mumbled.
You were met with a bud outside the window when you opened your eyes. It was yellow, supposedly a daffodil, except it was the size of a utility pole.
“Okay,” you nodded, admitting that you live in a world where such things are normal, “anyway.”
The daffodil bloomed open when you spun on your heels to walk away. The boy curled up inside extended his limbs to sit comfortably on the petal. When he noticed you in the hallway, he opened his mouth to let out a hoarse yell and leaned forward.
The sudden weight dip made the flower tip dramatically closer to the window, and before he could react, he slammed against the glass, making you jump.
You resisted the urge to respond to the noise, being very in tune with the fact that you did not want to understand why a flower was knocking on the window as if it had hands. The man released his knuckles from the window and gasped in disbelief when he saw half of the grimace on your face as you moved along, ignoring him.
"Wait, don't leave!" he hollered through the window. "My name is Jake! I am here to check on you!"
You swallowed a gulp of saliva and spared him a glance. His palms were pressed against the glass, and his lower lip jutted into a helpless pout. You noticed he was missing both of his fourth fingers, the knot of skin that sealed over the wound an uneven match.
Anyway, he wasn't the man who helped you yesterday. Although, you supposed he could help you find who you were looking for.
Upon receiving your attention, Jake’s shoulders rose giddily. He pressed his forehead against the glass with a grin once you neared, looking down at you from the flower he threatened to slip off. “Hello, good morning.”
When you shook your head to indicate that you couldn’t hear his mutters through the window, he pulled back with a brief gasp and pointed downwards. You followed the direction of his finger, your eyes traveling to the window frame where you saw the lock. Disregarding your dubious interest in why he decided to appear in a giant flower, you approached it and fumbled with the lock, clicking it open.
Jake dropped from the petal gingerly, the tip of his feet landing on the slim stool. The flower behind him shrunk then, leaving your sight. With immaculate balance, he maintained himself on the stool as he pressed his fingers against the bottom rail and slid the window upward to jump inside the manor. He dusted himself of invisible dirt before grinning at you, a hand bashfully waving.
“Hello, good morning,” he greeted and pointed at the opened window. “That’s what I said just now when I was outside.”
You peered off to the side before reluctantly responding with a nod. “Hey.”
“You can walk now. That’s great,” he said, gesturing to your feet.
He had been awake when the trio returned to the manor. The state you were in left him with a permanently opened jaw. He was part of the group that vetoed the plan to test for your power before bringing you to the manor, so he didn’t catch wind of the steps and procedures.
But, still, he didn’t think immobilizing you to that point had been part of the plan. Heeseung was meticulous and determined to get answers, but what happened to you was cruel.
He stayed to watch Niki pop your bones back in place, your head on Sunghoon’s lap so he could better keep you in a deep slumber. He had offered to carry you to the guest room and put you in bed, given that he thought Sunghoon looked exhausted, but the offer was turned down.
Jake didn’t think much of it. He assumed Sunghoon grew a brief attachment to you after having to access your mind to put you to sleep.
You glanced down at them, a bitter taste circling at the tip of your tongue. You couldn’t say you had been more bothered by the pain than the potential reason behind your legs breaking. You couldn’t recall exactly what happened, but you were certain you had begged for help.
“It wasn’t a good experience,” you commented.
“I figured that much!” he agreed before clearing his throat and shrinking into himself. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“Don’t blame yourself,” you said. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“True, but–“ he rubbed the nape of his neck and tipped his head side to side–“it is the fault of people I know.” It took him a second to register the sudden morph of caution among your features through how your lips twitched and your gaze hardened. He immediately extended his arms when you moved away, and then he held them up in surrender.
“No, no, no! Don’t be scared! We won’t hurt you from here on, I promise!” He put one hand down to his heart, drew a cross, and pointed up at the sky. “I cross my heart and hope to die.”
You felt a cold quiver along your skin—Heaven has received Jake’s oath to you. Still unused to the passives of your power, in which your body perks at human practices related to Heaven and Hell, you rubbed your arms to get rid of the goosebumps as you grimaced at Jake. “It’s not a good idea to swear to God before me.”
He raised his brows, his genuine grin returning gradually. “I know.”
“What?”
“I know,” he repeated. “You’re them, right? The baby who sent a down beam from Heaven and killed every infant in the NICU. We’ve been wondering about that.”
Your parents never spoke of that accident, and you were too young to understand what the continuous protests outside your apartment meant at that time. Minho hid it from you by omission, not intentionally, but because he didn’t feel it was something you needed to know.
Still, he explained everything when you asked about the whispers traveling between social workers. You have a gift, and it killed everyone around you. It was fortunate that it happened when you were just born. People would have been able to recognize you now if it happened later in your childhood.
“You–“ you trembled out a breath–“you knew?”
“Yeah, but we figured most of it on our own!” He nodded with a dismissive wave, his eyes rolling to the side. “The public doesn’t know about you too much, obviously. But imagine if they did! The government would have caught your ass so fast!”
You heaved a sigh and turned away from his big mouth, trying to block out his voice to prioritize your thoughts.
You cared about the infants you murdered more than ten years ago. You dug into their names and their families. You memorized everything about them and visited their graves periodically. You’ve done whatever you could as an attempt to repent, and you’ve come to terms with what you did as a newly born infant. It was on the news years ago.
Everyone has heard of it already. You’ve got no problem with that. The issue was that Jake knew the beam you cast down was from Heaven, unlike what the news broadcast assumed to be just a random light projection power.
A lot of dirt had to be dug through for anyone to deduce that your power is associated with Heaven and Hell (and Jake got some guts of steel if he already knew and still swore to Heaven in front of you). The boy who stole your necklace yesterday must be someone he knew, then? Given that he wasn’t lying to you.
What else? You have been stalked for a while now, or at least researched and checked. Was the whole point of yesterday night to bring you to this place? What of the man who put you to sleep? He couldn’t possibly be part of this devious plan!
“Hey, don’t stress about it! Everyone here has been through some horrible things!” Jake mused.
“It’s not that! Have you guys been–wait, no!” You scratched the back of your head. “How many people–ugh, what?” You’ve got many questions and didn’t know where to begin.
“We will explain everything at breakfast,” he interrupted your self-imposed struggle with a soft nudge to your elbow. He held onto your arm to pull you along with him. “I’m getting hungry. Come on!”
Your legs automatically followed him, walking down the hallway as he doused you in chit-chat.
Most of them, you answered with silence and an occasional hum, such as random incidents that happened prior to your arrival with a bunch of strangers’ names inserted between the stories.
Some of them, you felt the need to flash him a raised brow and give him an answer, namely when he enthusiastically asked if you were friends with the nation’s cosmic twins, whose power was similar to yours.
You were not, but you always thought if anyone in the world understood your relationship with a God, it would be them.
Initially unwilling to pay him any mind, you found his ability to talk nonstop a relatively comfortable aspect of him. He was soft-spoken and stuttered from time to time. Mixing his words with silly laughter made him the epitome of an unthreatening presence.
The man who crossed his heart and hoped to die at the promise that he would bring no harm to you from now on—your body gradually lowered its guard as he walked with you, understanding that if you needed to feel alert, he wasn’t the proper target.
“Jake,” you suddenly called. “Can I ask you something?”
He made a questioning noise from the back of his throat, immediately cutting himself off from what he was saying. “Yeah. What’s up?”
“What’s, um,” you slowly turned your head and met eyes with him. His smile made you look away briefly. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Oh!” He grinned, clapping his hands together. “Jay made traditional American breakfast. You know, with pancakes and syrup and everything.”
You nodded, your hands habitually flying up to your chest to grasp at nothing.
You’ve never had a traditional American breakfast before.
Sunghoon fidgeted with his fingers when he saw you enter the dining room with Jake. To occupy himself, he continued setting the table as Jay requested.
He was never big on talking about feelings, whether they be his or others. Ironically, he always felt the most in every room because of the nature of his power: to absorb emotions.
What originally started as a means to calm someone down slowly unraveled to be an ability to directly take away feelings. As he grew up, he learned that there were various consequences of doing that, and one of them was to induce sleep.
Before he put you into a deep sleep last night, he touched your head to take your emotions away. Once you became a blank sheet of paper, you blacked out.
He has been using his psychic power since he discovered it. Still, unfortunately, his understanding of it wasn’t advanced enough to reach its full potential.
Logically, since all the emotions he takes from others go inside him, he could just become a vacant vessel if he could also swallow his own. But he hasn’t adequately learned how to do that, so he’s been forced to experience every emotion he absorbs from others.
Your anxiety and anguish from last night—he would never say it, but he knew exactly how you felt.
“Good morning, everyone!” Jake mused once he neared the dining table. Turning his head left and right for a quick scan, he smiled despite the empty chairs. “Just a few of us, then.”
“Niki is not coming down for obvious reasons,” Jay commented as he went around the table to set a plate of hash browns and scrambled eggs down.
You gave Jake a quick glance at the casual drop of your name. He scrunched his nose and chuckled bashfully to dissolve the tension in the air, then he patted your shoulder, telling you to grab any seat as long as food was in front of it.
You licked your lower lip and rolled your eyes when he immediately left you after his voice dropped, running around the table to what you assumed would be his designated seat. Unfortunately, since you knew nobody else in this mansion, you thought your best choice was to sit next to Jake.
Turning to follow in his footsteps, you were abruptly greeted with a soft wall. Sunghoon put his hands up awkwardly when you stumbled backward to avoid bumping into his chest. He wanted to steady you, but he couldn’t force his arms to move.
All he wanted was to do a wellness check, but he didn’t expect you to turn to him at the same time he stepped close.
When you collected your composure to look up at him, you stilled in response to him wordlessly putting his hands on your head. You remembered his face, namely his quiet eyes. It took you a while to register how intently he was staring at you, and you deliberately looked at something else to avoid making prolonged eye contact.
Sunghoon’s palms cooled with gentle traces of air traveling along his veins. You were a little confused, but overall calm. There was a sliver of judgment, possibly because you noticed Jake’s pancakes were overly soaked with syrup.
He removed his hands in relief once he ensured you were doing well. He reached inside his hoodie pocket to pull out a pen and a stack of tiny notecards. He scribbled something on it before flipping the card over.
“How are your legs?”
“I am walking normally,” you replied with a nod and a pursed smile. Then, reluctantly, you gestured to your mouth. “You–um. You can’t talk?”
“I can. Just don’t want to,” he opened his mouth to say before haphazardly writing on a notecard again. He turned it over to you. “Sign language?”
You breathed in a short gasp and shook your head. “No, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’ll write,” he muttered before pointing at himself. “Sunghoon.”
“Y/N,” you introduced, then your mouth folded into a sneer not particularly directed at him. “But you already knew that.”
“Hey, come sit down! The food is getting cold!” Jake hollered from his seat, finding it his sworn duty to ease any awkward tension in the air. Half his sentence was muffled by the cheeks full of food, but his distasteful glance and stretched-out yell told a more aggressive message than his words.
Sunghoon spared Jake a glance before complying. He side-stepped you, planning to go around the table to sit at his original seat. But, before he could make it around the corner, a soft yet distinctly clear voice halted his steps with a suggestion.
“Sunghoon, go sit next to Y/N.”
Heeseung limped in slowly, putting most of his weight against his trusty cane. There were no signs of distress on his face or clothes, but the beaded wetness around the tips of his hair and the fact that he was walking with his cane told everyone in the dining room that his gout flared up again.
When he noticed Jay’s raised brow, silently asking about his well-being, he responded with a pursed smile.
It was nothing unusual, but if he could stop having them, he’d rather that.
Jake stacked your plate with all sorts of food after you sat down, occupying himself with other tasks so he could take a breather from swallowing the sweets.
You frowned at the unappealing formation he slathered your plate in: the syrup seeping under the scrambled egg, the pancakes soaked into a darker shade, and short strings of hash browns sprinkled atop three sad bacon pieces. You would have openly complained about how it looked if you weren't so hungry.
“How are you feeling?” Heeseung asked after he sat down with a suppressed groan. He set the cane against the table and pressed his hands together under it, looking at you expectantly. “Oh, and of course, my name is Heeseung.”
You nodded; through the process of elimination, you could pinpoint who Jay was. “I’m walking.”
“That’s wonderful,” Heeseung said, not particularly sounding like he was rejoiced to hear that. “But how are you feeling?”
Sunghoon lowered his utensils beside you and signed, “They’re feeling fine.”
“You made friends quick,” Heeseung mused as his eyes darted across Sunghoon, who answered a question directed toward you, and Jake, who he noticed dropped a mountain of food on your plate without being asked to.
The way Heeseung spoke was bothersome but not frighteningly so. Talking to him felt like talking to someone who wanted nothing to do with you yet was socially adept enough to maintain a regular conversation and trick you into thinking his disinterest was all in your head. Judging by how he motionlessly observed you, you thought you might be correct in believing it was all your imagination.
You shrugged. His low tone of voice made your agreeableness shrink. “I won’t necessarily call them that.”
“Y/N!” Jake gasped. When he saw your grimace, your face screaming at him that he couldn’t possibly think he’d made a friend on such short notice, he slumped and pouted down at his food. “Yeah, okay…”
His disappointment—mainly the unapologetic way he showed it—returned your sympathy that Heeseung unknowingly stole by putting you under strange pressure.
Your eyes softened, and your lips pulled themselves into a friendly smirk. You turned away from Jake before he could notice your demeanor change. Heeseung was still looking at you when your attention was on him again.
“I’m sure you have many questions,” Heeseung said. “I also have a few about you.”
You failed to stifle a groan. “I am the baby in the NICU.”
"We already figured that much. I appreciate the confirmation, nonetheless," he returned and leaned forward, putting his arms on the table. "We are more concerned about your power."
You didn’t want to overthink the situation and debate if this rich and fulfilling breakfast was only a disguise to trap you in an interrogation, but with the way Heeseung hadn’t even begun to pick up his utensils since he sat down at a table full of delicious-looking food, it was becoming more blatant that you were here to be accessed instead of enjoying your meal.
Tearing a fork through the hash browns, you plopped some into your mouth and chewed—either way, you would be enjoying the food.
“I can answer your questions about me,” you said after swallowing your food. “But you also have to answer mine.”
“That was the plan,” Heeseung said. He leaned back and gestured toward you with his hand before using the same one to reach over to the teapot set down in front of him. He leisurely poured himself a cup of hot tea. “You can go first.”
You exhaled quietly, the light in your eyes fading to light up the back of your head, where you have constructed an investigation board with barely any evidence and strings tying it together.
Your confusion regarding the situation was immense, from the purpose of your being here to the location itself, but when you were allowed to voice your concerns, you found it difficult to make sense of them. You didn’t know where to begin, but you didn’t want to let Heeseung take the rein either.
“You can start by introducing this place,” you said. “What’s up with the mansion?”
Heeseung huffed out an airy chuckle through his nose. He faintly turned his head to motion toward Jay, “I’ll let the owner start.”
“My name is Park Jongseong. You can call me Jay,” Jay said with a brief bow of his head, his hand pressed flat against his chest. “Don’t listen to Heeseung. I’m not the owner of this manor. It is my family that owns the estate.”
The house was not a mansion. It was a manor. Not that you could tell them apart; you only knew they have one thing in common: they’re both unaffordable.
Jay’s family rarely frequented the estate in the past. Still, now that he had become the last descendant of his generation for a reason he didn’t include in the introduction, he decided to move from the city and officially make the manor his home. Along with himself, he brought Jake, his orphaned childhood best friend.
The manor currently housed seven residents—Heeseung, Jay, Jake, Sunghoon, Niki, who you had a terrible first encounter yesterday night, and a woman whose name you couldn't remember. Courtesy of Jay's incredible sum of inheritance money, none of them were required to pay a cent to stay here.
Jake laughed when he saw your eye twitch at the mention of free housing, and his laughter was not abruptly cut short by your deadpan stare. Besides that, you were hung on the fact that Jay humbly said he wasn't the owner of the estate when he technically has become so after the death of his parents. Annoying rich bastard.
“I do want to apologize on behalf of what Niki did yesterday,” Jay said after the brief introduction. “It wasn’t his intention to hurt you like that. I believe he panicked and made a terrible decision in the spur of the moment.”
“Great. I was going to talk about him next.” You squinted at him, dissatisfied. “But why are you apologizing for him?”
"He is the youngest out of us and the only child under this roof," Heeseung answered. "Niki came to live with us after his mother died a few years ago. We didn't have to look too far to figure out it was his father's doing, but he couldn't be prosecuted due to a lack of evidence."
That didn't make you less angry at him, but you felt sympathy where it was due. The fact that he was only a child made it easier to change your initially rigid impression of him.
You liked to think you would have never done anything of that sort back when you were his age. Still, given the assumption that he knew who you were and what you could do, perhaps he wasn't entirely wrong to panic for his life when you attacked him for your necklace.
“We couldn’t let him stay with his father, so we brought him here,” Jake said, dropping his fork on the table and animatedly gesturing with his hands. “You should have seen the state he was in after he went to avenge his mom. His father beat him to a pulp in public, like in front of his colleagues and everything! That man has no shame!”
There appeared to be a pattern, which you should have deduced when Jake mentioned that everyone living in this manor has been through horrible things. Jay’s family was no longer here, Jake was orphaned, and Niki’s parents lived unfortunate lives. You looked around the table curiously, brows furrowing at Heeseung and Sunghoon.
Sunghoon was quite taken aback by your sudden attention, but after spending a few seconds accessing you, he looked up at his friends from across the table and signed.
Jay stifled a chuckle. “He wanted to tell you his parents are alive and well. They just abandoned him.”
“So, technically, another orphan.” You nodded in acknowledgment. “What about you?”
Heeseung looked down at his plate as if debating his response. You waited, surprised that he didn’t have anything witty to slam at you, anything about a lack of manners and asking about people’s personal trauma after having just met them. When he looked up again, he was smiling faintly. “Same situation.”
“Okay, so, what? This is one freaky family of orphans?” you said, sneering almost. “Is this a sympathy grab? You’re hoping I won’t press charges on a teenager?”
“I am a multi-millionaire,” Jay said. “Do you really believe I’ll be concerned with an assault charge?”
“But of course!” Jake slapped a hand to Jay’s face and pushed him backward. He leaned forward to stare at you with wide eyes. “Of course it would be great if you could spare our darling, poor, orphaned, abused–“
“I get it!” You clicked your tongue but wiped the glare off your face. You leaned against the back of the chair and crossed your arms, impatiently exhaling as you rubbed your brows. You were never planning on pressing charges anyway, especially now that Jake has dumped two strangling adjectives to describe Niki. All you needed was your necklace back.
“I don’t understand,” you muttered. “Why am I not at the hospital?”
“Everyone here takes part in vigilante work,” Heeseung started, wasting no time. “Although Jay’s inheritance money should last all of us for a long time, we thought it was best that we don’t rely too much on it, especially with the unpredictable state of the current economy and the–“ he widened his eyes–“crazy property tax we have to pay just for this plot of land.”
“Vigilante work?” you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “We have law enforcement for a reason. The justice department just introduced an independent investigation team.”
"You and I both know the police force isn't helpful anymore. Those with insignificant powers want to feel special, so they join the police academy, forcing them to churn out mediocre policemen. Those with powers adequate enough to protect the public went ahead to do better things," Heeseung said.
"The investigation team neglects issues on a smaller scale. Even if they don't, they are ill-equipped to handle them. The twins alone were a walking natural hazard."
As much as you didn’t want to agree with Heeseung, he didn’t tell a single lie. Local law enforcement, indeed, hasn’t been as helpful as the collective effort of the citizens living in a specific area. A nosy neighborhood auntie could disarm a robber faster than the police could arrive at the crime scene.
And he was right that the investigation team was ill-equipped to handle regular tasks, as the collateral damage the team has caused the city has been reprehensible.
“I mean–“ You licked your lower lip and huffed displeasedly.
“Why are you upset?” Jake asked, playing with his fingers. “Do you not believe in justice?”
“I do,” you said. “I also believe it’s not our place to serve it.”
“Leave it to the vessel of a God to tell us that,” Heeseung snarked. He maintained eye contact when you snapped your head around to glare at him. He raised his brows, the tip of his tongue lightly poking against his inner cheek. “Don’t look at me like that. You know you are one.”
“Something like that.” You shifted on your seat but maintained eye contact with him. “Maybe not a vessel. Not exactly.”
"I'm not too concerned about its nomenclature. I just need to know if you still have that power," he cleared his throat, "because we would like to have you as part of the manor."
Unfortunately, that was not an unreasonable request. You still have your bone to pick with Niki for barging in and attempting to steal your necklace, and his motive became more baffling now that you knew he had little to no financial stress.
However, knowing your ability and the current state of your livelihood, it was not unrealistic for them to find you a convenient candidate to recruit.
“How do you guys work?” you asked.
“A popular website was created a while ago that allows people to post any suspicious individuals or activities they’ve witnessed. We have been picking interesting cases from there and starting our investigation,” Heeseung replied. “Once we figure out the logistics, we go in, catch the guy, and send them anonymously on their way to the station.”
“Uh-huh.” You lowered your head and asked in a humorous whisper, “Are you guys secretly trying to surpass the investigation unit?”
Heeseung’s lips stretched into an amused smile for the first time. He looked pointedly at you, his torso leaning forward as if he wanted to share a secret. “No, but it would be funny if we did that.”
“Whatever,” you scoffed. “But here’s what I want to know: why do you still need me?”
You haven't thoroughly explored the powers of everyone at the table yet, but you didn't think it was necessary to recruit more manpower. Your ability must be appealing, but it was not required under the eyes of someone on an equal footing. Niki could be a one-man army. How difficult could vigilantism really be with a nutcase like him on their side?
It wasn’t as if you were easy to handle, either. You may have the power of Godhood, but it has to be activated for you to reach your full potential, and once you reach your full potential, you will no longer exist to help them.
Not only that, the sentience of Enlightenment should be a threat to everyone around you. Would they be able to deal with who you’d become once you reach that point? Would they want to?
“We have been meaning to expand the scope of the cases we take,” Heeseung said. “Instead of scratching off online posts, we thought maybe it’s time to start taking orders for monetary gain. It’s always the more the merrier when it comes to those kinds of operation.”
“Right,” you muttered. “What’s in it for me?”
“You can quit all your jobs now and move in with us. It’s free housing, besides being sent to work on different cases occasionally. You can have your own room. We have a garden outside, a swimming pool at the back, a greenhouse. Whatever you can think of,” Heeseung listed casually. “If you’re uncomfortable asking for money, Jay can arrange to get you a card to use whenever you want.”
He had you at free housing and quitting your customer service jobs, but you let him finish because you didn't want to seem too desperate to be out of your current tax bracket. The vigilante work didn't bother you as much; it was a reasonable price to pay for everything else you would receive.
As for your impressions of the manor's residents—Sunghoon, Jake, and Jay were fine. The rest you were cautious about, but nothing being a little avoidance wouldn't solve.
This manor was huge. Seeing all of its residents must be an option.
“Okay,” you said.
Jake grinned, and Sunghoon visibly perked up at your agreement. But, before one of them could let out a celebratory holler, Heeseung waved his hands with an interrupting cough. He cleared his throat and settled down once again. It was great that you agreed to join the residence. However, he still needed to ensure your usefulness before offering you anything.
"We still have to make sure your ability is intact," he said. "We sent Niki to the shop yesterday to check for your power, but he didn't get an answer."
“If you’re looking for Godhood–um, huh?”
You heard Heeseung the first time. His words were clear as day and straightforward—Niki was at the sandwich store yesterday because they needed to check if you still have your power, not because he was a delinquent child looking to cause trouble. You understood that the first time he said it, but the depth of its connotation failed to hit you until a few beats later.
Niki was at the sandwich store yesterday. He tried to steal your necklace and riled you up. He broke your bones and triggered traumatic memories.
“Did you tell him to do that?” you asked. “He wasn’t just being a stupid teenager. You asked him to come into the shop and take my necklace?”
“Yes,” Heeseung confirmed. “As I said, we needed to find a way to see if your ability is still present.”
“You did all of that just to test out a theory?” you asked through a clenched jaw.
Jake slowly lowered his utensils once he noticed your fists trembling by your plate. His wide eyes darted between you and Heeseung, unsure how to break the mood this time.
“Well, not to test out a theory,” Heeseung replied. “It’s more to answer a ques–“
“You broke my limbs. I had a full-blown anxiety attack,” you gritted out, your hand flying up to your chest to touch for something no longer there. “Do you know how important that necklace is to me?”
It must all be so fascinating to them. The idea of Godhood, the absolute power of Heaven and Hell. To them, your power was an ascension, and Enlightenment was to be reached. But they would never understand.
The guilt of accidental murders, the stress of keeping a mental cage mature enough to defend yourself against a concept inherently yours, the loneliness of self-isolation, and the pain of becoming.
You've lost people and become alone. You've had people, but you were still alone. The road to the end was unforgiving, as was the destination you were cursed to tread.
Redness covered your eye, glitching and twitching to make itself show. You’ve had it, it seemed. Still, it was so fascinating to Heeseung that life and death did not trigger you enough. Could anger be the defining start instead of endangerment? Or were you just extremely good at controlling your emotions?
Everyone shot up from their seats when you pushed your way out of yours and bolted toward him. Your utensils slammed against each other when you pushed the table's edge, and the chair screeched against the floor as it got shoved.
Sunghoon reached out for you, but his fingertips brushed only the faint of your hair before you were out of reach. For the first time, he understood why Heeseung requested him to sit next to you. In the worst-case scenario, he can calm you down best.
Heeseung exhaled through his parted lips and stood up. His knee hurt, but he neglected his cane to walk to an open space. He watched you make your way to him, your intention to harm evident in your speed, but he did not respond with the same caliber. He faced you with a bland expression and dropped something from his hand before your fist could come in contact with his face.
A silver cross necklace dangled on his finger. You halted in recognition. Your pupils were so blown up that your eyes became red. It was precisely what he wanted to see.
"This does not belong to me. I'm sorry I took it from you," he said, gently reaching for your hand. He helped you lay out your palm and returned the necklace.
"I really do apologize for Niki's actions yesterday night. If you don't forgive the event, I hope you hold it against me instead of him, as he didn't agree to the test."
Your pupils twitched like camera lenses zooming in and out. Looking down at your palm, at the silver necklace, you thought you could smell the residue of blood that once stained it.
You held it and pretended you could access Minho's brain and know what he would do in this situation. If he would let go of his grievances and choose an easier life, or if he would hold a grudge for the sake of his dignity.
Colors returned steadily as you calmed at the mere construction of your thoughts, which was just a slow recollection of your conversations with Minho over the years. Your eyes returned normal, with a hint of sad rage.
Part of it was genuine when you told Niki it was a rusty, old necklace. The cross was never anything but a reminder that your dad was gone. You were never delusional enough, and Minho wasn't predictable enough for you to guess what would've done.
He wouldn’t have wanted you to do that anyway. You’ve grown older without his presence, but one lesson he taught you was that your decisions were always for you to make. And you say you wanted retaliation.
A loud smack echoed through the dining room. Jay looked down at the ground, his eyes meeting Jake’s widened ones on the way to ignore what he saw. You felt a sting on your hand, which you knew felt much worse on Heeseung’s cheek.
Heeseung closed his eyes to settle himself. He moved his jaw, clicking it as his hand moved up to touch where you’d slapped him. There was an unnoticeable quirk around the corner of his lips. “I deserved that.”
“Yes,” you whispered. You clutched the necklace in your hands. “It made me feel better.”
His chuckle was airy. The sudden beaming from your body, in contrast to how monotonous your voice sounded, was funny. “My pleasure.”
The dining room fell silent for a moment. You watched Heeseung’s smile fade after the exchange, and for the first time, you realized how delicate his features were.
Jake leaned his torso over the table to check if you two were still talking. He pouted when he saw that there’s only a bunch of standing involved in this silence, so he clapped his hands for attention and dropped them to his side.
He shrugged, his brows raised innocently. “Well, are they in now, then?”
Heeseung’s eyes softened, and he nodded.
