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(if you share good things) you’ll become more lonely (u-know/reader)

***cover by the wonderful and talented @jongins-tiddies; please go check out their work!!***

You meet Yunho under less-than-ideal circumstances, and make the biggest mistake of your life. It leads you on a winding path of violence, crime, and dark secrets, and forces you to confront ghosts from your own past. The crooked romance between you and Yunho, which blooms against all odds, only adds another wrinkle to the story of a world that is crumbling at your feet.

What then, one might ask, was your mistake? Simple and innocuous, even innocent.

You tried to save Yunho’s life.

Chapter 2: In A Lonely Place | prev next mlist

Characters: TVXQ! Yunho, Female Reader

Genre: romance (if you’d care to call it that), enemies to lovers, smut, mystery kinda, gangs

Warnings: violence, guns, blood, knives, generally dark & gritty material, unhealthy relationships, like seriously both reader and yunho are kind of unlikeable and toxic and also stupid

Rating: Mature, for the violence

Length: 7.3k

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A quick disclaimer for this, I guess. This is probably the most stereotypically fanfic-y thing I’ve ever written (and probably will write). However, I’m doing it consciously as opposed to thinking that this portrays a healthy relationship, or romanticizing the, quite frankly, abusive behavior exhibited by both the [Y/N] character and Yunho. This fictional Yunho is really just five hundred red flags in a trench coat and honestly so is the [Y/N] character. I suppose I’m almost satirizing the stereotypical fanfic style with this work (while also having brain worm sexy times). While I cannot be held responsible for how you choose to interpret and internalize this work, what I can do is say my piece on how I feel about it in hopes that it will persuade all of you to think a little critically as you read. TLDR: this fic portrays an unhealthy and toxic relationship. I am not trying to romanticize any of these behaviors and neither should you. Love, in any of its forms and in all its power, is not always enough to save us.

The next couple days pass the same way. You take time off of work, which you think Dr. Park might secretly be glad for. Yunho is healing slowly, but well. The two of you spend most of your time trying to stay out of each other’s way. He really is like a wild animal. He’s always on edge; if you approach too quickly or quietly he’ll whirl around with a dangerous look in his eyes, hands up, before relaxing and stepping away.

And yet, you’re not really scared. You’re wary, certainly; you don’t wish to know what will happen if you truly catch him unawares, but he intrigues you more than he frightens you—and he’s definitely trying to frighten you. Part of it is just a natural reaction, but you get the impression that he’s holding you not just at arms length, but at metaphorical sword point. But there’s a certain air of sadness that he carries with him underneath the toughness and even the fear, and it’s this that convinces you his demeanor is, at least in part, an act.

You only leave once to go shopping. He picks up an old flip phone at the store when you go to restock your first aid supplies. You don’t ask.

On day three, he announces over breakfast that he’s gotten into contact with an old friend who is able to provide him with some protection and a place to stay, and that he will not require your hospitality any longer.

“I’m not in a position currently to offer you much,” he says quietly. “But if you can think of a way for me to repay you, I will do my best to fulfill your request.” He says it grudgingly; you have a feeling he’s been thinking this over and whatever compass his morals obey swayed him to compensate you in some way. Either that or this old friend of his pushed him to say something.

You think it over, swirling your coffee around in its cup. “Don’t you think I need protection now, too?” you ask slowly. “You still won’t tell me what happened, but I’m getting the idea that it’s quite serious. I’m supposed to just go back to my regular life?”

Yunho looks at you impassively. “Didn’t you say this building has good security?”

“What about when I need to leave this building?” you ask, trying not to look at him like he’s stupid. “My PTO will run out eventually. I’ll need to go grocery shopping. I can’t hide in here forever.”

“What—do you want a bodyguard?” Yunho leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No,” you say. “Can your friend relocate me, too? For the time being? At least until you—” you wave your hand in the air “—figure out whatever all of this is?”

Yunho sighs up at the ceiling, contemplating. After a moment, he nods. “Sure,” he says, in a fuck-it tone of voice. “I owe you after all, don’t I? If you want to dig yourself in deeper, it’s none of my business. I’ll see if Changmin-ssi can find a place for you.”

“Great,” you say, standing up and collecting your dishes. “So where are we going?”

“I don’t know,” Yunho says, watching you out of the corner of his eye. “Changmin-ssi’s men will come get us.”

“His men,” you repeat, trying not to scoff. “What is he, some kind of jopok boss-man?”

“Not exactly,” Yunho says, and you freeze. “But I suppose that would be close to his position, yes. His company… well, he’s no common kkangpae, at any rate.”

“What does that make you?” you ask slowly.

“Somewhere in between,” Yunho says, standing and wincing when he tries to stretch. “And just as dangerous.”

You bristle a little—he continues to insist on playing the villain, doggedly and faithfully, almost like he wants you to say something about it. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction, but you’d like to smack him for it if it wouldn’t result in immediate bodily harm.

“Should I pack?” you choose to ask instead.

“Probably,” Yunho says. “You’ll need something to wear.”

“When are we leaving?” you call after him as he strolls out into the hall.

“Sometime this afternoon,” he replies over his shoulder, and disappears from view.

You throw some clothes and toiletries into a suitcase, along with your electronics and a bit of money, while Yunho calls his friend to inform him of the change of plans. You’d already resolved to take the rest of the week off, and if after a week or two, no one has come after you, it’s probably safe for you to go back to work. For the time being, you’ll go with Yunho and hope for the best. It’s better than being left alone with no one to help you.

Yunho’s watching the street from one of your windows. He stays there for the next hour or so as you get some things around your apartment in order and double-check that you have everything you need for at least a few weeks.

“They’re here,” Yunho says suddenly, and you jump to your feet. Rolling your bag down the hall, you grab an extra coat and slip your feet into your shoes. Yunho does the same, and then you’re locking up your dark apartment and following him to the elevators.

You don’t speak on your way out; a black car with tinted windows waits for you on the street. A man takes your bag and throws it in the trunk, and then you’re pushed into the backseat after Yunho.

You’re driven through the city in complete silence. Yunho is turned away from you, watching out the window instead. You want to ask a million questions, but you know better. You keep your lips pressed together and your hands knotted tightly in your lap.

Eventually, you leave the city and start driving out towards the rural industrial areas. Empty fields stretch out on either side of the road. You must have been driving for a half an hour at least; you’re too tense to reach into your pocket to check your phone, and you can’t see the dashboard clock from your seat. Yunho hasn’t moved; when you pass through patches of shade, you catch glimpses of his reflection in the glass. His face is blank and his eyes are unfocused.

You wonder about this friend of his—are they really friends, or just associates? Maybe Changmin owes Yunho, and this is how he plans to repay him. If they were friends, wouldn’t Yunho be a little more excited to see him? Then again, you can’t really imagine Yunho being excited about anything. His face seems to be permanently stuck in a stony expression, except for when he’s in pain, or when he’s angry.

After a while, you turn down a narrow lane, lined with trees and bushes, and end up in front of a large warehouse. A garage door opens, and the car rolls to a stop. The men in the front seat get out first, then open your doors. One of them fetches your bag and drops it at your feet.

“This way,” one of them says to Yunho, barely sparing you a glance. It seems that you’re just expected to follow. “President Shim will see you.”

With no other choice, you tow your bag behind you, following Yunho into the depths of the warehouse.

You’re led through a few doorways, up a flight of stairs, and down a hallway. Finally, you stop, and the man leading the two of you knocks on a wooden door. “Sajangnim,” he says. “Your guests have arrived.”

“Enter,” a mild voice calls from inside, and the man slides the door open and pushes you and Yunho inside, slamming it shut behind you.

The man is standing with his hands clasped behind his back, facing away from both of you. He appears to be examining the painting on the wall opposite of the door. He turns once he hears the door close.

He’s different from Yunho; you can tell immediately. His eyes are warm, and they have a clear, intelligent quality to them—it reminds you of one of your professors back in school. His lips are curved into a gentle smile. He’s younger than Yunho, you guess, but not by much. He’s taller, too; again, not by much, but enough that you can tell the difference even at this distance.

“Changmin-ssi,” Yunho says quietly. He’s wearing a guarded expression that you are now familiar with. You look between the two of them, curious.

“There’s no need for formality here, hyung.” Changmin’s voice is smooth, gentle and almost melancholy. He sits down in the chair behind the desk, and gestures to the two of you to take the armchairs on the other side. “Please. Would you introduce me to your friend?”

You bow quickly as Yunho tosses a hand in your direction. “This is [Y/N]-ssi. She helped me multiple times recently. I don’t mean to impose; I told her to name a request in return for her help, and she requested to come here.” He slips into one of the seats as you raise your head.

“I apologize,” you say quickly when Changmin doesn’t say anything. He’s regarding you thoughtfully, silent. “I didn’t feel it would be safe for me to be on my own after—after everything.”

“I understand,” Changmin says. He sweeps his hand toward the empty chair. “Have a seat.”

The air feels thick around you as you abandon your bag by the door and make your way to the armchair. It’s more comfortable than it looks; you sink into the cushions. None of you say anything for a minute; Changmin is resting his elbows on the desk, hands folded in front of his mouth. Yunho is looking everywhere except at either of you. You watch Changmin. After another moment, he speaks again.

“Well, I’m sure you have things you wish to tell me,” he says to Yunho. “We can save them for later. For now, let me go over a few things. The first and most important is that you are not to leave the compound without notifying myself or one of my staff. This is primarily for your safety.”

“I have work,” you say. “I planned to go back in a couple weeks. I can’t just disappear off the face of the earth.”

Changmin nods slowly. “It might be best for you to keep up appearances,” he concedes. “You will go with an escort. It’s hard to get to and from this location without a private car, anyway. Taxis and other services tend to get lost.” You have a feeling that is by design.

“Thank you,” you say.

“Yes,” Changmin says. “I will have someone give you a quick tour on the way to your rooms. Things are simple here—we aren’t about extravagance, but about function. We have a basic first aid center, and of course plenty of space for training. I think you may both want it.” He turns to you. “Have you been trained at all in self-defense?”

You nod. “I did Taekwondo when I was young,” you reply. “So I know some basics.”

“Good, then picking up some training shouldn’t be too difficult,” he says. “You may begin whenever you wish. However, hyung—” He turns back to Yunho. “I know you mentioned over the phone that you want to train as soon as possible, but I think you should have our doctor look at your injuries first.”

“I can start today,” Yunho says, his voice hard.

“No, you can’t,” you say, and then stiffen when both men turn to look at you. Yunho looks furious, but Changmin at least looks only faintly interested. “Sorry,” you say, mostly to Changmin. “I’m—a nurse, I’ve been treating Yunho-ssi a little bit. He’s in no state to do any kind of training. He needs to wait for the stitches to heal. Another few days at least.”

Changmin nods; you want to say he looks amused, but it’s the ghost of an expression. “Well, we’ll get a second opinion, but I have a feeling your friend here is right. No—“ he holds up a finger when Yunho opens his mouth to argue. “Whatever it is can wait until you are healed.”

Yunho clenches his jaw, exhaling slowly, and sits back in his chair. “Fine,” he says.

“Good.” Changmin turns his gaze back to you. “That’s all for you. I’ll call one of my staff to show you to your room. You are not a prisoner here; you are a guest. It is a courtesy extended to you because you helped my friend. If you need anything, just ask. I trust that you won’t go behind my back. Please do not let my faith be misplaced.”

It’s a dismissal. “Thank you,” you say, standing and bowing again. “I assure you I will not.”

“Good,” he says again, and then presses a button on the phone sitting on the desk. “Could one of you show our guest to her room?”

The door opens again, and a new staff member is waiting outside. You retrieve your bag and follow them out the door. You glance back briefly; Yunho is still leaning back in the chair, as far from Changmin as he can get without being rude; Changmin is leaning forward intently, waiting for privacy so he can no doubt ask Yunho a mile-long list of questions.

“Follow me,” the staff member says sharply, closing the door in your face.

They take you down the hall, pointing out a few different training rooms. Then, you’re led up a flight of stairs, past the kitchens, and through a large doorway. It’s much quieter up here; in Changmin’s office, you could hear faint conversation and movement from around the room; in this section of the compound, all you can hear are your own footsteps, and those of the staff member.

They lead you past a series of closed doors until you reach one with a small jade pendant hanging off the doorknob. They open it for you and point you inside. “Your room. There is a phone on the wall if you need anything.” With that, they turn and stalk back down the hall.

You enter, closing the door behind you. There is a doorknob lock, but nothing more. You suppose you couldn’t really ask for anything else. You’re a guest here, which means you are somewhat at the mercy of—of whatever this is, whoever these people are.

You set your bag aside and poke through the room. There is no private bathroom; you passed a communal one on the way in. Faintly, you wonder which of the rooms is Changmin’s, if he has one, and which will be Yunho’s.

Sighing, you flop onto the bed. “What am I doing?” you ask the ceiling. Briefly, you consider leaving—you wonder if you could just go to Changmin later today and tell him that you made a mistake, and maybe it would be best for you to return home. But you know that no matter how strange your current situation is, striking out on your own would be even worse. You’re mixed up with dangerous people now. Trying to deny it by distancing yourself from them won’t do any good.

But even more pressing than the fear for your own safety is your curiosity about Yunho. You picture his eyes, stormy and sad. What happened to him? How did he end up like that, bleeding out in the alley? Who was the man who followed him to the hospital? How does he know a man like Changmin? You can’t turn away from this mystery now; you know you’ll never be able to put it to bed in your mind if you leave. Besides, there’s something about Yunho that draws you to him. He’s hiding so much, and you want to know what it is.

Maybe it’s that you hope the man you helped is a good one. Maybe it’s that you want to try to save him if he’s not.

← ⚬ →

The next few days pass slowly and uneventfully. The doctor told Yunho to rest, so he’s spent his time locked away in his room. You’ve only seen him once in passing since your arrival.

You don’t see Changmin, either. He’s either busy or away, you’re not sure which. It doesn’t bother you too much. After the first day, you plucked up the courage to go see about some training. There’s an old judo master here, and he’s been working with you to brush up your skills and teach you some new tricks.

Interestingly, you see a lot of Changmin’s wife. Her name is Misuk, and she is sweet and kind, if a bit mysterious. You usually find her in the kitchen, though you’ve often passed her in the training yards as well. She greeted you warmly the first time your paths crossed, and you’ve spoken to her many times since.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” you say one day over some tea. “But how did your husband and Yunho-ssi meet?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Misuk replies. “Changmin used to mention him sometimes, but not often and never in detail. I know they met at university. Yunho-ssi dropped out somewhere in his third year, and they lost contact for a while. Then, a few years ago, they started talking occasionally. And now—this.”

“Why did Yunho-ssi drop out?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” Misuk says, shaking her head. “I’m sorry.” She sighs, looking at you pensively. “My husband does not trust you,” she says after a beat or two. She doesn’t say it to insult you; it’s more just a statement of fact.

“But you do?” you guess, and Misuk smiles.

“I do,” she says.

“Why?”

Misuk tilts her head. “If you wanted to harm Yunho-ssi, I think you would have done so by now. Unless you’re playing the long con, trying to get to Changmin. But if you were, I think you would feel different.”

“How’s that?” you ask, intrigued.

“You would behave warmer, but feel colder,” she replies. “I like to think of myself as a good judge of character. So since I do not think you are a spy, then that means there’s only one other reason that you helped Yunho-ssi.” She pauses to take a sip of her tea. You watch her curiously. “You have a good heart.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” you say, but it’s nice to hear all the same.

Misuk is still smiling. “They can be difficult, men like Changmin and Yunho-ssi. They keep so much to themselves. Most would give up quickly, or not bother at all. I was lucky to meet Changmin when he was younger.” She laughs to herself. “I don’t know if I would have been able to manage it if I met him now. So I admire your perseverance.”

“Ah,” you say, not sure how to respond. “Thank you.”

The slightest of frowns shadows Misuk’s lovely features. “But you seem quite young,” she adds. “I don’t mean to be rude, but how old are you?”

“Twenty-four,” you reply.

“Yes, quite young. Changmin and I were only a little younger than you when we met. That was nearly ten years ago now,” Misuk says. “And Yunho-ssi is a few years older than Changmin.”

You do the math in your head—that would put Misuk and Changmin in their early thirties, which means that Yunho is, at the youngest, thirty-three. “Well,” you say. “I don’t intend to marry him. I barely know him.” You try for a smile, and Misuk receives your words with laughter.

“That’s fair enough, then,” she says. “And probably for the best. He is carrying many things, I think.” She shrugs one shoulder up a centimeter. “Then again,” she adds thoughtfully, “so are you.”

You decide that’s enough talking for the day and excuse yourself to resume training. Her eyes follow you on your way out.

← ⚬ →

Aside from Misuk, the teachers are the only ones who pay you much mind. You think they enjoy your obedience and quiet diligence—you have a feeling both of these things are rare with most of the other people they work with. For your part, you’re just glad to have people that are willing to help you.

After about a week, Yunho joins you in the training room. He keeps his distance at first, practicing some punches on one of the stuffed dummies in the corner while you work one-on-one with another teacher. She puts you through some exercises, then sends you to get a drink of water.

“Yunho-ssi,” Teacher Kwon calls to him. He looks up somewhat reluctantly. “What if you practiced with a real person? Give that dummy a break.”

“I practice with you all the time, seonsaengnim,” he says.

“No, I meant with her,” Teacher Kwon says, nodding to you. “Easier for me to watch you both that way.”

You whip your head up, trying not to choke on your water.

Yunho sighs. “If you think it’s a good idea,” he says.

You frown to yourself, swallowing your water and pushing yourself up to your feet. You think you should be nervous, but Teacher Kwon is here, and you’ve come to trust her. So you walk out to the center of the floor, meeting Yunho there.

“Good.” Teacher Kwon’s voice is crisp. “Go through a series of punches together, just a basic block-and-jab sequence. Slow at first, and then speed up.”

You go through the first round at walking pace, arms loose, not aiming to hurt. But as you begin to speed up, the force behind both of your movements increases, too. You raise your arm a moment too late to block one of Yunho’s punches, and he strikes the tender muscle where your shoulder connects to your chest. You shout and stumble back.

“Again,” Teacher Kwon says when she sees you’re not hurt.

This happens a few more times—you start slow, begin to pick up speed, and then Yunho will sneak his hand in too fast and hit you somewhere painful. You swear he’s doing it on purpose. Or maybe you’re just competitive and a sore loser. You grit your teeth, shaking baby hairs out of your eyes.

“Again,” Teacher Kwon says. She’s watching you closely.

This round, you focus on anticipating Yunho’s movements, and this time you see it coming. You block his punch, and when he hesitates, surprised, you strike him where you know it will hurt—right over his healing stab wound.

He coughs and wheezes, doubling over. “That’s cheating,” he gasps.

You look at Teacher Kwon. She raises her eyebrows. “It’s cheating if she learns your habits, gets the better of you, and hits you where she knows you are vulnerable? No one will care about cheating in a real fight. Why should we care now?”

He flips his head up, glaring at you. “Again,” he grunts.

“No,” Teacher Kwon says. “Take a breather, both of you.”

You sigh, retreating to your things for some water. Yunho sits down right where he is to catch his breath. You can hear each ragged inhale from across the room. You feel bad, kind of, but mostly you’re filled with a vindictive sort of satisfaction.

After a few minutes, Teacher Kwon gets both of you back on your feet. “Alright, try it again. See how fast you can go, yes?”

You run through a couple more rounds—you each hit each other a couple more times, though you’re careful to stay away from Yunho’s injury. As much as it was fun to see him so angry, you don’t want to actually hurt him. Soon, you’re both sweating, and after a particularly strenuous round, Yunho holds up a hand.

“Just—one second,” he says.

Mildly concerned, you watch him as his chest heaves. And then he coughs, and blood spills over his lips.

“My fault,” Teacher Kwon says immediately, looking disappointed. “I should’ve known that hit wasn’t good for you. Get to the infirmary. [Y/N], help him. We’re done for today.”

You offer your hand, which he does not take. Together, you make your way down to the doctor. Though he won’t accept your help, you follow anyway, knowing Teacher Kwon will likely scold you if you don’t. Besides, you feel bad enough having hurt him. You want to make sure he gets to the doctor in one piece.

“Oh, dear.” Dr. Lee looks at Yunho over the top of his glasses when you enter. “Lie down. What happened?”

“I punched him,” you say, trying not to sound guilty. “I punched his stomach. We were training.”

“She punched my stab wound,” Yunho corrects, voice strained.

Dr. Lee removes Yunho’s shirt and checks him over, and then gives you a rather amused look. “He must have done something to inspire this behavior,” he says, waving you away when you open your mouth to defend yourself. “No, don’t worry about it. He’ll be fine. You’re [Y/N], isn’t that right? The nurse?” You nod mutely. “Perfect. We’re going to need to drain the blood from his lungs. I’ll set that up. Could you tend to the site of the injury?” He pushes a cart of supplies to you.

There’s no way for you to say no, so you get to work. Yunho lies still, eyes closed and face contorted with discomfort. You clean up the wound while Dr. Lee sets up and performs the thoracostomy, pressing on a new layer of bandaging. The stitches are still intact; you shake your head in disbelief.

When you’re done, Dr. Lee ushers you away to get dinner. “This will take a while,” he says. “Go, get some food. You can come back later.”

You eat slowly, wondering how upset Yunho will be at you when Dr. Lee is through with him. You debate just going back to your room, but you know your guilt will eat you alive if you do. You stall as much as you can, but soon your plate is clear and you’ve had two cups of tea, and there’s nothing left for you to do except to go check on him.

Dr. Lee isn’t there when you return. Yunho is lying on his back, tracing his fingers over the bandaging. You’re pleased to see it hasn’t bled through. He looks a little pale, but otherwise no worse for wear.

“I’m sorry,” you say. He looks over at you, then returns his gaze to the ceiling. “I wasn’t thinking—I was a little mad, I guess.” He nods. You step closer, though you’re careful to stay out of arm's reach.

The silence stretches on for a minute or two, and then he raises his head. “Why are you still here? You came to apologize, right? I accept your apology.”

You blink. “I don’t know, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“I see that, I ju—”

“So go.”

“Yunho-ssi,” you say, shoving down your frustration. “Why won’t you tell me how all of this happened?”

“Do I ask you about such personal things?” he says.

“No,” you say, “but you could—”

“I don’t want to.” He cuts you off. “Why do you want to know?” His voice is dull, almost bored.

“I want to help you,” you say.

“This is helping?” he asks, gesturing back and forth between you and his stab wound. He has a point. You look down at your feet when you realize he’s laughing. “Help me,” he adds derisively. “How could a little girl like you help me?”

Anger flares in you, and the words are out of your mouth before you can think to stop them. “I’m not a little girl!” you snap. “I may be younger than you, but I know what I’m doing, and I can do things that you can’t. I’m sure it pains you to admit it, but I was the one who saved your life. Twice, in case you’ve forgotten!”

Yunho snorts. “Okay,” he says mildly. “Try to help me, then, if it’ll make you happy.”

“It doesn’t,” you spit, and turn on your heel and march out of the infirmary.

What an ungrateful, disagreeable, antagonistic piece of shit! you fume to yourself as you head back to your room. Why should I even bother? It’s such a shame! If he wasn’t such a pain, he could even be attractive. I guess it just goes to show that looks aren’t everything.

You shower and get ready for bed, still angry. But despite your anger, you can’t convince yourself to give up on him. Aside from you and Changmin, who does he have? You find it hard to believe anybody could be this kind of person just by their nature. You doubt he started out this way. And you see him, sometimes, in moments where he’s lost in thought. He never looks angry or cruel. He just looks lonely.

I know there’s good in him, you think to yourself as you drift off. I want to see that goodness. I have to at least try.

← ⚬ →

The next week, you decide to go back to work. Your security system hasn’t raised any alarms, and nothing out of the ordinary has happened at the hospital in your absence, so there’s no excuse for you not to go back to work. Changmin assigns one of his staff to shuttle you back and forth on workdays.

“Thank you for the ride,” you say awkwardly the first morning, one leg out of the car. “Um, I usually get off around eleven, but I’ll message you if anything changes.”

You’re given a stiff nod in reply, and then you slip out onto the pavement and hurry through the front doors.

Work is completely ordinary. Things aren’t too busy these days; there’s always a lull after the holidays because people are settling back into their regular schedules. You spend most of your time restocking rooms.

Around ten p.m., you get an alert on your phone from your security system.

“Dr. Park,” you say, trying not to sound scared. “Something’s set off my security system at home and I—I’ve been worried about intruders lately. Is there anything you need me to do, or may I go home early tonight?”

“Go ahead,” Dr. Park says. “We’re not busy anyway.”

So you rush to the train station, messaging the driver to pick you up outside your apartment instead. You’re anxious the entire ride. It occurs to you that you should call for help, maybe, but you imagine the inconvenience and the embarrassment if it’s just a glitch, so you decide against it.

Everything looks the same as you walk through your neighborhood. Dubu is in the window of the convenience store; she blinks at you when you pass. You blink back and keep walking. You head into the lobby of your building, then up the elevator. Your door is just as you left it, shut tight. Maybe just a glitch, then, you think, relieved, relaxing your shoulders as you reach for your keys.

But when you insert your key into the lock, your hand slips and the door handle turns. You push the door open, tense with fear again. You know you left it locked; you tested it before you followed Yunho down the hall. It wasn’t a glitch after all; someone, somehow, broke into your apartment. The alarm isn’t ringing, which means somehow, they turned it off.

You step into the darkness and are about to slip off your shoes when a worse thought occurs to you. Whoever broke in could very well still be inside.

Shit. You shove your heel back into your shoe and turn to grab the doorknob, but you hear shuffling behind you. You whirl at the last second, and a knife scrapes against your door, right where your shoulder had been not moments before.

You grab your bag by its handles and swing it at your assailant. You connect with something, and they yelp in pain. The knife clatters to the floor at your feet; you must have hit their arm or something. They lunge for it at the same time that you kick it down the hall. They grab your leg and tackle you to the floor.

You struggle, exchanging punches. You wish your eyes would adjust to the dark. Their fingers scrabble at your throat, squeezing. You cough, writhing, and aim a punch at their ribcage. They wheeze and release you, and you kick your legs up to throw them off. They take off down the hall, and you realize they’re going for the knife. Quickly, you extract your insulated water bottle, still mostly full, from your bag.

They come charging at you, and you can just barely make out the glint of metal. You block the knife with your bottle and then swing at them. You miss, and the next thing you feel is a searing pain in your thigh. You scream, swinging again, and your water bottle clangs against their head. They stumble as they pull the knife out of your leg, snarling, and then they press forward, slashing wildly. You put up your arms to protect your face and chest, and you can feel blood running from your forearms to your elbows. The air smells like copper.

You swing at their wrist; they drop the knife again and you reach out and push them to the ground before they can try anything else. You straddle them, tearing one of their arms out of the way, and bring the water bottle down against their temple. They go limp beneath you.

Gasping, you scramble off of them, getting to your feet unsteadily, and limping along the wall to flick on the light. Once your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness, you retrieve the knife and drop your water bottle on the floor. You go to your bag, searching for your phone.

Arriving soon, the driver has messaged back.

Someone at my apartment, you type back quickly. Attacked me, I knocked them out. I will call the lobby to let you up.

Fine, he replies.

With shaking hands, you find the front desk number on your phone and press dial. “Hello?”

“Hi,” you say, forcing your voice to sound calm. “I have a guest coming up. Could you please let him up to the 27th floor? I’m a little busy.”

“Sure thing.”

You hang up, and look over at your intruder. They’re stirring, and you hold out the knife when their eyes land on you. “Stay down,” you say. Your voice shakes. “My friend is coming. I don’t want to hurt you. Stay down.”

They curl their lip and stagger to their feet, holding their head with one hand as they struggle to retain their balance. They pick up speed as they limp down the hall to you. When they’re about a meter away, they sway and trip. Their momentum launches them on top of you and the knife in your hands makes a sickening sshink! noise as it seats itself in their belly.

You gag, pushing them off of you even as their blood soaks into your clothes. You approach them on your hands and knees and reach for their wrist to check for a pulse. You can’t feel one.

There’s knocking on your door, and you almost scream. Unsteadily, you get to your feet and peer through the peephole. It’s just your driver, and you open the door to let him in.

He shuts the door quickly and goes to the body. “Who is he?”

“I don’t know,” you say faintly. “I think I need to look at my injuries.”

He glances at you and then nods. “Yes, you should. I’ll notify President Shim; he’ll bring a team back sometime later tonight to clean this up. Right now, we need to get you back to the compound.”

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll go clean up.”

You stumble off to your bathroom. Once you’re inside, you peel your bloody clothes off and throw them in the tub, then grab some bandaging and tie a tourniquet around your leg to stop the bleeding. You clean and cover your more serious wounds and then wash the blood from your skin and underneath your fingernails.

You limp over to your dresser and pull out a clean outfit, dressing as quickly as you can, and then head back to your door.

Your driver has moved the body out of the way and wrapped it with a towel or two. “I hope you don’t mind,” he says. “It will muffle the smell, in case we can’t get a team here until tomorrow morning.” You nod, not really listening. “Let’s go,” he continues. “You should see Dr. Lee.”

← ⚬ →

Changmin requests to see you in his office as soon as you arrive, and Dr. Lee meets you there. You chose shorts, so that means you don’t have to strip in front of Changmin and Misuk and a few other salarymen while Dr. Lee treats you. Changmin asks you to explain what happened, a troubled look on his face, as Misuk pours you some tea.

“We need to get the body out of there and the place cleaned down as quickly as possible,” Changmin says. “I’d rather this didn’t get to the police.”

“She’s not going anywhere tonight,” Dr. Lee says quietly.

“That’s fine,” Changmin says, and turns to you. “May we have your key? I’ll send a few of my people to go clean things up.” When you hesitate, he smiles. “You have my word they won’t touch anything they don’t need to.”

It’s not reassuring, but you don’t really see another option. You get your key out of your pocket and hold it up for him. “Fob is for the elevator,” you say as you drop it in his hand. “Security system is armed. 1872 to stop it from going off.”

“Thank you.” He scribbles something down and then hands the key and a slip of paper to one of the guys standing by the door. “Anything else we should know?

“It happened in the entryway,” you say. “There’s probably a trail of blood down the hall to my room—second door—and into my bathroom. I left some bloody clothes in the tub there.”

“They’ll clean it,” Changmin says, nodding to the man. He slips out of the room.

Misuk puts a hand on your shoulder. “I’ll make some dinner for you,” she says softly, and leaves as well.

“Your driver tells me he saw a tattoo on your attacker’s neck,” Changmin says once Misuk is out of the room. His voice is serious and quiet. “It was the symbol of people who work for a man known as President Wang, or Boss Wang. The man who attacked Yunho had the same tattoo. [Y/N]-ssi—” Changmin sighs, shaking his head. “Has he told you anything about that day?”

“No,” you say, trying not to sound bitter. “Nothing.”

Changmin nods. “He’s told me very little, too. I know he wants revenge, but I think he doesn’t want to tell anybody his plan until he is ready. Less chance of it getting out, I suppose.” He shrugs. “Whatever it is, I believe it’s all connected. Boss Wang and his men are onto you, it would seem. You can’t go off on your own again, do you understand? Next time, ask to be driven. I don’t care what kind of emergency it is.”

You nod. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s fine. I’ll leave you two to finish up,” Changmin says, moving to the door. “Come eat when you’re done.”

Dr. Lee pats your thigh; he’s done bandaging. “Lucky girl,” he says, getting to his feet. “That’s the only serious injury. It’s deep, but luckily they didn’t hit any big arteries. Still, you’re going to have to be careful on it for the next week or so, okay?

“Will do,” you say, nodding.

“The rest—just keep it clean, and you shouldn’t have a problem.” He hands you a roll of bandaging and some tape. “If you want it. I have patients that need tending down in the infirmary.”

“Is everything alright?” You stand and follow him to the door.

He smiles at you. “Don’t worry,” he says. “They’ll be fine. Goodnight, [Y/N]-ssi.” He turns and walks down the hall.

You hurry upstairs, past the kitchens and to the bathroom to check the wounds on your arms. They’re mostly superficial, but you bandage the bigger ones anyway, just in case. You pocket the leftover supplies, turning to head back to the kitchens.

Yunho is hovering in the doorway, one foot inside the bathroom.

“I heard what happened,” he says quietly when your eyes land on him.

You give him a wry look. “Still think I was overreacting about needing protection?”

“I never said you were,” he says as you approach. “I just didn’t care.”

You gesture to your heavily bandaged thigh. “Well, I care,” you say. “This is now my business. Will you tell me what’s going on? Who’s this guy that these people who tried to kill us work for? What did he want with you?”

The muscle in Yunho’s jaw jumps. “I don’t know,” he grits out.

“Yeah,” you scoff. “Okay, then get out of my way. I’m starving.”

To your surprise, he simply turns and heads down the hall.

You go the opposite direction, back out to where the smell of food is calling.

Misuk is nowhere to be seen, but Changmin is sitting at the table, finishing up a bowl of soup. He looks up, and then nods at you when you come in. You bow quickly in response and then fetch an empty bowl and dish some out for yourself, sitting down a safe distance away.

He pushes his empty bowl away but doesn’t move to get up. You don’t raise your head, not sure if you want to engage in conversation with him.

“Are you okay?” Changmin asks quietly.

The question throws you off-balance. “Yeah,” you say after a second.

“Well, you did just kill a man.” He swings one of his legs around his chair so that he’s straddling the seat and facing you. “I assume it was your first time.”

You shrug. “I mean,” you say, “he was going to kill me—or worse.”

Changmin lets out a short chuckle, nodding. “That’s true.” He turns his spoon over and over in his hand.

“Can’t you tell me what’s going on here?” you ask. “You’ve known Yunho-ssi for quite some time. How did he get—like this?”

Changmin’s face clouds over. “Yunho… really hasn’t told me much,” he says slowly. “At least not yet. All I can say is that there are people that want him dead, and now that they know you are associated with him, they want you either dead as well, or taken in for questioning.” He spreads his hands. “I think it would be a betrayal of Yunho’s trust in me if I were to tell you anything more.” He smiles at you—a genuine smile, not his usual polite cover. “And you know what they say about curiosity killing the cat.”

“Ah,” you say, “but the second half of the saying goes, ‘but satisfaction brought it back’.”

His smile grows. “I see why Misuk likes you,” he says after a moment. He stands, collecting his bowl. “Get some rest,” he says. “Yunho may not act like it, but I think having you around does him some good.” He washes the bowl by hand and then sets it in the tub for the dishwashers. “I know we initially planned to open our doors to you for a short time, but given the situation, I think it would be appropriate to extend your stay to something more long-term. I’d rather Boss Wang didn’t get a hold of you.”

You nod. “Thank you, sajangnim,” you say.

He shakes his head at you. “You don’t work for me,” he says kindly. “And you’re friends with people close to me. Changmin-ssi will do just fine.”

“Oh,” you say, feeling oddly comforted. “Alright. Changmin-ssi.”

“Sleep well,” he says, walking towards the door. “Goodnight, [Y/N]-ssi.”

“Goodnight,” you echo faintly, watching him walk down the hall until he’s out of sight.

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