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jincapableoflove · 4 months ago

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The Grumpy Girlfriend Protection Program | One-shot

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre: sunshine bf x grumpy gf, golden retriever! jungkook, black cat! reader, office worker! reader, veterinary student! jungkook, fluff, comedy, thriller, mystery (slight), action, angst.

Summary: Jeon Jungkook has always been the sunshine in every room; warm, kind, and completely oblivious to danger. Luckily, you, his grumpy, overprotective girlfriend have made it your personal mission to keep him safe. But when the threat shifts to you instead, Jungkook proves that even sunshine can scorch, and for you, he’d burn.

Word count: 22.8k+

Warnings: reader is very protective, themes of stalking and obsession, usage of drugs (not reader or jungkook), fight scene, violence, multiple flashback scenes.

MOODBOARD

A/N: hugeeee thanks to my dear friend sy (@btswit7 ) for going through my fic and suggesting edits! ilysm. sorry this took so long for me to write. i swearrr this fic was supposed to be fluffy, cute and around 10k words but I got carried away 😔 (not sorry for that). i might've absolutely butchered the tattoo shop scene pls forgive me (I've never been to a tattoo shop before idk how it works) this is also my first time writing an action scene it prolly sucks but wtv.

The sun hung high in the cloudless sky, casting a golden glow over the city. A gentle breeze drifted through the streets, the warmth of the morning wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, just the right kind of day that practically demanded an escape from the ordinary. And what better way to spend it than sprawled out on a checkered blanket, a basket full of food beside you, and your ever-so-enthusiastic boyfriend, Jungkook, grinning at you like this was the best idea in the world?

That’s right. It was picnic day. After a gruelling week at work, all you wanted was to stay in bed, sleep until the afternoon, have a late lunch, and then (ideally) go right back to sleep. But Jungkook, being the ever-optimistic, early-rising, productivity-loving man that he was, thought weekends were best spent on morning picnic dates at whatever random park he had decided on that week.

There was nothing you hated more than disappointing your sweet boyfriend, so cancelling the picnic dates altogether wasn’t an option. After extensive negotiations (read: you groggily whining while he laughed and refused to budge), you managed to compromise—morning breakfast dates became brunch dates. Because let’s be real, every extra second of sleep counts.

On the way to your picnic, you were stopped by a teenage boy, probably 17 or 18, who practically shoved a clipboard into your faces. With the practised enthusiasm of a seasoned salesman, he introduced himself, flashing a grin as he extended a hand in greeting. Then came the pitch.

“Donations for a local animal shelter,” he announced, voice laced with urgency. A shelter you had never heard of.

“The puppies and bunnies are all sick, sir, and the kittens are underfed,” he continued, his face contorting with the sheer heartbreak of it all. The kind of expression that would probably work on unsuspecting souls. Jungkook, being Jungkook, was already pulling out his wallet. And you were having none of it.

Before he could hand over a single bill, you yanked the wallet straight out of his hands. Jungkook blinked at you, stunned.

“Did you even check if it’s a real shelter?” you asked, unimpressed.

Jungkook glanced at the boy, then back at you. “Looks pretty real to me.” You sighed, taking a look at the "official website" the scammer eagerly pulled up on his phone. One glance was all it took.

“That’s a Wix template, you dumbass,” you deadpanned, shooting Jungkook a look. And to drive your point home, you dialled the actual shelter’s number. A moment of silence.

Then, like clockwork, the boy’s phone started ringing. The scammer stiffened, eyes wide with panic. And then, without as much as another word, he bolted down the street before you could report him to someone.

Jungkook pouted, stuffing his wallet back into his pocket. You rolled your eyes. “I can’t believe you almost fell for that.”

“One of these days,” he muttered, crossing his arms, “you’re gonna stop me from donating to a real shelter.” You snorted, nudging his shoulder as you started walking again. “Yeah, well, until that day comes, I’ll keep saving you from getting scammed by guys who probably spent five minutes on Google slapping together a fake charity.”

Jungkook huffed, kicking a loose pebble down the sidewalk. “He had a clipboard. People with clipboards always seem legit.”

“Oh, right, because clipboards are the universal sign of trustworthiness,” you deadpanned. “Next time, I’ll be sure to scam you with one myself.”

He shot you a playful glare. “I’d see through you in a second.” You smirked. “Would you, though?”

Jungkook opened his mouth, then shut it again, squinting at you like he wasn’t entirely convinced. You just grinned, patting his arm. “Exactly.”

You sit cross-legged on the checkered blanket, arms crossed, watching as Jungkook digs through the picnic basket like a child on Christmas morning. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, pulling out sandwiches, fruit, and what looks like an obnoxiously yellow thermos you don’t remember packing.

You squint. “Did you sneak in banana milk?”

Jungkook pauses, looking entirely unrepentant. “No.” You stare. He stares back. The thermos stares between you, the undeniable evidence of his crime.

Finally, he grins. “Okay, maybe.”

You let out a slow exhale, reaching for one of the sandwiches while he happily pours himself a cup of his beloved banana milk.

“I don’t get how you function sometimes,” you mutter, unwrapping your food.

“I function beautifully,” he corrects, flashing you a smile that’s far too bright for someone who just lied to your face. “You’re just too grumpy to appreciate it.”

You roll your eyes. “Right. Because nothing screams ‘functioning adult’ like getting scammed five minutes before a picnic.” Jungkook gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “I was being charitable!”

“You were being a prime target,” you deadpan. He huffs dramatically, taking an exaggerated bite of his sandwich as if it’s the ultimate form of protest. Cheeks puffed out like a bunny, he mumbles through his mouthful, “You stress too much.”

You raise a brow. “I wonder why.” He ignores your sarcasm, swallowing before continuing, “Maybe if you—” He suddenly stops, mid-thought, his eyes lighting up with a spark of mischief.

Oh no. You’ve seen that look before. It never leads to anything good.

"You should feed me."

You nearly choke on your drink. Coughing, you set your cup down with a thud and blink at him. “What?” Jungkook leans forward, resting his chin in his palm with the most infuriatingly smug expression. “You know,” he drawls, wiggling his eyebrows, “since you like taking care of me so much.”

You stare at him, unamused. Then, without breaking eye contact, you take the smallest, most unimpressive bite of your sandwich—just to spite him.

Jungkook groans, slumping back. “You’re no fun.”

“You knew that when you fell in love with me.”

His lips curve into something thoughtful, eyes flickering over your face like he’s considering something. Then, in one swift motion, he reaches over and swipes a strawberry from your plate, popping it into his mouth before you can react.

You gasp. “Jungkook!”

He grins, entirely unapologetic. “Yeah, but I like a challenge.” Without hesitation, you swat his hand, aiming for another grab. He yelps, laughing too hard for someone who just got smacked, dodging your next attempt with the reflexes of a seasoned strawberry thief.

"Unbelievable," you mutter, shaking your head. "A menace to society."

Jungkook only grins wider. "And yet, you still love me."

And just like that, it’s the both of you, bickering, teasing, him being too soft, and you pretending you don’t secretly like it. Despite everything, you’re glad he dragged you here. Because for all his nonsense, for all the chaos he brings into your life, Jungkook makes the world a little brighter.

You hated Monday mornings with a burning passion. If you walked into work and saw someone being all cheerful and optimistic, you’d have the overwhelming urge to dump ice-cold coffee over their head, just to make their day as miserable as yours. Of course, you wouldn’t actually act on that particular intrusive thought. Not unless you had a sudden desire to get fired.

Every day, it was the same soul-sucking routine. Log into your computer, answer emails, prepare for meetings, and trudge through an endless list of mind-numbing tasks that make you question all your life choices. You were staring blankly at your screen, fingers moving mechanically as you typed up a report when your phone buzzed.

Kook 🐰�� [11:10 AM]: Miss me yet?

Your fingers pause on the keyboard. Buzz.

Kook 🐰💜[11:10 AM]: Or are you too busy being all serious and grumpy at work? Kook 🐰💜[11:11 AM]: Bet you’re smiling right now, though.

You bite your lip. You are not smiling. Absolutely not.

“Okay, what is that face?”

Jimin’s voice cuts through your concentration like a knife. You snap your head up to find him leaning against your desk, arms crossed, a knowing smirk already in place.

“There is no face,” you say quickly, locking your phone screen and shoving it away. Jimin gasps dramatically. “Oh my God, it’s him, isn’t it?”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “I swear to—”

“Ohhh, it totally is!” Jimin snatches your phone before you can react, scrolling through the notifications like he has every right to be nosy.

If there’s one person who never lets you live in peace, it’s Jimin. Coworker, best friend, professional pain in your ass, he’s all of the above, wrapped in a smug little package. You first met him when you started this job, and somehow, between the forced team projects, shared complaints about the boss, and mutual hatred for monday mornings, you ended up stuck with him for life. Not that you’d ever admit you’re grateful for it.

Unfortunately, he knows it anyway.

“Jimin, I will end you.”

But it’s too late. He’s already grinning like the devil himself. “Look at you. Getting all giddy over a text. My, my, how the mighty have fallen.”

“I’m not giddy.”

“Oh, you absolutely are.” He mimics your earlier expression, clutching his phone to his chest with a dreamy sigh. “Oh, Jungkook, my sweet precious sunshine, text me more. I can’t possibly get through this workday without knowing you’re thinking about me.”

You throw a stapler at him.

He dodges effortlessly, laughing. “Relax, lover girl. It’s cute. Gross, but cute.” You huff, snatching your phone back. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Jimin plops down in the chair next to you, still smirking. “Now tell me, what’s golden boy up to?”

You hesitate. But your phone buzzes again.

Kook 🐰💜 [11:13 AM]: Hey. Don’t overwork yourself. I’ll call you later, okay?

You stare at the screen for a moment, fingers hovering over the keyboard before you eventually settle on a simple reply.

You [11:14 AM: Okay.

…Okay, maybe you are smiling a little.

Jimin sees it immediately. And you already know you’re never going to hear the end of it.

The moment you step into the break room—finally free from Jimin’s relentless smirking, you let out a breath and pull out your phone, scrolling through your recent calls before dialling Jungkook. It barely rings twice before he picks up, his voice warm and teasing, like he already knew you’d call.

“Hey, baby,” he greets smoothly, amusement lacing his tone. “Miss me already?”

You roll your eyes, setting your lunchbox on the table with a thud. “In your dreams, Jeon.”

Flipping open the lid, the rich, savoury aroma of bibimbap immediately washes over you. The vibrant colors of the ingredients are neatly arranged, looking almost too perfect to eat—almost. You can tell Jungkook took his time making it, carefully placing each topping exactly where it should be, ensuring it looked as good as it tasted.

Your heart does something traitorous in your chest, but you ignore it. Jungkook chuckles at your silence, clearly pleased with himself. “I assume this is your way of telling me my cooking is amazing?”

“Not even close,” you say, grabbing your chopsticks. “Jimin wouldn’t shut up about you, so I figured I’d call and annoy you instead.” A deep, rumbling laugh comes through the speaker, the sound sending warmth curling through your stomach. “Mhm. Sure, love. You could’ve just admitted you wanted to hear my voice.”

Your eye twitches. “That’s not—”

“Shh, no need to be shy. I won’t judge.” You groan, tilting your head back against the chair, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrays you. He’s impossible, and worse, he knows it.

“Whatever,” you mutter. “What are you doing this weekend?”

“Mmm.” There’s some shuffling on his end, followed by the faint rustling of sheets like he’s lying down and getting comfortable. “I was thinking… instead of our usual park picnic, you could come with me to get my sleeve reworked.” That makes you pause, chopsticks hovering mid-air. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he says, voice a little more casual. “It’s been a while, and I wanna touch up some parts. Maybe add something new.”

You lean back in your chair, considering it. You’ve seen his tattoos up close plenty of times—traced them absentmindedly, let your fingers follow the inked lines whenever he had an arm wrapped around you. There’s something mesmerizing about them, the way they flow seamlessly over his skin, each design an intricate part of him.

You definitely wouldn’t mind watching the process.

“That’s fine with me,” you say after a beat. Then, under your breath, you mumble, “But if the artist messes up, I’m fighting them.” Jungkook snorts. “Of course you will.” His voice takes on that teasing lilt that makes you want to reach through the phone and flick his forehead. “You’re so cute when you get all protective.”

Your face heats up instantly. “Oh my god, eat your lunch.”

“I will. But only if you say you love me first.” You nearly choke. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” His grin is obvious, even through the phone. “Say it, and I’ll go eat.” You huff, glancing around the empty break room just to make sure no one’s around. Then, in the lowest possible whisper, you mumble, “…Love you.”

A beat of silence.

And then, even quieter, “Love your bibimbap too.”

Jungkook hums, unreasonably satisfied. “Love you too, baby. Now go eat before Jimin catches you blushing.” Your eyes widen, and you hang up immediately.

Unfortunately, when you turn around, Jimin is standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking far too smug for your liking.

“So,” he drawls, tilting his head. “How’s Jungkook?” You groan, slamming your head onto the table. You are never going to live this down.

Jimin’s laughter echoes in the room, pure evil.

Jungkook’s apartment is the kind of place that makes it dangerously easy to never leave. It’s cozy with warm lighting, soft blankets draped over the couch, and the faint scent of vanilla and fabric softener lingering in the air. You tell yourself that’s the main reason you always find yourself here instead of your own place, but, if you were being completely honest, there are a few other factors at play.

For one, his snack collection is legendary. His kitchen cabinets are stocked with an endless supply of goodies, including a lifetime’s worth of Twinkies, your weakness. And then there’s Jungkook himself, but you’re not about to admit that. Especially not to him.

Curled up on his couch, you lazily flip through his Netflix, eyes scanning titles without really registering any of them. The ambient noise of the apartment, the hum of the heater, the occasional rustling of pages from Jungkook’s workspace, only adds to the drowsy comfort settling over you. Just as you’re about to give up on finding something to watch, Jungkook suddenly plops down beside you, sketchbook in hand.

The cushion dips under his weight, and you barely manage to suppress a startled flinch. He doesn’t say anything at first, just leans back against the couch with a content sigh, flipping the sketchbook open across his lap. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, curiosity piqued despite yourself. "Okay," he says, grinning as he settles beside you on the couch. His fingers drum against the edge of his sketchbook before he flips it open, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. "Wanna see what I’ve been working on?"

You nod, humming in interest. "Mhm. Sure."

The moment the pages spread out before you, your breath catches. Intricate designs fill the book, some half-finished, others shaded to perfection. There are fine, precise lines, bold strokes, and an almost obsessive attention to detail in every drawing. You can tell he's poured hours into this, into crafting something that isn’t just art but a reflection of himself.

"Damn," you murmur, fingertips tracing lightly over the paper. "You did all these?" Jungkook grins, his dimples making an appearance. "Yup," he says, clearly pleased with your reaction.

You take your time flipping through the pages. There’s a sketch of a skeletal hand doing the rock on sign, a detailed microphone showcasing his love for music, lyrics from his favorite songs inked in elegant script, and the word Bulletproof scrawled in a graffiti style, right beneath it, a note written in his unmistakable handwriting: cover-up for eye tattoo. And then, sitting proudly in between these edgy, personal pieces, is a woozy face emoji.

You huff out a small laugh. His tattoo ideas range from deeply meaningful to outright ridiculous.

But then you pause. Nestled between his designs is a rework of his tiger lily tattoo—his birth flower. But entwined around it, curling gracefully between the petals, is another flower. Chrysanthemums.

Your birth flower.

The realization sinks in, slow and warm. Jungkook goes still beside you, barely breathing. You don’t miss the way his fingers twitch, or the way his ears turn bright red when he realizes that you understood. Then, like a man caught in the act he snatches the sketchbook away, snapping it shut so fast you barely have time to process it.

"Aha—! Anyway—" He clears his throat, ears burning. "That one wasn’t, uh—I wasn’t supposed to show you that yet."

Your lips twitch. "Mhm. Jeon, I see what you did there."

"What?" he says too quickly. "It’s just, you know, it looked nice with the lilies." His voice cracks. You arch a brow. "Looks nice? That’s all?" Jungkook nods a little too fast. "Yeah. No big deal."

You don’t believe him for a second.

So, naturally, you lean in, lowering your voice just enough to watch him squirm."You sure about that, baby?"

Jungkook.exe has stopped working.

With a groan, he buries his burning face into your shoulder, mumbling something incoherent against your sweater. You laugh, warmth blooming in your chest, fingers threading absentmindedly through his hair. Yeah. No big deal.

The weekend sun was just beginning to climb when Jungkook pulled up outside your place, the low hum of his car engine a familiar sound by now. You barely had time to lock your door before he leaned over, effortlessly pushing the passenger door open with that usual bright grin of his. “Morning, baby,” he greeted, fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. Without missing a beat, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek—warm, lingering just a second longer than necessary. “You sleep well?”

You slid into the seat, closing the door behind you with a huff, eyes narrowing at him. “No, because someone was blowing up my phone with memes and ‘fun facts’ about toxic tattoo inks at two in the morning.” Jungkook had the audacity to look proud. “I just thought you should know! What if they use cheap ink, huh? Gotta protect this masterpiece.” He gestured vaguely at his arm, where his tattoos peeked out from under the sleeve of his shirt.

You sighed, clicking your seatbelt into place. “Just drive.”

As he shifted gears and pulled onto the road, you let your gaze wander around the car, taking in the familiar scent of his cologne, the faint hum of the engine, and the steady rhythm of the music playing low through the speakers. His hand, warm and absentminded, found its usual place on your thigh like it belonged there, thumb tracing gentle patterns against your skin. It was peaceful. The kind of easy, comfortable silence that only came from knowing someone so well.

But then, something caught your attention.

Your eyes drifted to the backseat, where his sketchbook sat, slightly ajar as if hastily tossed there. A few loose sheets stuck out from the pages, filled with the intricate designs you’d seen before. You reached for it instinctively, but before you could grab it, the scenery outside made you pause.

“...Wait.” Your brows furrowed as you looked out the window. The streets weren’t familiar, the route different from what you expected. You turned back to him. “This isn’t the way to your usual place.” Jungkook hummed, like he’d been waiting for you to notice. “We’re trying a new one today.”

You turned to him, suspicious. “Why?”

His grin widened, full of mischief. “Jin got a job there.” That took you a second to process. “Seokjin?”

“My cousin, yeah.” Jungkook drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, glancing at you briefly before turning his attention back to the road. “He’s a receptionist now. Lured me in with staff discounts.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “So, let me get this straight—he got a job there yesterday, and today you’re already showing up to cash in?” Jungkook gasped, all faux offense, clutching his chest as if you’d just wounded him. “I would never use my dear cousin like that.”

You gave him a deadpan look.

His lips twitched, the act crumbling instantly. “…Okay, maybe a little,” he admitted, flashing you a boyish grin. “But hey, cheaper tattoos, and I get to support my hyung? Win-win.” You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the amused smile pulling at your lips. “Does he even know we’re coming?”

“He does,” Jungkook replied, his grin not fading. “He actually told me to wait for him before I get started with the consultation.”

And that’s how you and Jungkook ended up stuck in the lobby of the tattoo shop, waiting for over thirty minutes for Jin to show up.

Jungkook exhaled loudly, rolling his shoulders before pulling out his phone and dialing Jin for the sixth time. His other hand absentmindedly tugged you closer by the wrist, a small, unconscious habit of his whenever he was growing impatient. “Jin said he’d be here soon,” he muttered, eyes flickering to the entrance yet again, as if willing his cousin to walk through the door. “Told me to get comfy and wait.”

You smirked, shifting slightly in your seat. “He did? So, naturally, he’s gonna be late.” Jungkook groaned, tilting his head back against the couch. “He promised, okay? Swore he wouldn’t ditch me this time.”

“That’s cute.” You patted his thigh mockingly. “You still believe him.” Jungkook shot you a halfhearted glare before flicking his gaze to the empty reception area for what had to be the hundredth time. His foot bounced impatiently against the floor, but before he could make another complaint, the sound of a door opening drew both of your attention.

A woman with sleek, silver-dyed hair emerged from one of the back rooms, her sharp gaze scanning the lobby before landing directly on Jungkook. Her expression immediately shifted into a perfected customer-service smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly. “What are you here for?”

“Sleeve rework,” he replied casually, rolling his shoulder as if to emphasize the ink beneath his sleeve. “You’re the one getting the sleeve reworked?” she asked smoothly, completely ignoring your presence. “Seokjin’s cousin, right?

Jungkook nodded, his own expression polite but confused. “Yeah, but he isn’t here yet. Jin told me to wai—”

“Oh,” she cut in, her lips curving just slightly, a little too knowing. “Well, that’s okay. I’m sure he would’ve referred you to me anyway. I could start taking care of you now.”

Something about the way she said it made your jaw clench.

Jungkook, oblivious as ever, only hummed. “Uh, I mean… I guess we could start the consultation?”

You didn’t like the way she was looking at him.

As she moved closer, the glow of the overhead light caught on her name tag—Nari. The name meant nothing to you, but something about her demeanor put you on edge.

Jungkook settled into the chair, stretching his arm out as Nari prepped her station. You remained seated across from him, phone in hand, pretending to scroll while keeping a close eye on the exchange. Nari pulled on a pair of gloves, her movements fluid and practiced as she leaned in, examining Jungkook’s inked skin. “Your ink is solid,” she murmured, fingers ghosting over the intricate designs. “Whoever did this knew what they were doing.”

Jungkook grinned, clearly pleased with the compliment. “Yeah, my old artist was great. Just wanted some refinements, you know?”

“Mm,” Nari hummed in agreement, grabbing a marker to outline a few areas. Her gaze lingered on his arm longer than necessary, her lips curving slightly. “You’re adding new work too, right?”

Jungkook nodded. “Yeah, just some floral details around the tiger lily.”

That was supposed to be the end of it. But then Nari tilted her head, eyes flickering up to his face before dropping back to his arm, and subtly, but not subtly enough she licked her lips.

“I love doing florals on guys,” she said, voice dipping into something softer. “There’s just something about the contrast, you know?”

Your grip on your phone tightened. Jungkook, completely unaware of the shift in tone, simply lifted his arm to show her the faded edges. “Yeah, I wanted to add some chrysanthe—”

Before he could even finish, Nari reached out, fingers wrapping around his arm, her touch lingering.

“Oh, your skin is so nice,” she murmured, smoothing her fingers over the defined muscle as if she were admiring it rather than prepping it for work. Your eye twitched.

Jungkook blinked, a little startled by the comment but still too polite to pull away. “Uh… thanks?” Nari only smiled, nails grazing his forearm ever so slightly as she adjusted his position. “Good canvas makes all the difference.”

You swore you could hear your patience snapping like a twig. Jungkook looked slightly uncomfortable but still handed over his sketchbook, flipping to the page with his design. “This is what I had in mind for the rework,” he said, tapping the paper.

Nari barely glanced at the intricate details before tilting her head, her gaze flickering back to him instead. “You drew this yourself?”

Jungkook nodded. “Yeah.”

“Wow,” she hummed, leaning in slightly, the corner of her lips quirking up. “That’s impressive. Not many clients walk in with this level of detail.” From where you sat, you rested your chin on your hand, unimpressed.

Jungkook offered a small, polite smile. “I just like having a clear idea before I commit.” Nari's smirk deepened. “That’s really attractive,” she mused, fingers skimming the edge of the sketchbook instead of actually turning the page. “A guy who’s artistic and decisive? Rare find.”

You blinked. What.

Jungkook cleared his throat, shifting in his seat like he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “Uh… thanks?” Nari finally flipped to the next page—though at this point, it felt more like a courtesy than genuine interest. “And you did all of these?”

Jungkook nodded again. “Mhm.”

“That’s insane,” she gushed, dragging her fingers over the lines like they were worth framing. “You could easily be a tattoo artist yourself.” Jungkook chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t think I have the patience for it.”

“That’s a shame,” Nari sighed, her fingers lingering a little too long on the sketchbook. “With hands like yours, I bet you’d be amazing at it.”

Your expression went flat. Jungkook just coughed into his fist, visibly flustered. “Uh—”

You snapped before you could stop yourself. “If you’re done with the consultation, I think you should get started with the sketching.” Your voice was even, but the words were clipped. “Unless this is just a fan club meeting now.”

That made Nari pause.

Jungkook turned to you, lips twitching as if he was trying not to laugh. Nari dared to send you a sharp glare, like you had just interrupted something sacred. But she grabbed a fineliner anyway, her movements slow and deliberate, as if making a point.

You didn’t waver. Arms crossed, you kept your gaze locked on her hands, watching every unnecessary adjustment she made—each one turning into soft, lingering touches against Jungkook’s skin. It was infuriating, the way her fingers skimmed his arm like she had every right to.

And then she bit her lip.

A coy smile played at the edges of her mouth, subtle but unmistakable. Jungkook, completely oblivious as always, remained relaxed in the chair, only wincing slightly when the cold surface of the fineliner pressed against his skin.

You were far from relaxed.

Shifting in your seat, you clenched your jaw, fingers curling against your arms. Maybe—maybe—she was just a touchy person. Maybe you were overanalyzing this. Maybe it was nothing.

“So,” Nari began, her voice light and conversational, “do all your tattoos have a meaning?” Jungkook, still staring at the ceiling like this was any other consultation, nodded. “Most of them, yeah.”

“What about this one?” She tapped the tiger lily, her fingertips trailing over the ink just a little too leisurely. Jungkook smiled, unaware of the way your patience was fraying. “That one represents passion, confidence… all that stuff. It’s also my birth flower”

Nari hummed, like she was committing that information to memory. “And the chrysanthemums?”

At this, Jungkook hesitated. For the first time, he flicked his gaze toward you, something unreadable passing through his eyes. Your posture stiffened, waiting. He cleared his throat. “They mean a lot to me.”

Nari tilted her head, expectant.

You leaned forward, expectant.

But Jungkook just chuckled lightly before answering, “They’re my girlfriend’s birth flower.” His tone was proud, almost smug, as if relishing the chance to say it out loud. A smirk tugged at your lips. That should be enough to shut this down, enough for her to finally get the message—

Except Nari barely reacted.

If anything, she just hummed again, dragging her eyes across his arm like she hadn’t even heard him. “Hm. Bet they’d look really pretty on you,” she mused, her tone as sweet as syrup. Then, without missing a beat, she added, “Then again, I bet a lot of things do.”

Your head snapped up. Jungkook tensed slightly but played it off with an awkward laugh. “Uh… thanks?”

Oh, hell no.

Maybe it was the way she said it. The way her voice dripped with something just a little too sweet, like she wasn’t just appreciating his tattoos but the person wearing them. Maybe it was the fact that her fingers were still lightly dragging along his forearm, slow and deliberate, like she had every right to touch him like that. Or maybe—just maybe—it was the fact that Jungkook, ever polite, ever oblivious, wasn’t saying anything to stop her. Either way, your patience is officially gone.

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, voice smooth but sharp enough to cut. “So, is this your usual customer service?” you asked, tilting your head. “Or is my boyfriend just getting the VIP treatment?”

Nari barely spared you a glance. “Oh, don’t worry. I take very good care of my clients.” Your smile was saccharine, all teeth. “I bet you do.”

Jungkook shifted, fingers gripping the armrest as if bracing himself. “Baby—” You ignored him. “I thought professionalism was a basic requirement for tattoo artists. But I guess it’s optional here, huh?”

Nari’s smirk twitched, but she held her ground. “I’m just making conversation.”

“Right.” You nodded slowly, voice dripping with faux understanding. “Because flirting with your client while his girlfriend is sitting right here is so normal.”

Jungkook, bless his clueless heart, looked between the two of you like he’d just walked into a battlefield with no armor. His lips parted—he should say something, anything, should try to calm you down before things escalated, but the words never came.

Because truth be told, seeing you like this, so protective and so fierce was kind of hot.

Nari’s eyes narrowed, her confidence flickering just a little. “I wasn’t flirting.” You let out a mock gasp, pressing a hand over your chest in exaggerated horror. “Oh, my bad.” Your tone was syrupy, dripping with fake innocence. “I must have misheard when you basically drooled over my boyfriend while I was sitting right here.”

Nari let out a sharp huff, her irritation finally surfacing. She set the fineliner down with a little too much force, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and condescension. “Look, do you want me to finish this or not?”

You opened your mouth, already armed with a sharp retort—

“No.”

Jungkook’s voice cut through the air, calm but unwavering.

Nari blinked. “What?”

Jungkook rolled his shoulder back as he sat up straighter, his usual easygoing expression replaced with something unreadable. “I’ll get it done somewhere else.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms. “Seriously? Just because she’s insecure?”

Oh. That did it. A slow, burning heat unfurled in your chest. The audacity, the sheer nerve to say something like that when she had been the one crossing every possible line. You barely registered standing up, only aware of the way your pulse pounded in your ears as you took a step forward.

“Excuse me?”

But before you could let loose, Jungkook was already moving. His hand found yours, his grip warm and steady as he gently pulled you back. “Let’s go,” he murmured, his voice low but insistent. Nari rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair like she couldn’t care less. “Your loss.” Jungkook didn’t bother responding. He just grabbed his jacket, intertwined his fingers with yours, and led you out of the shop without a single backward glance.

The second the door shut behind you, the tension that had been coiling in your muscles finally snapped.

“I swear—” you started, still fuming, but Jungkook sighed, squeezing your hand in his. “I know, baby,” he said, his voice softer now, the warmth of it cutting right through your frustration. “I know.”

You exhaled sharply. “She was touching you.” Jungkook let out a low chuckle, rubbing his temple. “I literally had no idea she was flirting.”

“You never do.”

That earned you a grin. Jungkook tilted his head slightly, leaning down just enough that his nose nearly brushed yours. His eyes locked onto yours with a familiar fondness. “But you do.” His voice was teasing, but there was something else there too. Something softer. Something that made your breath catch, just a little.

You scowled, but he just wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “Jealous?” he teased. You scoffed.

His smile turned fond. “Cute.” You smacked his chest. “Shut up.”

Jungkook barely flinched at the hit, his grin only widening. He tightened his hold around your waist, pulling you in until there was hardly any space left between you. “That’s not a no,” he murmured, his voice dipping just enough to make your stomach flutter. You narrowed your eyes, tilting your chin up defiantly. “I wasn’t jealous.”

Jungkook hummed, unconvinced. His fingers skimmed over the small of your back, the touch light but deliberate. “Mhm. Sure.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “She was unprofessional.”

“True.”

“And disrespectful.”

“Very.”

“And her eyeliner was uneven.”

Jungkook snorted, finally breaking into a full laugh. “Okay, now you’re just being mean.” You shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but the way he was looking at you, like you were the most amusing thing in the world made your face heat up. His laughter faded into something softer, something unbearably fond. “You know you’re cute when you’re all worked up, right?”

You scowled, jabbing a finger into his chest. “I said shut up.” Jungkook grinned, catching your hand with ease before lacing his fingers through yours. “Make me.”

Your breath hitched. His gaze flickered to your lips for the briefest second, and suddenly, the air between you shifted—

“You guys done with the tattoo already?”

A loud, familiar voice shattered the moment like glass hitting the pavement.

Both you and Jungkook turned your heads in unison, only to find Jin standing a few feet away, looking between the two of you with an expression far too amused for your liking. Jungkook groaned, running a hand down his face. “Hyung, seriously?”

Jin blinked. “What? I was just asking.” His gaze flickered over Jungkook’s arm, eyes narrowing as he took in the faint ink lines still marking his skin—the rough sketch of the tattoo, untouched by the needle. His brows furrowed.

“Wait. You didn’t actually get it done?”

Jungkook huffed, crossing his arms. “No. Because the tattooo artist was too busy flirting with me.”

Jin’s face twisted in confusion. “Huh?”

You, still somewhat bristling from the whole ordeal, rolled your eyes. ��She was all over him. Barely even looked at his designs before trying to eye-fuck him.” JIn’s jaw dropped. “Wait, are you serious?”

Jungkook nodded, his expression flat. “Dead serious.” Jin winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Damn. I had no idea she was like that.”

At least he had the decency to look sorry.

Jin sighed, rubbing his temple dramatically. “Alright, fine. Since I unknowingly threw you both into the lion’s den, I owe you.” He clapped his hands together. “Lunch is on me.” Jungkook raised a brow. “You? Paying for food? Willingly?”

Jin scoffed. “I can be generous, you know.”

You snorted. “That’s new.”

Jin ignored you. “Come on, let’s eat. My treat. Think of it as compensation for the mess I accidentally dropped you into.”

Jungkook hummed, pretending to consider. “I mean… if you’re paying, I’m definitely ordering the most expensive thing on the menu.”

Jin rolled his eyes. “As if you wouldn’t do that anyway.”

Jungkook just grinned. “True.”

You laughed, your earlier irritation melting away. “Alright, fine. You’re forgiven. But only if I get to pick the place.” Jin groaned. “Why do I feel like I’m about to regret this?” Jungkook laced his fingers through yours, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Because you probably will.”

Jin sighed but motioned for you both to follow. “Hurry up before I change my mind.” With that, the three of you headed off, leaving the unpleasant encounter behind in favor of good food.

Nari leaned against the counter, arms folded tight as she glared out the shop’s large window. Outside, you stood near the curb, your gaze fixed on Jungkook and Jin as they chatted. You weren’t speaking, just watching with that quiet, unreadable expression. But somehow, that made Nari even angrier.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath.

“What is?”

The question came lazily from the man who had just strolled up beside her. He shook out his wrists after finishing with his last client, pulling off his gloves and tossing them into the trash. His attention remained casual, uninterested until Nari gestured toward the window with a sharp tilt of her chin.

“Her.”

His eyes followed her gaze. His posture was still loose, still easygoing until he saw you. For the briefest moment, his entire body went rigid. His casual demeanor cracked, just slightly, before he smoothed it over with a slow smirk.

“Huh.”

Nari, oblivious to the shift, let out a scoff. “She threw a whole fit because I was being nice to her boyfriend. Completely embarrassed me in front of him and acted all possessive, like I was some kind of threat.” She tapped her nails against the counter, still glaring at you through the window. “And now, thanks to her little tantrum, he refuses to get his tattoo done here.”

The man hummed, tilting his head. “Jealous girlfriend type, huh?”

“Exactly.” Nari huffed before turning to him with a slow, calculating smile. “You’re good at handling people, right?” He lifted a brow. “Depends on what you mean by ‘handling.’”

She leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Do you think you could… I don’t know, do something about her? Save Jungkook from her?” For a moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze flicked back toward the window, settling this time on Jungkook himself.

And just like that, his smirk thinned.

Jungkook stood beside Jin, hands in his pockets, his head tilted slightly as he listened to whatever Jin was rambling about. But every so often, his attention shifted to you. The way his fingers brushed absently over your back, the way his expression softened whenever he glanced your way, like keeping you close was second nature.

The man’s fingers curled into a fist. “Figures,” he muttered under his breath.

Nari frowned. “You know him?” A sharp exhale. A shake of his head. “Not personally. But I know of him.”

She perked up at that, her curiosity piqued. “Oh?”

His tongue ran over his teeth, jaw working as he leaned against the counter. When he spoke again, his smirk had returned but there was nothing amused about it. “Let’s just say… I have unfinished business with her.”

Nari blinked at that, lips parting slightly as she took in the underlying venom in his tone. Then, as if catching on, she let out a slow, delighted hum. “Well then,” she murmured, turning back to the window, watching you through narrowed eyes. “Wouldn’t it be fun to mess with her a little?”

His gaze never left you. He watched as Jungkook reached out, tugging the sleeve of your jacket into place with an unconscious sort of familiarity, the kind that spoke of years spent together.

The kind of familiarity that should have been his.

The corner of his lips lifted, the smirk sharpening into something colder. “Oh, sweetheart.” His voice was smooth and teasing, laced with something far more sinister.

“I’d love to.”

You groggily blink your eyes open, immediately regretting it as the soft glow of the morning filters through your curtains. Too bright. Too early. Too… awake. You bury your face into your pillow, grumbling incoherently, unwilling to leave the comforting warmth of your bed. It’s Sunday. A day meant for sleeping in, doing absolutely nothing, and ignoring all responsibilities.

Then, you feel it—the weight of an arm loosely draped over your waist, the warmth seeping through your thin shirt. Your sleep-addled brain takes a moment to process before it clicks. Jungkook.

Right. He stayed over last night.

A sleepy sigh escapes your lips as you shift slightly, pressing closer to his warmth. His scent lingers on your sheets, wrapping around you like a second blanket. You peek up, still half-asleep, and catch the sight of him lying beside you, propped up on one elbow, his phone held in his free hand. The soft glow of the screen illuminates his face, casting delicate shadows over his sharp jawline. He’s already awake, completely engrossed in whatever he’s scrolling through.

Too awake for your liking.

“Five more minutes,” you mumble sleepily, voice muffled against the pillow. Your words slur together, more of a plea than a statement, as you instinctively nuzzle into Jungkook’s chest, seeking warmth.

A deep chuckle rumbles from him, low and fond, the kind that makes your heart squeeze without permission. His arm tightens around you in response, fingers lazily tracing light circles against your back. “Five more minutes? Baby, you said that like… an hour ago.”

You don’t respond, only snuggling deeper into his embrace, fully intent on ignoring him. Jungkook exhales dramatically, an exaggerated, put-upon sigh. “You’re gonna sleep the whole day away.”

“That’s the plan.”

“You’re literally wasting the morning.”

“Mm,” you hum noncommittally. “Not wasting if I’m warm and comfortable.” Jungkook pokes your cheek, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he tries to stir you. “C’mon, let’s go out. We could get breakfast, maybe go on a walk—”

“No.” You blindly swat his hand away.

Jungkook groans, flopping onto his back in frustration. “Why did I fall for someone lazier than me?” You crack one eye open, just enough to see his pout. Smirking, you shift slightly and mumble into the pillow, “Because I’m cute.”

Jungkook huffs. “…I mean, yeah, but that’s not the point.”

Jungkook finally manages to wrangle you out of bed—a feat that takes a ridiculous amount of whining, bribing, and sheer force of will. He practically drags you across the apartment, his grip firm around your wrist, ignoring every single one of your grumbles and half-hearted protests.

“You are,” you mumble as he steers you into the kitchen, “the absolute worst.” Jungkook snorts, already rummaging through the cabinets for coffee beans. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was I supposed to let you rot in bed for eternity?”

“Yes.”

Jungkook ignores you, expertly working the coffee machine like a man on a mission. You slump against the counter, still half-asleep, head lolling dramatically to the side as you watch him move around like an overly energetic golden retriever. Then, your phone buzzes on the counter. You lazily glance at the screen, skimming the weather forecast—

Rain incoming.

Your spine straightens, sleepiness vanishing in an instant as you whip your phone up to show Jungkook, shoving the screen in his face with an almost evil sort of glee. “Oh no~” you sing-song, tone dripping with faux disappointment. “Looks like we can’t go out.”

Jungkook’s brows furrow as he squints at the screen, reading the forecast. His expression quickly morphs from mild confusion to full-blown horror. “…It wasn’t supposed to rain today,” he says slowly, almost like he can will the reality away.

“Guess we have to stay in.” You sigh dramatically, clutching your chest like it pains you. “Damn. What a shame.”

Jungkook groans, slumping against the counter like his entire soul has left his body. His dreams of a fun, eventful day were shattered. “You’re lying,” he accuses weakly. “This is a personal attack.”

You shake your head, voice dripping with fake sympathy. “I don’t control the weather, baby.”

Jungkook glares. “But if you could, you’d make it rain every day, wouldn’t you?” A smirk tugs at your lips. “Absolutely.”

Jungkook throws his head back with a dramatic, suffering groan, sliding down the counter like a man defeated. You watch him in amusement, lifting the coffee cup he had just made for himself and taking a slow, satisfied sip. The moment the taste hits your tongue, Jungkook’s entire body snaps upright.

He watches, utterly betrayed, as you lower the cup with a pleased hum.

“…Did you just steal my coffee?”

You blink at him, all innocence. “You made this for me, didn’t you?”

Jungkook scoffs, expression scandalized. “No! I made it for me!”

You shrug, taking another sip as you meet his glare with zero remorse. “Tastes great, babe. Thanks.”

Jungkook clutches his chest like you’ve personally wounded him. “You’re the actual worst.”

“And yet,” you hum, leaning against the counter with a satisfied smirk, “here you are, hopelessly in love with me.”

Jungkook stares at you for a long second, lips pursed. Then, without warning, he lunges. You yelp as he wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you with ridiculous ease and tossing you over his shoulder.

“JUNGKOOK—”

“NOPE,” he interrupts, already marching towards the living room. “If I can’t have fun outside, I’m gonna make you suffer with me inside.” You kick your feet uselessly, fists pounding against his back as he effortlessly carries you away. “Put me down, you muscle bunny!”

Jungkook only laughs, completely unfazed, before spinning on his heel and tossing you onto the couch like you weigh nothing. You land with a soft ‘oof,’ bouncing slightly against the cushions as he flops down beside you, stretching out like a starfish. “You are so dramatic,” you grumble, attempting to shove him away with your foot.

Jungkook just grins, easily catching your ankle and tugging you closer instead. “And yet, you love me anyway.”

You huff, too lazy to argue.

Before you can protest further, he shifts, rolling onto his side and resting his head comfortably on your lap. His eyes flutter shut almost instantly, his breath evening out as he settles in like he belongs there. At first, you stiffen, but as the seconds pass, your fingers instinctively weave through his soft, dark hair. You barely even realize you’re doing it, the motion coming as naturally as breathing.

Jungkook hums at the feeling, half-conscious, but content. His face is completely relaxed and unguarded in a way that makes your chest ache. He looked so soft like this. So warm. So… safe. And something deep inside you just melts.

Your fingers slow, combing gently through the strands, nails lightly scratching his scalp. A soft scowl tugs at your lips. Because this? This is a version of Jungkook you’d fight the entire world to protect.

Jungkook must feel your gaze because, after a moment, he cracks one eye open and peeks up at you. “You’re staring,” he murmurs, voice still laced with sleep. You blink, quickly masking your expression with a huff. To cover up the warmth creeping up your neck, you flick his forehead. “Just making sure you’re still breathing.”

Jungkook snickers, stretching lazily. “Aww, are you worried about me?”

You cross your arms, unimpressed. “Obviously. You’re fragile.”

Jungkook immediately bursts out laughing, full-bodied and carefree, his entire frame shaking against your lap. “Me? Fragile? Baby, I could bench press you.”

You roll your eyes, completely unfazed. “Yeah, well, I could stab someone for you.”

Jungkook’s laughter dies instantly. His eyes widen slightly, blinking up at you as if processing your words. Then, ever so slowly, a grin spreads across his face.

“…Okay, that’s really hot.”

You scoff, flicking his forehead again. “Pervert.”

Jungkook just smirks, completely shameless. “What can I say? I like my girlfriend a little unhinged.” You roll your eyes, but before you can retort, a deep rumble of thunder echoes outside.

Jungkook groans, throwing an arm over his face. “Great. So we really are stuck inside all day.”

You don’t even bother hiding your glee. “Tragic.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Jungkook shifts, burying his face into your stomach like a sulking puppy. You try to shove him off, but he only clings harder, grumbling nonsense against your his hoodie.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur, fingers idly threading through his hair again. Eventually, he shifts, lifting his head to look at you properly. His expression softens laced with something so fond it makes your breath hitch. He doesn’t say anything. Just laces his fingers through yours, absentmindedly tracing patterns against your palm.

Then, suddenly there's a sharp poke to your side and you jolt with a squawk, trying to wiggle away. “Jungkook!” He grins, eyes twinkling with mischief. “If we’re staying in, we should do something.”

You glare at him, still half-prepared to smack him upside the head. “Like what?”

His smirk deepens. “You know exactly what.” For a second, you just stare at him. He stares back.Then, without breaking eye contact—he grabs the game controllers.

Jungkook’s sunshine boyfriend energy disappears the second the race countdown starts. Gone is the sweet, cuddly man who had been wrapped around you like a koala just minutes ago, now, he’s leaning forward, brows furrowed, fully in the zone.

“Loser does the dishes in both apartments,” he announces, rolling his shoulders like he’s prepping for war. You scoff, cracking your knuckles for dramatic effect. “You’re about to regret that.”

The moment Lakitu drops the starting light, Jungkook launches forward like he’s been possessed by the spirit of every pro gamer ever. Meanwhile, you barely get past the first turn without slamming into the barrier. You spam every single item box you can get your hands on, determined to take him down with sheer pettiness if not skill.

Then there’s a miracle. Jungkook is just about to cross the finish line when you hit him with a perfectly timed blue shell.

BOOM.

His character spirals into the air, crashing down just inches from victory. You zoom past him at the last second.

“IN YOUR FACE, JEON.” You throw your arms up like you just won an Olympic gold medal. Jungkook stares at the screen in stunned silence. Then, slowly he turns to you. You suddenly get the feeling you’ve made a terrible mistake.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, cracking his knuckles. “No more playing nice.”

The next race starts and you get absolutely destroyed.

Jungkook goes full demon mode, drifting around corners with terrifying precision, dodging every single attack like he can see the future. He launches red shells, banana peels, lightning bolts— you don’t even know how he’s getting this many power-ups.

It’s a massacre. One round. Two rounds. Three. You lose every single one. By the end, your controller is nearly embedded into your palm from how tightly you’re gripping it. Jungkook, on the other hand, is lounging back against the couch, arms stretched behind his head, smug as hell.

He tilts his head, smirking. “Do you yield?”

You scowl. “I hope you step on a Lego.”

Jungkook just laughs, grabbing your wrist and yanking you into his lap before you can escape. The controllers are discarded, forgotten as you end up tangled together on the couch. His arms snake around your waist, holding you in place as you halfheartedly struggle.

Then—he boops your nose.

You blink. Once. Twice. Then groan, flopping dramatically against his chest. “I take back every nice thing I’ve ever said about you.”

Jungkook only hums, smug and unbothered. “Even though you lost, I still think you’re the cutest.”

You smack his arm. “I will actually fight you.”

“Mm. As long as it’s not in Mario Kart, I like my chances.”

Jungkook’s phone buzzes against the coffee table, the vibration cutting through the comfortable silence. He lazily reaches for it, glancing at the screen. His brows knit together for a second before his face smooths over into a grin.

“Oh, my mom’s planning a family dinner. She wants you to come.”

You, mid-sip of your newly-made coffee, nearly choke.

“…Huh?”

Jungkook tilts his head, amused. “What? You act like this is the first time she’s invited you.”

You pause, tapping your fingers against the cup. His family liked you. You knew that. His mom always sent you home with extra food whenever you visited, and his dad made it a point to tease Jungkook about “finally settling down” whenever you were around. Jungkook leans closer, watching you expectantly. “So? You’ll come?”

You exhale dramatically, pretending to be deep in thought. “…Maybe.”

Jungkook narrows his eyes. “Maybe?”

You smirk. “I’ll go on one condition.”

He leans in even more, suspicious. “What?”

You set your cup down with a slow, deliberate motion. Then you look him dead in the eye. “…Admit that I’m better at games.”

Jungkook snorts. “Not happening.”

You grin. “Then I’m not coming.”

Jungkook blinks. Then, before you can react, he pounces.

“YOU’RE COMING.”

“JUNGKOOK—”

You barely have time to throw your drink onto the table before he tackles you down onto the couch, arms caging you in as he buries his face into your neck. His weight presses you into the cushions, his laughter muffled against your skin.

“You little brat,” he mutters, nuzzling into you. You squirm, but he’s relentless, peppering lazy kisses against your jaw just to distract you.

“Say you’ll come,” he murmurs, voice laced with amusement.

“Say I’m better.”

Jungkook grins against your neck. “Hmm. How about this—you come to dinner, and I’ll let you win next time.” You gasp, shoving at his chest. “Let me win?!”

His laughter shakes both of you, but he doesn’t budge. “I’m trying to be generous, baby.”

“Jungkook, I swear—”

The argument quickly devolves into a mess of tangled limbs and laughter, neither of you backing down. Jungkook is still half on top of you, his arms lazily wrapped around your waist, completely unwilling to let you escape. His warmth seeps into you, making it harder to even think about moving. You sigh, dramatically slumping against the couch cushions. “Fine. I’ll go to dinner.”

Jungkook’s head snaps up instantly. “Really?”

You roll your eyes, poking his cheek. “Yeah, yeah. But I’m expecting VIP treatment.”

Jungkook grins, wide and bright, before leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. “Deal.”

Outside, the rain picks up, sheets of water blurring the world beyond the glass. The streetlights flicker, their glow reflecting off the puddles collecting on the pavement. But just beyond the window, Neither of you notice the figure standing on the balcony of the building across the street a dark silhouette barely visible through the downpour.

He watches. He waits.

The overhead lights in your office cast a dim, sterile glow, humming softly in the near silence. The usual buzz of the workplace has long since faded, leaving only the occasional click of your keyboard and the distant sound of the air conditioning whirring. You rub your tired eyes, exhaustion settling deep in your bones as you scroll through the last few emails of the day.

Just as you’re about to tackle the next document in your never-ending pile, your phone vibrates against your desk, the soft buzz cutting through the quiet. You glance at the screen, and a familiar name lights up:

Kook 🐰💜 [6:15 PM]: Still working? Kook 🐰💜 [6:15 PM]: Come over after work?

A small smile tugs at your lips despite the fatigue weighing on you. You reach for your phone, letting your gaze drift to the towering stack of documents beside you before sighing. There’s no way you’re finishing up anytime soon. With a resigned exhale, you type out a response.

You [6:16 PM]: Working overtime. I’ll text when I’m done.

His reply comes almost instantly, as if he’d been waiting for your response.

Kook 🐰💜 [6:16 PM]: It’s late. Want me to pick you up?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard for a second before you shake your head, rolling your eyes fondly. It wasn’t like you weren’t capable of getting home on your own. The walk to your apartment was barely ten minutes, and you’d done it countless times before without issue. You hated the idea of relying too much on someone else, even if that someone was Jungkook. He was always eager to drop everything for you, to take on your burdens like they were his own, and while a part of you adored that about him, another part resisted it. You never wanted to feel like you needed saving. You could handle yourself.

You [6:16 PM]: I’m fine. My apartment’s nearby, remember?

There’s a brief pause before his next message comes through.

Kook 🐰💜[6:18 PM]: At least text me when you’re home.

You bite back a smile, shaking your head.

You [6:18 PM]: Yes, yes, Mr. Protective.

A second later, your screen lights up again with a message that’s nothing but a row of emojis. You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head as you set your phone down. Stretching your arms over your head, you glance back at the unfinished work in front of you. The night is far from over, and exhaustion lingers in your limbs, but you push through.

Two hours later, the office is nearly deserted. Rows of empty desks stretch out before you, their monitors dark, abandoned by coworkers who were lucky enough to call it a day. Somewhere in the distance, the faint murmur of a janitor echoes through the halls, a quiet reminder that you’re not entirely alone. Still, the stillness feels heavy, pressing against your shoulders as you rub your tired eyes and blink at your laptop screen.

“Still here?”

The familiar voice startles you, pulling you from your work-induced daze. You look up to see Jimin standing by your desk, a bag slung over his shoulder and an amused expression on his face.

You let out a sigh, leaning back in your chair. “Unfortunately.”

He crosses his arms, leaning casually against the cubicle wall. “Overtime?”

“Yeah.” You stretch your stiff fingers before clicking through your files. “Trying to get ahead of things since I’m taking a day off for Jungkook’s family dinner.”

Jimin raises a brow, clearly holding back a smirk. “You? Taking a day off? Who are you, and what have you done with my workaholic friend?”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “It’s one day, Park.”

“Still. Didn’t think you’d willingly take time off for a boyfriend’s family event.”

You shrug, shifting your attention back to your laptop. “I’m being a supportive partner. And also avoiding Jungkook’s pout if I don’t go.”

Jimin chuckles. “Yeah, that tracks.” He checks his watch, then nods toward the exit. “Well, it’s already past eight. I can drop you off—my car’s in the basement.”

You pause for half a second, tempted. It would be easy, safe. A quick ride home without having to walk through the dark streets alone. But something in you resists. You’ve always prided yourself on being independent, on handling things yourself. You weren’t about to start needing an escort home like some helpless protagonist in a thriller movie. Besides, your apartment wasn’t far, and you could take care of yourself just fine.

You shake your head. “I’ve still got work left. Need to refine a client presentation before tomorrow.”

Jimin frowns, clearly debating whether to push the issue. “You sure? I don’t mind waiting.”

You give him a small, reassuring smile. “Go home, Jimin. I’ll be fine.”

He hesitates for a moment longer before exhaling in defeat. “Alright. Text me when you get home, yeah?”

“I will.”

Satisfied, he ruffles your hair in a way that makes you swat at him, laughing as he dodges your weak attempt at retaliation. “Night, workaholic,” he teases before heading out, his footsteps fading down the hall.

And just like that, you’re alone again, the dim glow of your laptop screen casting long shadows across your desk.

It’s nearing eleven o'clock by the time you finally leave the office, exhaustion pressing down on your shoulders like a weight you can’t shake. The automatic doors slide shut behind you, sealing the building in eerie silence. Outside, the streets stretch before you, quieter than usual, the world dipped in shades of silver and black under the dim glow of the streetlights.

The scent of rain lingers in the air, damp and heavy, even though the drizzle had stopped hours ago. The pavement glistens under the flickering glow of streetlights, reflecting the distorted shapes of the empty road ahead. A chilly breeze whispers through the deserted streets, curling around your skin like invisible fingers. You shiver, tugging your coat tighter around you, telling yourself it’s just the cold. You exhale slowly, watching your breath fog in the night air, and begin your walk home. It’s not far—barely a ten-minute walk. You’ve done this route countless times before. It should feel familiar. Safe.

But tonight… something feels off.

At first, it’s just a small shift in the air, a faint prickle at the back of your neck that strange, creeping sensation of being watched. It crawls up your spine, makes the hair on your arms stand on end.

You shake it off, adjusting the strap of your bag. You’re just tired. Paranoid. That’s all. The streets are always eerie this late of course they are. There’s no one around, just the distant hum of traffic blocks away, the occasional flicker of a neon sign from a closed shop. But then when you’re halfway home, just as you pass the turn near the old bookstore you hear it.

A faint, subtle sound, a footstep, echoes just a second too late after your own. Your breath catches in your throat as you freeze, and the sound stops too. The silence is suffocating, pressing in from all sides. Slowly, so painfully slowly, you turn to glance behind you.

Nothing.

Just an empty sidewalk, stretched too long and too dark behind you. The streetlights buzz faintly, their glow flickering, casting strange, distorted shadows on the wet pavement. Your own heartbeat pounds against your ribs, a heavy drumbeat in the stillness. You swallow, trying to shake the feeling creeping under your skin. You’re imagining things. You have to be. The city is full of noises like cars in the distance, leaves rustling, a stray cat darting between alleyways. That’s all it is.

Still… your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag as you push forward, steps quicker now. But the feeling doesn’t go away. It lingers. Pressing against your skin like static, buzzing at the edge of your awareness. You’re not alone.

You almost pull out your phone. Almost. Jungkook would pick up in an instant and he’d tell you to stay on the line, that he was coming to get you. But you don’t.

Because what would you even say? Hey, I think I’m being followed, but I’m not sure, and I don’t want to sound like an idiot? No way. Jungkook would freak out, and you weren’t about to send him into a panic over something that was probably nothing. So instead, you pick up your pace, each step sharper, more urgent. The streetlights above seem dimmer now, their glow barely cutting through the shadows pooling at the edges of the road.

Your building is just a few turns away. You make it past the first one, then the second. Then you hear it again—not just a sound this time, but a shift, a presence. Someone is there. Your heart hammers as you whip around faster this time.

Nothing.

Your own shadow stretches long on the pavement, its shape warping under the flickering lights. The alleyway to your right is yawning and dark, a gaping mouth of blackness that seems to pull at the edges of your vision. Your pulse is a thunderous roar in your ears.

You’re not imagining this. This is real.

And now, your body knows it too and every instinct is screaming at you to move. So you do.

You rush forward, walking as fast as you can without breaking into a sprint. Your breath quickens, your fingers curling into fists, every nerve in your body on high alert. Just a little further. Just one more turn.

And then finally your apartment building comes into view, looming in the darkness like a beacon. Relief crashes over you so forcefully that you nearly stumble. You don’t turn around again. You don’t want to know if someone is standing there. Watching.

You force yourself to stay calm as you punch in the building��s entry code with unsteady fingers, stepping inside the safety of the lobby. The door shuts behind you with a heavy click, locking out the night.

You practically rush inside, the cool air of the lobby offering little comfort as your fingers tremble over the keypad. Your breath is shallow, coming in uneven gasps as you punch in your passcode. The numbers blur slightly in your vision, whether from exhaustion or the lingering tension clawing at your mind, you’re not sure. The beep of the lock disengaging feels deafening in the stillness. You push the door open, stepping inside so quickly that you nearly stumble over your own feet. The door swings shut behind you with a soft but final click, sealing you in the safety of your apartment. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

For a moment, you just stand there, listening. Nothing but the hum of your refrigerator, the faint creak of the building settling, and the sound of your own breathing, ragged and uneven in the silence. You don’t stop moving until every lock is in place.

Click. Click. Click.

Each one echoes louder than it should, like an affirmation that you are, in fact, secure. That no one followed you. That no one is outside, waiting. Still, the unease gnaws at you, refusing to settle. So, you make your rounds. Checking. Double-checking. Triple-checking.

You pull the curtains shut, firmly, ensuring no sliver of the outside world can seep in. You check the windows next, pressing your fingers against the glass, as if expecting to feel warmth from another presence, a breath on the other side. But there’s nothing. No shadow moving in the darkness, no faint imprint of something or someone having been there.

Finally, with a deep breath, you force yourself to move, shedding your coat, kicking off your shoes with sluggish movements. The exhaustion from the long day crashes down on you all at once, dull and heavy. Your limbs feel leaden as you shuffle toward your bedroom, every step slower than the last.

The warmth of your bed is almost enough to chase away the unease, the mattress soft, inviting and safe a stark contrast to the cold anxiety curling at the edges of your consciousness. You exhale, forcing yourself to relax, letting your body sink into the familiar comfort of your sheets.

But even as your eyes grow heavy, your mind refuses to let go completely. That nagging sense of being watched still lingers. Faint but present. And just before sleep claims you, a final thought slithers through your mind.

What if you weren’t imagining it? What if someone was still out there? Watching. Waiting.

Jungkook drives with effortless ease, one hand lazily gripping the steering wheel while the other taps against the radio in rhythm with the song playing softly through the speakers. The hum of the engine blends with the melody, filling the quiet space between you, neither of you needing to speak. The road stretches ahead, endless and open, disappearing into the horizon. A faint trace of salt lingers in the air, creeping in through the half-open window, a quiet reminder that you’re getting closer to Busan.

You sit in the passenger seat, your gaze flickering between the blur of passing scenery and the man beside you. The steady motion of the car, the warmth of the moment, it all feels oddly soothing. After days of unease, of tension wound so tightly in your body that even sleep felt like a battle, you finally feel yourself exhale.

“Can’t believe you actually agreed to take a day off for me,” Jungkook teases, his grin nothing short of triumphant as he spares you a glance. “Is this what love does to people?”

You roll your eyes, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrays you. “One time, Jeon. Don’t get used to it.”

Jungkook chuckles, shaking his head like he doesn’t believe you for a second. His smile spreads wide, bright enough to make your chest ache with something unspoken. He reaches over without hesitation, his fingers giving your knee a playful squeeze before returning to the wheel. The touch is fleeting but warm, grounding in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

You should tell him.

The past few days have been unbearable due to the creeping paranoia, the feeling of eyes tracing your every move and the subtle shifts in your apartment that made your skin crawl. It’s like living with a shadow just out of reach, something you can’t see but can feel pressing in from the edges. You don’t scare easily, but this has been different.

Your fingers twitch against your lap. One word. That’s all it would take. Jungkook would listen like he always does. He’d furrow his brows, tilt his head in that concerned way he does, and tell you not to brush it off. He’d probably get all worked up, insist on staying over, refuse to let you out of his sight.

And yet, looking at him now being so carefree, his bunny-like smile tugging at his lips as he taps his fingers against the beat makes you hesitate. He’s happy. Peaceful. This moment is untouched by the weight sitting on your chest, and for once, you don’t want to taint something good.

So you take a slow breath, forcing yourself to relax against the seat. You tell yourself it’s fine. That you’re just being paranoid. That if anything truly happens, you’ll deal with it.

You exhaled slowly, willing yourself to stay in the present, to focus on the soft hum of the radio, the rhythmic tap of Jungkook’s fingers against the steering wheel. But the memory pulled at you, dragging you under before you could stop it—

You had come home after another long day at work. Your shoulders were aching from hours spent hunched over your desk. You had barely registered the familiar scent of your apartment as you pushed the door open, the soft creak echoing into the stillness inside.

Everything had looked normal at first.

Your shoes sat neatly by the entrance, exactly where you had left them. The kitchen counter was cluttered with the remnants of that morning’s rushed breakfast.

But the air had felt… different. Slightly off. As if someone had been there. Your heartbeat had stumbled, picking up speed before you could rationalize it. You had told yourself it was nothing. Just the exhaustion making you paranoid.

And yet, as you had stepped further inside, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. The sound was the first thing that struck you. Cheerful, repetitive, out of place.

Your TV was on.

Not just on but playing Mario Kart. The character selection screen looped in the background, the upbeat jingle clashing against the heavy silence that filled your apartment. You hadn’t touched your console in days. Not since you and Jungkook played together last Sunday. Your pulse quickened.

Your eyes flickered to the couch. It had been moved just slightly. Barely an inch out of place, but enough for you to notice.

A slow, creeping unease settled into your bones as you stepped further inside, your movements cautious. Your apartment wasn’t large. There weren’t many places for someone to hide. And yet, your skin prickled with the overwhelming sensation that something or someone had been here.

Your breath hitched as your gaze fell on your bedroom door, slightly ajar. You had closed it that morning. You were sure of it. With measured steps, you pushed the door open fully. And that’s when you saw it.

Your bed—completely in ruins. The sheets were tangled, pillows tossed carelessly, the once-smooth blankets now bunched in the center as if someone had been lying there. Your stomach twisted with unease because this morning, just before leaving for work, you had made your bed. Yet now, the sheets were rumpled, disturbed in a way that sent a chill crawling up your spine. Someone had been here.

Your pulse thundered in your ears as you took a shaky step back, your eyes darting around the room. Everything looked normal aside from the bed, the couch and the TV but the air felt wrong. Tainted. Like someone had occupied this space in your absence.

Your mind raced as you checked the locks. Still in place. No broken windows. No signs of forced entry.

So how— Your breath hitched as a thought struck you. With trembling fingers, you grabbed your phone and immediately dialed Jungkook. He picked up after a few rings, his voice slightly breathless, like he had been running. “Hey, baby. Everything okay?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, gripping the phone tightly. “Yeah,” you lied, forcing your voice to stay steady. “Where are you right now?”

"Still at the clinic," he answered easily. "Was assisting with a surgery on a Pomeranian. Poor guy had a blockage so it took longer than expected." Your stomach dropped.

If Jungkook wasn’t here… then who was?

Your fingers curled around your phone, knuckles whitening as you fought to keep your breathing even. “Got it,” you said, trying to sound casual. “Just checking.” There was a pause. Then, Jungkook’s tone softened. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” Another lie. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Before he could press further, you ended the call.

The only sound left was the distant loop of Mario Kart, mocking you.

The weight of the memory lingered, suffocating, but the warmth of the car, the low hum of the radio, and Jungkook’s familiar presence slowly pulled you back. You blinked, staring at him.

Jungkook was happily rambling about his mom’s cooking, hands moving animatedly as he drove. “—and she always makes extra, like extra extra, because she knows I eat a lot. But now she’s even more excited since you’re coming—oh! She even tried making those cookies you love—”

His voice was light, full of an excitement you didn’t want to taint. A small part of you wanted to tell him. But another part, the part that didn’t want to see that deep crease of concern on his forehead, didn’t want to take away his peace, told you to keep it to yourself. For now.

You turned your head, looking out the window, watching the scenery blur past. You didn’t notice the way Jungkook’s eyes flickered toward you, his brows knitting together for just a moment before he forced his usual smile back onto his face.

Jungkook pulled into the driveway, parking with practiced ease. You had been here more times than you could count, yet there was always something comforting about stepping into his childhood home like the faint scent of home-cooked meals wafting through the air and the familiar sight of the wind chime swaying gently by the door.

Jungkook turned to you with a grin, one hand still resting on the steering wheel. “Mom probably made enough food to feed a small army.”

You chuckled, already knowing that was true. “She always does.”

Before you could even step out of the car, the front door swung open, revealing his mom waving enthusiastically. “You’re finally here! Hurry, come in before the food gets cold!” His mom pulled you into a hug the second you stepped inside, squeezing you tight.

“You’ve lost weight,” she huffed, pulling back just enough to inspect you with a critical eye. “Are you eating properly?”

Jungkook groaned beside you, already exasperated. “She’s fine, Mom.”

You laughed, but before you could respond, his dad stepped forward with a warm smile, offering a firm handshake. “It’s good to see you again,” he said, his voice as steady and kind as ever.

“It’s good to see you too, Mr. Jeon,” you replied politely. “Mrs. Jeon, thank you for having me—”

Before you could finish, his mom smacked your arm lightly, her expression scandalized. “Yah! How many times do I have to tell you? It’s Mom and Dad.”

Your face heated instantly. “R-Right. Sorry… Mom.”

Jungkook snickered under his breath at your obvious embarrassment, and his mom beamed, clearly pleased. “That’s better,” she said, linking her arm with yours as she led you further inside. “You’re family, sweetheart. No need for formalities.”

The house smelled incredible of rich simmering broth and freshly cooked rice. The warmth of it all settled deep in your chest, making you realize just how much you had missed this. As you stepped into the living room, your gaze landed on a few baby toys scattered near the couch, a soft blanket draped over the armrest. Before you could ask, his mom sighed.

“Junghyun and his wife wanted to come with the twins, but the girls were too fussy today.”

Jungkook pouted dramatically, crossing his arms. “I still haven’t met my nieces.”

His mom shook her head, unimpressed. “You could visit them, you know.”

“I will,” Jungkook mumbled, already defeated. “Just… eventually.”

The dining table was packed with dishes his mom had gone all out, as always. Various side dishes, steaming hot soup, perfectly grilled meat, and a mountain of rice sat invitingly before you. It was a feast, one you had grown familiar with over the years, yet it never failed to impress you. Before you could even reach for anything, Jungkook was already piling food onto your plate, stacking it with precision. “Eat,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You know the rules.”

His mom beamed, clearly pleased. “At least someone in this house listens to me.”

You chuckled, picking up your chopsticks, but the moment was shattered when your phone lit up beside your plate, vibrating with an insistent ping. You glanced down, your stomach twisting into a knot.

Your pulse quickened. The messages came one after the other.

Unknown [1:10 PM]: You think you can stay safe by staying away from here? Unknown [1:10 PM]: You think he’s gonna save you? Unknown [1:10 PM]: I am always watching you, doll.

Your breath hitched. Cold fingers of unease crawled up your spine, but you forced yourself to stay composed. Your hands thankfully didn’t shake as you turned your phone upside down and set it to silent. Jungkook had noticed. His gaze flickered to the screen before you flipped it over, his brows knitting together in quiet concern. He looked like he wanted to ask, but you didn’t give him the chance.

The vibration had caught his parents’ attention too. “Oh dear, is that work?” his mom asked, concern lacing her voice.

“Yeah,” you lied smoothly, forcing a small smile. “Just some messages I need to deal with later.”

You weren’t sure if Jungkook believed you, but he didn’t press. Instead, he reached out under the table, squeezing your knee reassuringly before focusing back on his food. You tried to do the same, pushing down the paranoia clawing at your chest.

Dinner flowed with easy conversation. His parents asked about your work, laughing when Jungkook grumbled about how much time it took away from him. They also teased him relentlessly about how attached he was to you.

“Three years, and he still acts like you’re going to disappear if he looks away,” his dad joked, shaking his head fondly.

You snickered, nudging Jungkook’s foot under the table.

But Jungkook just shrugged, completely unbothered. “Can you blame me?” he said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Dinner continued with warmth and laughter, his parents seamlessly shifting the conversation to Jungkook’s studies.

“So, how’s school going?” his dad asked, scooping some more rice onto his plate. “Third year already, huh? Feels like just yesterday you were running around pretending to be a zookeeper.” Jungkook groaned. “Dad.”

His mom chuckled. “What? You were obsessed with animals. You even tried to ‘rescue’ the neighbor’s cat by sneaking it into your room.”

You gasped dramatically, turning to Jungkook. “Wait, I didn’t know about this!”

Jungkook sighed, shoving a bite of food into his mouth like he could physically escape the conversation. “That was years ago.”

His dad laughed. “And now look at you, halfway to becoming a real vet.”

“Not halfway,” Jungkook corrected between bites. “But yeah, it’s been tough. Classes are intense, and the practicals are even harder. Two days ago, I had to assist with a surgery, and let’s just say I wasn’t prepared for how long it would take.”

His mom’s eyes softened with pride. “You’ll be amazing, sweetheart. You’ve always had such a big heart for animals.”

Jungkook ducked his head, ears tinged pink. You smiled, nudging his foot under the table again. “She’s right, you know. You’re going to be an incredible vet.”

Jungkook glanced at you, his bunny-like smile appearing for just a second before he returned to his food. But the warmth of the moment did little to push away the unease creeping up your spine. The phone lay silent beside your plate, but you couldn’t shake the eerie feeling.

Just as the conversation was settling into a warm, familiar rhythm, the front door slammed open with the force of a small explosion.

“The prodigal son returns!”

Jungkook groaned, not even bothering to look. “Why. Are. You. Here.”

Jin strutted in like he was making a grand entrance at an award show, tossing his jacket onto the couch with an unnecessary flourish. “Heard there was food,” he announced before turning to you with a smirk. “And obviously, I had to make sure my dear cousin hasn’t scared you off yet.”

Jungkook scoffed. “You scared me off first.”

Jin ignored him completely, already making a beeline for the dining table. His mom, unfazed by the theatrics, clapped her hands together. “Oh, perfect timing! Sit, eat.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Jin said cheerfully, dropping into the seat beside you. He grabbed a pair of chopsticks like a warrior unsheathing his sword, ready for battle.

“So,” he drawled, nudging you playfully. “Three years and you still haven’t run for the hills? Impressive.”

You smirked, taking a sip of your drink. “I’ve considered it.”

Jungkook gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like you had personally stabbed him. “Betrayal! In my own home!”

“Technically, it’s our home,” his mom corrected.

“Exactly!” Jin said, pointing his chopsticks at Jungkook before shoving a mouthful of rice into his mouth. Jungkook’s dad, ever the composed one, leaned back in his chair and regarded Jin with an amused shake of his head. “So, how’s the tattoo shop? Are you still working reception?”

Jin waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, that? I quit.”

Jungkook’s mom sighed, as if she had already seen this coming.

Jungkook’s dad pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jin, you just started that job.”

“Yeah, and I just quit that job,” Jin said brightly. “But don’t worry—I’ve moved on to better things.”

Jungkook raised a brow. “Should I even ask?”

“I now work at a pastry shop.” Jin declared, as if he had just announced a groundbreaking scientific discovery.

Jungkook blinked. “You?”

“Yes, me.”

Jungkook’s dad sighed. “Jin, you have to start thinking about stability. You can’t keep jumping from one job to another like this.”

Jin only laughed, waving him off like the thought of responsibility was a foreign concept. “Oh, please. Stability is boring. I get bored too fast—I need thrill, excitement, the rush of something new.”

“You sell croissants,” Jungkook deadpanned.

“And I do it with flair,” Jin shot back, popping a piece of fried chicken into his mouth. “Speaking of which, I brought some samples! The head baker said they were too ‘experimental’ for customers, but I figured you guys would appreciate my artistic vision.” He reached into his coat pocket because of course he carried pastries in his coat pocket and plopped two small, questionably green muffins onto the table.

Jungkook recoiled. “What is that?”

Jin grinned. “Matcha and kimchi fusion.”

Jungkook’s dad sighed again. His mom simply patted Jin’s hand, as if she had long since accepted his chaotic ways. Jin wipes his hands dramatically after placing down his abomination of a pastry creation, then immediately turns to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“So,” he starts, leaning in with the air of someone about to cause chaos. “On a scale of one to dear god, someone save me, how difficult is he to live with?”

You barely have time to react before he fires off another.

“Any plans to upgrade from ‘boyfriend’ status?” Jin asks, voice dripping with faux innocence.

Jungkook chokes so hard on his food that you have to thump his back. His mom gasps in concern, while his dad just continues eating like this is any other Thursday night.

Jin smirks in triumph. “Ah, so is there a wedding?”

Jungkook, still recovering, glares murderously. “You are so not invited to the wedding—”

Jin claps his hands together. “Confirmed!”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. He grabs a spoonful of rice and hurls it straight at Jin. Jin dodges like a seasoned warrior. “Oh, it’s war now.”

A second later, a piece of kimchi smacks Jungkook right in the cheek. Jungkook gapes at Jin. “You did not—”

“Oh, I did.” Jin wiggles his eyebrows before launching another attack. What starts as a petty sibling squabble escalates into all-out warfare. Jungkook lobs a dumpling; Jin retaliates with a piece of radish. Rice goes flying. You duck just in time to avoid getting hit by a rogue piece of tofu.

“Jeon Jungkook!” his mom shrieks, voice cutting through the chaos like a knife. “Kim Seokjin!”

They both freeze mid-throw, like guilty kids caught red-handed.

His dad sighs, a long and tired sigh, the kind that speaks of years of dealing with this exact scenario. He calmly reaches for his drink. “Can we please have one dinner without someone launching food across the table?”

Jungkook and Jin exchange glances.

Then, as if telepathically synchronized, they both lift their chopsticks and point at each other. “He started it.”

You snort. His mom groans. His dad sips his tea in silent resignation.

The night air is crisp, carrying the distant hum of crickets and the occasional rustling of leaves in the trees that line Jungkook’s backyard. The stars above twinkle through gaps in the branches, their light soft and distant. Out here, away from the city’s chaos, everything feels quieter like the world has shrunk to just the two of you. Jungkook slips an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “Sorry about him.”

You chuckle, leaning into his warmth. “I like him. He makes things interesting.”

“Interesting until he’s grilling you.”

“True,” you admit, grinning. “But I can handle him.”

Jungkook huffs a quiet laugh, resting his chin atop your head. You exhale, letting your eyes flutter shut for a moment, savoring the security of his presence. It’s moments like these that make you forget the paranoia and the unease clawing at the edges of your mind.

But it never truly leaves.

The feeling of being watched. The weight of unseen eyes crawling over your skin. The messages you’ve ignored all night. They all linger in your mind. You glance up at Jungkook. He’s still smiling, talking about how his mom packed you extra leftovers. “She thinks you don’t eat enough,” he says fondly, shaking his head.

You should tell him.

The words sit heavy on your tongue, pressing against your teeth. One sentence, and it would all be out in the open.

But you don’t.

Instead, you nod, forcing a small laugh. “She really doesn’t take no for an answer, huh?”

“Never,” Jungkook confirms, squeezing your waist. His touch is warm, grounding. But even that warmth doesn’t reach the cold pit in your stomach.

“Jungkook!” His dad’s voice calls from inside. “Come here for a second.”

Jungkook groans, reluctant to move. “Stay here, I’ll be back,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before disappearing inside.

The moment he’s gone, the silence presses in. You hesitate before pulling out your phone, unlocking it with a swipe of your thumb. The notifications are still there, messages from Unknown piled up like unanswered warnings.

The last one catches your eye.

Unknown [1:10 PM]: I am always watching you, doll.

Your breath stutters.

The phone suddenly feels heavy in your hands, like a weight dragging you down into something inescapable.

No.

Your pulse pounds in your ears, drowning out the gentle chirping of crickets, drowning out reason. A suffocating sense of dread settles in your chest as you stare at the word, doll. There was only one person who ever called you that.

Only one voice that had whispered it against your skin, had laughed it into your ear, had let it drip from his tongue like a slow poison.

Kim Taehyung.

The room was thick with the stench of alcohol and sweat, the air heavy with cigarette smoke that coiled toward the ceiling in lazy spirals. Dim lighting flickered from a dying bulb, casting long, distorted shadows across the stained walls.

Taehyung sat slouched in a tattered armchair, his body sinking into the worn-out fabric. His limbs felt like lead, the weight of intoxication pressing down on him, making his movements sluggish, his thoughts hazy. A half-empty bottle dangled loosely from his fingers, the condensation dripping onto his jeans, but he barely noticed.

Around him, his friends were strewn across the room in various states of intoxication, some laughing at nothing, their voices slurred and senseless, while others lay sprawled out, lost to the world. Taehyung exhaled a slow, heavy breath. Everything felt distant and detached until a stray thought cut through the fog: you.

His lazy smirk faltered. His fingers twitched against the armrest, tightening before relaxing again. His vision blurred at the edges, but the memories were sharp. Unwelcome. Unrelenting. His jaw clenched. He willed himself to push it away, drown it in the haze, let the high carry him somewhere else. But it never worked.

It never did when it came to you. His body was here, slouched in a torn armchair, but his mind was somewhere else. Three years ago.

"I don’t love you anymore."

The scent of espresso and warm pastries was suffocating. The quiet hum of conversation around them felt like static in his ears. But none of it fucking mattered. Not when you were sitting across from him, staring at him like he was nothing.

The words barely registered at first. His mind lagged behind reality like a glitching tape, playing back a version of events where this wasn’t happening.

"What?" His voice was sharp, disbelieving. "What the fuck did you just say?"

Your gaze didn’t waver. "I said I don’t love you."

The words cut. They didn’t hit all at once they sank in slowly, like a blade sliding between ribs.

Taehyung laughed. "Bullshit."

He leaned forward, jaw tight, fingers curling into the edge of the table. "You’re being dramatic. You always do this shit when you want attention."

Your expression didn’t change, but something about it made his stomach turn. You weren’t crying. You weren’t shaking. There was no hesitation or guilt or any of the things he had relied on to keep you in line. This wasn’t like before.

Your voice was flat. "You ruined this, Tae. You ruined me."

His laugh was louder this time, bitter and sharp. "Oh, so I’m the villain now? After everything I did for you?"

"Everything you did to me."

His breath stuttered.

And then you kept going. You fucking kept going.

"You controlled me. You isolated me. You made me feel like I was insane every time I called you out on your bullshit."

His hands curled into fists. "Oh, fuck off—"

"You threatened me, Tae. You threw shit. You punched walls, grabbed me so fucking hard I had bruises for days. And every time, you’d crawl back, begging, saying you didn’t mean it—"

His teeth clenched, fury bubbling beneath his skin. "Because I didn’t!"

"You dangled your own life over my head like a leash."

His blood turned cold, the first sliver of panic slicing through the rage that had consumed him moments ago. He wasn’t winning. The realization struck hard. His grip tightened on the table, nails digging into the cheap wood as if he was bracing for impact. You weren’t supposed to fucking say that. You weren’t supposed to know.

He forced a laugh, but it came out desperate. "And what, you're suddenly a fucking therapist? Psychoanalyzing me like I’m some fucking monster?"

Your voice was quiet, but it sliced straight through him.

"I don’t need to psychoanalyze you, Taehyung. I lived through you."

The air left his lungs. His vision blurred at the edges, rage and panic clashing, drowning him.

All of a sudden, ‘his’ name fell from your lips like a gunshot.

Jungkook? That pathetic little nerd? The one he used to shove into lockers, humiliate just for the fun of it? The same one who flinched if someone raised their voice too loud?

He let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh, but there was nothing funny about this. His hands shook from the effort of holding himself back.

"So that’s what you’ve been doing, huh?" His voice was sharp, venomous. "Nursing him back to health after I fucked him up?"

You exhaled, shaking your head, unimpressed.

Then, he snapped. "You fucked him, didn’t you?"

He spat the words like a curse, like they burned his tongue. Even as he said it, he knew you wouldn’t. You were a self-righteous bitch with all your morals, your bullshit standards. You wouldn’t dare. But the thought of it, the idea of you with him made his head spin, made his vision go dark at the edges.

His voice dropped to a hiss. "That little fucking loser? You let him touch you? You let him—"

His hands ached. He wanted to grab you, to shake you, to make you look at him.

"He’s a pussy, doll." His voice cracked, something wild and desperate bleeding through. "He won’t take care of you like I did."

You scoffed, expression unreadable. "You never took care of me, Tae."

"What the fuck does he have that I don’t?" His voice rose, teetering between fury and desperation. "Tell me."

You just stared at him, and that look—that fucking look—

It was over.

It was fucking over.

Panic clawed at his ribs, lodged itself in his throat, made his vision blur and his hands shake. So he did what he always did when he lost control.

"I’ll kill myself if you leave me."

The words came out fast and sharp, a desperate lifeline thrown into the storm. It had always worked before, always made you hesitate, always made you stay. But this time, you simply exhaled a breath of relief, as if you had finally broken free.

And then, for the first time, you smiled.

"Look at you." Your voice was soft. Almost pitying. "Still trying to manipulate me."

Something inside him snapped.

His vision blurred, his body moved and the next thing he knew, the coffee cup on the table was in pieces, shattered porcelain scattering across the floor.

The café had gone silent.

The whole fucking world had gone silent.

You stood, your chair scraping against the tile. Unbothered.

You walked away. No hesitation. No tears. No fucking remorse.

And for the first time, Taehyung had nothing.

Nothing left to say. Nothing left to hold onto.

The cigarette burned down to the filter, searing his fingers. He didn’t flinch. Taehyung’s jaw clenched, knuckles turning white as his fists curled against the armrest. The high didn’t feel so numbing anymore, just agitating. His skin felt too tight, his thoughts too sharp, too loud.

For almost a year, he had drowned you out with drugs, alcohol, distractions, anything to blur the edges of what you had done to him. To make himself forget the way you walked away without looking back. But the moment he saw you again it all came rushing back.

The obsession. The hunger. The need to undo it all.

You thought you walked away for good?

No. You were always his. Even when you hated him. Even when you ran. And now he was going to take back what was his.

One way or another.

After returning from Busan, you stayed over at Jungkook’s place.

You didn’t want to sleep alone. Not after the messages. The number was blocked now. You hadn’t received anything since. But still… you didn’t feel comfortable going back home yet.

Jungkook hadn’t questioned it. He just smiled and let you in, happy to have you around. But the more time you spent with him, the harder it became to ignore the guilt settling in your chest.

Because Jungkook didn’t know.

You hadn’t told him about the messages. About the unease creeping up your spine every time your phone vibrated. About the name that had resurfaced in the form of a single word:

“Doll.”

It shouldn’t have meant anything. Anyone could use that word. It was common, impersonal.

But not to you.

Not when you could still hear his voice saying it. Not when you remembered how it had dripped from Taehyung’s lips sometimes sweet, sometimes cruel.

“Be good for me, doll.” “You know I only act like this because I love you, doll.” “You’re nothing without me, doll.”

The thought alone made your stomach churn. You weren’t even sure if it was him. Maybe it was just paranoia. Maybe it was just a coincidence.

Yeah. It had to be. So you pushed it down, shoved it into the corners of your mind where you didn’t have to look at it. You told yourself you were keeping this from Jungkook to protect him.

But now, as you sit at your office desk, your mind is miles away from the reports in front of you. You tap your pen against the surface, gaze unfocused.

You don’t notice Jimin watching you from across the room until he finally speaks.

“Everything okay between you and Jungkook?”

You blink, snapping out of your daze. “What?”

Jimin leans against your desk, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “You seem off. Thought maybe you two had a fight or something.”

You force a small laugh, shaking your head. “No, nothing like that. Everything’s fine.”

Jimin doesn’t look convinced. His sharp gaze lingers for a second too long, like he’s waiting for you to crack. But he doesn’t press.

And you’re grateful for that.

Lunchtime rolls around when you finally check your phone.

The morning had been filled with client meetings, thankful for the welcome distraction. For a few hours, you managed to keep your mind from spiraling. But the moment your screen lights up with a string of unread messages from an unknown number, reality crashes back in.

Your stomach plummets.

Unknown [10:28 AM]: Did you really think blocking me would make me disappear, doll? Unknown [10:28 AM]: How cute. Almost as cute as you playing house with your little pet. Unknown [10:29 AM]: Speaking of pets… your boyfriend’s been working so hard. Diligently studying to save all those poor, dying animals. Unknown [10:30 AM]: How pathetic. Unknown [10:31 AM]: Wanna see?

Your breath catches.

The next message has three images attached. With shaking fingers, you tap them open.

First image: Jungkook in class, focused, scribbling down notes. Second image: Him in the lab, sleeves rolled up, handling equipment with practiced ease. Third image: Now. Jungkook at lunch, head slightly tilted as he listens to someone, chopsticks resting in his hand.

Your blood turns to ice as your vision tunnels, the world narrowing to a single horrifying realization—Jungkook is right there. Someone… no, not just anyone. It has to be Taehyung. He is near. He is watching. And if he is close enough to take these photos, then he is close enough to do something worse. Your phone nearly slips from your grip as pure, heart-stopping terror crashes into you. Jungkook is in danger. The first message was sent almost an hour ago, which means Taehyung has been near him this whole time. Watching him. Stalking him.

Your first instinct is to call the cops. Your fingers hover over the dial pad, heart hammering until your screen lights up again. As if he had been waiting for you to see his messages.

Unknown [12:01 PM]: I know what you’re thinking, doll. Unknown [12:01 PM]: Call the cops, and I’ll slit your pretty boyfriend’s throat right where he sits.

Your breath locks in your chest, hands trembling so violently you almost drop your phone.

No. No, no, no.

You don’t think you just move.

You bolt out of your office, barely registering Jimin calling after you. His voice is distant, but you can’t stop. You don’t have time. You race to your car, hands fumbling with the keys as you throw yourself into the driver’s seat. The second the engine roars to life, you’re speeding down the street, ignoring every traffic rule, every red light.

There’s only one thought pounding in your skull, louder than the frantic beat of your heart—

Get to Jungkook. Now.

You pull up to Jungkook’s university, barely throwing the car into park before shoving the door open. Your legs feel unsteady as you rush out, breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. Your hands tremble as you fumble with your phone, fingers slipping as you dial Jungkook’s number again and again. No answer. You try once more, the ringing tone stretching unbearably before it goes to voicemail.

The campus is alive with movement students chatting, laughing and going about their day, blissfully unaware of the sheer terror gripping you. You push through the crowd, scanning faces wildly, your heart pounding against your ribs. Where is Jungkook?

People glance at you, their whispers buzzing at the edge of your hearing, but you don’t care. You try his number again. Still nothing.

A sickening thought slithers into your mind— What if Taehyung already got to him? What if you’re too late?

Finally, your eyes land on him.

Jungkook stands in the courtyard, laughing with a couple of friends, completely oblivious to the danger shadowing him. The world around you blurs as relief crashes over you like a tidal wave.

Alive. Unharmed.

Your knees almost buckle, the tension in your body unravelling just enough for you to let out a sharp, shaky exhale. Your breath stutters as the panic begins to subside, but the urgency still thrums beneath your skin. Then Jungkook sees you.

His laughter dies mid-sentence, his brows knitting together in concern as his eyes rake over your disheveled form. His friends glance at you curiously, but Jungkook is already moving toward you.

"Y/N?" His voice is gentle but urgent. "What’s wrong?"

You shake your head quickly, forcing a weak, unconvincing smile. "It’s nothing," you say, voice tight. "But we need to leave. Now."

Jungkook blinks, his confusion evident. "What? I have an afternoon lecture."

You tighten your grip on his wrist, desperation seeping into your voice. "Jungkook, please. We need to go home."

His brows draw together, concern deepening in his soft gaze. "Why?" His voice remains gentle, but there's a quiet insistence beneath it. "What’s going on?"

When you don’t answer, Jungkook exhales softly before taking your hand, leading you away from the courtyard and into a quieter corner. His touch is firm but never forceful.

"Y/N, talk to me." His voice is barely above a whisper, but there’s an edge of worry to it. "What’s wrong?" His dark eyes search yours, trying to unravel the truth you refuse to say.

You swallow, avoiding his gaze. "It’s nothing, I swear—"

His jaw tightens, his fingers twitching at his sides. "That’s not true."

Jungkook doesn’t raise his voice, but the frustration is clear. He takes a slow step closer, his warmth now suffocating. "You’ve been acting different for weeks. Distant. Jumpy. And now you show up here looking like you’ve seen a ghost and expect me to just go along with it?"

You flinch at the quiet intensity in his words, but still, you don’t answer. Jungkook’s voice rises just a little, but the hurt in it is undeniable. “Do you not trust me?”

You bite your lip, guilt pressing down on your chest like a heavy weight. “Of course I do, Jungkook, it’s just—”

“Then tell me.” His fingers rake through his hair, his brows drawn together, frustration flickering in his dark eyes. But his voice stays soft, laced with something almost pleading.

“I’m not a child, Y/N.”

The words land harder than you expect, sinking deep. Silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken truths and the weight of his quiet disappointment. You know you should tell him. You should warn him. But… you can’t.

Jungkook exhales slowly, his jaw tightening as he watches you struggle with whatever it is you’re refusing to say. His frustration is evident, but his voice remains gentle, laced with quiet insistence.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on,” he says firmly. “If you won’t, I’ll just stay here.”

Your stomach drops. No. He can’t stay here. Not when you know Taehyung is watching. “Jungkook, please,” you whisper, gripping his wrist tighter.

“Then tell me, Y/N.” His gaze softens, but the unwavering determination in his eyes sends a surge of panic through you. You have no choice. You have to tell him something—anything—just to get him to listen.

“Someone’s been watching you,” you admit in a rush, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know who, but it’s not safe.”

Jungkook stiffens. His expression shifts from frustration to shock, then to something unreadable. “Watching me?” he echoes. “Y/N, what—why wouldn’t you tell me earlier?”

You look away, guilt gnawing at you. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s still skeptical, still confused, but he can see the genuine fear in your eyes. And that alone is enough to make him give in.

“Alright,” he finally murmurs. “Let’s go.”

Relief washes over you, but just as you think you’ve convinced him to leave, your phone vibrates. It's another message.

Unknown [12:17 PM]: Ah, there you are, doll. So desperate to save your boyfriend? Cute. But I’m not done playing yet.

Your breath hitches.

Taehyung is watching you right now. Your fingers tighten around your phone as your eyes dart around the campus, paranoia seeping into your every movement.

Jungkook immediately catches the way your face drains of all color. His fingers gently close around your wrist before you can react, his other hand swiftly taking your phone from your grip.

“Jungkook, wait—”

But it’s too late. His eyes scan the message, and you feel his entire body go still. His brows knit together, his lips parting slightly as he rereads the words, processing the threat laced between them.

“Who…” His voice is quiet at first, controlled. Then, a little sharper. “Who the hell is this?”

You swallow hard, panic clawing at your chest. You should’ve been more careful. But now there’s no avoiding it. Jungkook looks up at you, eyes searching. “Y/N,” he says softly, but there’s an undeniable firmness in his tone. “Tell me.”

You take a shaky breath, forcing the words out before you can hesitate.

“I… I think it’s Taehyung.”

Jungkook blinks. For a moment, he just stares at you like you’ve said something completely incomprehensible. Then, he shakes his head, a disbelieving scoff leaving his lips.

“Taehyung?” He lets out a breath, his brows furrowing. “No. That’s impossible. We haven’t seen him in years.”

You can see the way his mind is racing, trying to rationalize it, trying to convince himself that it can’t be true. But then piece by piece it all starts to click. The way you’ve been acting. The paranoia. The half-truths. Everything makes sense now.

Jungkook’s expression shifts, his grip tightening slightly around your phone. He looks at you again, this time with quiet intensity. “Tell me everything.”

You take a deep, unsteady breath and finally let it all out. Every message. Every chilling threat. The way Taehyung has been watching, lurking in the shadows, getting closer and closer. How you’ve been living in constant fear, too terrified to sleep, too paranoid to breathe. How you blocked him, but he always found a way back. The photos of Jungkook the proof showing that Taehyung has been near him all along.

Jungkook doesn’t say a word. He just listens. His hands slowly curl into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening, but his eyes stay locked on you, soft and unwavering. By the time you finish, your throat is tight, and your vision blurs slightly. You blink rapidly, forcing back the tears threatening to spill. You quickly wipe at your eyes before Jungkook can notice.

But he does.

Without a word, he steps forward and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his warmth. You freeze for a second, startled, but then you let yourself sink into the embrace. His arms are strong and steady, anchoring you as if he’s shielding you from everything that’s been haunting you.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice softer than ever. “You don’t have to hold it in, Y/N.”

Your breath shudders. “I-I’m fine,” you whisper, even though your grip on his hoodie tightens. Jungkook shakes his head slightly. “No, you’re not. And that’s okay.” His hand runs up and down your back in slow, soothing motions. “You don’t always have to be strong on your own.”

Something in you cracks at his words. A single tear slips down your cheek, and this time, you don’t wipe it away. Jungkook holds you tighter, his voice firm but gentle. “You should’ve told me sooner.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I was scared.”

“I get that.” He exhales, resting his chin lightly on top of your head. “But you’re not alone in this. I’m here now. And I won’t let him hurt you.”

When you finally pull away, his hands stay on your shoulders, grounding you. Now, you have to decide.

Go to the police? It’s the logical choice, but Taehyung already made it clear what would happen if you did. Jungkook’s life isn’t something you’re willing to gamble with. Confront Taehyung yourself? It’s reckless, dangerous, and probably a mistake. But part of you feels like it’s the only way to put an end to this.

Jungkook watches your face carefully, reading the thoughts swirling in your head. Then, his jaw tightens, his voice steady but firm. “If you think I’m letting you do this alone, you’re out of your mind.”

For the first time in weeks, the suffocating loneliness eases because no matter what happens next, Jungkook is with you. Suddenly your phone vibrates again.

Unknown [12:51 PM]: Such a heartwarming moment. But how far will he go to protect you?

And then another message. A photo.

It’s a picture of you and Jungkook. Right now.

He’s still here.

"Y/N?" Jungkook’s voice is soft but sharp with concern. "What is it?"

You turn the phone toward him, and the moment he sees the message, his entire body stiffens. His jaw clenches, fingers curling into fists. His voice is low but firm when he speaks.

"We’re leaving. Now."

You don’t argue.

Jungkook grabs your wrist, pulling you through the crowd of students, his grip tight but reassuring. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you scan the area frantically, eyes darting from face to face.

But you don’t see him. He could be anywhere.

Jungkook doesn’t slow down until you reach his car. He unlocks it in a rush, practically shoving you inside before slamming the door shut behind him. His hands grip the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. Only when he locks the doors and exhales a shaky breath does he turn to look at you.

"He’s here, Y/N." His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it.

You swallow hard, gripping your phone. "I know."

Jungkook starts the car. "We’re going home. Then we figure out our next move." You nod, but the unease lingers.

Because Taehyung isn’t done playing yet.

Jungkook paces the length of his living room, fingers running through his hair in frustration. You sit on the couch, gripping your phone tightly, going over every possible option. Jungkook is still talking, still trying to come up with a solid plan but his voice fades into the background as your eyes remain glued to your phone screen.

Unknown [1:37 PM]: Come alone. Midnight. Your apartment. Unknown [1:37 PM]: Don’t make me repeat myself, doll.

Your grip on the phone tightens. Your pulse roars in your ears. If Jungkook sees this, there’s no way he’ll let you go. He’ll insist on coming with you. And that’s exactly what Taehyung wants, a reason to hurt him. Swallowing hard, you quickly lock your phone and shove it into your pocket before Jungkook notices.

“Y/N?”

You snap back to reality to find Jungkook watching you carefully. “Yeah?”

“I was saying…” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe we should stay at a hotel tonight. Just in case. I don’t want you anywhere near that apartment if Taehyung’s been watching you.”

Your stomach churns with guilt, but you shake your head. “No. I think we should just stay and act normal. If we start running now, he’ll know we’re scared.”

Jungkook’s eyes darken. “We are scared, Y/N.”

You force a small, tired smile. “But we can’t let him know that.”

He exhales, clearly frustrated but unable to argue. “Fine. But I’m not letting you out of my sight.” You nod, pretending to agree.

But deep down, you already know that the moment Jungkook falls asleep tonight, you’re leaving.

Alone.

It’s a little past midnight when you finally slip out of Jungkook’s apartment.

You hesitate at the door, glancing back at his sleeping form. Even in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, you can see the tension on his face. He had been restless for hours, his body stiff with unease, as if sensing that something was wrong.

You had pretended to fall asleep just so he could relax. It worked eventually. But now, as you step out into the cold night, a bitter weight settles in your chest.

Jungkook would never forgive you for this.

But this is the only way.

You move quickly, keeping to the shadows as you make your way to your apartment. The streets are eerily quiet, the distant hum of the city muffled by the pounding of your heart. Every step you take feels heavier like you're walking toward something inevitable.

Suddenly you hear a second set of footsteps.

You don’t have time to react before a hand clamps over your mouth, muffling your startled gasp.

Before you can struggle, an arm wraps around your waist in a vice-like grip, dragging you off the sidewalk. The world tilts as you're yanked into a dark alleyway. Your pulse hammers against your ribs as you thrash against the hold, but it’s uselessm his grip is unyielding, effortlessly strong.

A low, deep chuckle brushes against your ear, sending a sickening shiver down your spine.

"Took you long enough, doll."

Taehyung had grown impatient waiting for you to show up. Without warning, he forcefully turns you to face him, his grip unrelenting. The sudden contact sends a jolt of fear through you, and seeing him again after all these years feels like being doused in ice water.

Time has changed him, but not enough. His face is still achingly familiar from the sharp jawline, the tattoos that snake up the expanse of his neck to the piercing eyes that burn with something much darker.

A part of you always knew this day would come. You had told yourself that the way Taehyung left without so much as hurting you was too good to be true, but maybe, just maybe he had realised he was in the wrong and disappeared into the past like a bad dream. But now, standing here with his breath hot against your skin, you realize how foolish you were to think he’d ever let you go.

"You thought I wouldn’t come back for you?" he whispers against your ear, his voice sickeningly soft.

Your breath stutters. You try to shove him away, but he’s faster amd stronger. His grip tightens as he forces you back, slamming you against the cold, unforgiving brick wall of the alley. The impact knocks the air from your lungs, and before you can recover, his fingers press into your jaw, tilting your face up toward him.

The streetlamp above casts a sliver of light over him, illuminating the twisted smile on his lips.

"I gave you everything, and you threw me away for him?"

Resentment drips from every word, his voice cracking with something raw.

"I should’ve taught you a lesson years ago."

Your heart hammers in your chest, panic locking your limbs in place. But before you can even react—

A force rips Taehyung away from you, sending him crashing onto the pavement with a brutal thud.

Jungkook stands over him, breath uneven, fists still clenched from the impact. His usual softness is nowhere to be found—his expression is cold, lethal.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it that makes the air feel heavier.

Taehyung chuckles darkly. “I knew you’d come running.”

Jungkook doesn’t take the bait. His eyes flick to you, scanning for any sign of injury, before settling back on Taehyung with something dangerously close to disgust.

“You don’t get to lay a hand on her,” Jungkook says, his voice steady. “Not now. Not ever.”

Taehyung chuckles again, pushing himself up with an air of arrogance. He rolls his shoulders, cracking his knuckles as if this is all a joke to him.

"You?" He scoffs, eyes glinting with amusement. "Defending her?" His gaze flickers to you, sharp and accusing. "I bet she never even told you what she did to me."

Jungkook doesn’t flinch nor does he hesitate. His voice is calm, unwavering. "She didn’t do anything." He steps forward, eyes locked onto Taehyung like he’s daring him to try again. "I know she’s mine. And I know you’re just a lying, manipulative piece of shit."

Taehyung's smirk vanishes.

In a flash, he lunges.

Jungkook barely dodges, twisting to the side just in time, but Taehyung is relentless. He moves fast, and Jungkook isn’t a fighter he doesn’t have brute force or years of experience throwing punches. But what he does have is speed, quick reflexes and the sheer, unshakable will to protect you.

A fist catches Jungkook’s side, making him stagger back, but he barely registers the pain before Taehyung moves toward you again.

And that’s when Jungkook stops thinking.

His hand finds a broken pipe lying in the dirt. In one swift motion, he grips it tight and swings, slamming it straight into Taehyung’s stomach.

A sharp gasp rips from Taehyung’s throat as he doubles over, coughing violently. But he’s not down. Not yet.

Jungkook doesn’t wait. He reaches for you, his fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist. His eyes meet yours, urgent and fierce.

"Run."

The pounding of your footsteps echoes against the pavement, your lungs burning as you push yourself to keep running. The night air is thick, every breath heavy with exhaustion and fear.

Behind you, Taehyung is gaining. His ragged breaths cut through the silence, his footsteps unrelenting.

“You think you can run from me?” His voice is sharp, twisted with amusement and fury. A metallic glint catches the dim streetlights indicating he has a knife now.

Panic seizes your chest.

Jungkook’s grip tightens around your wrist. He doesn’t slow, doesn’t hesitate just yanks you sharply to the side. Your vision blurs as he drags you toward a dark, skeletal structure.

A construction site.

You stumble into the half-built building, weaving through stacks of bricks and steel beams. The scent of dust and concrete fills your lungs as you press yourself into the shadows, trying to quiet your frantic breathing.

Jungkook releases you only to crouch down, scanning the ground. His fingers curl around a rusted wrench, heavy in his grip. It’s not much, but it’s something.

“Stay behind me,” he whispers, his voice steady despite the fear you know he must be feeling. Your heart slams against your ribs. Your thoughts are spiralling. You should have been more careful, quieter when slipping out of the house. You can't believe you're the reason Jungkook is in danger, that he is the one standing between you and the threat. It should be you protecting him, not the other way around.

The footsteps slow. Taehyung has followed you inside.

A chilling silence settles over the space.

Then, a low chuckle.

“You can’t hide forever.” His voice is laced with amusement, the scrape of his knife dragging along metal making you flinch. “Come on, Jungkook. You really think you can protect her?”

Jungkook doesn’t move, his stance solid, wrench gripped tightly, shoulders squared. The tension is suffocating, every second stretching unbearably. You don’t dare breathe. Then Taehyung moves. The knife slices through the air.

Jungkook barely dodges, instinct driving his body before his mind catches up. The blade misses him by inches, but there’s no time to think, theres no time to breath, only react.

With everything he has, he swings the wrench. It connects hard against Taehyung’s wrist.

The knife clatters to the ground.

But Jungkook doesn’t stop this time.

His fist collides with Taehyung’s jaw, the impact ringing in the empty construction site. The force of it sends Taehyung staggering back, his body slamming against a stack of bricks. He’s weak now, unsteady, but still smiling like he’s enjoying this.

And then, in a last, desperate attempt, he speaks.

“You really think you’ve changed, Jungkook?” Taehyung breathes, voice laced with mockery. He spits blood onto the dust-covered ground, laughing through the pain. “You’re still the same pathetic kid I used to toy with. Weak. Spineless.”

Jungkook’s breath hitches.

“You’ll never be enough for her.”

The words land heavier than any punch ever could. For a split second, Jungkook falters. The old wounds, the taunts, the bruises, and the humiliation come rushing back. The memories claw at the edges of his mind, threatening to pull him under.

He remembers the way they used to laugh at him, the cruelty in their voices, the way they looked at him like he was nothing. Like he would always be nothing. He was the loser, the punching bag, the boy who never fought back. Every insult had carved itself into his skin, every shove had left something deeper than just bruises. They made him believe it. That he was worthless. That he would never be enough.

And then there was you. You. The only light in the darkness, the only person who had ever looked at him without disgust. He fell so hard, so helplessly in love with you, even though you belonged to Taehyung. It was cruel, really. The way fate played its hand. You were Taehyung’s girlfriend, yet you were the only one who saw Jungkook. The only one who stood up for him when Taehyung and his gang pushed him down. When he was at his lowest, you were there, offering kindness.

But how could you have chosen him? Him? A pathetic loser who had spent years as the butt of every joke, the weakling who was too afraid to fight back. He hears the echoes of their laughter, the mocking whispers that still live inside his head. Maybe they were right. Maybe he really is nothing. Maybe you made a mistake choosing him.

Taehyung’s voice is smooth and insidious, wrapping around him like a noose. The doubt, the shame, the years of self-hatred it all pulls him under, dragging him back to a place he swore he’d never return to. His fists loosen at his sides, his body feels too heavy, like he’s sinking into the past, like he's losing himself all over again.

But then—you.

You, standing behind him. The warmth of your presence, the unwavering belief in your eyes. The way you never once hesitated to love him, to choose him. His heart pounds against his ribs, pushing away the suffocating weight of the past.

No. No.

He is not that boy anymore. He is not weak. And he will not let Taehyung twist his mind, not when he has you to protect.

The hesitation vanishes as Jungkook moves, striking once, then again, each blow fueled by something raw, something deeper than anger—something desperate. His jaw is clenched, muscles taut, as if he is holding back years of something buried deep inside, something he never let himself feel until now. You have never seen him like this. Then another hit. And another.

His knuckles split, blood dripping onto the cold concrete, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. Not until Taehyung stops moving.

The only sound left is Jungkook’s ragged breathing. His chest heaves, his hands shaking.

His eyes, dark and unfocused, burn with an intensity you have never seen before. It is not just fear, nor is it just anger. It is something far more terrifying in its certainty, something that does not waver, something that does not break. It is an unrelenting, all-consuming protectiveness, the kind that leaves no room for hesitation, no space for doubt. And the most haunting part of it all—you know he did it for you.

“Jungkook.”

Your voice is sof t but it cuts through the chaos like a blade.

He freezes.

His chest rises and falls in uneven bursts, his knuckles raw and bloodied. His grip on the wrench trembles, muscles locked so tightly you wonder if he even hears you.

Then he looks at you, and in that moment, something inside him fractures. The fury that had burned so fiercely in his eyes splinters, crumbling into something far more fragile: fear. But it is not fear for himself. It is for you. For what could have happened. For what he almost became.

You take a step closer, carefully, like you’re approaching a wounded animal. His breathing is ragged, his body strung so tight it might snap. But he doesn’t move away when you reach for him.

Fingers brushing against his wrist, you gently pry the wrench from his grip. His hand is still trembling when it slips from his grasp, clattering onto the ground.

“It’s over,” you whisper, your voice steady even as your own hands shake. “I’m okay.”

Jungkook swallows hard, his throat working around unspoken words. The wail of sirens cuts through the heavy silence, distant but growing closer. Someone must have heard the commotion and called the police.

Taehyung groans from where he lies sprawled on the ground, too weak to move, too beaten to fight. But you barely spare him a glance.

Jungkook exhales shakily, his entire body trembling with the aftermath of it all. His fists are still clenched, his knuckles still bleeding, but his eyes are different now.

They are not just the eyes of your sweet, oblivious boyfriend anymore.

He steps closer, hesitant, hands hovering over your arms, your waist, checking, searching, needing to convince himself that you’re still here. That you’re real.

“I could’ve lost you,” he breathes, his voice rough, breaking at the edges.

The weight of his words settles deep in your chest.

You reach up, cupping his face, your thumb skimming over the small cut on his cheek. He flinches at the touch, but not from pain he just wasn’t expecting something so gentle.

“But you didn’t,” you murmur.

Jungkook’s breath shudders out of him. His lashes flutter shut for a second, his jaw tightening like he’s holding something in, something overwhelming, something too big to put into words.

Then, in a voice so quiet, so broken, it almost shatters you

“I was so scared.”

And just like that, everything collapses.

The rage, the adrenaline, the fear everything he had forced himself to carry, to bury, it all crumbles in one breath.

You don’t hesitate. You pull him into you, arms wrapping around him, and he clings back just as tightly. His grip is almost desperate, his fingers pressing into your back like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.

Then, suddenly, he tilts his head down, capturing your lips in his.

The kiss is not careful. It’s not soft.

It’s raw. Desperate. Heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid.

His lips press against yours with an urgency that steals your breath, like he’s trying to pour everything he feels into this moment. His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he wants to lose himself in you, in the feeling of you alive and warm in his arms.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, anchoring him to you, and he sighs into your mouth—a broken, trembling sound that sends a shiver down your spine.

When you finally pull back, foreheads pressed together, Jungkook’s breath is warm against your skin, uneven and ragged.

He’s still shaking.

And you hold him tighter, letting him feel it all.

The flashing red and blue lights spill across the pavement as the police cars screech to a stop.

Jungkook pulls away just enough to look at you, his hands still cradling your waist, like he’s reluctant to break contact. His eyes search yours, and for the first time since this nightmare began, you see something unshakable in them.

Taehyung’s screams cut through the air as he thrashes against the officers, his wrists locked in cold steel. His voice is hoarse, spewing empty threats, venom dripping from every syllable—

“This isn’t over!” he snarls. “You think you can take her from me?”

Jungkook doesn’t react. He doesn’t even spare Taehyung a glance.

Instead, he lifts a hand, brushing his fingers lightly against your cheek, grounding himself in the fact that you’re safe.

His voice, when he finally speaks, is low, steady. A quiet promise.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

And for the first time you believe him.

Because this isn’t the same Jungkook who was oblivious, who used to let things slide, the one who always saw the good in people even when they didn’t deserve it.

This is the Jungkook who stood his ground.

The Jungkook who fought for you.

And if the world ever tried to take you away from him again, he wouldn’t hesitate.

The park is quiet, bathed in the soft glow of late morning light. Birds flit between the branches, their songs blending with the gentle rustling of leaves. A cool breeze brushes against your skin, carrying the scent of freshly baked pastries from the open basket beside you.

Jungkook sits across from you on the checkered picnic blanket, absently poking at his croissant with a fork. His knuckles are bandaged and a faint bruise lingers on his cheek just below the strip of medical tape.

You watch him, waiting.

He hasn’t said much about it. But the way he holds himself now, shoulders squared just a little more, gaze a little steadier it feels different.

“You know,” you start, plucking a strawberry from the fruit bowl and tossing it into your mouth. “For once, I wasn’t the one saving your ass.”

Jungkook snorts, shaking his head. “Don’t remind me,” he mutters, but there’s a small, lopsided smile tugging at his lips. “I’m still getting used to it.”

“You should be proud,” you tell him, shifting onto your knees so you’re closer. “Not just because you fought. But because you didn’t let him win.”

Jungkook exhales, rolling his jaw like he’s still processing the weight of it. “I used to think…” He hesitates, gaze flickering down to his hands. “That I’d never be the kind of guy who could protect someone. That I’d always be the loser who let things slide.”

You reach out, fingers curling over his bandaged knuckles, squeezing gently. “You were never a loser, Jungkook.”

You trace a light touch over the bruise on his cheek. “And if you’re measuring strength by how many fights you win, you’re missing the point.”

Jungkook’s lips twitch, his fingers tightening around yours. “Oh yeah? And what’s the point, then?”

“That you were strong even before this,” you murmur. “You didn’t need to throw a punch to prove that. But I think… you finally see it now, don’t you?”

He doesn’t answer right away, but the tension in his shoulders eases. Then, with a soft chuckle, he tilts his head and smirks. “So what you’re saying is… you’re swooning over me right now.”

You roll your eyes, but your laugh gives you away. “Unbelievable. One heroic moment and your ego skyrockets.”

“What can I say?” He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “I’m basically a knight in shining armor now.”

You groan. “You’re literally covered in bandages, Jungkook.”

“Battle scars,” he corrects smugly.

“You are so—”

He cuts you off with a kiss.

His lips taste like the strawberries you were just eating, but there’s something else too, something warmer. The quiet relief of knowing you’re here. That you’re safe. That you chose him, again and again.

When you finally pull away, Jungkook rests his forehead against yours, exhaling quietly. “I wouldn’t hesitate,” he murmurs. “If it ever happens again. If the world ever tries to take you away from me.”

Your heart clenches. You press a kiss to his bruised cheek, whispering against his skin. “I know.”

For a while, you just sit there, basking in the quiet hum of the park, in the way his fingers stay laced with yours. The past still lingers, but it doesn’t hold you down.

You’re here together.

And for now, that’s all that matters.

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lmk ur thots <3

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champagnevi · 10 days ago

Text

˚. opposites — k mingyu ✧

[ about. one black cat girlfriend. one golden retriever boyfriend who is always ready to make sure his girlfriend knows how much he loves her. ]

★ :inc. f!reader, black cat!reader, jealousy, tender moments, domestic fluff, soft humor. genre. idol!au, established relationship, minor angst. wc: +2k

note. this is my first shot of gyu. i couldn't stop thinking about how this is so close to me and the whole thing of being so introverted it hurts. feed back is so appreciated <3

The front door clicked shut behind them, soft and familiar.

_______ dropped her bag next to the shoe rack with the usual dramatic sigh, slipping out of her heels with practised grace. Her shoulders rolled. Her spine cracked. Her eyes, winged, smoky, annoyed, found their usual target: the overly tall, overly chipper boyfriend bouncing into the kitchen like he wasn’t four tequila shots deep and built like a Roman statue.

“Did you have to carry Lana into the Uber?” she deadpanned, arms crossed as she leaned against the wall.

Mingyu peeked around the fridge door, still grinning. “She asked!”

“She asked if she could sleep on the sidewalk, and you interpreted that as bridal carrying her across Seoul like a knight in shining polyester.”

He reappeared with two bottles of water, holding one out to her with a bright, guilty smile. “You’re just jealous.”

“Of your impulse to save drunk damsels? Please.”

“Nope.” He stepped closer, towering over her with that familiar warmth in his eyes—the one that melted her defences in five seconds or less. “You’re jealous of the bridal carry.”

_______ scoffed but took the water. “You’d drop me.”

“Never,” he said, dead serious. “You’re the only one I’d break my back for.”

She hated that he meant it. She hated it more than it made her smile.

Fifteen minutes later, _______ stretched out on the couch, Mingyu's hoodie on, make up off and glasses on, her limbs loose from the wine she’d had earlier that evening. The apartment was quiet, the low hum of the city outside the only sound besides Mingyu’s occasional shuffling in the kitchen. He was always moving, always doing something with his hands—whether it was fixing a snack, adjusting the thermostat, or just fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

She watched him through half-lidded eyes as he rummaged through the fridge, again, his brown hair still slightly messy from where she’d run her fingers through it earlier.

"You're like a hyper golden retriever," she muttered, tucking her feet beneath her as she watched him.

Mingyu turned, grinning, popping a grape into his mouth. "And you're like a grumpy little cactus."

_______ scoffed. Habit, more than malice. "How do we got together, again?"

He walked over, flopping onto the couch beside her. His knee bounced restlessly. "I don’t know. But I’m not letting you go." Mingyu’s laugh was bright, unrestrained, and _______ felt the corners of her lips twitch despite herself. He slid across the cushions and buried his face in her lap like a dog who knew he was too big but tried anyway. She sighed and combed her fingers through his hair. Everything was warm. Safe. Them.

Until the group chat popped off.

They’d been out with friends earlier—Their table was long, crowded with fellow idols, stylists, and choreographers—their odd little tribe of music-world chaos. It had been a good night, full of laughter and drinks and Mingyu’s arm slung over her shoulders like he was afraid she’d slip away if he didn’t hold on.

_______ had kept close to him, quiet and content, letting him do most of the social lifting while she nodded and sipped her wine. Mingyu, ever the social butterfly, was in the middle of an animated story, his hands waving as he reenacted some ridiculous studio mishap. She smirked into her drink. He was so expressive—every emotion played across his face like an open book. It was endearing, even if she’d never admit it out loud.

Then Jake, Seventeen’s dancer and self-proclaimed "devil’s advocate," leaned forward with a lazy grin. "I still don’t get it, man. You two are like opposite magnets. She’s all sharp edges, and you’re just… sunshine." He gestured between them with his chopsticks. "You are cuddles and she's stabbing-"

Laughter rippled around the table.

_______ 's smile was tight.

“I mean, opposites attract, sure,” Jaehyun continued, undeterred. “But it’s wild. You look like you belong in a puppy adoption ad. She looks like she could kill with a glare—and I’m not saying that in a bad way.”

Mingyu, ever unshakable, just laughed and slung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. "Easy. She keeps me from floating away, and I annoy her into smiling. Perfect balance."

_______ elbowed him lightly, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

Lena, one of their common friends, snorted. "More like she tolerates you like a cat tolerates an overly enthusiastic dog."

Mingyu gasped in mock offence. "Excuse you, I am adored." He turned to _______, eyes wide and pleading. "Tell them how much you adore me."

She levelled him with a deadpan stare. "I tolerate you."

The table erupted into laughter, and Mingyu clutched his chest like he’d been wounded. "Betrayal! After all I’ve done for you!"

_______ rolled her eyes but didn’t shrug off his arm.

But _______ noticed how another one of the backup dancers—a young guy, barely twenty—hadn't taken his eyes off her all night. He’d been quiet at first, but the longer they stayed, the more starstruck he got. He leaned in when she spoke, stammered compliments about her dancing, and blushed when she smiled at him.

Mingyu noticed too.

His arm, already possessive around her shoulders, pulled tighter.

“You okay?” she murmured.

“Yeah,” he said, voice light but jaw clenched.

Later, as the group spilled out onto the sidewalk, tipsy and full, someone suggested walking to a nearby park to sober up before heading home. The night air was cool, and _______ lingered at the back of the group, content to watch Mingyu’s animated chatter from a distance.

Until she saw her.

Hana, one of Mingyu’s friend backup dancer, had stumbled over a crack in the pavement, and before _______ could even blink, Mingyu had swept her up into a bridal carry, laughing as Hana squealed in surprise.

"Put me down, you overgrown puppy!" Hana giggled, swatting at his shoulder.

"Never! This is your punishment for doubting my strength!" Mingyu declared, spinning her once before finally setting her down.

_______'s nails dug into her palms.

It wasn’t that she thought anything was going on—she knew Mingyu, knew he was just like this with everyone—but something hot and possessive coiled in her chest anyway.

"She’s cute, I guess," a stylist had said when she thought _______ wasn’t listening. "But they don’t match. She’s all... serious and chic. He’s like a human golden retriever. You know? Like, what do they even talk about?"

_______ didn’t say anything at the time. She never did. But the words had sunk claws into her mind, and now they were scratching to be noticed.

She didn’t realise she’d stopped walking until Mingyu was suddenly in front of her, tilting his head. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she said flatly.

Mingyu studied her for a second before his eyes flicked back to where Hana was still laughing with the others. A slow, infuriating grin spread across his face. "Ohhh. You’re jealous."

"I am not."

"You are." He looked delighted.

_______ scoffed and tried to step around him, but Mingyu caught her wrist, tugging her back. "____"

"What."

He leaned down, voice dropping to a whisper. "You’re the only one I’d carry home."

Her traitorous heart skipped a beat.

"Shut up," she muttered, but the heat in her chest had already started to fade.

Now, in the warm hush of the apartment, she couldn’t shake it. Everything replaying in her mind, including the feelings that came even stronger.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Mingyu said, poking her forehead gently. “You get this little line right here.”

She swatted his hand away. “Stop.”

“Make me.”

She glared. He grinned.

Then he spoke, voice oddly casual. "So. Hwang couldn’t stop staring at you tonight."

_______ blinked. "Who?"

"Hwang. My dancer. The one who literally tripped over his own feet when you walked past him."

She snorted. "I didn’t notice."

Mingyu turned his head to glare up at her. "I noticed."

_______ smirked. "Oh? You’re jealous?"

Mingyu huffed. "No. I just think it’s rude."

"Uh-huh." She tugged lightly on his hair. "You’re ridiculous."

He sat up suddenly, crowding into her space. "Yeah? Well, you’re mine."

_______ arched a brow. "Possessive much?"

Mingyu’s gaze dropped to her lips. "Only when it comes to you." And then he was kissing her, slow and deep, his hands framing her face like she was something precious.

She melted into it.

Later, _______ sat on the edge of the bed, picking at the hem of her nightdress, while Mingyu shuffled around the room, still buzzing with leftover energy from the night. She watched him—always moving, always bright—and something heavy settled in her chest.

"You two are like opposite magnets."

Jaehyun’s words echoed in her head, mixing with the memory of Mingyu effortlessly carrying Hana, the way his bandmates looked at him like he was the sun itself.

And then there was her—sharp-tongued, guarded, curled in the shadows like the cat everyone compared her to.

Mingyu paused mid-step when he noticed her silence. "Hey." He nudged her knee with his. "You’ve been quiet."

_______ shrugged. "Just thinking."

"About?"

She hesitated, then exhaled. "Do you ever wonder if… this is enough for you?"

Mingyu blinked. "What?"

"This." She gestured between them. "Me. Us. I’m not—" She bit the inside of her cheek. "I’m not like you. I don’t… glow."

Mingyu’s expression shifted, something like alarm flashing in his eyes. He dropped onto the bed beside her, close enough that their knees touched. "What the hell are you talking about?"

_______ kept her gaze fixed on her hands. "You are you. Everyone loves you. You could have anyone... someone who matches your energy, who doesn’t drag you down—"

"Stop." His voice was sharp, uncharacteristically serious. He caught her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Where is this coming from?"

She swallowed. "Jaehyun wasn’t wrong. We don’t make sense."

Mingyu’s grip on her tightened, just a little, like he was afraid she’d slip away. "Since when do you care what Jaehyun thinks?"

"I don’t," she muttered. "But what if he’s right? What if you wake up one day and realise I’m just… a burden? Or worse—boring?"

The second the words left her mouth, Mingyu flinched like she’d struck him.

"Boring?" His voice cracked. "_______ , you’re the furthest thing from boring. You’re—" He let out a frustrated noise, running a hand through his hair. "You’re the only person who gets me. The only one who doesn’t just see the ‘happy fun clumsy’ act. You call me out when I’m being an idiot. You challenge me. That’s not boring—that’s everything."

_______ ’s throat tightened.

Mingyu cupped her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. "And a burden?" His voice dropped, rough with emotion. "You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. If anything, I’m the one who’s scared you’ll realise you could do better."

Her breath hitched.

He pressed his forehead to hers, his next words barely above a whisper. "Don’t you dare doubt that I love you. Don’t you dare."

_______ closed her eyes, her chest aching. "Mingyu—"

"I need you to believe me," he said, voice trembling. "Because I’m not letting go. Not now. Not ever."

She didn’t realise she was crying until he kissed the tears away.

And then she was kissing him, pouring every unsaid I love you into it, her fingers clutching his shirt like an anchor.

When they finally pulled apart, Mingyu’s eyes were red-rimmed, but he was smiling. "We’re meant to be together. Got it?"

_______ nodded, her voice steadier now. "Got it."

He hugged her then, so tight she could barely breathe, but she didn’t mind.

“ I've known since the first time you scowled, curse at me and told me to get my iced Americano off your lyric notebook that you were it for me."

She cracked a smile, despite herself. "You ruined three pages."

"And you still called me the next day."

"To yell at you."

"Which I found hot."

She laughed, just once. Mingyu softened. He always did when she let her guard down. He scooted closer and cupped her jaw.

"Also," he added, more quietly, "if I ever carry anyone like that again, it’ll be you. You looked like you were ready to set the city on fire."

She flushed. "Maybe I was. And maybe I did notice Hwang eye-fucking me across the table all night."

Mingyu blinked. Then his whole body tensed. "What?"

"Funny, right?”

He growled. Actually growled.

Then kissed her.

Hard. All the softness left behind.

The kiss turned into hands. Her hoodie—his hoodie—got tugged off, and her nightdress straps slipped down like silk. He lifted her into his lap like she weighed nothing, like bridal-carry round two, but this time just for them.

"See," he whispered into her neck as she gasped under his touch, "only carry I care about."

Their mouths found each other again—hot, hungry, claiming. Clothes vanished. Skin met skin. She arched beneath him, breath catching.

“We work," he whispered back, thrusting into her like he meant it. "We always will."

The rest of the world disappeared in the way he moved with her, against her. Golden warmth and black silk, colliding like it was fate.

She clawed at his back, whispered his name like a secret and a prayer. He took his time—slow, worshipful, then wild and unrelenting. The kind of love that silences doubt.

They didn’t match. They clashed like sunlight on obsidian. But maybe that’s why it worked.

Love, after all, wasn't always about symmetry. Sometimes it was about choosing the same chaos, over and over, and letting the world wonder why.

And _______? She was done wondering.

She knew.

She wasn’t letting go.

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kitkatscabinet · 3 months ago

Text

"THE WAYNE SIBLINGS READ THIRST TWEETS"

requested by anon

summary: the internet is horny for you, your brothers suffer for it.

pairings: platonic! dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake x batsis! reader

A/N: 18+, on account of horny twitter users ;)

You and your brothers are lined up in a semi-circle, Dick, you, Jason then Tim, each of you sporting different expressions as the cameras begin rolling.

You and Dick are cheerful mirrors of each other, while Jason and Tim look like they'd rather be anywhere but here as the four of you settle into place.

"So today we're going to have you reading thirst tweets, but the twist is, they're all about your sister." The producer says from out of frame. Abruptly, your brother's moods swing violently.

"No!" Dick cheers, the blinding smile plastered across his face never even twitching.

Jason's frown has evolved from "mildly disgruntled" to "about to start shooting people."

Tim, meanwhile, appears to have stopped working altogether. "Timmers?" You giggle, waving a hand across his face.

"Ew... I mean, people find you attractive?" He scrunches up his nose, and your face turns murderous.

"RIGHT! Listen here you little - " you lean across Jason to strangle your little brother when a giggle from somewhere on set reminds you where you are, and you paste on a practised grin.

"I can see why Damian wasn't invited now."

"None of us should have been invited, this shouldn't be happening." Tim mumbled with a thousand yard stare.

Relishing in his stress, you quickly pull a piece of paper from the oversized thirst jug, staring directly at Tim as you read. "Bruce Wayne's daughter could smack me across the face with a brick and I’d say ‘thank you, mommy’"

Tim dry heaves, face a little green.

"Damn, now I can never use that in bed again." Jason grumbles, causing Dick to spit out his water as Tim gags once more.

"You're disgusting." He kicks Jason as you hum in consideration.

"I don't know, I think I could get behind it."

"Never speak again, actually." Tim fires back.

"Well, if you liked that, then you'll love this one: Sit on my face, I'll pay you, anything! please, SIT ON MY FACE! SIT ON MY-” Dick, who's only just recovered from his previous near death experience starts choking again, making you hit his back a little harder than strictly necessary.

Jason starts attempting to take the jug off your hands, but you quickly dance out of the way, "Oh look, this one's not even that bad." Your brothers look sceptical, but they don't stop you, "She's so fine, I'd kill a man just to breathe the same air as her."

"What is with people and committing crimes?" Jason seems genuinely concerned. How chronically offline of him.

"I attract a very passionate demographic." You shrug.

"You attract future convicts," Dick mutters in devastation.

A shit eating grin covers your face as you read the next one, having lulled them into a false sense of security.

"Need her to pull on my hair like a leash as she fucks me into next week with the strap." Dick wails, falling sideways off the chair like a fainting Victorian woman.

"Hmm, you want the pink or the green one, baby?" you smile seductively at the camera.

"That's it! You're done, you're done!" Jason lunges for you at the same time as Dick, your older brother getting the jug whilst you're hauled over Jason's shoulder.

You shriek, but you refused to be deterred, unfolding one of the papers you'd managed to grab before Dick attempted to thwart your fun. "Not to be dramatic, but if Jason’s sister looked me in the eye and said ‘kneel’, I’d hit the floor so fast I’d break my - hey."

Tim pulls the paper from your hands, staring at it like it killed his puppy. "Why are you encouraging this?" Tim gestures accusingly at the Buzzfeed staff members laughing behind the cameras, before he does a double take at the twitter handle.

"Wait... This is from Roy's Twitter account!" Tim yells, whirling on Jason like he's personally responsible for all of his grievances.

"There's one here from Conner too," You clear your throat, holding the paper far above Tim's head with your superior height courtesy of Jason's unwilling help, "I’d treat you right. You ever want someone to make you cum till you forget your own name, hit me up babe."

Your brothers scream, and you’re having so much fun that you only mildly worry about Conner’s safety in the near future.

(You wonder if you’ll have time to take him up on his offer before his inevitable funeral.)

The video ends with a message flashing across the screen: "Several of the tweets submitted came from Wally West's Twitter account. Some were deemed too explicit to share."

#x reader #dc x reader #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x reader #batfamily x reader #tim drake x reader #female reader #jason todd #tim drake #dick grayson #batsis #batfam x batsis

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dawngyu · 6 months ago

Text

THE SCIENTIST

pairing: popular hueningkai x deaf fem!reader

summary: Kai, who thrived in sound. Loud noise, vibrant conversations, the hum of life. And the quiet girl that sits prettily by the window—had begun to haunt his mind—stirring his heart the way only music ever had.

There must be some scientific explanation for this... right?

warnings: deaf reader, set in 1995 timeline, verbal!abuse, physical!abuse, family-trauma, ableism!(hate this word so much). side character!death, purely work of fiction. subtle implications of survivor guilt, high-school setting but everyone is 18 and above. everything written here is not a description of any idols. characters like chae-won, yun-jin etc are used. if any of the warnings above might be triggering for you, please proceed with caution if you decided to read. (let me know if i missed anything.)

smutwarnings: explicit!smut, pull-out method(pls don't),fingering!, missionary!, virginity!loss. MDNI.

wc: 21k

notes: inspired by twinkling watermelon. while I’ve done some research to better understand what it’s like to be deaf, there may still be inaccuracies. I did my best to approach the subject with care and respect. love knows no boundaries, hence I wrote this piece. a big thank you to my beta reader.

You were born with the inability to hear anything.

The world is nothing but a muted place for you. You never heard the birds singing at dawn, the hum of a bustling street, or the warmth in your parents’ voices—even your own. The sun might be painting the sky with its warm hues, but for you, it was just another day of deafening silence.

And then there was that one particular day.

You didn’t hear the crash, the scream of tyres, or the shattering glass. You didn’t hear your mother's voice, soft and trembling, as she held you close. Eyes brimming with tears, searching yours, face pale and streaked with blood.

You tried—desperately—to focus, to read the words forming on her lips. But your head spun, the world blurred, and all you could feel was her cold hands cradling your face. How can you? When you couldn't even hear your own pained whimpers from the glass that cut your skin. Strangers pulled you. They carried you away—away from her, away from her forever.

You’ve convinced yourself it must be punishment—a cruel reckoning from a life before this one.

Why else would your hearing be taken from you? Why else would the universe strip away the one person who truly saw you, who tried to understand you, even in your silence? What crime could have been so unforgivable that it warranted a lifetime of loss?

You stabbed at the food on your plate, pushing it around without taking a bite. Your stomach churned—not from hunger but from being trapped here. The room was filled with people who called themselves your family. Family—nothing more than a coincidence of living in the same house.

A sharp kick to your foot snapped you out of your thoughts. Your eyes met hers—your stepmother. Her perfectly practised smile didn’t reach her cold, calculating eyes.

She had arrived after the accident, ten years ago, when you were just eight. Back then, she was a tutor, brought in to give your father hope—a cruel, empty hope that you could still learn to speak. She had played her role well, and now she sat at the head of this table, the head of this house, ruling with her own. Her daughters—your stepsisters—sat on either side of her, mirroring her expressions, their eyes flickering toward you.

“Is the food not to your liking?” she asked—you read her lips, something you had to do out of necessity. Her stare burned into you.

You knew that look too well. Behave. Know your place.

And, as always, your father sat there, oblivious. His eyes never caught the disdain in hers, never lingered long enough to notice the cracks in the perfect picture she painted. Soon, he'll be back overseas for another business trip.

"Y/N?"

You hesitated, lifting your hand to sign, then you caught her eye—a sharp, pointed look. Your hand faltered, dropping back to your side.

Instead, you let out a hum. It wasn’t much, just a sound—a vibration you couldn’t hear but felt in your throat. She tilted her head slightly, giving a satisfied nod.

Your father pushed back his chair, standing with the same distracted air he always had. He walked over to you, placing a hand on your head, a gesture so routine it barely meant anything anymore. I’m going now. That was what it always meant.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead briefly, before straightening up. His secretary hovered near the door. You watched his back as he walked out, leaving you staring from the table.

The day your mother left you, you lost... him too.

Seeing the doors close, you rose from your seat, but your stepmother was quicker, blocking your path. She loomed, her face a mask of forced patience. "Do I need to remind you again?" she said, "I said speak. No hand signs or whatever that is. That is not allowed here on this house. Do you want me to get mad at you again?"

Her glare felt like a physical force, pinning you to the spot. Unable to meet her eyes, you nodded weakly, looking at the floor. But she wasn’t done. She stepped closer, grabbing your shoulders in a firm, punishing grip. Her fingers dug into your skin as she shook you, her frustration spilling over.

Everyone watched. They just.. watched. The maids stood frozen in the corner, their expressions carefully blank, devoid of any emotion, too scared to intervene. Your stepsisters whispered to each other, their mocking smiles only adding to the humiliation.

You nodded again, your only escape was to comply. A soft hum escaped your lips, the sound she always, always insisted on, a token of submission that seemed to satisfy her. Her hands drop from your shoulders. The moment her grip released, you ran. Up the stairs, down the hall, into the only place that felt remotely yours—your room.

Once inside, you collapsed at your desk, leaning forward until your forehead pressed against the hard surface. The tears came quickly, spilling from your eyes as sobs racked your chest. They said crying was supposed to help, to lighten the burden somehow. But for you, it only made the weight heavier. You couldn’t even hear yourself cry. The silence made your pain feel endless.

In your despair, your arm knocked into something on the desk. You looked up in alarm, your heart skipping as you saw the mess. Paints, scattered and spilling, teetered dangerously close to the last drawing you had finished the night before.

Frantically, you reached out, your hands moving quickly to fix it. The thought of losing that small piece—felt unbearable. You righted the paints and saved the smudged edges of the paper, tears blurred your vision as you looked at the sketch.

A boy, in your uniform, with bangs that fell over his eyes and the back of his hair just shy of touching his collar, stood smiling softly. In his hands, he held a guitar, fingers resting gently on the strings.

Huening Kai has so much to be delighted for—his mom, his dad, his sweet sisters—but if he’s being frank, what he’s most thankful for is the day he picked up a guitar and found his love for it.

Music has been his refuge during both the small, frustrating setbacks—like failing a math test he poured hours into studying for or losing a manga he cherished so much and never finding it again—and the moments that cut far deeper.

It was there when his parents decided to end their marriage, leaving him struggling at first—to make sense of a family that no longer looked the same. It was there when Lea packed her things and left for college, that he felt the ache of her absence in a much quieter house. It was there when two of his bandmates graduated, their spots in the group left empty, a reminder of how quickly life can change.

Through music, he met people who became his closest friends, his second family—people he couldn’t imagine living without.

It all comes back to one truth: music doesn’t betray you. It’s always there, no matter what. It’s honest, a constant in a world that often feels anything but. It’s there when you need it most, wrapping you in its arms like an old friend who doesn’t need words to understand—even when you can’t find them yourself.

“Huening Kai!” a high-pitched voice calls out. He feels the soft thud of pillows hitting him and a sharp slap against the back of his thigh. Seriously? He had just fallen asleep.

“I’m going to eat all your food if you don’t get up,” the voice threatens. That gets his attention. Groaning, he blinks his eyes open, adjusting to the dim light of his room. Familiar sight of used guitars propped against the wall, the gleam of trophies, and the dark violet hue that wraps around the room.

He blinks. Oh. It’s his sister, Hiyyih.

Hiyyih stands there, a plate in one hand, an annoyed look plastered across her face. Kai can tell she’s been sent by their mom to rouse him, probably against her will. She takes a deliberate bite of scrambled eggs, her eyes narrowing as she gives him a pointed look before turning to leave.

Kai chuckles softly, shaking his head as he rubs his eyes. He stretches, muscles still heavy, and a frown tugs at his lips. Today is the first day of his last year in high school. The final chapter. Soobin and Yeonjun won’t be there anymore. He sighs, swinging his leg off the bed.

He runs a hand to his tousled hair, grabs a hoodie from the back of his chair and pulls it over his head. He heads towards the chatter—smell of eggs, bacon and pancakes makes his stomach growl.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," His mom greets him with a smile. His frame now towering over the kitchen shelves. He catches her watching him, a soft look in her eyes, and it makes him smile back.

"Morning," Kai mumbles, sits down at the table, reaching for a slice of toast.

Hiyyih watches him,"I thought I was going to have to eat all your food," she teases.

Kai rolls his eyes but grins. "You wish."

"Big day, huh? Last first day of school."

"Yeah. It feels… weird. Soobin and Yeonjun aren’t going to be there. Has Lea called yet?"

"She did. She's doing great so far, being a college girl." his mom answers, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure you'll make even greater memories this year."

Kai smiles, appreciating her words. "Thanks, Mom."

Breakfast was filled with small talk, morning routines wrapping around them. Hiyyih busied herself packing her lunch, their mom helping her with a few finishing touches. Being just a year below Kai, their schedules almost mirrored each other, so they will go to school together.

"Kai, want me to sneak some of these into your lunch?" Hiyyih asked, voice dripping with exaggerated sweetness. He glanced over to see her holding up rice balls shaped like hearts and little animals, clearly proud of her handiwork.

"No, thank you," Kai replied, his tone flat but amused.

"Killjoy," she muttered, giving him a mock glare before returning to her task. He watches as she carefully places a tiny heart-shaped piece of seaweed to form a cat's nose. Something he did not understand.

Why go through all that effort?

The three of them make their way to their mom’s old car, a little worn but still reliable. Kai slips into the passenger seat, and Hiyyih climbs into the back, fussing with her hair even though she just brushed it a minute ago.

“Why don’t you let me drive?” Kai asks as the car starts rolling through the neighborhood. “That way you don’t have to keep going back and forth from school to home.”

His mom glances at him, a smile tugging at her lips. “Son, just because you turned 18 last summer doesn’t mean I’m handing over the keys. Besides,” she adds warmly, “I want to do this for you and Hiyyih.”

Kai leans back in his seat, nodding. She’s right. And anyway, it’s not like they head home together after school. His afternoons are spent in the band room while Hiyyih flits between her own plans, always busy with something or some girlfriends.

The car rolls up to the massive school grounds, Kai glances out the window. The sight of students milling around, the towering building ahead—it’s the same as always. He exhales and starts gathering his things.

He steps out, the crisp air latch on his face. With a quick ruffle of his hair, he pushes his longer bangs away from his eyes, though they fall back almost immediately. The strands at the back have grown out too, brushing the collar of his jacket. Slinging his backpack over his right shoulder and his guitar case over his left, he adjusts the weight and sets off toward the main building. Black—headphones rest around his neck.

He’s barely made it a few steps before he feels it—the stares. The whispers.

“Isn’t he one of the handsome seniors?” “The main guitarist of TXT.” — “He’s so tall. And cute.”

Kai shrugs it off, keeping his focus ahead. He’s used to it. Beside him, Hiyyih is already swept up by one of her friends, her laughter fading into the background after she’s pulled in another direction. His feet carried him down the well-worn hallway, a path he didn’t even have to think about. He could probably make the walk blindfolded. The band room.

When he reached the door, he grasped the doorknob and paused, a small smirk tugging at his lips as the low, bassline thrummed from inside. Peeking inside, the sight was just as he expected—home.

“Yo! Huening Kai!” Beomgyu’s voice rang out, bright and animated, as he set his bass down. His grin widened as he crossed the room in a few quick steps, pulling Kai into a hug before he could dodge. “How was your summer?”

Kai let out a soft laugh, prying Beomgyu’s arms off him. “It was fine. I went shopping with Taehyun a couple of times,” he said, making his way toward his guitar shelf. “Watch it.” he added, shooting Beomgyu a look as the other trailed dangerously close behind.

Beomgyu’s eyes landed on the guitar case Kai was carrying, and his grin turned sly. “What’s this? A new baby?”

“Yeah,” Kai replied, carefully unzipping the case and pulling the guitar out as if it were a fragile treasure. “Dad brought it back from abroad.”

Beomgyu snickered, reaching out to pinch Kai’s cheek. “You’re absolutely smitten, aren’t you?”

“Would you stop?” Kai swatted his hand away, but there was no hiding the small, proud smile tugging at his lips.

Before Beomgyu could tease him further, the door swung open again. Taehyun stepped inside, clipboard in hand, expression calm and no-nonsense as usual. “The new auditionees are here,” he announced, motioning to the two figures who followed him in.

“This is Heeseung,” Taehyun said, gesturing to the taller one. “He’s here to audition for piano. And Jay—he’s trying out for drums.”

Kai glanced at the newcomers, giving them a polite nod as Beomgyu rubbed his hands together, mischievous grin returning. "Alright," Beomgyu said, "let’s see what they’ve got."

The next hour flew by with skills checks, and it didn’t take long for them to see that Heeseung and Jay were solid. They were skilled, sharp, and seemed to fit right into the gaps left by Soobin and Yeonjun. It felt like they could pick up the left space and carry it forward without missing a beat.

Afterwards, Taehyun waved them off, heading to his next class, while Kai and Beomgyu walked in the opposite direction. They shared the same class, while Taehyun, ever the academic overachiever, headed to the advanced one.

“Only the brainiacs go there,” Beomgyu says, nudging Kai with his elbow.

Kai shook his head. Taehyun’s class was famous for being perfectly orderly—a stark contrast to theirs, which was noisy and chaotic on a good day. Their room always felt like the epicentre of the school’s commotion, every day.

The rest of the hours passed in a blur of introductions and meetings with their new advisors. And, of course, Kai’s least favourite math teacher made his return, every bit as strict as before.

Kai slouched in his chair, barely stifling a groan as the teacher droned on about equations and formulas. His mind drifted—Why do he even need this? Is he going to calculate the quadratic formula to buy chips at the grocery store? No.

He glanced down at his hands, the faint calluses on his fingertips from hours of guitar practice catching his eye. He’d much rather spend his time until his hands were sore than trying to decipher problems that made no sense to him.

Beomgyu leaned over, “I think your brain just checked out.”

Kai grinned, giving him a light shove. “Math checked me out first.”

The two of them exchanged quiet laughter, abruptly stopping when the teacher eyed them down.

By the time the last class wrapped up at 4 p.m., Kai found himself right back where he’d started his day: the band room. He and his four bandmates were deep into their after-school practice, bestowed in instruments, time slipped by unnoticed.

“Shoot,” Jay muttered, his gaze snapping to the wall clock. 7:30 p.m. Thirty minutes past the curfew for club rooms.

The realization hit them all at once. If the guards caught them here, it would mean one thing: detention.

“Pack up. Now,” Taehyun said, already slinging his bag over his shoulder. The others scrambled to gather their own gear.

Everyone slipped out into the dark, quiet halls, trying to move as silently as possible. The sound of their footsteps seemed louder.

“Hey! Who’s there?” A booming voice cut through, and suddenly, ta flash of light caught them mid-step.

“Go!” someone hissed, and chaos erupted. The guard started running toward them, and they bolted in every direction. Beomgyu let out a panicked squeal as he sprinted with his bass case clutched in one hand.

Kai didn’t have time to think—he just ran, heart pounded as his legs carried him blindly through the halls. He rounded a corner, only to see another guard up ahead. The group split, scattering.

He can’t get detention on the first day. His lungs burned as he pushed himself further. He kept running, not even sure where he was going, until his body… gave out.

Panting, he slumped near the wall, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He glanced over his shoulder and froze. A flashlight beam swept the hallway behind him. His pulse quickened as he realized he was at a dead end.

Frantically, his eyes darted around, then saw a room ahead. Kai’s brow furrowed at the sight of the mop propped against the door handle, clearly used as a makeshift way to keep it shut. Weird.

He hurried over, carefully removing the mop, and slipped inside. The room was pitch dark, save for the faint glow of light spilling in from the high windows. It cast eerie shadows on the walls, but he didn’t care. He just needed to hide.

Kai tried flipping the light switch, but nothing happened. Figures, he thought bitterly. He shut the door as quietly as he could, pressing his back against it to steady his breathing.

“Anyone there?” The sound of footsteps echoed outside. The guard’s flashlight swept across the small window in the door, and Kai instinctively slid to the floor, curling himself. He crawled, akwardly, backwards, toward the corner at the far end of the room, hoping to make himself as invisible as possible.

But something bumped against his foot. He whipped his head around, his breath catching in his throat. Sitting in the corner was someone else.

You.

Your legs were drawn up to your chest, wide eyes staring right back at him.

“Shi—” Kai started to curse but stopped himself, clapping a hand over his mouth—heart hammered in his chest, not sure if it was your unexpected presence in the room that caused it—or the way your wide, startled eyes locked onto his in this small space.

Chae-won, like you, is in her final year of high school, while Yun-jin is a year below. Your stepsisters.

When they first moved in, your twelve-year-old self had hoped you could be... friends. You had imagined shared secrets, laughter, and maybe even sisterly bonds. But the moment your father’s attention shifted elsewhere, it was clear that your stepmother’s whispers had already planted seeds of resentment in their hearts.

You couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it started. When did it all go wrong? Was it because you were the only biological daughter in the house? Because your father, despite his best intentions, never really connected with them either? Or was it simply because you couldn’t speak?

The inability to communicate fully, to bridge the gap between your world and theirs, seemed to widen the chasm. You often wondered if things would have been different if you could—if words could have built a room where silence had only erected walls.

After years of trying, of reaching out and being met with cold indifference or outright hostility, you gave up. You stopped hoping for understanding, stopped yearning for a connection that seemed impossible. The effort of trying to be part of their society when they wanted nothing to do with yours had only broken your heart.

"Watch where you're going, fucking weirdo," Chae-won sneers, her foot juts out, sending you stumbling. The water bucket you were carrying—filled with the murky grey water of used paintbrushes—tips forward, dousing your chest. You don’t hear the laughter, but you can feel it, buzzing around you in the painting room.

You look up, your gaze darts to Yun-jin. She leans against the counter, arms crossed, her painted red lips curved into a smug smirk. She raises an eyebrow, as if daring you to do something about it.

You’re in your school's art room, surrounded by the faint smell of turpentine and dried paint. Art has always been your peace. But your love for it didn’t go unnoticed by your stepmother.

It wasn’t long before she pushed her daughters into it too. You’re not sure if it was to force some kind of twisted togetherness between you, or if it was her way of ensuring they would always outshine you, in everything—even this.

You push yourself up, your clothes clinging to your body, damp. Your eyes narrow as you stare at Chae-won. You want to tell her off, to demand an apology, to ask why she does this—

"Cat got your tongue?" she taunts, her lips curl into a cruel grin. "Oh, wait. You can’t speak. Poor girl. That’s what you get for being such an attention seeker."

Your breath hitches as your brows knit in fury. You can’t reply with words, but actions—actions—will do just fine.

As she turns to leave, you grab her hair, yanking it back with all the frustration and hurt bottled up. She shrieks, spinning around to claw at you, and soon you’re both tangled in a fierce struggle.

The others jump in.

Someone grabs your arm, wrenching it back. Another slaps you hard across the face, the sting reverberating through your skull. A foot connects with your leg, sending you buckling. You hit the ground again, tasting blood on your lips as they shove you down.

Your things are heartlessly thrown at you—your bag, your books, your sketchpad—hitting you like stones. Footsteps retreating, laughter echoing in their faces. They close the door before you can even blink.

You force yourself to your feet, every movement a struggle against the ache in your body. You stumble to the door, testing the handle. It doesn’t budge. Of course, it doesn’t. They’ve done this before.

Silence.

You sink back down onto the hard floor, your chest heaving as tears spill freely down your cheeks. Trembling hands reach up to the corner of your lips, fingers brushing the split skin. The sting makes you wince.

The clock ticks on, indifferent. 4:50 p.m.

You take a shuddering breath and wipe your tears with unsteady hands. You smooth your hair, trying to tame the mess they made of it. With a quick swipe, you clear the blood from your mouth, leaving behind only the faint metallic taste.

All you can do now is wait. Alone—praying—that someone will come and find you in this empty room.

What you didn’t expect was that someone would come—three hours later, long after the sun had set. You’d been staring at the door for so long that when it finally creaked open, you were already halfway to your feet.

But then you froze.

It’s him.

Of all people, it’s him.

You swallowed the surprise in your throat, pulse-quickening as you watched him slip inside, crouching low, moving backward like he was avoiding something.

He was hiding. From what, you didn’t know—not until a beam of light swept across the windows above, brushing against the walls like a searching hand. Your body stiffened, instinct telling you to stay still.

You weren’t sure you could.

When his gaze finally landed on you, the shock in his expression was unmistakable—and you knew yours mirrored his. Suspended in that shared disbelief.

“Quiet, please,” his lips shaped the words. His hand rose, a single finger pressing against his mouth. The dim light barely reached him, but you caught the faint pink of his lips.

Minutes passed. Neither of you spoke, just staring at each other like you were both trying to figure out something. He shifted, his eyes widening in alarm.

“B-blood,” he stammered, pointing at your forehead.

Your hand shot up instinctively, fingers brushing against the skin there. When you pulled it back, you saw it—smudges of red streaking your fingertips.

He's as startled as you, he tapped his chest, like he was trying to centre himself, and quickly rummaged through his pocket. He pulled out a handkerchief, holding it out to you with a slightly trembling hand.

You didn’t take it. You couldn’t. It must be the ache in your bones, the hunger in your stomach, the blood still fresh on your hands—or maybe... your mind was still catching up to the fact that he was here, standing this close to you.

When you didn’t move, he took another step forward, hesitating only briefly before carefully pressing the cloth to your forehead. His touch was cautious, you could feel the warmth of his hand through the fabric.

From this close, you could smell him. Clean, with a faint trace of musk, and something sweet underneath. You hated how your chest tightened because of it.

“What happened? Why are you here?” he asked, his fingers were steady as he wiped the blood from your skin. His brow furrowed as he inspected the small cut, his concern written plainly on his face. “Did someone lock you in?”

You shook your head, hesitant. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, so you let your gaze fall somewhere—anywhere—but on his eyes.

He didn’t press for more. “Let’s get out of here.”

His hand found yours. All you could do was stare at your entwined fingers. You can feel the tip of your ears go warm. He gave it a gentle squeeze before he stood and pulled you up from the cold, unforgiving floor.

The boy who had only ever been a distant figure to you. The boy you’d sketched on countless pages, the one whose smile crinkled his eyes so perfectly it made your chest ache. The boy you were sure didn’t even know you existed.

He pulls you out of this suffocating room. His tall, sure figure led, guiding you as you ran. Every so often, he glances back, his eyes searching yours and for a fleeting moment, you glance down and see your shadows on the wall—together. His hands never let go of yours until you weren't in the dark anymore.

Huening Kai.

Kai slouches in his seat, letting out another heavy sigh. His body’s in class, sure, but his mind? It’s stuck somewhere else—somewhere back last night.

He can’t stop thinking about you. And he's not sure why.

You both made it out of the school grounds safely, and he even helped you gather your things from your locker. He stood there awkwardly, watching when you downed a bottle of water in one long gulp like your life depended on it. His suspicions were confirmed—someone did lock you in that room.

How long had you waited, sitting there in the dark? His stomach churned at the thought. What if he hadn’t been hiding that way? What if no one had found you? The idea of you spending the entire night in that empty space until a teacher or janitor happened upon you made his heart race. It’s… eating him alive.

But the thing that gets him, the part he can’t stop replaying, is how… quiet you were. No explanations, no complaints—just a nod here and there, avoiding his eyes the whole time. Did he cross a line? Say something wrong? Overstep somehow? Did he offend you without realizing? Or worse—do you just not like him?

He rubs the back of his neck. And yet, despite all that, he also can’t stop thinking about how your eyes seem soft under the moonlight, making them look so—

“Dude.” Beomgyu’s voice cuts, “What’s with the brooding? Bell rang.”

Kai glances around the classroom. Almost empty. “Oh. Right. Nothing,” he mumbles, grabbing his bag.

Beomgyu narrows his eyes. “You’ve been sulking like my dog when I don’t share my snacks.”

Kai remained silent, pouting and followed Beomgyu out of the classroom. It’s lunch now, and as usual, they’re headed to meet Taehyun at the cafeteria. Heeseung and Jay will probably join them too.

Walking through the hall, Kai forces a polite smile at the people who greet him. Beomgyu, on the other hand, is his usual exuberant self, grinning and dapping up every other guy who greets him as they pass.

The two make their way into the cafeteria, people stared. They walk toward their usual spot, a table near the centre of the room. No one ever sits there. Everyone knows—it’s their table. Yeonjun made that mark. It's an unspoken rule.

Kai drops into his seat, setting his bag down and pulling out his packed lunch. The cafeteria food doesn’t really do it, not when his mom’s food is always better.

“What do you have?” Beomgyu asks, leaning over.

“Tempura and some beef,” Kai replies, popping a piece of shrimp into his mouth.

“Give me some,” Beomgyu demands, already reaching for his chopsticks. Kai rolls his eyes but slides the container a little closer, watching as Beomgyu happily steals a piece.

Taehyun walks in, weaving the crowded tables with his usual stride. “You're early,” he greets, his seat across from them. "That's a record."

Kai’s eyes flick toward the entrance, catching sight of you slipping. You moved slowly, clutching your tumbler. You keep your head low, glancing around as if to make sure no one’s watching. Kai stands, pushing his chair back abruptly. He can't miss this chance.

Beomgyu pauses mid-bite, raising an eyebrow. “What’re you doing?”

Taehyun gives him a sideways glance. “Kai?” Kai ignored them. He just heads toward you.

“Hey,” he calls out, but you don’t turn. Hesitating for only a second, he gently taps your shoulder.

You whirl around. Your grip tightens on the water bottle, and your eyes widen slightly when you realise it’s him. Around you, a few people glance over.

“Hey,” he says again, softer this time. “How’s your head?” He tilts his own slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of the bandaid peeking out near your hairline. “That looks better,” he murmurs.

“Would you like to join us for lunch?” He points behind him toward his table when you don't answer, where Beomgyu and Taehyun are undoubtedly watching. As he expected, you shake your head quickly, almost instinctively, avoiding his eyes.

The small rejection stings more than it should. Kai nods, trying to hide his disappointment. “Alright,” he mutters. Then, before he can second-guess himself, he gently takes the tumbler from your hands.

He heads to the water station, fills it to the brim, screws the cap on tightly, and hands it back to you. “Here,” he says simply. It's small. But he wanted to do it for you.

You nod, a small, polite gesture, and turn to leave without a word or a backward glance.

Kai watches you, chest tight. When he trudges back to his table, Beomgyu’s smirk is already waiting for him.

“What was that about?” Taehyun asks, leaning forward.

“I was just checking on her,” Kai mumbles, slumping into his seat. “She never talks to me. I don’t get it.”

Taehyun’s gaze sharpens, and he studies Kai for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. “She can’t,” he finally says, voice calm but firm.

Kai blinks, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“She can’t hear you.” Taehyun explains, his tone softening. “She’s deaf, Kai,”

Taehyun filled Kai in, sharing what he knew about you.

Kai was surprised to learn that you were in the same advanced class. As always, you kept everything to yourself. Taehyun admitted he had tried reaching out to you before—once or twice—but even he hadn’t gotten far.

“She’s… just quiet,” Taehyun said with a shrug. “Not just because she’s deaf, either. I’ve tried writing things down for her, you know? Like, in a notebook, to make it easier. But she only ever gives one-word answers. A ‘yes’ here, a ‘no’ there.” He sighed, “It’s hard to get through to her.”

Kai leaned back in his seat, dragging a hand through his hair. Guilt tugged at him. He’d been so quick to assume you were ignoring him, brushing him off on purpose. But now?

Now, he couldn’t stop imagining what it must have been like for you that night. Locked, no way to call for help, no way to know if anyone was coming. Alone. Not even the sounds of footsteps approaching to give you hope.

He swallowed hard, his chest tightening. Would he have been able to handle that? Sitting there for hours, completely cut off from the world? Probably not. He’d have broken down.

That's why Kai finds himself walking in the opposite direction of his classroom, away from Beomgyu’s puzzled stare. He doesn’t look back. His feet carry him toward where Taehyun had gone—toward where he knows you are.

The hallway buzzes with life. Groups of students linger outside classrooms, laughing and chatting, their voices blending into the hour of lunch break. A few glance his way as he passes, curiosity in their eyes.

Kai’s steps slow as he approaches the room. The back entrance gives him a clear view inside. His eyes scan the rows of desks. Someone calls his name. Heads turn, smiles and greetings thrown his way.

But not yours.

You’re sitting in the front row, by the window, farthest from where he stands. The sunlight filters through the glass, casting a soft glow over you. There’s a sketchbook open on your desk, the pages large and blank except for the lines you’re drawing with practised ease. The way your hand moves—purposeful—tells him this is second nature to you.

You’re so focused, so completely lost, that you don’t notice the subtle breeze dancing through the window. It catches your hair, making it sway just enough to draw his attention.

He watches as you pause, tucking the stray strands behind your ear before continuing with your sketch. You look just like him whenever he's with his guitar. Kai feels something tighten in his chest.

You look beautiful.

He doesn’t even know your name. But now, he wants to. More than anything, he wants the honour of knowing you.

It’s free time now, and the history teacher had just left. Most of the class scattered—some heading out to the grounds, others roaming the halls for a little fun. But you stayed. You always stayed.

The thought of running into your stepsisters made your stomach turn. They acted so innocent the night you came home, as if they had nothing to do with your wound. Your stepmother, of course, scolded you for being late, hurling her usual cutting remarks, but she didn’t dig any deeper. Sometimes you wondered if she knew—if she already suspected it was her daughters who had done it and simply chose to stay oblivious.

You sighed, flipping another page of your book, trying to block out the noise in your head.

The sudden sight of a chair being pulled up in front of your desk jolted you. You look up.

Huening Kai.

He was sitting right there, a small, easy smile on his face. His eyes held a kind of softness you weren’t used to. And then, he waved.

Your eyes widened in surprise, and instinctively, you turned your head to check if he was talking to someone else. Surely, this wasn’t for you. But the room was nearly empty. The only other person was fast asleep at the back.

Kai watches as you glance around nervously, he might have thought how beautiful you were from afar, but sitting this close now—you’re breathtaking.

When your eyes meet his again, questioning, he clears his throat and speaks. “Hi.”

You nod, silent—attentive. His voice softens, deliberate as he says the next words slowly, “Can I have your name?”

It takes a moment for the meaning to click, and then you’re reaching for your bag, fingers fumbling slightly as you pull out a notebook—the one you use to communicate.

Kai watches as you flip through the pages, landing on a blank one. You jot something down quickly and then turn it toward him.

Y/N.

He reads it, and a smile breaks across his face, his dimple appearing. You notice for the first time the delicate constellation of beauty marks scattered across his skin. How it suits him.

“Y/N,” he repeats, your name rolling off his tongue like he’s trying it out for the first time. His gaze lifts to meet yours. “That’s a pretty name.”

The compliment catches you off guard, and heat rises to your cheeks. You look away—embarrassed. His fingers tap lightly on your desk, drawing your attention back.

“How are you?” he asks.

You write, I’m okay.

Kai reads it, his brows furrowing slightly. Without hesitation, he leans in, his voice low but insistent. “Does anyone bother you? You know… when I found you that night. That wasn’t an accident, was it?”

You stare at him, lips parting slightly in surprise. Kai thinks for a moment that maybe you didn’t catch what he said. But then, slowly, you lift your pen: Why?

Just as he opens his mouth to explain, you’re already writing again.

Is it because you pity me? You’re looking at him now—directly, unflinchingly.

He doesn't want you to misunderstand anything. So he gently takes the pen from your hand, his fingers brushing yours for a moment. Without saying a word, he leans down and writes his response in your notebook.

Because I want to be your friend...

Your breath catches as you read his words. He adds another line beneath it, the letters a little bolder this time.

And because no one deserves what happened to you.

Kai looks at you then, his expression earnest and open, waiting. The notebook sits between you, and the sound of a new bridge forming in the back of your mind.

When you didn't write anything back, he glances down and picks up the pen again, his handwriting slow and deliberate.

By the way, my name is—

Before he can finish, you reach forward, your hand brushing his ever so slightly making him freeze. You write, finishing it for him.

Kai. Right?

The faintest flicker of surprise crosses his face when he sees what you’ve written. His lips twitch into a small smile, trying his hardest not to let out a wide grin.

You look up, meeting his gaze again, and shrug lightly as if to say, Of course, I know who you are.

Everybody knows you.

The words hang there on the page, Kai blinks, processing your response, and then lets out a soft laugh, his shoulders shaking gently, lips slightly apart.

You watch him, a strange ache tugs at your chest. You wonder, How does his laugh sound? Does it sound as pretty as he looks? Now, you're wishing for something you’ve trained yourself not to want—a window into the world you’ve long been shut out of.

It'll be nice to hear his laugh.

The two of you spent the rest of your free time in that same spot. You talked—or rather, wrote—filling the pages of your notebook with conversation. He was surprisingly talkative, and before you knew it, you'd used up two blank pages. When the conversation naturally faded, you went back to your book, but this time, you pulled another one from your bag and handed it to Kai. He took it with a small smile and began to read as well.

There you were, two students, sitting across from each other, lost in your own worlds yet somehow sharing the same one. The room felt warmer, leaving just the two of you in the bubble. You were aware of the flush in your cheeks, the way it stubbornly lingered, but you didn’t mind.

You snapped out of your thoughts when you noticed classmates filtering back into the room. Their steps slowed as they took in the scene—Kai, the school’s band guitarist, slouched in front of your desk, reading quietly across from you, the school's outcast. The deaf girl. His long legs stretched out under the desk, almost touching yours.

He didn’t bother to look up. He didn’t greet them or acknowledge the weight of their stares. Instead, his eyes stayed on the page, though every now and then, they flickered back to you. Each time, he’d give you that same small, reassuring smile—the one that made your heart flutter.

He snapped out of it when your foot gently nudged his leg. The classroom was full now, with students bustling back to their seats, most kept stealing glances at Kai. Their eyes darted back and forth, curiosity written all over their faces, as if trying to make sense of why he was here with you.

Out of the corner, you saw Taehyun make his way over. You couldn’t catch their conversation—Taehyun’s body was turned slightly away—but it was clear from his expression that he was asking why Kai was here. Kai gave him a brief nod, and after a moment, Taehyun returned to his seat, still throwing occasional glances in your direction.

You glanced at the clock. Five minutes left of free time. Before you could process it, you felt a light tap on your shoulder. Kai stood, waving a quick goodbye. He slid his hands into his pockets, all eyes on him as he walked out.

He had just spent his entire free time here. Here, with you.

You swallowed hard, your heart thudding in your chest. Your gaze drifted down the newly etched words he left in your notebook.

See you later :>

You found yourself smiling at nothing, the memory of your afternoon with Kai playing over and over in your mind. Back home now, the evening settling around you, it felt.. warm.

With a watering can in hand, you moved through the small garden—your mother’s garden. It was one of the few things left untouched by your stepmother, a living memory of the woman who once nurtured it with care. What had started as a modest patch of green had grown into something more of a sanctuary.

Your gaze fell on the cornflowers nearby, their vivid blue seeming to shine a little brighter today. Maybe it was the light, or maybe it was the joy still bubbling in your chest, making everything around you seem more… alive, more beautiful. You crouched, fingers brushing gently against the petals, and it felt like your mother was right there, as if she, too, could sense the happiness blooming inside you.

Your thoughts were abruptly cut off by an icy cascade of water, soaking you from head to toe. The coldness stole your breath, bit into your skin and you let out a shriek, the shock more than you could bear. Spinning around, you found Chae-won standing there, a smug grin plastered on her face, the empty bucket tossed carelessly to the side. Behind her, Yun-jin stood with her arms crossed, her glare sharp.

"Are you a witch now, too?" Chae-won sneered, her voice dripping with mockery. Her eyes locked onto yours, glinting with cruel satisfaction. "For someone who's deaf, you're pretty damn loud."

Before you could react, she grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking you down with a force that sent you stumbling. Your knees hit the ground hard, the sting of the impact mixing with the cold that seeped into your clothes. You trembled, pain and humiliation washing over you.

"Kai? What did you say to him?" Chae-won continued. "What the fuck did you say to make him hang out with trash like you?"

Tears welled up in your eyes. You tried to stand, but Chae-won shoved you back down, making you cry out in frustration. You reached for her, desperate to defend yourself, but Yun-jin stepped in, pulling Chae-won away, smirking and enjoying your helplessness.

Chae-won then dusted off her shirt as if your touch had soiled her, letting out an exaggerated huff. "You better not think about—"

Her threat was cut short by the arrival of your stepmother. "Chae-won," She approached, her eyes sweeping over your sodden form with a detached disapproval. "Her father might come home today."

That was enough to make Chae-won and Yun-jin roll their eyes, angrily retreating into the house, but not before casting you one last withering glare.

Your stepmother's gaze lingered on the garden, then flicked back to you, her expression unreadable. "Fix yourself," she said coldly before turning away, following her daughters inside, as if she just didn't witness them assault you.

You wiped your tears with the back of your hand. The cold water seeped into your skin, its touch biting deep, while the chill of the night’s wind wrapped around you, amplifying the discomfort.

When—when—would they ever stop? When would they finally fail to crush anything close to the hope you dared to feel? You swallowed hard, heart hurt when you saw one of the cornflowers crushed, the delicate blue petals were bent and broken, scattered across the dirt like they didn’t matter.

Just like what they did to you.

Kai thrummed his guitar, his head bobbing in time with the beat as Jay kept pace on the drums. A wide grin spread across his face as he glanced at Jay, impressed. That guy could really play.

The upcoming festival had everyone excited, especially since their band was set to perform. It wasn’t just their idea; the school had practically begged them to be part of the lineup. Naturally, everyone agreed.

As the final song ended, Kai slung his guitar strap off and gave Heeseung and Jay playful pats on the back. “Good session,” he said, voice light. Taehyun had already disappeared for some student council meeting, and Beomgyu crouched near the amp, fiddling with the cables.

As Heeseung and Jay left the practice room, Beomgyu glanced up, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. “So… you caused quite a stir yesterday, huh.”

Kai paused, brow furrowing. “What are you talking about?”

Beomgyu leaned back, his arms crossed over his chest. “Everyone’s talking about you and… the deaf girl. How you were hanging out with her.”

Kai’s hand stilled on his guitar case. “Don’t call her that,” he said sharply, “She has a name.”

Beomgyu blinked, taken aback by the intensity of the glare Kai shot him. He raised his hands in mock surrender, smirk faltering. “Whoa, okay. Chill, man. That was disrespectful of me. I'm sorry.” Kai didn’t respond, his focus shifting back to securing his guitar. The other could tell he was still irritated.

“So,” Beomgyu's tone was now more careful. “What’s her name?”

Kai hesitated, his fingers pausing over the latch of the case. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, “Y/N.”

Beomgyu caught it—the way Kai’s whole demeanour shifted, softening just at the mention of your name. He grinned knowingly, a teasing glint in his eye.

“Oh, man, you’ve got it bad, huh?” Kai didn’t answer, but the way he bit his lip, was enough. Beomgyu chuckled, shaking his head as he stood. “You’re in deep, dude.”

The two of them walked out of the band room, sunlight streaming across the school grounds as they headed toward their next class. Kai’s guitar hung over his back, his steps light with anticipation. He had a plan for today’s free time—he was going to show it to you.

Then he froze.

“Why’d you stop?” Beomgyu asked, frowning at his friend’s sudden halt.

Kai’s gaze was locked on you. You were walking across the yard, a book clutched in your hand. But something was off. Your steps were uneven, almost shaky, like you were struggling to keep your balance. His chest tightened as he noticed you blink rapidly, expression dazed.

A cold knot of worry tightened in Kai’s chest.

Kai bolted toward you, his long strides eating up the distance between you in moments. The world around him blurred—voices, students, the sun—all of it drowned out by the urgency pounding in his chest. He reached you just as your legs gave up. You fell into his arms.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, voice shaking. His hand settled on your face, and the heat of your skin sent alarm bells ringing in his mind. Scorching hot. A fever.

Your eyes fluttered closed, forehead creased, and face was pale. Too pale.

“What the hell happened?” Beomgyu’s voice came from somewhere behind him, but Kai barely registered it. "Is she okay?"

Without thinking, Kai shrugged off his guitar, letting it drop carelessly to the ground. “Help me,” he said quickly, his voice tight. He grabbed your arm, trying to shift your weight. Beomgyu caught on immediately, stepping forward to assist.

Together, they managed to lift you onto Kai’s back. His arms hooked under your legs, his grip firm but gentle as he adjusted you. “Hold on,” With you securely on his back, Kai broke into a run, his breath coming in quick.

“Slow down, man! You’re gonna trip!” Beomgyu followed close behind, clutching the guitar Kai had abandoned without a second thought—because of you.

The school nurse moved quickly, her practiced hands checking your temperature and administering care as Kai stepped back, his chest still heaving from the run. He stood there, hands on his hips, watching you, his heart refusing to slow down. Beomgyu excused himself, talks about getting water, leaving Kai alone.

His eyes fell on the notebook you had been clutching, which fell on the floor. He reached for it carelessly—a loose page slipped free, back to the floor. He crouched to pick it up, and the moment he turned it over, his breath caught.

It was a sketch. Of him.

Every detail was there, drawn with painstaking precision—the dusting of freckles on his cheeks, small moles he often forgot about, his jawline, his hair. The lines were sure, as though you had poured hours into capturing him just… right.

His throat tightened as he stared, unable to tear his eyes away. Was this really how you saw him?

Kai swallowed hard, and glanced at the rest of the page. Small sketches of cats bordered the margins, their playful forms lightening the otherwise focused artwork. A soft smile enters his lips when his eyes also land on your pen, its barrel adorned with tiny cat designs. His fingers touch the paper, careful not to smudge your work.

You're perfect, he thought, the words echoing in his head, shouting like a whispered confession. How could someone be so perfect?

Kai had to leave you at the clinic to attend classes.

He hesitated, lingering by the door, his eyes darting back to your still form on the cot. You were fast asleep, but the colour slowly returned to your cheeks. He wanted to stay, to make sure you were okay, but he knew he couldn’t. With a defeated sigh, he left. And you were gone when he returned.

"Someone came to fetch her," the nurse explained when he asked. He's still bothered. You were home now, he told himself, safe and resting. Right?

The next morning came, he sat at the kitchen counter. What he wanted to do first thing, was to see you. "Hiyyih,"

She glanced at him over her shoulder, her brow raised. "Yeah?"

"Can you, uh… can you make my lunch today?" Hiyyih stopped, turning fully to face him. "What? But I always make your lunch."

Kai shifted in his seat, awkwardly. "I mean… could you make it like yours?"

"Like mine? What do you mean, like mine?"

Kai hesitated, the words sticking in his throat. Finally, he blurted out, "The cat rice balls. Can you add those?" There was silence as Hiyyih stared at him, her lips tight. Then, she broke into a slow, knowing smirk. "Cat rice balls, huh?"

Kai felt the heat up his neck, and he quickly averted his stare. "Just—just make them, okay?" He groaned, dropping his head onto the counter.

Hiyyih burst out laughing, her teasing ringing through. Oh, he's sure. This was going to haunt him for days.

Kai spent the day in restless anticipation, his usual self replaced with something far more jittery. Even his friends couldn’t ignore it. He fidgeted during class, zoned out at times, and seemed to barely hear what anyone was saying.

It was all because of you.

When he saw Taehyun at band practice earlier, the first words out of his mouth weren’t about music. “Is she coming today?”

Taehyun had nodded, confirming you were attending class, and Kai had been trying—and failing—to calm his racing thoughts ever since. By lunchtime, the decision was made. He slung his bag over his shoulder, he turned to Beomgyu. "I’m skipping the cafeteria today."

Beomgyu just gave him a knowing look, his smirk light, teasing. "Didn’t think you needed to explain," he points out. "Your face already did."

Kai didn’t even bother denying it. Instead, he took a steadying breath and headed toward the one place he knew he’d find you. Your classroom.

His steps slowed when he spotted you inside, seated at your desk. The heaviness in his chest lifts. You were pulling open a lunch box, carefully arranging everything, your expression calm and focused.

He stepped inside, and when he was almost infront of you, you glanced up, your eyes widening slightly when you saw him.

"Hi," Kai said, a small, nervous smile sitting on his lips. You blinked, surprised, but a faint smile broke through as you set your chopsticks down.

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling warm under your gaze. "I, uh… I figured I’d check on you. Make sure you’re okay, you know… after the other day."

You nod, reaching for your notebook to write a reply, but Kai gently stopped you with a small shake of his hand. “You should eat first, okay?” he said softly, his lips forming the words carefully for you to read.

Your response was simple—a quick thumbs-up—but it was enough to make a boyish grin spread across his face.

Pulling out a chair, Kai sat across from you, his movements just a little nervous, though he tried to hide it. He set his lunchbox on the table, the bright cat decorations catching your eye. It's hard to really miss how much effort had gone into it—cat-shaped rice balls, tiny details, and colourful accents that screamed effort.

Kai caught your expression. "Hiyyih made it," he admitted. What he didn’t mention was how he’d spent an entire morning persuading her to make it perfect, offering bribes, doing her chores, and enduring her teasing, all just to get her to agree.

He opened the lid and carefully moved a portion of the food into your lunchbox. "Here," he said, nudging it toward you.

You glanced at him in surprise, then back at the food, your lips parting slightly before they curved into a smile—a real smile. Not the polite, hesitant ones you used to give him, but a full, bright smile. It reached your eyes, crinkling them at the corners.

Kai froze for a moment, his breath catching in his throat. You’d smiled at him before, but not... like this.

He had never quite understood why his sister went to such lengths with these little creations—why she got up before sunrise to shape rice into animals or why her mood seemed to brighten whenever someone praised her work. But now, watching the way your face softened, the way your smile seemed to linger longer than usual, it all started to make sense.

If something as small and silly as this could make you look at him like this, if it could bring you even the smallest bit of joy, then he thought to himself—he’d start doing it too.

Swallowing, he picked up his chopsticks, forcing himself to eat even as his appetite felt oddly… irrelevant. He stole glances, and it struck him how happy you looked. The memory of when he’d first met you flashed in his mind, alone, wounded and withdrawn. And yet, here you were now.

His stomach fluttered, suddenly feeling full—not from the meal but from something that only your smile seemed to give.

After lunch, Kai didn’t get the chance to spend his free time with you. Beomgyu practically dragged him to practice, which he didn’t resist—especially since seeing you healthy and smiling had already lifted his spirits. His energy during practice was unmatched, his fingers flying over the guitar strings with a renewed vigour. For once, it felt effortless, like his heart was finally in sync with the music again.

When the day wound down, he found himself waiting by the school gates. A few students greeted him as they passed, and he returned their smiles politely, though his attention remained elsewhere. His heart leapt the moment he spotted you walking toward him, your steps purposeful yet light. His lips curved into a small smirk before he could help it.

"I wanted to see you before you went home," he said softly.

Your smile in response made his chest tighten, and you pulled a small notepad and pen from your pocket. After a brief moment of scribbling, you held it up for him to read:

Thank you for everything, Kai.

The simple words hit him harder than he expected, and a warm smile tugged at his lips. “You waiting for your sisters here?” he asked, but as soon as he mentioned them, your smile faltered slightly, and something shifted in your expression.

He remembered Taehyun mentioning that you had two sisters at school, but nothing beyond that. He didn’t press. All he knew was that you usually arrived and left together in the same car.

You scribbled another note. They went home early. Shopping, I think.

Kai’s brows furrowed slightly. Why didn’t they wait for you? Before he could ask, you were already writing your next reply.

I’ll take the bus today.

“Let me take you home,” he said, leaving no room for argument.

The bus was packed, and you followed Kai closely as he led the way. He glanced back, his eyes searching for something until they landed on an empty window seat. With a small nudge of his shoulder, he gestured for you to take it.

Sliding into the seat, you couldn’t help but notice how his arm brushed against yours as he stood beside you, gripping the rail overhead. He leaned down slightly, reaching for the notepad in your hands. His handwriting was a little crooked, he had written quickly, but his message was clear:

Are you okay?

You nodded and took the pen to write your response. Yes.

Satisfied, he smiled. He reaches out, hooking his pinky finger to yours. It stays there, throughout the ride. One that you wished that didn't have to end.

Kai’s eyes widened when you gestured toward your home.

Sure, his own house was comfortable—his family could provide everything he needed—but this? This was on another level. Massive gates, the sprawling estate beyond them, the kind of place that practically screamed wealth, grand estate that made him feel like he’d stepped onto the set of a drama. His thoughts stumbled over themselves as the realization hit: you were a chaebol.

And yet, the thought lingered in his mind: how could they leave you to manage on your own, just because your sisters decided to go out? The question sat uncomfortably in his chest, though he kept it to himself.

You turned to him, drawing his attention back to you. Standing there, you looked up at him, your figure small against his tall, broad frame. He looked so effortlessly handsome it made your chest ache. You wished, fleetingly, to reach out and run your fingers through those dark locks, to feel their texture beneath your hands. He had done so much for you today—more than you could put into words.

See you later?

Kai read it, his lips quirking into a gentle smile.“Go inside,” he said, tapping your head softly. “See you later.”

As you turned and walked toward the house, he stayed rooted to the spot, watching your retreating figure until you disappeared through the gates. He let out a quiet breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his heart beating steadily against his ribs.

He could do this every day, he thought. Waiting for you, walking you home, making sure you were safe. He wanted to do this every day, however many days, as long as you’d let him.

After sending you home, Kai steps into a familiar bookstore, and the scent of old paper hits his face.

The owner greets him, casually mentioning the new volume of Slam Dunk just released, but Kai doesn’t even register the words. He’s already moving past, heading toward the back of the store where the shelves are less familiar.

He stops in front of a section—far away from the music books, the theory guides, and mangas. He picks it up.

Beginners: Sign Language.

You closed the door behind you, the weight in your chest heavier than it should’ve been. Dinner was supposed to be a happy time, right? Eating with your family, sharing moments. But it never felt like that for you. Not in this house.

Your eyes caught the sight of the fax machine on the side table, a piece of paper hanging loosely from the tray. You walk over, your steps slow, uncertain. Only two people know your number: your dad, and… Kai. You grabbed the paper, the handwriting unmistakable.

Come out. Will be there in 20 mins. —Kai.

Your breath caught. Dinner had taken longer than that. You scrambled to the window, heart pounding, and there he was—a silhouette against the dim streetlights, a mess of dark hair leaning casually against the gate.

You didn’t hesitate. Grabbing your pen and notepad from the desk, you ran. The startled looks of the housemaids blurred past you, and even the sharp, judgmental gaze of your stepmother from the couch—teacup poised mid-sip—couldn’t stop you. She doesn’t matter right now. Nothing does but getting to him.

You burst through the front gates, your eyes locking with his. His face breaks into a soft, immediate smile when he sees you, the sight of you in your loose shirt and pyjamas makes his heart skip a beat.

You raise your notepad, writing quickly, then holding it up for him to see. What are you doing here?

You reach for your notepad and pen, the confusion evident on your face as you extend them toward him. But instead of taking them, his hands move, and the world around you seems to pause.

"Hi." His fingers shape the sign, hesitant, uncertain. Your heart stumbles as you watch his hand move again, spelling out your name, letter by letter, in sign language. It’s slow, almost clumsy, but every movement is intentional. He’s trying, and it sends your heart racing.

"How was your—" He falters mid-sign, his hands falling to his sides. You watch as he digs into his pocket, pulling out a small book. The title catches your eye, and your chest tightens. He scratches the back of his neck, looking at you with an embarrassed sort of determination as he mouths, Wait.

And then he tries again, repeating the signs, "How was your dinner?" His movements are a little smoother this time. The question lingers in the space between you, and you feel your throat tighten as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. It feels like you can hear—his voice.

Your body moves before you can think. You step forward and wrap your arms around his neck. Your head presses against his chest, and you feel the slight hitch in his breath before his arms slide around your waist, holding you close. His warmth steadies you as a single tear slips free, trailing down your cheek.

No one had ever done this for you before. No one had ever tried to meet you in your silence, to understand the world you lived in. At home, they’d dismissed sign language, rejected it, treating it like some kind of shameful reminder of what they wanted to ignore. They’d made you feel like you were something to be hidden, something that's less.

But here he was—a boy who, just weeks ago, had been a stranger—bridging the gap, pouring himself into learning just to reach you. Crossing the distance to meet you where you were alone.

For the first time, you didn’t feel stranded on an island of your own.

Kai spent the next few minutes basking in the warmth of your presence. When another tear slipped past your eye, he reached out, his thumb brushing it away with the gentleness of someone afraid to break something precious. His attempts at signing sentences were clumsy at best, and your happiness marked your face—something that made his heart do flips.

"Yah, I'm trying, you know," he huffed, feigning indignation as he stomped his foot playfully. His pout only deepened when you smiled at him, and he could feel the heat crawling up his neck to his cheeks. He wanted to tease you back, but the words caught in his throat when you raised your hands.

It was the first time you signed in front of him. The motion was small but deliberate, the flick of your hand touching your chin before extending toward him. Kai’s eyebrows knit together, his mind scrambling to catch up. He flipped the pages of his book, muttering, “Wait, what does that mean?”

You reached for your notepad, scribbling the word: Thank you.

Before he could process the words, you signed again, your hands moving with a fluidity that stopped him in his tracks. The glow of the moon and the faint light from the lamppost illuminated your every move, casting soft dancing shadows across your face. And Kai—he forgot how to breathe.

You looked… different. You were stunning. Not the shy, hesitant version of you he’d grown used to, but confident and sure. Each gesture was almost poetic, and he was utterly mesmerized. The way your fingers moved felt like a song without sound—it suited you in a way words never could. He didn’t even want to blink, because he was afraid he’d miss something.

All he could do was watch, completely captivated by the real you.

"You didn't really have to. But thank you… for learning it for me."

The moment was shattered by the loud creak of the gates swinging open. Kai turned, his gaze meeting a woman’s sharp, glaring eyes. He opened his mouth to bow in greeting, but he quickly realized her scowl wasn’t for him—it was directed squarely at you.

Confused, Kai glanced back at you, his eyes scanning your face. Panic was written all over it. You hastily scribbled on your notepad, the letters uneven and rushed: Step-mother. Go home now, Kai.

He read the words and nodded, even if he didn’t fully grasp the situation. When your eyes met his again, there was something pleading in them. Turning back to the woman, Kai mustered a polite bow. “Good evening,”

She didn’t acknowledge him. “Go inside or we’ll lock you out here all night.”

Kai froze, the words almost too cruel to believe. He remembers you being locked up that night at school. His jaw clenched, but he kept his expression neutral, eyes flicking back to you. You were already scribbling again: Good night. Be safe travelling home.

He noticed something then—why hadn’t you signed it? He’d learned those words, and he knew you knew them too. But he didn’t ask, didn’t want to add to your distress. Instead, he nodded silently, stepping forward to close the distance between you. He bent down and pressed a light, lingering kiss to your hairline. A small gesture to remind you that he was here, even if he had to leave now. "See you later."

When he straightened, he turned to your stepmother, who was staring at him with thinly veiled disdain. Kai met her gaze, nodded politely, and then stepped back.

He didn’t look away until he saw you retreat inside.

The gates slammed shut with a force that rattled him. Your stepmother's tone echoed in his ears, harsh and dripping with contempt. He hated the way she’d spoken to you, the way her eyes had looked at you as though you did something so wrong.

He walked away, fists clenched at his sides. The thought of you living in a house with someone like that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Kai reunited with you the next day.

He carefully tried to bring up the encounter with your stepmother, but you avoided the topic entirely. He didn’t push, though. Instead, he quietly accepted it when you told him you lived with her, your stepsisters, and that your father was out of town on business. He said he’d wait—that he’d listen when you were ready to open up, when you felt comfortable.

Now, he’s on his way to the band room, arriving half an hour early for practice. His hand is wrapped around yours as he pulls you along. The soft warmth of your fingers in his feels just right. Students pass by, glancing your way, but Kai doesn’t care. Not when you’re here with him.

You agreed to come, though you weren’t sure what to expect. When you step into the room, your eyes widen. Trophies line the shelves, instruments are arranged neatly against the walls, and there’s a large, inviting couch in the corner. There's also a small door that must lead to a private bathroom.

Kai settles you on the couch, his lips curving into a gentle smile as he pulls his guitar out of its case. He tells you he wanted you to see this. He also mentions the upcoming festival in two days—a subtle invitation in his words.

As he strums the first notes, your eyes are drawn to him. The memory of the first time you saw Kai surfaces—your second year of high school. That day, he was being calmed down by Soobin, the band’s previous genius pianist. Even then, he left an impression so strong that you couldn’t forget him, no matter how much time had passed.

Now, sitting here in the band room as he plays his guitar for you, it feels surreal. If someone had told you back then that this would happen, you’d have laughed it off or called it impossible. But here you are, and he glances up, his eyes flickering between the strings and your face.

"I like it," you sign.

Kai’s face lights up. He reaches for something—your eyes are drawn to his hands. There, faint guitar scars run across his fingers, etched into his skin like a map of all the hours he’s poured into his craft.

An idea enters your mind.

Two days later, the school day comes to an end. You quietly pack your belongings, slipping books and papers into your bag as the chatter of students fills the room. The festival is less than an hour away. You’re just about to zip up your bag when movement near the doorway catches your attention.

Choi Beomgyu steps into the classroom, his eyes scanning the room like he’s on a mission. You glance at him curiously as Taehyun notices and stands up, greeting him with a nod then points in your direction. Beomgyu makes his way over with Taehyun trailing behind him. "Hi, Y/N," he signs, the motion catching you completely off guard. Your eyes widen in surprise. Did Kai teach him that? Did he teach both of them?

Before you can even process the thought, Beomgyu hands you a folded shirt. You take it hesitantly, inspecting it as the fabric unfurls in your hands. The moment you see the name Huening Kai printed boldly on the back, your heart skips. It’s his band shirt.

“He’ll love it,” Beomgyu says, a small grin tugging at his lips and winks. He reaches out, lightly tapping your head like it’s the most casual thing in the world. Without another word, he throws an arm around Taehyun’s shoulders, and the two of them leave the classroom together. Some girls in your room look at you with dirty looks. It matters not, you'll have to change your shirt first.

Kai’s eyes catch on your shirt almost instantly, his pace slowing as he closes the distance between you.

Confusion flits across his face, but then realization dawns. His band shirt. His name, his number on your back. His eyes widen in disbelief, and he lets out a laugh.

When you’re close enough, he reaches out, gently turning you around so he can see the full print. His fingers linger lightly on your shoulders. His grin widens, a mix of pride and something softer that you can’t quite name.

“You’ll watch, right?” he asks. His throat feels tight, and it’s not just the sight of you in his shirt—it’s everything it means.

You nod, slowly reaching into your pocket, pulling out a small gift box. You hold it out to him, “For me?” he asks softly, taking it with both hands.

When he opens the box, his breath catches in his throat. Inside are guitar picks, each one smooth and carefully chosen, but what draws his attention is the tiny, handwritten phrase etched onto them. He squints, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tilts the pick closer to the light.

See you later.

The phrase so familiar, a staple in all your goodbyes. It’s what he always waits to hear from you, what he secretly pouts about if you forget to say it. It’s a simple phrase, used by so many people in passing, but between the two of you, it’s different—reassurance that you’ll always find your way back to each other.

His chest tightens, emotion welling up in a way he hadn’t expected. He steps forward, pulls you into a hug, holding you close, his chin resting on your head. "What do I do with you?" He whispers to himself. He finally pulls back, his hands linger at your elbows, eyes searching yours. You lift your hands to sign, your movements slow.

"Good luck, rock star."

Soobin’s hand rested on your back, touch steadying as the crowd began to thicken around the stage. Kai had entrusted you to him and Yeonjun, and though the absence of Kai’s presence made you nervous, Soobin’s calm demeanour offered an unexpected sense of safety.

Yeonjun had gone to grab water, leaving you and Soobin to hold your place by the barricade. The festival was just moments away from starting, with students from your school, other schools, and alumni who had come back for the event. You found yourself gripping the metal tightly, the unfamiliar place… overwhelming. It's your first time to even attend one.

Soobin noticed immediately. He tapped your shoulder gently, “Are you okay?”

You turned to him, his concern reflected in his face. You nodded, returning a small smile. His kindness felt natural. You could see why Kai spoke of him so fondly.

You barely had time to respond before you were pulled into a sudden hug. The embrace was tight, and a sweet floral scent filled your senses. You froze in surprise, but when the person stepped back, the grin on her face was so bright and genuine that you couldn’t help but soften.

“Hi! I’m Hiyyih!” she exclaimed, her face full of excitement, her eyes shining like she’d been waiting forever to meet you. Her name made you pause, recognition flashing through your mind. Your eyes widened slightly, but you smiled back at her, quickly scribbling in your notepad.

Y/N. Nice to meet you, Hiyyih.

She read it, and immediately squealed, her reaction so heartfelt and full of life that it drew laughter from Soobin. “How did my brother pull you, huh?” she teased, shaking her head in disbelief. Then, with mock irritation, she turned to Soobin and added, “Seriously, how?”

Soobin chuckled, clearly amused. “I know. She's too pretty. Magic, maybe,” he offered casually, and Hiyyih groaned dramatically. She hooked her arm through yours, as if you’d known each other for years. You're glad they didn't mention the blush evident on your cheeks.

Yeonjun returned, handing you a cold bottle of water. “You okay?” he asked, his tone just as kind and considerate as Soobin’s had been. You nodded again, clutching the water tightly as you looked between them all—Hiyyih’s bright enthusiasm, Soobin’s quiet reassurance, and Yeonjun’s laid-back charm. It feels nice to be surrounded by people you want to be with.

You could get used to this. Being with people who made you feel like you mattered—more than your own family ever had.

It was dark now, the festival lit only by the vibrant glow of stage lights, casting shifting colours across the crowd. The ground trembled beneath your feet as people jumped and swayed, their cheers blending with the music in an electrifying symphony.

Your eyes scanned the stage, searching—and then you saw him. Kai. There he was, guitar in hand, lost in the music. The way he moved was effortless as if the instrument was an extension of himself. His face was lit up, not just by the stage lights but by a joy that radiated from within. He looked alive. Happy. He belonged there. He owns it.

And then his eyes found yours.

The chaos around you seemed to fade. Slowly, you signed, "You look cool," your hands steady even as your heart raced. You watched as his gaze followed the movement of your hands, his eyes softening with every word you formed. You didn’t need to be close to him. You didn’t need to hear his voice. As long as you could see him—and he could see you.

His lips curved into a smile, and he winked, the playful gesture making you smile back, heart swelling with pride.

The performance was incredible, each member of the band owning their moment, their energy filling the space and igniting the crowd. When the last song ended, the crowd erupted into cheers, and the band bowed together, camaraderie evident even from a distance. But before you could fully take in the scene, Kai was running.

The moment he stepped off the stage, his eyes searched for your face. His shoulders eased as soon as he saw you, surrounded by people he trusts. He loves performing—he truly does. But the thought of returning to you, is louder than any applause. His feet move before his mind can think.

Straight to you.

He reached you in seconds, his chest heaving, adrenaline still coursing through him. "I can't stop looking at you,” he said, his voice low, the words had been waiting to escape all night. His hands cradled your face, calloused by the guitar scars. "I need to kiss you right now or I'll go crazy."

You barely noticed the stares of the crowd or the murmurs of those nearby. All you could see was him. He leaned in, his breath mingling with yours, and his lips brushed against yours in the softest kiss. You’d always known his lips looked soft, but they still managed to surprise you—how perfectly they fit against yours.

When he pulled back, his grin was so wide. His arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you close as if you were the only thing that mattered. Around you, his friends clapped him on the back, their faces proud with congratulations.

“See you later?” Kai signed, his movements fluid, more confident. You nodded with a smile, waving as he stepped back. His grin widened, and he watched you enter the gates of your home.

That smile lingered on your face, carrying you all the way inside. The front doors opened for you, the maids greeting you with quiet bows, and you headed for the staircase, ready to retreat to your room.

But before you could take the first step, a hand seized your wrist and yanked you back. The slap came next, sharp and sudden, leaving a sting that spread across your cheek like fire. Startled, your hand flew to your face, and your wide, disbelieving eyes met the furious glare of your stepmother.

“You skipped your painting lesson,” she hissed, face trembling with anger, “and came home late without even telling me.”

“And what for?” she spat. “To loiter with boys? To parade yourself in public, chatting in sign language for the entire neighbourhood to see? What else do you have left to ruin? Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is for the family?” Her voice grew louder, shriller, her hand resting on her hip as she glared at you like you were something she could barely tolerate.

You noticed your stepsisters standing just out of the line. Equal anger on their faces. It was clear—they had told her. Once, their expressions had the power to make you shrink, to make you doubt yourself. Now you felt nothing but disdain. Family, you thought bitterly, scoffing as you turned your head away.

Your stepmother’s hand shot out, grabbing your chin and jerking your face back toward hers. Her nails bit into your skin as she snarled, “Did you laugh? How dare you laugh at me?”

You shoved her hand away. “Don’t touch me,” you signed, your movements sharp, gaze unwavering. You didn’t care that she couldn’t understand. This was the only way you could speak, and you were tired of swallowing your voice.

Her face twisted with fury. “I said stop using sign language!” she barked.

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you signed again, your hands trembling. “I’m not alone anymore,” you told her, the tears burning at the edges of your vision. “You can be the queen of this house, control everything and everyone under this roof. But there’s a world outside these walls. And out there, I have friends. People who see me. People who care.”

“Talk! Talk like a proper person! I told you to talk!” The slap came hard and fast, snapping your head to the side. Your cheek burned with the impact, but this time, you didn’t freeze. You pushed her. Hard.

The room erupted with a collective gasp.

“Touch me again, and you’ll see your name in the newspaper.” Your glare shifted to Chae-won as she stepped forward, her mouth opening to speak, but you didn’t wait to hear what she had to say.

You bolted up the stairs, your heart hammering in your chest, panic fueling every frantic step.

The space felt thick as you threw yourself into your room, slamming the door shut behind you. You moved toward your desk, your hands shaking as you tore your bag open, yanking out a piece of paper. You didn’t have time to think, only enough to scrawl a desperate message, the words barely legible through the blur of your haste.

The door creaked open behind you. Panic surged. You turned, your pulse pounding as you spotted them—the maids stepping into the room. You bolted to the fax machine, shoving the paper in and frantically typing his number. You had to send it. You had to.

The machine whirred, halfway through sending, when two pairs of hands grabbed you, one on each arm. You thrashed and kicked, trying to wrench free, but their grip was too strong. Your stepmother appeared in the doorway, her smirk was cruel, triumphant, and your stomach churned with dread.

And then you saw it—the glint of metal in her hands. Locks.

"Get her upstairs. Now." Your breath caught in your throat. The room seemed to tilt as a memory surged forward, unbidden and suffocating. The attic. The last time she locked you up, you were fifteen. Your skin crawled at the thought of being trapped there again. You were dragged out, your feet sliding against the floor, your cries echoing down the empty hall. It took three of them—three people to overpower you, until the door loomed.

They shoved you inside, your body hitting the floor with a dull thud. You scrambled to your feet, lunging for the door, but it slammed shut in your face. You pounded on the door, fists aching, tears burning behind your eyes. It was harder for you to breathe.

This was her punishment—her way of crushing you every time you dared to fight back, dared to speak your truth.

She’d leave you here, in the dark, in the suffocating silence, until you broke. Until you admitted she was right. Or until your father’s nearing return forced her to let you out, pretending everything was fine.

You had tried to tell him before. Slipping notes into his pockets, scribbling messages when she wasn’t looking. But her eyes were always there, sharp and watchful, snatching away every chance you had. You can’t help but wonder—if you hadn’t stood up to her, if you hadn’t accepted that small, fleeting chance to feel alive, would you still be here right now? Or would you just be trapped in another kind of prison, shackled to the cycle your stepmother has forced you into?

Dust coated every surface, the faint light that seeped through the cracks wasn’t even enough to pierce the gloom to give you hope. You curled up against the wall, knees pulled to your chest, fingers trembling as they pressed against the cold floor. It was something that you had to endure before.

For years.

Kai was running.

He didn’t care about the stares from strangers or the disapproving grunt as he ran the streets. He didn’t care about his mother’s worried gaze when he bolted out the door or the sting of his lungs from sprinting so fast. None of it mattered. All that mattered was getting to you.

The fax had come just minutes ago. He had been half-asleep when the machine whirred, spitting out a crumpled piece of paper with words that sent a shrill down his spine.

Kai, pick me up. Come get me, please. He knew it was you.

His heart pounded as he reached your gates, the mansion unwelcoming under the grey sky. He rang the door frantically, and when a maid opened the door, her polite greeting barely had time to escape her lips before Kai pushed past her.

“Sir, what are you doing?” she cried, alarmed. But Kai didn’t stop. He pushed through the grand double doors, his eyes scanning the room wildly. His gaze landed on a young woman, about his age—your stepsister, he realized with a flare of anger.

“Where’s Y/N?” he demanded, his voice booming through the space. The room fell silent. The maids froze, glancing at one another nervously, while your stepsister stiffened, her lips tightening into a scowl. “Where is she?” Kai shouted again, taking a step forward. A timid maid finally cracked, her wide eyes darting toward the stairs before quickly looking away. It was all he needed.

Kai took off, his legs carrying him up the staircase two steps at a time. As he neared the top, he heard it—a faint pounding, far but desperate. His blood ran cold as realization struck.

The attic.

Kai’s chest tightened as he reached the door. His fist slammed against the wood, the sound reverberating down the hall. The pounding on the other side grew more. His heart felt like it might tear itself apart.

“Open this door!” he says, spinning to face the maids who had followed him upstairs. “What the hell is wrong with you people? Do you want to go to prison for this? Do you want to be accomplices?” The maid who’d glanced upstairs earlier flinched, her hands shaking as she fumbled with a key.

Finally, the lock clicked, and he shoved the door open. His breath caught as he saw you huddled on the floor, your arms wrapped tightly around your knees, your face streaked with tears. “Y/N,” he breathed, rushing to you.

"You found me." You signed, eyes locking on his. He crouched, his arms wrapping around your trembling frame. He pulled you close, his hand smoothing over your hair as he held you against his chest.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m getting you out of this place.” His eyes darted around the attic, taking in the oppressive walls, scattered drawings—sketches you must’ve made. Some looks old, others newer. They had been locking you up here. Trapping you.

Kai stood, pulling you with him, “Come on,” his hand tightened around yours, and you nodded.

He led you down the stairs, his grip never faltering. At the bottom, your stepmother appeared, her expression twisting into one of fury the moment she saw him.

“Do you even realise what you’re doing right now?” she demanded, her voice sharp and grating. “This is kidnapping. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?”

Kai didn’t flinch. He didn’t hesitate. His voice was steady, cold, and razor-sharp. “Not as serious as imprisonment. Or abuse.”

Her lips curled into a mocking sneer. “I’m disciplining her,” she spat, as if the word justified everything.

Your stepmother’s eyes flicked to you as your hands moved, signing. “You’re hurting me.”

Her face darkened. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop signing?”

Kai froze, his mind reeling at her words. “What?” he said, voice low. His jaw tightened as he stared at her, fury building in his chest. “How do you expect her to communicate if she can’t speak?”

She sneered. “Return her inside while I’m still asking nicely,”

“No,” Kai snapped, he turned to her fully, standing tall and unyielding. “I’m not talking to you. Tell her father, when he finally gets home, to come find me personally if he wants to see his daughter again. And don’t even think about stopping me. My mother knows I’m here.”

Your stepmother opened her mouth to argue, but Kai didn’t give her the chance. He turned away, tugging you along behind him as he strode toward the door. His glare silenced any maids who dared step forward, daring anyone to challenge him.

“If you walk out that door,” your stepmother hissed, “you’ll regret it.”

Kai didn’t stop. He didn’t even look back.

The cool night air hit your skin as he pulled you through the gates and into the street. He didn’t care about her threats. He didn’t care about what came next. The only thing he knew was—he would regret it far more if he didn’t leave with you tonight.

When the two of you arrived at Kai’s home, his mother was already at the door, her face filled with concern. The moment she saw you, her eyes softened, but they couldn’t hide the shock and sadness she felt at your condition. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said gently, ushering you inside with open arms. “Let’s get you settled.”

She led you to a spare room, “This was Lea’s room,” she explained with a small smile. “Kai’s sister. She’s away at college now, so it’s all yours for as long as you need.”

Kai, stepped outside, pacing the front yard. His hands clenched and unclenched, breathing unevenly as he tried to calm himself. “How could they do that to her? As human beings?” he spits, in disbelief. “Even animals wouldn’t treat someone like that.”

His mother followed him out, gently placing a hand on his arm. “Kai, breathe,” she said softly. “She needs space to process everything right now.”

Kai shook his head, “What you did was good,” his mother continued. “Let her stay here for now. She’s safe with us.”

“And what happens when her father comes back?” Kai snapped, “What then? She just gets sent back to that place?”

His mother sighed, her grip on his arm steady. “Kai, it’s obvious he doesn’t know what’s been happening. Do you think any father would knowingly allow this?”

“That man, he lives in the same house as her. How does he not know? He’s either blind or he doesn’t care because all he does is make money and turn ignorant to everything else.”

His mother stepped closer, pulling him into a hug before he could spiral further. “It’s not your place to decide what kind of father he is, or if she should forgive him. That’s up to her. Right now, she needs rest.”

You sat curled up on the edge of the bed, knees pulled tightly to your chest, your back pressed into the corner. Your fingers picked at your nailbeds. Every breath you took felt shaky, like you were on the verge of falling apart.

It was the first time you’d ever stood up to them—to that whole oppressive house. The weight of it settled heavily on your chest, but more than that, you worried about Kai. About his family. Would they be okay with you here? What if they went after Kai or his family for taking you in? Would your presence bring trouble to their door? You felt like a curse, dragging misfortune wherever you went.

The sight of the door sliding open startled you. You looked up to see Kai’s mom stepping in, her form soft in the dim light. She carried a stack of clothes in her hands, a small smile on her face.

“Hiyyih’s already asleep, so I had to grab these for you,” she said, setting it down in front of you. “These are Lea’s—Kai’s sister. I’m not sure if you’ll like them, but I thought these might fit you.”

You nodded silently, your heart pounding as you glanced at her. You could not shake the fear that she might say you’d put Kai in danger, that bringing you here was a mistake. Or how much trouble you might’ve caused him. The guilt plague, making your stomach turn.

She didn’t say anything at first, just sat there, her gaze soft and thoughtful. Then her smile widened, and her eyes crinkled at the corners like Kai does. “Gosh, you’re so pretty,” she said, as if she was stating the most obvious fact in the world. “Look at your eyes—they’re so clear, so bright.” Her words made your breath hitch.

“Not being able to talk must be so hard,” she continued, face replaced with sadness. “You must’ve felt so upset. So frustrated.” She moved closer, her hands reaching for yours. Her touch was warm, and something about it made the tears in your eyes sting even more.

“But you did such a good job, honey,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “Growing up into such a beautiful, strong young lady.” Her thumb gently brushed the back of your hand, and she smiled again, “I’m proud of you.”

Her words shattered something inside you, breaking through the walls you’d tried so hard to keep up. You bit down on your lip, but it was no use. The tears slipped free, rolling down your cheeks.

“If anyone ever hurts you again, if anyone tries to trap you, you come here,” she said firmly, her tone shifting to one of conviction. “Don’t ever put up with it. Just come back here. Or stay here and live with me." She grinned at the thought, expression animated, like it was the simplest solution in the world.

You couldn’t hold it back anymore. You cried, your shoulders trembling as the sobs punished your body. All the days you had endured in silence. The days they made you feel invisible, like you didn’t matter. The way they looked at you, spoke about you, treated you, as though you were something other, something different. Not belonging. Not normal.

"Don't cry," She pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly as she rubbed your back in soothing circles. You were starting to see it wasn’t true. Starting to believe. And her embrace is so… familiar. It was like holding onto a memory you’d been too afraid to revisit—the one you’d clung to as a lifeline but had started to fade, little by little.

It felt like you were eight again, back in time—cradled in your mother’s warm arms.

Kai stood at your door, it's been an hour when he saw his mother leaving, her eyes red from crying. She had tried to reassure him to give you space, to let you be alone tonight—but Kai's heart couldn’t rest. He knocked softly before slipping inside.

You were facing away from him, the sheets pulled up high against your body. He walked over, unsure of what to expect, and tapped a single finger on your shoulder to check if you were awake. You shifted and glanced back at him, your face still soft with the remnants of tears.

He offered a small smile, his hands signing softly, “Hi.”

You didn’t respond with words instead, you scooted over, making room for him on the bed. He slid in beside you, leaving just enough space between you both. “Are you okay?” he signed, his face filled with concern.

“Yes,” you replied quietly, your fingers moving slowly, tracing the air. “Because you always come whenever I need someone.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Anything for you,” he whispered, gaze never left yours. "I'll do anything for you,"

His fingers slowly lifted to cradle your face, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek. Your eyes fluttered closed at the touch, and Kai could feel your breath hitch. You shifted closer to him, pressing your head to his chest, seeking his intoxicating smell.

He tucked you in carefully, his arm lying beneath your head as his head rested gently on top of yours. His touch was warm and soothing as his hand trailed down your back, the warmth from his skin seeping through the fabric of your clothes. You closed your eyes, feeling the calm settle in your chest, until a small movement in his chest caught your attention.

You pulled back slightly, confusion in your eyes. His face was soft, but his eyes shimmered with tears that hadn't yet fallen. His lips parted, searching for the right words. “How did you put up with all of that?” he whispered, a tear slipping down his right cheek. His chest seemed to tighten with the weight of the question. “What they did to you, it was the worst. I— should've found you sooner. I promise… you will not be alone anymore, okay?”

You nod, tearing up at his words. It was the first time someone made a promise to you that you knew he wouldn't break. A small smile found its way to your lips. His hands moved, fingers gently pressed against your palm as he spelled out.

"You're safe now,"

You wake up slowly, your eyes squinting as they adjust to the soft morning light spilling into the room.

Kai's arms are still wrapped around your waist, his body pressed against yours, his face nestled against your chest. You gently trace the lines of his face with your fingers, captivated by the details you never want to forget—the way his freckles and moles give his features a softness, an angelic quality. He's so beautiful. The light in a world that once felt so dark. In a life that’s often felt like a nightmare, he’s the one thing that pulled you into the almost impossible daylight.

You lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He murmurs in his sleep but doesn’t stir. You smile softly at his innocence, feeling your heart flutter. You try to untangle your legs from his, hesitant to leave the safety of his embrace, but you slowly make your way out of the bed.

As you step into the living room, the smell of breakfast makes your stomach rumble. You find Kai’s mom and Hiyyih already in the kitchen. The latter smiles warmly at you. “Good morning,” she greets, and you return the smile.

Breakfast is simple but comforting. The food amazing, your appetite comes back little by little with every bite.

When you’re finished, Hiyyih looks at you with a bright smile. “Want to help me with the lunch boxes?” she asks, and you nod eagerly. She helps you slip on an apron, her fingers fumbling with the straps as she giggles. It's contagious, and makes you smile.

She pulls her hair back into a ponytail, a few strands fall loose, and you reach for your notepad. You quickly scribble, Let me braid your hair?

Hiyyih’s eyes widen with delight, and she nods. You gather her hair gently, carefully weaving the strands together. A soft smile spread across her face at the comforting touch of your hands.

Kai stretched his arm to your side, but the space was empty.

His eyes snapped open, sleep quickly fading as he registered the absence of your presence. He sat up abruptly, fumbling to slide his feet into his house slippers, the soft padding of his steps barely audible as he hurried out of the room.

Where could you have gone? Has someone come to take you home? His thoughts raced, each one more frantic than the last. He barely noticed the cold air of the hallway as he hurried toward the kitchen—then he stopped, heart halting in his chest.

There you were.

The tension melted away as he took in the scene. You stood at the counter, laughter spilling from your lips as you helped Hiyyih pack three lunch boxes. The soft fabric of an apron hugged your frame, and his mother moved gracefully beside you, pouring cups of steaming chocolate milk, a soft smile gracing her lips as she watched the two of you.

Your eyes found his, and the world seemed to slow. A smile softened your features as you raised a hand, signing a simple "Hi," and motioning for him to come closer.

"Good morning," Kai murmured. His heart swelled at the scene before him—three women who meant the world to him. "Morning, Mom."

The two watched as Kai closed the small distance between you and him. He softly placed his hands on your shoulders, the touch gentle. Then, he leaned down, pressing a light, quick kiss to the top of your head. His small act makes you blush.

"Good morning, Son," his mother interrupts warmly, passing him a plate of pancakes and sausages. "Y/N and Hiyyih have already eaten. Here’s your breakfast."

Kai took his seat, the clatter of cutlery mingling with the soft sounds of your and Hiyyih’s giggles. His mother, ever attentive, placed a notepad on the counter, making sure nothing was lost in translation as she communicated with you.

If you truly want to express something, you’ll find a way. And if you want to say even more, you’ll learn, until your heart speaks louder than words ever could.

It was the first time you were in a car, heading to school, and there was a grin you couldn’t wipe from your face.

Everything felt lighter today—the warmth of Hiyyih’s arm gently looping around yours, and every now and then, Kai’s glance in the rearview mirror caught yours.

Last night seemed to burn away, slipping from your mind like smoke on the breeze. The car pulled up, and you all said your goodbyes to Kai’s mom, her lips warm against your cheek as she kissed you. “What food would you like later?” Her question made you pull her into a tight hug, surprising her with the warmth you hadn’t known you had in you. It's true, that if you surround yourself with better people, you'll be better too.

It felt like everyone in school was watching, but you didn’t mind. Kai’s hand in yours felt so right, and Hiyyih was chatting away beside you, making everything feel like a dream. When the time came for Hiyyih to part ways, she also kissed your cheek with a smile, waving goodbye.

Kai’s eyes were on you, a smirk tugging at his lips as you laughed softly. He loved seeing you so light, so happy. When he walked you to your class, you bumped into Taehyun, who ruffled your hair with a grin and a gentle pat on the head. You felt like he already knew, given that his stare much more concerned than it ever was.

Is this what it feels like to be part of something? What a family is supposed to feel like?

You washed your hands in the sink, the corners of your lips still tugged into a faint smile. But the moment was cut short when a splash of cold water hit you, soaking your uniform. You gasped, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to your skin. You only know two people who find joy in these acts. Turning quickly, you saw Chae-won and Yun-jin standing there, flanked by three other girls whose names you didn’t even know but who were always with them.

“Are you done living your life like a victim?” Chae-won’s voice rang out, sharp and biting. A few other students in the bathroom froze, unsure of what to do, before slipping out the door, desperate to avoid being caught in the middle.

“Go home,” she spat, her glare searing. “I’m not letting my mother deal with trash like you.”

Your chest tightened, but you refused to show it. You held her gaze for a beat longer than you thought you could, then turned to leave. The quicker you got out of their sight, the better. You don't want to waste your energy on dealing with her. But before you could make it to the door, two of them grabbed your arms roughly and shoved you back.

“Go home now,” one of them hissed. “Or I’ll make sure everyone knows just how pathetic you really are.”

Something inside you snapped. The words stung, but your hand moved faster than your thoughts. The slap echoed in the tiled bathroom. Chae-won’s face twisted in shock before anger overtook her features. She lunged, pushing you into a cubicle. Her hands tangled in your hair as you tried to fight back, her nails digging into your arm as you struggled to block her strikes.

They always kept it hidden, their cruelty tucked away in the shadows—behind the closed doors of your home, in the quiet corners of the art room, places where no one else would see. Never here. Never out in the open like this. These were the same people you once looked at with longing, the ones you dreamed would someday call you their friend.

Tears blurred your vision as you struggled to catch your breath. The sharp ache in your scalp subsided when Chae-won was suddenly yanked off you, her grip torn away by a rough hand.

Hiyyih. Your eyes widened as you saw her, fierce and blazing with anger. “Get the fuck away from my sister, bitch!” she screamed, face cracking with rage. Before Chae-won could recover, Hiyyih kicked her hard on her thigh, her fury igniting as she saw the blood smeared across your arms.

Another girl was with her, someone you vaguely recognized, stepping in to help. Suddenly, it was three against five, chaos erupting in the cramped bathroom.

Hiyyih glared daggers at Yun-jin, voice trembling with raw emotion. “You think you can just hurt people? You think you’re strong because you can?”

The bathroom erupted into noise—shouting, scuffling, and the sound of feet scrambling for safety. Students crowded at the doorway, peeking in with wide eyes, while others bolted to find a teacher. You stayed close to Hiyyih, your chest tight with fear. What if they hurt her the way they hurt you?

You felt yourself shoved against the counter in the commotion, your pulse pounding in your ears. And then, cutting through the chaos, you saw them. Three figures pushed their way through the crowd, pushing onlookers, unconcerned that this was a girls’ bathroom.

Kai. Beomgyu. Taehyun.

Everything seemed to blur as Kai desperately reached you, pulling you close against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, steady and protective, shielding you from anyone.

“Enough!” Beomgyu shouts. “This ridiculous cat fight ends now.”

Kai’s hands cupped your face, his touch trembling as he scanned your cuts and bruises. His jaw tightened, his eyes dark with anger and fear. His eyes check his sister, now standing between Beomgyu and Taehyun. He exhaled sharply, pulling you behind him, his body a wall between you and the rest of the room.

“Stop this,” he said coldly, his words directed at Chae-won, who was fixing her hair with a smug expression. "This is your last warning—stay away from her.”

Chae-won sneered, venom dripping from her voice. “Why do you keep protecting that… thing?” she spat. “She’s abnormal. She can’t hear. She made us miserable. She’s selfish, always making everything about her. She plays the victim like it’s a sport.”

Her words made Hiyyih surged forward, ready to strike, but Taehyun held her back with a firm grip.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Chae-won blinked, startled by the harshness in Kai's tone—a tone so unlike the boy known for his warmth and kindness. “She’s the best person to ever walk these grounds,” Kai adds, eyes locked on Chae-won. “She’s everything you’ll never be.”

You tried to step out from behind him, to meet Chae-won’s glare head-on, but Kai’s arm gently stopped you, keeping you behind him, his body a wall between you and her cruelty.

“If anyone here isn’t normal, it’s you. Never her.”

For the first time, Chae-won’s smirk faltered, her confidence visibly shaken. Her eyes dart between Hiyyih, Beomgyu and Taehyun. They all look at her in disdain.

Her mind raced, her thoughts spiralling back to the words her mother had drilled into her—how you were less, how people would never care about you. But now—these people—they were standing with you, like they would shield you from anything that came your way. It made her gulp. She bolts outside, Yun-jin was hot on her heels, matching her pace. The other girls had already disappeared.

For the first time, she was afraid—of the consequences that might happen if she ever dared to hurt you again.

“You don’t have to forgive them, you know?” Kai says, his shoulder brushes against yours, as you both sit, legs dangling off the edge of the makeshift bench in the yard. The watermelon ice cream in your hand drips slightly, the heat of the sun melting it. His sister and mother are out of the house, shopping for tonight's supper.

“It’s okay to take your time,” he adds, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “Or never forgive them at all. You can stay here with us for as long as you want. There’s no rush to figure everything out.”

You shift your feet, wiggling your toes against the warm wood beneath you. Both of you are still in the loose, comfortable clothes you threw on after rolling out of bed. No shoes, no plans—It’s a Saturday—your first weekend here.

You look at him, and the light catches his face. A small smile tugs at your lips as you sign, “You know, I’ve never given you a proper nickname.”

Kai pauses mid-bite, blinking at you in surprise at your random words. “Huh?” he mumbles around the end of his ice cream. “What do you mean?”

You let out a soft laugh, your hands moving fluidly as you explain, “Since calling out your name in sign language takes a little more effort, it’s better to give you a nickname. Something simple but special, something that means ‘you.’”

Kai’s heart stutters in his chest. How was it possible that every time he saw you sign, it felt like the first time all over again? "Wha- what would you call me?"

You smile, a little shy. You’d thought of this nickname days ago, waiting for the right moment to share it. “Diamond,” you sign, your hands forming the shape—your thumb and index finger meet to form the letter D, before tracing an elegant upward motion, like a sparkle.

Kai’s breath catches. His chest feels tight, like his heart is swelling too big for the space it’s in. Diamond. The way you did it, the way it looked—it felt intimate. "It’s beautiful."

You smile softly at him, and his entire world shifts. “I can’t hear your voice, but I see it. You shine the brightest when you’re making music. That’s when you look the coolest, like you’re untouchable… like a diamond. But even then, I don’t feel left out when I’m with you. I never felt I don't belong when I'm with you.” Your hands falter slightly, your eyes glassy with unshed tears.

Kai watches every movement, every micro-emotion on your face. He understands every word.

He’s in love with you. Completely, helplessly.

He doesn’t need to be the doctor to diagnose his own symptoms, a teacher to put his feelings into words, or to be the scientist to prove his theory. None of those roles matters because—these things will never speak as loud as his heart. He loves you. And with every moment he spends knowing you, he finds himself falling even deeper.

And now, he can give you his music—something he once thought was beyond him. Loving you has been the easiest thing he’s ever done.

Kai's desperate need consumes him as he grabs your face, his heart racing with aching desire to kiss you. His lips crash onto yours, devouring the sweetness of your watermelon-flavoured mouth. You moan, a little sound that only fuels his need as he leans back. "You're so beautiful. I need you, please." He pulls you closer and kisses you again once you nod, unable to resist his sweet kisses. He breaks away and takes your hand, leading you. Like he always does.

You let him pull you into his room, the scent of him wrapping around you like a quiet embrace. The space feels personal—lived-in. It feels like... him.

Before you can say a word, his arms encircle you from behind, holding you close as his lips brush softly against the side of your head. His hands move slowly, sliding from your waist to your stomach. With a gentle tug, he lifts your shirt just enough to reveal the bare skin beneath. His touch is tender as his fingers graze over you, tracing delicate patterns, and caressing. Kai turns you around.

Kai's mind swirls with uncertainty. He stares into your eyes, and he signs the words that he has been holding back. "I love you." You respond by pulling him close, kissing him fiercely and tangling your fingers in his hair. Your mind is consumed by his confession, and his touches.

He pushes you onto the bed, flooding your senses with his smell. You wrap your legs around him instinctively, surprised at yourself for doing something naturally you haven't done. You're craving his touch.

"I need you," His voice is low, repeating the words. He wants to know. He wants to make sure that you're alright with this. You give a slight nod, granting him permission. He eagerly accepts, his lips crashing against yours in a frenzy of need. His hands roam your body, leaving trails of fire as he hungrily kisses down your neck. He goes down, he bites down on the fabric covering your nipples, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from you.

He gingerly lifted your shirt over your head, revealing your flushed skin. He took one of your hardened nipples into his mouth and gently sucked, watching closely as your face contorted in pleasure and your eyes fluttered shut.

He slides his hand under your silk pyjama top and gently traces the curve of your back with his fingers. He settles himself beside you, leaning as he reaches your waistband. His long fingers slip inside and finds you already wet, he spreads your lips apart and expertly flicks his finger over your clit. He adds another finger and watches your face for any signs of discomfort, peppering kisses along your cheeks as you shake your head in pleasure. Slowly, he inserts them deeper, making you grip his shoulders tightly as he stretches you.

He rolls his knuckles over your sensitive clit. With a swift movement, his hand opens like scissors, his thumb teasing your swollen nub. You let out a gasp and clutch onto his now longer hair, pulling him closer as he continues to pleasure you with his skilled fingers. Your mouths meet in a passionate kiss, his hot tongue brushing yours as he works his fingers in and out of you.

As he pulls out, you can feel his gaze on you, his eyes tracing every inch of your body. Every part of your body is beautiful.

You try to reach for his pants, but he shakes his head with a small smile. "This is all about you." He whispers, and places a kiss on your lips.

He slides into you, causing tears to escape from the corners of your eyes as you feel yourself being stretched and filled. He's so big, hot inside you. "Baby, I got you," He leans in close, his warm breath mingling with yours as he gently wipes away your tears.

Kai searches your eyes and waits for you to signal him to move again, you hummed nodding your head. He presses deeper, and the sensation makes your whole body tingle. With each thrust, he presses you further into the mattress, leaving hot kisses along your skin as his other hand finds its way back to your clit.

His lips found your ears, and he left traces of kisses. The overwhelming pleasure builds and builds until finally, you can't hold back any longer and release with a shudder. But he doesn't stop there; he continues to move inside of you groaning, pulling out before his release, he fists his erection and hot white cum comes undone on his hands. He leans down to give you a quick kiss on your forehead, smirking at your fucked out face.

Kai's touch was careful as he ran the cloth over your skin, wiping away, and cleaning you up. He worked slowly, keeping one of his hands holding your own.

When he was done, he looked up at you with that same soft smile. You feel your lips curve in response, reaching out to touch his flushed cheeks, your fingers brushing against his warm skin. The simple touch makes his smile widen into a boyish grin. You see his mouth open, saying "I love you." The same words he kept repeating over and over again even without you knowing it.

It feels unreal, like a fragile dream stitched together by your desperate mind to escape the torment of your reality. Kai doesn’t seem real—a fleeting fever dream you’re terrified will vanish the moment you wake. Your hands move almost on their own, signing the words your heart refuses to deny. "I love you too."

A floor table is set up in the yard, resting on a wide blanket with soft cushions scattered around it. Plates of food and side dishes fill the table, the space alive with chatter and laughter.

Kai sits beside you, his knee brushing yours beneath the table his hands caressing your back when no one's looking, Hiyyih is in the center, her laughter bright and infectious, while Taehyun and Beomgyu are across from you, locked in their usual back-and-forth.

Or rather, Beomgyu trying to bait Taehyun into bickering, and Taehyun rolling his eyes with amused restraint.

The sliding door opens, and Kai’s mom steps out, balancing a steaming pot in her hands. “Here comes the ramen!” she sings. The broth makes you realise just how hungry you are.

She begins ladling out bowls, and the clinking of utensils signals the start of the meal. As the first bite warms your throat, the cold night seems to retreat, replaced by the simple joy of being here, with them.

You reach out toward the dessert—ripe, glossy strawberries—but your hand freezes as you see Beomgyu grab the last one. He pauses mid-bite when he catches the longing look in your eyes. “Oh,” he says, a smirk tugging at his lips. Slowly, he pulls the fruit away from his mouth, holding it out to you with his chopsticks. “Because I’m a good guy, I’ll let you have it.”

Before you can protest, Kai reaches over with his own chopsticks and snatches the strawberry back. He shoves it into Beomgyu’s mouth, earning a muffled yelp. “You can keep it,” Kai says flatly, shooting a half-hearted glare at his friend.

Taehyun bursts out laughing, pointing at Beomgyu’s shocked expression. “He’s jealous,” he teases, his grin wide.

“I am not,” Kai snaps, cheeks betraying by giving a soft pink hue. “I just don’t want his germs spreading to Y/N.”

Beomgyu, finally swallowing the strawberry, points a dramatic finger at Kai. “You little shi—”

You laugh as Beomgyu leaps to his feet, determined to catch Kai, who’s darting away with that grin that melts your heart every time. Kai—the one who didn’t just save you from your own darkness, but who opened up his world and invited you in, piece by piece.

You sigh, not out of sadness, but happiness—a feeling slowly becoming familiar. It doesn’t feel impossible anymore.

You avoid your father’s gaze, his concerned eyes scanning you with a frown etched deep into his forehead. You shift, positioning yourself behind Kai’s broad back. You can still see your father, but having Kai in front of you makes it all feel bearable—almost safe.

Your father arrived first thing in the morning, dressed sharply in his suit, as though he hadn’t wasted a second to come get you ever since he came back.

He explained everything in a rush—what he’d done back at the house. Your stepmother was gone, and she’d taken your stepsisters with her. Without a marriage binding them, he ended it quickly, as swiftly as he’d once welcomed her into your home, believing she could be a solution, a saviour for you.

The maids who had turned a blind eye or worse—enabled the abuse—were fired on the spot. And now, he was determined to make things right—determined to press charges, to hold accountable anyone who had ever hurt you. His voice cracked when he spoke of it, the guilt etched deep into his expression.

"Would you mind if I speak for a moment?" Kai asks stance proud, and unwavering. Your father looked at him, taking in the way he stood in front of you, protective. It reminded him of the days when he had stood like that for your mother—the only woman he had truly loved.

“My mom doesn’t know any sign language,” Kai begins, “But she still talks to Y/N all the time. They understand each other perfectly.” He pauses, letting the words settle.

“That’s when I realized something,” Kai continues, his gaze unwavering. “You can say anything—anything at all—if it comes from a willing heart.” He pulls out a book. It’s a little worn around the edges, its cover creased from being used so often. It’s the same sign language book he’s been studying with you, the one he’s cherished so much.

He holds it out to your father, “I thought this might help. It’s a good place to start, so you can reach her too.” Your father takes it, his fingers brushing against the cover. His lips part, voice thick with emotion, “Thank you, Kai.” He extends his hand, and Kai shakes it firmly, a quiet understanding passing between them.

Then Kai turns to you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. His mom and Hiyyih wrap you in tight hugs, their warmth lingering long after they let go. You haven’t even stepped outside the gate yet, but they’re already asking when you’ll come back.

You smile, trying to give them an answer, but the truth catches in your throat. The truth is, you don’t know if you can live your life without them anymore.

The trip back to your house was quiet.

You opened the doors, but no one was inside. No one inside, yet it felt more… welcoming than it ever had. You walk into your room, and are about to reach to close your bedrooms behind you. But before it shuts, your father steps inside.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, “For everything.” All you can do is nod silently, feeling the sting of tears welling in your eyes. You’ve thought about this moment a thousand times—how you would say everything you’ve kept inside, how you’d finally tell him that his silence and distance hurt more than the physical abuse they gave.

You wanted him to know what his absence caused, how it made everything worse. You wanted to shout, to let him feel the anger you’ve carried for so long. But as you hear his apology, you find yourself lacking the heart to do so. Because this moment—it’s the one you’ve been waiting for your entire whole life. For him to finally come back to you.

He takes a hesitant step closer, his hands trembling as they reach up to cup your face. His eyes that screams nothing but regret. “You’re the only one left who matters to me,” he says, “I’m so sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I promise—I’ll make it up to you. Somehow, I’ll make it right.” Before you know it, he pulls you into his arms, holding you as if he’s afraid to let go.

The two of you cry, clinging to each other in the quiet of the house. No other words are spoken. The walls that once held the echoes of your pain now bear witness to something… starting to heal.

The horrors of the past don’t, won't disappear, but they begin to blur, fading as you melt inside your father's arms. You close your eyes as you cry—broken sobs, like a child needing comfort after a big bad nightmare, tasting the salt of your own tears as they fall.

It tastes like forgiveness.

"Do you want to come with me on my next business trip?" your father signs, his hands moving carefully beside you in the car. "New York."

You smile at his effort, the clumsy yet intentional movements making him seem more approachable—so different from the figure you once knew.

"I'd love that, dad." His face lights up with your response, a genuine smile spreading across his lips. He looks relieved, maybe even proud, that he's able to communicate with you more clearly now. Your gaze drifts to the newspaper folded in his lap, the bold numbers marking the year—1996.

The car slows to a stop, signalling that you've arrived. Your father leans over, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "See you daughter,"

You wave goodbye, stepping out onto the pavement, watching as the car pulls away. You clutch your shoulder bag, a soft smile playing on your lips—one that seems to have taken permanent residence these past few months. Your steps are light, your eyes brighter, and your heart hums a melody only you can hear.

Community for the Gifted: Advanced Sign Language

The words on the board seem almost dreamlike. A reminder that you're here. Everything that happened wasn't just a dream.

Before you can dwell on it, your bag is gently lifted from your hands. You turn, meeting his eyes—warm, full of affection. He dips his head, pressing a sweet, fleeting kiss to your lips, followed by another on your nose, and your brows.

"Hi, pretty girl," He says softly, shifting your bag to his other hand. He reaches for your free hand, fingers intertwining with yours. He squeezes it three times.

I love you.

Together, you step through the doors, hand in hand with the boy who loves you in ways you didn’t think anyone ever could. The boy who simply found you in your silent world. It amazes you—how one person can make life feel so undeniably worth living.

Huening Kai, who learned to speak your language, so you won't have to spend your lifetime translating your soul.

THE END.

taglist: i love you @.beombunni @.hyukascampfire @.yunverie @.gyu-tori @.bamgyuuuri @.saejinniestar @.xylatox @.lovingbeomgyudayone @.virtaideen @.hyunelixbun @.brrytears @.fancypeacepersona @.tyunningstar @.kejingken @.usuallyunlikelyfox @.ode2soob @.beomieeeeeeeeeeees @.lilbrorufr @.vicurious28

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sweetfushi · 1 year ago

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HOW THEY REALISED THEY WERE ATTRACTED TO YOU PT 1

fluff | tetsuro kuroo, kei tsukishima, wakatoshi ushijima x reader, fluff, you almost get hit with the ball (thanks yaku), reader is suggested to be short(er). ◦ notes. part two here.

TETSURO KUROO.

He started becoming quieter, almost conscious of what he said around others.

Nekoma watches as their captain almost moves in a daze, his eyes fixated on a certain girl on the bleachers, writing something and tucking her hair behind her ear every so often. Yaku had been the first to notice a few days ago during one of their practice matches, brow furrowed and lips pursed as Kuroo observed his younger sister. Although you were only younger by a year, making you a second year while Yaku and Kuroo third years, your brother was highly protective of you.

“She’s so pretty,” Kuroo murmurs, tossing the ball up and catching it repeatedly as he continues to gaze at you. He had said few words this match, albeit his smart remarks still made their presence. However, Kenma had to snap him out of a few daydreams while Lev had waved his big hands in his face, yelling “Yoohoo!”

Kuroo had deadpanned at that.

As the game continues, he watches as Yaku saves the ball but also causes it to fly over and almost hit you, making you yelp and cover your head. Kuroo almost chokes on his own breath.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry,” Yaku rushes out, face pinched in concern as he jogs over to where you sit with an unimpressed expression. Kuroo watches momentarily as the libero withstands your discipline and light slap to his head, before - as no one else seemed to do so - rushing up the bleacher stairs and snatching the ball up.

“You sure you don’t wanna sit higher up?” Kuroo suggests, watching it take you a moment to register that he’s talking to you. Your eyes lock and his breath hitches, lips parting as he watches you smile sheepishly and gather your notes in your arms. “That probably would be a good idea,” you giggle and thank him for his concern, moving to sit closer to the doors but not before shooting Yaku one last glare.

The libero pouts and apologises again.

Kuroo composes himself and fiddles with the ball before starting to make his way back down to the court.

“Hey, wait.” He freezes in place at the sound of your voice, turning to face you with inexplicable anticipation (for what, he wasn’t sure himself). He finds himself smiling as you do, watching as you nod towards the ball in his hand. “I will throw that ball out the window if it reaches me again,” you raise a brow, your warning teasing and (largely) unserious.

Kuroo snorts, nodding. “Noted.”

KEI TSUKISHIMA.

You became the person he talks to the most.

He hadn’t abandoned Yamaguchi at all, but even the green-haired man notices Tsukishima’s developing interest in you. You seemed more academic than the blond, opting to spend your time between classes in the library or the local cafe, but lately you had allowed him to distract you with his smart remarks and invitations to random days out. This time, he wanted you to help him practise.

“I’m not going easy on you,” you mumble, still shoving your books in your bag as you walk alongside him. He rolls his eyes and smacks the top of your head with the packaged strawberry shortcake slice he insists on having daily.

Once you get to the green field beside the school’s gym, he becomes insufferable.

“What happened to not going easy on me?” He grins, watching you chase after the ball for a second time.

You groan and almost much too aggressively throw a rock at him, one he easily avoids. You hate admitting it, but you are just as competitive as he is, so you don’t let his teasing demotivate you.

“I’m going to serve this ball in your damn face,” you huff, hitting the ball again. This time, Tsukishima is focused on his plays, following the ball carefully and analysing your every move.

By the time you’re done, three hours have passed and the sun is barely hanging in the sky. You’re sweating and panting, Tsukishima slouched against a wall as he too catches his breath. Neither one of you breaks eye contact so you’re not oblivious to the way he lets his eyes roam over you. You don’t hesitate to do the same.

“I shouldn’t have eaten that cake,” he huffs, “I’m gonna puke.”

You burst out laughing at his whimpers. He takes a few moments to hydrate himself before inhaling deeply and glaring at you.

“I hope your stomach hurts so bad that you can’t sleep tonight,” he almost pouts - so uncharacteristic of him (also hoping that you stay up to text him).

“If you’re done being petty,” you push your hair back and wipe yourself down with a small towel, “I was thinking we can go get some food, maybe help that little upset stomach of yours.”

You almost scream when he throws his sweaty towel at you.

WAKATOSHI USHIJIMA.

He starts to ask about you.

He’s walking out of school with the rest of the team, waiting outside a local store as Tendo and Goshiki spend half their life savings on snacks they’ll likely forget about. Ushijima is checking the news and simultaneously listening to Ohira talk about how he’s trying out a new regime at the gym, until he hears Semi on the phone with someone. He glances up at him, hoping to hear your voice, but turns back to his phone when he doesn’t.

After about ten minutes of yelling at Tendo and Goshiki to hurry up before their banks question their hefty transactions, they all start heading home again.

“How’s your sister?” Ushijima asks bluntly, catching Semi’s surprised expression in his peripheral vision. The setter hesitates before nodding. “She’s fine.”

An awkward silence dawns on the duo.

“I thought there would be more to that conversation,” Semi laughs, staring up at his seemingly unfazed captain. Ushijima hums.

Again, the silence becomes deafening.

“Is she still working in that new firm downtown?” Ushijima asks. “I remember you said that she was excited about getting her own office.”

Semi nods, brow furrowed in confusion. “I told you that about two months ago, do I wanna know how or why you still remember that?” The two then look at each other with seemingly apathetic expressions, although Semi has a feeling that Ushijima isn’t asking out of the kindness of his own heart. He doesn’t mention it though, instead says his goodbyes to the others as they all part ways - except for him and Ushijima.

Although Semi isn't too keen on letting you invest time into boys seeking nothing but someone they can manipulate for their own benefit, he knows that Ushijima is nothing like that. Though, he's not sure how the captain would even go about approaching you considering his and your busy schedules.

"Do you... want her number?" Semi initiates what Ushijima seemed hesitant to mention.

"Please."

sweetfushi © do not modify, repost, translate, copy or use my post in any way. all that is included in this post, aside from the fictional characters and universes, belong to sweetfushi (zee).

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kei tsukishima x reader #wakatoshi ushijima x reader #kuroo x reader #tsukishima x reader #ushijima x reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu drabbles

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ak319 · 8 months ago

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Yan Regent Consort x fem reader

Headcanon

(Warnings: This story contains matriarchal themes, fem dom such as mpreg, fem dominated world, role reversal, and BXG pairing! Yes, it's a boy x girl, so don't interact if you are not comfortable!!)

Xu Junlai was a boy who held different roles in the eyes of others, son to some, friend to some, an object of admiration or envy to others. He was born into a family of five sons and two daughters. His mother, Xu Huang, served as a minister in the court, while his father, Xu... well, he wasn’t married into the Xu family, he was merely a concubine of Junlai’s mother. Because of this, Junlai never received familial love, not from his step-siblings and not even from his mother, who was always either too busy or uninterested in family matters. Her absence from his life gave his brothers free rein to treat him as they pleased.

His oldest sibling was his sister, Xu Tai, whom everyone feared. She didn’t particularly dote on him, but she maintained order in the household whenever she returned from her training and service in the army. Xu Tai had high ambitions for the country, aspiring one day to become a commander or much better a General. His other sister, Xu Ai, was studying to be a scholar; she was a year older than Junlai, who himself was the second youngest in the family.

Junlai had long learned that if he didn’t stand up for himself and speak for himself, he would live a life of misery and eventually die alone, perhaps with no one to mourn his passing. So, he did speak for himself when necessary. A hard life had forced him into this role. It wasn’t as if anyone liked him before, or that he had earned any respect, so what was there to lose?

He had passions that he quietly pursued, calligraphy, reading books, sneakily borrowing them from Tai’s library at the estate and, most importantly, dancing. Yet he was made fun of, and ridiculed for his interests.

“Your father was a prostitute, and you doing this seems to scream that you are on the same path. You disgrace,” his stepfather, Xu Fen, sneered. But his words never truly hurt Junlai.

“But your sons are learning such skills too. Are they on the same path?”

“THEY ARE NOT! They are doing that so that when the time arises, they will be presented to the court for the new Empress and her harem. That is where their skills will shine; being a Xu, that is inevitable. You, however…”

“Mother may not have married my father, but she openly acknowledged that I have been granted the name Xu.”

“So? What are you--oh--so you want to enter the court? That might be the funniest thing I’ve heard this week. Part of the reason your presence here is sometimes bearable. Have you seen yourself? There is nothing graceful about you, such venomous features, that blank face, eyes like a devil’s. You are someone any woman would avoid, not bed.” Fen’s cackles echoed in the distance as Junlai stood in the garden, his usual blank expression firmly in place.

The court? But he didn’t desire any of that. That was a life of hell. As if my life is better now... Harem or no harem, at least he could demonstrate his skills and take a jab at his useless brothers. Perhaps that was the most thrilling part of it all. There was absolutely no chance that an Empress or even the Emperor Dowager would allow the son of a prostitute to enter the harem.

So, Junlai practised night after night, in the empty hall that felt both sacred and suffocating. The flickering candles cast shadows that danced like ghosts on the walls, whispering secrets of long-forgotten elegance. The sound of anklets chimed like distant bells, while the rustle of silken fabric filled the air, wrapping around him like a lover’s embrace. In the dim light, his body became a fluid extension of art, each movement imbued with a haunting beauty that could draw anyone into his graceful orbit. And perhaps, just perhaps, the voice that emerged from his lips was powerful enough to ensnare even the coldest of hearts.

But one fateful night, when he miraculously received permission from his mother to join the ceremony, everything changed. Three of his brothers discovered him lost in his usual routine, an ethereal vision in the half-light. As always, he expected their laughter, their scorn, but no... that night, the hall, once a sanctuary, transformed into a chamber of horrors.

Instead of melodies, the air was filled with his screams as they pinned him down, the laughter of his brothers echoing like a dark symphony. They poured scalding water over his feet, the pain searing through him, brutal and unrelenting--just a week before the ceremony.

═════ ◈ ═════

The day of the ceremony arrived, and you, the new Empress, had only been on the throne for a year after successfully defeating your sisters for the throne. However you were overwhelmed by the throng of men entering your court, you sat in silence, your mind already planning the next day's work while subtly noting the movements and behaviours of your court members.

The musical festivities began, likely your father's favorite part, as it allowed him to exert his influence over the affairs of the men. You had little energy to deal with such trivialities, and the classification of men in this way unsettled you. Your mother was deeply involved in it all, and you loathed the thought of it.

"Those are the sons of the Xu family, good-looking, aren't they?" your father remarked, his voice dripping with expectation. Your head snapped to his direction, and for a fleeting moment, you glanced at the display before you.

“Um, yes,” you replied, your tone devoid of enthusiasm.

Your father internally rolled his eyes at your lacklustre response. You might have bedded a few men and have a son with one of the concubines, but it was clear you weren’t taking any of them seriously. 'This idiot daughter of mine, clearly not worried about not having an heir still. By now your mother would have had three-'

"They came for you, so at least enjoy it a bit. If you prefer any changes, the music, the dance-"

"It's fine, Father. It's fine."

You granted your approval to Xu Huang in the end, an honest minister in your eyes, someone even your mother trusted. Her daughter, Tai, was a formidable warrior, perhaps the first to impress you with her skills.

As dinner commenced, no one anticipated the doors to swing open once more. A lone figure stepped into the hall, drawing everyone's attention, including yours. He was slender, his long hair tousled—surprisingly beautiful even in such disarray. Those eyes of his, empty yet hauntingly deep, bore into yours with an intensity that both intrigued and unsettled you.

His walk was seductive yet exuded an aura of defeat and determination. Silence enveloped the hall, a palpable tension as he stood in the centre, commanding attention. That’s when you noticed his feet, bare and crimson. You were certain that if you looked closer, you would see the dark stains of blood marring his skin.

It felt as though the entire court was holding its breath, waiting for you to question him. Just then, you caught the whisper of Xu Huang, “Son…” from her seat a few feet away.

Her son?

"Are you... Xu’s son?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued.

He nodded.

“Um--your Majesty, he was sick, so he couldn't perform earlier, although his name was registered on the list by me…” Xu Huang explained, her voice steady yet tinged with concern. You responded with a curt nod, your mind racing.

“If you are sick, then you shouldn’t be here,” you asserted, a protective instinct rising within you. You were certain the sickness plagued his feet. There was no way you would allow him to dance under such conditions.

“I want to dance,” he replied, his voice challenging and unwavering.

The spark in his tone caught you off guard. What an odd boy...

“Very well. Then do. I would like to see you dance,” you commanded, a blend of intrigue fluttering in your chest

“Your Majes-” Xu Huang began, but your glare silenced her immediately.

“Begin.”

As the sounds of the pipa and hulusi filled the hall, an almost electric hush fell over the audience. Everyone shifted their attention from their meals to the boy dancing, his presence so captivating that even your father, Wang Hua, sat bewildered. A simmering anger brewed within him as he grappled with his own intrigue. Are you seriously interested in him?

Though Hua possessed some knowledge about the boy, witnessing the fluidity and artistry of his dance made those thoughts melt away. Junlai moved as if in a trance, each motion a hauntingly beautiful expression that stirred something deep within you. The performance was mesmerizing, drawing you into a world that felt both ethereal and painfully real.

The only glimmer of envy and fury came from Junlai’s own brother and step-father, their faces twisted in disdain as they seethed at the spectacle before them. Even the blood that dripped from Junlai’s feet onto the glass-like floor seemed to only heighten their ire. They couldn’t maintain your gaze for even a moment, while Junlai seemed to command the room effortlessly, as if reigning over it with merely a flick of his wrist.

As the final echoes of Junlai’s performance faded, your ears, now deprived of the boy’s beautiful voice, were met once again with a profound silence that enveloped the hall.

Junlai stood with his gaze cast down, a picture of humility, while you rose from the podium, taking slow, deliberate steps toward him. A ripple of anticipation swept through the crowd, their eyes wide with curiosity about what would unfold next. To your surprise, the boy barely flinched as you stood before him, towering over his slight frame.

“Name?” you inquired, your voice steady.

“Junlai,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“And who did this to you...?” You leaned closer, searching his eyes for the truth.

His neutral gaze met yours, and you sensed a flicker of vulnerability beneath his composed exterior.

“People... whom I would rather not talk about on such a glorious day... a day for you, my Majesty.” He lowered himself in a respectful bow, his head tilting downward, yet his posture remained defiantly graceful.

“Is that so...?” you mused, glancing at Naun, your attendant, who stood discreetly behind a pillar to your left. She nodded subtly, understanding the unspoken command in your gaze.

This boy not only is now part of your harem but...your choice for the night.

You were resolute, you would not entertain the other sons of the Xu family. What need had you for them? Junlai’s dance eclipsed all of theirs combined, a testament to his raw talent and spirit. You were not greedy, you simply sought the best. And he was not only the best but also intriguingly peculiar, a captivating boy you were eager to indulge in and explore further.

As you crawled on top of him, Junlai had been cleaned and prepared for your gaze, yet a small part of you missed his disheveled appearance, the wild, untamed beauty that spoke of his struggles. You soothed yourself with the reminder that he would soon return to that captivating state.

“When I asked you about the culprits, you didn’t name them. You don’t want me to punish them?” you murmured, your fingers brushing gently against his cheek, relishing the softness of his skin as he leaned into your rough hand.

“But you already have... by choosing me,” he replied, a hint of defiance in his voice. You couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound deep and rich. “You are... something, you know. I have never encountered a boy like you... but I always wanted to.”

“I never wanted this... to be in the bed of an empress, in her harem, but here I am…” His words hung in the air, laced with a surprising confidence. Something about you made him bold enough to voice such thoughts. You didn’t seem as cold and cruel as the whispers suggested, those comparisons to your mother fading in the warmth of his gaze.

Your deep chuckle reverberated against his neck, sending shivers coursing through his body. “Oh, how lucky I am then. More fortunate than any empress, for having caught you.” You pulled away slightly to meet his eyes, searching for the flicker of fear, but finding only intrigue. “Being in a harem means being mine, and I take care of what I own.”

“Do you fear me, Junlai?” you asked, your voice a sultry whisper that sent shivers down his spine. “You should...."

His heart raced at the challenge in your tone. “I don’t fear you, your Majesty. I only fear what I might become under your rule,” he replied, daring to meet your intense gaze.

“Ah, but isn’t that the thrill of it all?” You leaned in closer, your lips brushing tantalizingly against his ear as you spoke. A gasp left his plump lips as you nibbled on it.

Junlai’s breath quickened as your gaze pierced into him, as if you were seeing not just the boy he was but the depths of his soul. The air thickened with an intoxicating blend of fear and desire. He could feel the heat radiating from your body, enveloping him in a cocoon of both safety and peril.

Your fingers danced down his arm, tracing delicate patterns that ignited his skin, setting his nerves alight. Junlai's breath hitched as he felt the heat of your body press against him, a heady mix of power and vulnerability.

“Do you see how beautifully broken you are?” you continued, your voice low and mesmerizing.

Junlai felt the walls around his heart tremble, caught in the magnetic pull of your words. “What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the challenge now tinged with uncertainty.

“Everything.” Your lips curled into a wicked smile, a promise of the chaos to come. “I want your loyalty, your obedience, and most importantly, your heart. I will not only keep you in my harem, I will make you my most cherished treasure.”

As you leaned closer again, your lips tantalizingly brushing against his, he could feel the weight of your intentions, his robe being done deftly by your rough fingers. “Now, are you ready to dance for me?” you asked, your eyes glinting with mischief and hunger."

Junlai nodded, a flicker of excitement igniting within him. At that moment, he was no longer just a boy marked by pain, he was a dancer, ready to twirl and leap into the unknown, to be claimed by you.

═════ ◈ ═════

Junlai sat in the veranda, gazing out at the distant mountains with a forlorn expression, his slender fingers tapping absently on the polished wooden rail. Though the quarters designated for the favored concubine were lavish, adorned with silks and priceless porcelain, the space felt hollow without you. If only he could give you a daughter, the coveted title of consort would be his. The thought flitted through his mind like an unreachable dream. And yet, as the days stretched into months, it was your absence that gnawed at him, leaving him restless and aching.

God, when would you return from the campaign? Two months had passed, each day heavier than the last. He endured the whispers, and the scorn from the other concubines who mocked him for his damaged feet, but he bore it all without flinching. He knew you valued him for his skill, his grace, the things that went beyond mere perfection. You had appointed the empire's finest healers to tend to him, a silent reassurance that he still held a place in your heart.

Even the Emperor Dowager, shrewd and discerning, seemed to favour him, perhaps because he respected his daughter's choices or was mesmerized by his art. Either way, his endorsement granted him a measure of safety within the harem’s hostile world. And yet, safety was far from his mind. He spent sleepless nights worrying about you, imagining the dangers you might face, each possible harm a dagger in his chest. His own safety meant nothing if you were not there, by his side, safe and triumphant. He danced in the empty hall , every night, all night even. His gaze at the marble wall at the end, imagining you sitting in your throne watching his performance. Every word, every step a testimony for your longing. If anyone else saw him at night , they would be scared for their life.

A boy dancing as if he was possessed.

What had he become? Another lovesick boy, a fool just like his father, infatuated, aching, lost to his devotion. He had once vowed never to become so vulnerable, and yet here he was, the intensity of his love binding him more than duty or obligation ever could. He used to revel in this power, at first motivated by pride, even defiance, to show his brothers that he had won something they could never touch. But now, with every beat of his heart, every drop of his blood, he was wholly, helplessly, irrevocably yours.

Although not long ago, one significant shift rippled through the palace, Xu Tai, the skilled warrior whose loyalty you trusted, was now appointed as General. Junlai took comfort in this news. His sister's allegiance was unwavering, and her impressive abilities spoke for themselves. You chose her for her skill and integrity, qualities Junlai respected, and even admired from afar. He knew that with Tai at the helm, your interests, and your life, were in capable hands.

He hadn’t anticipated finding peace in such a development, yet knowing Tai held this position gave him a strange sense of relief. However when he just received a letter from Tai herself, that sense of relief seemed to diminish.

You had been poisoned by an arrow at the battlefield. Thankfully the physician present did their best to take it out but it was unknown if you would come back alive. The news was also sent to the Emperor and eventually spread over the harem and then the country.

The news struck the palace like a tempest. Word spread first as whispers in dimly lit corridors, then as gasps behind silken fans, until eventually, the rumours became cries of despair from every corner of the empire. The Empress has been poisoned, they said, her life teetering on the edge. The harem held its breath, the concubines offering quiet prayers. Yet amidst them all, Junlai felt as though his entire world had shattered.

Days passed in agonizing limbo, and Junlai clung to any scrap of information he could gather. The air in his chambers grew thick with dread, the whispers of the other concubines like needles against his skin. Would she return? Could she survive this? He tried to still his racing heart, to banish the wretched possibilities that plagued him day and night, but his mind clung stubbornly to images of your pale face, the way you looked as he’d last seen you, strong, assured, untouchable.

But now, you were mortal. Wounded. Vulnerable.

He’d never felt so powerless. Each night he would sit in the garden, his injured feet barely feeling the cold stone beneath them as he gazed at the stars, praying fervently for your safety. Let her come back to me, he whispered into the darkness. Take my health, my strength, take anything you want, but let her live.

The news of the looming threat reached the palace in the dead of night, casting a shadow over an already grief-stricken palace. The Chief Minister summoned her closest advisors including Xu Huang, the walls of the council chamber echoing with grave voices as they strategized. The Wei Dynasty had betrayed them, their forces striking not only on the battlefield but now threatening the heart of the empire, taking advantage of your absence. This insidious plot was spearheaded by the rebel leader Guo Wang, a lecherous woman of ruthless ambition and bloodthirsty intent. Her name alone sent ripples of fear through the court, her reputation for savagery preceding her.

The capital was left vulnerable in a way it hadn’t been for years. With Tai, your most loyal and capable General, at your side on the battlefield, and your position as Empress left temporarily vacant, the capital was guarded only by lesser warriors and the remaining commanders, a force barely sufficient for an ambush of this scale.

Junlai’s despair deepened. He had kept his composure in the wake of your injury, holding fast to the hope that you would return to him. But now the looming threat to the capital turned that sorrow into fear and fury. He knew what would come if Guo Wang breached the palace walls, the carnage that woman would wreak upon all in her path. The court, the innocents of the capital, and, he shuddered, the vulnerable harem.

He understood now what his sister had never fully articulated, the key to victory was not in repeating the old ways, but in disrupting the enemy's expectations. And Guo Wang’s forces? They would be expecting the standard defences. They would expect the palace to hide behind walls, women in armour standing guard at every gate. That was their mistake. Junlai knew better. But being a man and more so a mere consort was something that Junlai couldn't change. Nobody would listen to him. Two weeks left before the Guo reaches them even if Tai had sent for backup to the capital, it would have taken them a bit longer to get here.

No, he would not let this slide. The audacity to kill you , trying to take you AWAY FROM HIM!?. He will fucking lay corpses upon corpses of these disgusting pieces of filth. He will BURN EVERYTHING TO THE GROUND!

"I will not rest until I see you fall, Guo Wang..."

═════ ◈ ═════

"Mother, please. Trust me. You have to listen-"

"Your only job is to stay here, in the harem, and bear her children! Leave the military and court decisions to the court and the Empress."

Xu Huang froze, his chest tightening at the cold dismissal. His mother, ever so pragmatic, always intent on keeping him within the narrow boundaries of what was deemed acceptable for someone of his position. But tonight, he couldn’t bear it anymore. The years of suffocating silence, the weight of expectations that had been placed on him, all of it came crashing down in a wave of defiance.

"BUT I AM DOING THIS FOR THE EMPRESS!" His voice rang out, sharp and unforgiving. Xu Huang recoiled as if struck, the shock of his outburst still fresh in the air. But his fury only seemed to fuel him further. "Her Majesty’s court, her harem... I will not let some barbarian come in and tear it all apart. And don’t forget it, Mother!" He took a step forward, his voice thick with venom, his eyes burning with a passion he hadn’t allowed himself to show before. The tears were a mask, barely held together by his pride.

"I WILL protect her, and I WILL protect this dynasty."

He let his words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of their implications. He stood taller now, a dangerous glint in his eye, as he moved closer, letting the venomous truth seep into every syllable. "As for bearing children, oh sure, I will. But I won’t do it for you. I’ll do it for ME. For MY future. I’ll be elevated, not you. You will always remain a slave to the system, while I may one day be a part of the Wang dynasty. And you know what that could mean." His voice dropped to a low, almost mocking tone. "How do you think Tai became the General? If I can place someone on the board, I can just as easily toss them out."

There was a flicker of uncertainty in Xu Huang’s eyes at the mention of Tai, but it was quickly masked. He knew the truth, he had no such influence, but the bluff was enough. It was enough to make his mother tremble. The stoic, unflinching woman who had held him back his entire life now looked unsure, her hands gripping the edge of the table as if seeking something to steady herself.

"What are you proposing?" Her voice, cold as ever, betrayed the slight quiver in her tone. She had heard his words, but was she truly willing to listen?

Junlai smirked, the edge of triumph curling at the corners of his lips. "Now, we are talking."

═════ ◈ ═════

Junlai had always been more than just a skilled dancer; his mind was a sharp, calculating instrument that never ceased its relentless pursuit of efficiency and innovation. While the others focused on traditional warfare, the old strategies, sieging, ambushing, and brute force, Junlai saw only limitations. What he needed was an advantage that would catch their enemies off guard, something that no one had considered. The answer, as it often was, lay in nature.

Birds.

The idea came to him one evening while he watched the flock of crows circling above the harem. Their wings cutting through the air with precision, their effortless movement, a pattern of chaos within perfect order. It wasn't just the birds that caught his attention, but the fact that they held the power to burn.

In the markets, there had been whispers of incendiary techniques used by distant lands, fire-starting mechanisms using birds trained to carry torches. The court dismissed this concept as superstition, yet to Junlai, it was a brilliant, unrecognised weapon.

Junlai would need to launch the birds at night when the enemy's defences were at their weakest. The element of surprise would be vital, he knew that as soon as the birds were released, they would need to fly directly to their targets, avoiding the natural predators and the dangers of interception. So he had the women train them, following his instructions.

He took advantage of the dark sky, the birds’ natural night-flying abilities, to send them directly into the heart of Guo Wang’s camp. The wind, as if in cooperation with his plan, would be at their backs, ensuring that the fires would spread faster.

The moment the birds were released, the chaos began.

As the trained crows took flight, their wings slicing through the air like silent messengers of destruction, the fire lit up, first softly, then raging. Guo Wang's forces had no warning, no time to react. They watched in horror as the embers from above ignited their tents, their supplies, and worst of all, their weapons.

The women who had been enlisted as fighters, strong in their defiance but unprepared for such an assault, panicked as the fire spread, consuming their weapons and armour. Their leaders scrambled, but the flames had already done the work. The camp was ablaze, confusion and terror rippling through the ranks. The birds had burned their half camp, crippled their supply chain, and taken away the one thing they held most precious, control.

Thus, it made it easier for the soldiers to attack Guo's forces and easily win. Junlai watched with pride as he saw Guo's head impaled and being paraded around inside the castle's walls. A perfect homecoming gift for you. A gift to prove that he was not just a man in your harem, but someone who would do anything to ensure your reign remained unchallenged. Which made him again fall into a pit of worry for your return.

"Her Majesty has returned!" one of the attendants announced, her voice echoing down the hall.

Junlai stood in the corridor of the harem, his heart pounding in his chest. He had not realized how much he had missed you until the news arrived, that you were finally returning from the battlefield, victorious, but at a terrible cost. The victory meant nothing if it came at the cost of your well-being.

He watched from the shadows with along with other concubines as you entered, your face a bit pale but overall with no less than a sturdy and imperial aura. Your steps echoed in the hall as you greeted your father, your son and for a fleeting moment, met his gaze.

His mind was torn between wanting to rush to you and knowing that you would hate such an open display. So, he waited, watching, every fibre of his being aching to be near you.

And you called him finally, after two painful days.

"I... Your Majesty," Junlai's voice cracked slightly, betraying his calm facade. He couldn't hide the flood of emotions that coursed through him, the concern, the longing, the worry. He took another step closer, his voice low, "You came back... but how long will it take until you're truly well again?"

You always held yourself in such high regard, and the idea of being seen as anything less than the Empress was a bitter pill to swallow.

"I am better," you said, your tone firm, but Junlai could see the exhaustion etched into your features. "The battle was won, and my soldiers did well. That's enough for me."

Junlai stood in front of you now, so close that he could reach out and touch you if he dared. His gaze softened even further, and for a moment, the two of you simply stood there, him staring into your eyes, his heart heavy with the thoughts he didn’t dare speak aloud. Then he was finally graced with your embrace causing him to breakdown.

"Whatever it takes. Just... don’t push yourself too hard. You need rest." He whispered getting his act together.

You gestured for him to sat beside you on the bed. "I heard from Father...about what you did." He gulped, his form of being just...a boy in love under your gaze.

"I... I just... couldn't-- I had to! I did it all in fear of what might... happen..." You raised his chin.

"You didn't do it for love, then?"

"Of course I did! I did it for you only!" He grasped your hand against his cheek, his eyes filling with tears, his voice breaking at every word. "You... have no idea... what... torture it was for me to live after knowing that happened to you... my Queen. It was worse than death itself."

A hint of a smile graced your lips. "I am proud of you. I am... proud of my choice too..." You gazed lovingly at his face and wiped his tears, pulling his frail body to your chest. "Tai told me you... always had an interest in warfare... sneaked in to read her books."

His heart stopped. His sister... knew? All this time... she did? Yet she...

"Um... I--- yes." His whole body shivered when your deep chuckle traveled to every cell in his body.

"I have made a... decision."

His hands fisted your tunic in anticipation. "You will be the Regent consort here when I am away. You will manage the harem, manage the safety of the capital, it's people. Charities and all."

Junlai’s heart skipped a beat. His initial instinct was to deny, to say that it was nothing, that he just did his duty and wanted nothing more than to be a mere slave to your love. But the way you spoke to him with a glint of respect, of something more than just duty, it made him pause.

You saw him. Truly saw him.

He swallowed hard, trying to suppress the trembling in his hands, the heat in his chest. Regent consort. The title echoed in his mind like a promise, like a dream he had never dared to imagine. No man had ever had it...it didn't even exist until now. He would be the first man in history to have that. He will be known by every generation to come..

"But--but I... I don't deserve it," he stammered, the weight of your approval sinking into him. "I am... only a concubine, someone who had no right to such a role. You shouldn't place such responsibility on me."

You leaned closer, your fingers brushing against his cheek in a tender gesture, lifting his gaze with a gentle but firm pressure. "You don’t need to deserve it, Junlai," you said softly, your voice carrying the weight of your conviction. "You have already proven your loyalty, your cunning, and your heart."

You emphasized with a small but significant shift in tone, "You are my mind in the harem. You will ensure that my absence does not shake the foundations of this dynasty. You will stand guard over the people, the capital... everything I’ve worked for."

Junlai’s hands clenched tighter around your tunic as he processed the weight of your words. The enormity of the role, the responsibility, it was almost too much. But the way you spoke, the way you believed in him, gave him a strength he didn’t know he had.

"Are you afraid?" you asked, your voice soft but direct, your eyes locked onto his with an intensity that made his knees weak.

He paused, feeling a swirl of emotions churn in his chest. Fear. Desire. Ambition. Hope. They all mixed together until he couldn’t tell where one feeling ended and another began. But he was honest with you, always. "Yes," he said simply. "I am afraid. But if it means standing by your side... I will do whatever it takes."

You smiled at him, a slow, dangerous smile that made his breath catch in his throat. "Good," you said, leaning in closer, your voice dropping to a low murmur and pulled him in for a gentle kiss.

He had never imagined that the harem would become more than just a gilded cage. He had never imagined that he would be the one trusted to hold the reins when you were away. But now, it felt like everything was changing.

He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt, any hesitation. But there was none. Only a quiet confidence that he knew, deep down, was meant for him.

"I won’t let you down," he whispered, his voice steady with determination, even as the weight of his new role settled over him like a mantle. "I will protect everything you’ve built, Empress. And I will make sure that no one dares challenge your rule."

You let out a satisfied sigh, your fingers trailing down the length of his arm as you leaned back, taking in the sight of him, your trusted consort, your mind in the harem.

His eyes softened, and for the first time since the battle, since everything had changed, he felt a flicker of peace settle in his chest. There was no going back now. But for the first time, he didn’t want to. He had you. And that was all that mattered.

Junlai leaned into you then, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath steadying as he let himself savor the moment, the moment where everything shifted, where he was no longer just a boy in your harem but the one who would protect everything you held dear.

Though, he mustn't forget one last thing~~

═════ ◈ ═════

"Ju-nlai?" Xu Fen stammered, his face twisting into an expression of disbelief. The boy, no, the boy, who once knelt before him, who had suffered beneath his cruelty, now stood in front of him as a figure that exuded nothing but cold authority. The sight rattled Fen to his core.

Junlai’s gaze locked onto him, dead and distant, as though he were staring through him. “I came to meet my brothers,” he said, his voice as calm as the still waters of a lake, but carrying the weight of a storm hidden just beneath the surface.

“Oh really? Why is that?” Fen’s words dripped with thinly veiled disdain, though his insides were anything but calm. He took a cautious step backward, uncertain of what Junlai intended. The boy had always been an afterthought, a lesser player in the family’s schemes. But that had changed, and Fen knew it.

Junlai’s eyes flickered over the room, moving like cold knives, and finally settled on the women standing behind him. His gaze was hollow, merciless. “Are you going to bring them out, or...?" His words trailed off, but the implication was clear. He wasn’t asking, he was commanding. His tone had a chilling finality, as though the fate of everyone in that room rested solely in his hands now.

Fen felt the air constrict around him, the tension thickening with each passing second. He swallowed hard, unable to hide his discomfort. With a reluctant sigh and a sour expression, he turned on his heel and went to summon the others, though it pained him to do so. He knew it was futile to resist. The man who stood in his mansion now was not the boy he had once controlled but something far more dangerous.

Minutes passed, each one dragging as Fen stood nervously, but when the Xu brothers arrived, they entered with a mixture of curiosity and defiance. They were offended, of course, by Junlai’s sudden appearance, but there was a deeper undercurrent of fear in their eyes

"Same as always..." Junlai murmured to himself, but his smile, if it could even be called that, was something else entirely. It was a sharp, knowing grin, filled with something dangerous. His voice rose, becoming almost melodic in its dark amusement. "Which is going to make it more fun!"

For the first time in the Xu household, the black sheep of the family, Junlai, let out a laugh, but it was no ordinary laugh. It was a hollow, manic laugh that seemed to echo off the walls. The sound was unsettling, almost inhuman, a reminder of the twisted journey that had led him to this moment.

Junlai’s eyes never left them as he spoke again, his voice low and chilling. “You see… I’ve come to remind you what happens when you think you can break me. You’ve burned me before… but now, I’m going to return the favour.”

Fen’s heart skipped a beat. He had always thought he could control Junlai, keep him beneath his bootheel. He had been wrong.

“Now, I think it’s time for you to understand what it feels like.”

It took one subtle gesture from Junlai and the guards moved quickly, and efficiently, grabbing the Xu brothers and laying them down on the floor. Their hands were bound, their legs spread wide, and Junlai’s eyes glinted with a dangerous gleam as he stepped closer, his boots making a soft but deliberate thud with each step. The room seemed to grow colder.

"No--p-please...forgive them...NO! I BEG YOU!" Fen's voice mixed with his son's pleas as well which earned him a slap from Junlai. That was all it took to reduce them to sobs and whimpers.

"Shut your fucking mouth, whore. And watch." He dug his hands into Fen's hair and steadied him beside himself. "Look, how cute they look." He giggled.

The guard poured more water onto the brothers' feet, the boiling liquid now bubbling and splashing as it engulfed their limbs. The screams grew louder, desperate. One of the brothers jerked against his restraints, his body writhing in pain, but there was nowhere to go. Fen could hear their flesh sizzling, the sound of raw skin peeling and blistering under the scalding heat. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. He had put them through this once before. Now it was his turn to witness the consequences. God, he always loved fire and its power. In fact, he began to see himself in it. Agile, dangerous, unyielding and most importantly, passionate when it came to you.

Fen watched, trembling, as the heat of the water burned into the skin of his sons. Junlai stood tall, his form casting a long shadow over the brothers writhing in pain, and spoke in a voice that resonated with unrelenting authority: “Let this be a reminder, boys." As he turned to leave, his guards following behind him, the sound of his laughter lingered in the air, a dark, triumphant melody that filled the hearts of those who heard it with dread.

Now is the turn of some concubines who have been acting up recently in your absence. Surely, they won't mind a little visit, right?

"Everyone stresses out your father soo much, don't they?" He cooed , caressing his flat abdomen as he settled in the carriage.

Nevertheless, it's all entertainment for him.

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paperbackribs · 3 months ago

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"Hey, it's 'they/them,' dickheads," Steve interrupts exasperatedly.

Modern non-binary Eddie who is out but the kids just don't really let it sink in. Don't think about how Eddie increasingly flinches every meet-up as they exclaim during the campaign, calling out that 'he' has said this and that about the current monster in their tracks.

Steve though. Steve, feeling a little stupid the first time Eddie had haltingly told him about why it was so important to them. That the euphoria of 'woman' or 'man' was actually reserved for the fizzing feeling of rightness when gender was mixed and erased for them.

Steve, who felt the cogs in his head rubbing slowly together but had fixed the idea firmly in his heart--for the person in his heart--interrupts as the kids draw up their last play.

"They," Steve cuts in, firm and with a gimlet stare at the boys who frown up at him in confusion.

"They what?" Mike asks in exasperation, clearly expecting Steve to stutter and back away despite Steve never having backed away from a fight in the entire time the two guys have known each other.

"Who what?" Dustin mutters absently as he adjusts his gold count. "We're nearly done." He licks the tip of his pencil before returning to his count of the loot.

Lucas eyes the hardening stare on Steve's face, flicking over to Eddie's suddenly wide gaze and pokes Dustin to look up, "I don't think it's that."

Mike sighs at Steve's hands falling to his hips, recognising the chastening posture even as he doesn't understand why. Eddie though. Their expression falls from wide surprise to understanding and something with a touch of awe that Steve doesn't quite understand from his friend.

"They, you dickheads," Steve repeats, lips pursed. "Eddie is not a 'he.' They're not 'her.' They are 'they.' They are 'them.' It's not hard. I literally used it like a million times already today."

Steve sniffs into the air and Mike scowls, "It just happens; Christ, Steve."

The light dims in Eddie's eyes, but he nods gamely, voice even and-- Steve can tell--deliberately light, "It's no big deal, easy to do. Don't worry about it, Stevie."

"But it hurts you," Steve insists.

Mike's eyes widen in surprise and Lucas winces.

Eddie hurriedly shakes their head with a forced laugh, "It's not like I've not gone by 'he' for nearly my entire life." They wink at Dustin, who had raised his head suddenly.

"You did a thing," Dustin says slowly, putting down his pencil next to a dragonborne figurine and miming an exaggerated wince and flinch. "Two hours and--" he checks his Casio watch, "thirteen minutes ago when the orcs invaded. I said our dungeon master was a right man of a bastard."

Eddie softens, genuine amusement lighting their face, "I'm used to you lot cussing me out, Henderson."

"But it wasn't the swearing," Lucas says, remorse filling his voice even as he pinches Mike. The other kid yelps but quietens when Lucas leans in, heatedly whispering and Mike goes red then white in the face.

"Oh shit, I forgot."

Teeth gritted, Eddie repeats, "It's not a big deal. Now--"

"Okay," Steve interrupts again, pulling a seat over to sit next to Eddie, thighs almost touching, "then it's no skin off our nose if we start practising for you, right?"

He turns to the boys, expression pleasant for the first time, "Eddie said it's no big deal, are they right?"

Mike blinks three times before pointing to his character sheet, "Eddie should have given me experience points for the giant spider but they stiffed me."

In an uncanny echo, Eddie blinks at Mike for his word choice.

"They were right," Dustin argues. He points at Lucas, "He figured out the clue and stabbed it--" he turns his finger to Eddie, "--and so they made the right call."

Eddie blinks again with eyes that look a little moist while Lucas continues with the cues given to him by his friends. He makes a loud boinking sound, "Sucks to be you. Hey, Eddie, can I have the spear these two bozos found?"

And with that, the sound of squabbling fills the room.

Steve looks on contentedly as Eddie leans back in their throne, eyeing the boys as they confidently back the adventurers into a corner while teasing the idea of a new battle simultaneously.

Steve leans back into his small frame of a chair too, a smile playing at the sides of his mouth as he listens to his favourite people love each other in their own special ways.

#steddie #nonbinary #nonbinary eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #paperbackribs writing

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ohtobeleah · 2 months ago

Text

Purgatory // Jack Abbot

Part 2of2

Summary: A patient brought in with the Pittfest mass casualty event experiences a psychosis of some sort. Jack Abbot doesn’t know it, but while he’s elbow deep in saving some guy's bowel…you’re attacked while just trying to help.

Warnings: Jack Abbot x Nurse!reader. Violence against women. Angst/whump.mediocre medical knowledge. Hurt!reader. Established relationship. Age gap marriage. Older male x younger reader. Ambiguous ending.

Word Count: 5.8k

Author Note: Welp, it's great this storyline is finally out of my brain. Please enjoy the hurt/comfort. This took longer than originally expected to finish, so im glad you stuck around for it.

Previous Chapter

At the end of the day, the experience of practising medicine bears little resemblance to the dream. Jack Abbot went into medicine because he wanted to save lives. He went into medicine because he wanted to do good.

He went into medicine for the rush, the high, for the ride.

But what he tends to remember at the end of most days are the losses. When he lies awake at night, he replays the pain he caused or failed to cure. The lives he ruined or failed to save. So the experience of practising medicine, for Jack Abbot, that is, rarely resembles the goal.

The experience is, too often, ass-backwards and upside down.

And then, somehow, improbably and when you least expect it, the world rights itself again…

“She’s stable,” Two words that keep hope alive in Jack’s heart against all the odds. “For now, but it’s been touch and go, you know how it goes.” It was one of the ICU doctors who spoke to Jack like a colleague and not just another family member.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Jack replied. He stood firm with his arms crossed over his chest. “An infection?” He frowned, still trying to wrap his head around the idea that you had gotten worse before his very eyes. You were showing all the right signs of recovery. And then you coded…

The ICU, room one, bed one. Arguably, the most important room in the entire hospital. Reserved for critical patients on the brink. The touch and goes.

“SSI’s just sprint.” Your primary physician spoke as he shrugged his shoulders, mimicking Jack’s stance and body language as the pair watched you with an intensity that would have made anyone uncomfortable. “I’m optimistic, she’s healthy, young,” Jack caught the way that word fell from his colleague’s mouth. It had always been a topic of conversation around the hospital. The age gap between the two of you. It was no secret that Jack was nineteen years your senior.

“She thinks you’re an arrogant son of a bitch, you know?” Jack wasn’t shy about the way he said it. He wanted Adam to know what you thought of him, even if he played a helping hand in saving your life. Because in reality? Regardless f he was a great doctor, he was still a fucking prick or a thing.

“All I’m saying is, she was healthy before she was injured, she’s strong, has good odds even given the current circumstances.” You occupied the space like a ghost haunting an old, decrepit house with a tragic story just for the history books. “When she wakes up, she can tell me to my face.”

“I put in a transfer to work nights here for a while.” The ICU had its own rules and regulations around visitors. How many, what times, how long, ect ect. Jack wasn’t willing to play the game the way he was being told…He just wanted to be next to you.

“That so?” Jack’s colleague, Adam, raised his eyebrows in a shocked expression. “You know, even if you’re on shift and she takes a turn, you can’t–”

“I know, I know,” Jack sighed. He was sick of being told he couldn’t help you. It was killing him. He had all these skills, all this knowledge and ability…Yet it was all worth shit when it came to you. “If one more person tells me that.”

“My little girl was in here a few months ago,” Adam explained, hoping to give Jack some comfort in the back seat he found himself in. “It’s hard to relinquish trust in others when it comes to our family members, at the end of the day, yes, she’s your wife,” Adam emphasised the wife part, just to remind Jack that you weren’t dead yet and that you were still very much his wife. “But I gotta tell you, brother, she’s the most important person in my case load, I won’t let you, or her, down,” Adam was firm. He was stern. “Work down here as long as you need to, but I got her, only reason she’s here is because that damn SSI just went sleeper agent until it was ready to erupt.”

Jack acknowledged his colleague’s words with a tight-lipped nod before he made his way over to your bedside, pulling out the chair he’s spent hours in already.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Jack’s entire demeanour changed when he was with you; everyone saw it. Adam just watched on silently as Jack held your hand between his, whispering sweet nothings like prayers to a god he didn’t believe in. “It’s been too long, I need you here, I don’t know how to…” The pause, the weighted silence that filled the room. It was heavier than Jack expected. “I don’t know how to do this without you, I need you to wake up, I’m not asking, I’m not giving you anymore time here, stop being a stubborn–”

“Woah–” Robby interrupted from the doorway. Jack didn’t even need to turn around to recognise his best friend’s voice. “I wouldn’t wanna wake up if you were talkin to me like that,” He faked insult with raised eyebrows and a small sigh. His hands held his stethoscope on either side as he walked in. Adam made his way out, there were far too many people in your room for his liking. “How’s my favourite drama queen doing today?”

“She’s stable,” Jack relayed what Adam had told him. “For now.”

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about Y/n,” Robby snickered to himself as he placed a gentle hand on Jack’s shoulder. “How are you, brother? Talk to me.”

“It just feels like…” Jack sighed to himself as he tried to think of the perfect word to describe what he was feeling. All the emotions. All the built-up regret. The trauma. The sleepless nights and empty stomach. The constant nausea from worry. This wasn’t who he was.

But it was the effect you had on him. He loved you more than he loved himself, and that was clear to everyone around Jack Abbot.

“...Purgatory.” Jack settled on a word. A complete sentence. One word to describe all the pain, the heartbreak, the sorrow.

Robby nodded with tight lips as he checked over your monitors. Again, all signs were pointing in the right direction. But he’d said the same thing before you coded. He was confident in you that you'd pull through with no further complications or deficits. He didn't venture down to the ICU often, not since Covid at least. But you were family.

“I can't lose her.”

“I don’t think she’s letting you off the hook that easily,” Robby chuckled softly. You were like a sister to him. An annoying extension of Jack Abbot himself. “Go home, get some rest, you have to start taking more care of yourself. I’ll sit with her for a while and call if anything changes.”

“She coded when I took a shower, I'm not going anywhere,” Jack argued. His demeanour hardened within the blink of an eye. “I'll sit with her until my shift starts.”

Robby knew it was pointless to argue, but it was six thirty in the fucking morning and it was too early to have a headache. So he conceded to Jack's stubborn desire to remain by your side. Robby knew if it were him in Jack's shoes, he’d be losing it too.

“Fine, page me if you need something. Can I tell the crew you’re in the building so that if you’re needed?”

“Always,” Jack replied. His intense gaze never left you. He was hoping if he made up uncomfortable enough that you’d wake up and tell him to fuck off.

Much to his own dismay, you didn't. Instead of counting sheep like a normal person, Jack knew that the little sleep he’d get the next time his eyes closed, he’d be counting worst-case scenarios without you to calm his mind and ease his nerves.

—--------------------------------------------

“Ignore him. He had a rough night and is having an ongoing existential crisis.” Robby teases, but not really. The statement is true.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get there soon enough,” Jack replied. He’d had enough. Even a workaholic needs a break from time to time. All things considered, Jack was well overdue. “Jesus fucking christ, get me outta here.” He looked up to the heavens above, well, the fluorescent lights at least.

“He doesn’t answer whenever I call,” You sighed as you came round the corner of the nurse’s station, deciding to plant yourself with a thud on the chair Jack was originally leaning over. “So if he answers, I know he’s playing fucking favorites.”

“What’s up with you?” Jack frowned. He hadn’t seen you in what felt like hours. It probably had been hours, but the Emergency Room felt like an endless pit of disappear on its good days. Time was only relevant in the concept of saving lives, not society’s standards.

“That arrogant son of a bitch from ICU was called down to consult, tried to hit me up for my number again.” You grumbled as you rummaged through all your pockets, emptying the bits and bobs you’d collected throughout your shift. “He knows we’re married, right?” You finally looked up to where Jack had been standing with his arms now crossed over his chest.

“It’s probably the only thing known about me around here,” Jack replied as you let your head hang back, exposing your neck in a way that shouldn’t have made Jack’s heart race…but it did. You were his wife at the end of the day. And he was at the very core of it all…

Just a guy who loved his wife.

“That’s what I’m saying!” You groaned. Jack watched as you cupped your face and let out an exaggerated sigh into your palms. “Men, I hope I never end up as one of his patients.”

“You and me both, slugger, need me to have a chat with him?’ Jack asked with a genuine concern in his voice. “Just say the word and–”

You panicked at the very thought, Jack could tell as you shot up and uncovered your face.

“No, thank you.” You smiled softly. “I don’t want someone going missing, or worse.” You gave Jack a look he recognised immediately. A few months ago, there had been an incident involving a scalpel, your husband and one of the male nurses from the renal ward.

“I keep a knife in my pocket.” Jack joked, sending you a wink. But there was a small part of him that wasn’t joking. He’d kill whoever he had to if they were putting you in an awkward position.

“I’m good, down boy.” Your smile was as infectious, the best kind of medicine. Jack smiled, nodding in agreement.

He remembered his reason to keep coming back. Not that he truly ever forgot. The wedding band wrapped around his left ring finger was a permanent fixture.

“Before we get too far away, everyone!” Robby’s voice sounded off in earshot of where Jack stood. He was getting closer. “I’d like to introduce you all to Y/n.”

“Uh, hi?” You waved slightly, still sitting on the spinning chair you had crashed into before. Jack knew it was probably the first time you’d sat down all shift.

“This is Dr. Jack Abbot,” Once again, Robby introduced his best friend, but this time to all the new residents. Not just Mel. “Y/n here is gonna be your best friend in the Pitt.”

“Oh, for the love of—“

Jack smirked as he interrupted you, “He doesn’t call either.” He swore that if you had rolled your eyes any harder at him, you would have fallen over.

“Treat her with respect and she’ll make your shift as smooth as possible,” Robby explained. He respected you way too much for him not to pass that onto his students. “Disrespect her? And you're automatically out of here, end of story.”

“I thought Dana was the charge nurse?” Dr. Santos asked. Jack frowned slightly at her question. But she wasn’t wrong. It was just her delivery.

“Yeah,” Robby caught the look on Jack’s face. “But she isn’t married to Dr. Abbot here, and there’s a reason he works nights.”

“He bites.” You teased quickly with a smirk at the new residents. Jack was quick to correct your statement.

“I don’t bite.” It was like a drug to him. The banter. The flirtatious love that radiated off the two of you. Jack loved you with everything he was. “What is your problem?”

Jack saw that you went to respond. He saw that look in your eye. That inappropriate look. That look that told him you were about to say something completely out of pocket. Something downright crude. But you didn’t get the chance to before Robby interrupted.

“Point is!” Robby raised his eyebrows in the way someone would when they narrowly avoid an awkward moment. “She’s important to us, which means she’s important to you guys, and you guys have been warned,” He chuckled as he crossed his arms over his chest and swayed his hips side to side casually. “If you’d like to push the boundaries, by all means, have at it, but Dr. Abbot here doesn’t do bullshit.”

Jack nodded. He admired you with a pride like no other. You were nothing short of a superhero with everything that you did around here. “Our nurses, especially my one, know what they’re doing. Never hesitate to listen to them, especially?” Jack raised his eyebrows, waiting for the residents to finish his sentence.

“This one,” Everyone croaked out nervously.

“Well done.” Jack was satisfied. Soon enough, he was turning back to where you sat, now slumped into your chair a little further.

“Don’t listen to him,” Sighing, you stood. “But seriously, don’t make my life miserable.” It was a tease…but Jack knew you were also quietly begging them not to make your life harder than it needed to be. Sometimes doctors had a tendency to forget just how important and valuable nurses are in the medical field.

Robby ushered all his ducklings away. Every year, they came through all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tailed not knowing hell awaited them. Jask watched the group walk away until they were out of his peripheral vision.

“Thank fuck this shift is over, lets get the fuck outta here.” Jack groaned as he tapped you on the shoulder. Giving you a small pep up to get up off the chair. You rose to your feet and met your husband’s gaze.

There was nothing but mutual admiration in both your eyes. A love that ran deep. A fierce, unconditional understanding that this was it for both of you.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

—---------------------------------

Humans like to think that they’re rational beings. Humane. Conscientious. Civilised. Thoughtful. But when things fall apart, even just a little, it becomes clear. We’re no better than animals.

We have opposable thumbs. We think. We walk erect. We speak. We dream. But deep down, we’re all still rooting around in the primordial ooze. Biting. Clawing. Scratching out an existence.

In the cold, dark world, like the rest of the tree toads and sloths.

“This is your third session. And you still haven’t said anything yet.” The man who sat across from Jack said as he placed his clipboard down. “Now, while I love the quiet time, um…”

“I read a study that, uh, says that just the, you know, act of going to thearaly is beneficial, even if you don’t say anything. Even if you just sit.” Jack explained as he sat quietly across the small office from his therapist.

His second therapist. This was work-mandated therapy. Twice a week. Jack wasn’t going to stop working, but he also wasn’t allowed to keep working if he didn’t speak to a professional.

“So you thought you’d come here and just sit?” His name was Ben. Jack didn’t have a problem with Ben. It was just that Jack already had a pretty good therapist. And he wasn’t the kind of person who just went about telling anyone willing to listen about his problems. “That’s how you’re gonna solve your problems?”

“I don’t have problems.” Jack didn’t hesitate to correct his work-ordered therapist. He just wanted to get back down to work. But it was Thursday night, which meant Jack Abbot had a forty-five-minute session of mandatory therapy to get through before he could begin his shift.

“What brings you here?” Ben reiterated. He knew denial like the back of his hand. It's what he did best. Denying the inevitable. That's why he became a grievance guide. Someone to help people transition through death as easily as possible.

“Look, I’m fine,” Jack sighed as he leaned forward so that his elbows could rest on his knees. He tossed the idea around in his head, the one about telling Ben he wasn’t really sleeping too well. “It’s just–I haven’t been sleeping an awful lot.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. This was good. This was progress. This was clipboard-worthy.

The truth of the matter was that Jack hadn't slept a decent amount since your accident. He was working doubles. Doing anything in his power to remain busy. Because if he stopped to think about you for just a second? He wanted to collapse.

He wanted to die because living in a world without you was something straight out of a horror show. Jack had seen wartime practices. He'd experienced loss to the maximum degree. He never lost his cool in chaos. But you?

You made him unravel in ways he couldn't begin to explain. Layer by layer, like an onion, you weaselled your way into every fibre of his being.

“How long have you not been sleeping?” Ben asked casually. This was new. This was the most he had been able to get out of Dr. Abbot in days. He’d been assigned to him as a new patient under the banner of grievance counselling.

Only Jack wasn’t aware of that as he spoke about his non-existent sleeping routine.

“You know,” He shrugged. He wasn't about to say it either. “It’s been six weeks and I can’t sleep.”

“Six weeks since what?” Ben didn’t mean to press too much, but he wanted Jack to keep opening up. It was small steps. But the first step needed to be Jack saying it. Saying why he was here. At grievance counselling.

That you were dying. There was a high probability that you weren't going to wake up. That's why he was here. Jack had to know that, right?

Sensing Jack’s hesitation to keep going, Ben interjected with something bordering on professionalism and out-of-scope practices.

“Look, I work in this hospital. I try not to listen to gossip, but this is a very gossipy place.” Jack hated that his dude worked in the hospital too. Whatever happened to work-life balance? Not that he had a balance of any sort. But seeing a therapist in the hospital where your wife is in a coma, in which you also work, seems like a lot of sway for the work side. “So there are some things that I’ve heard–”

“Y/n isn’t the reason I’m here.” Jack interrupted his therapist’s train of thought. You weren't the problem. You could never be a problem.

“Then what brings you here?” Ben tried again, this time with more intent. He needed Jack to snap out of this delusion he found himself in, one where you were okay and he wasn’t having conversations with your care team about end-of-life care.

“You know, I gotta go, I have to check in with my patients and see who’s next on the wheel of misfortune.” He didn’t really. But Jack would rather be anywhere else in the world than in this office, with this…guy.

“Dr. Abbot, if you’d just–!” But it was too late. Jack was making distance down the hall. So much so that instead of ending up in the Emergency Department, he ended up at the double doors to the ICU.

With his hands in the pockets of his cargo pants, Jack Abbot stared long and hard at the closed, automatic doors. He knew you were right behind them, still off in whatever place you’d gone to that wasn’t here with him.

Six weeks…

It had been six agonisingly sleepless weeks of you in this stupid ward. The ICU ward. The ward they make you buzz in for every time. God he hated that shit. Because sometimes there wasn’t someone at the desk to buzz you.

They stopped allowing Jack from using his credentials to gain access to the ICU when he wasn’t technically working. Another bullshit rule he hated.

*Buzz*

“ICU, visiting hours are over.” There was no care in the time of voice that came through the speaker. Jack made a note of that. Whoever it was that greeted him, a family member just wanted to visit a loved one in need, needed a crash course in bedside manner.

“It’s Dr. Abbot.” That was all Jack said into the small microphone on the wall. There was nothing else said on the other end either; the doors simply opened.

But the bedside manner talk could wait. Everything else in the world could wait. Because once Jack was in the ICU, all that mattered was you. He thrived in emergencies. Jack Abbot was a soul who knew how to remain calm in storms. He knew how to problem-solve and control chaos.

But it all crumbled when he saw you, his wife, still plugged up to every machine known to man with every bit of lifesaving intervention that could help keep you here with him.

“I just sat in my third appointment this week without speaking,” Jack says to you like you’re listening to him. He believes it to some extent. “Ben, god, I hate that guy,” He sighs heavily as he sits beside you. Checking every monitor and every stat as he does.

Normal. Everything’s fucking normal so why are you not waking up? Even the sedation had decreased.

“What am I even doing here?” Jack frowns. He knows this isn't healthy. “You aren’t waking up, are you?” It’s a question that Jack wants to be wrong about. But he knows that after eight weeks, two before your SSI and six weeks with, your chances were dwindling.

“I miss you so much.” It’s a pained moment, a tight feeling inside his chest. Jack thinks maybe he’s having a heart attack. But it’s just his breaking in a way he’d never experienced before. “You have you, you know, wake up.” There are tears now. Jack swears he doesn’t remember when he started crying. Or when he reached out to move the hair from your face. Or when your hand was wrapped tightly in his. He missed the way you’d squeeze his hand back in times of troubleshooting. “Because all this talk of you maybe…not…is scaring me out of my mind.”

There’s a little animal in all of us. And maybe that’s something to celebrate. Our animal instinct is what makes us seek comfort. Warmth. A pack to run with.

We may feel caged. We may feel trapped. But still, as humans, we can all still find ways to feel free. We are each other's keepers. We are the guardians of our humanity.

Even though there are beasts inside all of us, what sets us apart from animals is that we can think, feel, dream and love…and against all odds, against all instinct, we evolve.

It was something Jack's actual therapist would tell him from time to time when things felt especially hard. But right now, after watching you slowly fade away from him over the course of eight weeks, Jack had started to believe he was maybe two weeks away from being sent to the pound.

“I can't have you stuck here like this anymore, you gotta give me something to work with, sweetheart,” Jack begs. He doesn't want to make the call himself. And he also can't bring himself to give up. “You gotta pull through, you don't have a choice here, I'm telling you, and that's it.”

It's a gentle squeeze that Jack doesn't register at first.

“Yeah, you heard me, no excuses, no damn choice, wake up.” He speaks casually. His mind hasn't caught up to the sensation of your hand squeezing his back. “Woah—hang on, can you hear me?”

Jack has never moved faster. He's on his feet in seconds. Standing over you with his pocket pen-light in your eyes, shining it directly at you while he holds your face ever so gently.

“Sweetheart, it's me, can you follow the light?” You do, but only for a brief moment. “I need Dr. Stevenson NOW!” Jack bellows out as he relays what's happening. “She's waking up!”

Your eyes are barely open, there's still a tube down your throat. But the hand in yours that's squeezing you back is Jack’s.

The experience is, too often, ass-backwards and upside down.

And then, somehow, improbably and when you least expect it, the world rights itself again…

“I've got you,” sweetheart,” Jack cries while he holds your hand. He was afraid, as afraid as he was when he lost his leg, that if he let go, you'd never come back. “I'm right here.”

——————————————-

The first time you could hear something, outside of the context, you needed to understand the topic of discussion, was “We’ve done the best that we can given the circumstances.” Conversation with your husband.

But now, without so much as an explanation. You were seeing Jack hovering over you. A bright flash of white light took over your vision for a few seconds. “Ah, angel of mine.” You thought to yourself as Jack's silhouette came back to the forefront of your vision.

It felt like a dream at first. Nothing felt real or tangible. It was a space between life and death. A place where nothing could grow, age or learn. It was a space for the hopeful. The already dead. The ones who weren’t ready and the ones who were.

“Purgatory,” You tried to speak but couldn’t. There was something in your throat that panicked you.

“It's alright, Y/n, you were intubated, but we’re gonna take it out alright? Just a nice deep exhale for us, okay?” Words. They were all just a bunch of mumbled words. You couldn't tell where they were coming from or who they were coming from.

But the second that tube was pulled from your throat, everything started to hurt.

“Y/n? Are you with us, Earth side? Talk to us?”

“Feel,” You tried to speak through coughs and splatters. “Hurt.”

It wasn't exactly what Jack wanted to hear as he watched everything unfold. His hand never left yours as people worked around him. They were all scared to tell him to leave.

“You've been in a coma, you were attacked on shift a few weeks back and suffered a pretty nasty head trauma? Do you remember that?” The question was asked without much emotional range, maybe because everyone was focusing on getting you to a more comfortable place. Less tubes, fewer wires.

“Yes—” You tried to speak, but everything hurt. Your head felt like it was about to explode.

“Do you remember anything afterwards?”

“Jack?” You cracked out. It was barely audible. But he heard you loud and clear. Like you were singing sweet symphonies just for him.

“I'm here,” He cooed gently with such a desire, it nearly took the limited breath out of your lungs. “I'm right here, shhh, you're okay, you're doing just fine, sweetheart,”

It was weird for everyone to see Jack with such a burning endearment for your well-being. No one in their right mind was about to tell that man to leave. Not when he'd been down here every day to some extent. Bossing people around. Brooding. Living in existential crisis mode.

“Never thought I'd see the day!” Somewhat in the shuffle, someone had called Robby down. He was just getting ready to finish up his shift. But if his favourite person was about to grace him with the gift of consciousness, then he wasn't going anywhere. He was right where he needed and wanted to be. “Y/n, how's it feel to be with the living?” He smiled wildly.

“Like—” It was a struggle. Everything hurt all at once. It was full-body dullness. An incomprehensible ache. “Arse.”

Robby just smiled down at you. He was taking in the sight of you. Much like Jack was. Only his eyes conveyed a worry that Jack didn't express. He was worried about the possible deficits.

"I bet,” Robby replied. “I won't sugarcoat it, you've been in the trenches, my friend, but one day at a time we’re gonna get you back on your feet.”

“Stats are holding, BP is steady, she might be really tired for the next few days.” Dr. Adam Stevenson added. Jack knew all this. He was a seasoned pro in the art of addressing family members. But it still didn't make it easier to be on the receiving end.

“Where am I?” You questioned softly. Your eyes were barely open. But Jack still had his hand in yours, and that's all that mattered to him. You were squeezing his hand. “What's—what's going on?”

“You were hurt pretty bad,” Jack started. It was the way that he got as close to you as he possibly could that broke Robby the most. “You never gave up, though.” He continued through tear-stricken eyes. “And then you got sick, but you still never stopped fighting.” It was like Jack was proud of you, or at least that’s how he sounded. You couldn’t do anything but try and smile up at him. The muscles in your face hurt. Everything fucking hurt.

“How,” You strained out, one word at a time. It felt like you’d just run a marathon. “Are, you?”

“Me?” Jack frowned as his eyes scanned every inch of you. “You have been fighting for your life for eight weeks, and you’re worried me how I am? Me?” When you simply nodded in response, that’s when Jack broke. He let himself cry. He sobbed like he’d been holding everything in. It was like Jack Abbot had taken his first breath in eight long, agonising weeks. “I thought I was gonna lose you.”

“Hey,” Robby gestured with his chin at Dr. Stevenson, “Let’s give them some space, she’s stable.” He didn’t respond, but he left the room with Robby following right behind. They both stayed close by, unable to take their eyes off your monitors.

“You were just…gone.” Jack cried as he laid his head next to your torso. Your hand was resting on his cheek, gently caressing his scruff-covered chin. “You just left, and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get you back.”

“Why would you lose me?” Jack barely caught it. He thought maybe you were just paying yourself some credit for making it out the other side. But as he looked up at you through teary eyes, he saw it. The split-second seizure.

“Robby?” Jack called out as he watched your eyes roll into the back of your head. It was only for a brief second, but it still happened. “She's having seizures.”

“Page neuro, get someone down here,” Adam shouted as he stepped back into the room. Robby was hot on his tail.

“Where am I?” You asked softly. It broke Jake's heart to see the confusion in your eyes. The pain. The hurt. “Jack?”

“Where’d you go, sweetheart?” Jack cooed as he ran the pad of his thumb across your chin. “You're good, I've got you.”

“She's probably experiencing some form of post-traumatic memory loss,” Robby suggested as he observed you. “I'd like to think it's not a permanent thing we’re looking at, but for now, I think we'll run some tests and wait and see what the next few hours bring.”

“We don’t have time to just sit around a fucking wait!” Jack finally cracked. Everyone had been waiting for it for weeks now. They knew he was walking a fine line between keeping his composure and fully losing it on the next person who said something remotely dumb. It was like a full-on out-of-body experience. Anger that knew no bounds. “Jesus fucking christ, am I losing my goddamn mind here? Or did she just forget everything that happened in the last ten minutes?”

“Something to be expected,” Robby reminded the emergency physician who saw injuries, much like yours, every day. “It's something we prepared for, so it's something we can, hopefully, overcome.”

“I remember you.” Was all you had to say for Jack to be back inside his own body. The anger had diminished to near nothing. It had been replaced by pure, unconditional love. “I also remember he doesn't answer.” You were just resting your eyes a little. Your eyelids felt like cement blinds. But you knew Jack was smiling.

“Oh, he answered me today,” He sighed as he leaned in to kiss your cheeks as softly as he could. “Finally, someone up there got the call.”

“No fucking way,” You mumbled back. Robby had pushed a small amount of pain relief to help keep you comfortable as Jack settled in. He wasn't working tonight. Or tomorrow night, or any other night until he knew you were truly okay. He just got you back. Like hell was he leaving your side.

“I'd even deem this a miracle,” Robby added. “Besides, this guy's been public enemy number one since you coded in the Emergency Room, so it's nice to have you back to keep him from, you know,” He suggested what all three of you knew.

“Who are you? Dr. Rabinovitch?” You sighed heavily as you settled. Still holding Jack's hand. He wasn't letting go. Neither were you.

“Very funny,” Robby smirked, crossing his arms as he did so. “I'll leave the two of you here, but I'll be back with Neuro.”

Jack never once took his eyes off you. His gaze was all-consuming. It was the eye contact he desperately craved.

As you looked up at him, Jack's eyes again filled with tears. You were back. You were alive. You were here with him.

“You've been everyone's issue while I've been gone?” You asked gently in your drug-induced lavender haze. “Haven't you, Abbot?”

Jack smiled back at you. Counting his lucky stars. Jack knew you’d find out eventually. But he thought, why not give in to you a little? So, without much probing needed. Jack settled into his chair. He pulled up his cargo pants and undid the suction on his prosthetic leg. The titanium limb laid awkwardly on the floor beside him. But this was as comfortable as Jack Abbot was going to get.

“You don't even know the half of it, sweetheart.”

And with you by his side? He didn't mind it one little bit.

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