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wonderlandbound · 1 month ago

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The Unknown Paths Chapter 2

Pairing: Seongwha x Hongjoong

Genre: Non Idol AU, contemporary

Status: Ongoing

Synopsis: Seonghwa is a quiet, professional nurse starting a new job at one of the most secure psychiatric facilities in the country. He’s assigned to Room 313—home to Kim Hongjoong, a dangerous and unpredictable patient known for a brutal crime that shocked the nation.

Hongjoong is charming, intelligent, and terrifying. He suffers from bipolar disorder and has a violent alter ego named Halajong, who takes over without warning. Staff warn Seonghwa to stay distant. Don't get close. Don't make it personal.

But Hongjoong becomes obsessed—with Seonghwa.

And as strange tension grows between them, Seonghwa finds himself caught between fear, fascination, and a connection he never expected.

**This is a story about danger, obsession, forbidden attraction, and the darkness we try to hide—even from ourselves.**

⚠️ Dark themes, mental illness, psychological tension, eventual spice, and a slow-burning obsession.

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A Shift In The Shadows

He didn’t mention the interaction to Minjae.

Or the way Hongjoong’s words clung to him long after his shift ended.

He went home to his small, clean apartment in a quiet suburb. Watered his plants. Made rice and eggs. Showered with hot water and scrubbed his skin clean till it turned red. And still… he felt eyes on him.

Not in the way that made him afraid.

In the way that made his skin prickle.

The next morning came faster than expected. Seonghwa’s alarm jolted him awake at 5:30 AM. By 7:00, he was back at the gates of the asylum, badge around his neck, clipboard in hand.

Minjae met him at the station. “You’re cleared to assist solo today. Still stick to protocol. Block D’s not comlying.”

Seonghwa nodded. “Understood.”

He moved through the morning checks quickly — pulse, blood pressure, med distribution, notes on behavior. Most patients ignored him. A few screamed. One tried to bite.

And then he reached cell 313.

He hesitated only a second before opening the food port.

Hongjoong was already there. Kneeling just out of sight, but close enough that his breath ran against the metal.

“Good morning, nurse.”

Seonghwa kept his tone even. “Vitals check.”

“No good morning in return?” Hongjoong clicked his tongue. “Such manners you have, Nurse Seonghwa.”

“You refused medication again.”

“I told you, I only take pills from those I trust.”

“Trust is earned. Not played like a game.”

There was a pause. Then, soft and dangerous:

“Oh, but I don’t play games. I collect them. People, that is. The ones who see me. The ones who touch darkness and don’t flinch.”

Seonghwa felt something crawl up his spine.

“Do you flinch, Seonghwa?” the voice asked. “Have you dreamt of me yet?”

“I’m not here to be your fascination.”

Another chuckle. “But you already are.”

Then — silence.

Followed by the unmistakable sound of humming.

A low, slow tune. Minor key. Off-beat. Like a children’s lullaby distorted and broken.

Seonghwa stood frozen.

Then the humming stopped.

“I drew you,” Hongjoong said suddenly.

Seonghwa blinked. “What?”

“Yesterday. After you left. I remembered your face. Your mouth. The little mole under your left eye. I used the charcoal from my lunch tray.”

“That’s not allowed.”

“You want to see it?”

“No.”

Laughter now, airy and sweet. “You say that, but I know curiosity when I hear it.”

Seonghwa shut the food port and walked away without another word.

But as he returned to the station, heart thudding a little too fast, he couldn’t stop wondering:

Did he really draw me?

The evening shift began with its usual hum of the fluorescent lights and hushed footsteps. Seonghwa stepped through the heavy ward doors, inhaling the smell of dinner trays and disinfectant. Block D was quieter than usual—some patients were already dozing off, others lost in their own worlds. Seonghwa felt the weight of isolation settle around him as he checked his watch: 19:08 pm.

He paused near Room 313, checking the security screen. Hongjoong sat cross-legged in the center of the cell, knees pulled to his chest, eyes closed. When Seonghwa caught his gaze through the camera, Hongjoong opened one eye, fixing him with a look that was both intimate and unsettling.

He’s watching me already, Seonghwa thought, and a roll of tension knotted in his spine.

Seonghwa wheeled the meal tray down the corridor, trying to keep his movements smooth. Protocol: three points of contact, no direct eye contact, speak minimal sentences. Good evening, meal for Room 312. Meal for Room 313.

He slid the tray into Hongjoong’s cell through the food port.

“Dinner time,” he said. Voice calm. Neutral. Like reciting weather forecasts.

Hongjoong reached forward and plucked the tray with delicate precision.

“Rice, soup, kimchi. Staple of sanity,” he murmured, tilting his head as if savoring the description.

Seonghwa blinked, caught off-guard. “Enjoy your meal.”

Hongjoong’s lips curved. “You don’t know how fast that sentence makes me crave your approval.”

Something inside Seonghwa tightened again.

“I don’t care about your cravings,” he replied—even as the words echoed more sharply than intended.

“Careful,” Hongjoong whispered. “Curiosity mixed with contempt—that’s what makes me interesting to you.”

Lights dimmed across the ward for the evening quiet, at 21:00 sharp, Seonghwa began his rounds—half-steps, check vitals, observe behavior, note irregularities.

Patient 305: stable. 307: quiet. 309: muttering in a corner. And then:

Room 313.

Seonghwa placed his hand on the food port, about to issue the nightly reminder. But he thought better of it. He slid open the port.

“Time for your vitals,” he said quietly.

Hongjoong sat at the food-port ledge, one hand reaching across to trace the port’s edge. His head was tilted toward Seonghwa.

“Look at me,” he said, voice soft but firm.

Seonghwa paused.

“Or are you afraid?”

“Afraid?” Seonghwa said, tension taut in his jaw. “You’re the one who should be on alert.”

Hongjoong leaned forward, eyes shining. “I already am. Alert to every shift in your face.”

Seonghwa’s breath caught.

He forced calm. Checked pulse—70, steady. Temperature normal. Breathing smooth.

“Everything’s fine. Night meds next hour.”

“Want to help me with those?”

“No.”

Another silence—

Then Hongjoong smiled, slow and breathtaking. Barely a movement. Gentle.

Seonghwa wondered, suddenly, how someone capable of violence causing shockwaves across an entire city could be so… soothing.

Back in the staff room, Seonghwa leaned back in his chair, eyes closed. His heart fluttered like a bird trapped in a glass box.

Minjae approached without knocking. “How is he?”

Seonghwa opened his eyes. “He…” His voice faltered. Then: “He’s… calm. Almost charming.”

Minjae’s brows tightened. “That’s when he’s the most dangerous. You saw it yesterday—how calm he was.”

Seonghwa shivered.

“Don’t let him…own you,” Minjae said, hands on Seonghwa’s shoulders. “He’s testing you. He wants reaction. He wants control.”

Seonghwa rubbed at his temples. “Why me? Why this… fascination?”

Minjae exhaled heavily. “Because you’re new. You think you can see the real him. That you’re special. Everyone does, in the beginning.”

“This is… unprofessional,” Seonghwa murmured. “I need to remember that.”

Minjae’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “Good.”

Around midnight, Seonghwa did a final round before the gate locked for the night. He stepped into the dim corridor, heart thrumming.

He didn’t expect to see Hongjoong’s silhouette against the door of 313.

Seonghwa stopped.

He watched as the door slid open—and in one fluid motion, Hongjoong crossed the hallway. Security protocols screamed at Seonghwa internally—but he stood frozen. Only seconds passed before he realized:

Hongjoong shouldn’t have been out.

Yet there he was. Only a few meters away.

Heart threatening to break its ribs, Seonghwa swallowed.

“I wanted to see you,” Hongjoong’s voice whispered, silk and steel.

Seonghwa stumbled, voice catching. “You broke protocol.”

“How else would I get closer?” Hongjoong’s gaze pierced him. “Do you feel it? The shift in the air?”

Seonghwa closed his mouth. All he could feel was awareness of every inch between them. Of Hongjoong’s warmth, his scent—a mix of pepper and earth.

The guard station burst to life with blinking lights. A crackle of radio static.

The door slid open behind Seonghwa—Minjae and two guards appeared.

Hongjoong froze, eyes glittering.

Minjae stepped between them. “Back inside.”

Hongjoong slipped past him with an ease too composed to be casual.

“See you tomorrow, Seonghwa,” he whispered from just behind him, sending a shiver through Seonghwa’s spine.

#ao3 fanfic #fanfic #matz ateez #seonghwa #hongjoong #ao3 writer

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wonderlandbound · 1 month ago

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The Unknown Paths Chapter 1

Pairing: Seongwha x Hongjoong

Genre: Non Idol AU, contemporary

Status: Ongoing

But Hongjoong becomes obsessed—with Seonghwa.

And as strange tension grows between them, Seonghwa finds himself caught between fear, fascination, and a connection he never expected.

**This is a story about danger, obsession, forbidden attraction, and the darkness we try to hide—even from ourselves.**

⚠️ Dark themes, mental illness, psychological tension, eventual spice, and a slow-burning obsession.

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Room 313

The gates creaked shut behind him with a mechanical struggle that made Seonghwa's shoulders tense. The air beyond the security checkpoint felt heavier — like stepping into a different world entirely. The scent, a mixture of sweat, isolation, and something that might’ve been copper.

His ID badge clicked against his chest as he stepped into the main hallway. Stark white walls. Reinforced windows. Cameras in every corner, blinking red like knowing eyes. There were no welcome signs. No pastel murals like the pediatric wards he had trained in. Just a long stretch of dark polished floor and silence that felt loud.

“This way, Nurse Park.”

The voice belonged to a tall, broad orderly named Minjae. His uniform was crisp, his eyes weary. He didn’t smile.

Seonghwa followed in step, gripping the strap of his messenger bag with a little too much force.

“You’re assigned to Block D. High Security. You’ll shadow me for your first shift,” Minjae continued. “There are eighteen patients in the wing. All diagnosed with severe psychosis, bipolar disorder with delusions, or dissociative identity disorder. Most are stable with medication. But some…”

They passed a heavy metal door with bulletproof glass. Inside, a man sat on the floor, giggling and tracing spirals onto the wall with something red on his fingers.

“…some are not.”

Seonghwa didn’t ask what the red was. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

They reached the central security station, and Minjae swiped a badge through the scanner. A loud clunk echoed through the corridor before the doors opened. “You’ll want to remember this code,” Minjae said, pointing to a keypad. “Never walk these halls alone until you’re cleared. Never open a patient’s cell without a second staff member. And whatever you do…”

He paused, hand hovering just over the logbook.

“don’t enter Room 313 without backup.”

Seonghwa blinked. “Room 313?”

Minjae’s jaw tensed. “You’ll see.”

Room 313 was at the far end of the hallway, isolated from the rest. Double-padded doors. Triple locks. No viewing window.

Minjae checked his clipboard, flipping a page. “Patient: Kim Hongjoong. Age 27. Diagnosed bipolar type I with rapid cycling, suspected dissociative identity disorder. Highly unpredictable. Previously unmedicated.”

Seonghwa tilted his head. “Why such heavy isolation?”

Minjae gave him a long look. “Because when he's not Hongjoong, he’s something else. Calls himself Halajong. That one doesn’t talk. He just stares. And sometimes…he smiles before he lashes out.”

The weight of the words settled into Seonghwa’s chest.

“He was admitted six months ago after an incident,” Minjae continued. “Police found five bodies dismembered in a Seoul gallery. All part of his exhibition. He confessed. Said they were ‘sacrifices to the art.’ The court declared him legally insane. No trial.”

Seonghwa’s throat went dry.

They moved past the other cells quickly — patients murmuring to themselves, some screaming, others lying motionless on their cots — until they reached a locked medication station.

“You’ll be assisting with morning checks. Patient vitals. Monitoring reactions. Medication compliance.” Minjae handed him a file. “Start with the easier ones. Hongjoong will be last.”

Seonghwa nodded. His hands didn’t stop shaking until they reached Cell 313.

Later that morning, the hallway outside Room 313 was quiet. Too quiet. The rest of the block hummed with distant sounds — murmurs, doors creaking, metal trays scraping against walls. But here… only the buzzing and flickering of the lights.

Minjae motioned for Seonghwa to wait as he activated the security panel. “We don’t go inside,” he repeated. “He’s lucid today, so we talk through the panel. If he resists medication, let it be. He’ll get sedated by force later.”

He turned the dial, slid the food port open, and leaned in.

“Kim Hongjoong. Time for your morning check.”

For a second, nothing. Then — a whisper, velvet-soft.

“…A new voice.”

Minjae stiffened.

Seonghwa felt it, too — the shift in the air. Something was alive and watching.

Footsteps approached the door. Slow, deliberate. And then, from the shadowed slit of the food port, eyes appeared.

Wide. Unblinking. Dark as ink and framed by a mess of tangled, bleached-blond hair.

“Not you,” the voice cooed. “You’re always here. But you…”

The eyes flicked to Seonghwa, pinned him.

“You’re new.”

Minjae stepped slightly in front of Seonghwa, his posture suddenly more guarded. “This is Nurse Park. He’s observing today.”

Silence.

Then a low, breathy chuckle.

“Nurse Park. Pretty name. Pretty mouth.” A pause. “I like your voice already.”

Seonghwa opened his mouth to speak, but something in those eyes made the words catch in his throat. Hongjoong tilted his head, like he was studying a rare insect. Or deciding where to sink his teeth.

“I like your hands too,” he murmured. “Delicate. Artist hands.”

“How do you—” Seonghwa started, but stopped himself.

Hongjoong grinned.

Minjae slammed the food port shut. “That’s enough for today. No meds. He’s slipping.”

But even as they walked away, Seonghwa felt the weight of that gaze on the back of his neck.

And a whisper, so soft it could’ve been in his head:

“You’re going to be mine, one-day.”

Seonghwa sat at the staff table during his break, turning a paper cup of cafeteria coffee between his palms. The bitter taste clung to his tongue, but he barely noticed. His mind kept drifting back to the way Hongjoong had looked at him — not like a stranger, not even like prey.

Like a secret he already knew about.

“Don’t let him get in your head,” Minjae muttered beside him, eyes fixed on the CCTV monitor. “He likes to latch onto new staff. Especially the quiet ones.”

“I wasn’t—” Seonghwa paused. “He just… seemed lucid. Calculated.”

“He is. That’s the problem.” Minjae leaned forward, tapping one of the black-and-white screens. “He cycles between manic charm and complete dissociation. When he’s calm, you’d think he’s sane. Sometimes he’s even pleasant. But then—snap—and it’s not Hongjoong anymore. It’s Halajong. And Halajong doesn’t talk. He destroys.”

Seonghwa’s skin shivered.

“They said Hongjoong was a rising star in the underground art scene,” Minjae continued. “Had fans. Critics. Then one day, he invited a private list to a ‘performance piece’ in an old warehouse. People thought it was a prank when the lights went out. Turns out he was carving his guests into sculptures. Displayed them like masterpieces.”

Seonghwa stared at his coffee, nausea curling in his gut.

“They found him covered in blood, standing in the middle of the gallery, humming. Said the screams were part of the ambiance.” Minjae huffed. “You’d never think he could smile while doing it. But he did.”

Seonghwa swallowed hard. “Why isolate him? Don’t the others pose risks too?”

“Some do. But he’s different.” Minjae tapped his temple. “It’s like there’s someone else in there. We’ve tried every mood stabilizer, antipsychotic cocktail, even electroconvulsive therapy. Nothing sticks. The moment he snaps, it’s over.”

Seonghwa’s fingers curled around the paper cup. “And he never… talks when he’s Halajong?”

“No. Just stares like he’s trying to decide where to cut first.” Minjae looked at him sharply. “You want my advice? Be polite. Be professional. But don’t be warm. Don’t give him anything to cling to.”

Too late, Seonghwa thought.

Later that afternoon, he passed Room 313 again during a round. He wasn’t supposed to stop. He knew that.

But he did.

He stood outside the door, just for a moment, hand hovering near the food port. No footsteps. No sound. Just the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant sounds of the other patients in their cells.

Then — a rustle.

He stepped back just as the panel’s shadow shifted.

“You came back,” came a purr from the other side.

Seonghwa flinched.

Hongjoong’s voice was soft now. Controlled. Almost pleasant. “Curious little thing, aren’t you?”

Seonghwa didn’t respond.

“I watched you all morning,” the voice continued. “You walk like you’re trying not to take up space. But your eyes… you see everything. Sensitive. Like glass.”

Seonghwa’s jaw tensed. “You shouldn’t talk to staff like that.”

“I haven’t even started, nurse.”

There was a soft thump — the sound of someone sitting cross-legged against the door.

“You smell like bergamot,” Hongjoong murmured. “Your shampoo.”

Seonghwa’s heart stuttered. How—

“I remember details,” he added. “You’d be surprised how sharp the mind gets in a cage.”

“Your medication was refused this morning,” Seonghwa said, trying to sound clinical, unaffected. “That’s a problem.”

“I only take meds from people I trust.”

A pause.

“Can I trust you, Seonghwa?”

The way his name rolled off Hongjoong’s tongue made his spine tighten.

“You don’t know me,” he said flatly.

“I know you’re new. I know your hands tremble when you're nervous. I know you’ve got a scar on your wrist you try to hide with your watch.”

Seonghwa instinctively glanced down. His sleeve had ridden up slightly.

“And I know,” Hongjoong’s voice dropped to a whisper, “that you’re not as scared of me as you should be.”

Seonghwa stepped back. “This conversation is over.”

“But it’s only just beginning.”

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