hwapuri

[hwapuri]

the oxygen left my lungs

- hwapuri, from the afterlife

letters i didn’t send

pairing : boyfriend! seonghwa x fem! reader

synopsis : You discovered your boyfriend’s betrayal and your own terminal illness, but told no one. After your death, he finds the letters you left behind that shattered him with the tenderness he didn’t deserve.

genre : angst, drama, bittersweet romance

warnings : illness mentioned, strong angst

author’s note : make sure no one is looking and prepare your tissues 🤧

word count : 1.35k

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You never told him.

Not about the girl he was seeing behind your back.

Not about the way the sickness had already begun to spread through your body.

You had every reason to scream, to leave, to tell him the truth. But you didn’t. You stayed. You stayed because some part of you still loved him—because the memory of how he once looked at you was stronger than the hurt of knowing who he looked at now.

And the cancer… you couldn’t bear to see his face twist with pity. You didn’t want him to stay because he had to. You wanted him to stay because he still wanted you.

So you loved him in silence.

You smiled when you wanted to cry.

You held his hand while your own trembled.

You kissed him like you had forever, even when you knew you didn’t.

And when you couldn’t hold it all inside anymore.

You wrote.

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draft 1: may 7th, 2025

You don’t know I found out.

Not from me.

The moment I saw the message on your phone—her name, the words that weren’t meant for me—something inside me cracked.

It wasn’t sharp. Just quiet.

Heavy. Like the kind of silence that doesn’t leave.

You also don’t know about the scans.

The appointment. The way the doctor didn’t need to say much—just the look in her eyes was enough.

I remember nodding, asking calm questions, smiling tightly as I folded the paper with the diagnosis into my bag.

I haven’t unfolded it since.

Some days I don’t know what hurts more: the betrayal you think I didn’t see, or the weight of this thing growing inside me that I know I’ll never outrun.

But I couldn’t tell you. Not either truth.

I couldn’t ruin what little time we have left—these almost-moments, the way you still kiss my forehead in the morning, the way you rest your hand on my knee when we drive.

So I smile. I hold both secrets inside me, quietly. One in my heart. One in my blood.

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draft 2: may 15th, 2025

Ever since I found out, I watched you differently.

I memorize things now. The sound of your voice when you’re half-asleep. The way you laugh at things I don’t find funny anymore. The shape of your hand resting on the table, close but not quite touching mine.

You don’t know I’m dying. You don’t know I’m already halfway gone.

I spend mornings sitting in the shower, waiting for the nausea to pass. I hide the pill bottles in the back of the bathroom drawer. I cancel follow-ups. I push the pain aside long enough to sit beside you, nod along to your stories, kiss you goodnight.

And when you leave the room to answer her call—I pretend I don’t hear.

Maybe I’m selfish.

Maybe I just wanted to keep you a little longer, even if it wasn’t really me you were loving anymore.

But there’s a comfort in pretending. There's peace in the lie.

Because the truth would only make you leave.

And I want you here—just a little longer.

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draft 3: may 21th, 2025

I don’t have much time left.

But some nights, when it’s quiet and I can finally let myself feel, I curl up under the blanket and press my face to your pillow.

You’re asleep in the other room, pretending not to be drifting away from me.

And I’m pretending not to be fading too.

I see it in the mirror.

My skin paler, my collarbones sharper, my strength thinning like fog. But I still laugh with you. I still hold your hand.

I still wake up early to make coffee just the way you like it.

Even when you’re texting her from the bathroom.

I thought about telling you yesterday. I had the words in my throat, but your eyes looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to ruin that. I didn’t want the look on your face to change—to turn from love to fear, or worse, guilt.

So I swallow it again.

The words. The pain.

All of it.

I carried you and the cancer together like secrets I’m too tired to confess.

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draft 4: may 30th, 2025

Today I sat on the couch next to you while you scrolled through your phone, and I counted the seconds before you looked up at me.

You didn’t.

But I still smiled. I still told you I was okay.

I asked if you wanted dinner. I touched your arm gently, even though the weight of the day had settled into my bones and I could barely keep my hands from trembling.

I know I won’t get better. I’ve known that for a while now. And I’ve stopped hoping for more time. I just hope what time I do have doesn’t feel empty to you.

Even if you’re already giving pieces of your heart to someone else, I still want to be the one you come home to. I still want to be the silence you rest inside.

There are moments when I almost say it.

About the tumor. About the truth.

But then you kiss my cheek, like you used to, and I let the lie live a little longer.

Because even if I’m slipping away from you, I’d rather disappear gently.

Loved, even if imperfectly, than be watched like someone already gone.

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the final letter: june 3rd, 2025

My Seonghwa,

If you’re reading this, it means I’ve gone ahead.

Somewhere quieter. Somewhere softer.

I don’t want you to feel sorry. Not for the things you didn’t say. Not for the things I never told you.

Yes, there was someone else.

I knew. I saw. I felt it.

But I never wanted you to carry the weight of it. I didn’t want our final days to turn bitter.

I wanted to leave with you still smiling beside me, not shrinking away.

And yes, I was sick. For longer than you realised.

I knew what was coming. I knew my body was losing the fight before it even began.

But I didn’t tell you because I wanted you to stay for me, not for a diagnosis.

I chose to love you through all of it. Through the heartbreak, the silence, the pain. Through the cheating, through fear.

I chose to love you until my last quiet breath.

I hope when you think of me, you remember more than my leaving.

I hope you remember mornings when I kissed you like we had forever.

I hope you remember how fiercely, how fully, how silently I loved you.

Be good to yourself. Be kind to the next heart you hold.

And if you ever wonder whether I knew, or if I ever stopped loving you—the answer is simple.

Yes. I knew.

And no. I never stopped.

Not even in the afterlife.

Always yours,

Y/n

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Seonghwa didn’t make it past the second draft before he started crying.

Not the quiet kind. The kind that hits without warning—full-body, chest-caving sobs. He had to sit down. The papers were shaking in his hands.

Your handwriting blurred from tears.

You had known. About her. The lies.

The nights he left you alone and came back smelling like someone else. You knew.

And still—you stayed.

And then the letters told him why you’d been tired all the time. The doctor visits. The way your hands shook.

Cancer.

He pressed the page to his chest like it could bring you back. But it couldn’t.

He thought he had more time.

He thought you didn’t know.

He thought wrong.

And now the silence was unbearable.

You had died loving him—while he was breaking you. You never asked for an apology. You just wrote the letters. Left him with grace he didn’t deserve.

He’d never forgive himself.

For the other girl.

For the things he didn’t see.

For loving you too late.

And now he sat there, hands over his face, whispering one useless word through every breathless sob.

“I’m sorry.”

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© lcvejjoong, 2025

[hwapuri]

please I love how accurate some of this seems as well 😭😭

🌈 Ateez as Dads

Because let's be honest the world needs soft-but-sometime-confused ATEEZ dads content. And also because imagining these chaotic men as soft, loving fathers is just healing ✨

Pairing : Ot8 Genre : fluff W.c : ~ 2,10 K Requested : no ✨ Self-induced chaos. No one asked. I delivered anyway. ✨ Warnings : lots of chaotic and cuteness be ready to handle it ! Taglist : @miracle-sol Want to be tagged in future headcanons or updates? Drop a comment or DM me anytime! I don’t bite (unless you're cake 🍰👀​😜​) Requests : OPEN ✨click here to send yours. Please note that I may politely decline if I don’t feel comfortable with the topic. Kindness only here 🫶

Time to dive in ! Here’s what kind of dads I think each members would be 🧸 (enjoy your reading!)

☆･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:･☆･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:☆

✦ Hongjoong — The “Creative Project Dad”

👶 Newborn

Calm on the outside, absolutely spiraling inside. Reads like at least 5 parenting books and watched more than 100 videos about it. Freaked out by the responsibility and overthinking everything: “Is the air too dry in the room? Should we move countries?”

Cries silently while holding the baby for the first time. Wears sunglasses in the hospital like, “No I’m fine.”

Googles EVERYTHING. The baby sneezed? “What does it mean if a newborn sneezes 3 times in a row?”

Becomes the kind of dad who wants you to sleep while he walks in circles at 3 AM to make the baby sleep. Only for you to find him in the morning asleep on the couch with your baby on his stomach sleeping comfortably.

Would also sometimes act like a child when you give all your attention to the kids just to get your attention.

“I am not jealous, just starving kisses and cuddles” (but he definitely is).

🚼 Toddler

Cries at every milestone. She says "appa" for the first time and he’s sobbing in the studio.

Teaches his 3 y/o how to use a glue gun (supervised… kinda).

Encourages “painting outside the lines” and proudly displays every glitter‑covered masterpiece on the fridge.

Always has a DIY craft station set up in the garage.

Totally the “girl dad” energy: bows in their hair, tea parties with the stuffed animals, and matching outfits on Sunday mornings. Has matching nail polish with his daughter and wears it proudly.

Acts like a playful kid to keep their attention—jumps on the sofa, demands “daddy duel!”

Secretly sneaks finger‑paints into their school art kit so they “express themself fully.”

Kid never leaves the house without looking like a tiny fashion icon because he picks their outfits.

Soft scolding like: “Sweetheart, what do we say about throwing glitter in the bathtub?”

Gets emotional during school plays and records EVERYTHING.

☆･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:･☆･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:☆

✦ Seonghwa — The “Warm & Wise Dad”

👶 Newborn

You better believe this man is READY. Basically a second mom. Diaper changing station? Organized. Baby closet? Labeled by size & color. You forget to feed the pet ? Don't worry he's on it or ahead of you.

Holds the baby like they're made of pure glass for the first 3 months.

Wakes up before the baby does just to make sure they’re breathing. “Should we get a monitor that tracks breathing?”

Wants to sanitize visitors before they enter the house.

Baby has a skincare routine (hypoallergenic, fragrance-free OFC)

Gets emotional over lost baby teeth.

🚼 Toddler

WILL ABSOLUTELY. Bubble wrap the whole house (or the kid ?) because freaks out if he gets hurt. Constantly worried they’ll trip on the stairs or something. Has a tiny first-aid kit in the diaper bag, the car, and every room.

Equal parts “girl dad” & “boy dad” — flips flawlessly between helping braid hair and coaching on football tricks.

Will cry at everything they do. Every drawing. Every recital.

Teaches them sportsmanship by letting them win at soccer… then shows them how to really score.

PTA's favorite dad

His kid’s lunchboxes look like a bento box commercial—cut-out fruits and all. With an additional cute notes to remind them how much he loves them.

When they are upset, he makes them a cup of hot cocoa and says, “It’s okay to feel all the feelings.”

Builds LEGOs together but definitely is more into it than the kid.

Definitely owns a “#1 Dad” mug and actually earned it.

☆･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:･☆･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:☆

✦ Yunho — The “Adventurous Dad”

👶 Newborn

Immediately obsessed. “LOOK AT THEIR LITTLE FINGERS?? IS THIS LEGAL??”

Is way too entertained by baby giggles. Makes silly faces and weird voices until the baby is laughing. You’ve never seen the baby laugh harder.

😱 First diaper? Nearly passed out. But once he gets used to it: ALL-IN DAD MODE.

Panic level when the baby cries—instantly drops into full “serious dad” mode. Dances around with the baby on his shoulder to get them to burp.

Already planning themed birthday parties with matching costumes.

His lullabies turn into full Disney musical productions.

🚼 Toddler

Throws his kids in the air and catches them like it’s the Olympics, either turns everything into a game or competition.

“What do you mean the twins are climbing on the fridge !?” Low-key gives you cardiac arrest when he tells you what the kids are doing and you aren't home.

Will absolutely build blanket forts and live in them.

Makes the best bedtime stories, complete with voices and dramatic flair.

Is the reason they think jumping off the couch is an Olympic sport.

Always doing goofy dances together — viral TikTok duo.

He’s giant but somehow always ends up with 3 princess stickers on his face.

When they stumble, he’s the calm voice: “You’ve got this, champ.”

Major “boy dad” vibes: teaches you how to whistle with grass, ties your shoelaces in perfect double knots. but if he has a girl ends up being a total softie with her.

Dad who volunteers for school field trips and ends up with a group of 8 kids calling him "Uncle Yuyu."

☆･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:･☆･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:☆

✦ Yeosang — The “Cool Mysterious But Loving Dad”

👶 Newborn

Stares at the baby like an alien at first. Not scared, just like “…what is it thinking?”

Isn’t super expressive, but incredibly dependable. You tell him what the baby needs, he delivers.

Catches feelings when the baby smiles at him for the first time and doesn’t recover.

Baby falls asleep on his chest? Cancel his plans, he’s not moving for 4 hours.

Once the baby starts babbling? That’s HIS bestie now.

“My baby is the cutest in the world. No, I don’t care what yours looks like.”

🚼 Toddler

Quietly obsessed with his kids, just doesn’t post about them.

Will suddenly show up with the most perfect custom birthday cake.

Reads bedtime stories in different voices (they beg for his “dragon” voice).

Not overtly cuddly, but the best at calm advice and gentle affirmations.

Leaves post‑it notes on the fridge with little reminders (“Don’t forget your lunch!”) decorated with doodles.

Honestly just wants his kids to feel safe and heard.

Leaning more “girl dad,” he helps curl your hair with his straightener and hands you lip balm like a pro. Acts like he’s not totally wrapped around her little finger (he ACTUALLY is).

Always has emergency snacks—granola bars, fruit leather, glittery water bottles.

Tells mildly embarrassing “when-I-was-your-age” stories.

Buys her a sword and teaches her self-defense “for science.”

☆･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:･☆･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:☆

✦ San — The “The Puppy Dad With a Side of Overprotective Lion”

👶 Newborn

Most likely to cry in the delivery room. Sobs.

Does not want to put the baby down. At all. Like, ever. You will NEVER get to hold the baby if San gets to them first.

“Did you hear that? My heart just exploded.”—refuses to put baby down.

😭 Cries more than the baby. Overwhelmed with love. In tears watching his kid sleep because “they’re just so small and perfect.”

Most likely to whisper, “Hi, I’m your daddy” in the softest tone ever.

Insists on taking the night shifts so you can sleep.

🚼 Toddler

Girl dad to the max. Princess dresses? He owns three. Let's her paint his nails in pink or whatever because it makes her happy.

Cuddles all day. ALL. DAY.

Says “I love you” like 20x a day. Overprotective but also will let them dress up the dog.

Teaches the kid to love themselves loudly and unapologetically.

Gets teary when she calls him “her hero”.

But will glare at another 3 y/o if they push her on the playground.

Takes a million pictures. Half of them are blurry.

So. Much. Energy. He’s crawling around pretending to be a dinosaur with zero shame.

Does the “baby voice” in public, doesn’t care who hears.

Somehow always has snacks. Where are they coming from? No one knows.

☆･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:･☆･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:☆

✦ Mingi — The “Fun-Loving and Chaotic Dad”

👶 Newborn

“Wait—so we’re in charge now? Forever?”

😳 Lowkey freaked out at first. The moment the baby cries, he panics like, “Did I break it??” Tries to be cool but panics every time the baby cries.

Kinda useless at the beginning, asks 1000 questions: “What do I do with its head??”, “Is this sound normal?? Are babies supposed to hiccup like that??” Call or text his mom 20 times a day to ask her all his silly questions.

Most likely to panic dramatically and yell “WHAT DO I DOOOO??” when the baby poops for the first time. Runs around like his hair’s on fire at first but learns fast.

Has actual conversations with the baby even when it can’t talk. “Okay but think about it, little dude, what if gravity is just a lie?”

Slowly grows into it – starts humming lullabies, doing silly voices, and snuggling without realizing it.

🚼 Toddler

His kids are the loudest but the happiest.

Gender doesn’t matter — if they vibe with chaos, he vibes back.

Constantly trying to keep up with Gen Alpha slang and failing.

Kid is like “Dad you’re embarrassing me” and he just says “it’s my job.”

Has no idea how to braid hair but tries every time.

He’s their #1 hype man: “THAT’S MY BOY! LOOK AT HIM SLIDE!”

Teaches them TikTok dances and does them in grocery stores.

Tries to be serious during discipline but breaks into giggles mid-scolding.

Lets them get away with stuff if they use cute voices

Encourages every wild idea: “You want to be an astronaut-chef? Absolutely.”

☆･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:･☆･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:☆

✦ Wooyoung — The “Sass King Dad With a Heart of Gold”

👶 Newborn

😵 LOSES HIS MIND when baby first arrives – not from fear, just excitement + chaos.

He’s in love with the baby, but also a little jealous.

Acts like a child to get your attention when you're baby-focused too long: “What about meeee? I need kisses too 😤.”

Will try to hold baby AND make dinner at once – dangerous, but he tries.

Gives the baby five nicknames within the first hour.

Records every tiny moment like it’s the most important thing in the world.

🚼 Toddler

Raises little divas who know their worth.

Girl dad teaches her TikTok dances, braids friendship bracelets, and does nail art in the living room. But she bullies him lovingly and he LOVES it.

Wraps them in hugs at random intervals—no escape.

Encourages self‑expression: “Wear that neon dress! Life’s too short to be boring.”

Bakes banana bread together on Sundays and also bakes pink cupcakes “just because.”

Kid learns sass directly from the source and Wooyoung is so proud.

Very “I’m not just a dad, I’m a cool dad”.

Literally cries when they outgrow their baby shoes.

Overprotective. Any kid who even looks at her funny gets the “I know where your mom lives” stare.

The “bad influence” dad. Teaches the kid to prank people (including you). But acts offended when he gets pranked back.

☆･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:･☆･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:☆

✦ Jongho — The “Protective Gentle Dad”

👶 Newborn

ZERO panic. It's almost unsettling how chill he is. but is secretly having a full existential crisis about being a dad.

Baby crying? He's already got the bottle warmed.

Insists on you resting while he takes the night shift. “You carried them for 9 months. Let me carry this part.”

Doesn’t need to be taught how to swaddle – he just figures it out.

Baby falls asleep faster in his arms than anyone else's.

Holds the baby so gently and carefully, the baby is so soothed by him it’s like he came with a dad manual and everyone’s like, “Were you secretly a dad already?”

🚼 Toddler

Carrying 2 kids, 3 bags, a stroller, and still has a free hand for juice boxes.

Boy dad through and through, but his daughter? Wrapped around his pinky!

Checks every closed door, tucks them in, and quietly stands guard until they fall asleep.

Makes sure the kid eats their veggies and does their reading.

Gives piggyback rides to school, then helps braid hair for picture day.

Surprisingly soft-spoken at home — reads classic stories at bedtime, sings them lullabies to sleep.

Lifts his kid up to see everything — parades, planes, grocery shelves.

Will absolutely not tolerate disrespect, but is the first to defend his kid with his whole chest.

Doesn’t say much, but when he does, it sticks.

Helps with homework like, “No, we don’t give up. Try again.” Cue Rocky soundtrack.

☆･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:･☆･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:☆

And that concludes this deep-dive into how I think our favorite chaotic pirate kings would become the softest, most loving dads ever. From glitter explosions to midnight cuddles, they’d give their all—just like they always do. 🫶 what more could you want?

👀 Want a Part 2? Maybe “ATEEZ as dads when their kids become teens”? Or got your own suggestions ? Drop them in the comments—I’d love to hear them! Let me know—my brain is always chaotic and open for business.

𖤐 𓂃𓈒༚ Thank you for joining me on this journey💕 If you read all the way through, Which ATEEZ dad are you adopting as your emotional support today? Let me know your fav in comments ! Reblogs & comments make my day.

Until next time, stay soft and chaotic 💕

[hwapuri]

THE NIGHT WE MET | KYS

pairing: grade 2 sorcerer!kang yeosang x ex lover!reader (ft. special grade!reader from liminal echo) AU: jujitsu kaisen au word count: 15.2k warnings: strong violence, strong language, torture, yandere themes, mentions of mental illness

A/N: this arc follows on from liminal echo, i recommend reading that first - for context. this is essentially the part two to that arc.

masterlist | ateez x jujitsu kaisen masterlist

chronology | part one — available for streaming!

There she is.

Under the eclipse, her body swirling through the night as if she is bred of the same essence of dreams, itself. She moves with such fluidity, as her limbs are the stream that passes through an eloquent meadow.

And there he is.

The moon, so solitary but illuminating his ethereal presence on her. So she looks at him, infatuated by his beauty, her hands reach for him, to caress him. To hold him, to breathe in his scent as if it’s oxygen itself. His skin carved from porcelain, and eyes holding the depths of the deep cerulean ocean begging the command over her heart. Her soft lips move to whisper his name, masticating its vowels, relishing its taste.

Yeosang.

Yeosang.

"Yeosang!" A voice shouts into his ear, it's hot breath tickling his canal. He jumps, under the covers, roughly six feet into the air, wailing in response. She chuckles, moving towards his curtains to rip them open, welcoming the stream of light that floods into the room. A guttural groan escapes from his lips, his head sinking further into the pillowcase. "Wake up, we've got training with Satoru."

LOCATION: DOJO, TOKYO METROPOLITAN CURSE TECHNICAL COLLEGE

TIME: 08:56 AM

The scent of pine and old sweat clung to the polished wood floors, marked with countless battles. Whilst the rest of Tokyo’s establishment may have undergone modernisation since the past 100 years, the antiquity from the Meiji Era still remains in the dojo. It is a low, timber-framed building in the rear courtyard, surrounded by gravel and a protective salt moat, opening up into a vast field with a fixture of trees. Both Tokyo and Kyoto’s dojos are splitting image of each other, yet Kyoto’s has Park Seonghwa’s katana nailed to the wall.

A gust of wind smacks against her skin, her hair billowing with the cool breeze. Beads of sweat line her upper brow, her bare feet sticking against the tatami mats, the back of her shirt is drenched with sweat. The edge of the shinai rests under his chin, with a quick manoeuvre his head is tilted, his cerulean gaze penetrating through her skin. "Speak now or forever hold your peace." A silence suffuses the air, and Yeosang tilts his head from where he is sitting on the low bench in the corner of the room.

"Isn't that what they ask at weddings?" Hanami hums, swinging the shinai behind her neck, her forearms looped on either side as if she's awaiting a beheading.

"I don't know, I thought it would be cool to say." Yeosang snickers, shaking his head as he raises from his seat, ignoring his friend parading around the room like a headless chicken. You wouldn't think she's a Special Grade Sorceress. There's an eccentricity to Hanami, a powerful woman with insatiable wit and an appetite for destruction. She's weird, with her outlandish behaviour that only seemed to heighten after she destroyed The Red Naga a few years ago. No, it's not arrogance that pretty much no one can harm a strand of hair on her head, it feels like a defence mechanism. To isolate herself, to stop the rush of memories from three years ago coming back to haunt her. Staring at Yeosang, she cocks her head in the direction of the mat, summoning him to duel with her. Gojo let out a low whistle, getting up from his seat to sit by the side lines.

Hanami stood tall and still, her skin gleaming under the daylight. Her shinai looked almost like an extension of the vines coiled around her forearm, humming faintly with cursed energy—rooted, grounded. Waiting. Across from her stood Yeosang, deceptively calm. A faint shimmer danced around him, a subtle distortion in the air, like heat waves; his prowess barely restrained.

Off to the side, Gojo leaned against a support pillar with a bag of popcorn in one hand and a soda in the other, holding the grin of someone who had absolutely no intention of shutting up. Hanami ignores the fact that he's munching on junk food in the middle of training. And so early in the morning too. That's such a Satoru thing to do. “Ohhh boy. Shinai duel between Hot Socket and Mr. Stopwatch. Place your bets, folks—who’s walking out with bruised ribs and a bruised ego?” They both spare him a dry look before shifting their gazes back to each other.

The room stilled. Hanami stepped forward, her cursed energy pulsed in time with the sound of cicadas outside. They lowered their stance, shinai angled precisely. Yeosang responded in kind. He exhaled once, then vanished.

Or, he almost vanished. To the untrained eye, he seemed to teleport, reappearing on Hanami’s left flank with his shinai swinging low in a precise, calculated arc. But Hanami twisted her hips, meeting the strike with a crack of bamboo-on-bamboo, her beams anchoring them like stone.

“Did you see that? Someone get me slow-mo footage and a dramatic soundtrack!” Gojo jeers, through a mouthful of food. Hanami contains a scowl. Yeosang flicked his wrist and struck again. This time high, then low. Time shimmered around him, giving him a half-second edge, enough to slip through most opponents’ guard. Hanami absorbed the blows with quiet patience, each block smoother than the last, like the forest learning the rhythm of a storm. One step and suddenly the air felt heavier, denser. Cursed energy flowed into the ground, dragging Yeosang’s footwork just enough to stagger him. He stepped back, fingers twitching, rewinding a second of momentum to re-centre himself. The duel escalated, the boom of bamboo colliding reverberating into the air. Hanami’s tendrils snaked out occasionally to bind Yeosang’s movement, but each time, Yeosang twisted space, breaking free just in time with a blur of afterimages.

Her shinai swung in a wide, sweeping blow, an attack meant to disrupt Yeosang’s temporal balance. The cursed energy rippled outward in a low pulse, grounding the dojo in an anti-magic field for a split second. Yeosang faltered, his body being pushed away from her, skidding past the sliding doors. He halted just before the wall, shifting his feet to sustain balance. Yeosang’s expression remained unaltered, but his eyes narrowed. He stepped forward, letting time stretch—not teleporting, but flowing faster. His shinai blurred.

Thwack.

He caught Hanami on the shoulder. Hanami grunted, then retaliated with a swift upward strike, grazing Yeosang’s ribs. The two of them stepped back simultaneously, breathing hard.

Gojo raised his soda, as if it were a wine glass, “And that, my friends, is what I call art. Drama. Tension. Bamboo sticks and god-tier reflexes. Shakespeare WISHES he wrote this duel.”

Yeosang turned, visibly entertained, “Do you ever stop talking?”

Steam rose lazily from the ramen cups and takeout containers cluttered across the table. In the quiet lull of midnight, the dorm’s common room glowed softly under the amber light of a single hanging lamp. The smell of miso and fried chicken infiltrated her nose as she sat cross-legged on the floor, Yeosang to her right and Gojo in front. “You’re seriously telling me,” Gojo said between mouthfuls of karaage, “That no one laughed at that joke during the event?” He looked personally offended.

“Probably because it wasn’t funny,” Yeosang deadpanned, chopsticks elegantly moving through his rice. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, a faint scar peeking out, evidence of the mission they barely got back from earlier.

Gojo gasped as if he had been stabbed, Hanami and Yeosang shared a look. “Excuse me? A joke about cursed wombs and baby showers is peak humour. Hanami gets it.” Her eyes were fixed on her food in front, she bites down on her lip to stop herself from giving Gojo the satisfaction of having a decent sense of humour.

“It was... sort of funny.” Her voice was a low rumble, a product of sheer exhaustion. It was always when midnight rolled around that all her quips had dissipated from her body. Yeosang rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched lightly.

The three of them were an odd trio, a strange group, even by Jujutsu standards. Two Special Grade Sorcerers, one from a reputable clan whilst the other came from a schizophrenic sorcerer and a mundane office worker. Yeosang, was the only one from the two who wasn't as highly ranked as them. He was a Grade 2, much to Hanami's dismay and despite her spending the last three years trying to get him promoted, all of it proved futile. To her it only concluded that their society was corrupt and perhaps it really would take for Yeosang to face a Special Grade in order for him to be promoted to Grade 1.

They had met in an unconventional way too.

“Alright, new game,” Gojo declared, sitting up straighter, snapping her out of her thoughts. “One cursed technique you would date, and one you absolutely wouldn’t. Go.”

Yeosang exhaled, stretching out his legs before him. “What even goes through your head?”

“I’ll go first,” Gojo continued, ignoring Yeosang's comment. “Date: Boogie Woogie. It’s flashy, it’s spontaneous, it’ll keep you on your toes. Wouldn’t date: Maximum Uzumami. No explanation needed.”

Hanami released a thoughtful hum. “I’d date Blood Manipulation. It’s elegant. Consistent. Reliable.” She quirked her eyebrow, “Would not date Hollow Purple. Too destructive. Bad communication skills.”

Yeosang burst out laughing, Gojo clutched his chest in mock betrayal. “You wound me.” Hanami settled down her bowl on the low table, before crawling to his side. “Oh, Satoru.” She reaches behind her back for a phantom blade, before pounding her first at Gojo’s chest. He gasps again, slumping into the ground.

“Hanami…my wife…how could you do this to me?” He presses her palm flat against his chest, Yeosang covers his mouth to stop himself laughing.

“‘Toru, I just wanted to be the greatest sorcerer of all time.” Gojo pretends to sob, a smile tries paving its way onto Hanami’s face.

“To die in your arms is the most beautiful feeling. I want it to haunt my soul forever.” Hanami hastily stands up, yielding her palm away from Gojo’s soft hold, the warmth of his hand dispersing from her skin.

“What did you just say?” A crease forms between his eyebrows, her heart shudders in her chest. Blood running cold, speeding mercilessly through her veins. The confused stares from her friends begin to burn through her skin. “Never mind, I’ve just heard it before that’s all.” She mutters, before reaching for the empty cardboard containers.

Her dreams are plagued with notions of him. His smile, his feline gaze, that blonde hair of his. His humanity, he had felt too human to be a cursed spirit. The softness of his lips against hers, full of raw emotion and subservience. ‘You did it. You defeated him’, they had said when she had exiled him. They cheered for his death but Hanami could not feel the same joy as them. It was almost like it was her duty to defeat him and so she had. She had simply fulfilled a task given to her, not understanding the weight of it and that she would live to be one of the greats.

It has been three haunting years, each gruelling second spent as if she had murdered an innocent civilian.

He comes to her in the bleakness of the night, the shadows carving him from nothing but a recollection encapsulating his divine essence, enough to have her intoxicated on his fumes. His hand reaches out to her, encircling her into his arms, eyes conveying the depths of countless emotions boring into her own. Hongjoong releases a small breath from his pink lips, before leaning down to press them against her forehead. His touch felt too real, especially with the way her skin tingled with consternation, her heart roaring in his name. "My Hanami. I am back my dearest. Didn't I say I would be?"

A blood-curdling scream rumbled in the evocative airs, followed by a cacophony of heaving breaths. Beads of sweat form above her upper brow, her heart dilapidating against her ribcage - her fingers smack against her blanket, her rationality slipping through her hands, obeying the pull of gravity. The door flings open, she is met by a pair of brown eyes and strong hands that cage her with certainty. Hanami's words shatter, falling dead on her lips all she can say is his name before tears well up in her eyes, her bottom lip trembling as her soul fills with melancholia. Yeosang hushes her, pulling her flush against his chest, his large hand caressing her hair. When her breathing ceases, she nuzzles deeper into him - laying down her vulnerability at her feet. "He said he's back." She breathes out.

LOCATION: HEADMASTER'S OFFICE, TOKYO METROPOLITAN CURSE TECHNICAL COLLEGE

TIME: 09:02 AM

"Are you going to continue staring, broodingly, into our eyes or will you tell us why we're here?" Gojo quips, as he lounges on the chair legs sprawled out before him. Hanami stands just behind Yeosang's chair, he suppresses a yawn before sparing his peer a single look. Yaga rolls his eyes, or at least Hanami thinks (she can't actually tell through the glasses), and leans back in his chair. One of the first years, Jung Wooyoung, is loitering by the doorway too. He won't actively be involved in anything, he's just there to give information. Whilst Gojo may require answers, Hanami's blood runs cold at the thought of Yaga's declaration. Her ears tune out his words when he claims, "The Red Naga is back."

The rest of Jujitsu Society refer to the cursed spirit as the 'The Red Naga' and not ‘Hongjoong’ like she does. They avoid saying his name, like it will subjugate them to his formidable power. As it has done in the past. For which living soul would risk being sent into a liminal space—an undefined, eerie realm that exists between reality and the afterlife. His name, alone, holds so much potency that seems immune to Hanami. Three years ago, the S-grade sorceress never told them that he was so infatuated with her that it made her heart waver with guilt when she had finally destroyed him. Three years ago, Kim Hongjoong had tacitly pledged his allegiance to her as if he was her lover. That is what terrifies her most. Not his prowess, but rather his obsession, the root of which she cannot identify.

Immediately they begin discussing battle strategies, how to tackle the spirit, where they estimate he will attack this time. How to work against each of his techniques. There's a mention of Oneirophrenia from Wooyoung's end. Satoru prompts him to speak as he doesn't quite understand the logic behind the cursed technique. "Oneirophrenia is a dream-like state where someone can't tell the difference between dream and reality. An Oneirophrenic, to a dimension manipulator like Yeo and I, is an object, place or a person that is a bridge back to the real world. If you destroy an Oneirophrenic, you come back to reality." A soft 'ah' escapes from Gojo.

"Maybe this time someone should go with Hanami." Yeosang offers, her head snaps his way. She almost opens her mouth to disagree, but then she realises. Hongjoong can also tap into the fourth dimension, and who better than 'Mr. Stopwatch' can help her tackle him.

"I agree. Yeosang should go with me." Hanami piques Yaga, knits his brows, narrowing his eyes at the pair.

"Why not Gojo? He's an S-Grade too."

"If Gojo was going to go with me, he would have been the one to stop Hongjoong three years ago." Wooyoung flinches at the sound of his name, Yaga freezing in his spot.

"Lady, you really have to stop saying his name out loud like that." Wooyoung shudders as if the temperature of the atmosphere has dropped and the presence of 'The Red Naga' has come to torment him. Hanami doesn't bother sparing a look, challenging Yaga's hard stare.

Why do you think they sent you, darling? Because you’re the best or because you were their last option?

And so Hanami had spent the subsequent years searching for the answer. Trying to uncover the truth as to why Yaga had sent her, who was only a first-grade at the time, and not a Special Grade like Gojo or Geto. At the same time, it seemed possible that all The Red Naga was trying to do was pit her against jujitsu society, but the society in itself had its flaws — the ranking system being one of them. "Fine, Yeosang will go with you."

"And he will be promoted to Grade 1." Hanami commands. He didn't say anything, there was just a slight nod. That was all Hanami needed.

The sun sets behind the glass-and-steel skyline, casting long shadows across the streets of Shibuya. The bustle of commuters slows to an uneasy trickle. Pedestrians pause mid-step—frozen, eyes wide with longing, mouths slightly parted as if whispering names only they can hear. A couple, hand-in-hand, stalls at a crosswalk. The woman gasps, her grip on her boyfriend tightening. Her partner stares into her face—and then freezes. A pale blush creeps up his neck, his trembling frame rocking him into subservience.

All around them, it spreads. People slump against lampposts, crumple in bus seats, collapse in cafés. Struck down not in pain, but rather in a dreamlike trance. Their eyes complete with yearning. A low-frequency hum vibrates through the air, barely perceptible, yet deeply intimate. The neon signs flicker pink, then red, then something darker—a shade that doesn't seem to exist in nature.

"You missed me, didn't you?" The voice is nowhere and everywhere all at once. Seductive. Cruel. Compelling. It coils around the victims’ ears, bypassing their minds and sinking straight into the body. High above, on the ledge of a skyscraper, a figure in white silk robes stands barefoot, his blonde hair slightly longer than what it had been three years ago. A serene, almost angelic smile on his face.

Kim Hongjoong—a cursed spirit of temptation incarnate. Reborn through years of buried desire, resentment, and shame. He exhales, and the city sighs in return.

Late into the night, shoji screens adorned the walls of the common room, their delicate paper panels patterned with subtle floral motifs - the light that poured through them was muted, as if the room was wrapped in the very essence of twilight. She loved the remnants of Japan's history in the architecture within Tokyo High. Gojo sat on the sofa in the corner, flicking through his phone, with a bag of crisps at his feet. Hanami saunters towards him with her rose tea in a fancy porcelain cup she stole from Kyoto High. "You should be sleeping." She states, as she slumps onto the plush leather, he remains silent. The rain pattered against the windows, sliding down the glass before forging a puddle on the window ledge.

“You’re really going through with it?” Gojo asked, voice quieter than usual.

Hanami turned slightly, enough for her profile to catch the lamp’s soft light. “You know I am.”

“There are… other options,” he said, picking at the edge of the pillow resting across his laps. “We could—”

"There have never been any other options." She cuts in, gently. He swallowed. A muscle in his jaw ticked, and for once, he didn’t joke his way out of it.

She finally turned fully to face him, studying him for a moment. “You’re not very good at hiding things,” She stated, squinting her eyes at him. Her going on dangerous missions was never a problem before, Hanami doesn't understand why it's a massive issue now.

“Oh?” He gave her a tired smirk. “I’ve often been told I’m a man of mystery.” Hanami leaned closer to him, not close enough to be touching him, but close enough anyway.

“You keep looking at me like I’m already gone,” She said softly. Gojo’s expression faltered for a microsecond.

“That obvious?” he asked, barely above a whisper. She gave a small nod. Then thick silence again, like it held words neither of them could say without blowing open something dangerous. “Think you’ll destroy him again?” Gojo teases, as if a moment ago there wasn't any semblance of fear painted across his perfect features. She can feel his cerulean gaze penetrating past her skin, even through his blindfold. Her hand gravitates to the fabric obscuring his eyes, slipping it down the long bridge of his nose.

“When I’m done with him, the world will wonder if Gojo Satoru really is the strongest sorcerer.” There was always something bewitching about Satoru's eyes—the impossible clarity of them, like frost-touched sapphires glittering with mischief and unmatched power. Now, when he looked at Hanami across the placid space between them, there was a shift. The weight of her words had tempered the usual arrogance, just at the edges; a glint of something lingered a beat too long. Admiration, perhaps, but Hanami had always been oblivious to the obvious. Gojo didn't know how long he had to spend spelling it out for her. "Just you wait, Satoru." His pompous nature returns, his pink lips pull into a comedic grin.

"Oh, I'll be waiting, Hanami-sama." Snickering, she pushes herself off the sofa before ambling out of the room, her footsteps receding as she shuffles down the narrow hallways. "I'll always be waiting."

LOCATION: SHIBUYA TIME: 08:24 AM

A yawn emits from her lips as she rubs her eyes, the bustling of the platform ringing in her eyes. Her limbs are wrought with heaviness as she trudges towards the staircase leading to the exit of the train station. The crowd staggers with her, swayed by both fear and an intimate desire for money. Otherwise, it was rather quiet for this time in the morning; there weren't many children going to school at this time either. Yaga told her many schools had closed, in Tokyo, due to the disasters over the weekend.

Déjà vu.

It washed over like a quiet relic from the past, slipping through the cracks of time and brushing against the present moment. It was disorientating, the way she rose from the bed and dragged her aching limbs to the bathroom, in the morning. The way she switched on the light then reached out for the toothbrush; she was living the same scene again except the detail of the present moment felt sharper, more vivid. Her eyes cast over the red ribbon in the reflection of the shop window, granted it was not the same red ribbon as Hongjoong had stolen it from her. This time also feels much different. Especially with Yeosang's presence, that looms behind her like an unbroken shadow, his poised silence following her like a trail of her past sins. Their boots pound against the cobbled, desolate streets - the soft morning light fades as they venture straight towards the building with red neon lights; their vermillion hue glowing boldly in the distance.

The air around her shifts, she can no longer hear the whistling of the cicadas in the spring heat, even Yeosang's gentle breathing has diminished at her ears. Instead the air feels hushed and reverent as if nature has become subject to some higher power. Hanami's sharp eyes scan her surroundings.

Perched atop the pile of twisted, broken bodies sat The Red Naga, standing upon the pyramid of dead—no, comatose— bodies, ascending down it as if each vessel was a stone step. As he had done three years ago. A breath hitches in her throat upon sight of him, his skin - pale as it was - was full of colour. His eyes were sharp and calculated, jawline carved from obsidian stone. There was no change to his bleached blonde hair. A white robe enshrouded his body in lieu of the drapes of shadows that sprung from his figure like wildfires. Then Hanami noticed what she had been drawn to first. His lips. The corners of his mouth curled upwards, a twisted smirk dancing on his lips. His hand outstretched, the air pulls out of her lungs as her body, involuntarily, gravitates towards him.

"My dearest, Hanami. Did you miss me?" He drawls, his sharp gaze softening upon sight of her. He takes a step down, sauntering towards her, slowly but carefully, not missing the way her hands trembled at her side. Her muscles tense as his fingers reach out to play with the end of a loose strand of her hair, his eyes boring into her as if he had nothing better to do in the world. "I see you brought a friend." Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but she does not dare look back, hearing the thumping of feet behind her. Yeosang. Hongjoong's gaze flickers between her and the Grade 2 sorcerer.

"This time, I'm going to kill you properly." She hisses. Her fingers twitched, and a ball of luminous, seething energy formed before her, crackling with power. With a flick of her hand, the sphere shot forward, thrashing in Hongjoong's direction. His hand raises, the alignment of particles shifting into his own configuration. The ball of energy surpasses him, effortlessly, scorching the tall buildings. Where it passed, the landscape was burned beyond recognition, as if the very essence of the world had been undone. Her eyes widened in shock. He had just shifted her energy. Without breaking a single sweat.

"What can I say? It looks like we've both gotten stronger. And with your little pet behind you, I suppose this is only going to get interesting." The cocky undertone in his words irked her, her peripheral vision becoming obscured as Yeosang fell into step with her. They both resume their planned positions, Hongjoong at the epicentre of the forthcoming chaos.

Her movements were deliberate, precise —her mastery over her technique as innate as the beating of her heart. A slight wave of her hand sent a wave of energy cascading across the battlefield, flattening everything in its wake with surgical precision. Hongjoong dodged every strike as if he had foreseen each one of her moves. Then it occurred to her: what if he had? Before she could blink, he had redirected her strike towards her. The impact was a sonic blast—Hanami was launched back, skidding through the overturned cars and limp bodies, hurtling past Yeosang, her back slamming into the lamppost. Her lungs scream for air as dots cloud her vision, her fingers burying into the rubble for stability as her consciousness screams for traction.

In comparison to Hanami, Yeosang's cursed technique was much more quiet and delicate: it was the manipulation of time. He could slow it, freeze it, or even twist it like the threads of a broken clock. With a hollow gesticulation, the world around him began to warp. The air shimmered, the surrounding sounds blurring into a distorted hum. Time obeyed his command, rippling in waves as though the universe itself hesitated, unsure whether to move forward or stand still. Hongjoong watches him with curiosity, his cursed energy is reserved, concealed beneath layers of illusion.

Could he bend reality? No, there was no change in the setting. There was no manipulation of mind space either. Until.

There. Subtle. He was moving too slowly, the particles moved against his command, the configurations lagging before they pieced to form irregular forces of destructions. The world around him seemed to pause - mid-motion - as if time had taken a deep breath and suspended itself. Instead, a powerful beam pummelled Hongjoong's way, forged from the eloquent thread of time, a swirling distortion between past, present and future slicing through The Red Naga's precise movements. Hongjoong was yanked down by sudden gravitational force—slammed through the ground.

A wheeze escapes from Hanami, as she crawls to where Yeosang is standing. The pyramid of souls emerges over them, the incapacitated bodies let out grievous sighs and groans, eyes widened and bloodshot piercing through Hanami's soul. Yeosang peers down the massive aperture in the ground he has just created, in search of the cursed spirit's body. "Is he dead?" Yeosang ponders out loud, he can't seem to find a sign of Hongjoong's body. Hanami scoffs, wiping the blood dribbling from her lips.

"You wish. He doesn't die that easily." He raises a brow in agreement, moving past the hole in the ground - dashing up the pyramid, in an attempt to regain higher ground.

"Is this even moral?" Yeosang questions, the heel of his boot stepping onto a woman's face, her flesh becoming squeezed by the pressure - he grimaces at her paling face and low wail.

"Is any of what we do moral?" Hanami retorts, halting by one of the steps, hauling one of the bodies, she creates a small shield, partitioning Hongjoong's view of them. He says nothing, casting his eyes over the landscape; then the light from the sky begins to die. The sky thickened, the clouds folding into one another. A creeping black spilled across the land, an enigmatic shadow ascended the stairs - carrying an air of hostility and raw power that would be enough to command the life out of one's soul. Hanami and Yeosang resume their defensive stance.

His conniving gaze sweeps the room, an air of dominance and raw power shimmering from his figure. His eyes filled with an unmitigable rage, his jaw clenched into a tight line. Hanami's blood simmers with raw power, Yeosang clenches his fist summoning the essence of time to his will. But Hongjoong's cursed energy was dense and merciless, swirling around him in jagged, cracking tendrils. With a deep growl, he summoned his technique, the corpses rising with his will. He sends a powerful blast their way, the pair roll out of view dashing behind the remnants of the shield to obscure themselves from the damage.

Hongjoong is fast, but they must be faster. Yeosang raises his hands. With a sharp twist of his fingers, time collapsed like a tidal wave crashing forward. The Red Naga makes a futile attempt to summon his prowess, his every motion slowed to an agonisingly slowness. The seconds stretched out, where his heart would beat a minimum of sixty beats per minute, it had significantly halved. Hanami moved out from the pillar, sprinting in Hongjoong's direction: a blow of energy cut through the air like a sword, penetrating its delicate membrane before piercing through his supple flesh. With no hesitation, she unsheathed her sword, raising the iron above her head to strike down on him.

Then the world around her began to distort, blood pounding through her arteries slower, her actions halted as if a pair of shackles had been enamoured around her wrists. Even though her breathing had slowed, her lips opened as if to call for Yeosang. Was this his doing? It couldn't be, not when he was skilled enough to manoeuvre the essence of time for one being alone.

As it had three years ago, a blast radiated from the centre flinging Yeosang and Hanami across the space in opposite directions. Hongjoong raised his hands, tearing through the thin fabric of the universe, and shrouding them with it. An ear-splitting scream permitted the air, their bodies sucked into a vacuum, the rush of air spilling from their lungs like a gust of wind through a broken window.

I'm going to make you mine, my dearest.

A huff escapes from her lips as she shoves her books into her bag, sparing no second to put her pen back. It rests in the pocket of her light blue scrubs, bidding goodbye to her fellow peers before rushing out of the door. Grasping her phone it constantly buzzes with notifications, her eyes reeling through her home screen. Missed calls, emails, app notifications, messages.

HONGJOONG-NAH: When are you coming over?

HONGJOONG-NAH: Namiii

HONGJOONG-NAH: You have the key, I might be sleeping

HANAMI: Finished from placement, be there in <15 mins

The petulant buzz of the city drained into her ears. Despite the arrogance of bustling streets, honking cars, and chatter, it was all eerily familiar to her. For every turn she took, every step forward, felt as if the ground beneath her was both familiar and foreign. The buildings were the same as the real world: brick facades, cracked sidewalks, the same worn-down street signs. However there was something poignant to be said both about her clothes and the people. Firstly, what was she doing in a pair of scrubs? She'd never made it to medical school, having rejected the offer. Her mind whirls for answers, but her mind blanks as her mind reels with images of a life she cannot fathom having ever lived. It was paradoxical, the way she was content with the memories of the past but her mind rejected such notions. Surely, she never lived with them? Then there were the people. There may have been a normality to their facial expressions, to their actions but none of them ever made eye contact. None of them ever stopped to talk or to shout at her for walking through the city at a minute pace.

Subconsciously turning down an alley, she spotted a figure ahead—a young man in a black hoodie, his head slightly tilted, as if listening to something. As she neared, his expression flickered with recognition. It was him—Yeosang. Her heart skipped, but before she could call his name, his eyes narrowed. Without warning, he brushed past her, his shoulder colliding with hers so forcefully that she stumbled back, her breath catching in her throat. "Yeosang!" she called, her voice desperate.

But he didn’t stop. He didn’t even flinch.

She reached out a hand to him, fingers brushing the sleeve of his hoodie. The fabric felt like paper, light and fragile. Her fingers passed through it like it was smoke.

Hanami blinked.

That was all it took, before she stood outside of a door, her wrist wrapping against the wood. She's patiently waiting, when it is swung open. The figure on the opposite holds a belated expression, gesticulating for her to enter.

“Thank you for letting me use you for OSCE practise!” She squeals, pulling out her stethoscope from her bag before hauling Hongjoong towards his bedroom, instructing him to sit on his bed. “Ok, take off your shirt.”

“Aren’t you supposed to ask for consent first?” She grumbles, running off the bathroom to wash her hands before appearing back inside the bedroom.

“Hello, I’m Hanami a fifth-year medical student at Tokyo Medical University. Am I ok to complete a heart examination on you, to help aid my learning?” Hongjoong is slightly startled by her extroverted demeanour, he immediately summons the disposition of a patient, consenting to the examination. “Ok, first of all I’m going to count your radial pulse.” He holds back a smile.

“Not going to ask for my full name and date of birth?” She scowls at him, retorting about how she’d remember in the exam. He resumes character, failing to hold back a laugh.

“Now I’m just going to listen to your heart. Please could you remove your shirt?” A smirk dances on his lips, as he peels off his shirt—taking his time so he can savour the aggravated look on her face. He supposes she’s much more patient with other patients, yet with him it completely dissipates. Raising the bell to his chest, she utters ‘atrial, pulmonary, tricuspid and mitral’ underneath her breath then stepping back she thanks him for his time.

When she’s out-of-character, Hongjoong barks out an obnoxious laugh, her cheeks tinge pink in embarrassment. “Oh ‘Nami, don’t be embarrassed Miss Doctor, you’re going to do so well.”

“Can’t you be serious Hongjoong?” She snaps, scuttling back to the bathroom to wash her hands. He shouts that he's going to turn on the kettle, humming as she shoves her stethoscope back into her bag.

Absently, her fingers brushed over the hem of her scrubs, the fabric smooth against her skin. Her eyes outcasted out of the window, suddenly catching a glimpse of something odd. The reflection in the glass. The window wasn’t supposed to imitate the interior of the room like that, it wasn't supposed to look so distorted. Hanami's breath caught in her throat, assessing how the mirror did not match her movements. Rather, it was staggered, lingering a fraction of a second too long - her face malforming into an expression of dread that she was sure she hadn't made. The overhead light from the living room dims, the thrum of the current fluttering her figure dissipating from the reflection too soon. Her ears drown out the sound of the cars horning on the street below, instead a long ringing sound filters into her ears as her blood runs cold.

Her throat tightened, the rush of reality came running back to her. Suddenly, his presence felt suffocating, as though he was the very air around her, controlling it, bending it to his will. The temperature of the room dropped, goosebumps cascaded up her arms. Her figure moved faster across the floor, ignoring Hongjoong's burning gaze, gripping the handle. Jerking it open, it rattled against the lock containing her in. Her eyes flit to the hook on the wall but there was no key. Wasn't it there before?

"Leaving so soon? I just made tea." Hanami stood silent and in a state of frenzy by the doorway. A soft chuckle escaped his lips, he reached into his pocket for the keys, sticking it through the lock - leaving her to open it himself.

The door didn’t open. Instead, it seemed to melt away, leaving only an endless white room.

"Come on Hanami. Open the door." He taunts. She turns to meet his derisive stare, lips curled into a cruel smirk. Her heart beat to the rhythm of a war drum.

"Why are you doing this Hongjoong?" She whispers, concealing the crack in her voice.

"The real question is, why are you doing this? Did you not just see how happy we were?" He spreads out his arms, motioning to the surroundings. It is ever so domestic. Then she sees it. The red velvet case on the corner of the table, the size of a ring box. Scratch that - it is a ring box.

Her finger curls but there is no hum that radiates through her body, no warmth that flushes with a pulse that is concentrated at her core. Her breath quickened as she visualised the surge of raw force gathering in her palm. A pulse of light, flared from her hand. But then the light fluttered, flickered again, and then sputtered out entirely like a broken engine.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Her fingers trembled as she fought to regain control. Sweat began to bead on her forehead. Hanami was losing it. The dreamscape was choking her, dragging her deeper into its dark grip, and she couldn’t even fight back. Then the tears began to well up in her eyes. She was useless here, she couldn't use her cursed energy, she couldn't find the oneirophrenic, there was no Yeosang to help her.

Her fingers clenched into fists. She breathed in sharply, exhaling slowly as the energy began to crackle again. This time, the energy didn’t flicker or shatter. It pulsed—once, twice, thrice—growing steadier, more defined with each beat. The power began to hum beneath her skin, as if it had been waiting for her to reach out and take control. With a flick of her wrist, she raised her hand toward the ceiling. The energy she had absorbed detonated outward, sending a pulse that shattered the boundaries of the Oneirophrenia. The dreamscape peeled away like dead skin, the pyramid coming back into sight and then Yeosang. With a final blow, a beam shot out from the palm of her hands completely disintegrating his reality.

The city is suspended in twilight — not the light of the sun, but something more artificial, cast in tones of amber and silver. How long had she been stuck in the past? Cars hover mid-turn, raindrops hang like glass beads in the air, and untouched souls stand still, their expressions locked in place. Time has stopped.

"What took you so long?" Yeosang stalks towards her, his heavy palms resting on her shoulders. His eyes are glazed with both agitation and concern, a paradox. Yeosang stared through her, gaze sharpening, heat crawling up his neck.

"I called for you. I tried to reach out for you, but you didn't help me." Her voice came out like cracked glass, her muscles trembling under his cold touch. A long breath slipped past his lips, not annoyance, but more like the quiet ache of empathy worn thin. "Where were you?" Hanami inquires, the biting ache of the forlorn city trembling through her bones.

"Never mind where I was, the Oneirophrenic isn't an object. It's a person." He declares. His pupils trembled, just slightly, and the corners of his mouth held too still, too carefully neutral. Beneath the calm mask he wore like armour, there was a hollowness—like a crack behind polished glass. Not fear. Not guilt. Something older. Bruised. The kind of sadness that doesn’t scream or weep, but lingers in the way someone avoids looking too long, or holds their breath between words. Hanami's stare softened, the weight of it no longer probing but knowing.

“What did you see, Yeosang?" Yeosang didn’t answer. He just blinked, once, and for a heartbeat - looked years older than he was.

Suddenly — a low grinding sound echoes from beneath the city. Yeosang stiffens. The air thickens. The buildings begin to shift, slowly rotating as if part of an enormous clockwork machine. A clocktower ticks forward a few degrees. Shadows swirl in perfect circles. Yeosang clenches his fists, blue veins of cursed energy snaking up his arms.

A shockwave ripples out from the centre, her forearms immediately raise to protect her skull as the force of the wind knocks the air out of her lungs. Hanami wheezes, clutching her chest eyes wide awaiting for the presence of the Angel of Death. Instead, the world dims, a light casting over her as her eyes droop.

Yeosang watches her from the far table in the lunch hall, sitting in the corner, near the door so he can leave when the bell rings to get to class. His eyes often dart between the food on his tray and to her, the two main focuses of his attention. His friends are nattering about something, probably anime or some latest video game that came out. One of them is gushing about his crush, however the one thing they all have in common (except for Yeosang) is that they have a date for prom.

And there she is, sitting silently with a smile on her face, laughing occasionally with her friends, without a date for prom too. She sits next to him in Literature class, spending every lesson analysing quotations and talking about the effects of socio-historical events on the author's work. She sits in front of Yeosang in Maths, the same row but a few seats down in History. She’s everywhere but with him, he yearns for her as teenagers do, which makes him scoff. But she’s perfect, he swears.

So one day, he plucks up the courage to talk to her, ambling over to her outside of the school gates where she’s turning to walk home. In the opposite direction to himself, but he couldn't care less. His lips form the shape of her name, the wind carrying his words to her. Throwing her gaze over her shoulder, a smile curls at his lips and she stops to admire him. Silently, as she always has. As she always will. They converse in a light chatter: ‘How are you? How was fifth period? Excited for the weekend?’.

“Listen.” Beads of sweat form on his upper lip and his heart beats a thousand miles per hour. “Would you like to go to prom with me?” He asks, ever so nervously, which makes her heart swoon.

“Oh Yeosang. I would love to go to prom with you, except the thing is: I’m not going.”

“Ah. You’re not? Why not?” He ponders. He was so sure her entire friend group was going to be at prom, no?

“It’s just not my thing.” She announces before moving further down the road, turning the corner into her street. He scuttles after her, only for a silence to suffuse the air between them, he bids her goodbye outside of her front porch before leaving. He's upset, to say the least, but at least she's not taken. He's afraid that would upset him even more.

As academically intelligent as he is, Yeosang can be so stupid sometimes. It is a wonder how he has not noticed her staring at him from across the classroom, or holding his lovesick gaze when he rambles on about Brontë and Shakespeare. Oh, how he has a love-hate relationship with Shakespeare. He confesses to her that he does not quite understand what he means when he reads the text for the first time, so she help him understand what 'thou', 'thy', 'thee' and all of the other baffling, extinct phrases in his play means. Yeosang sits in front of her, in Maths and the same row but a few seats down in History. She takes every opportunity she can to steal glances of him in the field where the boys and girls do P.E separately, sneaking a look at his lean figure. All of the girls in the school have a crush on him, who would not? He is ever so pretty, and kind. He holds the door open for the teachers, hands out worksheets and tidies the classroom at the end of each lesson, which only instigates his friend's to reprimand him considering the lunch line is always long. They're both so head over heels for each other, it hurts for everyone else to watch.

After all, they're a pair of introverts, lost in their solitude finding comfort being imperceptible amongst their friends. They're just happy to be included.

Yeosang always knew his cursed energy existed. He came from a line of sorcerers who existed to protect Japan from century-old spirits yet had chosen up until the age of 16 to live a relatively normal life. Or rather, his parents had forced him into jujitsu society, deeming that he was not fit for normality. They gave him until high school graduation to enrol into Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College without arguing. So he did. Yeosang was always the obedient child, adhering to his parent's wishes whether or not he liked them. Leaving his high school friends behind was one thing, but leaving her? Yeosang could never leave her. Leaving her was like leaving a part of his soul, he did not care that he was sixteen and too young or too rash to make a bold statement such as that but first and foremost he was an obedient son. So he leaves, bidding his friends goodbye, claiming to leave for Tokyo to study and that he'll probably be back once he gets his degree. He promised to stay in touch, knowing that it was a great big lie he was telling.

When the news passed that Yeosang was leaving, her heart lodged in her throat. The smile on her face faltered and she ran out of the classroom that her friends were in to search the school grounds for him. She checked his homeroom, the gymnasium, and the field. Then she saw his friends congregating around the school gate chatting to one of the teachers. She asked for him, and they all exchanged looks.

"Don't you know? He's already left to go to Tokyo. He left last night."

He left last night.

He left without telling her.

A pang penetrated through her heart. All those years of yearning for him. All those years of sharing glances, barely holding in laughter when the teacher yelled at the class, even asking her to be his date to prom. Perhaps it had all meant much more to her than it had ever meant for him.

Three years later, Yeosang is pushing his way through a crowd of drunken university students whilst Hanami is trailing behind him, dragging along an intoxicated Gojo. He has had one too many drinks and stumbles lazily behind his peer who has ascended the sorcery ranks faster than he can blink. He feels like it was only yesterday she joined their society, albeit it had been two years, and Hanami had already surpassed Yeosang in rank. It didn't bother him as much, sorcery was never his niche, but her dedication to perfecting her craft was inspiring. He imagines he looks a little funny in his jujitsu uniform but with news of a sighting of a dangerous spirit, he doesn't really give a shit.

The students all holler at himself, Hanami and Gojo (who only hollers back since he's pathetically drunk, like the irresponsible 'adult' he is). Hanami grumbles, rolling her eyes, before dragging Gojo, staring daggers at the women who almost drop to their knees before him. "He's taken!" She takes the liberty of shouting, in a knowingness that he isn't actually her type. That's when he sees her.

Stood under a maroon canopy of a closed café, wrapping the jumper she's wearing tightly around her figure. Glasses fit perfectly on her face, her hair is tucked behind her shoulders. His heart stops at the mere sight of her.

She, who holds his heart captive. Then her eyes meet his. A second passes, then another. Then just one more, as she registers his delicate features. They widen in realisation, her lips part, jaw slack at the sight of him. He, who had held her heart captive from the moment she had seen him, stood before her. Or at least making his way to her, an abnormally tall white-haired man and another woman watching him. His lips move forming the shape of her name, rolling off his tongue, so smoothly as if his vessels had been made in her honour and to commemorate the notion of her alone. Her heart swayed to the sound of her name falling from his tongue like a sweet melody. It was intoxicating, a drug so potent she would never recover from its addiction.

Yeosang was someone she could never recover from. But as she stares at him, all she can think about is how he left her without saying more than a word to her. "Kang. It's been a while." His heart shivers at her monotonous tone, he nods in agreement. "How have you been?" Casting her eyes over his uniform, she suppresses a laugh, focusing on his birthmark instead, shaped like a heart.

"I've been well. How about you? Why are you here, you waiting on someone?" Moving her head in disagreement, her arms wrap tighter around her shoulder to provide herself with some warmth.

"I've been waiting for the rain to calm down before I run back home." He nods, almost baring his teeth at how awkward and dry the conversation was. "Listen, it was nice meeting you -,"

"Can I get your number?" He interjects, quickly, before a blush highlights his round cheeks. Her perfect lips part once more, falling into a thin line.

"Will you remember?" She asks. It's a stupid question, of course he will remember. How could she ever forget how impeccable his memory was?

Later that week he strolls into the common room, finding his friend sat on the window ledge with a book across her laps. He takes a seat beside her, opening the chat message from her scrolling up to re-read the messages so he can relive the exact emotions he had felt when he read them for the first time. “So that’s the lucky girl?” Hanami teases, looking up from her book. His cheeks tinge red and she bites down on her lip to stop herself from laughing at him, the poor boy will only feel worse. “Are you taking her out on a date?” Yeosang falls quiet, averting his gaze to the floor and Hanami’s lips flatten into a straight line.

“Kang! You idiot! You see her after three years of pining like a fool, and you didn’t ask her out on a date?” She scowls at him, shutting her book to swing her legs off the windowsill. “Grow some balls Yeosang and take her out on the date.”

"Do you think she'll take me back?" Hanami nods profusely, staring at him as if that wasn't a question worth answering. Then her figure blurs in and out, lagging. Her words repeat herself as if her soul has not caught up with the passage of time. He reaches his hand out towards her, caressing her cheek.

"Kang, what are you doing? Is there something on my face?" He plucks the curvature of her plush cheek between his fingers, squeezing it lightly. A dense beam plunges through her flesh, her body crumples up like a prune before her ashes flow with circulating wind.

“She’s never called me ‘Kang’, Naga.” He throws his unwavering stare over his shoulder meeting the spirits feline gaze, “Ever.” Hongjoong smirks, Yeosang spins on his heel, keeping his defensive stance. He’s ready to attack first, recalling the words of his father. It feels like he’s back in the family dojo, in the early morning hours of a Saturday, duelling until he physically collapses.

Whatever you do, attack first, Yeosang. If you attack last, consider yourself dead.

She hears her name, in the same tone as her mother used to call for her. Again.

Hanami is confused. Nobody has ever called her by her forename except from her mother. Nobody has ever called her by her forename in four years.

Her body whips around, her mother is sat inside the silver Hyundai, her arm stuck out of the car window waving for her. Hanami's eyes catch a glimpse of herself in the reflection, she's dressed ever so pompous in a striped formal shirt with slacks and heels to pair the look. A bag is slung over her shoulder carrying a ring binder and her wallet. Her arms outstretched for the handle, hauling it open before slipping inside. It is when she's inside the car that she takes a good look at her mother's face. Round, with pink cheeks, full of warmth and an elated smile dancing on her lips.

Mum.

Hanami's hand reaches out for her mother's cheek, who dips her head forward to press her lips to her daughter's forehead before leaning back to grip onto the steering wheel. "Come on, let's get out of here." She leans back in her seat, putting the engine in gear before driving off. The light shimmers slightly, and it's dull around her mother's silhouette, the hum of the engine feels tangible in her ears, especially with how it reverberates in the ear canal. She blinks once, then twice trying to understand where she is and what she's doing here, before reaching inside her bag for the maroon red ring binder.

TOKYO MEDICAL UNIVERSITY, INTERVIEW NOTES

Beauchamp's Principles of Biomedical Ethics: respect for autonomy, non-maleficence, beneficence, and justice

This is the same day as her university interview. Her mother had just picked her up from the campus, and was driving her home. Her breath hitched in her throat. When the letter of interview came, Hanami considered rejecting the interview offer, seeing as though expenses were sky high. Her mother wouldn't be able to afford to send her. After a stern telling off, Hanami, reluctantly, sent a letter back accepting the invite whilst worrying about the pending cost. But. What was she doing here? Last she checked, she was fighting Hongjoong.

"How do you think the interview went?" Her mother asks, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel as they wait at the traffic lights. Hanami's eyes glance across the pedestrian crossing, watching as the people rush across before the lights turn green again. Hanami slumps further into her seat, massaging her temples.

"I think it went fine, the questions were a lot more difficult than I thought they'd be. They asked questions on euthanasia, then that national health scandal that happened three months ago." Her mother hums before setting off again, turning the wheel as they enter their village. "I'm so tired, I need bed." Her eyes outcast the window, the houses bleed together forging an amalgamation of colours. That's when she first sees a cursed spirit.

17 years of living in Tokyo and it's before she’s about to take her finals that she finally sees a cursed spirit. Unbeknownst to Hanami, the first time she sees one, it’s a Grade 2. And there's no sorcerer for at least three miles. But Hanami doesn't know that she has cursed energy. She waves off her surmountable amount of strength and speed, boiling it down to her 'natural' athleticism. Her eyes widen as the creature dives before them, a scream emitting from her lips. Her mother stares at her in confusion before shrieking herself as its herculean punch pounds through the windscreen. The worst thing: her mother can’t even see what she’s looking at. Crack of glass resounded through the air, the spirit's razor teeth bare, gnashing furiously at her mother, who lost her grip on the steering wheel as the creature's pale arms outstretched for her, its one foot claws tearing through her supple flesh. Hanami lets out another ear-splitting scream before flinging herself onto it. The spirit leaps backwards out of the car, her palms curl around its horn, screaming as she tears the horns out of its skin. Raising the sharp end over her head, the blade pummels through its skin, a geyser of black blood spurts out of its body, crashing to the ground.

Her heart palpitates in her chest, something simmers within her bones. A pulse of energy emits from her skin, shattering straight into its cranium. It releases a thunderous cry, skin paling significantly beyond what exists. Shrivelling up into a ball, its skin sheds; before it hits the ground it fades into a purple mist with nothing but the blood splatter on Hanami's face as a reminder of its existence. In light of her adrenaline, Hanami has gone unbeknownst to the car that has skidded into the wall, the airbags have blown up with her body draped over the steering wheel, head on the dashboard. A pool of blood seeps out of the front screen, she dashes to her mother's side.

“Mum! MUM!” She scrambles for her phone, which has skidded out of the car. Her hands tremble as she dials in the emergency number calling for the ambulance.

“Hate to break it to you, but she’s not going to make it.” Her body freezes, spinning on her heel as an absurdly tall man stares down at her. He stood at the edge of the wreckage, untouched by the chaos, as if reality bent around him. With an almost careless elegance (to Hanami) he looked more like someone who'd strolled out of a fashion shoot than a man staring down twisted metal and smoke. Her eyes had latched onto his snow-white hair, tousled but deliberate, like he woke up perfect on purpose. A blindfold, which was utterly out of place, masked his eyes but even without them, his presence was impossible to ignore.

Despite the chaos of the scene he was unnervingly calm. The subtle tilt of a smirk irked her. Was he involved? The operator on the other end of the phone call goes eerily quiet, before the line cuts off. The ambulance should be here soon anyway. She's ripped out the hem of her shirt to bandage it around her mother's most fatal wound site, her lower torso bare. His head tilted to meet her bare skin and she wraps her arms around her lower abdomen. "Who are you?" She demands, almost threateningly.

“Woah, woah. I’m Gojo Satoru, at your service. This is my associate, Kang Yeosang. And you are?” Her eyes narrow in confusion, she didn't notice his associate but when he jumps out from behind Gojo, she knows why. He's not short, but Gojo makes him look significantly smaller than himself. He exudes an air of timidness but composure. He looks more trustworthy than Gojo, to say the least. “‘Nami, right? Hanami-senpai’s daughter?” She takes a tentative step back, she was never the best in Taekwondo but she knows enough to at least take down the other guy.

“How do you know my father?”

“Well, can’t you tell from the honorific? He taught me.” Mr Hanami was a teacher in Physics. Neither of the two look like physicists, their uniform looks like they might be competing in Martial Arts but even that is a bit of a stretch.

“My father died a few years ago. If you’re looking for him, I can point you in the direction of his grave.” Her eyes flit to her mother’s lifeless body in the car. Her bloody hands reached up to wipe the tears falling down her face.

“Hey, pretty girl. Don’t worry about the funeral costs, I got it.” Yeosang spares him a dirty look, before staring at Hanami sympathetically.

“Hey, fuck you, Gojo. For the first time in my life, I’ve seen some fucking hideous monster kill my mother. Then some Iron Man type sonic blast comes out of my hand, and you’re telling me not to worry about it?” He chuckles at her words, drawing closer to her. Stretching out her hand in front of her, Satoru throws his head back in laughter.

"Do you even know how to summon your technique?" She stumbles backwards until her lower back hits the shattered headlights, heart punching against her ribs. He cocked his head to the side, curiously, lips pressed into a thin line. Bending down to her level, his lips moved closer to ears, his voice no longer held that playful undertone but had transcended into something more sinister. "The ambulance is coming. You're going to let me deal with this situation, otherwise things you won't like will happen to you."

Sat on her living room floor, Hanami's eyes cast into space. The house is desolate, there’s no longer the reverberation of the clatter of dishes, the bubbling of boiled chai on the hob and the crackling of stew. No doors open and shut randomly and even those silly soap operas her mother used to watch aren’t blasting from the television. Her eyes flutter close, she bites down on her lip preventing the sobs from entering her surroundings. When the knock resounds from the front door, she moves to open it letting the men pile into the room.

It’s Gojo and Kang from before, and they come with their headteacher who paid the funeral fees: Masamichi Yaga, the man who used to work with her father. Hanami chooses to trust him since her uncle couldn’t even turn up to the funeral. They take a seat around the coffee table, he’s about to explain to her what is going on.

He begins to explain the existence of malevolent entities borne from negative human emotions; the more powerful the emotion, the stronger the curse becomes. Thus, they are categorised into Grades, with 4 being the 'weakest' and 'Special Grade' being the worst. They have sorcerer counterparts, who with immense training and experience can ascend these ranks. He, himself, is a Grade 1 sorcerer. Yeosang is a Grade 4 (since he just entered the Academy) and Gojo seems to be the most powerful one. Yaga mentions that only those with cursed energy can see cursed spirits, yet Hanami can’t comprehend where hers has come from. “Well your father was a sorcerer, he just never told your mother. But when he did, she went ballistic and believed he was schizophrenic.”

“Which he was.” Hanami adds.

“You saw the spirits too. Does that make you schizophrenic as well?” A spectral silence suspends in the air.

“I—How has it been seventeen years without seeing one?”

“I’m only going to assume it was your father at times. Why do you think your mother filed for a restraining order?” Hanami falls silent. All those times he was following her home, he was really just protecting her from the cursed spirits. Her jaw tightens as she looks towards Yaga, in unmistakable rage. How dare he make her feel guilt for chastising her father? He was not a good man. Mr Hanami had made her mother cry herself to sleep, he was never there once she had reached 12 years old and when he came back his face was always full of bruises, cuts and wounds — a bottle of vodka in hand, scarfing it down as if it was his lifeline. She doesn’t want to possibly think that the bleeding was from the danger of his missions, and vodka was to take the edge off the pain. Because if she does, Hanami will hate the fact that she’s spent the majority of her life despising her father for neglecting both herself and her mother.

“I hope when I die, you don’t hate me so fruitfully, ‘Nami.” Those last words he had uttered to her before he left the home, and her eyes welled up with tears at the memory. She presses her lips together with her fingers. Sucking in a deep breath, she looks towards Yaga.

“So what do you want me to do now?”

“Well it’s up to you. You’ll probably get an offer from medical school, and you can go. Or you can join my institute. And we’ll train you to protect the world from the same demons that killed your parents. You decide.”

The air was ripped from her lungs in an instant, her chest tightening as if a heavy weight had crushed her ribs, leaving her gasping for breath. There was no longer a spontaneous disposition of particles, shimmering as if they carved the essence of her verity. A dome carved from the clot of vitality; a single glow of light spills into the room illuminating over her - as if she was at the centre of the stage of the world and they were all watching her. Waiting. Anticipating. Her limbs did not ache, her chest did not suspire in exhaustion, but rather: panic.

Her eyes cast over her surroundings, searching for the shred of her friend. She stared into the void, and it stared back at her - echoing the lonely desire sewn into her soul. Her limbs trembled in apathy, he had shown her the memory she was hiding away for years. A memory she refused to meet up with, come to terms with me. That she, the next strongest sorcerer to Gojo Satoru, was the child of a self-proclaimed Physics teacher and an office worker. That she was a child of two people who promised their love to each other, only for one to be lying his whole identity to her. That she, who had spent the entirety of her childhood despising her father, had learnt it was all in vain.

With a tilt of her head, she cast a glance over her shoulder, meeting Hongjoong’s feline gaze. He stood motionless, the shadows draping his body like silk. Hanami rises to her feet, her footsteps pattering in the opposite direction to himself.

Hospitals are a nasty place to be, with its pristine, disinfected walls, floors scrubbed to perfection. The constant beeping of the machines, and quiet mumbling of doctors, patients screaming in agony. Yet, it’s where Hanami has wanted to be; having watched one too many of her own family members suffer. ‘I’ll figure out what’s wrong with you’ she jokes, more often than not.

She doesn’t quite understand what she’s doing, dressed in a pair of creased blue scrubs, gnawing the hair tie from the tight knot at the back of her head; walking through the automatic doors at the exit. On instinct, her hands reach into her pocket for her car keys, unlocking the door sliding inside. Starting the engine, look both ways, pull out of the bay and out of that wretched place she loves.

It’s all methodical, she does it like it’s innate. The sequence is firmly rooted within her. The traffic is minimal at this time, which is funny since no matter where you go in Tokyo, it is busy at any time of day. Yet the light in the sky is distinctive of the fact that it must be summer, the heat concludes that too. A few beads pool on her upper lip, the windows are rolled down at the traffic lights. Put the car into gear again, drive off, turn. Curse under your breath as the kids dash across the roads so you have to drive at 3 miles per hour so you don't actually hit them and get your medical licence revoked.

Tiredly, her key pushes through the lock pushing her way into the entrance. The foyer is relatively neat, her gaze does not amiss the tiny shoes next to her flip flops. Then the pair that is slightly larger than her own.

“Look, Mama’s home.” Then he comes bustling from the doorway from their home, a child bouncing on his hip. Hanami found herself focusing on his smile; there was something hidden beneath that seemed beyond one’s comprehension — like it always did in every universe. Yet as she stared at him, from where the draft circulated in from the doorway, he carried a current of domesticity emanating a paternal disposition. He was a father with a little girl who had inherited his smile too. He leans forward, pressing his lips to her forehead and when he pulls back, the little girl puckers her lips.

Hanami pauses. Would she like a kiss or to be kissed? On maternal instinct, her arms reach for the girl, and plaster smooches all over her soft, chubby cheeks, heart melting as sweet giggles eruct from her mouth. “Mama! Mama!” She squeals.

Mama.

Hanami’s heart stops in her chest. It feels like she’s watching a dream she has no control over. Except dreams feel peaceful, and she’s so sure there’s a nightmare concealed behind this façade of contentment. “My dear, would you put Mina to bed? I’ll prepare you dinner.” Mina. That’s her name.

With a swift nod, she travels up the staircase and she continues a programmed response of: washing Mina in the bathroom, changing her into her pyjamas, then tucking her into bed. Then once Mina’s eyes have fluttered to a close, she moves into their shared bedroom flopping onto the mattress.

“Not hungry, yeobo?” Lifting her head, she grumbles at him before sinking her head back onto the pillow. He chuckles, before crawling onto the bed to sit on his knees. “How do you feel?” Hongjoong rubs his palm over her lower abdomen. “You’ve started your period, haven’t you?”

“How did you know?” He waves his phone, as if to indicate the period app he’s installed onto his mobile. Or maybe he's got his own calendar. Hanami doesn't remember. Hell, Hanami doesn't even know. She nods, but at the moment the sorceress can’t feel anything. “I’m fine, just tired.” Hongjoong leans over, pressing a firm kiss to her forehead. Then he settles beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist pulling her flush against his chest.

There’s a comfortable silence suspended in the air, for the time being, and Hanami releases a contented sigh as her head buried deeper into her husband’s neck. This is how it should be. Coming home to her husband and daughter, spending every remaining minute of the day with them. There was always the notion of how to juggle the work-life balance as both a doctor and a mother. Her wages were good enough to support them all should Hongjoong decide to stay at home and be a househusband, but considering her family always struggled for money when they were younger, she didn’t want Mina to go through the same ordeal. So Hongjoong mostly did his designing job, from home, and Hanami reduced her hours so she could be there for her daughter. He was so accommodating, and that was what she loved the most about him.

I love him?

Her head leans back, taking in his inclination. His hair is no longer blonde, but black, and slicked back with a few loose strands structuring his face. There's a fading dent from where he wears his glasses lateral to the bridge of his nose. He looks…homely. Even more so than when he had cooked for her. Hanami wants to push herself out of his embrace, but he’s warm and the mere notion of tearing away sends goosebumps rippling under her skin.

She tries to move away from him, but her body pulls herself back towards him. Each attempt to move away somehow attaches her more to him, it’s as if their limbs are opposite poles magnetised by each other. “Ach, stop moving around Mrs Kim, I’m tired too.” Reaching for the comforter, he tucks their legs in and drapes it over them.

“Hongjoong.” Hanami whispers, and he hums in response, peeking one eye open to look at her. What am I doing here? Why are you my husband? Why do we have a child together? Every time I try to move away from you, why do I move closer? She’s burning to say those words, her lips struggle to form the vowels, and when Hongjoong blinks, her words take a series of turns, “I took next week off, should we go somewhere. Me, you, Mina. Like on a picnic?” In a state of disbelief, her limbs obey her command and she finally sits up, shuffling away from him.

“That’s a good idea. I’m off next Wednesday and Friday. Let’s say, Wednesday?” He offers, Hongjoong mirrors her movements, sitting up with his legs out before him. Stretching her limbs, Hanami makes her way to the window where her folded night clothes sit, her eyes cast out of the window catching sight of a familiar shadow.

There. That boy with the birthmark.

Do I know him?

Hanami stood frozen, her gaze fixed on him standing outside her house. His features were so strikingly familiar, yet she couldn’t place where she had seen him before. Was he her patient? His dark eyes, framed by lashes that seemed too perfect to be real, locked onto hers, piercingly. His expression was calm, but there was something in the way his lips curved, the way his posture seemed too poised, as if he were just waiting for something to click.

She blinked, a pang of recognition striking her heart, but the more she thought about it, the less sense it made. The air around her shimmered—everything flickering as if it were an illusion.

Her breath caught in her throat as the memories rushed in—fragments of a past she had long forgotten, moments blurred by the cursed spirit's power.

“Earth to Counsellor Kang. Do you copy?” He cranes his neck to finally meet her, his lips immediately uplifting into a soft smile.

“Roger that.” He jokes back, a small giggle escapes her lip. They walk down the cobbled stream, the gentle afternoon glow fluorescing his moon-carved structure. Her eyes flicker from a warm brown to a cerulean blue, her skin occasionally fading as Yeosang encapsulates his larger hand into her own. It goes from feeling firm to like sand within the palm of his hands, yet his smile doesn’t falter because she’s ecstatically chatting away about work and then offering the idea of going to some café that sells matcha. He wants to laugh at the fact that she hasn’t tried it yet, but he can’t as discomfort sears through his heart.

She never got to try it either.

“Yeo, are you even listening to me?”

“Even if I wanted to, I don't think I ever could” He responds, their clasped hands swinging as they walk, gliding past the children who whine when their mothers call them in.

"Now what do you mean by that?" Her lips pull into a polite frown, his grasp on her hand tightens which doesn't go unnoticed by her.

"It means, I don't ever want to stop listening to you speak." Her eyes soften at his words, her heart thumping to the beat of his soul for when he moved, she would move with him. She could pass her eyes over whatever he thought was fit to look at, bend to his will, and fulfil his commands as if she was void of freedom. For being with him revered the mere notion of liberation itself. "Will you take me back to the night we met?" He confesses, his voice travelling to her like the essence of nostalgia.

"We were children when we met."

"Then could you take me back to the night I fell in love with you?" There's a silence between them, nothing but the light dipping lower beneath the horizon. "Take me back to the night I fell deeper in love with you."

He stood under the soft glow of the fluorescent lights outside the convenience store, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket. A slight chill brushing against his skin; the neon signs above hummed faintly in the dark, casting streaks of red and blue across his face. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, tugging his phone out of his pocket to check the time. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips at her message.

THE OWNER OF MY HEART: I'll be there in two mins!

YEOSANG: It's ok, i'll be waiting :)

Despite the time slot she had given, every few seconds his eyes would scan the quiet street again, hoping to catch a glimpse of her silhouette. The night was quiet, save for the occasional passing car, the rhythmic murmur of the store’s refrigeration units, and the distant chatter of people in the nearby alley. He felt it was too quiet for its own good, he'd been off the whole day - no missions, they'd all been passed onto his peers so he spent the remainder of it being less productive than he had liked and stressing about the date instead. A midnight matcha run. He wanted to laugh, and he would in her face like they were high school kids. Bless her soul she had gotten excited by the most easiest things ever.

Her silhouette was carved by the stars itself, he saw her gravitating towards him with a pleased smile etched onto her face. Her arm moved over her head, an exuberant wave was given his way. His lips pull into a grin that's way to passionate for his own good, not long before it falters at the edges. Just, ever so slightly. Cursed energy emanates in the tense atmosphere, its maleficence caressing his benevolent core - his sharp eyes survey the setting.

Her smile drops deeper than his own. Was there something wrong with the way she was dressed? Or the way she looked? Was he not happy to see her? Suddenly, she feels it. A brazen stab through her neck - the supple flesh tears like aged paper, the blade cutting through his arteries. Blood flows like scarlet rivers down her body, the air is lodged in her throat. Her vision begins to dissolve, the lights off the convenience store forging an amalgamation of colours, then the shape of his body distorting. Her eyes don't notice the way he moves towards, as fast as the speed of light, or the way his hands move to manipulate the earth, his prowess tearing through the cursed vessel that destroyed her. Her ears fall to death to the scream that resound in the alleyway, both the spirit's and Yeosang's. Her body becomes numb to his careful touch, as he holds her decaying soul within his hands.

Here it is. The memory of his life falling apart at his feet before it had even begun.

"Tell me." He moves his hand to her cheek, one he never had the privilege of feeling. "When did you fall in love with me?" Yeosang knows it is not her soul speaking to him, but some sick, twisted part of him latches onto a possibility that even in The Red Naga's conjure of what his life could have been: she is still there. A fragment of her. She is there still reaching for him, where he now has to wait until his own death to meet her again.

"When you asked me to prom. I had always liked you, Yeosang. I was just waiting to hear it back."

"I'm sorry I never said it back." His voice cracks under her adoration, tears swell up in his eyes, he bites down on his quivering lip, taking a deep breath to ground himself. "I love you."

"I know." His hand steadies on her soft skin, caressing it like it's porcelain. The arrangement of molecules shifts, before a blast of light scatters throughout the dream.

Pitiful cries enter into the haunted city, her body wracks in agony unbeknownst to the vessel watching her from afar. He moves closer, in succinct caution, his eyes latching onto the two bodies sprawled across the floor. One is a man, just as old as himself with dark hair loose over his head - achingly familiar. His eyes socks are laid bare, oozing with rich, red blood his mouth parted as if in his last moments he tried to say something to his murderer. Pleading more like. Then about a foot away from him, is a toddler. A girl. On her back, her chest blasted open, bits of flesh scattered around her. Her hair, too, is black and even though the man doesn't have eyes - they look similar to each other. He assesses the shape of their jawline and their lips. Their vulnerability. Yeosang then turns back to the lady choking back sobs, her face is buried within her palms and she's mumbling incoherent words over and over. He falls to his knees, gently outstretching her hands.

"I killed her." She chokes out. "He made her the oneirophrenic, he made me murder her."

“Yeosang.” She whispers out, and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Getting up immediately she looks towards him, her chest heaving in anticipation.

“You sick bastard!” She remembers screaming. Then she recalls her child erupting into vicious wailing, until stopping for a second to soothe her sore throat before continuing again.

Yeosang doesn't dare tell her it's not real, because if it wasn't there wouldn't be a child's lifeless body laying on the ground between them. "He can't keep getting away with this. He has to go." She utters between her sobs, her tears pattering onto the concrete.  

A creeping black spilled across the city silently, the wind swayed to its every command. The city breathed in his authority, commanding and raw as the ground jolted beneath them. Before speeding around like hands on a clock once more. "Armour up. Let's do this one last time."

In the stillness of the Eternal Realm where time bent and twisted like a river’s flow that had forgotten its course, the sinister Kim Hongjoong drifted. His fingers wove through the fabric of existence as though they were threads in an intricate tapestry, unravelling moments with ease. He watched as day bled into night, only to be reversed moments later, just as the winds in the sky spun in violent, erratic gusts and then calmed without warning. He was, in his own domain and the world was just a little more than a toy to play with.

The realm was his playground—shifting, collapsing, and expanding in patterns that only he could comprehend. It was not a place bound by the rigid linearity of the mortal world. The atmosphere shimmered, echoes of broken time stretching, collapsing, and then fading. Hongjoong paused in his movements, sensing something unusual—another presence. A ripple ran through his timeless dimension, unfamiliar and sharp like a flicker of static in an otherwise perfect symphony.

There, standing at the edge of his realm, confined between the scraps of the past, present and future, was a woman. Her presence was striking, her silhouette seemed to shimmer against the backdrop of fractured time, as though she belonged to the world but also did not. She was a sorcerer, he quickly realised, her energy rippling outward like a delicate storm just waiting to uncoil. Her name hovered at the edge of his thoughts, but he did not care for it. Not yet. Not while the strange allure of her presence pulled at him in ways he hadn’t expected. There was beauty in her: a fleeting, delicate beauty, like a flower blooming against the harshest winds. Hongjoong’s fingers curled into the air. Time itself bent, spiralling around him. He reached into her timeline, unwinding the moments that led to her arrival here, weaving his power into the fabric of her life.

The threads unravelled before his eyes. Her difficult childhood, her battles with cursed spirits, her personality and attitude. Both her victories and her losses. Friends in Jujitsu society she had lost, enemies she had gained. He saw it all. Yet, at the end of it all, he sought Hanami and stood beside him. No longer the defiant sorcerer but her face would soften with acceptance. Her shoulders would no longer bore the weight of a fight.

Something thrilling danced in his chest. He knew she would fall to him eventually; it was inevitable. This timeline, this future, was the one he would craft. She would bend to his will, just as all others before her had.

His vision of her future played out like a fading echo, a ripple of awareness tugged at the edge of her mind as the twilight settled back into their view. She found Yeosang's eyes again, and though Hongjoong could not visibly be seen - his presence was still felt. From behind the veil of shattered moments, Hanami’s eyes glinted with something that made Yeosang's stomach tighten. The type of look she gave when she was about to say something she knew he wouldn't like. "If I'm a part of his timeline, the only way to stop him is to get rid of me." She blurts, the Grade 2 Sorcerer stares at her in disbelief.

"I can't do that." Yeosang shakes his head profusely, taking a step back from her. Steel slices through the air, coolly, Hanami holds out her sword for him to take.

"Do it, Yeosang."

"No. What's wrong with you?"

"DO IT YEOSANG!" Her voice bellows into the void, echoing into the pits as if it aims to mock her. He shakes her head, tears forging in his brown eyes, her stare abating. Yeosang flits his eyes between the sword and then her. Taking in a deep breath, her eyes flutter shut momentarily. "I, Hanami, daughter of Hanami Daeho, Special Grade Sorceress command my associate, Kang Yeosang, Grade 2 Sorcerer to take my life in order to assimilate the Special Grade Curse Spirit, Red Naga, otherwise known as Kim Hongjoong." Hot tears roll down Yeosang's cheek, tickling his jawline before they patter onto the floor.

"You can't be this sure." His voice wavers in desolation, heart lodged within his throat. “Hanami, re-think this. Please.” But what other choice did they really have? Hongjoong had reels of another life, read to play for days and days. Might it have been that they had a bottomless pit of energy, but the Spirit had enough to exhaust them by torturing them mentally. Hanami could no longer do this. She couldn’t take the life of all the children she had with Hongjoong, despite the fact that they were just constructs. Yeosang could no longer watch his lover continue to be ripped away from him.

"I am your superior, am I not?" Painful wails permeate the air, pharynx wrought with suffocation as he can barely breathe under her tyranny. "Use Hollow Degeneration while you're at it." Hanami whispers, as footsteps facsimile behind her.

Hongjoong’s pulse quickened, a spark of confusion clouding him. What did she mean by that? Her energy pulsed, a strange resonance vibrating through the moment.

With a hollow gesticulation, the world around Kang began to warp. The ground shuddered, the surrounding sounds blurring into a distorted hum. Time obeyed his decree, rippling in waves like the ebbing of smooth tides, lapping the sand on the ocean's shore.

It was quick. Hanami was denied her next breath when her own blade thrust, mercilessly, into her chest. Valves ripping as the blood sprung from its banks, gushing out of her wound like a waterfall. Sinking to her knees, a pool of blood flows out from her mouth. Hongjoong shrieks, his energy cutting through the air with a precise strike, but it rebounds, the waves of energy shooting up the barriers of Yeosang's domain - his hands reached for the ropes of time, in an attempt to reverse the movements.

Hollow Degeneration. Where a succinct juncture repeats itself over and over, approximately a hundred times at sixty miles per hour until the scene bleeds together. It's a perfect death for a cursed spirit. Now? It means Hanami has to relive her death a hundred times before she actually dies.

Her body hits the floor with a final thud, the last of her respirations diffusing into the twilight. A silence expels into the empyrean. Hollow, like his technique. The god-awful technique he had used to kill her.

Hongjoong watches, with wide-eyes, as her body hits the floor, viciously. No last words for him, no final look for him. Everything, selfishly, taken by him. He cranes his neck, demonic gaze terrorising Yeosang who only looks back with a numbness. Languidly, the sorcerer makes his way towards the devil tightening his grip on the handle with his left hand. The threads of the futures, which were once intertwined with hers, have unravelled. If her life had ended, he only had minutes left.

Hongjoong stumbles backwards as Yeosang moves closer and closer. "Yeosang, please. Don't do this. I can bring her back. If you work with me, I can bring both her and Hanami back—,”

"You aren't worthy of saying her name." His body follows the movements of the shadows that follow him like electromagnets. Yeosang's eyes darken with malevolence, his right hand presses against Hongjoong's forehead.

"Yeosang, please. Please don't, I'm begging you. PLEASE!" In the moment of finality, the light erupted in a flash, spilling through his fingers, swallowing the darkness around them. It caught Hongjoong's features in a mournful glow, his body blurred, ripples cascading out from his chest. His limbs thinned until he was nothing more than a mirage.

In the quietness that followed, there was nothing in the broken city except Kang Yeosang and the lifeless body of Hanami resting in the fractured heart of Shibuya.

Nothing but the cool whisper of shadows carrying her legacy into the wind.

All Rights Reserved © the-midnight-blooms

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

A/N: Happy Yeosang month! Totally should have posted on his birthday but like took an atrocious turn (my grandma passed away, had finals, fell ill etc) Anyways: AHHHHH, PART TWOOO!! i've never done a part two to a fic before, let alone in this funny little format of combining two arcs together. Not too sure about that ending either 🤡 Ach, let me know your thoughts.

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

tag list: @n0v4t33z @potatos-on-clouds @jjongwho @devilzliaison @asweetblueberry2 @arilevenatz @xdannix @yuyamihi @l0vjoongie @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @wooyoungsbrat @matchahintonagar @byeolttongbye0l

[hwapuri]

my baby rin is backkkk

welcoming your husband, nanami, home from work with a little help from your toddler ✧

→ f!reader, toddler dad nanami, sfw

"daddy homeeeeee!"

"rin, wa-

zooming out of your lap like she hasn't seen him in years, rin is so full of energy you just spent the last two hours trying to drain from her. it's late afternoon—exactly her nap time.

your plan was to get her down before kento came home, but that's long forgotten. just like you, curled up on the little toddler bed your husband built.

when you're sitting up, your heart beats harder in anticipation. after all these years, you're still excited to see him, and your daughter is your carbon copy—you can't blame her. walking into the hallway, you hear him before you see him—the front door clicks, and he laughs. rin squeals.

"daddy!"

"hi, my darling! oh- careful, remember to keep fingers away from the door."

before he's even in the house, rin is blocking him, little hands pulling at the gap to open it further. "daddy, what doin'?"

"i'm saying hello to my little girl. what are you doing, rin? did you have a good day with your mother?" like a narrator, kento drops his work bag and scoops his daughter in his arms, big hand covering the entirety of her neck as he pulls her in for a welcome-home kiss.

you're watching them with a soft smile, leaning against the wall in the hallway, when he notices you. he gives a little sideways smile, steered back into conversation when rin sees his loving gaze falter.

"we colored... and play outside..." she begins, attention drifting off into space as she fixates on his tie. she's too distracted to see the quick glances you two are sharing. "n we play dressup. mommy wore pretty dress like princess."

"did she, now? did you take any pictures to show daddy?"

"mm-mm." she declares with a shake of the head, fitting hands making fists in the luxe fabric. "wan' it."

"oh, you want my tie?" as whipped as he is with you, he's even more gullible for his baby girl. one hand works it loose from his neck, arm barely flexing as he balances her in one. halfway off, he resorts to his teeth, pulling it loose and draping it over rin's neck—moreso her small shoulders. then, he turns, giving that split second of distraction to you.

"we missed you today," you smile, biting your lip as you approach them. she's so taken with her daddy's tie that she jumps when you approach, hand ruffling the slick part in her pigtailed hair.

"i missed my girls, too." his voice softens as you two stand so close that your breath becomes one. it's just a force of habit for him to lean in and press a kiss to your lips. like always, he lingers there for a second, brushing his nose against yours and smiling into your soft lips.

when rin wants her dad's attention again, she reaches out to pull at his shirt, pouting like it was her full-time job. "daddy, I don't wan' take nap."

kento chuckles against your lips, then pulls away, giving his daughter that fake stern stare he always gives you when your attitude rages. she reaches up, forgetting about the tie, and squeezes his cheek.

"oh, no." he replies, voice jumbled and muffled from her hold on his face. "we're taking a nap."

"did you see that link i sent you?" you ask, leaning against the counter as kento sheds his shoes—popping a few buttons on his dark blue shirt. "about her pre-school, it's expensive, but when I toured it-

"we'll get her signed up."

"i- thanks. also, ken-

"dada!!"

as he unlinks his cuffs and pulls his sleeves over his forearms, rin sprints out of her room with a stuffed bear in her hands. it's one she's had since she was a baby—torn and scuffed from constant love.

"yes, beautiful?" at his feet, she rises to her toes, waving it for him to reach and grab. "oh, thank you. I'll take good care of him."

and, she's off again. you watch her trip over her tiny bare feet, making a beeline back to her room.

"ken, she has to go to the doctor for an exam before she can enroll, I've been calling arou-

"daddy!!"

"yes, princess?" this time, at his feet, rin is waving a silver plastic tiara, tiny fist locked in the straight fabric of his pants. "oh, am I the princess?"

"dada wear." she states like she's on a mission, staring up at him sternly with those identical hazel wide-eyed stare.

so he does without further question. he combs his slicked hair back with his hand and slips the thing right over his head. you giggle, stifling back more as you cover your mouth. he's shameless—much less serious about himself since he's entered this phase of fatherhood. you love this way of being so much on him. it's like he's finally free from his burdens. but, you know the truth. he's only so carefree around his daughter.

"how do i look, hm?" he reads rin's stance—both arms stretched high like she wants to be picked up. she doesn't have to tell him twice, he's leaning over with a grunt, scooping her back into his safe arms. "am I a pretty princess?"

"no-

he gasps—fake as hell, but emotive enough to draw a series of innocent giggles right from his favorite source. "oh, I forgot—the prettiest princess around is my little nanami rin, hm?"

"mama!"

kento pulls her close for another kiss on the cheek, moving her to his side to carry her off to her room. you're just glad he's willing to subdue her to sleep today. she'll drift off in seconds if it's him at her side. "mm, no. mama's much more of a queen who rules with an iron fist."

"wha's that mean?"

[hwapuri]

read the letter and make up please me heart can’t take it anymore

A pinwheel, standing alone... (Part-2)

Pairing: Seonghwa x reader

Genre: angst, hurt

Words: 3k

Summary: It was the holiday season, which meant you returning back to your hometown, a place which wrapped you with warmth and familiarity. Yet, at the same time, a place you despised because of those bittersweet whispers of memories from every street corner for which you never got a closure. Why? Because he left without a word.

Mic testing, author speaking: it took a while, i know :(( i should have just written the whole thing and posted it at once instead of breaking it into chapters. it fueled my procrastination istg. anyways, next chap will prolly be the last one for this.

also a big thank you to everyone who showed love here. im crying T-T ily<3

The letter, it's stupid really. A single envelope carrying this much weight and yet it had been sitting on the desk for minutes or maybe hours, untouched but never ignored. It presence spread like thunderclouds looming ominously all over the room.

When he first set it down after conquering his thoughts, it had felt like a temporary decision–a way to remove it from his hands and create a distance between himself and the past written in ink across its surface. And yet, the longer it remained there, the harder it was to pretend it didn’t. so he finally decided to remove it from his plain sight and tucked it inside his hanging coat pocket.

But alas, in moments like these–things you deliberately try to ignore, gains your attention the most.

Everytime he moved around the room, everytime he poured himself a glass of water, every time he checked in his phone–it was there. its faint presence, begging for attention. A waiting thing. It wasn’t supposed to be his.

It shouldn’t be here. It shouldn’t be his. And yet, here it was.

He exhales sharply, pushing a hand through his hair, frustration threading through his ribs. This isn’t what he expected when he returned—this slow, suffocating unraveling of memories he thought he had buried.

But maybe he hadn’t buried them at all. Maybe they had only been waiting.

His gaze hardens, a flicker of resolve sparking beneath the weight of hesitation.He steps forward. Pulls out the letter. Feels the worn edges beneath his fingertips, tracing the softened corners where time has pressed itself into the paper.

The name staring back at him is his own. Written in her handwriting.

He turns it over, testing the weight of it in his palm. Whatever is inside has been waiting, untouched, unread. Waiting for him.

His breath comes slower now, steadier, but no less heavy. He could open it. Right now. He could tear through the years separating him from whatever she had written, let the words unravel the silence between them. But his fingers tighten instead. Because somehow, he knows—

Once he reads it, something will change forever. Is he ready? No. He’s not. And maybe he never will be.

Just like that his night passes by having his whole system drowning I thoughts of “what if’s”–

What if the words are colder than he expects—sharper, more unforgiving?

What if she hated him?

What if she didn’t?

A slow, lingering dread curls in his chest at the thought.

Because if she still cares, if she still misses him then that means he left behind something worth holding on to.

And that—

That would be worse than her hate.

-------

As the next evening arrived, she found herself sitting in front of the mirror. It reflected someone familiar. Someone she recognizes, yet feels strangely distant from.

She hadn’t planned on going.

When the invitation first arrived, she dismissed it without much thought, barely glancing at the details before shoving it aside. The idea of revisiting old faces, resurfacing memories that had long since settled into the quiet corners of her mind—it felt unnecessary.

But after everything lately—after the chance encounter, after the unsettling realization that her letter was gone, after the weight of past emotions creeping back in—maybe distraction was what she needed.

And besides, he wouldn’t be there.

He was an idol now, his life far removed from these mundane gatherings. The likelihood of him showing up was slim, if not entirely impossible. That reasoning alone made the decision easier. So, she said yes.

Not because she wanted to relive the past but because she wanted to escape it.

She tilts her head slightly, adjusting the fabric of her dress, smoothing invisible wrinkles as if doing so might settle the unease knotted in her chest. The colour suits her, the fabric resting against her skin like quiet reassurance.

She had told herself repeatedly, almost like a mantra that this reunion was nothing more than a gathering of old classmates. A night of fleeting nostalgia, of polite conversations, of stories about lives that had long since moved on.

Her fingers brush against the delicate chain of her necklace as she secures the clasp, the familiar coolness of metal pressing against her collarbone. These small, careful actions—ones she has done a thousand times before, usually carry no deeper meaning.

But tonight, they do.

Tonight, every movement feels like stepping back into a time she isn’t sure she wants to return to.

She exhales slowly, pulling herself away from the reflection before it can linger too long.

-------

The city looks different tonight. Or maybe, he’s just looking at it differently.

His black blazer sits sharply against his frame, familiar yet unfamiliar all at once. The scent of his cologne lingers in the fabric—a quiet constant, something that has carried through the years unchanged. But tonight, as he fastens the last button, it feels different.

Maybe it’s the memories. Maybe it’s the unresolved weight sitting too close to his ribs. Or maybe, it’s the presence of the envelope still tucked away inside his coat pocket.

He exhales, pressing his hands against the sink briefly, grounding himself. Then, without further hesitation, he grabs his coat—the same coat that carries her letter, unread, untouched, waiting–and steps out into the night.

As he drives through the place, the passing scenery feels like echoes—too familiar, like time hasn’t fully moved forward, like certain places still carry ghosts of conversations left behind.

He wonders if she feels it too. If the past is creeping into her thoughts the same way it’s creeping into his.

His fingers brush against the inside of his coat pocket, against the letter still sealed, still waiting.

The thought of opening it lingers again, but he doesn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he exhales slowly, watching the distant glow of streetlights, wondering if tonight is just another night, just another event, just another passing moment.

The venue hums with conversation, laughter echoing through the air, glasses clinking as people exchange stories of where they’ve been, what they’ve done, how much time has slipped between them. Time has stretched over the years, but tonight—tonight, it feels like it has collapsed altogether, pulling everyone back into something both nostalgic and unfamiliar.

There’s something strange about reunions. Not because people change, but because the spaces between them—the years, the memories they didn’t share, the silent moments of growth and loss—don’t fit neatly into a casual conversation. And that is why she was standing near the edge of the room, fingers curled around the stem of her glass, watching from a distance as old classmates exchange talks, catching up like they hadn’t spent years apart.

She didn’t have the ability to just go and strike up a conversation with anyone.

Her fingers tighten around the glass as she considers approaching to a familiar figure she saw standing near her. What would she go and speak? A greeting? Too simple. A memory? Too risky. The weight of unspoken years makes everything feel forced before she even begins. Instead, she lets instinct guide her—small, hesitant steps until she’s within reach.

"It’s strange, isn’t it?" Her voice is quieter than she intends, but the words are honest. The person turns, brows lifting slightly. "What is?" She gestures lightly toward the conversations unfolding around them. "How easily everyone picks up where they left off. Like time barely mattered." A pause. Then, a soft chuckle. "Yeah. But maybe that’s just how people survive reunions—pretending the years weren’t as long as they felt."

Something eases within her. Maybe connection isn’t about knowing exactly what to say—maybe it’s just about showing up, standing close enough that the past can reach forward without force.

She exhales quietly, sipping her drink, forcing herself to engage just enough to seem present, but not enough to feel invested.

And then—

A familiar voice from across the room pulls her attention back into focus.

"You and Seonghwa… You two were inseparable back then, weren’t you?"

The words come casually, offhandedly, part of a conversation she hadn’t realized she was part of.

The words cut through the air like static. A casual remark. A fleeting observation. But somehow, it feels heavier than it should. She falters for just a second. Not visibly—not enough for anyone else to notice—but enough for him to notice. She doesn’t react right away, doesn’t let the flicker of unease settle into her expression. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, offering a small, carefully measured smile.

"I guess we were."

She can feel his presence before she sees him, she can sense the stillness in the air, the subtle shift in the atmosphere, the way the mention of his name lingers like a ghost between them.

When she finally meets his gaze, he is already looking at her.

And in that moment, she knows—

He doesn’t have an answer either.

The room doesn’t stop moving, the music doesn’t dim, the conversations don’t hush—but something within the space between them shifts, pressing down on the silence neither of them knows how to fill.

For a second—just a second—she wonders what he’s thinking. If he feels it too. The discomfort. The weight of the unspoken. The quiet acknowledgment that neither of them knows how to answer.

How were they supposed to respond? How do you explain a friendship that once felt endless, only to unravel into silence? How do you justify the way someone who was always there suddenly wasn’t?

She laughs, but it’s thin, forced, barely convincing. He offers a polite nod, murmuring something vague, something distant, something that isn’t real. The conversation moves on without them, the moment slipping away just as quickly as it came. But the weight of it remains. A quiet, unspoken thing sitting between them.

Soon after, she watches as he quietly excuses himself, slipping away towards the exit, towards the rooftop.

And suddenly, for the first time tonight—

She wonders if she should follow.

She sets her glass down.

The decision doesn’t feel deliberate. It doesn’t feel like something she weighed carefully, debated internally, analysed until it made sense. It just happens. One moment, she is standing among familiar faces, surrounded by conversation that should be easy, should be light. The next—

She is weaving through the crowd, moving toward the exit, barely aware of her own steps. Her pulse is steady, but her breathing feels shallow as she steps into the stairwell. She doesn’t know what she’s expecting. She doesn’t know if she’s ready. But she follows anyway.

The air is colder here. Sharper. It carries the weight of the city below, the hum of distant voices, the flickering glow of headlights threading through quiet streets. But none of it matters—not now, not in this moment.

She steps forward, her heels clicking softly against the concrete, but he doesn’t turn. Seonghwa stands near the railing, fingers loosely curled around a cigarette he hasn’t lit, gaze fixed on the skyline as if searching for answers in the blur of the darkness.

The silence between them stretches, unspoken but impossible to ignore. It’s the kind of silence that isn’t empty—it’s charged, thick with everything they haven’t said, everything they don’t know how to say.

She hesitates at the doorway, her fingers brushing against the cold metal frame. A brief, fleeting thought passes through her mind—should she even say anything?

But no. She has spent too long avoiding this, too long letting the weight of her own uncertainty hold her back. So, she steps forward. Her voice, when she finally speaks, is quiet—carefully measured.

"The letter."

At first, he doesn’t react. Not immediately. But then she sees it—the way his shoulders tense, the way his fingers tighten slightly around the cigarette before relaxing again.

She knows he heard her. Still, he doesn’t turn. Instead, he exhales, watching his breath disappear into the night air, his voice equally quiet when she speaks again.

"You have it, don’t you?" Not an accusation. Not a challenge. Just a confirmation—one spoken as if she already knows the answer. She swallows, her pulse steady but her thoughts spiralling.

"I do."

The words settle between them, cold and unmoving. The confirmation is both relieving and unsettling, pressing against her ribs in a way she can’t quite name. Her fingers tighten slightly at her sides, frustration threading through the hesitation in her voice.

"Did you read it?" The pause that follows is longer this time. She watches as he finally shifts, turning slowly until his gaze meets hers. And in that moment, she sees it—the hesitation, the uncertainty, the quiet storm of unspoken emotions flickering just beneath his composed expression. He doesn’t look indifferent. He looks tired.

His voice is calm, steady, but there’s something else beneath it—something quieter, something heavier.

"I didn’t."

The answer lingers between them, pressing into the cold air like a question neither of them know how to answer. She doesn’t know if that’s better or worse. Her breath wavers, but she steadies herself, refusing to let the uncertainty settle in.

"Why?" The word isn’t sharp—not quite—but there’s an edge to it, something threaded with frustration, with expectation, with the weight of everything she’s spent years ignoring.

Seonghwa watches her for a moment, unreadable. Then, in a slow, deliberate motion, he lifts a hand, pressing it lightly against the inside of his coat pocket—a quiet acknowledgment that the letter is still there, still sealed, still untouched.

"Because I don’t know if I want to."

The answer is simple. And yet, somehow, it’s the most complicated thing he could have said. She exhales, her gaze flickering down to the worn pavement beneath them. Neither of them move. Neither of them say anything else.

For the first time in years, they are standing in the same place, breathing in the same air, with the same unresolved past sitting between them like an unopened door.

And maybe—just maybe—that’s enough for now.

tags~ @deltamoon666

[hwapuri]

“…n and m are just letters and next to each other so how much difference would that make?” when I read that line I knew you were dead set on killing me

ꗃ 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃, 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 .

❝ answer me. did you think of her when you're in bed with me? when you're kissing me and holding me— was she the one on your mind? ❞

summary: it's hard knowing you aren't really the person in toji's heart but loving him was something you still did regardless. as for toji, he thinks he's ready to give you his all.

desc: 2.8k words, f!reader (referred to as ‘mama’), canon compliant i think, takes place after mamaguro's death and before toji’s, age gap (early 20s reader, early 30s toji), baby gumi ahhhhh, sfw, angst to fluff to angst again lol, intended lowercase, think you're tsumiki’s mom but without tsumiki bc the relations would be too complicated and also the second wife erasure in the canon storyline?? yeah it's reserved specifically for this fic, not proof read i fear but pls read it's really interesting i can swear by it lmaoqhdhns

dating a widowed man with a son wasn't easy especially when the said man is still in love with his former wife, or rather, his wife who had died.

love is often beautiful but sometimes it's unfair. it can also be cruel. what other reason would make you still stay despite knowing you'll never measure upto the person who had been here before you?

and you've heard stories about her. she was sweet, so beautiful— not just in her appearance but her entire being was beautiful. there always was an ache in your heart upon just the mention of her name.

so how much more would it have ached for toji?

“mama” the spiky haired boy, barely two years old calls you and you realise the silence in the room. “not mama, i’m nana okay?” sick.

nana. not mama but close enough. it doesn't matter anyway, n and m are just letters and next to each other so how much difference would that make? you're the one that's here after all, are you not?

if there's a lump in your throat and your eyes are burning with unshed tears, you force yourself to ignore.

“okay nana” megumi nuzzles his face into your chest, slowly drifting away to sleep. the boy always liked cuddling with you and it melts your heart immensely.

your hands strand through his dark hair. people always said he's the carbon copy of his dad but you'd like to differ. megumi has his mother's eyes and his hair resembled hers more than it did his dad's.

the thought sends another ache in your chest but you push it away– as you always have.

you recall the last time toji had heard megumi call you “mama”. you had never seen toji that livid. he was never a gentle man to begin with but that night, there was nothing else you've been more scared of.

was he like that to his wife? maybe not.

does that matter though? it's not like toji treats you badly. he's decent and loves you an enough amount. you weren't crazy enough to stay when you're not wanted so that must mean you were something to him right?

you also recall the whispers of pity and condemnation thrown at you for just being with toji. him being a brute is one thing but the difference in age is what people seem to have a problem with. you're so much younger than him and have your whole life ahead of you so why are you entrapping yourself this way?

you disagree though. love doesn't know any age and you definitely aren't naive to be head over heels over a guy just because he's relatively older. no, this was real and genuine.

a faint knock disrupts your train of thoughts. “he sleepin’?” toji nods towards the small boy in your arms and you nod back in return.

taking care not to wake the sleeping kid, you slowly pry his hands away from you and pull over a blanket to cover his small body.

when you make your way towards toji, he wastes no time in pulling you closer “missed you” he mumbles, placing a kiss onto your forehead and suddenly all thoughts plaguing your mind disappears. that's all you could ask for, even if it was just for a moment.

“i missed you more” you whisper back, he only huffs out an amused chuckle.

“got bad news though” a frown finds itself on his lips, decorated by a single scar next to it.

“did you lose all your money again?” toji was a gambling addict, another thing you forced yourself to tolerate just for him.

“sorry, doll. thought i’d win this time” he rubs small circles on your back comfortingly and it makes you a bit uneasy to know that he has his way with you so easily.

“it's alright. i’ll just find another part time job”

“so good to me” toji pulls you into his chest and you let out a sigh— of exhaustion? relief? you couldn't really tell but that's not important, toji had you in his arms.

“i’ll try and think of something too. don't worry your pretty little head too much” he lifts you up with ease. while you're in his arms, you feel the safest.

toji really felt bad this time. he was confident he would win but that stupid horse had to trip and lose its lead, ending up last of all places. he knows luck never favoured him but that's didn't stop him from trying again and again and again.

he also knows how you didn't say anything more than necessary about it but he isn't that much of an idiot either. he sees how your expression falters and your shoulders slump a little more when he comes home with another news of his gambling loss.

this is also why he tries, or rather, tried to quit — one too many times, unbeknownst to you. however, old habits die hard and most of the time (everytime) toji gives into his urge and loses yet again. the cycle keeps happening.

maybe this isn't just about gambling.

with the way you're asleep so soundly next to him after putting his son to sleep and taking care of him too, he is overcomed with yet another feeling to be better for you and megumi alike.

toji isn't a gentle man; everyone knows that, you do too — even more than anybody else but he can't help the familiar pool of warm feelings surging through him the longer he stares at your peaceful state.

he remembers the last time he felt it, with another person. it felt like a lifetime ago.

he also remembers how painful it was when he lost it — the person, the feeling altogether. his hands that were making their way to caress your face stops mid air.

toji knows you deserve so much better. you've been nothing but patient to him, so amazing, so perfect to him. still, he just can't do it yet, just not yet.

he will eventually, he hopes you stay until then.

toji wakes up to an empty bed and his heart sinks a little but the creases and wrinkles on the sheets serve as a reminder that you were really here.

he makes his way towards the kitchen, only finding megumi sitting on a chair next to the dining table.

“hey kid, where's your mama?”

toji freezes. it came out so naturally he didn't realise he said it himself and almost thinks he didn't but megumi's wide eyes prove that he actually did.

“m…mama?” megumi says hesitantly and toji nods this time. “yes, your mama”.

“potty potty!” megumi points to the bathroom and giggles, toji follows suit. the man crouches to his son's eye level and pats his head.

“you love your mama, kid?” toji sees megumi's eyes sparkle as the boy nods enthusiastically “very very much!!”

“yeah? i love your mama too.”

toji smiles to himself, he can't wait to tell that to you.

the next time toji got his pay, he finds himself hesitating. instead of heading towards the race tracks, his feet takes him to a jewellery store.

instead of picking out a slot and testing his luck, he picks out a ring. it's not fancy by any means but he thinks it would be the most beautiful band of metal to exist if it slides into your ring finger.

the tiny ring carries all the heavy feelings he has for you.

──

it was one particular evening when you saw an old man lingering by the front gate. its particular because the warm sunset and the soft cool breeze contrasted the ground breaking truth you find out.

“can i help you?” you ask the old man who looks at you up and down, not making an attempt to hide his distaste of your sight.

“is this where toji zenin lives?” he stares down at you with his scrutinising gaze; it makes you feel small.

“zenin?” you ask, confused. is he referring to toji? but his last name is fushiguro is it not?

“yes toji zenin. i heard he has a son as well. you're not the mother are you?”

is it that obvious? you wonder how the old man figured it out. regardless, you're not about to give him his answers so you stood your ground.

“i’m sorry i don't know what you're talking about.” you turn around, about to head inside when his words make you stop short.

“are you fushiguro?”

that's toji’s last name isn't it? not zenin or whatever he called it. so why is he asking you that? is he implying that you're married to toji?

“no. you have the wrong person.”

“why? did he say not to get involved with anyone from his clan?” the old man draws closer, chucking to himself. you're just there unmoving, trying to comprehend the situation and the words coming from his mouth.

“or did he not tell you that either? did he tell you anything at all?” he stands tall in front of you, tearing away bits of yourself with every word he says.

“when he returns, tell him the clan wants to propose him an offer. you can do that much at least won't you?”

…

and when toji comes home that night with the ring cluched tightly in his fist and inside the pocket of his white pants, the world stills.

he finds you in a state he has never seen you before. you look completely and utterly defeated.

“hey, what's wrong?” his hands come to caress your face so effortlessly, the ring and prior nervousness long forgotten.

“talk to me what's going on?” he looks around and the house seems emptier than usual. your laundry that were usually hanging with his were gone.

your small trinkets you placed around the house to “make it more lively” were nowhere to be found.

and there's a bag in the corner of the room which toji prays and hopes he isn't what he thinks it is.

your hands push away his own that were cupping your face. you're not even looking at him.

“say something damn it!”

you flinch and toji takes a step back. he recalls the last time you trembled in fear — when he got mad megumi called you his mom. he punishes himself for it.

“im sorry. please talk to me.” he isn't touching you now but he wants to. he wants to reach out and pull you close, as he always had done. but now there's an unbearable silence and the small distance between you both felt like lightyears away.

“who's zenin” your voice was meek, barely a whisper but toji's eyes widen. how did you find out about that?

no fuck that, he was supposed to be the one telling you. in his own time.

“i can explain” was all that came out of him. he's nervous, he doesn't know where to start. there's a lot of information to unpack and he's not sure how to do it without hurting you too much.

when he doesn't elaborate, you ask another “who's fushiguro then?” your voice falters a bit and toji curses himself for it.

but he's done running away and keeping things from you. “my… my late wife” he says wryly.

your eyes close and a shaky breath leaves your body, as if he just confirmed your worst suspicions. damn life is so funny isn't it? everything you thought you knew apparently wasn't what it seemed to be after all.

opening them again, your vision blurs and you realise tears were escaping your eyes. fuck you didn't want to cry now of all times but they won't stop.

and the way toji was looking at you, it makes you want to throw up.

“i must've been so stupid to you” you let out a humourless chuckle. “did you pretend im her?”

your gaze was sharp and so were your words. maybe all your bottled up feelings were resurfacing. it doesn't make you feel better about it but that doesn't stop you though.

“answer me. did you think of her when you're in bed with me? when you're kissing me and when you're holding me, was she the one on your mind??” your voice was loud now. you should be afraid of waking up megumi who you cradled to sleep just a few hours ago but no, your thoughts are too clouded right now.

toji sighs. he has no excuse.

“i used to” he actually looks ashamed as if he wasn't the one who did it purely out of his will.

your scoff makes him wince “but not anymore.”

his words fall on deaf ears “you know… i knew you did. but i stayed regardless because i thought there would be a chance that maybe one day, you could open up your heart to me. im not even asking for all of it, just a little… i thought you'd let me in.”

you're blabbering and honestly, so distraught.

“but not a moment was there when it was me isn't it? it was always her in the first place.”

now toji should have said something, anything but he stays there planted in place. and maybe that was your breaking point.

you turn around, grabbing your bag and brushing past him towards the door. instead of holding onto you and stopping you, toji clutches the small box containing the ring — your ring in his pocket, almost crushing it in the process, as he hears the door slam.

you think it's funny how toji did not reach out after what happened. it's poetic even. very fitting of him, till the very end, he did not give two shits about you.

so then, why were you back here?

it's been four long years since the trajectory of your life changed. you still don't know if it was for the better or for the worse.

saying it has been hard would be an understatement. it took you a long time just to get back onto your own feet but you did it regardless. however, you left a part of you here long ago and now, you're here to take it back.

that and you missed megumi dearly. perhaps it was an excuse too because you won't deny a part of you still missed toji, despite everything that happened.

standing a few feet away from the place you used to call home, you hesitate.

maybe this was a bad idea. oh this was definitely a bad idea. you'll see them, and then what? what comes after that?

closure? don't make yourself laugh. you’ll just be reminded of how you couldn't be that person for toji— how you'll always come second. and what if they moved?? there's no reason they'd still be here right?

forget this, you don't need to do this. why must you still be the one who put effort? to reach out? four long years passed and still no news means they clearly moved on... right?

you were convinced enough and was about to go back when you saw little megumi carrying a backpack on his back, seemingly coming home from school.

your feet wouldn't move and your eyes wouldn't blink. he grew up so well.

the world pauses as your gaze follows the kid you used to consider your own, now as good as a stranger.

“do you know that kid?” a voice at your back makes you whip your head around. life really is full of surprises and this time, the surprise was in the form of a tall man, no a tall kid with white hair, looking at you curiously through his round tinted glasses.

“... no i don't” well you weren't exactly lying. you don't know the megumi you see now. perhaps if he asked whether you raised him since he was a baby till he was two, then your answer would've been different.

“oh okay” the boy shrugs. “poor guy though”

“why? whats up with him?” you turn to look at megumi again who was minding his business walking home and your heart aches a little.

“I'm here to recruit him. his dad died you see so he's–”

“wait what was that??”

“his dad. he's dead” the amused boy in front of you chuckles and you stare at him, horrified.

“what happened to him?” your voice was shaky and doesn't sound like your own. he leans down to meet your eye level and smirks “why? i thought you don't know that kid. why does that matter to you?”

your stomach churns as you stare at him, not even knowing what to say— the smug expression on his face only widens.

“so you do know him.”

'know' would be a weak word to use when it comes to toji. you knew of his habits, the simple things he does and also of the more complex ones — like the exact place his scar decorated his lips and how it felt to kiss it.

then again, you don't really know anything about him and maybe you never will.

and maybe that's really, the closure you needed.

[hwapuri]

so this destroyed me 😭 god it’s so beautiful

A pinwheel, standing alone... (Part-1)

Pairing: Seonghwa x reader

Genre: angst, hurt

Words: 3k

Summary: It was the holiday season, which meant you returning back to your hometown, a place which wrapped you with warmth and familiarity. Yet, at the same time, a place you despised because of those bittersweet whispers of memories from every street corner for which you never got a closure. Why? Because he left without a word.

Mic testing, author speaking: so hey to whoever is viewing this<3 first off all it's my very first time writing a fic and it HAD to be angst. Also yes, sadly, I suck at choosing pictures for the intro.

This work is inspired by the song called 'pinwheel' by svt's vcu. (I am a huge carat btw)

It was the holiday season, yet the town felt lonelier than ever. The streets were dusted with a thin layer of snow, and the wind played its hollow tune, brushing through the alleys and abandoned corners. At the top of the hill, where time seemed to pause, the old pinwheel spun faintly in the breeze, almost as if it were searching for something or someone, to give it meaning. Its creaky rotations mirrored the ache in her chest, a void left unfilled.

She wrapped her scarf tighter as she made her way through the bustling streets towards the hill. The bright lights and cheerful chatter of holiday festivities were a stark contrast to the quiet storm brewing inside her. Across the streets were massive posters, their bold letters proclaiming the pride of the place, the one who had risen from this small town to dazzling heights. In the centre of it all was his face–the face of the boy who had once been her entire world.

Her eyes lingered on the name printed beneath the confident smile. Park Seonghwa, it read.

The very sight of it sent a churning turmoil deep through her, a storm she hadn't expected to feel after all these years. To everyone else, he was a star, the town's crowning glory. But to her, he was a question that had remained unanswered, a wound that time had not healed.

The snow crunched beneath her boots as she wandered past old haunts, her breath clouding in the icy air. She thought she'd moved on, but everything about this place, this time of year, had her confronting the wounds she thought had healed. And then there was him. The one who had promised they'd face the world together before vanishing to chase his dream. She didn't resent his ambition–how could she? But she resented the silence he left behind, the way he hadn't even looked back.

The pinwheel spun harder as a gust of wind rushed through. She glanced back up the hill, where it stood-lonely and restless. Much like her, it had endured the passage of time, clinging to memories of a connection that had been severed too soon.

As she stood there, frozen in thought, a commotion broke out at the bottom of the hill. Fans had gathered, screaming and cheering as Park Seonghwa tried to move discreetly, clearly not wanting to get noticed. Fangirls were in their typical behaviour—screaming, shouting. Don't get him wrong, his love for his fans has always been evident throughout his idol life. But right now, he just wanted a moment of peace, away from the noise.

Disguised beneath a cap and scarf, he manages to fleet away from the crowd. He sees the pinwheel on the hill and is struck by how little and how much has changed.

As Seonghwa quietly climbs the hill, the pinwheel spinning steadily in the wind draws him in like a memory that won't fade. He approaches it slowly, almost reverently, as if disturbing it would undo all that was left unsaid between them.

At the same time, she hears the fan commotion from the hilltop and instinctively steps back, heart thudding. She doesn't want to see him–not like this, not surrounded by the chaos that took him away in the first place.

She begins to descend the opposite side of the hill, her back to the path he's now taking up.

They miss each other by seconds.

Seonghwa reaches the top and stands by the pinwheel, letting the silence seep in. He gazes at the town below, unaware that her footprints are still fresh in the snow just meters away.

He exhaled a quiet sigh, a sigh of exhaustion or maybe a sigh of longing. For a brief moment, he closes his eyes, letting the past settle around him like snowflakes. His eyes landed on the pinwheel-old, weathered, but still turning. Still holding on.

"It's still here..." he murmured, almost to himself. A flicker of a smile tugged at his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. He stepped closer, brushing his gloved hand gently against the worn stem. The cold metal buzzed faintly with the spinning blades.

Memories hit him without warning–

———————————————

He had stood right here, suitcase heavy in his hand, heart heavier in his chest. Her house was a short walk away. A minute or two, maybe.

But he couldn't make himself go.

He told himself there would be time later. That she'd understand. That chasing this dream was everything they used to talk about.

But when the taxi arrived and he stepped in, he didn't text. He didn't call.

He just left.

Back then, it felt easier. Cleaner.

Now?

Now it felt like betrayal.

———————————————

He glanced around. Snow blanketed the hill in a quiet hush. For a moment, he felt like a boy again, chasing dreams with someone who believed in them as much as he did. Someone who had stood right here beside him once, eyes wide and full of fire.

He wondered if she still came here.

If she thought of him like he thought of her—when the cameras were gone, when the world quieted.

The pinwheel turned once more, a little faster this time, and a strange feeling stirred in him. Longing. Guilt. Regret.

He looked down the other side of the hill, unaware that just minutes earlier, she had stood exactly where he was standing now. Her footsteps in the snow were already starting to disappear.

———————————————

The evening went by and the night came colder than usual. The mushy snow started collecting against the windowpane as she silently rummaged thro­ugh an old tin box­–the one that held fragments of her memories which she thought won’t affect her like it did to her teenage self. Memories she’d thought she left behind. Memories of the chapter which closed abruptly.

Buried beneath those childish bits of paper and items of her past, she found an envelope. The envelope she could swear she would never forget. How could she? It held what her heart wanted her lips to speak back then. But lips? They sometimes betray their keeper–they spit sharp daggers when raging emotion are high, or stay shut when desperation begs for release.

With careful fingers she smoothened the folds and the wrinkled edges of the envelope. Her fingers glided over the inked words–Addressed to Park Seonghwa. Slowly unfolding the letter, she found herself slipping into the depths of the word she had written back then.

"You left without a goodbye, but I still waited for one. I don’t know if I hate you or if I just hate how much I miss you."

"We always talked about chasing dreams. You ran toward yours, but I was left standing alone."

"Did I ever cross your mind, even just once?"

“You’ll always remain faintly, here, in my heart.”

“Please, even if it takes a long time, turn around, and you’ll find me again.”

She lets out a quiet laugh–one that was empty and maybe a bit frustrated. Frustrated, after reading the last few lines. She remembers writing it in anger, in grief, in all the emotions that swallowed her whole the day he disappeared without a word. Yet, yet, in the end of the letter, she longed for him. She despised how at present too, she found herself trapped in the reflection of her past. As if the time had only moved, not her feelings. Her resentment always ended with her love for him. She couldn’t bring herself to hate him completely.

———————————————

Meanwhile, Seonghwa slumps on his bed. Though his body was heavy with fatigue and exhaustion, his mind was wandering with thoughts of guilt, regret and shame.

His phone vibrates on the nightstand–a sharp interruption to his spiralling mind. Thinking the notification would catalyse as a temporary refuge from his thoughts–he exhaled a sigh. He picks it up, eyes scanning the screen. To his dismay it’s just a message from his manager regarding his future schedules. He swipes it away. But instead of locking the screen, his thumb hesitates. It hovers over the messages app for a few seconds. His brain mulls over numerous thoughts. Finally, he decides to open it–he scrolls almost till the very end of the list.

Her name appear–with an unsent draft beneath. He clicks and scrolls through their last exchange, nothing grand–just them being silly over what to bring when they visit the pinwheel on the hill next Sunday. Sure, a faded memory, but never forgotten. Then his eyes landed to the unsent message in his drafts.

“I wanted to stay.”

"I wanted to tell you that before I left, but I was too much of a coward."

"You believed in me more than I believed in myself. I should've told you that."

“Because of this world, you and I drift apart.”

The words stare back at him, a confession frozen in time. He had typed them on the night he left, thumb trembling over the send button. But fear had stopped him.

Now, reading it, he feels the weight of what could have been done. What should have been done. He himself couldn’t justify what he did back then. All he had to toss the blame on was his ‘teenage emotions’. You see emotions are sometimes self-delusion. They serve a fantasy–an illusion, a false perception to how its holder is making a correct decision. It deludes its holder to make spontaneous choices ignoring the incoming second thoughts.

For a fleeting moment, the urge to send it—now, after all these years, surges through him.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he locks the screen, sets the phone on the nightstand and closes his eyes. The unsent words remain unsent.

And somewhere across town, she stares at her own phone, fingers brushing over an old, crumpled letter, unaware of the message that never reached her.

———————————————

Next day the morning is crisp, the remnants of last night’s snowfall glazing the rooftops and streets with a delicate frost. She steps out of her apartment, stuffing her hands deep into her coat pockets, exhaling into the chilled air.

She has things to do, places to be–all in all, she has to be occupied with something or the other at any cost as she thinks there’s no room for lingering thoughts—not today.

And yet, somehow, fate has other plans.

She reaches the small café in the corner of the street–her favourite one. The familiar cozy scent of freshly brewed coffee lingering in the air, reaches her nose–soothing her mind for a moment. Reaching the counter, she ordered her usual go to coffee. After paying and grabbing it from the slab, her mind oddly decides, instead of sitting and drinking in the café itself–why not have it while walking and enjoying the snow-covered views of the street.

Outside, the streets started bustling with people. She adjusts her scarf, mind elsewhere, barely focused. Then–

Impact.

She collides with someone, too preoccupied to see the coming. The force was enough to knock the purse off her arm. And there goes her lip balm rolling, keys landing near the stranger’s boots, receipt fluttering against the cement road, coffee splattering out of the cup and the–

An envelope.

Her envelope.

But she doesn’t notice it yet.

“I—sorry,” she mumbles, crouching quickly to grab her scattered items, fingers scrambling over the icy ground. The stranger kneels too, already reaching for her fallen things, handing them back without hesitation.

That’s when she hears his voice. “Its fine…”

And everything inside her stops. She knows that voice.Slowly—too slowly—she looks up.

And there he is.

Park Seonghwa.

Time rushes back in violently, knocking the air from her lungs. She doesn’t move. Everything inside her screams no, but she can’t move.

Can’t react fast enough.

Her fingers shake slightly as she grabs her things, stuffing them recklessly into her bag. She doesn’t dare meet his gaze, doesn’t dare acknowledge that after years—after everything—this moment is happening.

And then—

He picks up the last remaining item.

The envelope.

The letter she never realized she carried.

The letter she never meant to bring with her.

His name is inked across the front, bold and familiar.

His fingers hover over it, his brows furrowing, confusion flickering across his features.

She doesn’t see it.

She’s too frantic, too desperate to escape.

She grabs her things, whatever her hands can reach. Shoves them into her bag. Rises too quickly, mutters something incoherent–and walks away.

No—runs away.

Seonghwa stares at her back going away. His grip tightens around the letter she unknowingly left behind. He glances down at it again. By looking at the slightly crumpled edges he can figure out that its old but carefully folded. His name in her handwriting stares back at him.

A message addressed to him, but never meant for him to read. And now, he holds it in his hand. And she has no idea.

———————————————

Hours pass. The encounter with Seonghwa lingers in her mind, replaying over and over like an echo she can't silence. She tells herself it was nothing—a meaningless collision, a chance meeting with someone she once knew. Nothing more.

Yet, something feels off.

She sits at the edge of her bed, her bag beside her, mind drifting somewhere far away. Her hands move absently, digging through the contents—she’s not looking for anything in particular at first. It’s just a habit. Routine.

Wallet. Keys. Lip balm. Receipts.

She exhales slowly, fingers brushing against loose paper at the bottom. She pauses.

Her heart tightens slightly, though she isn’t sure why. Her search becomes deliberate now. Focused. She rummages through all the possible fabrics of pockets, every hidden fold, eyebrows knitting together as unease starts to tingle through her system. And realisation strikes her mind like thunderbolt.

The letter.

It isn’t here.

Her pulse skipping, then spiking.

Shit. No.

She scatters all the items out of her bag across the bed. For a person who hates unorganised things–it was the first time she ignored the mess forming around her. Well, ignore would be a wrong word to use, she never noticed the mess.

It was there this morning—she was sure of it. Maybe she hadn’t intentionally placed it in her bag, but it had been tucked away somewhere, buried beneath old receipts and forgotten things. So where did it go? Where was it now?

She tries to calm herself for a moment. Squeezing her eyes shut, trying to steady her thoughts. Think–she tells herself. She retraces her steps, recalls every moment since she left the house.

Had she taken it out somewhere?

Had she dropped it at home?

Had she—

Her stomach twists.

Had she lost it when she bumped into him?

The moment crashes back into her mind—sharp, sudden, like a slap against her thoughts. The collision. The rush. The desperate scramble to pick up her things. She had been barely thinking, barely aware. Had she even seen the envelope when she grabbed her belongings?

Her chest tightens painfully.

She thinks back—tries to remember everything she shoved into her bag, every item her hands touched as she scrambled to leave.

Had she picked up the letter? Or had she left it behind?

A cold realization grips her.

He had helped her pick up her things.

Had he seen it? Had he touched it? Had he kept it?

She presses a hand against her forehead, eyes squeezing shut as anxiety coils through her. If he had seen it—if he had taken it—that meant he had it now.

That meant he had read it.

Or was reading it.

She doesn’t know which is worse.

———————————————

The envelope rests before him on the table. A quiet and potentially harmless thing against the polished surface. The faint rhythm of tires screeching against the asphalt road and the muted buzz of the conversations outside goes unnoticed by him. He simply can’t drift his concentration away.

Not now.

Not when his name is staring back at him from the paper that was never meant to reach him in the first place. His fingers hover over the edges, tracing the worn creases, feeling the weight of years pressed into every faded fold. The ink has smudged slightly in places, the corners softened with time—proof that this letter has been carried, kept, touched more times than he can count. And yet, until this moment, it remained unread

He exhales, slow and uneven, as if the very act of breathing might shatter whatever fragile restraint still holds him back. He shouldn’t open it.

He knows he shouldn’t.

Whatever is inside was never meant for him now—only for the version of him that had walked away. The boy who had packed his dreams into a suitcase and left without looking back. But what if…

What if she had waited?

What if she had written something meant to be read then but still mattered now?

What if, in all the moments of silence between them, she had been waiting for this—waiting for him to finally understand what he had done?

His thumb presses against the seal, hesitation coiling tight in his chest. He lingers. Debates. The weight of unread words sits heavy between his ribs, heavier than the years that have passed since that night on the hill.

Did she resent him?

Did she miss him?

Did she hate him for disappearing?

Or—

Did she still…

His pulse pounds at the thought, fingers tightening slightly around the paper. He could leave it unopened. He could slip it into the depths of his coat pocket and carry it with him like another unspoken regret.

Or he could unfold it, let the past rush back in. Let her voice—her words—reach him in a way they never had before.

Outside, the city blurs into the quiet murmur of passing footsteps and distant car horns. Time stretches unbearably thin.

And then—

He presses his thumb against the seal once more.

Breathes.

And—

author speaking: so what do you think will happen? Will he read? Will he leave it aside?

Tags: @deltamoon666

[hwapuri]

those broad shoulders, and the way the sleeve of the shirt tightens around his bicep 🤭

& what am I supposed to do with this information? ∘ ∘ ∘ ( °ヮ° ) ?

[hwapuri]

THIS WAS SO GOODD! I had to keep putting it down to process it but onl the fact that signed the papers in the hospital all along, goddayum.

Vendetta

► 𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 - dilf!Hongjoong x fem!reader ◄ ► 𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎/𝙰𝚄 - mafia au, arranged marriage trope, secret/hidden marriage, slow burn, heavy angst, emotionally heavy, revenge, emotional rollercoaster, power imbalance, age gap (reader is in her early 30s and Joong is in his mid-40s), reader! is resigned to her fate but not for long, enemies-to-lovers, plot twist◄ ► 𝚁𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐/𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 - PG-18+ so MDNI!!! depression as in reader! has almost given up on life, implied familial abuse (not described, but be warned!), implied violence, minor car accident, minor descriptions of near death experience, generalized dark themes, eventual smut (short though) lots of kissing, couch riding, creampie, emotional and possessive sex, no protection (do not do this!) ◄ ► 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 - 33.5K words (hear me out---) ◄ ► 𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 - After your uncle sold you to the mafia to settle a debt, you were forced into an arranged marriage with the controlling Kim Hongjoong and you expected nothing more than a life of silence and control. He was much older than you, much more calculated and cold, and you had no doubt that he was devoid of light. He'd be displeased to know that you have a backbone, however, but what happens when his dark secrets that could potentially ruin your life slowly unravel when the wolves come out to play? You realize that the secrets he held dear where deeper than you thought, and there was no way out. ◄ ► 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜 - I am sorry that it took this long. I was sick for weeks and had no energy to write. I am also sorry it's this long, but I don't regret it. This was a request from the lovely @midnightreader-06 (she's an adult.) I hope it was worth the wait. ◄ ► 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - @0rangemilk @ginger-mingi @ruubyrubes @oddracha @jaytheatiny @roxannecos @juicy-red @cheolliehugs @sunnysidesins @jjongbearshoney @midnightrebel1028 @mallielovssyou @jenluvzen ◄

You were ten years old when you held both of your parents hand as the three of you walked side by side in an open field where the vastness of the green Earth was there for the taking as far as the eye could see. 

As your dearest father, whose eyes shone with adoration and his lips split with the fondest of grins, carried you in his arms to point at the bright, blue sky, your innocence and naivety paved way for the natural curiosity that lay hidden in your young mind.

“You, my darling,” your mother lovingly booped your button nose. “You are the prettiest, far more special than anything in this world, and I love you.”

The world felt impossibly vast, and yet in that moment, wrapped in the safety of your parents’ love, it felt perfectly sized to hold just the three of you. Truly, you were loved by your parents. It was the kind of love that would transcend even through the afterlife. Until they didn’t.

You were sixteen years old when you stood under the pouring rain that blessed your parents’ grave, your head down low as your expressionless face stared at the freshly dug soil under your feet. There was blackness all around you - black for the weeping sky, black for the clothes you wore around your frail, shivering body that symbolized your mourning and loss.

Black for the two coffins you had watched sink into the ground, swallowed by the earth as if it could somehow keep your parents safe when you no longer could, black for the words no one could say, black for the warning signals in your head as you were led away from the cemetery.

Everything was black. You were far too young for such a travesty, but since when has this life been fair to anybody? Your parents’ death has definitely taught you better.

The hours stopped flowing, the sands of time floating inside the hourglass in a perpetual cycle of your memories where the images of your parents were slowly disappearing, refusing to flow - refusing to let you move on.

You are the prettiest, far more special than anything in this world, and I love you.

“You call that clean? I could lick the damn thing and get road dust in my teeth!”

Your uncle, your mother’s older brother, barked from the doorway, snapping you out of your memories. His loud, displeasing voice echoed down the garage hallway far before you even laid your eyes on him.

You closed your eyes, taking the deepest breath you could possibly take from the deepest chambers of your lungs. Not that there was anything left, you were a walking entity of nothingness at this point, but you had to remain calm like you had learned to be - like you had to be.

Your uncle stepped into the garage, shoes clicking against the polished tile floor most mechanics would kill for. “That’s your problem. Always doing the bare minimum. You’re useless just like your mother.”

There it was. He didn’t have to mention her often like the mere thought of her slowly decayed his tongue inside his sinful mouth. He didn’t outwardly curse her name, it was just enough to let you know he still thought of you like you were a charity case; a stain on the marble floors of his pristine world.

You tried not to gasp out loud when he titled your chin up roughly. His calloused fingers burned every single hair strand on your face, his eyes could have disintegrated you on the spot with all the unspoken hate you knew he had for you but refused to speak out, but you had to remain calm.

He harrumphed, turning around and beginning to walk off to where he came from, but not before spitting up an unholy amount of saliva on the floor with an obscene smirk on his clean shaven face. “Clean it up,” was all he said.

Through gritted teeth, you had begun wiping the floor, and as the water began to wash away all the grime your pig of an uncle had left, you hadn’t realized that your tears had begun to mix itself in the water like it would rinse away all your troubles.

It was like you were sixteen again. You still remember the day like it was yesterday when he led you to his car away from the cemetery, all without a single word of comfort or condolences at the dearly departed. Never mind your father, but your mother was his younger sister. You were not surprised at the sight of his massive mansion - your family did come from old money - but the moment you stepped through it, you saw the facade quickly. You weren’t there as family, but as a liability. All of this was just for show, not for your comfort.

He walked ahead of you, not bothering to see if you were following him. There was no warmth in his voice, just clipped efficiency, like he was giving instructions to a driver. There was no welcome. No open arms. No kind words. Your room was barely one. A cot, no sheets. A single window so cloudy with grime it looked like frosted glass. Little did you know, it would be your room for no less than a decade - a decade long of hell reincarnate on an already scorching Earth.

Sometimes he didn’t call for food, most of the time he called to yell. Once, for leaving a cup turned the wrong way in the sink, he threw it at the wall and told you your parents would’ve done the same if they’d had the guts.

It didn’t stop the bruises, but your perseverance helped you survive the nights. No one came looking for you. No one asked how you were.

You were nineteen years old when you started finally accepting that this was your world. You were reduced to moping spit off of the floor, and after another four years of slaving away and just taking all the burnt end of your uncle’s anger, he decided to finally send you into college. You wanted to scoff, but you will take anything that you could get - anything to get even a sliver of your identity back. He wasn’t doing this for you, you knew he’d use you for free labour after.

“You owe me,” he said, sliding the acceptance letter toward me. “You remember that. Everything you have is because I kept you fed.”

Fed. You saw red. He never mentioned you’d earned every damn underfed crumb like an inbred. But you nodded, anyway, because even a dog learns how to slip the chain if it’s given enough time to watch the master.

And you waited, day by day, for someone to remember you existed, but the ones you longed for were the ones you knew were in heaven by now. And you hoped they weren’t looking down on you.

All you could feel was pain. It hurt to try to move your limbs, it was more reminiscent of bones grinding against each other sharply against sandpaper, it hurt to take the smallest gulp of breath, hell, it hurt to even blink.

The last thing you remembered was coming home from your graduation party with a couple of your friends from the restaurant, but the panicked yet controlled voices of the doctors and nurses surrounding you had you concurring that you were in the hospital.

You want to move, but your limbs won’t listen. You want to ask for your parents, but their names get caught in your throat. That sent a magnanimous amount of pain far worse than you were feeling right now down in the middle of your chest where your heart laid. They were gone, and you were soon to follow.

The first tear that fell from your eyes felt like glass shards. You didn’t know how to tell your parents that you had failed them. You were only twenty-eight, and your short life was slowly slipping away from you. You could feel it.

I don’t want to die. I’m much too young to fall.

But hope was bleak. You didn’t doubt that your uncle was already aware of the car accident you were involved in, and you didn’t doubt that he was happy about it. It would be good riddance for him, there was no way he would pay for your surgeries. You were alone, utterly alone. The thought of dying alone hurt more than you’d like it to be.

Until a warm hand wrapped itself around yours. It was big, rough, and warm. You were too weak to open your eyes, but you mentally thanked the kind nurse who comforted you in your time of need. Or more likely, it was one of your college friends, namely, your close friend Yeosang. He was much younger than you, only being a freshman while you were eight years his senior.

You volunteered as a substitute teacher in your spare time for high school students as a part of your program, and Yeosang offered to be your intern. You were the one to write him his recommendation letter to get into your college last year. You quickly became fond of the kid with the siren eyes who squeezed his way into your heart, who still admired you as his mentor and still stuck by you even after his high school. 

He was the only regret in your short life. There were times you dismissed him since you were far from his age and you wanted him to spend time with other people. You wish you had more opportunities to tell him that you cherished the little moments of peace he gave you, and to thank him for letting you know what it was like to care for someone when nobody cared about you. 

Time passed. It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours, but the hand remained, covering yours in a soothing cocoon, a salve to your aching and hurting heart. 

It was just a hand, but it provided you the strength you needed. You might hate your uncle, but if it wasn’t for him sending you to college, this hand wouldn’t be here, helping you sign your own paperwork since you had no family. It must have been a pitiful sight - your soul was nearly gone yet you had to sign your own hospital papers.

Sometimes it would squeeze gently like it needed to be sure you were still holding on as you slipped in and out of consciousness, and you started clinging to it like it was the only real thing in the world.

Because, maybe it was. No one else came - not your uncle, and not the world you thought would notice if you ceased to exist prematurely before you even turned your life around, but the hand stayed.

Against your will, you stood before your own reflection. You always thought you had the prettiest of hazel-hued eyes - you had gotten them from your father, after all - but the hollowness of them scared even yourself.

“Y/N! Come downstairs, or I’m leaving you to walk yourself all the way to the Kim estate!”

You flinched, your fingers pausing from examining the thick concealer you splattered all over your neck to cover your uncle’s purple fingertips. You were still unsure if surviving was a blessing or a curse.

After getting back from the hospital, he had appointed you to fix his business paperworks - all without pay, of course - and he kept you locked away from the world. 

Except when it was time to remind you of your place, to remind you of his power. You were thirty-two when he finally decided to get rid of you and sell you off as collateral for his failing business to a man far older than you, because if he didn’t, the business won’t be the only thing your uncle would be losing.

“He’s your last chance,” he reiterated, voice low and full of threat. “You marry him, or you’re done here. I’ll have you on a flight by morning stripped of every cent, every roof, every name. I made a deal, and you’re the damn collateral. Don’t make me waste you.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d threatened to erase you from your own life. But this time, it felt final. “Your face is your saving grace,” he continued arrogantly. “Luckily for you, you inherited your whore of a mother’s pretty face. With luck, that bastard Kim Hongjoong might take a liking to you.”

You tuned out the way he cursed out the said man’s name with words you couldn’t even repeat, focusing on the way your fists clenched tight to control your breathing.

Kim Hongjoong, you thought. That was your future husband’s name, the man who would either be your salvation or be the one to push you into a deeper hell. You’ve given up on the aspect of marrying for love, but still, giving it up like this feels like a punch to your gut.

But there was no way around it, not when your uncle sent you a seething glare that told you that you needed to play along as he forced your arm to link with his as you were both escorted inside the huge mansion that screamed of wealth and dirty money by the stiff-postured butler.

“I welcome you to the Kim estate, you may address me as San,” the cat-eyed butler bowed respectfully before you and your uncle, gesturing forward as he walked on. “I do apologize if I’m the only one to extend the greetings for now, all of our staff is preparing for the bride-to-be.”

He sent you a polite smile, but all you felt was dread. “Shall I make it up and invite you to the dining room? The Master awaits the both of you.”

Your uncle’s fake, booming laughter fills the grandiose dining room. Every inch of this manor screamed of wealth and power, the chandeliers above casting a soft glow down the glossy marble floors, the ornate walls lined with ancestral tapestry partnered with vintage vases.

But none of it reached you, none of it mattered because none of this was for you. As slimy as your uncle was, the fact that this man was even agreeing to the prospect of marrying to settle a debt perturbed you.

You couldn’t help but let your fingers trail along the back of a carved dining chair as you entered the main dining room. Everything looked expensive, it reminded you of your mother who had the finer tastes in life when she was still among the living.

But it was when you looked up that your breath had truly gotten caught in your throat. Somebody was already looking at you, he was already staring at you. Even before you were introduced, you knew in your heart that this was the infamous Kim Hongjoong.

He was seated at the far end of the impossibly long dining table, his sharp eyes already watching your every move. The second your eyes met his, the air shifted, and you froze. All that existed was the intensity of his gaze. For a moment, everything disappeared. It was just you and him. You didn’t know how to feel about it. 

Your pulse thudded in your ears as you allowed yourself to stare back. You didn’t even need more than a couple of seconds, it was very obvious from the first glance that this man was undeniably attractive. It was almost devastatingly so.

His face was chiseled to perfection, all without the soft curves of a boy, he held the sharp angles that only belonged to a man of his age. That particular age suited him and you could tell he was years above you, his meticulously styled hair already sporting a couple of whites and greys

But it wasn’t his looks that immediately captivated you, it was his eyes. The way they stared at you heavily as though he was an all-seeing being that could read your every thought and predict your every move. He didn’t smile, he didn’t blink, he didn’t look away - he just observed. Something in your chest twisted. Your instinct told you to look away, to hide, but you stayed uprooted from where you stood. His stare left you unable to do anything else. 

But you had to eventually. Your uncle cut the obvious tension with a small, nervous laugh as he nudged you subtly. “Mr. Kim, it’s an honour and pleasure to be in your presence in this fine evening,” he tried to suck up, though you can tell his bravado was nowhere to be seen in front of a person who was obviously greater than he was.

You forced yourself forward, one step towards the other, graciously sitting down on the chair that San the butler had so generously pulled out for you. As you tried to settle comfortably, you looked up again, only to realize that Hongjoong still hasn’t looked away from you, only giving out a small grunt in response to your uncle’s poor attempt to start a conversation.

You would turn and stare at the way you knew your uncle’s face would turn red in embarrassment and anger at being snubbed, but Hongjoong’s eyes had once again held you captive.

Someone cleared their throat purposefully. Right. You didn’t even realize that there were other people seated towards the end of the table. You couldn’t even afford to be embarrassed for being the other end of the tension.

“You’re staring,” the voice, surprisingly rough and deep, said. It was more of a whisper, but the silence was so loud in the room that anything could be heard.

Hongjoong didn’t answer right away. He simply tilted his head, just slightly. Still watching you with those dark eyes. Then, calmly, still without glancing at anyone else, he replied, “Am I?”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement in disguise, a graceful way of telling the other person off. It made the hair rise on the back of your neck. You heard an exasperated sigh somewhere.

Even when dinner was served and the conversation around you flowed naturally amongst the other guests deemed important enough to be here, you couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable. You barely heard their voices. You knew he was still watching you from time to time.

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you kept your posture stiff, trying to maintain some semblance of control. Your hands, however, clenched your utensils so tight, you wouldn’t be surprised if they bent from the pressure. You couldn’t stop the tremor that ran through you from all the weight of his eyes.

At first you thought it was fear, but no, this was something else entirely. It wasn’t flattering, it wasn’t lustful, it wasn’t romantic - this was unnerving, darkness at its purest form.

“Y/N, my dearest niece,” your uncle’s voice suddenly broke through your haze, effectively catching everyone’s attention as well. “I trust that you’re enjoying dinner?”

You swallowed, already reading between the lines. He was basically asking you to look alive, a silent threat. You forced a small smile, nodding in effect. “Yes,” you said softly. “It’s quite wonderful.”

An unreadable flicker crosses Hongjoong’s face as he leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. Somehow, that made him look more intimidating than he already was. He tilted his head, his gaze sharpened, but his body stayed relaxed. It was the posture of someone who knew he was on top of the food chain.

“Great,” your uncle cleared his throat. “I suppose it’s about time to get down to the nitty-gritty of this dinner. Let’s talk business, gentlemen.”

A saddened frown settles itself on your lips. Right, you had forgotten that this was just business for him at the end of the day. You had somehow forgotten that you were treated less than human, a little more akin to produce being sold off to a wanting consumer.

“There’s no need to drag this out,” your uncle continued, failing to read the room. Even you knew that he was in no position to call the shots like he was doing currently. “She’s all yours, for all intents and purposes.”

You looked down, shame and mortification filling your entire body, gripping your dress tightly in your fists. The implication of what that meant horrified you, given that you were the only woman in the room, surrounded by men who immediately understood the sexual insinuation of the statement.

Thick silence followed as everybody waited for Hongjoong to speak. His posture shifted ever so slightly from your peripheral vision as he started to open his mouth to reply. “I’m not here for that,” he said flatly.

The words were quiet, but they carried more force than your uncle’s screaming. The older man let out a nervous laughter, brushing it off. “Of course, still, it’s a part of the arrangement.”

Hongjoong’s expression didn’t change. “I heard you the first time.”

Your knuckles turned white from how hard you were gripping. His voice struck something in you, sending a zing through your body from your toes all the way to your scalp. His gaze, his voice, his complete control over the room; it was all too much. You hated the way it made your stomach turn into itself.

But your uncle’s ego rendered him unable to stop because he always wanted to be the one in control. “She turned out decent, though mostly useless. It could be changed,” he said, degrading your dignity further down to the ground. “She’s an obedient little thing, knows how to close her trap when prompted.”

You froze, as did everybody. You didn’t need to look around the table to know the weight of every eye. It was a different type of humiliation you had to endure, but you didn’t say anything. Years of training had taught you to just take all of his words in without flinching.

For the first time that night, Hongjoong looked away from you. His stare shifted, slow and deliberate, settling on your uncle who chuckled nervously, but also unable to look away from Hongjoong like you did.

It was his turn to be stared at, you could already tell that your uncle was starting to crack under the pressure of that silent, unnerving stare. 

Then as if to rub salt on his wounds, Hongjoong let a small smile curl at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t directed towards you, but it sent nasty goosebumps all over your skin. It was nothing short of sinister.

“How compelling,” he drawled out, leaning forward to grab his wine glass, swirling its contents leisurely before he set his dark eyes back towards your uncle. “Though I don’t recall ever asking.”

Your uncle stiffened, but Hongjoong continued, his voice controlled, and flat. “And if I ever find myself wondering, I’ll be sure to consult someone who’s managed to keep his life longer than selling their nieces to the mafia to save their skin.” Your legs felt suddenly too weak, your numb fingers loosening their tight hold on your dress. The mafia. Your uncle was selling you out to the mafia. The word itself echoed through your mind, a jagged, inescapable truth. Fear, raw and electric, lit up inside you.

Though, an undeniable satisfaction flowed through you at the prospect of your smug uncle finally being put in his place. He opened his big mouth to try and retort back, but Hongjoong didn’t give him the chance.

He sets his wine glass back down, lightly tapping on it with a butter knife. “More,” was all he said. It was just one command, but if you were standing, it would have brought you down to your knees. It was the end of the conversation, all because he said so without actually saying it. There were no more words needed to be said, the message had been delivered. He turned his gaze somewhere else, not looking back at you. There was no need to.

This entire room knew who held the leash, and it was the man you were set to marry sooner than later. The room had been entirely claimed by him the moment he opened his mouth.

Dinner was an awkward affair. The conversation between everyone was never really the same afterwards, but you didn’t care, you tuned them all out, even when you could finally breathe because Hongjoong never looked your way again, partaking in a conversation with the man nearest to him, the same man with the deep voice who called him out for staring at you.

It was every man for themselves at this very table, that much you could tell. Every clink of cutlery made you flinch, every swallow constricting your throat, every smoke coming out of your uncle’s ears petrifying you, his words still ringing in your head the entire time as you tried to eat.

Marry this man or face the consequences, but at what cost? You were damned if you did, and damned if you didn’t. There would be no ending where you wouldn’t end up bleeding. Hongjoong terrified you. It was the type of fear that settled itself deep in your bones. He hasn’t even risen from his seat, yet he’s managed to get under your skin far more than your uncle has in more than a decade.

This was a man who ruled in power. There was something in the way he sat, all composed and relaxed. He had nothing to prove, let alone raise his voice. He simply held everyone’s breath in his palms. One squeeze was all it took.

You didn’t realize you’d been staring until Hongjoong’s sharp eyes met yours briefly once more. He looked at your uncle, back at you, then back at the man who was talking to him. You had made your decision then. Anything was better than being your uncle’s property.

By the end of the week, all of your belongings were packed in a small suitcase, ready to be transported to the Kim estate. Not that you needed to pack a lot, there was no single thing that you truly owned.

The manor was just as breathtaking as it was the last time you saw it, dare say, far more glamorous than you remembered it to be now that the invisible collar that your uncle wrapped around your neck like a noose was now gone. It was far much easier to gaze in awe at the splendor that it represented.

Though you reckon that if you closed your eyes, the walls would be crimson red with blood. Your fingers clutched the suitcase handle with a grip that bordered on desperation, as if letting go might unravel something fragile inside you. The threshold before you wasn’t just the entrance to another home, it was a gate to uncertainty, and that terrified you more than anything.

The last time you crossed into the unfamiliar den of someone else’s house, you were met with a home, but with silent trials and unspoken wounds. But it was too late to ponder whether you should just turn back, run away, and start anew somewhere else - the massive door at the entrance suddenly opened ajar to reveal the familiar face of the Kim family butler, San.

It struck you then, as he was walking towards your direction, that he wasn’t wearing a uniform like the last time you saw him, in fact, he wasn’t like anything you remembered at all even though this was only your second meeting. Gone was the uniform, the gloves, and his rigid posture. Instead, he wore a gray tailored suit and he walked like he belonged in it. He wasn’t performing anymore. He grabbed your suitcase for you, but before he could take a step forward, he hesitantly turned towards you. “I just wanted to say that there are no shadows in this place,” he said softly, cryptically. “You don’t need to keep looking over your shoulders. He can’t hurt you here.”

You tried to keep your face still, unreadable. You supposed that one eventful dinner was enough for everyone to see how much of a swine your uncle was. You didn’t respond to his strange reassurance. Instead, you studied him again, this time more carefully, more warily. “You’re not a butler, are you?” You said quietly.

His brows raised, but he didn’t say anything; he just smiled at you before beckoning you inside the mansion that would be your new home. Everything looked the same, except that in the morning light, everything looked more marvelous than it did rather than when they were covered by the dark shadows of the night. No matter which direction your head turned, awe struck in every corner.

Then you passed the staircase. Something made you pause, there was a prickle at the back of your neck. Without meaning to, you looked up. It was the man at the dinner, the one that sat closest to Hongjoong at the far end of the table - the one who told the older man he was staring. He also donned a smart suit like San, leaning against the bannister while his sharp eyes watched you. 

He was a lot taller than you thought now that he was standing and he was younger, too. It was a surprise given his apparent ease with Hongjoong when everyone else wanted to piss their pants with fear. He didn’t glare at you, the only thing that signalled he wasn’t particularly angry towards you, but his stare still made your skin tighten. He was, by all means, intimidating.

“Did you need anything, Mingi?” San’s mellow voice cut the unspoken tension in the air as he also looked up the staircase. He motions to you with his hands. “You’ve met Y/N during the dinner.”

The man, Mingi, didn’t reply. His presence pressed down like a weight, not loud, but undeniable, as he turned around, but not before swivelling his head back, his side profile sharp and intense. “I know,” his deep voice spoke before he completely walked away out of your sight.

Your voice barely rose above a whisper as you turned to San. “Does he not like me?”

“It’s complicated,” he said simply, continuing the walk towards where was taking you.

Complicated. Somehow, that made you feel like you were trespassing in a life you hadn’t earned. Maybe he didn’t like you, maybe it wasn’t personal, but you understood it. You wouldn’t like you, either, ever since you were reduced to who you once were. Those were the thoughts that plagued your mind as you walked through the lavish mansion, until you stopped directly in front of a door that just screamed doom from the other side.

The feeling intensified when San gave the door a few light taps with his knuckles. You had been mistaken when you thought that this would be your room. There was only one reason why San would knock like he did.

“Come in,” a gruff voice replied from inside.

Coldness washed over you, the slight fear during that one dinner night creeping back and settling itself into your bones when you were met at the sight of Hongjoong at the end of his office behind a desk where there were plenty of papers strewn all over it.

You had to put in effort in your jaws so it wouldn’t fall open. You’ve seen plenty of good-looking men in your life, but none of them hold a candle to the enigma that was Kim Hongjoong. That night absolutely did nothing to justify how immaculate this man actually looked. The worst part was that he wasn’t even wearing a suit like San.

He was clad in a casual white-button up shirt, the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, revealing lean forearms that moved with casual precision as he scribbled something across a document. He didn’t look up, not bothering to acknowledge your entrance. 

You shuffled your feet awkwardly, your heart beating a little faster, not out of attraction, though it wasn’t out of the realm entirely, but with palpable tension. Hongjoong flipped a page, still without acknowledgement as if he wasn’t bothered by your presence at all. It was San who finally broke the silence, his voice lower, more respectful than you’d ever heard it. “Boss. She’s here—”

“Leave,” the mafia boss cut off, voice hushed in the quietness of the office, but brusque nonetheless.

It was like you were struck with an imaginary hammer straight to your chest with that one single word, but it wasn’t just that - it was the undeniable truth that you were, once again, unwelcome in this shiny, brand new cage you were thrust upon. The silence that followed felt suffocating, even San was rendered speechless, clearly confused.

San cleared his throat. “I’m not sure I’m following, Sir.”

The sound of rustling paper and the pen scratching against its surface resonated in your head. “I didn’t stutter, San,” Hongjoong replied nonchalantly. “Both of you, out.”

There was no room for argument in his tone. He didn’t sound particularly peeved, in fact, he didn’t sound like anything at all, and yet, the dismissal stung you more than you’d like to admit. His utter dismissal was louder than any shout. You didn’t have to spend a minute longer in this room that was slowly beginning to feel like a jail cell - you didn’t matter.

“Alright,” San sighed, conceding, though against his will. “Where will she reside?”

The pen in Hongjoong’s hand stopped moving, and finally, he raised his chin, his eyes lifting slowly to stare at San. You swallowed, it reminded you of a predator being disturbed while it was resting. Your heart almost leapt out of your chest when he turned lazily to you, his eyes half-lidded this time. “Keep her in the dungeons,” he drawled flatly. Your eye twitched at the response.

“Hongjoong,” San’s mouth dropped open in surprise, not being able to stop his reaction at his boss’ reply.

“Apologies,” he said, leaning back on his leather chaise lounge, his tone egregiously insincere as he raised his brows at the butler. “I can’t help but jest at the stupidity of your question, Choi San. What did you want me to say?”

You clenched your fists before they could visibly shake. God, he was beautiful, and it only made it worse, like the universe had handed unimaginable cruelty to the face of an angel just to mock you. You were scared, yes, but you were also annoyed.

You haven’t even been here for five minutes yet he was already seemingly enjoying your discomfort and feeding off of your humiliation. The plan was to keep your head down so you could survive in this battlefield, but if he was going to keep this up, it was only a matter of time until your patience would snap and get you in trouble, or worse, killed.

As if he didn’t just say something outrageous, Hongjoong flicked his pen to start writing again. “I need Mingi,” he said. “And call your Third Master. He should have been back with Seonghwa from Suwon.”

San didn’t say anything as he shut the door behind you both, his steps quick and purposeful as he led you down a dimly lit corridor that felt far too silent for how grand the house looked from the outside. The heavy tension that lingered from the office followed you like a second shadow.

He glanced over at you, as if trying to read your face before turning his eyes back ahead. “I was wondering,” he started clearly just to ease the tension. “I’ve noticed, well, we all did, that you didn’t share a last name with your uncle. Is that on purpose?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. Such a  contrast to what had just occurred a couple of minutes ago. But more than that, nobody had bothered to ask you that question before. It wasn't invasive by all means, just unexpected.

It did, however, shoot a pang of hurt through your heart. You haven’t explained this in more than a decade. “He’s my late mother’s older brother.”

San nodded slowly, absorbing the information with interest. Bless this man, you thought. “May I ask what your last name is?”

“It’s Jeong,” you replied softly. Oh, how good it was to say your father's name like this again. “Jeong Y/N.”

When he finally stopped in front of a modest door near the end of the hall, he placed a hand on the knob, but not before pausing. Something didn’t feel right. “D-Did you know my father?”

You frowned at his frozen expression that didn’t last for another second before he snapped off of whatever trance he put himself in.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, turning to face you. “I know this was a horrible start to your soon-to-be life here,” San shook his head, the corners of his mouth tightening. “Hongjoong’s hard headed, but he’s not heartless. Just give it time, okay?”

Your heart wanted to leap out of your chest. He completely changed the topic. “I get it,” you sighed, letting it go. “He’s as much of an unwilling participant in this as I am.”

San opened the door, revealing a clean, minimal room with a bed, dresser, and tall windows draped in heavy curtains. The room was beautiful, not that you expected any less, but this was decay dressed in silk; a trap made to look like a sanctuary to your wounded soul.

“I’ll let you settle in,” he said gently as he left you alone. “If you need anything, please let me know. This is your home now as much as it is ours.”

Indeed, you were alone, but not free. Caged, but not chained,  at least, not in the physical sense.

San had said to give it time, but time was a commodity and you feared it - too much of it and it left you rotting away inside your body, and too little of it felt like a countdown.

Days passed from then, and you tried to settle in to the very best of your abilities. It was the only option you had, after all. You explored the rest of the mansion, even going as far as hanging out in the vast garden in the back when you had nothing better to do. It wasn’t home, per se, but it was far better from where you came from.

As suffocating as this mansion felt, at least San was right, nobody has hurt you - not yet at least. But that was always how it went, wasn’t it? Then the shift would be so subtle that you’d miss it if you weren’t already waiting for the sky to fall. You knew the pattern like your own breathing. So you kept your voice light. You smiled when you needed to, but you always stayed one step ahead. Because San was right, no one had hurt you, but they would. It was only a matter of time.

It was still a step-up from your uncle, his loud voice no longer calling you, but coincidentally, neither had Hongjoong. He didn’t look your way once, he didn’t call or summon you, and didn’t acknowledge your existence very much. Somehow, you weren’t sure if that was a curse or a blessing in disguise.

Nonetheless, you did enjoy it so far, and you had so much to learn. You’ve yet to peek through the library, study how the light filtered through your windows at certain hours, or just the layout of the mansion itself. You were just about to walk towards the garden when you heard the familiar, telltale signs of people talking in one of the rooms. No, rather, you were hearing an argument take place between two men.

“You lied to me,” a man’s voice, deep, thunderous, and absolutely furious, boomed throughout the expanse of the house. “That hit in Suwon was supposed to be mine, and mine, alone. Not anyone's, not Wooyoung’s, mine.”

You froze at the sound, instincts screaming at you to turn around, walk away, disappear. But curiosity dug its claws in. Your feet moved without permission, guiding you down the stairs toward the raised voices echoing from the living room just around the corner.

“I did not lie to you. Your lack of proper planning does not constitute an emergency on my end,” replied the familiar voice of Hongjoong, flat and stoic as ever, like he wasn’t on the burnt end of someone’s anger.

“That little fuck. Always stealing my hits. And you tolerate him.”

Heavy, furious footsteps and you barely had time to walk away unnoticed when you almost crashed into the tall and broad-shouldered form of none other than Mingi. His expression was twisted with the fury of a thousand suns as he glared at you. For a second, he looked like he was going to explode on you, but luckily, he just walked past you with rage he looked like he could barely contain.

“You,” came a voice from the living room.

You flinched, your spine automatically straightening like they did when your uncle screamed your name before he struck his fists. But Hongjoong didn’t shout, didn’t even raise his voice, but the sharpness in that single word pinned you in place like a knife. He stepped into view slowly, the light from the tall windows casting long shadows behind him. His expression was unreadable, carved from stone, gaze unreadable but heavy.

“What are you doing?” Hongjoong asked at last, his tone deceptively calm, but lined with quiet disdain. “Sneaking around corners like a rat.”

Despite your speechlessness in the frost of his tone, you couldn’t help but stare. Hongjoong’s back was turned against the window and little bits of sun rays hit his features just right. You tried to tamp the blush trying to sneak up your cheeks to make way at the vexation flickering inside your chest at his statement.

“I-I apologize, I didn’t mean to intrude,” you said quietly, your heart jumping to your throat. “I was just curious—”

“Curious,” he repeated slowly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You were curious.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding in your ears, as he stared you down. It was as if he was truly looking at you for the first time. He wasn’t much taller than you, but the way he stood felt like he towered over you by a mile. You felt numbness wash over you, but you tried your best to answer him with honesty. You had a feeling he’d catch you fibbing anyway. “I was told I could explore a little when I came.”

His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile - too sharp to be one. “But did I tell you that you could go prancing around anywhere you damn well pleased?”

Your breath caught when he took a slow, almost bored, step towards you. For a second, you saw the taller form of your uncle stalking towards you, and before you could stop yourself, you opened your mouth to protest. “I’m sorry,” you squeaked. “I just assumed that since I’m staying here that I can—”

“Immaterial,” he interrupted, low and vicious. “This is my house, and you answer to me.” 

Hongjoong stuck his finger under your chin, slightly tilting it up. The tips of your ears reddened completely, not because you were flustered, but because it felt degrading. “I’ve been quite busy, you see,” he continued with a sneer. “But don’t think I’ve forgotten your existence. I can never forget the face of someone who was sold to me.”

You didn’t answer. The words stung too much, mostly because you’d dared to hope, even briefly, that maybe this place could become a safe haven. Being remembered like this hurt even more. “You’re right, I won’t do it again,” you whispered, too defeated to even let your usual anger consume you. “I was out of line, I’m sorry.”

“Then, act like it,” Hongjoong’s eyes stayed locked on yours, unblinking, his tone dismissive and cold.

He turned his back to you, not bothering to wait for your reply as he started to walk away. “You shouldn’t have been here,” he added. “Don’t make the same mistake twice. Stay in your lane.”

You were left standing in the same spot he’d left you even after a long time clenching your fists, shame filling your chest at the minor confrontation, the sharp sting of his words looping in your mind, each repetition sharper than the last.

You dug your nails into your palms until it hurt. Good. You needed something to keep yourself grounded because the rage was almost enough to drown you. How dare he treat you like you were disposable?

The worst part was that you were supposed to marry this man, spend the rest of your miserable days walking on eggshells around this insufferable, arrogant bastard? You closed your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose as you took a deep breath.

San told you no one was going to hurt you. He lied, to a certain extent he did, because hurt here came from humiliation and not the hand that’ll lay itself on your skin. You didn’t have to like him, especially since love was completely out of the question, and you had absolutely no obligation to please him, but you would survive this. You had to. 

You were following San one Sunday morning as he’d promised to show you the private library after you were no longer skittish after the last encounter with Hongjoong. “I’d love to show you the library today,” San turned, a smile blooming on his face. “Master is very fond of them, as is the Second Master. I’m sure you would, too. It’s quite fascinating.”

“I’ve heard a second and third master being mentioned once or twice before,” you started. “I assume they’re family. Would I be meeting them soon? Should I be wary of them?”

“You would be correct, they are family,” San nodded, pausing in front of the library doorway to face you. “Unfortunately, the Second Master is currently on a…”

He cleared his throat, trailing off to find the right wording like you didn’t already know you’d be marrying into the mafia. “Mission, so to speak. And as you’ve gathered, the Third Master is in Suwon so he should be back soon.”

He took a pause, glancing at his wristwatch before glancing back at you. “Right now, actually. I completely forgot about that,” he cursed under his breath as he looked at you sheepishly. “I apologize, would you mind if I left to instruct someone of his arrival?”

You gave San a small, amused smile, waving him off. “It’s okay. Go do what you need to do. I’ll just wait here.”

“Thank you,” he sighed in relief, already backing away. “I promise I won’t take long.”

You rolled your eyes fondly as he disappeared down the corridor, the sound of his quick footsteps fading behind you. Alone now, you took a slow breath, soaking in the ornate hallway. You didn’t mind waiting, at least you had something to look forward to very soon.

If anything, the wait was very peaceful, but that peace was soon shattered when you heard the door to your left at the far end of the hallway swinging open and two voices suddenly filling in the space of the house. They were unfamiliar, as far as you knew. One thing you noticed was that Hongjoong kept a very limited amount of staff going in and out of the manor.

You shifted nervously, looking to where San had left to see if he was coming back soon, not knowing where to go and how to interact with Hongjoong’s possible guests. He always had people over he was constantly talking to and you didn’t know how he’d reprimand you if he saw you talking to them.

“You got me fucked up if you think I’m not getting back at you for this,” the first man who entered snorted, his bright and shameless laughter put you on high alert. You watched as he made a show of stretching his limbs exaggeratedly. “You know I can’t stand economy flights, Seonghwa, why would you subject me to this torture?”

Then came the second voice, calm and firm, but edged with exasperation. “Forgive me for being presumptuous if I say you’re not going to die being a normal person just this once, master,” he said flatly, closing the door behind him with a sigh.

They were quite a pair, you noticed. It was easy to assume that this was the infamous Third Master Hongjoong had been waiting for. His eyes sparkled with mischief, his playful smirk clearly irritating his older, taller companion.

“We had to blend in, you know that,” the taller man - model - Seonghwa continued, gracefully trudging two suitcases behind him. “Hongjoong is going to throw a fit if he finds out we’re being tailed.” 

The other man scoffed once more, letting out an obnoxious laughter that frankly reminded you of a hyena. “He’ll be fine,” he waved his hand off-handedly as he started to walk. “I could just—”

He came to a dramatic halt when he saw you standing in the hallway, blinking in complete surprise. He was a lot younger than you thought he was, his boyish charm was impossible to ignore. He observed you from head to toe before he let out a grin that was too wide to be innocent.

Seonghwa almost did a halt, but his was more sudden than his companion. Recognition flashed in his eyes and you would’ve missed it if you weren’t paying attention. He was more reserved, after all. If the first man was chaos, this one was control.

“Well, well, well,” the grinning one drawled, ignoring Seonghwa’s pointed sigh. “What’s a beautiful thing like you doing here?”

You blinked, taken slightly aback by the sheer confidence in his tone. “I’m not an intruder,” you said cautiously. “I-I’m waiting for San.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re not. I would’ve already known if you were,” he smirked as he stepped forward, confidence dripping with every step, until he stopped in front of you. Shivers ran through your spine. He reminded you of Hongjoong’s predatory nature. “And I wouldn’t be smiling.”

He held his hands up for you to shake. “Jung Wooyoung, and my heart is yours to intrude, if you’d like. You’ll find that I’m very easy to rob,” He gave a unapologetic bow, his smirk widening. “You could do it now if you’d like—”

“She’s not available,” Seonghwa cut in, his tone flat, his gaze flicking to you with a subtle nod of acknowledgement. “Wooyoung, please, contain yourself, you embarrassment.”

Woooyoung backed off slightly, the confusion in his face palpable. “She’s not available?” He frowned. “Why not?”

Seonghwa leaned in slightly, whispering something low against Wooyoung’s ear, voice so quiet you couldn’t catch the words. Wooyoung froze, his gaze towards you no longer flirtatious, the warmth in his eyes being replaced by something so cold and calculating that had you taking a small step back.

You’d seen that look before - on Mingi, of all people. But then, just as suddenly, the light snapped back on. Your sense of danger heightened; Wooyoung and Mingi reminded you of Hongjoong the most. You had to avoid them at all costs.

Wooyoung gasped, hand flying to his chest like he was scandalized. “I don’t believe it,” he blurted out. “You’re marrying Hongjoong?”

Wooyoung looked at you again, a wild laugh tumbling out as he shook his head. “Wow. Poor thing. You’re how old? This’ll be so awkward during dinners when people ask me, especially Mingi. How did Mingi react to Hongjoong owning you?”

You frowned, not understanding Mingi’s significance. “Not well, I guess,” you admitted before you gave him a pointed glare. “And I’m no one’s property.”

“Nuances,” he shrugged. “Well, if you get sick of Hongjoong’s moodiness, my room’s on the east wing, just a few doors away from his office—”

“There will be none of that,” Seonghwa said dryly, voice heavy with the kind of weariness that could only come from years of enduring Wooyoung’s antics.

“I didn’t hear a no from her,” Wooyoung sing-songed. 

“Wooyoung, shut up,” Seonghwa whisper-shouted in warning.

“Anyway, I could take you to dinner,” he wiggled his brows, grabbing your hand. You were almost appalled at his audacity and shied away, yanking your hand away quickly.

“Wooyoung.”

He turned to Seonghwa in exasperation. “Why are you messing up my groove, Hwa? God, you’re just like my father at this point-–” 

“You fucking fool,” Seonghwa cut in coldly, stepping aside as he jabbed a finger toward the other end of the hallway. “Congratulations. Now you’ll find out what the afterlife is like.”

Wooyoung followed his gaze, then yelped so loud it echoed through the hallways, because at the far end of the corridor, shadowed in the doorway with the light behind him stood none other than Hongjoong. His arms were crossed and his expression screamed death.

Your stomach turned, the blood draining from your face as he stared at you. They were dark, narrowed into slits, filled with a contained fury. This was the first time you were seeing him days after your altercation at the living room and his presence reminded you of how remarkably terrifying this man was.

“Wooyoung,” Hongjoong said, voice low, crisp, and venomous. “My office. Now.”

All the color drained from Wooyoung’s face, his smirk crumbled, replaced by a sheepish half-smile and a muttered, “Ah. Right. Of course. Be right there.”

“And you. Be ready, there will be a family dinner tonight,” Hongjoong turned his unyielding attention to someone behind you. “Brief her, manners included.” He eyes you up and down, and you blushed in humiliation once more, trying not to look as small as you felt with his judging gaze. “Lord knows you need brushing up.”

You barely heard Wooyoung’s nervous chuckle as he stumbled past you, still trying to mask his own fear. But it didn’t matter, your attention was solely fixed entirely on the man who still hadn’t moved an inch, still standing in that doorway like a judge awaiting a verdict before you felt yourself being pulled back by Seonghwa. 

“I am terribly sorry about that,” he apologized, leading you to the side door where he came from. “He’s not that bad, I promise. Just a bit aloof, and Hongjoong, he’s uh, something, but it’ll get better with time.”

You hummed, not knowing what to say. You couldn’t possibly say that their boss spiked a little fear in you somehow. As you were walking, you were pleasantly surprised to see red tulips blooming. You grinned, quickly running off to look closer.

However, you wouldn’t be the only ones to admire them. Mingi turned the tulip in his fingers with surprising care, before he set his eyes on you and Seonghwa before approaching. His walk, alone, screamed intimidation and hesitated. Mingi trained his sharp eyes on you before he set his attention back on the red tulip bud he was holding.

“Since when did we have these?” He murmured absentmindedly. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re back. Wooyoung? I heard him whining and bitching around here somewhere.”

“Since now, I guess,” Seonghwa curiously grabs the tulips and hums. He turns to you with a soft smile and shows you the tulip up close. “Say, Y/N, may I ask what your favourite flowers are?”

You didn’t answer immediately, not with Mingi staring at you. You tried not to look at him, but you could feel his stare dissecting your every breath and it made your spine stiffen. “These ones,” you answered softly, cradling a nearby petal. “Red tulips.”

A strange silence followed and when you glanced up cautiously, you found the both of them staring at one another curiously. Mingi’s eyes narrowed, and Seonghwa raised an eyebrow, as if they all knew something you didn’t. “Anyway,” Seonghwa cleared his throat. “You should go to the office. Your dad’s probably tearing him a new one. He, uh, may or may not have flirted with her.”

Mingi’s brows shot up in mild surprise. “God, that stupid fuck,” he hissed, shaking his head before he patted Seonghwa’s shoulder once and walking away. “I’ll catch up later, I need to settle the score with him and Father anyway.”

Dad? Father? Those were the only things circling in your head even as Seonghwa had guided you back into your designated room and sat you down on the bed. Your mouth opened and closed repeatedly, because Mingi wasn’t just anyone, he was Hongjoong’s son.

“I take it you had no idea First Master Mingi was Hongjoong’s son?” Seonghwa asked, amusement dancing in his eyes at your bewildered expression. You robotically shook your head in denial. He let out a short, breathy laugh. “Figures. That’s very Hongjoong of him to not tell you,” he shook his head.

You smiled bitterly. “Why would he? I’m nobody to him.”

Seonghwa’s eyes softened. “That’s not it. You have to understand, you are only about seven or so years older than his eldest son. It might not seem like it, but he does have morals.”

San did mention that the so-called masters were family, but you thought that meant they had a brotherly bond. You weren’t expecting literal family. “I just assumed he was one of higher-ups,” you blurted out.

“He technically is, yes,” Seonghwa confirmed. “He’s set to inherit the title once Hongjoong retires. Wooyoung is the next in line given that the Second Master is not interested in the title.”

You blinked repeatedly. Then it hits you - there was yesterday when San mentioned a Third Master. Wooyoung is also Hongjoong’s son. “Mingi is the eldest, Hongjoong had him before he hit twenty because his father wanted him to have a son before he transferred the title to him,” he kindly explained.

“And his mother was, uh,” he tenses a little bit before shaking his head. “She’s not a good person. Only married a Kim to sell the enemy information. There was no love in the marriage anyway, so Hongjoong kicked her out when Mingi was only three. Haven’t seen her since. They’re all about the same age, but Wooyoung’s the youngest. There’s a reason he gets away with everything,” he chuckled.

“How come Wooyoung doesn’t share a last name with Hongjoong?” You asked.

“It’s because Wooyoung is not his biological son,” Seonghwa answered. “Neither is Second Master, but they’re biological brothers, however. They were his former right-hand’s sons, but he died in a hit gone wrong. They both got along with Mingi even before then, so adopting them was a no-brainer. But that doesn’t matter, they are his sons.”

You took that in slowly. Three sons; one cold and carved from stone, another a carefree spark of chaos, and a third somewhere in between you hadn’t even met yet. No wonder Mingi looked at you like that. You were just a few years older than him and he was probably naturally weirded out about it. 

“Anyway, I’ll leave you to it, you have to get ready for dinner tonight. Since Wooyoung has been gone for three months, it’s customary to welcome him back,” Seonghwa grabs your hand to shake it gently, smiling at you with that smile that eased your worries for a bit. “Don’t mind Hongjoong. I’m sure you’ll do well. It’s very nice to finally meet you, Y/N.”

You didn’t pay much attention to Seonghwa’s words. It’s very nice to finally meet you. You didn’t bother to dress up too much as you stood in front of the mirror longer than you should have, smoothing invisible wrinkles from your clothes. For a moment, you thought about putting on makeup, but you’d always felt like a child trying to play dress-up.

When you finally stepped out of the room and down the long hallway toward the dining hall, your legs felt hollow. The muted murmur of voices from behind the doors swelled with each step. And you hated how it reminded you of that night - your first time meeting Hongjoong.

Thankfully, he wasn’t ignoring you because he was looking straight at you, arms crossed as he watched your awkward form walk to the centre of the room, as San led to the chair to sit directly to his left. You cursed internally, you were betting on settling in the background and would have chosen to sit on the far end of the table.

Thankfully, everyone was here, though you couldn’t really focus on them. Mingi sat in front of you, Seonghwa and San, respectively, sitting beside him. You were sure you wouldn’t be the only one who couldn’t breathe with Hongjoong’s menacing aura. Still, you were relieved, at least you wouldn’t be alone.

“Howdy, pretty,” Wooyoung saluted flirtatiously beside you, his eyes twinkling with mischief and excitement. You saw the man beside him roll his eyes dramatically, but didn’t say a word. You gave Wooyoung a tight smile out of politeness.

“Scram if you’re going to be insufferable, Wooyoung,” Hongjoong sighed, irritation palpable on his expression before he set his eyes on you. “And you, don’t do that ever again. You’re here to represent me. You know what that entails. I know you’re not as dull as you seem.”

You gritted your teeth, forcing a meek nod as a response. Wooyoung scoffs obnoxiously, ignoring the first statement directed to him. “Relax, nobody’s taking your woman from you,” he teased. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you. You’re practically frothing at the mouth.”

You could tell Hongjoong was close to exploding judging from the vein popping on his temples that protruded so much, it looked like it hurt. Instead, he puts his hands up, gesturing to the stoic man sitting beside Wooyoung. “This is Jongho,” he said, voice flat and uninterested. “He will be your bodyguard from now on. Jongho, show your respect.”

You blinked in surprise. This was the last thing you ever expected, but you welcomed it. You were surprised, however, Jongho didn’t look like he was much older than you. His face was carved with stoicism and impassiveness. “I’ll do my best to keep you safe,” Jongho said plainly, voice deep and steady.

“Right, let's get a few things out of the way,” Hongjoong started, voice still as sharp and astute as if time was running out, the entire time the staff was piling dinner on the table. “When did your parents pass away?”

That question hit you harder than all the insults and coldness he directed towards you. You were expecting something else, even about your uncle’s failing business that you had no idea about, but certainly not this. “When I was sixteen,” you blurted out. “It was sudden, I was told it was a hit and run.”

Hongjoong’s question had sliced through the dinner like a blade, and your answer left a ringing silence in its wake.You swallowed, suddenly hyper aware of how cold the room felt. Across the table, Mingi’s gaze sharpened instantly, replaced by something cold and alert. He flicked his eyes towards Hongjoong, a silent communication passing between them. And even Wooyoung let out a slow exhale, his playful demeanor was nowhere to be found.

Hongjoong nodded, his stern face not giving anything away. “Hit and run?” He repeated slowly, like tasting the words. “That’s what they told you? Who told you that?”

“M-My uncle,” you answered truthfully.

“Hmm,” Hongjoong hummed brusquely. “That good-for-nothing leech during dinner?”

You nodded stiffly. A beat passes, something about the way his jaw muscle ticked and his exhale changed. “When did you start living with him?”

“Right after the funeral,” you replied. “He took me before my other family members had a chance to say their condolences to me.”

“And?” he asked, voice clipped. “How bad was he?”

Just like that, memories upon memories of all the hurt, emotionally and physically, started playing in your brain like an old camera film. Subconsciously, you touched your neck. The bruises were gone, but you could still feel his hands wrapped around them. “Bad enough,” you replied quietly, avoiding eye contact.

San’s eyes softened. There was a slight crease in his brow, one of restrained empathy. He leaned back slightly, as if he needed space to process it, or to give you some. “Fucking bastard,” he muttered under his breath.

Hongjoong didn’t respond, his eyes lowering to your hand on your neck.  His eyes didn’t soften, but the edge in them did dull ever so slightly. He looked at you for one more second before he leaned back on his seat to stare out the large window that overlooked the entire manor.

"You need to act the part if you're going to stay here," Hongjoong said, voice sharp, still looking out the window. You were thankful for the change of topic, it was hard to pretend the questions didn’t sting.

You glanced wearily at him from where you were sitting. “What part?”

“You are going to be Mrs. Kim very soon, and you will be associated with me,” he said. “That means whatever you do will reflect on me, including both your victory and your defeat. I do not want the likes of you to embarrass me.”

You clenched your hands in your lap to keep them from shaking. Your identity was being stripped down, reshaped into someone he could not even tolerate standing next to. It was next level humiliation.

“I will not tolerate disrespect from any outsiders about what’s mine, hence me giving you a bodyguard,” he continued, casually sipping on his wine. “I refuse my family to be a laughingstock of some sorts. You will be under my name, so you will be under my protection.”

Under his name, not sharing his name. He was basically telling you that you will become his burden and liability. “It is imperative that no one knows about us for now. You will not wear a ring, and you will not speak about our arrangement. ”

You swallowed, throat tight. “So what am I supposed to be, then? Your accessory?”

He leaned closer, and your breath caught in your chest. “Play the game. Or pack your things.”

“Now, hold on a minute,” a voice cut off, one you weren’t expecting. Everybody looks at Wooyoung curiously, the cutlery in the background halting. “Don’t you think this is a bit much, Dad? You’re asking her to erase herself in front of everyone. Hide everything. No ring, no identity, no dignity? You want her to protect your name, but you won’t even give her the same courtesy?”

Your heart thumped. Was someone finally on your side? And of all the people, his own son? The one who you thought was a flirt. Hongjoong shifted his gaze. “Since when did you start calling me Dad?” He asked, tone cold now, sharpened to a lethal edge. “Do not undermine me at my own table, Jung Wooyoung.”

You weren’t that much of an idiot - this engagement was a farce because he was hiding you like a shadow. It was erasure disguised as a strategy. It stung, not that you were expecting him to hold you and show you off, but still.

Your fingers brushed against the gold fork, just drowning out the fight, and you were about to dig in when your plate was suddenly pushed away. Horrified, you stared at Hongjoong who had a passive expression on his face.  “Don’t eat anything,” he stated, cold eyes drilling onto your wide ones, his fingers still on the edge of the plate he so callously pushed off.  “Not until I say so.”

You froze, absolutely mortified at what he had done. You could accept all the insults and the cold shoulder he’d been presenting you in his house, but this? You swallowed the lump in your throat and kept your head down, your hands curling into your lap like they didn’t belong at the table. Your stomach had long since stopped growling - embarrassment had a way of killing hunger.

“She didn’t do anything. Why would you do that?” Seonghwa spoke, his tone laced with disbelief, his brows furrowed as he looked from the plate to you, then back to Hongjoong. Even Jongho, who had been trying to eat quietly, had stopped.

“No one eats until she does,” Wooyoung muttered suddenly, pushing his own plate away with a sharp scrape. He didn’t even look at Hongjoong. His focus was entirely on you, his eyes softening slightly. “I love you and all, Hongjoong, but we’re not playing these games. If you’re jealous, just say so.”

“Then none of you are eating,” Hongjoong snarled. The sudden sound of a chair scraping violently against the floor shattered the moment. Everyone flinched, heads turning just in time to see Hongjoong push himself up from his seat with a grace so sharp it cut through the hum of the room. “Get up,” he said, his jaw locked, his fists white-knuckled.

Your head whipped toward him in disbelief. “W-What?”

His eyes, narrowed and glinting with something unreadable, didn’t budge. “I said, get up.” His tone was low and lethal; it didn’t leave room for any arguments.

He didn’t wait for your response, not until he just grabbed you by the arm all of a sudden, dragging you away from the crowd and straight to the living room staircase. “What are you—?”

“You,” he spat, voice low and accusing. “What spell did you cast on them? How did you get everyone to turn against me?”

You blinked, stunned by the sudden accusation, but you couldn’t say anything as Hongjoong’s eyes darkened further, shadows flickering in their depths as his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Jongho. Take her to her room. No more scenes.”

Hongjoong’s gaze lingered on you for a heartbeat longer, a mix of frustration and something unreadable in his expression before walking away. It was like Hongjoong ripped your heart out directly from your chest and took it with him, leaving your insides hollow in its wake. 

“I apologize on his behalf. Hongjoong’s not good at expressing how he truly feels. You’re not missing much on the food, if it matters,” he assuaged in an attempt to make you feel better as he led you upstairs. “The steak was tough, the dressing was bland, and the avocados were mushy as hell. Our chef was sick, so we had to hire another one. Their last day, it seems.”

You swivelled your head slowly to look at Jongho. “W-What did you say was in the dressing?”

“Huh? Avocados? Yeah, it’s like someone stepped on them and plopped them on the plate. Bleh.”

Your heart rate began to pick up abnormally. You were deadly allergic to avocados. “Really?” Your voice cracked slightly, the information settling in your head like a broken record. 

“Really,” he confirmed with a soft smile that emphasized how young he actually was.

Avocado allergies were rare. Even when you were younger, it was easy to avoid them, and even your uncle didn’t know you had an allergy. Not that he gave you avocados, he was cheap on you like that. 

But besides that, you definitely screwed up last night. From what you’ve observed, not only was Hongjoong’s fuse short already, but his anger was difficult to dissipate as well. You needed to figure out a way to appease him, you didn’t want him calling off the engagement.

“You want to make Hongjoong’s dinner every night, you said?” San’s brows were both raised up to his hairline. “Are you sure, Y/N? Hongjoong’s quite the picky eater.”

You ignored the voice in your head that bristled at the thought of a man in his mid-forties still picky with his food. “It might not seem like it, but I’m a capable cook, I swear,” you joked. “I’ve had a lot of practice living with my uncle.”

San’s eyes softened significantly, but in the end, he relented. “I’ll instruct the staff to vacate the kitchen come nighttime,” he sighed. 

True to his words, the kitchen was all yours by 6 o’clock at night. You didn’t even have time to marvel around the luxurious setup, you had no time to waste. Not when you had to prove yourself useful. When push comes to shove, maybe you could be his chef instead of his wife rather than your uncle’s niece again.

You didn’t make anything fancy, just a simple soup to gauge what Hongjoong might like or might not. You even tried your best to make the vegetables in it barely visible, that’s how much effort you put in it.

You were about to bring the soup up to his office when by sheer coincidence, Hongjoong, himself, showed up to the kitchen, and judging by his slightly raised brow at you holding the bowl with an apron still on you, he wasn’t expecting to see anyone in the kitchen, let alone you of all people.

“H-Hi,” you stammered, avoiding out contact, awkwardly. “I, uh, I made you something.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, just blinking repeatedly, before sighing. “Don’t stay up late next time,” was all he said before he moved past you to walk out of the kitchen as if he didn’t want to be there in the first place.

Hongjoong disappeared into his study, the sound of the door clicking shut behind him like punctuation to the silence he left behind. You let out a shaky breath, the sting of his blatant rejection making your legs shake as you sat on the dining chair. Maybe tomorrow.

But he still didn’t eat. You did it again the next day anyway, even when the results were the same. You weren’t a master chef by any means, but one thing you were proud of was that you put genuine care on all of the things your hands create.

You patiently waited for Hongjoong, ready to try and spend time with him at dinner even though the both of you never got along since he disliked you. The thought of being face to face made your heartbeat go wilder than the prospect of him accepting your efforts.

By the fifth night after another failed attempt, you asked around to figure out what Hongjoong’s favourite foods were. You tried to ignore the pitying looks San sent you while Seonghwa quietly cleaned another plate of ignored efforts, taking everything with a smile on your face even though on the inside, you felt like crying.

You clutched another plate a little tighter again the next day, heat bleeding through porcelain and into your palms. You wondered if he even knew or if he smelled the spices in the air, wondered if he saw your sleeping form on the couch when you were too tired to wait for him.

Maybe you didn’t need him to eat it, maybe you just needed him to pause - to look at you like you were more than the terms of a deal neither of you asked for. But instead, all he gave you was a sigh and his absence. And there you were - offering warmth with shaking hands to a man who’d rather freeze.

Hope began to dwindle when you didn’t even see Hongjoong’s shadow anymore by the seventh night. You started plating smaller portions out of  humiliation and by the ninth, you didn’t bother waiting for Hongjoong anymore, just quietly making the food and leaving it in the kitchen, not even bothering to check if it was eaten or if Seonghwa had thrown it away.

You decided to stop after another week. You were tired of waking up in the room to Seonghwa’s shaking head when you looked at him expectantly. However, you wanted to make dinner for the last time not just for Hongjoong anymore, but for everyone who’s been nothing but accommodating to you.

You just needed a couple of ingredients to make what you needed, and for that, you wanted to pick them out yourself. That was how you found yourself directly in front of Hongjoong’s office where you knew he always was, steeling your nerves to knock and ask if there was a car that you could use to drive yourself to the market.

You were about to knock when you stopped yourself. There was a heated conversation going inside the office and by the sound of it, it was Hongjoong and Seonghwa. You could hardly hear what they were talking about.

“....can’t keep doing this….giving her the cold shoulder, Joong…she’ll find out….what are you going to do then?”

“Give me time…..so close to caging in Yoo Jaehwan, that bastard…no one can know….make sure he’ll pay….Yeosang.”

Your entire body locked, coldness spreading all over your chest at the mention of your uncle’s name. Those were Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s voices, you were positive, but what were they talking about?

“....won’t be safe forever, you know that. San….intel on the hit and run….was damn impossible to….think Jaehwan knows?”

“There’s no denying it…..will be safer here....never forgive myself if something happens….my everything—who’s there?”

You cursed internally when you accidentally misplaced your foot, causing your body to bump onto the door. You were about to turn and run away, to pretend that you were never here in the first place, but it was too late. The door swung open, revealing Hongjoong’s stern figure, eyes sharp and searching. His gaze landed on you in mild surprise, his chest rising slightly from how fast he'd moved.

“Y/N?“ You saw his hand squeeze the doorknob ever so slightly. Still, you can’t help the shiver that passed through you. That was the first time he’d ever said your name. “How long have you been standing there?”

His voice was low, but it wasn’t calm. “What did I tell you about sneaking around like a damn rat?”

“I-I just got here, I swear,” you swallowed, hard. He stared at you, deadpan. In no timeline or galaxy did he believe you. “I want to go out. I-I know there’s a market near here and—”

“Absolutely not,” he rejected, his voice rising up in pitch ever so slightly in disbelief. “You’re not going out.”

The denial was harsh and brutal - hell, he didn’t even let you finish your sentence - but this was also the first time you saw any other emotion on him other than anger, annoyance, and intimidation. “I really want to go—” you tried again.

“And I said no,” he repeated, his voice a little harsher this time.

You were taken aback. It wasn’t just the denial that struck you, it was the sheer urgency in his tone. It was the look in his eyes that if you stared hard enough, you could’ve found uneasiness and dread swimming in them.

“But I haven’t been out ever since I came here,” you blurted out in equal disbelief. He was the most arrogant and controlling one you’ve ever met and that was saying a lot. “I want to buy some produce—”

“Order it online, I don’t give a damn,” he snapped. He was about to close the door on you, but you put your foot to block it. “What the hell are you—”

“Please, Hongjoong,” you begged. It was a massive hit on your own ego and pride, but you were going to lose your mind if you don’t find fresh air soon. “I-I won’t even stay long, I’ll keep my phone on me.”

He stilled, his gaze faltered. You saw his throat tighten as he looked towards the floor. “Hongjoong,” he repeated under his breath, so soft you almost missed it. 

Your breath hitched. He said it so softly that you almost missed it. Except you didn’t. You weren’t even sure if you were meant to hear it. Seonghwa, who forgot was also in the room, cleared his throat, thus breaking that unspoken tension you found with Hongjoong. “I could take her—” he started gently, but Hongjoong cut him off with a look, his neck snapping up so fast that it scared you a little.

Hongjoong’s eyes hardened again, and this time, they were the darkest you had ever seen. “I don’t keep you to tolerate her, Seonghwa,” he barked before turning to you one last time. “You’re not going out. That’s final.”

His gaze lingered a moment longer on you, eyes glinting with something between rage and warning, before he completely shut the door on you. He didn’t slam it, but it still knocked the wind out of your lungs as the finality of his denial settles in on you.

Something shifted in you at the moment. At first, you had mistaken it for fatigue. The stress of constantly trying to walk on eggshells with Hongjoong just so you wouldn’t say the wrong things in case he decided to call off the marriage, the late nights staying up making him dinner he didn’t even want, they were starting to get to you.

It didn’t happen all at once, but now the weight in your chest didn’t feel like fear anymore, it felt like fury - no, you knew it was. The final push was so mundane it almost felt insulting. You could feel your anger simmering and it was only a matter of time until it boiled over.

You were tempted to bang on the door like a madwoman, but you chose to walk away to the one place you knew would give you comfort - the garden. But even the flowers weren’t enough to make you feel better. If anything, they emphasized how infinitely colourless your world was.

You clenched your jaw, jaw tight as you sat down on one of the benches, arms crossed, trying to remind yourself that you were still here. You were still standing and still breathing. You weren’t going to fall apart over someone like him.

“Your energy is so strong that I wouldn’t be surprised if the flowers started to wilt.”

You rolled your eyes, not really in the mood to talk to anybody, but when Jongho sat beside you, you couldn’t help but relax a bit. You’ve always loved company regardless of how you felt. You’ve been alone all your life, so it was always nice to have someone. “How did you know I was here anyway?” You murmured with a small pout.

Jongho chuckled, absentmindedly fiddling with a lone petal. “I’m not your bodyguard for nothing. I’m always watching.”

“That’s totally not creepy at all,” you chuckled a little, shaking your head.

He laughed, shifting his weight before letting out a slow breath. “He’s not mad at you, you know.”

You snorted, giving him an incredulous look, but Jongho just smiled. “I’m serious. Don’t take it personally,” he said softly. “He’s just scared. That’s all.”

You didn’t care what Hongjoong’s intentions were, but in reality, you were starving for anything that made you feel less like a ghost haunting someone else's palace. Yet your mind wandered, uninvited and unwelcome, back to that moment at the door when you’d said his name. But it wasn’t your own desperation that haunted you - it was his reaction. How his gaze had faltered and how he’d gone utterly still. 

If there was something to behold about your personality, it was that you were nothing but persistent, after all. It was the reason why you’ve come so far in your miserable life. So you tried again after a couple of days to ask Hongjoong again if you could go out.

Whatever conversation you overheard him and Seonghwa must have set him off that day so you figured you’d let his anger simmer and try to catch him in a good mood. Yesterday, you even saw him in the living room, casually reading the newspaper - you almost smiled at that because it inadvertently showed his age - while chatting casually with Mingi.

Now that you knew the real nature of their relationship, you could clearly see how much Mingi resembled Hongjoong, who honestly didn’t look a day over forty if it wasn’t for reading glasses resting low on his nose. God, you thought, that detail alone betrayed his age more than anything.

So you gathered your courage and waited when you knew he was going to be alone in his office in the afternoon. You took a deep breath, rapped your knuckles on the door before opening it slightly enough to poke your head in.

But he wasn’t here. That surprised you more than anything, mainly because it wasn’t much of a secret how much of a workaholic Hongjoong was. Even if you didn’t hear Wooyoung complain about it a lot, it wasn’t like you couldn’t see it.

Against your better judgment, you entered the room, opting to just wait in his room for his return, but not closing the door to signal that someone was here. Last thing you wanted was for Hongjoong to think you were intruding. You were hanging on your last thread with him as is. His office screamed of him all over.

Admittedly, you balked at the slight mess on his table as you walked towards the leather couches to sit down, but before you could do so, something inadvertently catches your eye amongst the mess that was his desk.

Half-tucked under a stack of manila folders and faded blueprints, barely sticking out like it had slipped by accident, was a photo. You reached for it on instinct - then froze. It was you.

Specifically, it was your graduation photo. You were smiling, though you could tell that it didn’t reach your eyes.. The photo was frayed along the edges and the corners were soft from wear. There was a faint crease running down the middle, as if it had been folded and unfolded a hundred times over. Your heart thudded, your hands shaking immensely. You shouldn’t have looked.

“You have thirty seconds to explain what you’re doing in my office before I lose all civility.”

The way your entire body trembled with uncouth shock was something to be seen. Hongjoong stood there, his sharp eyes trained on the photo you were holding in your hand, his jaw tightening. “Time is ticking, Y/N. You’re twenty-seconds away from having a very, very bad day.”

You put the photo haphazardly back on his desk. “I wanted to ask again if I could, perhaps, go out—”

You were stunned into absolute silence when he banged his fist on the door once but with enough force to shake the whole world around the both of you. “Are you deaf?” His tone sliced the air in half like a blade. “Or just unbelievably stupid? Didn’t I tell you that you cannot go out? How many times do I have to tell you?”

You stood frozen, the heat of his fury scorching your skin, but he wasn’t done. “You’re either acting like an imbecile, or you really are one. And I’m supposed to marry you? I’m already doing your uncle a favour by not shooting him between the eyes, but my God, this is pushing it. ”

His words gutted you. You were used to your uncle calling you all the insults in the book, but this was something else, Hongjoong was basically judging your entire personality from the skin side out, and that hurt more than anything else because he doesn’t even know you.

But you were only human, and even animals bite back when wounded. “You’re no different than my uncle,” you slipped out, unshed tears lining the corners of your eyes. “You’re hiding something from me. Why are you locking me in?”

He scoffed, eyes glinting with something that felt like contempt. “Please. Don’t insult me like that. He sent you to me like a lamb to a slaughterhouse. You just haven’t thanked me for the knife yet.”

You didn’t even know what expression your face was making, only that your cheeks felt hot and your throat burned like you’d swallowed fire. “I hate you,” your lips wobbled, looking at him with indignance in your eyes. “I hate you.”

He laughed bitterly, without humor, without restraint. “Yeah?” His voice was sharp, venomous. “Well, you’re about to hate me more.”

Then he turned, grabbed an envelope from the desk, and threw it at you. Money spilled out like a slap, some bills fluttering to the floor at your feet. “There, this is what you wanted, is it not? Now you can pretend you’re not living inside a cage.”

To say you were appalled would be an understatement. Your heart curled into itself, shriveling behind your ribs. Before you could fully break down, you ran out without another word, not bothering to look at him or the money littered across the room as you ran until your legs gave out in a random corridor of the mansion.

You didn’t bother minimizing your loudness, your hands trembling against the marble as you choked back a sob, quiet and broken. You haven’t cried in a long time, mainly because you refused to for someone like him, but this wasn’t just for Hongjoong. They were for everything; for the girl you used to be, the child who lost her parents, for the woman you were failing to become, and for the bride you never wanted to be.

The rubber band holding yourself together snaps, so you ran down the corridors, through the driveway, past the gigantic gates, anywhere but there. You didn’t know where you were going, but you needed to breathe somewhere he wasn’t.

 It wasn’t until your shoes hit an unfamiliar pavement that you realized that you were far away from the estate. In fact, you were in a small park with a playground. The sight was haunting, the play place devoid of the telltale laughter of children. It was perfect.

The adrenaline that kept you going had long worn off, but you didn’t care as you walked warily towards the swings and sat on it. Your fists clenched around the swing’s cold chains as more tears fell freely now. You didn't bother wiping them away. Why were you here anyway? To get away from a man who doesn’t want you even when you knew the invisible chains that tied you two together would shorten again?

Pathetic.

You had fantasized about the idea of finding freedom in a marriage that saved your life. You had hoped that maybe Hongjoong would grow on you, and him on you, but those fantasies had shriveled and rotted the moment Kim Hongjoong opened his mouth. And so, you let yourself swing, forward and back, forward and back, as if maybe, just maybe, you could go far enough to leave the hurt behind.

You were there for a while, you didn’t move when the sun started to set. You didn’t move when thunder clapped on the sky above. You didn’t move when the first set of raindrops fell onto your skin, sticking to your clothes like a fever that you can’t sweat out. You didn’t care.

You would’ve stayed there forever, let the ocean take you, but someone else had plans for you that day. At first, you couldn’t hear it above the rain and the thunder, but the unmistakable sound of footsteps hitting puddles was impossible to ignore.

You closed your eyes, willing your mind to focus, but when you opened them again, you froze. Hongjoong stood from afar, drenched to the bone, his head whipping around like a madman. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths, but when his eyes met yours, his shoulders hunched like the entire world had just been lifted off his back and thrown back on again. You closed your eyes again, praying that he’d go away if you pretended to not see him, but just like you, Hongjoong was nothing but persistent, after all.

“Open your eyes and look at me,” he demanded, his voice losing its sharp edge, making way for an emotion you weren’t sure you were ready to hear from him. 

By God, he looked devastating. His breath ragged, chest rising up and down, jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might snap. His usual posh and classy look was missing as water dripped from his hair into his dark, unreadable eyes. And he looked absolutely furious.

“Go away,” you said, voice thin and cold, wrenching yourself from his grip. “Leave me alone.”

You stood up, but your legs wobbled, and he caught your arm before you could fall. His grip was tight, almost bruising. Your heart almost thudded out of your ribs when he pulled you close, both of his hands holding your shoulders now.

“Stop it,” he barked, but his voice was hoarse. He shook his head, closing his eyes before opening them again with a shaky sigh. “Why are you such a fucking pain in my ass? I’m too old for this shit.”

He sighed sharply, his hand hastily pushing his wet hair away from his face in frustration. His other hand lingered at your arm, warm despite the storm, as he stepped in closer, lowering his voice. “I will bring the market to you next time, alright?”

The wind howled around you, but you didn’t even notice. His fingers twitched like they were about to reach for you, but you turned your face away just about when he stopped inches away from your skin before he fisted his hand, his gritting teeth audible in the rain.

“I’ll take you back,” he said, voice sharp again. “Before you get yourself sick and make my life even more difficult than it already is.”

His hand clasped yours tightly as he pulled you along with him through the rain. His hand didn’t leave yours until you reached the car, and maybe he felt bad for you, but when he grabbed your hand again when he started driving, it wasn’t out of pity.

If anything, he held tighter. His hand found yours on your lap, his thumb softly caressing the still damp skin of your upturned hand, not letting go even when he had to swerve and turn. He said nothing. He stared ahead through the rain-blurred windshield, jaw clenched tight, knuckles white on the steering wheel, but he never let go.

And you didn’t pull away either. Because even though your chest hurt from his words, the warmth of his palm over yours was the first thing all day that didn’t feel cruel. It seemed to lull you into a short slumber even.

The soft brake of the car was what brought you back to sentience. You watched Hongjoong press some sort of button on his car before radio static comes to life from it. “Third wing master bedroom. I’m going for a ride,” he said gruffly before he let go and pressed the bridge of his nose.

The chill of the storm probably disoriented you and you didn’t understand, but when your door opened to be face to face with the gentle Seonghwa, you were a bit surprised to find that you were parked directly in front of the mansion front door.

“Come on,” he said quietly, holding onto your shoulders and not caring if you were wet, like he knew what you had already gone through. “Let’s get you warm.”

He guided and helped you get out but you yanked to a stop when you realized that something was stopping you - Hongjoong’s hand still entwined with yours. You turned your head toward him. Hongjoong hadn’t moved, his eyes locked with yours, burning but hollowed out. And for a heartbeat, everything was still. The world, the storm, the ache in your chest.

But he let go, shutting the door softly before driving off to the night to God-knows-where. You wouldn’t know, Seonghwa was already guiding you inside the mansion by your shoulders. His hands were gentle, his movements even more patient.

His eyes dropped into sympathetic comfort, his hand slightly squeezing your shoulders. He gently walked the both of you into the living room where the fireplace was already hot and going. 

San was already there waiting for you, eyes wide with panic along with Jongho who handed him a thick blanket. “Wrap up, yeah? Don’t want you getting sick now,” he said, quickly bundling you to warm you up. “You ran out during that storm? What the hell were you thinking?”

“Give her space, San,” Seonghwa said, but the relief in his voice was palpable. He handed you a mug of something warm, ginger tea, you guessed, and crouched down beside you, eyes soft. “We were all looking. You scared us.”

Suddenly, Jongho dropped to his knees, bowing his head low, much to your surprise. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I should have kept an eye, I didn’t guard you enough.”

“W-What? No,” you frowned, hesitantly patting his head. “It’s not your fault. You’re not my keeper–“

Before you could even answer, Wooyoung appeared behind him, surprisingly less loud but just as concerned. “Yeah, you tell him that,” he scoffed softly, arms crossed to his chest, shaking his head slightly. “Hongjoong almost killed him in sheer anger. Seriously, why did you do that?”

It was the most serious you’ve ever seen the man, but of course, he was still as dramatic as ever. His eyes darted from you to the others before dramatically flopping onto the arm of the couch. “I’ve never seen him like that before,” he chortled. “Like, ever. Hell, he doesn’t even react that bad when me and my brothers get shot or something.”

“It can’t be that bad,” you murmured, fiddling with the blanket. “I wasn’t even gone for long. I was going to come back.”

That was when all three of them looked at you like you’d grown a second head. “Not long?” Jongho echoed, his brows shooting up in disbelief. “You’ve been gone for hours, Y/N.”

“Hongjoong practically tore the city apart,” San shook his head. “You were gone for over five hours. Five. That’s not just a walk in the park, that’s a goddamn vanishing act. I swear he was about to murder us if he couldn’t find you.”

You blinked, confused. “He was…looking for me?”

“Obviously,” Wooyoung rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue. “I’ve never seen him lose control like that before. But seriously, please don’t do that again. I’m not ready for Mingi to inherit the business in case Dad gets an aneurysm.”

You looked down at your lap, shame filling your lungs along with the thudding of your heartbeat. “I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

“But you did,” Wooyoung muttered, but his tone wasn’t offensive. “But I get it. I do apologise on his behalf, though. He shouldn’t have thrown money at you. That was unnecessarily cruel, even for him.”

Seonghwa gave your shoulder a squeeze. “You’re safe now and that’s all that matters. Hongjoong should be back shortly,” he helps you up once more. “Come along. You should wash up so you don’t get sick.”

You thanked everyone before you let Seonghwa guide you into a part of the mansion you’ve never been at, let alone the room he took you in before he bid you a goodnight with a promise to check on you the next day.

You sighed deeply, trudging your feet to the shower. Your heart swells the moment you opened that door, it smelled of Hongjoong. It was hard not to remember the way his fingers had clung to yours, how they didn’t tremble until after he’d let go, the entire time you washed up and got ready for bed.

When morning came, your eyes fluttered open when the first ray of sunshine hit your face, but you didn’t want to get up - the sheets smelled faintly of sandalwood and something distinctly him, and that the pillow cradled your head felt like a welcome comfort.

For a second, you had, perhaps, thought that everything was a dream, but when you rubbed your eyes and made a move to get up, you were completely startled awake to see the last person you ever thought you’d see the moment you’d opened your eyes.

Hongjoong was fully dressed in a crisp black turtleneck and slacks, hair slightly tousled, as he typed something furiously into his laptop. He didn’t look up when you stirred, but you noticed the subtle clench of his jaw.

“I trust you slept well?” Hongjoong asked, lowering his glasses to stare straight at you.

You willed for your heartbeat to stop thumping so much for fear of him hearing it. You stared straight back at him, noticing the faint shadow under his eyes. “I suppose so,” you said. “You didn’t, though.”

“I’ll say,” he shut his laptop off, reaching for a folder beside it, before leaning on the couch, crossing his arms, his sharp eyes trained on you. “You did sleep on my bed, after all.”

You blinked, the words not sinking in your morning-addled brain yet, but when it did, your mouth dropped open in surprise. “I-I’m so sorry,” you blurted out, heat pooling in your lower belly at the information. No wonder the entire room smelled like him. “I didn’t sleep here on purpose—”

“I know,” he sighed. “I asked Seonghwa to bring you here. Lest you already forgot.”

He took his glasses off, rubbed the bridge of his nose like the weight of the world had been sitting there. “Next time, don’t run off in a storm just to prove a point.”

“That wasn’t what I was doing,” you frowned.

He looked at you then, brief and unreadable. “Then what were you doing?”

“Trying to breathe,” you croaked, your voice dropping down to a whisper that you wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t heard it. “Plus, you looked all night for me.”

He didn’t say anything at first. But the shift in his expression, the subtlety of it, was louder than words. “Freshen up and eat breakfast,” he muttered, tapping the folder in his hand twice. “I have a couple of questions for you.”

You weren’t in the mood to argue with him, certainly not after his obvious attempt in shutting down the conversation completely. Unsurprisingly, your body still ached from last night. You opted for a quick brush of your teeth, tying your hair presentably. 

The scent of you had me dizzy. I have to get out of here.

You didn’t bother changing out of the pyjamas Seonghwa had provided for you since you didn’t have clothes here. It would give you an out, and you weren’t ready to face Hongjoong out of shame. That’s exactly what you did. You were about to slip out, when he cleared his throat.

“Where are you going?” Hongjoong stared at you, brows raised.

You gulped, feeling like you were caught doing something you shouldn’t. “Uhm. I’d hate to bother you further. Didn’t you tell me to have breakfast?”

“I did,” he confirmed, gesturing towards a particular direction of the room. “With me.”

Your brain almost shut off with the information. With him? He rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he stood up and opened the balcony door. Your heart practically leapt out of your chest, you were positive that the breakfast set up there wasn’t present when you woke up. Had he instructed someone to set it up while you were in the bathroom?

This was the first time you were ever going to eat with Hongjoong. Not beside him, not five feet across the room like some barely tolerated shadow. With him. And worse, he was making you so nervous that you felt like you’d forgotten how to walk properly as you followed him out, sitting across him awkwardly, not knowing how to place your stiff limbs properly.

You didn’t even register how your hands trembled until you reached for your fork and nearly knocked it off the table. You were just about to dig in, not knowing what else to do, when he stopped you. “Wait,” Hongjoong halted you brusquely.

“W-What?” You froze, hand still mid-air, wondering if you did something wrong.

Instead of replying, Hongjoong reached over your plate and began digging into your food with his chopsticks. You narrowed your eyes in slight annoyance, ready to mouth at him for possibly controlling what you ate and picking at your food without asking, but your heart dropped to your feet by the time he was lifting his chopsticks back up again.

He picked out a couple of raisins from your plate, setting them on his plate one by one as if this wasn’t the first time he’s done this. You stared, blinking rapidly to stop the sting behind your eyes. “I hate raisins,” you suspiciously pointed out.

He pauses, glances at you once through his lashes, before eating like you didn’t say anything. And suddenly, your chest ached with the weight of all the things he wouldn’t tell you. Before you could open that can of worms, he was already flipping open a folder he had brought to the table, effectively cutting off the topic with the sharp precision he was known for.

“I need you to look at a couple of faces for me,” he said, back in business as usual with his clipped utterrance. He slides the files towards you in one, smooth motion. “It’s imperative that you tell me immediately if you see a familiar looking face.”

You were confused, but you took the folder with ease, flipping through pages and pages of different photos of both men and women alike. Hongjoong staring dead into your soul was distracting, but you were sure you'd never seen these people before. You were going to tell him as such, until you stumbled upon the very last photo.

“Him,” you drawled out, surprised at both the face and yourself for pointing it out. “I’ve seen him before…”

The moment you showed him the photo, the tension in his shoulders snapped into visible rigidity. “Where?” he demanded, his voice sharp and urgent. “Where did you see him?”

Truth be told, you would have forgotten about the man if it wasn’t for this. “I passed through him before I reached the park,” you frowned. “I remember him because he had this weird lip piercing.”

Hongjoong cursed under his breath, making the dread in your chest spread like a disease, before he hastily snatched the folder from your hands, his hands fisting the edge of the folder. “Finish your food, darling,” he said hurriedly, the darkness in his face making you nervous. “We’re going for a little trip downstairs after.”

“I-I don’t understand,” you frowned, doing as he says and stuffing your face with some bread. “You’ve been acting so damn weird lately, I’ve never seen this man in my entire life before yesterday.”

His head turned slightly, those unreadable eyes locking onto you again. “Rather,” he said slowly, voice dipping towards something ominous. “You’ve never paid enough attention.”

You stopped mid-chew to stare at him. This was the longest conversation you’ve had with Hongjoong and the foreboding feeling of potential sinisterness was the first thing he made you think about?

He held your gaze, his fingers curling gently around your chin. His voice dipped to a whisper, low and graveled, brushing across your skin like smoke. "Look closely," he murmured. “I want you to think about why you’re truly here.”

Your brows furrowed. “Because my uncle sold me to you—”

“Think, Y/N. Think,” his tone laced with a cutting sort of irritation. “I know that desiccated, dried-up brain of yours still works.”

You rolled your eyes, the backhanded insult slicing through the tension with a bitter familiarity, but it didn’t lessen the heat brewing behind your ribs. “I owe your uncle absolutely nothing,” he said, letting go of your chin with a scoff. “I could’ve killed him before you even set foot in this house.”

“Have you killed people?” You blurted out before you could stop yourself. He raised a brow like it was a question unworthy of a response. "A-Are you going to kill me?"

“Do you want me to?” Hongjoong countered, tilting his head.

Your blood began to thrum in your ears, anger bubbling up in your chest like acid. “I’m not that stupid, you know,” you whispered, your voice cracking with frustration. “I’m aware there are things I’ve no idea about, but I know what a lie tastes like when it’s shoved in my mouth.”

You looked back at the spread of photos he’d shown you. But something inside you stirred as your gaze landed on the photo again. It was faint, like a memory just out of reach and a sense of recognition that felt older than logic.

“Have you ever wondered,” Hongjoong said slowly. “Why I’ve been so adamant in keeping you here?”

You opened your mouth, but he held up a hand. “No,” he said. “Forget that. Ask yourself this, have you ever wondered why your uncle took you in back then?”

Your heart stopped, but he wasn’t finished. “Surely, he wasn’t the only family you had. Worst of all, of all the people he could have sold you to, it had to be me. I know you’ve done your research on who I am.”

Indeed, you did, and the Kim family was not to be messed around with. Your throat felt like it was closing. You wanted to speak, but your brain was too busy racing through every memory you had, trying to connect dots that refused to sit still. Was your uncle much, much worse than you gave him credit for?

Hongjoong leaned close just enough to make you squirm under the intensity of his focus. The movement was subtle, but it was calculated - a hunter testing the waters, seeing how far he could push without you breaking. “Predators don’t fear prey,” he said. “They fear another predator.”

A scream threatened to bubble from your chest just lying around the surface. His statement echoed in your head far, far worse than a broken record. It was the only thing you could think about the entire time you followed Hongjoong downstairs towards his office. You couldn’t even lament what happened here the last time, the money he threw at you already cleaned up as if they were never thrown at you like dirty rags in the first place.

You didn’t even notice that Mingi and Seonghwa were already in the office, seemingly waiting for the both of you to arrive and such, until Hongjoong started to talk to them again. “This,” he slammed the folder rather harshly on the table directly in front of Seonghwa, who just took it in stride and opened the file. “That snivelling bastard on the last page. I want him gone.”

“And you,” he turned back to you, eyes ablaze with newfound anger you didn’t even know was already there. You raised a defiant brow, why was he looking at you like this was your fault. “You’re not going out anymore, you hear me? Never let me repeat myself.”

You narrowed your eyes, the simmering tension in your bones finally boiling and tipping over into something far more dangerous than you’ve ever felt. Your jaw ached from how hard you were biting down on your tongue, and the polite mask you’d worn like second skin started to peel.

Your feet started to march towards the bane of your existence like a bull who found the red spot. You didn’t even care that Seonghwa’s mouth dropped slightly and he was subtly shaking his head, you still poked Hongjoong’s chest pointedly and boy, you were sure that hurt a little.

“You could at least tell me why,” you snapped, your voice low and trembling with rage. He narrowed his eyes in warning, but you were done caring. “Or is it because you can’t keep your dogs in line? Tightening my leash is the only way you won’t lose control over your goods? Maybe it’s not the outside world you’re afraid of, it’s that someone might realize your entire empire is built on fear.”

Silence. A sharp, immediate silence that sliced through the room like a guillotine. Mingi visibly stiffened, Seonghwa’s face paled, but Hongjoong? He started to laugh. At first it was soft, then it turned into a full-blown laughter so sarcastic, you wanted to cover your ears from the grating sound. “The wolves are at my door, waiting for my empire to fall. I won’t let you destroy it just because you refuse to fall in line, brat,” he sneered.

You laughed, not out of humour. It was cold, sharp, and laced with every ounce of your pent-up exhaustion and rage. “Frankly?” You said, meeting his glare with one of your own. “I don’t give a flying fuck. You want to talk about wolves? Look in the damn mirror, Hongjoong.”

You poked him twice more in his admittedly toned chest, and you did it hard, too, just so he could even an ounce of how heavy he’d made you feel. “I’m not some damsel you could fool around with just because I was thrust here. I won’t roll over just so you can stroke your ego.”

A slow, unreadable flicker crossed his face. His gaze sharpened, but his body relaxed, curious now, as he tilted his head, slowly. His expression didn’t change much, but you saw it, that glint of something deeper. Respect? Amusement? Recognition? “She bites,” Hongjoong murmured, his voice dropping to a note lower, smooth and quiet like a blade sliding from its sheath. He crossed his arms, a ghost of a smirk fleeting on his sinful lips. “Finally.”

He was still watching you, but it wasn’t the same stare anymore. It wasn’t the same power dynamic. You had shifted something, and he had noticed. “You’ve mistaken my compliance with submissiveness,” you replied, your voice steady, your pulse roaring in your ears. “I’m terribly sorry to tell you that you’re wrong.”

Hongjoong’s lips parted slightly, as if that, too, had surprised him. Or pleased him, you couldn’t tell, but when his smirked widened, you almost faltered. You gritted your teeth, cursing whichever God had molded him for making this demon so  devilishly handsome, it was maddening.

“That doesn’t negate the point, little darling,” he continued, still sharp as glass. “I built this kingdom with my soul, and I am the king of this goddamn empire. Whether you like it or not, you are in it. ”

“I’ll bow to your king when he shows himself,” you said, clipped and cut. It was a direct dig towards him, it was a deliberate show of disobedience, but you didn’t flinch. You kept your chin up, gaze level  as you started to walk away from him for the first time.

The adrenaline didn’t wear off even hours later as you paced around your room in heated anger. But God, that felt good. You’ve never directly expressed your grievances towards someone else like that and now that you’ve gotten a taste of it, you don’t think you could hold your mouth longer around the menace that was Kim Hongjoong. It might get you killed, but at this point, death might be the only salvation you’ll feel.

One was for sure - something had definitely changed ever since that nasty confrontation between the two of you. If before you’ve barely seen even his shadow, lately all you’ve been doing was butt heads with Hongjoong, and man, are you not happy about it.

“Was it you?” Hongjoong marched towards the living room one day with steam coming out of ears. “Did you set the thermostat at twenty-eight?”

“I did,” you sneered, not backing down. “Not everyone in this house has cold, dead blood like you.”

He scoffed in disbelief, pinching his nose bridge. “This isn’t a sauna, go outside where you belong if you’re so cold.”

You watched him stalk towards the thermostat, cranking the heat lower so roughly, you were a bit concerned it would break. Oh no you don’t, you dictating bastard. You got up from the couch, pushing him away to crank the thermostat back to low before giving him the stink eye.

“Fine,” he nodded stiffly, his glare so intense, it had you backing up slightly. “I’m locking it. Don’t expect me to lower it when summer hits.”

It was the littlest of things that set the both of you off, but if you were being completely frank, you more or less enjoyed his annoyed reaction. Serves him right for all the months he put you down.

“You finished all the cookies,” you glared at him heatedly one afternoon, pointing at the plate of half-eaten cookies that lay next to him on the coffee table as he read his newspaper. “I liked those cookies.”

He didn’t even look up from the newspaper. “That’s just too bad, isn’t it?”

You yanked the paper from his hands. “You don’t even like cookies! They were for me.”

“I bought them for the house,” he glared, snatching it back. 

“Yeah?” You snarled, snapping your eyes towards the coffee mug you knew he was very, very particular about before a smug grin fills your face.

He stared in disbelief, his eyes widening at what you were about to do. “You insolent brat, don’t you dare—”

But it was too late, you gulped all his coffee in one go. You tried so hard not to grimace at the bitter taste, or else your pride will tank, but the redness in his face from sheer anger made it oh so worth it.

Everyone had definitely noticed at that point. Even the stoic Mingi would give his own father a dirty look whenever he’d catch that both of you mouth off to one another like you were in a damn competition. Woooyung, of course, was nonetheless fascinated about the turn of events.

“You two act like an old married couple, I love it,” he cackled while he ate dinner with you as you glared at Hongjoong’s turned back when he instructed the chef to put more raisins in your plate just to spite you. “I’m slowly getting over how my stepmother will only be like a decade older than me if this is the entertainment I’ll get for the rest of my life.”

You scoffed, grabbing a piece of raisin with a deep frown. “It’s not my fault he’s a petty bastard,” you said, flicking the raisin towards Hongjoong’s ear with an accuracy you didn’t even know. 

Wooyoung laughed with you not-so discreetly while San paled ever so slightly at the scorching glare Hongjoong sent your way. “You are something special, Y/N,” he shook his head. “Boss would have had our heads a long, long time ago for something less.”

Unfortunately, you couldn’t fully finish your dinner. The taste of the raisins were so prevalent in the food even when you’ve removed all of them that the taste of it just permeated all over the dish.

You sneaked in the kitchen at two in the morning where you knew no one would be up just so you could ravage in the cupboard for some midnight snack, but you were so wrong. You squeaked, blinking at Hongjoong who was in the middle of drinking water and he blinked back at you.

“Couldn’t sleep from the guilt?” You asked, referring to you not eating dinner. And you knew that he knew, he was watching you the whole time smugly.

“No,” he muttered. “Just the sound of your attitude echoing through the halls.”

You snorted. “Wow. You’re real original for someone who thinks being emotionally constipated is a personality trait.”

He scoffed, shaking his head as he walked past you towards the exit. “Don’t hog all the snacks,” he brushed with your shoulder and it sent a zing of electricity through your spine. “Money isn’t as easy to come by, yes?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re good at it,” you countered with a snarl. “If being a raging psycho and asshole was your living, no wonder you’re filthy rich. Let’s not even mention your head count.”

You blinked as he walked back toward you. He stopped in front of you, his hands coming to rest beside your waist on the counter, trapping you. “Would you like to know my head count?” He asked, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “I’d love to add you to that roster.”

You tried to breathe, his face was so close, your noses nearly brushed. His eyes dropped to your lips for the briefest moment before snapping back up. “Because I’ve been real patient,” he muttered. “But I’m tired of your mouth lately.”

And as quickly as he’d closed in, he pulled away with a sharp inhale, the smirk curling wider as he turned on his heel. “Sleep tight, darling,” he tossed over his shoulder, voice laced with poison and something dangerously sweet.

And just like that, he was gone, leaving behind blush on your cheeks, the thundering of your heart, and the faint scent of him clinging to your skin.

Usually, your banters were harmless. Dare anyone say that even though Hongjoong got under your skin, you’ve never felt more alive than you did whenever you’d cross paths with him. You didn’t know what it was; maybe it was because that finally, he wasn’t avoiding you like the plague even though nothing nice came from that mouth of his.

But this time, you didn’t know what completely set the both of you off. You just wanted to have lunch like normal, and today was very different, too. Usually you’d eat with one or two people only as everyone’s schedules didn’t quite align, but this time, even Seonghwa and Wooyoung were at the dining table.

You were laughing at something that Jongho had mentioned when Hongjoong’s cutting voice rang around the table. “Can you shut your mouth?” He snapped, cluttering his utensils against his paperwork. “I’m trying to concentrate here.”

You rolled your eyes. Ever since he got off a phone call he got before everyone started eating, he’s been in a horrible mood. “Get off the damn table if you can’t handle basic human interaction,” you snapped back.

He stared you down, voice ice sharp. “You’re not clever. You’re a loud, useless distraction and an irritation everyone’s sick of pretending to tolerate.”

“Father, stop it,” Mingi, who sat at Hongjoong’s left, shot back, eyeing the older man with warning. He turned to you and you almost faltered. How is it that his son was more intimidating than him? “And you. You’re not helping.”

“No, let her,” Hongjoong scoffed. “No wonder your uncle gave you away. You’re nothing but a liability.”

Patience was a trait you had that you were proud of, but not today. You can barely contain yourself, because that was a low, even for him. I'm sick to death of swallowing every single thing I'm fed. You slammed your hands on the table, rising swiftly, your chair scraping loudly against the floor. Everyone’s eyes followed you, wide and stunned. “Oh, give me a break, you belligerent, deluded, pompous prick,” you barked. The room stilled. You hadn’t raised your voice, but the words hung in the air like glass about to shatter.

Even Hongjoong seemed to falter a bit before his eyes narrowed once more. “Have you lost your fucking mind?” He yelled so loud it echoed through the halls, making everyone flinch. “Watch your tone, you ill-mannered disgrace—”

You scoffed in disbelief. “That’s tough shit coming from you who’s done nothing but make me miserable here.”

“That sounds like a you problem, darling,” Hongjoong’s eyes ticked.

“Well, to that, I say you're a cunt—” you were about to say, but your voice caught in your throat, the fierce words dying on your lips as a wave of dizziness swept over you. You faltered, mid-step, your knees threatening to give out.

He scoffed, the sharp edge of his haughtiness cutting through the silence. “Giving up already?” Hongjoong sneered with a smirk that promised he didn’t believe you had the strength to stand your ground.

No, this was different than anything you’ve felt before. Your breathing became laboured, the suddenness of it threatening the bile in your stomach to rise from your throat. You grabbed the nearest thing you could hold on to, but your grip slipped. “Hold on,” San balked, grabbing your arm in mild concern before his face shifted. “Y/N, are you okay?”

No, I’m not, you wanted to say, looking straight at Hongjoong just as your steps wobbled and your vision blurred. It was when his expression cracked, panic flickered across his face, eyes widening with sudden concern, breath hitching as he reached out instinctively.

But before he could reach you, Jongho was there, his strong arms catching you just in time. “Y/N? Oh, God,” he tapped your cheeks hardly, but to no avail, your eyes were closing. “Stay awake, fuck—”

Hongjoong’s face, the devastated, unsettled look you weren’t ready to see, and the way he grabbed your body was the last thing you registered before darkness swallowed you whole, but not before you heard Seonghwa mutter one word that would have made you faint regardless.

“Poison.”

All you could feel was pain. It hurt to try to move your limbs, it was more reminiscent of bones grinding against each other sharply against sandpaper, it hurt to take the smallest gulp of breath, hell, it hurt to even blink. It was like that car accident after your graduation all over again. Why did death love chasing after you? And why didn’t you chase it back?

But this time was different. You weren’t in a hospital bed, there were no nurses around, and there was none of that sterile scent you hated so much. Rather, there was warmth - warmth so comforting, you couldn’t help but snuggle into it, burying your head in hopes for the ache to go away.

“Fuck’s sake, It’s been days, why hasn’t she woken up yet?”

Even you could feel your subconscious frown at what you heard. Days. And you didn’t even feel better about it. “Give her time, Joong. I mean, look at her, so frail—”

“Frail, my ass,” a rough, familiar voice snapped just as you felt your arms being squeezed so tight, it would have woken you up if you hadn’t already. “She’s my little fighter, poison isn’t going to break her. Have you not heard the way she talks back to me?”

A deep laughter resonated through the entire room. It wasn’t quite like Mingi’s - not that Hongjoong Jr. would ever act normal around you - no, but this was richer, familiar, even. If you could just open your eyes and see.

“I see she hasn’t changed. Good to know you’re getting your money’s worth, Dad. You should go eat something. Anyway, I need a complete rundown, Hwa. I didn’t fly here for nothing, and I need to go back soon. The longer I stay, the more danger we attract.”

The warmth you had disappeared followed by a door closing nearby. Silence envelops the room and the familiar sigh of Seonghwa fills it. “Well, like we said, it’s poison. Someone who isn’t supposed to be here is here.”

“But how? What are the odds? It could’ve been anyone at that dining table. You think it’s Yoo Jaehwan?”

“Who else? To do it not only in his house, but right in front of Hongjoong’s face…whoever did it is asking for death.”

“Should’ve seen your father’s face,” San clicked his tongue. “I swear something inside him died.”

“Well, fuck, maybe because she could’ve died?” The familiar, deeper voice counteracted with a sass that knocked in your memory. “Because that’s not just a wife he’s protecting, that’s someone he’d burn the world for.”

“Anyhow. We should come back later. I have to check on your father to see if he’s eating or I might have to get your older brother to tie him up or something.”

Half of that conversation went through your head. You weren’t a total idiot, you knew what most of it entailed, but all you could think about was the missing warmth that enveloped you. You forced yourself to come to, your weak arms supporting your upper body as you tried to sit up. It was hell as your eyelids fluttered open against a dull ache pounding in your skull, but you needed to move your stiff limbs before they started to throb from prolonged unuse.

Just then, the door opened. Silently, carefully, like doing so would trigger another bout of faintness in you and you were met with the surprised eyes of Hongjoong. He froze in the doorway like he’d walked in on something sacred.

For a moment, he just stood there, unmoving. Then, the tension in his shoulders released slightly, only to be replaced by something else entirely - pure, unadulterated relief. You didn’t have to touch him to know that he was the warmth that kept you stabilized the entire time you rested.

He started to walk toward you in slow, controlled steps. His glasses were gone, his hair a mess, and there was a tremble in the hand that rolled up the sleeves of his unusually wrinkled shirt like he’d been gripping it in fistfuls.

Most of all, his eyes were tired. He sat on the bed next to you, his eyes never leaving yours, and you thought that was it. You certainly weren’t prepared for the way he lightly gripped your shoulders to pull you into a hug, and just like that, the warmth you’ve been craving for had returned.

“Get off,” you rasped weakly, but your voice betrayed the fight you didn’t have in you. Still, your pride flared, because nothing stung more than collapsing in front of him.

He didn’t budge. “Don’t even try,” he said through clenched teeth, his arms tightening around you. “Stay still and let me have this even for a moment.”

It was in the way he gripped you too tightly, in the quiet desperation of that whispered please. You didn’t even realize he was trembling slightly. His arms weren’t caging you, rather, he was a man holding on to you as if he was sinking at the bottom of the ocean and you were the balance he needed to stay afloat.

Pride be damned. You wrapped your arms around him, silent tears falling from your eyes as you held onto him. This was all you wanted, what you didn’t have back then when you had nobody. The prospect of never waking up was settling into you and you didn’t have enough strength to keep holding it in together.

“I’m still angry at you,” you sniffled.

“Get angrier. The sooner you get your strength back, the sooner you can talk back again like the brat you are,” he shushed, the tremble in his hand now visible at the way he smoothed the damp strands away from your face along with your tears.

“As touching as this is, I believe we have more pressing matters at hand.”

You tried to pull away, but Hongjoong wasn’t letting you - though if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t even really want to - so you opted to look over your shoulder at the source of the voice.

Hongjoong groaned when you pushed him away, your breath caught in your throat. Your eyes widened slowly, your hand flying up to cover your mouth in shock. “Y-Yeosang?” You whispered, like saying his name too loud might shatter the fragile reality in front of you.

The man in question stood from the plush armchair, casual in his posture but carrying an unmistakable grin, one you hadn’t seen in years. “The one and only,” Yeosang said with a lopsided smile, walking toward you. “How have you been, Miss Jeong?”

You stared at him in disbelief, the air knocked clean from your lungs. “I-I haven’t seen you since…” your voice faltered, because the rest of that sentence hung heavy in your throat.

Yeosang seemed to know what you meant without you saying it, because his expression softened as he gently pulled you into a hug. “Y-You’re the last person I expected to see here,” you mumbled against his shoulder, pulling back to get a proper look at him. “Wait, what are you doing here?”

The both of you turned around to look at Hongjoong when he cleared his throat. “You wretch,” he looked pointedly at Yeosang with a bitter scowl. “Aren’t you supposed to be down there with everyone?”

Yeosang scoffed, rolling his eyes so dramatically you were surprised they didn’t get stuck up his skull. “You were the one who called me and threatened to cut my allowance if I didn’t fly here soon,” he deadpanned as he pulled away from you to stand up. “Relax, she was my mentor. I’m allowed to say hello, Dad.”

Your eyes flew between the two men in shock. “Dad?” You blurted out. “How many kids do you have? Because holy sh—”

“Soon to be two if this one doesn’t shut his trap,” Hongjoong hissed. “I can still cut your allowance, Kang Yeosang. Don’t test me.”

“Oh, please. You need me,” he chuckled sarcastically, tapping on the stethoscope he had around his neck that you didn’t notice was there. You stared at him proudly, remembering the young Yeosang who always told you of his dreams to become a doctor one day back then.

“Anyway, you need to get out of here, Dad,” Yeosang said in urgency. “Mingi will take care of everything. It’s good training for the future, anyway. We need to purge your staff and I need to test every single surface of the manor to see if there’s more antifreeze contamination.” 

Goosebumps erupted on your skin. Antifreeze. It was how you found yourself saying goodbye to Yeosang, with the promise of catching up as soon as everything was safe, and then the others before you were dressing up to go with Hongjoong to his supposed safe house.

“I can walk, you know?” You frowned when Hongjoong walked beside you the whole time,  steadying you with a firm hold on your elbow. You hated how flustered it made you - how close he was, how natural it felt.

He glanced at you once, opting to ignore you as he opened the car door for you. But just before you could step in, he stilled. Hongjoong plucked a single sunflower and he tucked it carefully behind your ear. His eyes didn’t meet yours, but his touch lingered longer than necessary.

Your heart stuttered so sharply it almost hurt. It fluttered against your ribs, traitorous and soft, the way it always did when he did something gentle without meaning to. The warmth of his fingers near your cheek lingered longer than the sunflower itself.

He helped you into the backseat, settled beside you without hesitation, and closed the door. You thought he’d pull away once the engine started. You thought he’d sit back in his own thoughts like always.

But he didn’t. He pulled you close, gently but without question, and you leaned against his chest. His arm wrapped around you, fingers curling slightly against your side, grounding you. He held you the entire ride. And for the first time in days, the ache in your chest quieted.

“Where are we going?” You couldn’t help but ask, giving in to what your body currently needed and letting yourself lean onto his firm chest for once.

“Must you always ask irrelevant questions?” Hongjoong sighed.

You scoffed softly, thumping on his chest lightly. “How do I know you’re not leading me to my death?“

“Are you stupid?” Hongjoong snapped, his eyes widening slightly in irritation. You met them with an equal force of annoyance. He sighed exasperatedly, already sick of your antics. “One of my rest houses. It’s on the far end of the city, almost near the suburbs. You should sleep.”

“Would you still hold me when I wake up?” You croaked, not knowing what you were thinking when you blurted the words out.

His thumb, which had been idly brushing against your arm, stilled. You didn’t dare look up, didn’t even breathe, until you felt the slow, deliberate way his hand curled tighter around you. “Yes, darling,” he murmured, fixing the flower on your ear before fixing your hair.

It was infuriating, really, how a man who so easily sliced you open with his words could undo you completely with a simple touch. Your pulse betrayed you, and you didn’t dare look at him, afraid he might see just how deeply that one small act had shaken you.

You couldn’t sleep, not after that. Not while Hongjoong held you in his arms the entire time, his hand brushing your hair away from your face every fifteen minutes and he did so until the car stopped moving and he was helping you get down again.

“Easy, there,” he frowned when you took the wrong step and almost tripped.

“Don’t pretend you care now,” you raised a brow, even as your fingers curled instinctively into the fabric of his shirt.

“I don’t,” he said too quickly, too defensively. But he was still holding you like you were made of glass and you couldn’t help but fist the front of Hongjoong’s shirt. He didn’t push you away and neither did you pull away. 

Surprisingly, the rest house was of modest stature, situated in the middle of a small town. It was smart, blending in would be easy. It was simple and cozy, there was the typical small kitchen, a bathroom, and one bedroom with one bed. You stared. Hongjoong stared back.

“We’ll manage,” he said as he set the bags down, looking away and avoiding eye contact. “It’s easier to keep an eye on you this way.”

You opened your mouth to object, but your mouth wasn’t cooperating with your mouth today. “I-I'd love to sleep with you,” you blurted out without thinking.

Hongjoong froze mid-step, one brow raising with almost comical precision. It would’ve been endearing since you’ve never seen the usually poised man this caught-off guard before, but right now, you wanted to dig a hole, crawl in it, and never see the light of day again.

“I mean sleep as in literally sleep–I didn’t, I meant to say I don’t mind sleeping with you, uh, literally—oh my God,” you stammered, hands flying up to cover your face in pure panic.

“Why don’t you, uh, relax on the balcony while I do this?” Hongjoong said, and you didn’t miss the smirk on his face as he turned back to the bag he was unpacking.

You slept facing opposite sides that night. But somehow, the air between you was tighter than before. You lay stiffly on your back, eyes on the ceiling, acutely aware of every tiny shift in the sheets with each of his movements. “Can you stop fidgeting too much?” Hongjoong clicked his tongue. “I’m not going to eat you.”

You scoffed softly. “You don’t hear me complain about your awful breathing sounds.”

“You want me to stop breathing, then?”

“That’s literally not what I said,” you turned sharply toward him, only to find him already watching you. The two of you blinked at each other in silence. Eventually, you turned away again, cheeks burning, pulling the covers over your head.

You tried to find a comfortable position to sleep on, tossing and turning until your body felt right, but when the right angle had your leg up on Hongjoong’s by accident, he didn’t move, and neither did you.

And when you woke up the next day with your arm wrapped around his chest with his own arm cradling your head to his neck, you both didn’t say a word about it, but he didn’t move, and neither did you. “Hongjoong,” you rasped, half of your brain still dead from the world. “...Joong.”

“Hmm?” He hummed huskily from sleep, the vibrations of his chest traveling straight to your spine.

“I’m hungry,” you said. “Haven’t eaten since last night.”

You felt him turn his head, his lips touching your hairline directly, the warmth of it searing on your skin. “Five more minutes,” he replied hoarsely. “Can you do that for me?”

You nod groggily while he molded you closer to him, your cheek pressing just a little firmer to the warm space beneath his collarbone. “Good girl,” he whispered softly, low, and utterly wrecked by sleep.

Your body tensed like someone had just poured ice water down your head. Your eyes snapped open as you felt your throat tighten, not daring to move or breathe too loud. You just lay there, heart hammering wildly in your chest, trying to pretend like you hadn’t just short-circuited. “Are you drinking my coffee?” he snapped at you the next day, catching sight of your cup. “Again?”

Just like that, the both of you were back to bickering like normal.  “It’s not my fault you bought me that shitty sugar-free crap that tastes like nothing,” you said, sipping smugly. “Plus, your coffee tastes better.” He crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. “It’s black with three shots of espresso. You can’t handle that.” “I can handle you, can’t I? Nothing worse than that.” He scoffed loudly in disbelief, muttering about how the younger generation was disrespectful before he snatched the cup and handed you a water bottle instead. “Hydrate before you pass out on me.”

You frowned, fully irritated at your caffeine being stolen. “Hey, I wasn’t don—” “And you call that breakfast?” He looked pointedly at your sad-looking toast. “It’s no wonder why I mistake your brain for an ornament sometimes.” You didn’t even get a chance to shoot back at his arrogance before he rolled his eyes but took your plate, setting down a neatly packed bento box. “Eat something that’s actually worth eating. Fuck’s sake, do I really have to do everything around here?”

The both of you went on like that for days, and as maddening as Hongjoong was, you were somehow thankful for how normal everything felt, though now, the change between you and Hongjoong was starting to become evident.

“How long would it take for you to clean this entire house?” He asked one day out of the blue. He stared disapprovingly at the phone in your hand. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was riling you up just to get a reaction out of you.

Your eyes ticked, but you didn’t look up at him. “It depends on how many helpers you want me to hire.”

“Why would you hire cleaners?” Hongjoong frowned.

“You asked.”

He scoffed, clearly displeased at the response. “No, I asked you. If you’re going to live here, you might as well do something that lessens the burden you put on me.”

“I did,” you shot back, finally looking up, mildly offended at the insinuation. “I made you dinner every night, one that you refused to eat.”

“Who told you I didn’t?” He raised a brow. Your expression froze, but before you could say anything, he waved a hand. “Anyway, you still need to clean. If I’m paying for your shit, I need something in return.”

Your mind was still reeling at the things unsaid between the lines. “Why the hell would I be doing free labour for you?”

“Well—”

You cut him off, refusing to go down. “I just got poisoned, in case you forgot. I should be resting, for God’s sake.”

“And I took you here to recuperate,” he replied sarcastically. “What now, then?”

“What about the times I had to deal with your grumpy ass? I don’t see you paying for my mental state.” You retorted back, putting your phone away to stand up to him.

He paused, blinking repeatedly in thought. “I could get you a therapist.”

“Yes,” you smiled brightly, a little too brightly. “I could also hire helpers to clean this house.”

His ears and neck redden in sheer frustration, and from here, you could see his mind malfunction slowly. “Shut up,” he muttered, refusing to admit you one-upped him.

“Well, why don’t you shut me up, then?”

You stilled, realizing what you just insinuated. His lips quirked, smug and amused, like he’d won a round you didn’t realize you were playing as he shook his head.

The nighttimes weren’t any better either. It was like bickering was both of yours’ defense mechanisms. “Turn off the light,” you yawn from under the covers.

“You turn it off,” Hongjoong replies from his side, brows raised in defiance. “You got in bed last.”

You groan, swing your legs over dramatically, but just as you reach the switch, the light clicks off behind you. You turn and find Hongjoong smirking, holding a small remote control in his hand. “We’re supposed to be a team here,” you hissed. “There is no “I” in team.”

“No, but there is in idiot,” he grinned.

Your mouth dropped, charging at him to hit him over and over again with a pillow, and he didn’t even let out a single sound as he deflected your so-called attacks. You huffed, trying to push off him, but the sheets had other plans. And truth be told, so did some strange, traitorous part of you.

Eventually, you both gave up, tangled under the blankets, breaths evening out against shared warmth. Once again, neither of you moved. In the hush that followed, you felt his thumb barely brush against your arm where it rested across his chest. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

And it would have stayed like that if it weren’t for the heavy weight that settled on your chest in the middle of the night. Literally. When you opened your eyes, an arm was pressing down your chest and you were met with Hongjoong’s glaring eyes.

“What—”, you were about to say when he covered your mouth hurriedly. He puts his finger to his lip to shush you and in your peripheral, you could see his arm slowly raising up a gun as he pointed at the door. Your eyes widen and your heart drops - someone was in the house.

Hongjoong didn’t say a word. He shifted, slow and precise, the mattress barely creaking as he slipped off it and tiptoed towards the door. You clutched the sheets to your chest, your breath lodged somewhere in your throat as the door clicked open. It was silent; too silent.

Bang. Bang. Pause. Bang. Bang.

Your ears rang. You flinched with each shot, your hands shaking as you sat in the dark, unable to move, unable to breathe. You shut your eyes, covering your eyes to will all the sounds to stay distant, the reality of who Hongjoong was dawning on you. It was just a couple of weeks ago when you asked him whether he had killed or not.

The door creaked open again, slower this time. You jumped, expecting the worst, but Hongjoong stepped in quietly, expression unreadable, but the blood spattered across his cheek told you more than words ever could. The gun was nowhere to be found.

He didn’t speak as he walked to the bed, just sat down at the edge and looked at you, eyes searching. You reached out, wiping the blood off gently. He closed his eyes at the touch, but it was enough. No words were exchanged, and there was nothing either of you could say that would ease the fear that settled in your gut.

So instead, he slipped under the covers again, pulled you into his chest, arms wound tightly around your body, trembling just a little. You closed your eyes, your hands digging onto his hand so hard, your fingertips might as well embed themselves on his skin.

“I wish my creator would tenderly wrap me in their own clothes to keep me sane and protected,” you murmured in the silence of the night. “God has abandoned us and my uncle was a cruel substitute.”

“Should we choose to remain here together, would you forget the world that’s waiting outside?” Hongjoong’s hand held yours just as tight. ”Would you let the world fall away, if only for a while?” The world has fallen the moment I set my eyes on you. You nodded, shivering when he tucked a finger under your chin, pulling your face closer to his to press the softest of kisses upon your lips as if the both of you had been holding your breath for years, and this, it was the first exhale. If only for a while. 

You woke to an emptiness you hadn’t expected. The bed was still warm where he’d lain, but without Hongjoong’s arms around you, you felt oddly cold. But that wasn’t what woke you up. It was the voices that came from the living room, one of which was Hongjoong’s, and you didn’t have to listen in to know that he was in a heated argument with someone.

You tiptoed out quietly, careful not to make a sound, peeking from behind the hallway wall. Hongjoong lounged on the couch like it was his throne, legs spread, an elbow draped over the armrest with a smirk that screamed arrogance, like danger wrapped in lazy elegance.

The man standing in front of him, however, was anything but calm. He was tall, broad-shouldered, about the same age as Hongjoong, and radiating heat like a bonfire about to explode. His fists were clenched at his sides, jaw tight with restraint.

“You’ve got some nerve,” the stranger ground out. “Keeping her hidden this whole time like some secret you planned to hoard. If my men didn’t hear the gunshots the other day, I wouldn’t have known, you sick fuck.”

Your breath hitched. They were talking about you. Hongjoong chuckled, crossing his legs exaggeratedly. “The only regret I have is that I didn’t bring suppressors. We would have been out of here before you knew it. ”

“You bastard,” the tall man gritted his teeth, stepping closer to Hongjoong. “This is my territory, you don’t get to waltz in here with my niece and pretend I wouldn’t kill you for it.”

Your ears rang at two words - territory and niece. This man was in the same business as Hongjoong was, and apparently you were this man’s niece. Slowly, you stepped out from behind the hallway wall, the silence in the room growing razor-sharp with each step.

Hongjoong’s back stiffened, but the other man’s posture tenses completely at the sight of you. “Y/N,” he whispered, as if disbelieving he was seeing you in the flesh. “It’s really you…”

You stared at the man closely. He looked familiar, it clawed at the edges of a memory you didn’t know you still had. It wasn’t the way he moved; it was the way his eyes mirrored someone else’s eyes that you thought you’d never see again after all these years - your father’s.

And then, it hits you. You remembered the way his huge hands held yours every time he offered to babysit when both of your parents worked. His younger, puppy-like features were slowly coming to life in your head. “Uncle Yunho,” you blurted, eyes wide.

Yunho’s head jerked up, like he hadn’t dared hope you'd remember. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “It’s me, kid.”

Your knees nearly buckled, threatening to fall under the weight of the missing family that you could have had instead of your other uncle. Hongjoong was immediately by your side, catching you in his arms and holding you close and sitting you down beside him. “You can’t just come barging in here like you did,” he hissed. “You’re in my house, I could kill you and no one would know.”

“I’m her blood, you blithering fool,” Yunho’s lips twisted into fury. “You’re the idiot that dragged her into this mess when she had a family - me.”

Hongjoong’s expression darkened. “You weren’t there---”

“And you think you were the better option?” Yunho growled. “You’re like, what? A good thirteen years or so older than her? You’re too damn old to be with her!”

That made Hongjoong stand, slow and deliberate, his stance loose but lethal. “And who the fuck are you to tell me that?  You weren’t there when shit hit the fan, don’t get too cocky now.”

“I would have been if you didn’t hide her from me,” Yunho scowled bitterly.

You barely registered your own shallow breathing, still stuck on the fact that your father’s older brother was there all along. All this time, you thought you were alone - that you had no one. Yunho’s eyes followed the sound, and when he saw you, all the anger on his face softened instantly.

He was about to walk towards you, but Hongjoong quickly raised a hand to stop him. “One more step and I swear I’ll end you right here,” he snarled. If you weren’t sitting beside him, you wouldn’t have noticed the way his eyes shifted into something a little more desperate.

Yunho scoffed, crossing his arms. “I wouldn’t act like this if I were you, Kim. You’ve had her in your manor all this time. By mafia standards, you should’ve married her within the first month. Why haven’t you? Did you want to keep her locked up like a secret no one else can touch? Or are you just dragging her through the mud?”

You flinched, the implication sinking in like stones in your gut. You immediately locked eyes with Hongjoong whose expression dropped, shaking his head ever so slightly as you stared at each other. That was right, why hasn’t Hongjoong married you yet? Come to think of it, the both of you haven’t even talked about anything marriage related - the date, the venue, the vows—hell, not even a promise.

Just tension, stolen touches, sleepless nights and a thousand unsaid things hanging heavy in the air. You swallowed thickly, trying not to let the sting of Yunho’s words show, but it was too late. Or worse, was he planning to secretly give you back to your uncle after all?

“Don’t listen to him,” he said tightly, crossing the room in three strides. His arm wrapped around you possessively, like shielding you from Yunho would shield you from the doubt unraveling in your chest. “She’s mine, Jeong. Get lost. It’s not like that, and you know it.”

Yunho’s lips pressed into a thin line. But he relented, lifting his hands in a gesture of peace. “Fine,” he muttered, then turned to you, his expression softening. “I’ll be back.”

You hesitated as you watched your uncle walk away, but something tugged at your heart. You pried yourself free from Hongjoong’s tight, possessive arms, despite his protests, to run as fast as you could to follow Yunho out.  The chill of the morning rain bit at your skin as you stepped into the yard. “Wait, please!”

Yunho turned to face you fully. The hardness melted from his face, and in its place was something unbearably gentle. He completely halted in his steps, letting the rain soak through as he watched your pitiful form catch up to him. “Y/N–”

“There’s something I don’t understand,” you murmured, voice unsure. “I-I needed you when I was alone, I had no one. But why now? Why didn’t you ever come for me?”

He sighed, taking his trench coat off to gingerly put it over your head as a deterrent for the pouring rain. “I did,” he said quietly. “Believe me, I did. I never stopped. Even if I didn’t find you here, I still wouldn’t have stopped.”

And that, that was what broke you. Tears filled your eyes, sadness and relief pouring over you in waves. “Are you…in the same business as Hongjoong?” You asked wearily. “Were my parents?”

He pursed his lips, patting your head. It made your tears flow faster. Yunho had your father’s face, albeit older and more rounded. “There are so many things you don’t know,” he said softly. “Things you would have if you would’ve been with me when your parent’s died. It’s better this way. I’m still enraged that that bastard hid you from me, but he’ll keep you safe.”

But what did you know at this point? It was what plagued your mind the entire walk inside the house after Yunho had left after promising to catch up on lost time. You clutched the wet, dripping coat that still carried Yunho’s familiar scent in your hands that wrapped around your senses, nostalgia hitting you full-force.

You didn’t look up at Hongjoong, the haze of all the memories - of what could have been - attacking your mind. “Why didn’t you tell me?” You began, voice cracking, looking up at him with emotionless eyes. “You knew and—”

“Would you have gone with him if you knew?” Hongjoong cut off, the familiar sharpness in his eyes pinning you from where you stood. 

“I don’t know that,” you replied sarcastically. “How could I give you something I had no idea about the entire time?”

“Oh, for the love of fucking God, Y/N. This, this is what pisses me off about you the most,” he snapped, stepping close, his gaze darkening. “Contrary to your belief, I’m not as callous as you deem me to be, and there are reasons for the things that I do around here—”

“And what about me?” Your hands balled at your sides. “What about the life I was robbed of? You don’t know what I’ve been through, you prick, the things that I had to endure. Yunho was right - you don’t want to marry me, in fact, you fucking hate me, don’t you? I didn’t even want any of this in the first place!” For the first time, Hongjoong’s expression fell, and you didn’t know what to feel about it. He was a beautiful man with a soul full of venom and a heart you weren’t convinced actually beat, but right now, his expression only told you one thing - I do, I do know what you’ve been through. His hand twitched at his side, and the muscle in his jaw jumped. “Don’t you dare say that.”

“Why not?” You seethed, shoving him backward with both hands. “Because it’s true, isn’t it? You had no plans in marrying me, but then again I was nothing but sold goods to you, I wouldn’t be surprised if you end up killing me in a ditch somewhere—”

Something snapped in him. He pushed you back until you stumbled against the wall. The air was electric. “Shut your mouth,” he seethed, but his voice was breaking, furious and wounded all at once. “You would have gone with Yunho, I don’t want you to go with him. You faltered, taken aback by how possessive he sounded. "I don’t need to see you walking away from me when we had just begun. You want to know why I didn’t tell you? I’ve already given up enough and I’m not giving you up again.”

Again? He just stood there, panting, one hand curled in a fist over his chest like the words had ripped something open in him. “You wouldn’t understand,” he snarled, shaking his head vehemently. “You never do.”

The silence afterward was deafening. You stared at him, chest heaving, tears hot and furious in your eyes, the confusion swirling in your head even more. It might be part of why your mouth moved on its own in either the best or worst decision of your life. “So make me,” you whispered in quiet desperation. “I’m so tired of being kept in the dark, I know you’re hiding things from me, make me understand—-”

He surged forward without warning, cupping your jaw as his mouth found yours like it had been searching, starving, waiting across lifetimes. The kiss was bruising, breath-stealing like he needed to taste the ache in your throat and the anger in your blood just to prove you were real. You gasped against him, and it was his undoing.

Your back hit the wall again, but it didn’t matter anymore. Not when his lips softened slightly, tracing the corner of your mouth like an apology. Not when his breath was hot and reverent against your cheek, your jaw, your throat. His forehead fell against yours, both of you breathless. “Tell me to stop,” he rasped, voice shaking as his thumb brushed your lip, swollen from his kiss. “Tell me now and I will.”

But your fingers were already curling into his shirt, pulling him close. “I can’t,” you whispered, voice wavering. “Don’t make me.”

And that was all it took. Your lips refused to part from his as he pulled you to the couch, there was no way the both of you were reaching the bedroom, your clothes slowly peeling themselves away from your bodies all the while your tongues clashed against one another. His hands roamed with reverence, memorizing every tremble, every sigh. You didn’t know where you ended and he began - just that the space between your bodies was no longer enough. 

“Oh, fuck,” his lust-addled voice sounded through the hush whispers of the intimacy you both found yourselves in. “You’re beautiful, I knew you’d be, fuck…”

You couldn’t even have the nerve to cover your naked body as you stood in front of him; not when he was looking at you like you were the only salvation left in a world gone mad. He grabbed your hips, positioning you until you were straddling him as he sat plush on the couch. “You don’t have to do a thing, darling, I’ll take care of you,” he pressed a thumb on your swollen lips. “Would you let me?”

You nodded, feeling feverish in your head as he placed his hand on your hips, his hardness poking you in the spot where you wanted him the most. “Y-Yeah,” you said. “Please, I-I need you.”

The world could wait. Right now, it was just the two of you both bared, bruised, and still reaching for each other in the dark. He lifted your hips up, lowering you slowly onto his aching cock until your foreheads were clashing with each other. “Y/N,” he whispered, straining, summoning chills through your ears. “I’ll make it up to you next time, I’m not going to last. It’s been a while for me.”

You tilted your head, biting your lips to stop the lewd sounds threatening to come out from you. “W-What do you mean? You haven’t been with o-others?”

Hongjoong shook his head with an earnest smile. “No. Why would I when I have you?”

Your eye contact didn’t break even when Hongjoong pushed your plump ass to grind on him, your eyes fluttering shut as you moaned out earnestly. Your fingers tangled in his hair, his breath warm at your collarbone, and when his name left your lips, it prompted him to snap his hips up to meet your grinding.

“Hongjoong, ngh, fuck,” you gasped out, mouth slacked open at the force of his thrusts, your breasts bouncing their way freely at the pace he set. “H-Hongjoong—Joong.”

You both finally let yourselves feel it all. Not just the passion, but the ache of the longing between you both. You held his face between your hands when his eyes fluttered closed, and for once, he looked unguarded. “Mmm, ah, yes, yes, yes,” were all the sounds you could make amidst the skin slapping against skin as Hongjoong continuously pulled you up and down on his cock. “More?” Hongjoong’s voice trembled at the pleasure clouding his brain. “You can’t leave me, alright? Not when I’m making you feel so good like this.”

You nodded, mouth still open, snapping your eyes close in the pleasure of Hongjoong’s nails digging in your hips, scratching a line all the way to your chest until his hands were grabbing onto both of your plush tits. “So fucking good,” he growled, his other hand traveling to your head, grabbing your hair. “Come here.”

Your lips met into a feverish kiss, your heated moans of lust and longing being swallowed by Hongjoong’s sinful mouth, and when you subconsciously squeeze his impaling cock, it was his turn to groan into your lips and bite onto your lower lip until you opened to let his wild tongue mess with yours. The moans that fell from the both of you created a dizzying sound in combination of the wet tongue kiss and the slapping of his balls up your ass.

“Touch me, please,” you begged, grabbing onto his hand down to your throbbing clit. “T-Touch m-me, I need to come, Joong, p-please.”

“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me,” he groaned, immediately drawing circles on your swollen bud, instantly drawing a garbled scream from you. “That’s it, baby, fuck me. Ride my fucking cock, yes.”

You had not once paused from bouncing, continues fucking yourself ardently onto his thick, intruding cock until you were nothing but a senseless doll. “You don’t understand how long I’ve wanted this,” he rasped, his voice rough and uneven, his lips kissing and sucking every surface of your skin he could claim. 

“I’ve wanted you long before the day you looked me in the eye at that dining table. Each day was a risk I couldn’t afford to take, but God, I wanted you anyway. Every day. In every fucking way.”

He kissed you again, deeper, needier. It wasn’t just hunger - it was reprieve. Years of restraint burning away in the heat of a single truth finally spoken aloud. You were what he wanted. Always had been.

“Joong, a-ah, that feels so good,” you moaned out, all sense of mind gone from the feeling of him finally ravishing you the way you always wanted. “Just like that, say my name,” he gritted out, cupping your face tenderly in contrast to this thrusts, his eyes lidded and desperate. “I’ve waited so long to hear you say my damn name, baby, please, I’m begging you.”

“Hongjoong,” you let out, loud and clear. His cock twitched in your cunt, but you weren’t done yet. This was a man you had no problem seeing all of you. “Hongjoong, Hongjoong, Hongjoong.”

Soon enough, you exploded. It wasn’t the delicious rubbing of his fingertips in between young legs that or how deep his cock fucked that undid you, though that was a huge factor, but it was the way he kissed you, the way he looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky for him to admire. “Oh, I’m com—Hongjoong, Joong, Joong—”

Hongjoong didn’t last much longer. With his final thrusts, Hongjoong lifted his hips to fuck into you until all the both of you had was mind-blowing blankness fulled with heat and lust. Overstimulation coiled in your groin as your eyes rolled in the back of your head, your little whimpers spurring Hongjoong on until he came with a loud groan and spilled inside of you.

Everything slowed down with you slumped completely onto Hongjoong’s rising chest, meeting yours as you both tried to catch your breaths. The sex was fast, but it was all the both of you needed. “Good girl,” he whispered, turning your face to his for a quick kiss. “My good girl—hey, you don’t have to move yet, stay.”

You pulled out anyway, whimpering slightly at the sensation of Hongjoong’s cum dripping onto your thighs as you bent down to give him a kiss in return before sitting comfortably on his lap and laying your head on his chest, resting your head onto the crook of his neck as his arm quickly wrapped around you protectively. “It’s okay,” you whispered, your eyes slowly closing, your breath evening.

“You want to stay like this?” Hongjoong asked fondly, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your back.

But for naught. Sleep had caught on to you and the last thing you felt was Hongjoong carrying you as he chuckled affectionately at your drowsy state. It was the most peace you’ve felt in a while.

Just like everything in your life, nothing good seemed to last forever. In the beginning, everything was smooth sailing. You and Hongjoong went back to the manor the next day, and it was nothing short of chaos the moment you stepped in the house where everyone was already waiting by the entrance. Seonghwa was the one who greeted you at the front door and his brows almost reached his hairline with how close you stood next to Hongjoong.

“The hell’s wrong with you?” Hongjoong asked sharply. “Why are you looking at us like that?”

Seonghwa raised his hands, blinking innocently. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

You frowned, not noticing the way you linked your arms with Hongjoong’s, but everyone did. Not one step inside the manor and everyone was already looking at the both of you. Jongho bent to grab both of your suitcases, but paused when he took one look at the both of you. “Huh,” he whispered. “Weird.”

Even Mingi who greeted his father, and you albeit stiffly, raised a brow, but opted not to say anything, just walking away while looking back at the both of you repeatedly like he was seeing what he wasn’t supposed to be seeing. You and Hongjoong looked at each other, thoroughly confused, but shrugged it off.

And that’s when San walked by, carrying a tray of cookies you loved so much, only to freeze when he saw Hongjoong gently placing a hand on your back to guide you past a stray step. He blinked over and over again until all the cookies plopped down towards the floor. “I’m sorry, what have you done to my favourite dysfunctional couple?”

You were horrified, mouth agape as you stared at all the sugary goodness on the floor. “My cookies,” you frowned, tugging at Hongjoong’s sleeve. “Joong…”

It only got worse when Hongjoong leaned down, pressed a kiss to your cheek nonchalantly and murmured, “I have to work for a couple of hours to catch up while we were gone. I’ll be back to spoil you rotten, yeah? I’ll see if I can order cookies after, so be good.”

You blinked, stunned, and so did literally everyone else in the hallway. The silence that followed could’ve cracked glass. You stood there, flustered, a hand over your cheek where he just kissed you in front of everyone.

Wooyoung took one look at you, one look at Hongjoong’s retreating form as he walked away, before letting out a screech so loud and unholy that you covered your ears immediately. “Oh my fucking God, what was that?” Wooyoung shouted, flailing like a game show host on a sugar high. “Did you just call him Joong?”

But that was it, because after that, it was like everything never even happened. You weren’t sure what you expected. Hongjoong pulling you aside just to hold you again like he did that night? Instead, life resumed as if nothing had changed. He never really did get you those cookies nor did he spend time with you afterwards anymore.

He wasn’t snarling or glaring at you anymore, that was for sure, but he always kept you close even in the small gestures like sitting beside you or holding your hand, but that was it. You still slept in separate rooms, and there were no more whispers in the dark, no more soft kisses, no more of him asking for five more minutes in bed before he got up. No one questioned it.

It started small, you almost convinced yourself you imagined it. During meals, he no longer sat beside you. He’ll speak, he’ll nod, but his body always angles away from you. That was when the absence of touch came next. Once, Hongjoong’s hand would find your lower back or brush yours when passing you a glass, but now, he didn’t reach out, didn’t accidentally graze your skin.

One afternoon, you entered the library. You hadn’t even called out his name, but the moment he saw you, he stood, gathered his things, and left. It was when his cold formality started again, never with warmth, and when he gave you instructions, he didn’t say your name. When you responded, his eyes would flicker, but he never truly looked at you.

By mafia standards, you should’ve married her within the first month.

Yunho’s words sank deeper than you wanted to admit. They curled under your skin like thorns. What if he was right? What if Hongjoong had never planned to marry you at all? Your eyes burned, and you blinked furiously to push the sting away. He had kissed you, held you, had made love to you. And now, he was walking around as if he hadn’t touched every inch of your soul.

You rubbed at your chest as if you could soothe the ache building there. What if this was it? What if this cold civility, this silence, was all he thought you were worth? Maybe he didn’t want to marry you. Maybe he never did.

Then came the locked doors. You never really hung out with him when he worked, but the locked door was suspicious. He also began sending people in his place. Hongjoong no longer filled your space, he ghosted it. You couldn’t even remember the last time he told you something directly.

You weren’t stupid. You knew how this world worked, how alliances were made and unmade at the flick of a wrist, at the spill of a secret. Maybe you had just been another deal. A piece of a war you weren’t meant to survive. Which was why you barged into his office one day without bothering to knock or close the door.

He didn’t seem at all surprised at your intrusion. He sighed, lowering his glasses and looking at you with tired eyes. “What’s this about, darling?”

“Do you regret us? Touching me? Kissing me?” You started, unable to stop the spiral now. “Or are you just pretending it didn’t happen so I don’t get any stupid ideas l-like marriage or a future?”

He didn’t answer. A bitter laugh escaped your lips, barely a sound. “I can’t believe you,” you murmured, your voice cracking around the edges. “Are you telling me what I felt was nothing? You almost had me fooled there, Hongjoong. I thought for sure hope wasn’t just a word anymore—”

“Can you not? How about this,” he sighed, placing his hands on your cheeks to cup it like he did before, and your traitorous body leaned onto his touch. “I’ll take you out later, okay? Let me just finish working. Sounds good?”

“Are you going to marry me?” You blurted out instead. He stiffened. You felt it immediately his arms didn’t fall away, but his hold loosened just enough for the space between you to feel colder than it had before. “Hongjoong?”

It spiraled. Your brain wouldn’t stop spinning. You didn’t remember pushing him and running away to the comfort of your room after locking the door. All you remember was his refusal to answer and look at you. And the way he never did take you out after.

And the worst of all, everyone had noticed. You had lost your spark, that light in your eyes, that drive in your walk. The anxiety, the paranoia, was slowly eating you alive. You were falling apart at the seams, and no one dared to say it out loud. But you could feel it; this immense pressure building in your chest like a ticking bomb.

Another thing was you were also starting to notice the way everyone was looking at you. It wasn’t quite pity, no, but it was akin to the end. To be fair, if Hongjoong was to keep acting like this, the end was nigh, indeed. What if this was all a game? What if he was keeping you close for power? Or pity?

You were thirty-three when your heart had failed you in a way that stayed. Your reflection in the mirror didn’t even look like you anymore. It looked like someone trying to be worthy of being chosen. Marrying Hongjoong was a want now, not a necessity, and that broke you. 

And then, one day, it all seemed to shatter. You were passing by Hongjoong’s office, an excuse you’ve been telling yourself just to see if you were going to have a small glimpse of him, when you heard it. Voices low, urgent, and hushed. One of them was Hongjoong’s.

“It’s being finalized, then?” Hongjoong’s sharp, business-like voice asked.

“Yes,” Mingi replied, serious and deep. “I reckon we’ll be able to make a move soon and then everything will be settled. You could let her go after.”

You froze in place, feeling like ice has been poured over you. Seonghwa sighed. “It’s just…are we really doing this? After everything? Won’t it destroy her?”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Besides, it’s not knowledge she deserves to have, anyway. I didn’t go this far just for her to know. It’s better this way,” Hongjoong said curtly.

“Does she even know?” San’s voice now asked. “I’m confused. You both looked like you almost had it going, Joong. Why didn’t you tell her then?“

“No,” Seonghwa replied, sighing. “Hongjoong’s keeping her in the dark until all the loose ends are tied. Her bastard uncle did sign a contract after all, so technically she’s with us. It’s a good thing.”

Mingi clicked his tongue. “It shouldn’t have gone this far, Father. You’re lucky she’s still loyal after everything. You should’ve told her from the start this engagement was a fraud.”

Your heart stuttered. You covered your mouth, willing yourself to stay silent as tears started to pool on the side of your eyes. 

“I still think it’s cruel,” San murmured. “Are you ever going to tell her, Hongjoong? You’re really gonna let her go? Just like that?”

There was a beat of silence that stretched for far too long before Hongjoong spoke again. “There was never supposed to be an ‘us’ anyway. It was a mistake that should have never happened.”

You couldn’t take it anymore, taking off as soon as that conversation ended. You sat on the floor of your room, knees tucked into your chest, the ache in your bones eclipsed only by the quiet, creeping devastation hollowing you out from the inside. Yunho’s words echoed in your mind like a curse you couldn’t shake. By mafia standards, you should’ve married her within the first month. Why haven’t you? Did you want to keep her locked up like a secret no one else can touch? Or are you just dragging her through the mud?

But now? Now, after hearing that conversation, after watching him pass you in the hallway like a stranger, after everyone’s pitying glances and whispered silences, it all felt so grotesquely clear - you weren’t something he was building a future with, you were someone he was using.

You tried to breathe, but it came out ragged, your chest too tight. The truth clawed at you with wild, unforgiving hands. Yunho had been right all along, and now you were stuck in a house that felt more like a mausoleum than a home with a name he would never give you and a heart he would never claim. You spent days like that, refusing to see anyone who noticed they haven’t seen your face in a while, leaving the trays of food placed on your door untouched, and only going out to use the bathroom. It was how you had accidentally left the door ajar for someone to find you, face blotchy and swollen when Jongho came in, eyes widened at your messed up state, as he helped you up to sit on the bed. 

“Y/N, what happened to you?” He let out in concern. He stood up, and you thought for a second that he was giving you the space you clearly needed when you didn’t answer, but you were wrong. “I’m calling Hongjoong,” he said, already pulling out his phone. “I don’t know what happened, but you clearly need him.”

Something in your mind snapped into a quiet haze. Jongho was handsome. He was kind, and he was always there for you. For one breathless second, you wished that you could feel something, anything, other than the emptiness Hongjoong had left you with.

“Don’t call him,” you murmured, voice cracking as you reached for his hand. You looked up at Jongho, his brows furrowed in confusion. And before you could stop yourself, before you could think, you whispered, “Kiss me.”

Jongho’s entire body froze. His lips parted slightly, eyes widening, not with desire, but with shock and pity. He roze, the blood draining from his face. “Y/N, I don’t—”

“Please,” you begged. “I need to feel like I’m not losing everything—”

“Y/N?” Hongjoong’s voice suddenly crackled on the phone. “What’s going on? Jongho, what in God’s name are you doing?”

The call had connected after all, but you were done caring about Hongjoong. You grabbed Jongho’s shirt, lowering him to your lips. “I-I need to feel something, Jongho, please pretend I’m wanted,” your voice cracked.

“What the fuck is going on?” Hongjoong's voice roared through the speaker, frantic now. “I am going to skin you alive and drain your blood if you do it, don’t you dare, Jongho—”

But Jongho didn’t move. He respectfully held your shoulders, keeping you at arm’s length with utmost care. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice soft, heavy with pity but unwavering. “You don’t need more lies right now.”

On the other end of the phone, Hongjoong’s breathing was ragged, silent, tortured, like he was ready to rip through space to get to you before the line went dead. It was when you broke down, sobbing in Jongho’s arms apologizing through and through for your utterly shameful behaviour, thanking him for not taking advantage of your momentary weakness.

And then, the anger settled in. How dare Hongjoong act like that after what you overheard? What’s it to him that you wanted to kiss someone else’s lips besides his filthy ones? You remembered the way his voice sounded when told you that one dinner night that you were not to wear a ring. You should have known. 

You made up your mind then - you were leaving him. You weren’t going to live trapped in the unknown. You’d spent years chained under your uncle’s care, and now under the illusion of Hongjoong’s protection, but no more. Maybe you’d stay with Yunho to start again and figure out who you really were outside of the Kim manor’s walls.

But first, you needed that damn contract. The one that bound you to Hongjoong as his property. After much deliberation, the easiest way would be to drive him out of his office long enough for him to not come back.

So you picked a fight, purposefully targeting his tendency to get possessive of you like you were his property. It spurred you on, and at first, he wasn’t budging, but when you mentioned off-handedly about the kiss you wanted from Jongho, he bit.

The effect was instant. Hongjoong instantly stopped what he was doing, his entire frame taut with tension, his eyes narrowed dangerously. “What did you say?” He asked coldly.

You bit your lip to hold your smirk back. “I said,” you drawled. “Maybe I should’ve asked Jongho to kiss me again.”

That did it. His steps toward you were slow, deliberate, dangerous. He growled low under his breath, shoving past you, practically vibrating with possessive rage. “I don’t know what game you’re playing at, but don’t test me, Y/N,” he snapped. “I’ve killed for less without blinking.”

Your heart beat erratically as you listened to Hongjoong’s furious commands to hand him his keys so he could drive off that were sounding further and further until you heard the front door slam so hard, you could practically feel it vibrate from where you were.

Perfect. Now all you had to do was find the damn contract - and whatever other secrets he’d been hiding.

Luckily for you, Hongjoong didn’t lock his cabinets. To be completely fair, nobody in their right mind - except you, apparently - would even dream of digging through his files while he wasn’t present. It was like finding a needle on a haystack, but whenever you’d recall the conversation you overheard here, it gave you a newfound sense of determination. Finally, you found it. With trembling hands, you gingerly took the contract that basically held your uncle’s life and bound you to Hongjoong. You hated your uncle for selling you, but at the same time, you couldn’t imagine not meeting Hongjoong at all.

This was it, you were done, and you were leaving. You had already packed what little you brought here and all that was left now was to burn the bridge behind you and never look back. Tears welled in your eyes, however, as you willed Hongjoong’s fond eyes as he looked at you out of your mind. Your story with him had happened, but now, it had to end.

You folded the contract resolutely. Just as you turned to leave, something fluttered from between the pages. It  was a thinner piece of paper, tucked behind the contract, and it fell towards the floor, face up. You blinked in confusion, was this another part of the contract?

You crouched, hand shaky as you picked it up, but before you could touch it, you froze. Your pulse skipped, heart sinking the moment your eyes caught the title - it was a marriage contract and it had Hongjoong’s unmistakable signature on it.

You blinked once, twice, but the name didn’t change. The blood drained from your face, a sudden rush of nausea coiled in your gut with bile that started to burn your throat as you backed away from the fallen paper as if it had a contagious disease of some sort.

Was this it? The secret he’d been keeping? Your chest felt like it had caved in. No wonder he didn’t want to marry you - he literally couldn’t. He already belonged to someone else and you seeked comfort in his arms like you belonged in it when, in fact, you did not. You never did.

You ran out of the office, your pathetic tears finally falling from your eyes as you felt your heart starting to break. You didn’t bother stopping for Wooyoung, who looked genuinely worried for your state, and you pushed past a surprised Seonghwa, who was the last person you ever wanted to see besides Hongjoong.

You shoved the contract hastily in your luggage, trudging it silently towards the back door you knew nobody passed or guarded, each movement mechanical, like your soul detached itself long ago. The suitcase was filled with your clothes, but really, it's all the things you never meant to carry - bitterness and heartbreak.

You barely made it one step outside when a hand grabbed your arm from behind, spinning you unceremoniously. It was someone you never expected in a million years, and he was already waiting by the door like he knew you’d come out here. “Running away again, I see,” Mingi eyes your luggage. “Though it seems you have no plans of coming back.” 

His features are etched from the same ice as his father's - cold, unreadable. He’s never spoken to you beyond what's necessary. You pulled your arm away harshly from his hold. “Not that it would matter,” you scoffed. “Hongjoong has no plans of marrying me, what’s the point?”

Realization seemed to dawn on him. “You found the certificate. Is that why Wooyoung said you’re crying?” He sighed, long and breathy, as if he wasn’t prepared for what he was about to say next. “I have to give it to you, you’re clever for driving him out of his office, but whatever it is you’re thinking, you’re dead wrong.”

You laugh once, bitter and sharp. “I saw it with my own two eyes, and the facts speak for themselves, don’t they? All he’s ever made me feel was that I was an inconvenience to him.”

“You’ve only seen what he’s allowed you to see,” Mingi says quietly. “You think my father doesn’t care about you, but Y/N, he’d sell his soul for you. For what it’s worth, we all think it should’ve never gone this far.”

“Yeah, well,” you exhaled sharply, turning to leave again. “It’s a little too late for that—”

“Don’t leave,” Mingi said, almost a whisper, almost a plea. You faltered, stunned at how he wasn’t letting you pass. He rubs his face between his hands in distress. “How about this, let me show you something, and if that still doesn’t change your mind, I’ll even help you walk away.” “Why?” You asked coldly, but followed him back to what seemed like Hongjoong’s office anyway. “You made it clear that you never liked me from the beginning.”

“Because I’m not going to let him lose you, not like this,” Mingi opened the door for you to enter. “And I never disliked you. You are my father’s one shot at the happiness he never got before, I could never dislike you for that.”

San was already there. He looked up as you entered, and your breath caught. In his hands was the very marriage certificate that had shattered you just moments ago. He eyed your luggage, resignation clear in his eyes. “Y/N, I am so, so sorry,” his voice cracked when you refused to meet his eye. “You deserve to know the truth before you walk away, at least.”

Mingi sighed and walked over to the far side of the desk. He reached under the edge, clicking something underneath. “This,” he held out a small recording device. “Is for protection and insurance whenever he invites people over here. It never stops recording. I’m sure you know where I’m going with this.” 

And with that, he presses play. You didn’t speak, just listened. At first, you heard nothing, just pure static and a couple of movements before San fast forwarded it, stopping when he was satisfied.

“She’s beautiful, Hwa, my goodness. Her photos don’t do her justice,” Hongjoong’s familiar voice sounded all over the room, slightly startling you. “I-I must’ve looked like a fool during dinner. How am I supposed to pretend that I’m not head over heels in love with her?”

“You did look like a fool,” Seonghwa’s voice said next, deadpanned. “It’s embarrassing, Joong. Your own son had to tell you to stop staring.”

Head over heels? It didn’t make sense. Not when he avoided you for the longest time, not when he stood silent while you begged for clarity. San started fast forwarding again.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” The voice was unmistakably Hongjoong’s sharp, furious, and barely restrained. “Flirting with her in front of me? Do you want me to ship you back in Suwon, you uncultured swine?”

Wooyoung’s familiar laughter shrieked all over the room so loud, Mingi rolled his eyes. “My God, Dad, you are so down bad. I’ve never seen you so jealous in my life. I have no plans to steal your wife, relax.”

“That’s not the point,” Hongjoong snapped. “Don’t touch her like that again. Don’t talk to her like she’s anyone but mine. Do you understand me?”

You stood there, frozen. Your hands trembled slightly as you remembered that day so clearly in your head. San gave Mingi a glance before silently playing the recording again.

“I fucked up,” Honjoong started, but it was in a voice you’ve never heard on him before, and for some reason, it hurt your heart to hear. “I shouldn’t have shouted at her during dinner, she looked at me like I’d hit her. And I-I hate myself for it, she probably hates me—”

“You think?” Jongho’s voice responded, unusually sharp. “She looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her whole. Seriously, what were you thinking?”

“I shouldn’t have pushed the plate like that, but it had avocados in it,” Hongjoong’s voice faltered, like he was trying to rein himself in. 

There was a pause in the recording, and in your head as well. You felt like you were about to faint. “Avocados?” San in the recording asked, clearly confused.

Hongjoong sighed heavily and you could practically hear him pacing in his office. “She’s allergic to avocados. Allergic enough for anaphylactic shock.”

“You could’ve just said something,” San replied, dry and disbelieving. “That wasn’t just over the line, Joong. It was humiliating.”

“That’s why she reacted like that when I told her about the dressing,” Jongho commented off-handedly. “But still, you scared her. Hell, you scared all of us.”

“I was scared as well, that’s why I’m furious,” Hongjoong snapped. “I clearly told the staff to not put avocados in her food. How was I supposed to tell her without arousing suspicion of the fucker that did it?”

That night, you’d gone to bed wondering if he hated you. Meanwhile, he was probably pacing the floor in this very room, wondering if you were still breathing, wondering if he should have just shouted your allergy across the table rather than risk letting you eat what could’ve killed you. “You okay to keep going?” San asked softly. When you nodded stiffly, he pressed play again.

“Did you order food out?” Wooyoung’s voice sounded out this time. “Oh, that actually looks good, can I have some—”

A loud smack can be heard in the background before Wooyoung’s yelp. “No,” Hongjoong’s light, almost boyish tone, smugly denied. “My love made this for me. Can you guys believe it? She’s literally perfect in every way, she even cooks well, too. A literal angel in every sense, I tell you.”

“Hold on, is that why she’s been hanging around the kitchen late?” Wooyoung asked, confused. “But she looks so down everytime—she doesn’t know you’re eating them, does she?”

There was a pause before Seonghwa spoke next, his voice quieter. “You have to tell her, Joong. Me and San have to carry the burden of seeing her tears the next day every single time we pretend to throw away the food the next day. She makes them with love, you know?”

Silence. Then Hongjoong sighed, deep and hollow. “God, I want to, but not yet. You know there’s a mole in the staff. If I let on that I care too much, it puts a target on her back. It’s the only way to protect her without tipping my hand.”

There was a pause. “She’s so bright when she cooks, and I never tell her,” he continued heavily. “I said nothing, like I always do. So for now, all I could do is savour her food, you know? It keeps my longing away for now.”

Something in your chest cracked. You remembered those nights. You never imagined he cherished every bite in silence, keeping up a mask to protect you from shadows you didn’t even know were looming. Suddenly, it transitioned into a conversation you knew far too well, the one you heard before you ran away to the playground.

“But you can’t keep doing this to keep giving her the cold shoulder, Joong,” Seonghwa clicked his tongue. “She’s too perceptive and you know she'll find out, what are you going to do then?”

“Give me time,” Hongjoong’s tone shifted into something darker. “We’re so close to caging in Yoo Jaehwan, that bastard ruined her life. Please, no one can know for now. I have to make sure he’ll pay for that car accident that almost cost her and Yeosang.”

You gasped audibly, almost tripping at what you just heard. There was only one car accident that had Yeosang and you in it, did this run deeper than you initially thought?

“She won’t be safe forever, you know that. San’s working on Mingi’s intel for the hit and run. It was damn near impossible to find who hit her parents back then. You think Jaehwan knows?”

“There’s no denying it. That bastard killed them. She will be safer here, so please, watch over her for me. I will never forgive myself if something happens to her. She’s my everything—who’s there?”

And all this time, the man you thought didn’t care,the man whose cold shoulder and distant silence had crushed you, had been carrying the weight of it all in secret. You shook your head in denial, if this wasn’t enough, your uncle had something to do with your parents’ death as well. “Make it stop,” you begged. “I-I can’t—”

“I’m sorry,” Mingi apologized, and you could see he was genuine this time. “We have to keep going. This is why Father was the way he was with you. You have to know.”

You heard a glass clink against another, followed by the unmistakable sound of Hongjoong’s tired hiccup, more human than you'd ever heard him, before the familiar sigh of Seonghwa followed. “That’s enough,” he gently coaxed. “You’re drunk, Joong. You’re half gone–”

“Half gone? I haven’t been whole since I lied to her,” Hongjoong’s drunk and pained voice slurred. “She ran away from me, Hwa. And I deserve it. I was prepared for her hate, but not her absence. When I couldn’t find her, I was so damn scared, none of you even understood.”

Hongjoong swallowed more alcohol. “I love her, Seonghwa. I love her more than this house, more than the empire, more than anything. But if she knew what I’ve done, she’d never stay.”

You clutch the edge of the table like it’s the only thing holding you upright. “There’s still time to tell her,” Seonghwa advised. “Mingi still thinks you shouldn’t hide this.”

“What if she realizes I’m the reason her life turned to hell?” Hongjoong cried out in melancholy. “I’m terrified she’ll disappear for good when she finds out what I’ve done and made the selfish decision to make her mine—”

“But she doesn’t know that,” Seonghwa said softly. “She doesn’t know you held her hand the whole time in the hospital. You did it to protect her. You married her, for God’s sake.”

Your knees nearly gave out. That hand - warm, calloused, unmoving but steady - had been the only thing tethering you to life. That hand was the only one that stayed when no one else did. Tears sprung to your eyes, that hand had been your lifeline, and after all this time, you had been his. 

“I married her to settle a score. But somewhere along the line, I just,” Hongjoong sniffled. “I just loved her. Every day I don’t tell her, she drifts further from me. And I-I don’t know how to fix it.”

You swallowed audibly when the recording paused. There was only one question lingering in your head, one that San read on your face but refused to acknowledge. Instead, he reached forward and pressed play. The room was silent again, except for the soft static of the next recording beginning to play.

“I’ll bow to your king when he shows himself,” your voice played out this time, clipped and cut. You cringed internally. You remember how liberated you felt after that day, but now you were about to find out what happened after you stormed out.

Seonghwa and Mingi were in the room that day and you were expecting the three of them to talk about your utter disrespect, but you were not expecting Hongjoong’s laughter, loud, bubbly, and full of mirth after a few seconds of you walking away.

“Well, would you look at that,” Mingi snorted, but even through the recording, you could hear the subtle fondness in his voice. “You’ve finally found your match, Father.”

“God, I’m so proud of her,” Hongjoong said through his laughter, his voice breathless and utterly thrilled. “Did you see the way she stood up to me like a champ?  I’ve never been that close to finishing on the spot.”

Mingi let out a sound of pure, exaggerated revulsion. “Please, never let me hear that again. That is fucking disgusting, this is why I get drunk often.”

“Oh, it gets worse,” Seonghwa chortled. “Did you see the way he looked at her? He was looking at her like he wanted her to break his neck and thank her for it. It was sickening. I wanted to bleach my eyes.”

“Shut up,” Hongjoong muttered, but there was no real heat behind it. You could hear the smile in his voice. It was small, secretive, a little lovesick.

“No, you shut up,” Seonghwa shot back with playful disbelief. “She literally insulted your bloodline and told you that you are not the king of your own empire in her eyes and you look like you’re ready to carve her name onto your chest.”

“Well, he just might,” Mingi answered dramatically. “You two make marriage look fun. My money’s on her, you know? Hell, everyone’s is at this point.”  

Hongjoong laughed again, sounding more genuine, if that was possible. “So is mine.”

You’ve barely let that settle before the next recording sounded. You froze. This was the most recent, the catalyst that set this whole thing in motion. “I still think it’s cruel,” San murmured. “Are you ever going to tell her, Hongjoong? You’re really gonna let her go? Just like that?”

“There was never supposed to be an ‘us’ anyway. It was a mistake that should have never happened,” Hongjoong sighed and you were confused. You didn’t remember him sounding this torn about it. This was when you ran away crying to your room utterly heartbroken.

“That’s my wife, San. I don’t want to let her go, but it was cruel for me to take her secretly. I have to let her go if she doesn’t want to stay even if it hurts me. We go for the kill, but leave Jaehwan to me. I want to kill him, myself.”

The recording ended there, for good this time. You just stood there shaking, lips parted, eyes glassy. He hadn’t just tolerated you, he adored you - no, he loved you hopelessly with a hidden love that he kept choking down behind layers of silence and strategy. 

You feel your knees weaken not from pain, but from the crushing, beautiful truth that maybe you were never unloved. “I-I don’t understand,” you blurted, tears blurring your vision. “T-There has to be a mistake. He’s married to someone else—”

San started to show you the marriage certificate again, but you didn’t want anything to do with it. “Y/N,” San said gently, catching your hand before you could shove the paper away. “Just look closer, please. At the bottom.”

Your gaze dropped, unwilling at first but your breath stopped, your mind stilling into chaotic silence when you saw it - your name and  signature right beside Hongjoong’s. You blinked hard, heart thrashing in your chest. “I don’t remember this. I never - how could I not know I was married?”

“Our job is done. We shouldn’t be the ones explaining this. You need to hear it from him,” Mingi said as he stood and with a final glance, the door clicked shut, and you were left alone with your thoughts, the weight of the paper, and a heart that no longer knew what to believe.

You were shaking your head violently, eyes already welling up with tears you refused to acknowledge. One by one, everything started to make sense, even the little things you ignored for fear of falling too hard - your avocado allergy, how he picked raisins out of your food, your photo on his desk you now knew for sure he kept staring at every single day.

And everyone knew too, there were also the telltale signs of everyone slipping by accident - the way San froze when he found out your name was Jeong, Seonghwa telling you it was finally nice to meet you, overhearing Yeosang say you weren’t just a wife, you were someone Hongjoong would burn the world for. 

You should’ve been angry, and you were, but underneath all of that was grief not just for yourself, but for him too. Your chest ached as you imagined all those nights he must have sat awake, planning, hiding, hurting. All those moments you begged him to speak, and he couldn’t not because he didn’t want to - but because he loved you too much to risk everything.

A sob clawed its way up your throat. You wiped your face with shaking hands, but the tears wouldn’t stop now. How long had he carried all this alone? How long had he loved you silently, forced to cage every affection? How could you hate someone for hurting you when all they ever wanted was to protect you? It must have been crushing. 

Your heart was a tangled, desperate mess in your chest by the time the door finally opened. Hongjoong stepped in, his brows pinched together in confusion when he saw you there. When he saw the marriage certificate crumpled tightly in your hands, it was like the ground vanished beneath his feet.

He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes blown wide, his breath catching audibly. It was like you also held his heart in your hands. All the color drained from his face, but somewhere in his eyes, relief shone through. And you knew why - all the pretending has to stop now and you both knew it.

Hongjoong slowly closed the door behind him, eyes never leaving yours, and for once, he looked afraid, vulnerable and human. “We need to talk,” he said hoarsely, and there wasn’t a trace of command in his voice, only quiet pleading as he slowly approached you.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” You cried out, heart aching and throat tight, the paper trembling in your hands like the storm inside you that was finally meeting his. “Everything hurts, Hongjoong. I can’t breathe.”

Without another word, he knelt in front of you, like the wind had been knocked out of him, and reached for you with trembling hands. You collapsed into his chest, sobbing openly as he cradled you to him. His warmth surrounded you, his scent grounding you, and for the first time, his arms didn’t feel like a prison - they felt like home.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, over and over again, his lips brushing your temple. “I’m so, so sorry. I never wanted you to find out like this, and I never wanted to hurt you. But I was wrong. I was so wrong.”

You shook your head against him, trying to make sense of the chaos in your chest. “I wanted so desperately for you to care for me, Hongjoong,” you confessed angrily, lamenting for all the times you spent yearning. “I wanted it so badly that I never blamed you for how you treated me, no matter how bad, I never blamed you.”

He clutched you tighter as if the very fabric of his soul depended on your forgiveness, his breath shaky, his words barely held together. “Blame me, Y/N. My soul can’t be saved if I sell you my sins and the scars in your heart are mine to atone, but don’t think for a second that I never loved you,” his voice cracked. “That I don’t love you now.”

Rage sets in as his words wrapped around your heart like a chain, heavy with the weight of long-buried truths. “You’re cruel, you know that?” You thumped your fists on his chest repeatedly. “After all the things you made me go through? You tell me this now?”

You could feel his tears now, each one a testament to the pain he had buried beneath the armor he wore for too long. “You think I’m cruel, but I’ve been your husband longer than you’ve known. And I’ve loved you every single day of it,” he whispered, his hands trembling.

Your breath caught as his words sank in, deeper than any wound he’d ever left behind. Husband. You wanted to scream, to cry, to pull away, to collapse into him all at once. How could he say it like that? So stripped of pride and power, like a man offering up the last piece of himself and hoping it would be enough? It was too much. It was everything.

He pressed his forehead to yours, lips barely apart from yours. “If you want the truth, I'll give you that. If you want to leave, I will never stop you."

But somehow, all you could do was hold him tighter. “I don’t want freedom from you, Hongjoong,” you whispered, breaking apart in his arms. “I just want the truth.”

Hongjoong didn’t speak at first. You felt his body tremble as he held you, as though the truth itself was too heavy to carry alone anymore. “I’m not the right person to tell you this, it would be Yunho, but to put it simply for now, your parents both served my father, and in turn, me after he passed away.”

You pulled back slightly, your breath catching in your throat. “M-My parents were in the mafia?” You asked, heart pounding with the realization already forming. Somehow, it made sense - they were absent throughout your teenage years and they did keep their career a secret.

“They were. Yunho took over your father after, but we didn’t get along much, but that’s another story,” Hongjoong said softly. “They were good people. One day I got myself into something I wasn’t supposed to. I would’ve been dead if it weren’t for them and my sons would be fatherless. I was young and stupid and they saved me. I owe them my life, I still do.”

He paused, voice tightening with grief. “I didn’t have much power back then, so I did the best thing I could. Assets, lots of them. I gave your parents millions, Y/N, but before I could fully ever thank them, before I could protect them…” Hongjoong looked away, sighing heavily.

“They died before they could use the money. My uncle wanted their money, didn’t he? Did he kill them?” You blurted out. His silence confirmed it and you shuddered, anguish and clarity warred within you as the weight of your stolen past pressed down on your chest. 

“At first I didn’t have proof it was him,” you felt Hongjoong’s hands holding you steady, his warmth anchoring you to something real. “I was investigating their deaths for years. It was my way of getting back for them for saving me. It wasn’t until your car accident with Yeosang a couple of years back.”

You swallowed. This was it, this was the part you weren’t sure you were ready to hear. His face turned dark before he continued. “Yeosang was suspicious of the accident. We both thought the hit was for him at first since he’s my son. When I investigated, it was how I found out who you were. It felt like the universe just punched me in the gut.”

“W-What does this have to do with marrying me?”

“Everything,” his expression twisted, like it physically hurt him to relive it. “When your parents died, all that money went to you automatically. Do you remember that day when I asked you why your uncle took you in when Yunho was losing his mind looking for you all this time?”

You nodded, your stomach sinking. “He took you in to drain every cent out of you. He was bleeding you dry,” his jaw ticked in concealed anger. “He got impatient, that car accident back then would speed up the process.”

You shook your head, denial flaring. Your lungs were too tight, your heart racing painfully in your chest as you tried not to throw up. “So, what, you married me to stop him?”

“Not just that,” he said hoarsely, and then, softer. “I had to make it legally binding. As your husband, I could legally control your funds. It was the only way I knew how, so I married you in secret, in the hospital, while you were unconscious. And I held your hand while you signed.”

Your head snapped up at that. Your blood ran cold, because you remembered that day. The warmth of a hand in yours, grounding you while the world spun wildly. You thought it was just hospital consent forms. “That was the marriage certificate?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “But that was years before my uncle sold me to you, Hongjoong, that doesn’t make any sense—”

“I had to let you go back to him after,” he explained, eyes shut tight with regret. “He was desperate, and desperate men get dangerous. I needed time. I needed him to think he was still in control, still bleeding you dry while I worked behind the scenes.”

You stood there in stunned silence, your hands trembling with the weight of a truth you never asked for but now couldn’t ignore. “I watched you for years,” he continued, voice hollow but steady. “Always from a distance. I told myself it was enough.I kept telling myself I was doing it for your parents, that I owed them everything. That’s how it started. But then…”

His voice cracked, and for a moment he didn’t go on. “Then I fell in love with you,” he whispered, trembling. “Without even realizing it, I fell. Hard. And for that, I’m sorry. I will regret taking that choice away from you for as long as I live. The plan was to annul the marriage when I was done compiling evidence against him, and believe me, I tried to do it quickly. I didn’t want you to stay with him for long.”

Your breath caught when he smiled faintly, and it was the saddest, most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. “You were always strong, and I hated that I couldn’t tell you how proud I was. I’m sorry I got selfish because the thought of annulling the marriage just hurt me on the inside.”

You looked down, heart racing, remembering the moments. All that time you resented him for being locked in his office instead of being with you, he was working to finally set you free. “Then why keep it a secret?” You asked, voice fragile. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I was scared,” he admitted. “Scared you’d hate me. Scared that if you knew the truth, you’d want nothing to do with me. I didn’t want to rip open old wounds by making you relive the past. So I just… watched and made sure you were doing well.”

“But everything changed. One time I sent Jongho,” Hongjoong went on, voice turning sharp with memory. “We didn’t know he was violent with you. He caught him hurting you. That fucking bastard,” his cracked slightly. “Not only was he stealing from you, he was beating you up the entire time, I-I wanted to die when I found out—”

A lone tear escaped his eyes when you shushed him, putting your finger on his lips gently. He cracked a bitter smile, kissing your finger before continuing. “So I bankrupted his business. I had Seonghwa pose as his client, made him plant the seed that Kim Hongjoong was giving money for something in exchange. It worked, that’s how I got you into my house.”

You froze up, suddenly breathless. Your whole life - every twist and turn, every unexplained pain, every confusing encounter - was beginning to piece together like a puzzle you never knew existed. “You were never a liability used to pay a debt,” he growled. “Once you were under my roof, I knew you were safe. I could fully start making my move on your uncle. I sent Wooyoung to Suwon to start—”

“Suwon?” You blinked in surprise, remembering the very first time you met Wooyoung. “He went there…because of me? Because you told him to?”

He nodded. “The man your uncle hired who hit your parents were both hiding in Suwon. Mingi wanted to do it since he was the one who found them for me, but Wooyoung…let’s say that son of mine is a little trigger-happy. Trust me, he was more than glad to do it.”

You felt your chest caving in. All this time, everyone - San, Seonghwa, Jongho, Wooyoung, and even Mingi - had been watching, protecting, quietly fighting battles for you that you didn’t even know existed.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you stared at the man who had haunted your days and nights with confusion, rage, longing - only to discover that, all along, he had loved you in silence.

“What now?” You sniffled. “What are we going to do?”

“I was going to kill him and then come clean to you,” he admitted ruefully. “But death is a salvation that he doesn’t deserve. I have all the evidence I need to send him to jail, because there’s one more thing your uncle cost me, ” he said, voice low and rough. “Yeosang.”

You felt your chest twist. “I had to send my own son away,” he spat the words like poison. “Because if your uncle ever saw him around, he would’ve figured it out that Yeosang was the one who called me, panicked, sobbing, begging me to save you.”

You knew that Hongjoong called Yeosang in a panic  when you were poisoned to wherever he was hiding from to come and treat you. He risked all of it to save you. “Your uncle didn’t just steal from you,” he growled. “He didn’t just beat you, he stole from me too. He robbed me of time with you, your parents, and my son.”

He dropped to his knees again. “I did terrible things to keep you safe,” he said quietly. “And I can’t undo them. But if there’s anything left in your heart for me, even just a piece, I swear to you, I will make it right.”

Hongjoong was a man weighed down by guilt, someone laying every wound bare before you. You looked at him, this broken, bleeding man who had shielded you in ways you never even saw. And now, maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop surviving and start living. You gripped his hands tightly now, because for the first time, you understood.

“I hated you,” you whispered. His jaw clenched, and he closed his eyes like your words were blades, but he took it like he promised he would. “But I think I hated myself more for still loving you anyway.”

His eyes snapped open, wide and raw and shimmering with a hope he tried to suppress. “Y-You still do?” His broken voice stuttered.

“I don’t know how not to,” you said, your lips trembling. “I didn’t realize how much I fell for you until you started pulling back. Even when you pushed me so far away I thought I’d disappear, I kept looking for you.”

His breath hitched, and then he was kissing you, not out of possession or dominance, not like a man taking what he believed was his, but like someone starved for something he’d already mourned the loss of. His lips trembled against yours, and you tasted your shared sorrow, your silent tears, your aching, stupid, impossible love.

Hongjoong exhaled shakily, as if the weight of everything unsaid was finally buckling his knees. Now that you were in front of him, there was no more holding back. “I never meant to ignore you,” he said, voice rough and uneven. “These past few months, I-I know I’ve made you feel unwanted, like you were nothing but a pawn to me, but you never were.”

His eyes flicked to yours. “We were so close to getting your uncle. I could taste it, that justice. And I lost myself. I thought, just a little more time and I could finally give you peace.”

You opened your mouth to speak, to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but he shook his head. “No,” he whispered with a bitter smile. “It is my fault. I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t supposed to love you, I was supposed to distance myself because your uncle’s mole was watching us. But how could I not?”

“Hongjoong,” you tried to coax him out of these thoughts, but to no avail. Your vision blurred as his words sank in.

“How could I not hold back when you looked at the world with eyes that still trusted even after everything?” Hongjoong continued. “Every time you touched me, I felt like I was being forgiven for sins I hadn’t even confessed yet. Every night you were in my house, pretending not to care that I was cruel, pretending it didn’t hurt, I wanted to fall to my knees and curse every God out there for doing this to me, to us.”

He took your hands, his thumbs brushing your knuckles, and he held you like you were something fragile. “I even got you poisoned,” he said, pressing your hands to his chest, where his heart thundered violently. “Because I let my guard down. I’ve lived every day terrified that loving you would be the death of you, but it turns out, not loving you openly was killing me.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, thick and hot. When he finally pulled back, it was only just enough to whisper. “I married you once to protect you and I’d marry you again just to love you. Marry me, Y/N, please.”

You looked at him, the man who had fought in silence for you, bled in shadows for you, and lost you just to keep you alive. And for the first time, you saw him as the only person who had ever loved you enough to break his own heart to save yours. “You already have me,” you said softly, hands rising to cup his cheeks. 

His exhale of relief and wonder, grief and gratitude all at once. No more pretending, no more secrets. Just the two of you, finally choosing each other in the light. You were already his long before you knew it and he’s always been yours.

“Let me get this straight,” Yunho uncrossed his long legs, his upper body leaning forward ever so slightly as his sharp, glaring eyes trained on Hongjoong’s flat, expressionless ones. “You’re telling me that you’ve been married to her this entire time? That you made her suffer in your slimy presence for the grand scheme of catching Jaehwan when you could’ve just left her with me?”

He removed his glasses to put it on top of the coffee table in front of him, its reflective surface and visual lightness made it a striking centerpiece while keeping the room feeling uncluttered and elegant, very befitting of someone like Yunho who exuded an exorbitant amount of grace. The way he scoffed after was anything of, however.  

“You fucking bastard,” he seethed, banging his fist on said table with a sarcastic laugh that left his lips in a disbelieving pace of staccato. “I ought to kill you on the spot, Kim Hongjoong. I cannot believe you thought that this was normal, you’re not right in the head, I’m telling—”

“Now, now Yunho,” Hongjoong - or should you say, your husband - smirked smugly, snaking his arm around your waist to pull you closer. “In front of Y/N, really?”

“You won’t get away with this, also you mean my niece—”

“Don’t you mean my wife?” Hongjoong grinned, all of his teeth bared out in a daring show of possessiveness that was not to be messed with, clearly not even Yunho. “And I already have,” he turned to look at you, his eyes softening significantly as he smiled. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

Yunho balked at the blatant display of Hongjoong’s disrespect towards him. He looked at you expectantly, but all you could do was give him a sheepish smile as you toyed with the ring on your finger.

“Sorry, Uncle,” you giggled. “You heard my husband.”

Hongjoong whispered ‘that’s my girl’ softly on your ear as Yunho let out the most undignified squawk you’ve ever heard a grown man do.

Yunho covered his face with his hands and groaned. “You love him,” he deadpanned. “And you, you manipulative, delusional, leather-wearing tax fraud—”

“Tax fraud?” Hongjoong raised a brow, a slow grin spreading across his face like ink in water. “Really, Yunho? That’s the best you’ve got?”

“---you love her. Oh, Sungho is probably rolling in his grave right now,” he groaned, and you laughed at how he whispered his grievances in your dad's name.

He sat up, reclining back with one arm thrown over the couch. “Well, if you ever come to your senses, I know a great divorce lawyer,” he said dryly. “My door is always open for you, little love.”

You bit back the urge to laugh when Hongjoong rolled his eyes dramatically. “I’ll keep it in mind, Uncle,” you grinned. “But you should know by now that I have a type.”

Hongjoong only smirked from his seat, one arm slung lazily over the backrest behind you like this was his damn throne. “You’re just bitter I won,” he snorted at Yunho.

“Oh, I’ll be bitter until my dying breath,” Yunho snapped. “You married her and didn't even invite me to the wedding. I was supposed to walk her down the aisle.”

“Then die—”

“Fuck you,” he retorted. Yunho waved his hand, the humor in his eyes dimming slightly as his tone shifted, more measured now. “Alright, jokes aside. What happened to the motherfucker that is Jaehwan?”

Hongjoong’s arm around you tightened as his entire posture changed. “We got him. He’s in jail.”

The words dropped like a stone in the room. You looked down, purposefully grabbing the mug to take a sip, your mind flashing with the bright lights of one shot that gradually turned into two, three, four shots. Yunho’s brows furrowed. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” Hongjoong tried not to smirk, side-eyeing you with intent. “Nothing crazy, really. He doesn’t deserve anything theatrical for everything that he’s done. I had my men watch him for a couple of days, ambushed him when he least expected it, and that’s that. You recall that car accident from a couple of years ago, yes?”

You closed your eyes, the faux splatters of sticky red coating your face feeling realistic enough if you concentrated. Lifeless, hollow eyes stared back behind your eyes before you opened them again. Hongjoong’s fingers massaged yours with purpose back then, too. You kept your mouth from curling too far at the corners.

“How could I not? You took her that night,” Yunho scoffed, sitting forward again, steepling his fingers under his chin. “I was this close to finding Y/N at that time. I dislike talking about this, but it was hard. Years of failure meant I failed her father.”

Hongjoong hummed, ignoring Yunho’s pointed look. “My son was also there, you remember my middle son? He’s a neurosurgeon now,” he replied softly, his fingers playing with yours. “You could say I had a different drive back then. I had my reasons.”

Yunho’s brows shot up in mild surprise before they softened ever so slightly. “I didn’t know, I’m terribly sorry that your son got caught up in this fiasco,” he murmured, his soft eyes landing on you. “I suppose everything that happened was like a trigger set in motion, wouldn’t you say, Y/N?”

You shrugged as you gave Hongjoong a look. You  let your lashes lower slightly and adjusted your posture, just like you did when after the kickback from the trigger that had made your shoulders ache. “Perhaps.”

“Anyway, it’s over,” Hongjoong said with a clipped edge. “There’s enough evidence now to tie him to the attempted murder, fraud, and embezzlement. Stalking as well. The bastard didn't even stop at the mole in my house, he always sent his sleazy men around the area in case she went out. He’s done, I'll make sure of it.”

“Good riddance,” Yunho said with an unsurprising amount of venom. His shoulders sank, years and years of burden lifting off of his shoulders. Relief settles in his expression, and though it made him look a decade younger, the faraway look of a thousand suns in his eyes told you otherwise. “I knew your father would be proud of you," he sighed. "That bastard took everything from our family. But you…you gave it back.”

The man who haunted your childhood, the one who used your grief as a tool to strip you of everything, was finally out of your life. You squeezed Yunho’s hand, hoping that it said everything you couldn’t say out loud. You stayed quiet for a moment, trying to absorb the weight of what Yunho was saying. 

There was no reminiscing on your end, no smirk, no memories; just the hurt between two people who have lost their loved ones. He held your hand, holding it tight. “And your mom,” he added softly. She would’ve held you so tight. You look like Sohee, you know? Same fire, same goddamn backbone. Perfect for your father.”

“I hope they’re at peace now,” you said quietly.

“They are,” Yunho replied with a surety that only blood could lend. “Because you’re finally safe. And I can finally breathe again.”

You took in his words, the finality of them. The war was over now, justice had been served. And it sounded like a dull thud of a body hitting the floor, the heaviness of it almost satisfying in your ears. The conversation shifted into something lighthearted, with you and Yunho reminiscing about how he babysat you when you were younger, how your own father was when they were both teenagers, to all the mundane things like how your father would have reacted to your marriage with Hongjoong.

And Hongjoong was just there, laughing and smiling along like he’s always meant to be there with you. He would quip once or twice with his own accounts about your parents and you fell a little harder for the man, for the way he spoke about your parents with unparalleled fondness was something to behold. He truly adored them, and it just made you miss them even more.

“We should go,” you said gently, standing up, smoothing your dress daintily with a small smile. “I want to visit my parents today. It’s a good day and I haven’t been to ever since I was in college.”

Yunho, ever the gentleman that he was, walked both you and Hongjoong all the way to the door to see you out instead of sending his right-hand man like a man of his status should. The shift in his demeanor was immediate, but you tried your best to not pay attention to it as he hugged you goodbye.

“She’ll be back, Yunho,” Hongjoong rolled his eyes, noticing the small tension, subtly pulling you away back to his side with a curt chuckle. “Stop smothering her.”

Yunho didn’t answer with words. He just stared long, quiet, and with enough weight behind his gaze to make most men sweat as both you and Hongjoong speed walked all the way to the car to try and get away, but of course, there was no escaping. You were a Jeong, after all, and so was he. “Stop,” he spoke out, firm and absolute.

You halted from walking, giving Hongjoong a knowing look, who only squeezed your hand supportively. “Hmm?”

“I know what you did,” Yunho said, his voice just a touch lower than before. He swept his gaze on you from head to toe, stopping lightly at your shoulders. "Your sore shoulders tells me everything."

Your spine straightened, barely enough to notice, unless someone was trained to notice. You turned your head over your shoulder, lips curled into an innocent, almost amused smile. “Oh?”

He smirked, his body stilling like a predator catching scent. You faltered, suddenly reminded that Yunho wasn’t just your uncle - he was mafia, just like Hongjoong. Worse, perhaps, more patient and more precise. Hongjoong took pride in the brutality of it all while he was the kind of man who could make a death look like a ghost story.

For a moment, he looked overtly threatening, his intelligence sharper, and his confrontation carrying a much colder, calculated menace. He tilted his head mockingly, willingly playing your game. “Must’ve felt good,” he chuckled. “I bet you looked him in the eye.”

You had to laugh out loud at that one, not confirming nor denying what he was insinuating. “Maybe I just found peace,” you said innocently.

“I see. Say, what jail is he in? Might have to pay him a visit,” Yunho smiled, truly smiled, wide and cold, but still, it was impossible to miss the adoration and pride in it. “Let me guess - it’s two feet wide and six foot deep.”

Hongjoong, who’d been watching you both with amusement simmering just beneath the surface, finally spoke. “What vivid imagination you have,” he mused, smirking with dark intent, his eyes shining sadistically as he looked at you with faux curiosity. “Don’t you think, darling?”

Yunho nodded slowly, pursing his lips in a poor attempt to stop himself from smiling. “Not vivid enough,” he shrugged playfully. “Humour me this, if someone were to, say, shoot someone…would it be better to aim for a quick kill or prolong the agony? Hypothetically.”

You tapped your chin thoroughly, pretending to think. “ I’d prolong the agony. Shoot them four times on pressure points. Hypothetically, of course.”

“Next one,” Yunho said, clearly enjoying himself. “You’re standing over the body, hypothetically, and he’s looking at you, what would you say?”

“Hypothetically? You pondered, tilting your head as if you were really thinking about what to say. “I would have said ‘you should have killed me when you had the chance.’”

Hongjoong exhaled, something like reverence in his breath. “God, I love you.”

“Just one more,” Yunho said softly, his voice losing its teasing edge, now carrying the quiet weight of someone who’d once held you as a child, who had once promised your father to protect you. “Was it clean?”

You met his gaze evenly, nodding very subtly with a serene smile, one that he returned with all the love and unwavering support only someone who truly cared for you would do. Yunho stared at you for a long moment, his eyes melting into something rawer, wearier. “If anyone asks,” he said lowly, the gravity in his tone undeniable now. “You were with me that night. Both of you were the entire time.”

His gaze cut to Hongjoong, who for once, looked struck silent. The air between them simmered with unspoken understanding. He nodded deeply with reverence. It wasn’t flashy, but it was sincere and genuine enough that Yunho didn’t mock him for it. “Thank you.”

Yunho just waved a hand, though his voice cracked slightly when he said, “Don’t thank me, you bastard. Just keep her safe or I swear, I’ll drag your sorry ass down and make you wish you’d stayed single.”

Hongjoong chuckled low in his throat. His hand settled gently on the small of your back as he led you forward. “Don’t worry, she married a man who never stopped watching her back.”

“God help us all,” Yunho rolled his eyes in mock disgrace, staring at the two of you as you both got in the car before he called for the last time. “Tell your parents I said hi.”

You looked back to see him watching you as Hongjoong started to drive away, arms crossed, but eyes glassy. And though he didn’t say it, you understood. You were safe, you were home, and he’d go to hell and back before anyone took that from you again.

The car ride was quiet at first, not from discomfort, but from something softer. Reverent. Hongjoong kept one hand on the wheel while the other was placed on your lap. It reminded you of that one stormy night when he sought out to find you in that lone playground. He turned to look at you, knowing that he was thinking the same as  you were. 

“I love you,” he said, pulling your hand up to kiss your knuckles. His eyes searched your face like he was memorizing it all over again, as though he still couldn’t believe you were here. “I should’ve said it a long time ago, I feel for you so much that it almost hurts.”

You blinked back the sudden tears, the sincerity in his voice cracking something wide open inside you. You laughed wetly. “That’s very sweet of you, I believe you, but why now?”

“I wanted to wait until everything was said and done,” he continued, pressing another kiss to your fingers. “I want to give you everything. A house to grow old with, a bed where you always feel safe, dinners where I burn the rice and you make fun of me for it. I want lazy Sundays and soft arguments and kisses, just like we’ve always done it.”

You looked at him, heart aching with how badly you wanted to believe in all of it and how, against all odds, you did. “You’re serious?” You asked softly, squeezing his hand back.

He placed a hand over his heart in a rare show of insecurity. “I would place a piece of my soul in every time and place you’d ever felt lonely, just so you wouldn’t be alone. I love you enough for the both of us, and there must be something about me worth loving if you would just see–”

You leaned in and kissed him the moment he parked, slow and sweet and full of the kind of hope neither of you had dared to hold onto before. When you pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. “I want that too,” you whispered. “I want everything with you, Hongjoong.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for years. “Then we start today,” he smiled as bright as the brightest star. “We say hello to your parents. We tell them you’re safe, then we build a life that’s entirely ours, okay?”

You nodded, your smile trembling. You finally look up at the sky after all these years, tearing up as the clouds seem to part way for the sun to finally shine, the rays beaming down at your parents’ tombstones. Finally, justice has been served, they can rest in peace now. You couldn’t help but stare if only for a little while.

Hongjoong approached the stones first, his head bowing low between them. He placed one hand gently on your mother’s grave, the other on your father’s. He didn’t speak loudly, but you saw his lips move, whispering something too quiet for even you to hear. It could’ve been anything - a greeting, a promise, or perhaps maybe even a thank you.

You didn’t ask what he said. You didn’t need to. For the first time, the cemetery didn’t feel like an end. It felt like a door closing softly behind you because the weight of grief was gone now. They could rest and so could you. You stood by Hongjoong’s side smiling at him as he gave you a small kiss on the forehead, coaxing you to talk to your own parents just like he did.

You brought your hands to your lips, kissed your palms, and pressed them reverently to each stone. “Rest easy now, Mom, Dad,” you whispered full of love and release, voice catching as you tried not to tear up. “I’m safe now, and I’m very happy. Happier than I’d ever been.”

You turned to look at the man standing just a few steps behind you - your husband, your protector, your love - watching you with a smile so soft, it nearly broke you open again. “I’m married now. It’s Hongjoong, remember him? Please bless our marriage, I really love him,” you paused, taking a deep breath. “I-I wish you were both here, I miss you…”

Then, slowly, you stepped back and began to walk away, hand in hand with Hongjoong. But before, you glanced back one last time, your heart feeling lighter at the sight of the wind blowing from the tombstones to your face lightly. You couldn’t help the serene smile on your face.

Hongjoong will take over now, he’ll take care of me like you would’ve wanted.

You were thirty-four years old when you finally found your peace that didn’t feel like a surrender this time and instead felt like home, hand in hand with the love of your life.

𝙽𝚎𝚝s - @keopihaus @dove-net @othersideoutlawsnetwork @illusionnet @pirateeznet @ksmutsociety @cromernet

Dividers by: @enchanthings and @anitalenia

[hwapuri]

the fact that the latest stats have shown that 70+% of men in south korea voted for the red party, and then people going ‘not my bias’ is hilarious. reminded me of plath’s line in Daddy, “every woman adores a fascist.”

[hwapuri]

living for regency era!ateez.

dearest ⋆˙⟡ j. yunho

from the countryside yunho has been trading letters about politics and current affairs with an unknown friend in town. when he decides to spend the season in London he seeks out his friend and, when he goes to his penpal’s address, he only finds his “sister”. it’s interesting how your brother never seems to be in, but he enjoys talking with you too much to question it. notes: from my series "reveal the banns!", hope it was worth the wait! wc: 4.0k

england, summer of 1813

it feels much too long for yunho to reach the inside of his drawing room from where he was previously taking his horse for a ride across his grounds. all it took was a sweeping gesture of his servant waving a piece of parchment back and forth in the air for yunho to receive his message: another letter had arrived.

he plucked the letter from his servant's hands and fell into the sofa, carefully, but quickly opening the parchment.

dear faithful writing companion,

today was an awfully dull day of croquet and marriage talks, it seems as though all of the excitement of life drains through the sieve of eternal devotion. what is one to truly believe? that love is a testament to the complexities of a humbling human emotion? or that it finds the joy in any person's small existence and extinguishes such joy like a flickering candle on one's bedside? it is saddening to see friends lost to such a fate and i resolve myself to save you for as long as i may be able. do not follow the illuminated path, my friend. let us walk down our own.

with poetic ramblings at once ceased, let me also inform you of the newest bill to be proposed in court, one i believe the queen will not allow to be passed . . .

with every letter so beautifully scrawled across the page, yunho finds himself sinking deeper into your words, each one so carefully plucked from your vocabulary and painted onto the page. if anyone should say that words could not make art, yunho would challenge such people to read even one of your many letters addressed to him.

after almost a year of exchanging letters by fate of a mistaken address, yunho wished so deeply for the chance to meet you and experience your wit in real time. as your family keeps you in london, under what conditions he assumes are familial duties required of such staggeringly intelligent sons, he is ousted to the countryside.

he has never wished, in all of his years, to be moved to town and has never presented it as an option to his family, until he began to converse with you. after a few months he began to wonder if all townspeople could speak in the same eloquent way as you do, and as more months passed he became convinced that no one could reasonably come close to your poetic prowess.

finally, after almost a year of conversing strictly through letter, he would finally be able to answer you with the happiest news he had known for awhile. he would be moving into town with his aunt for the marriage season under the guise of finding a wife to settle down with; however, he had the real intention of finding the person whom he considers his greatest friend and having the many adventures around london he has so dreamed of.

nothing could go wrong.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

everything was going wrong.

while you had never explicitly said you were a woman, and you had never gone to any lengths at all to convince him that you were not a man, and you had even gone to some lengths to make him think you were a man, how could this possibly happen?

you needed to take some deep breaths, because everything would be alright.

he would come to london, look for a person who did not exist, and leave without making much fuss. you would just have to tell him that the person who only signed letters with their initials was your brother, he was out of town on business for the foreseeable future, and he would just have to be satisfied with the past letters.

you could even convince yourself that he would be too swept up in the marriage market to pay any mind to you, and the scheming mothers would be sure to absorb all of his interest. this would leave you to keep your writing aspirations, your unknown letter-sending hobbies, and your political ideations away from anyone in your house or in your society who might have problem enough with them so as to stop you from keeping them.

you do not let yourself think for long on how betrayed yunho might be if he were to find out all the ways in which you have deceived him. you cannot own up to such faults unless forced to.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

it had been two weeks since you received the letter from yunho. two weeks since you had written a reply back to him which you never sent.

you laid yourself bare on the page, showcasing every part of how you deceived him knowingly, never corrected his gendered mistakes, but also how he made you feel like an equal for the very first time in your life. you wrote out every part of every sentiment, detailing an admiration for his character one could even interpret as romantic feelings, as far as romantic feelings could be so stretched when the two participants had never seen one another before.

you took this beautifully eloquent letter, and you stuck it deep inside the drawing room desk drawer, knowing that the only person to open it was you, as everyone in the house used the desk belonging to their own rooms. you wrote it as a way of releasing all of those feelings which complicated this situation so much, so that when he did show up, and you knew he would eventually, you could react to the situation with a calm and clear mind.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

he checked the part of town four times. he checked the street five times. he even checked the number of the house fifteen times. he had finally made it to the abode of his closest friend, the closest friend he had never met.

but that was all about to change, he thought.

he rapped his knuckles gently on the door. it opened slowly to show a servant, waiting expectantly for him to introduce himself.

"hello," he started. "my name is jeong yun-"

"CLOSE IT!" he heard being screamed from the background, the door at first hesitantly, then promptly shut in his face. he could only just remember the look on your face from your position on the stairwell as you screamed to keep an intruder (him) out.

he decided to check everything about the house one more time, then dared to try again. this time, when the door opened, he was allowed in.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

you had not even talked to him in person and you had already started on a wrong note. there is a possibility that yelling for a door to close in someone's face while you make eye contact with them could count for talking, but there is no way you would allow that thought to linger longer than it already has.

after you pulled yourself together, apologized to the startled staff, and withdrew to the drawing room, putting in quite a lot of effort to straighten yourself up, you told your servants to let the man in if he were to come again. and you knew that he would come again.

after a few agonizing minutes you finally heard footsteps echoing throughout the hallway, signaling the impending arrival of your pen pal. you knew from your previous quick glance that he was not unattractive, but you wondered greatly how he would appear in front of you.

you were not disappointed.

how was it that you got so lucky in sending a letter to the wrong address? that instead of your cousin married to a clergyman in the countryside, you got the cousin of said clergyman. the cousin who is smart, kind, witty, tall, and strikingly hand-

"i said it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," yunho repeated with a slight bow.

you felt your face get hot when you realized your impolite mistake, and quickly returned the bow with a curtsey.

"hello sir, to whom do i owe this pleasure?" you inquired, knowing the answer all too well.

"i am searching for someone, a person with whom i have been exchanging many letters with for the past twelvemonth. do you have a brother or cousin whom resides here?"

"i am sure you must be talking of my brother," you offered, seeing the servants in the room head's perk up. "however i am afraid i must disappoint you, for he is away on business."

"when is he to be expected to return?"

"there is no true way of knowing, just that he is unavailable for the foreseeable future," you said, nodding like the news was heartbreaking for you. you were sure this would be the moment where he would tip his hat and elegantly walk off on those annoyingly long legs of his.

he sat down instead.

"why did he not inform me of this trip? we are quite close and pen everything within our letters," yunho asked curiously.

you started to sweat.

"i do not know, i am not his guardian," you replied, thrown off balance.

"well, you are his family," he countered quickly.

"i have no wish to be his or any other man’s keeper," you replied, with a touch of coldness behind it.

"i would never attempt to suppose such a thing," he replied earnestly. "i only traveled a far distance to meet the man whom i have come to think of, fondly, as a great friend. you can imagine my disappointment at failing in such a task."

now your face feels hot for a completely different reason. guilt and shame washed over you and you forced out, "well, i hope your luck changes soon. if you leave your calling card i will be sure to notify you when i hear news of his arrival."

he understands the cue and stands. "i would appreciate that greatly," he said, with a deep bow. "i will not trouble you any longer."

with the end of your first meeting finally at its end, you felt as though this would be much harder than you previously believed.

yunho felt great amounts of disappointment after leaving the house without the meeting he hoped for; however, he could not find it within himself to be wholly unsatisfied with the meeting he had managed to make. what a perfect coincidence for his best friend to have such a beautiful sister.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

the next time yunho saw you was at a ball. the newly presented and eligible young ladies for the season had all been introduced to society a few weeks ago, he had become wrapped up in all which the city had to offer, and he had not heard a word from you otherwise.

his thoughts drifted often to where his penpal could be, what he could be doing, and whether or not he was missing writing to each other just as much as yunho was.

he had been pulled out of his reverie by his aunt excitedly demanding his attendance at a ball tonight, and he thought it would be a welcome distraction so he would not stay up all night thinking of how the last letter he received from you was before he announced his arrival in london. did you know he was here? would it make a difference? would you look for him this way as well?

he takes a turn about the room, and secretly spots you. he allows himself a few moments to take you in before he decides to approach. for a moment he thought, that color dress did look quite elegant draped across your skin.

maybe he did not only wish to approach you in order to inquire after your brother.

but, that is where he would start.

he approached quickly, so he could not change his mind. "so," he began with a slight bow, "do you hold any news in which you would like to share with me?"

you startle slightly and recover quickly. with your own small curtsey you reply, "you must forgive me, sir, for i am quite unsure of what you speak."

"the whereabouts of your dear brother, of course. has he written? have you exchanged letters? would he share an address so that i could possibly send a letter to him?"

you admired his boldness, something you always felt as though you had in common.

“let me answer one question at a time, if i may. we have since exchanged letters, he has promised to write back with a letter for you that i may pass along. and he does not currently hold a stable address so giving you any specific location would be futile in attempts at future correspondence.”

you saw a noticeable relief take hold of him, like an ever-present tension was just drained from him.

“i would be greatly in your debt for any assistance you might offer in aiding the communication between me and your brother. maybe i could come by your residence sparingly in order to pick up any letters, in order to lessen any burden this ordeal might cause you?”

you pause at his thoughtfulness, you never thought it would end up this way.

“of course. i urge you, be a guest within my home as much as you may please to be.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

as the days came and went and the weeks flew past, the lies eventually became easier. you, in some ways, even convinced yourself that this imagined brother was real. or, at least, a real way for you to escape the gnawing guilt eating away at you.

yunho started to visit your home. sometimes he would come a few times a week, sometimes every day for a month. you became friends in a way you had never truly had before.

what started with him only coming for the letters ended with him opening them in front of you, where you would discuss the contents and talk for hours. he would leave after it was dark with thoughts still racing through his head, though these thoughts stuck mostly to you.

you had received yunho as a guest more times than you could care to count, and yet the hard feelings never got any easier, and they never went away.

once, while the pair of you were in the drawing room, you opened the drawer that had your letter quietly stowed away in. you saw it in the back, proudly, and quite loudly, addressed to ‘j. yunho’. you quickly shut the drawer, closing away the letter you had written what seems so long ago. yunho's head perked up at the loud noise from the couch he was resting on, reading today's columns.

the scene painted quite a domestic picture. him on the couch, you writing at your desk. it made you pause for a moment and think. what if you just gave the letter to him? what would his reaction be? could you ever decide to be that brave?

“what thoughts could be swirling through your head to make your face frown in such a way?” yunho’s question broke through the fog in your brain.

one glance to his cheerful face and perfect smile and overall sunny disposition dismissed your useless wonderings. to dim a light that bright would be a disservice to the world.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

it had only been a few months since yunho had landed in london, and, besides failing at what was, in all reality, the only reason he came to town, yunho was happy and settled. he thought of his friendship with you fondly, and considered the chance to make it more, if only he were so brave.

he also considered the quality of life in town, and how beautiful and welcoming society could be.

yunho settled back into the plush, leather chair inside of the gentleman’s smoking club. he thought that in the time he waits for his penpal’s arrival, he should find other male friendships to fill the void in some way.

so, at a few society events he was recommended the smoking club where he quickly felt right at home. he had already attended a few outings here, but only quick gatherings meant to survey the room and see if any potential friends would emerge. he couldn’t help but to compare all of whom he saw to another person he knew.

tonight, however, was different. he finally made a few charming and intelligent friends and was prepared for a long night of conversation and drink.

“enough of politics,” wooyoung, one of his new friends, cried. “men, you must tell me of the latest updates within the marriage market. are any of you fools any closer to getting away from your mother’s home?”

“how crass,” his friend yeosang scolded. “but, the season is progressing rather slowly for me, i must admit.”

“oh that can’t be! you have such a natural charm that surely shines through that icy exterior!” wooyoung exclaimed, far from serious.

“anyway, how is your season coming along, yunho?” their friend san asks. “i have heard you have one potential match in particular.”

yunho flushed, “oh, that is nothing. we talk quite a lot but it is mostly about politics and literature. we have many of the same views and tastes.”

they all three turned to stare at him.

wooyoung started, “do you think that information to be irrelevant in topics of marriage?”

san agrees in a slightly kinder way, “he means, aren’t those the key tenants of finding a good marriage partner? have you at least thought of officially courting her?”

yunho took a deep breath in, “honestly, i have. mainly i have waited for her brother to return in order to ask his permission-“

he was cut off by wooyoung, “what do you mean her brother?”

yunho cocks his head.

“i am sure you are aware of her brother. he is away on a trip, but he shall return any day now!” he attempts to convince himself, slowly losing belief.

yeosang says gently, “she has no brother. my family and hers have been friends since we were children, and she has never had a brother. what made you believe that?”

yunho’s brain started to race a mile a minute. “but she has a male cousin? or very young uncle who she might refer to as a brother?” he desperately asked.

this time san shook his head with a pitying look, “no, i grew up with her cousins in school. they were all young ladies.”

“excuse me gentlemen, i believe i have urgent business to attend to.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

the amount of time it took for yunho to get to your house would concern any police officer; however, it still allowed him enough time to overthink his choices.

what was he doing, showing up to where you live so late at night? who did he think he was?

at the same time he knew you would not mind, and he also knew there were a few nights where your animated discussions had led him to leaving later than this anyway.

armed with that knowledge and trying his best to summon all of the strength in his body, yunho knocked on his door. for a moment he was reminded of his first visit to this house all of those months ago.

so much has changed, he thought, but not in a bad way.

a servant answered the door and looked mostly unsurprised at seeing who the guest was.

"come in," the servant told him. "i will retrieve your companion now."

in only a moment you floated down the stairs, stealing his breath. the monumentality of what was about to happen, what he was going to confront you about finally hit him

you must have been able to see it in his face because you took one look at him and dismissed your servant. she hesitated for a second, for propriety's sake, then quickly scurried off.

"would you like to sit?" you meekly offered.

"no, i have something i should like to say and i think it best for the both of us if i say it quickly."

you braced yourself for the screaming, the shouting about betrayal and anger and heartbreak, feeling your own acute sense of heartbreak yourself

"i know you do not have a brother. and i know it was you who sent me those letters."

there it was. the truth, completely out in the open.

without consciousness you felt as tears began to fall down your face, "please yunho, i never meant for it to go this far-"

"i mean, it went quite far to have no effort exerted on your part," he teased, but you missed the joviality and mistook it for anger.

you felt the motions overwhelm you as you began to understand the gravity of your action. "i cannot - i will not ever come close to apologizing enough for my blunders. could you ever find it in your heart to forgive me of my betrayals?"

yunho's face fell as he began to understand how you were perceiving the situation. "no, please! i hold no anger or sadness or otherwise negative feelings towards you," he assured.

you lifted your head, still not fully believing him. he stepped forward, overstepping the boundaries of polite society and grabbed your hands, holding them to his chest.

“do you not think a significant part of me didn’t know? i was almost certain from the second week i started to be a guest at your estate. when we would read the letters together i could see you never truly read them, but you would quote them in intimate detail. many times you would quote them without ever realizing you did. i had a feeling it was you, and i wanted it to be you so badly,” he kept forging ahead even as you tried to interrupt. “you don’t have to explain anything to me. i know how cruel this town can be to women with minds and ideas of their own, but i have no wish for any woman who is anything other than completely, maddeningly you.”

his chest heaved slightly after using all of his breath to force out what he had been waiting to tell you for so long now.

he continued, “i do not pretend to know the nature of your feelings towards me, i will not begin to suppose. mine towards you have a most romantic inclination,” he drops to one knee. “and i would be grateful until the sun dies for the chance to be your husband. if, however, your feelings are not of a romantic inclination, having you as a friend and trusted advisor would satisfy me for just as long.”

“could i act as all three? wife, friend, and trusted advisor?” you asked through misty eyes and with bated breath.

he breathes out a chuckle, his own held breath escaping in relief.

he stands up to embrace you, “i would not even begin to imagine an alternative.”

you cradle his face gently with one hand, and hold his arm tight with the other, so as to not let him retreat.

“mrs. jeong is a most favorable title,” you tease.

“one that suits you perfectly, my dear,” he teases back, looking at you with a love so deep in his eyes, it would be impossible to misunderstand this time.

you wonder how lovingly he will look at you when you finally give him that love letter buried in your drawing room desk drawer. the same letter which you were unaware of him having seen many times in his visits. it will probably be just the same look.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

fin.

i hope you enjoyed this! it took me longer than it should have but i really enjoyed writing it!

taglist:

@morbidmadre , @matchahintonagar

[hwapuri]

sometimes I don’t see hongjoong as the dad of the group, sometimes he’s giving: tired eldest sibling who’s carrying the weight of the family on his shoulders.

[hwapuri]

every time I see a kpop idol in a crop top (ahem pretty much ateez, kai from EXO, etc) I think of rock bands in the 80s-90s and specifically johnny depp. correct me if I’m wrong but this is just fashion trends repeating itself in the music industry (which is still cool!)

[hwapuri]

just created a tag called #hwapuri atz reblogs and I’ll reblog any sfw fics that I really like + recommend under this tag — if anyone is interested !!

i don’t write on this account, but it actually sucks when I’ve spent so long writing out a fic, taking my time with the plot, drafting/re-drafting only for it to not get as much recognition as smut.

I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks anymore, yeah I write for myself but I also want people to read my work? I want to hear if it’s actually good or not, instead I’ll get fewer interactions and then contemplate taking it down despite the fact that people said they’d read it.

it’s exhausting and seriously puts me off writing, which sucks. I love writing but the fact that smut will always outweigh my non-smut fics that I pour my soul into, is fucking bullshit.

[hwapuri]

i don’t write on this account, but it actually sucks when I’ve spent so long writing out a fic, taking my time with the plot, drafting/re-drafting only for it to not get as much recognition as smut.

I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks anymore, yeah I write for myself but I also want people to read my work? I want to hear if it’s actually good or not, instead I’ll get fewer interactions and then contemplate taking it down despite the fact that people said they’d read it.

it’s exhausting and seriously puts me off writing, which sucks. I love writing but the fact that smut will always outweigh my non-smut fics that I pour my soul into, is fucking bullshit.

[hwapuri]

seeing this at work, had to stop myself from falling to my knees

[hwapuri]

the arms that once held you so dearly were now intimidating and unfamiliar. tears of frustration threatened to spill from the beholder's eyes, his fists shaking with rage. “i don't understand why you just won't speak to me,” he growled.

your gaze was distant, your racing thoughts much too loud to process your boyfriend's words. wooyoung stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him, causing you to jump, immediately bursting into tears.

he heard your sobs, cautiously returning to kneel in front of you, placing his shaking hands upon your thighs. “jagiya,” he sighed, “i'm sorry, i didn't mean to scare you. i just wanted to help.”

dropping your head to rest it upon your weak hands, wooyoung gently rubbed your arms, just as he always did whenever you asked him to comfort you. he hated seeing you unable to speak, all he wanted was to take care of you, though he felt helpless when he didn't know what the issue was.

the two of you stayed like that for a while, your boyfriend waiting patiently for your cries to subside. the second you met his pained eyes, he smiled at you, “hi, pretty.” you offered a small smile back, taking his hands in yours.

“sorry, baby,” you sniffled. he shook his head, frowning, “no no, none of that, my beautiful girl. i'm the one who should be sorry for speaking to you that way.”

silence filled the room, the steady rhythm of the ticking clock haunting the atmosphere. “i'm always here for you if you want to tell me what's on your mind, my love,” he gently cupped your cheek in his hand, causing you to lean into his touch.

he held you as though you were porcelain, terrified of breaking you. “i'm just tired, woo,” you avoided his gaze. “that's okay, we can head up to bed now,” he began to stand.

“no,” you curled into yourself, “not that kind of tired.”

“oh.”