wonwoosmagnetic

[wonwoosmagnetic]

NEW FIC.

my mind is going on and on about ice hockey player seungcheol x figure skater oc (rivals to lovers ofc)...would you be interested? If yes, then as a series or oneshot?

[wonwoosmagnetic]

I'll Remember, for Us. | csc

ONESHOT!

Pairing: sad! seungcheol x sad! oc Warnings: heartbreak, angst, shit ton of grief, mention of deaths, accidents, loss of memory. Word count: 6.1k words. Synopsis: He was the peace you found while losing everything else. Author's Note: A little (big) drabble I wrote in between drafting my newest no saints here chapter! that's why it took me double the time to update that LOL. But, till the story builds in NSH, I need to feed the people the angst. Honestly, this one was a little hard to write because no matter the amount of media one can consume regarding the emotions of grief, it can never, ever be put down in mere words. So if in anyway, this might seem underwhelming to you, I understand.

The wall behind his head was cold.

Seungcheol didn’t notice it at first—just felt the pressure where his skull met the plaster, the steady thud of his pulse echoing behind his eyelids.

He wasn’t asleep. He hadn’t slept.

Not since the night of the crash.

The hallway reeked of bleach and despair. The kind that clings to your clothes no matter how many showers you take. He didn’t remember the last time he left the hospital. Just that he couldn���t. Not yet.

Not while she was still inside that room, wires in her skin, machines breathing for her.

The silence around him wasn’t peaceful. It was loud.

The clock ticked. Someone coughed. A nurse laughed too brightly somewhere down the corridor.

And then— A shift. A quiet one.

Someone sat beside him.

The air changed. Just slightly. Like it exhaled.

He opened his eyes.

You are staring straight ahead, as if looking at the same nothing he was. No makeup. Tired eyes. Vending machine coffee clutched between both hands like you were afraid it might disappear.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

But your presence didn’t feel like an intrusion. It felt like… company.

The kind you don’t realize you need until it’s there.

Seconds passed. Then minutes. He wondered what brought you here. Wondered if it was worse than what brought him.

“Long night?” you asked, voice soft, almost hesitant.

He blinked. Nodded.

“Yeah.” A pause. “You too?”

You gave a breath of a laugh, humorless and low. “Been a long week.”

Your fingers tapped against the cup, rhythm like a heartbeat. He noticed the way your knuckles were red, raw in some places. You hadn’t been sleeping either.

“Family?” he asked.

“Grandmother,” you said. “Yours?”

He swallowed. “Girlfriend. Car accident. Three days ago. They’re still not sure if she’ll—”

He didn’t finish. He couldn’t.

You didn’t push. Just nodded like you understood. Like you didn’t need the end of the sentence to feel the weight of it.

And they sat there again. In silence. In something heavy and unsaid.

---

You didn't cry.

That was the first thing he noticed.

There was a glassiness in your eyes, sure. A kind of far-off fog that only people in hospitals seemed to wear. But no tears. Just a tightly held composure, like if you let go even a little, you might unravel.

“She was diagnosed last year,” you said after a while, still looking ahead, not at him. “Stage four. It came fast.”

Seungcheol didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

“She raised me,” you added, like that explained everything. And maybe it did.

He shifted slightly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. The vinyl of the hospital bench creaked under him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. And he meant it.

You nodded, like you'd heard that a hundred times already. “It’s okay. Or it’s not. I don’t know anymore.”

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Somewhere down the hall, a heart monitor beeped steadily.

Neither of them looked at the other. But neither moved away, either.

It was you who broke the quiet again.

“You’d think after three nights of this, I’d learn not to buy the coffee,” you said, wrinkling your nose as you sipped. “But here I am. Still pretending it helps.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. It was the first one in days.

“Try the tea,” he said. “Tastes like cardboard. But at least it smells like something real.”

That got a soft huff from you. Almost a laugh. Almost.

They fell back into silence again, the kind that started to feel less like strangers and more like a truce.

And then—

“I’m Seungcheol,” he said, quietly.

You turned to look at him for the first time. Her eyes were a soft brown, tired but warm. Your lips twitched into something like a smile.

“Nice to meet you, Seungcheol.”

But you didn’t offer your name.

---

The second night, you brought the coffee.

Seungcheol was in the same spot. Same posture. Same wall holding him up. Eyes closed, head tilted back, pretending for a moment that if he stayed still enough, time might stop moving without him.

Then the scent hit him.

Not bleach. Not hospital.

Coffee. Cinnamon. And… something soft. Vanilla, maybe.

He opened his eyes.

You were there again. Sitting beside him. This time, you were the one holding two cups.

“I upgraded us,” you said, offering him one. “The café on the second floor has actual espresso. A miracle in this place.”

He took it with a quiet thanks, fingers brushing yours. Warm skin. Cold fingertips.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said, voice still rough from disuse.

“Me neither,” you replied honestly. “But here we are.”

He took a sip. It was actually good. Strong, a little bitter, the kind of taste that settled in your chest like something solid.

They sat in the same silence, but this one felt different. Familiar. Comfortable, almost.

“I found her talking to the air yesterday,” you said softly. “My grandmother. She thought I was my mom.”

Seungcheol turned to you. Your jaw was clenched, throat tight with the weight of the memory.

“She kept calling me by her name. Begging me not to leave again.”

He didn’t speak. Just listened. Really listened.

“I never met my mom. She left when I was a baby. Gran raised me alone. She’s… the only real family I have.”

Your voice broke on the word only. You blinked quickly, but didn’t wipe the tear that finally escaped.

Seungcheol shifted closer. Not touching you, just… near.

“I haven’t gone home in three days,” he said after a moment. “I sleep in the waiting room. My parents keep telling me to rest, but how do you rest when you don’t know if she’ll ever open her eyes again?”

Your head tilted slightly. “You love her a lot.”

“I do.” He stared at the floor. “But I don’t know if she knows it. Not the way I should’ve shown her.”

And just like that, the air between them cracked open. Two strangers, stitched together by grief, regret, and stale hospital air.

You held out your hand—not for a handshake, but just to hold.

No name. No promise.

Just presence.

And this time, Seungcheol took it.

---

The room was too quiet.

Not the kind of silence that brought peace—but the kind that screamed in his ears.

Machines beeped in a steady rhythm, too steady. A reminder that the only thing keeping her breathing wasn’t her.

Seungcheol sat beside the hospital bed, fingers curled into a loose fist on his lap. He’d been sitting there for an hour. Maybe more.

She looked the same. Pale. Still. Like a painting that hadn’t been finished. Like if he blinked too fast, she might disappear altogether.

His throat ached with all the words he hadn’t said.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bed.

“Hey,” he whispered. “It’s me.”

He let the silence answer. Let the emptiness respond.

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say anymore,” he admitted, voice cracking. “They tell me to talk to you, that maybe you’ll hear me, but I…”

He trailed off. Swallowed hard.

“I miss you,” he said finally. “I miss your laugh. The way you’d tease me when I left dishes in the sink. I even miss your bad singing.”

His eyes burned. He looked away.

“I wish I’d held you longer that morning. I wish I’d told you not to rush out. I wish I—”

He stopped. Breathed.

And then, like a thread pulled loose, something surfaced. Your voice. Not his girlfriend’s—

Yours.

The girl from the hallway. “You’ll break if you keep holding everything in.” “You don’t have to be strong every second. You’re allowed to fall apart.” “Let her feel your love, not just your guilt.”

Seungcheol closed his eyes.

And when he spoke again, it wasn’t guilt that guided him.

“I love you,” he said softly, reaching for her hand. “I’ve always loved you. I just… didn’t say it enough.”

A tear slipped down his cheek.

“I’m saying it now. I’m here. And I’ll keep being here. Just… if you’re somewhere in there, please… come back to me.”

The machines kept beeping. Steady. Relentless.

But for the first time, his heart felt a little lighter. Not because things were better— But because he wasn’t holding it all alone anymore.

---

The hallway smelled like antiseptic and wilted flowers.

It was the kind of day where time felt sticky—too slow to bear, but too fast when you blinked.

Seungcheol sat outside Room 203, the plastic cup of coffee cooling in his hand, untouched. He hadn’t gone in yet. He didn’t know if he had the strength.

Then he heard it.

A voice.

Soft. Steady. Familiar.

He turned slightly, just enough to peek through the glass panel in the door across the hall.

You were in there—curled in a chair beside your grandmother’s bed, knees tucked to your chest, a worn book in your lap. The afternoon light spilled through the window, gold and forgiving, catching in the strands of your hair.

You were reading aloud.

Not loudly. Not for anyone but the two of you—yourself, and the woman who couldn’t speak anymore.

“‘And even in the darkest parts of the woods,’” you read, your voice barely above a whisper, “‘the girl remembered the sound of home. Not a place. A person. The way they said her name, the way their hand lingered on her back before a goodbye.’”

Your voice cracked slightly, but you didn’t stop.

Seungcheol didn’t mean to eavesdrop. He just… couldn’t walk away.

It was like her words reached through the walls and found something buried inside him—something aching and wordless.

He closed his eyes and listened.

“‘She missed them every day, even when she swore she’d stopped. Even when the world told her to move on. But grief doesn’t work that way. It’s not a thing you carry. It’s a thing that lives with you.’”

You stopped. He could hear the turn of a page. Your breath shaking. Your grandmother didn’t move, didn’t respond. But the you smiled anyway, like maybe that silence still meant something.

After a while, you spoke—not from the book, just from your heart.

“You’d hate this hospital, Gran. The tea tastes like sadness and cardboard, and they keep the lights on too bright.”

A pause. A sniffle.

“But I found someone,” you said, her voice suddenly gentler. “Not in that way. I mean… maybe. I don’t know. He’s hurting, too. Quietly. Like you used to say I did when I was little. Like he's trying to keep everyone else from seeing him bleed.”

Your fingers curled around the edge of the book, knuckles white.

“I think I want to be around him. Is that wrong? I feel guilty for looking forward to anything when you’re…” You stopped again. Swallowed. “When you’re going.”

You laughed suddenly. Broken. Real. “God, I sound like a cliché. Falling for someone in a hospital hallway while my world’s falling apart.”

And still, Seungcheol listened. Still frozen. Still holding onto a breath he hadn’t meant to take.

Your voice dropped lower, softer.

“I don’t want to forget how your voice sounded when you laughed. Or the way you made pancakes shaped like dinosaurs even when I was fifteen. Or how you braided my hair when I was too tired to get out of bed.”

A beat of silence.

“I’m scared,” you whispered. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Something shattered quietly inside him.

Before he knew it, his legs moved. His hand touched the door frame.

You looked up. Startled. Eyes wide and glassy.

“I—” he said, throat thick. “I wasn’t trying to… listen. I’m sorry.”

You wiped your cheek, fast. “No, it’s okay. You’ve probably heard worse here.”

Seungcheol stepped into the room slowly. His voice barely carried. “Your voice... it’s steady. Like a melody.”

You gave him a small, sad smile. “It’s how I learned to survive.”

He looked at the book in your lap. “Would you… mind reading in her room too? For my girlfriend?”

You blinked. “Me?”

He nodded. “Your voice feels like… home. And I think she’d like that.”

Your eyes searched his for a long moment. Then you nodded.

“Okay,” you said, standing, holding the book close to your chest. “I’ll read for both of them.”

---

It’s late.

That kind of late where the vending machines hum too loudly and the only light in the hallway flickers like it’s tired too. Seungcheol stands near the window down the corridor, one hand braced against the glass, the other holding his phone like it weighs more than it should.

He should be sleeping.

Instead, he dials.

Again.

The phone rings twice, and then—

“Hi! You’ve reached Haeun. I’m probably dancing somewhere or stealing Seungcheol’s fries, so leave a message after the beep and I promise I’ll get back to you… eventually!”

Beep.

He doesn’t speak.

He just closes his eyes and breathes. Listens to that sliver of her voice that still exists, somewhere safe, somewhere untouched by tubes and machines and the cruel silence that’s overtaken Room 203.

Call ended.

He dials again.

Same ring. Same smile in her voice. Same beep.

Still no words.

He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for. Maybe for her to pick up. Maybe for the universe to reset.

By the fourth call, his hands are shaking.

By the fifth, he finally speaks.

“Hey.”

It’s hoarse. Barely there.

“I don’t even know why I’m doing this. I just… I miss you.”

His voice breaks on the last word. He coughs, wipes at his face like it’ll make a difference. The hallway is empty. He’s glad. No one should see this.

“I brought the stupid green grapes today. The ones you hate but pretend to like because they’re healthy. I even peeled them. Like you always wanted me to. They’re still in the fridge.” A bitter laugh. “I don’t know why I did that.”

He hangs up.

Redials.

Sixth call.

“Hi! You’ve reached Haeun—”

He doesn’t wait for the beep this time.

“I had a dream last night. You were wearing that yellow dress you said made you look like a banana, and we were dancing in our kitchen. No music. Just your laugh.”

He pauses.

“God, I’d kill to hear you laugh right now.”

He ends the call.

But he dials again.

Seventh.

Eighth.

By the ninth call, he’s on the floor, knees pulled to his chest, phone pressed against his ear like it’s all that’s keeping him together.

Beep.

His voice is quieter now. Smaller.

“Please.”

Just that.

Just please.

Please come back. Please wake up. Please tell me how to keep going.

He doesn’t say it all. He doesn’t have to.

The phone slips from his fingers. His eyes are red. There’s no sound in the corridor except for the faint buzz of electricity and the way he breathes like the air hurts going in.

And then a whisper, almost like a prayer.

“She’s not dead. She’s not dead. She’s not dead.”

He repeats it like maybe if he says it enough, the universe will make it true forever.

But the truth is— She’s not alive either. Not in the way he needs her to be.

And maybe the worst part of it all isn’t that she’s gone.

It’s that he’s still here, and he doesn’t know what to do with that.

---

It was late again.

The hospital lights were dimmed to a muted hum, the world outside the windows blurred into inky blue. Seungcheol had just returned from Room 203, hands shaking, heart heavier than his footsteps. He turned the corner toward the waiting room, expecting silence.

But there you were.

Curled in on yourself on the narrow couch, knees pulled tight to your chest, arms hugging them like you were trying to hold yourself together. Your face was buried, but the tremor in your shoulders gave you away.

You were crying.

No—you were breaking.

He froze in the doorway.

"Hey..." he said softly, unsure if he should come closer. "Are you okay?"

A stupid question. You didn't look up.

So he sat down beside you, far enough not to touch, close enough to offer warmth.

You wiped at your eyes, but the tears just kept coming.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “God, I’m sorry, I just— I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“You’ve seen me like this,” he murmured.

That got a small, bitter laugh from you. But it faded fast.

Then you said, quieter than before, “I left her.”

He turned, brows furrowed.

“My grandmother,” you clarified, breath catching. “Before all this… before the cancer... I stopped coming around.”

He waited. Didn’t push. Just listened.

“I was busy. I moved to another city. Work was stressful, and I kept saying I’d visit next weekend, next month, next—” You swallowed hard. “But she always called. Always left voicemails. She'd tell me she made pancakes, the ones with blueberries, the kind I used to beg for as a kid. And she'd say she was waiting. Just... waiting for me to come home.”

Your voice cracked.

“I didn’t come.”

His chest ached.

“I told myself she was fine. Independent. Strong. I told myself I was allowed to live my life.” Your eyes welled again. “And now I come every single day. Now I sit next to her bed like if I do it long enough, she’ll forgive me. But she can’t even say my name anymore.”

Seungcheol reached out then—tentatively—placing a hand over yours. You didn’t pull away.

“She used to sit by the door,” you whispered. “Like clockwork. Every Sunday morning. Dressed in the sweater I bought her three Christmases ago. Just waiting. Because she thought... maybe today I’d come.”

The tears wouldn’t stop.

“I was dancing at some bar. Laughing. Kissing someone I don’t even remember. While she sat by the door making pancakes for no one.”

Your voice broke open then, sobs slipping through like glass cracking beneath pressure. Ugly and honest and full of a grief that had nowhere to go.

Seungcheol turned toward you fully, pulling you into his arms. You fought it at first—because that’s what guilt does—but he held on.

“You came back,” he murmured. “You’re here now.”

“But what if it’s too late?” you sobbed into his chest. “What if she never knew how sorry I am?”

He rested his chin against your head, eyes burning.

“She knew,” he said. “She knows.”

They stayed like that. In the stillness. In the mess. In the pain.

Two people broken in different ways, holding each other like they could keep the world from falling apart again. No promises. No solutions.

Just presence.

And sometimes—that was everything.

---

The hospital room was too white. Too quiet. Even the ticking of the clock felt like an accusation—steady and cruel. A reminder of every second you had not been there.

You sat beside the bed, your hands wringing the hem of your sweater. The chair creaked beneath you, but your grandmother didn’t look.

She was staring out the window. Blank. Soft. Eyes that used to twinkle with laughter now just... drifted.

“Hi, Grandma,” you said, voice barely a whisper.

No response.

You leaned in, trying again with a gentle smile. “It’s me. I brought your favorite. Blueberry pancakes. From that little diner you like.”

Still nothing.

You swallowed down the lump rising in your throat and set the small to-go container on the bedside table. The smell of syrup and warm sugar floated through the air, but your grandmother didn’t even flinch.

Silence. Thicker now.

“I remember when you used to wake me up with the smell of these,” you tried, eyes burning. “Every Sunday. You’d hum while you cooked. Said blueberries were brain food.” A sad laugh slipped out. “Guess they weren’t enough, huh?”

The silence felt like punishment.

You reached out slowly, brushing a strand of silver hair from her grandmother’s forehead. She used to braid that hair. Used to play salon with it as a child, while her grandmother pretended she was being pampered in a palace.

“You used to wait for me,” you whispered. “Every week. In that old cardigan I bought you. Remember that one? With the missing button?”

Nothing.

And then—finally—your grandmother blinked, slowly turning toward her. Her eyes focused on your face.

Hope rose, sudden and aching. “Grandma?”

The old woman tilted her head. Confused.

Then, softly: “Are you... the nurse?”

It felt like being stabbed.

You forced a smile to your lips, even as your heart shattered. “No... I’m—”

Your grandmother smiled faintly, distant and kind. “You’re very sweet, dear. Just like my granddaughter. Beautiful girl. Works too hard. Never comes home, though.”

The breath caught in your throat. Your vision blurred instantly.

“She... she sounds great,” you managed, voice trembling.

“She is.” Your grandmother looked out the window again, a ghost of a smile on her face. “She used to sit on the porch and sing while I made breakfast. Blueberry pancakes. Said they were her favorite.”

You clutched the side of the bed, your knuckles white. “Do you remember her name?”

“No,” your grandmother said, softly. “But I know I love her. That’s enough, isn’t it?”

A sob escaped before you could stop it. You covered your mouth with your hand, shoulders shaking.

Your grandmother turned again, blinking slowly. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. You’ll make me sad.”

You shook your head, biting down on your lip. “I’m okay,” you choked. 

And in that moment, you didn’t care that your grandmother didn’t know who you were. Didn’t care that your name was gone, that their memories were tangled and buried.

Because the love—that was still here.

Even if it was misdirected. Even if it was broken.

You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around the frail woman, holding her tightly, burying your face into her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered. “I’m so, so sorry I left.”

Your grandmother patted your back, gentle and absent-minded. “There, there. You’re a good girl. I can tell.”

You cried harder.

And outside, the day went on like nothing had changed.

But inside that room, everything had.

---

It was late. Past visiting hours.

But the little courtyard garden behind the hospital didn’t care about time. It was overgrown in places, the stone bench cracked, the flowerbeds mostly dirt now—but there was a kind of comfort in its forgotten state. Like it belonged to the night. Like it understood people who didn’t fit in the daylight anymore.

You sat on the bench, your knees tucked under your chin, a paper cup of hospital coffee cradled in your hands. Seungcheol joined you without a word, sitting close enough to feel the same night breeze, but not enough to crowd you.

For a while, they just sat. Listening to the wind brushing through brittle branches. The distant siren of an ambulance arriving. The faint hum of machines behind walls.

Then, quietly, you asked, “What was she like?”

He looked down at the cup between his hands. “You mean... before?”

You nodded.

He took a breath. “Loud. In the best way. She used to sing to the radio even if she didn’t know the lyrics. And she’d burn toast every morning because she always forgot it was in. Once, she put our house key in the freezer because she thought it was her phone.”

You smiled faintly. “Sounds chaotic.”

“She was.” He laughed a little, and then the sound faded. “But she made everything feel... alive. Like the world was just a little brighter because she was in it.”

The silence settled again, heavier now.

“She sounds like someone I would’ve liked,” you said, softly.

He nodded.

“What about you?” he asked. “What were you like before all this?”

You let out a slow breath, eyes fixed on the cracks in the stone path.

“Busy,” she said. “Too busy. I thought I had time. That I could always go visit later. I kept putting it off. ”

Seungcheol didn’t speak, but she felt him listening.

Your voice broke, raw and exposed.

“And now she doesn’t even know my name.”

You turned your head, wiping your cheek roughly with the sleeve of your hoodie. “I was so selfish.”

“No,” Seungcheol said immediately, turning toward you. “You were living. That’s not a crime.”

“But I left her behind.”

He looked at you then, really looked. “You came back.”

You didn’t reply.

He reached over slowly, fingers brushing your. Not holding. Not pushing. Just offering.

And you let him.

Their hands stayed there, barely touching, as if the warmth between them could rewrite time. Could pull them out of the past and plant them firmly in the now.

After a moment, you murmured, “I used to love dancing.”

He blinked. “What?”

You smiled, sad and sweet. “Just... before all this. I’d dance in my kitchen. In my socks. Spill coffee, stub my toes. I haven’t done that in forever.”

He let out a breathy laugh. “You should. You should do that again.”

You looked up at him, eyes glassy.

“What about you?” you asked. “What’s the one thing you miss most about yourself?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear:

“I used to dream.”

The words hung between them like fog.

You turned your hand, finally holding his.

And under the pale light of the moon, with bruised hearts and paper coffee cups, two people who had lost everything began to find something again—

Not peace. Not yet.

But maybe the possibility of it.

---

It was just after midnight when the nurse called him.

"Mr. Choi? She's... she's showing signs. You should come."

Seungcheol had stared at his phone for a full minute before he moved. Then he ran. Down the silent corridors. Past the quiet night-shift desk. Past the vending machine and the courtyard and everything that had held him up for weeks.

Room 203.

His hands shook as he pushed the door open.

She was there. As always. Pale. Fragile. But her fingers were twitching. Her lips parted slightly, a rasping breath falling from her throat that sounded like a word caught halfway to being born.

He stepped in slowly, as if afraid the moment might vanish if he moved too fast.

“…Seung…cheol?”

He froze.

Her voice.

So faint. So broken. But there.

“Yeah,” he choked out, stumbling forward and falling to his knees beside her bed. “Yeah, I’m here.”

She blinked slowly. Her eyes were heavy with confusion, still swimming in a haze, but they found him. Like she was clawing her way back to the surface and he was her anchor.

His hand found hers, trembling. “You’re… you’re awake.”

She gave the smallest nod. Barely there. But it was everything.

And he wept.

Outside the room, you sat on the hallway floor with two cups of coffee—yours long cold. Your legs were cramping, your back sore, but you didn’t move. You had watched him go in and hadn’t followed.

He needed this moment.

And even though your heart ached—throbbed, even—as the sounds of his voice broke through the crack in the door, you stayed. Because you knew what it meant to finally get a piece of someone you thought you’d already lost.

You lowered your head, pressing your forehead to your knees.

And when he came out an hour later, his eyes swollen, cheeks streaked with tears—but smiling for the first time since you met him—you looked up and gave him one back.

It was small. Wobbly. But real.

“She said my name,” he whispered.

You stood slowly, offering the cup to him.

“I’m so happy for you, Cheol.”

He took it, their fingers brushing, his smile faltering just a bit.

“And your grandma?”

“She’s…” Your voice caught. You cleared your throat. “She’s getting worse.”

The silence held everything that couldn’t be said. A strange mirror. One of them rising. One of them falling.

Seungcheol reached out and touched your wrist. Gently. “You’ve been so strong.”

You looked down at the floor, then back up, your eyes shimmering. “I’m trying. It’s like... I don’t want her to go, but I also don’t want her to keep hurting. And I don’t know how to exist when she’s not in the world. So I stay. And I hope she sees me, even for a second.”

He nodded, his heart splitting open at the seams.

You looked at him, then—really looked. At the hope blooming behind his tears.

You smiled through your grief. “I think she would’ve liked your girl. The way you love her. It’s rare.”

Seungcheol's lips parted, a thousand emotions crashing into each other. “You helped me hold on. Even when I didn’t want to anymore.”

Your breath hitched.

“You held me, Cheol,” you whispered. “When I needed it most.”

He stepped closer.

The air between them was thick with everything they hadn’t said. And everything they couldn’t say.

Because this wasn’t a fairytale. It wasn’t about choosing. It wasn’t about perfect timing.

It was about love in its rawest form—grief, joy, loss, connection—all tangled together in this broken little hallway.

“I don’t want you to disappear now,” you whispered.

“I won’t,” he said. “I promise.”

You took his hand, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

And in the silence, there was music. No instruments. Just hearts— Beating beside each other. Still aching. Still healing. Still hoping.

---

Seungcheol stood in the stairwell.

It was quiet there. Sterile concrete, humming fluorescent lights, the faint clinking of a janitor’s cart on a lower level. The kind of place where you could fall apart and no one would notice. Maybe not even yourself.

He ran a hand down his face, the skin beneath his eyes raw from crying, not just today but for weeks. And now—she was waking up. His girlfriend. The love of his life. The person he had sat beside, begged, bargained for.

And he felt like a fucking traitor.

Because all he could think about… was her.

Not the girl in the bed, trying to find her voice again. But the one who sat beside him at 3AM with vending machine coffee and bruises beneath her eyes. The one who whispered broken memories about pancakes and absence and a grandmother who forgot everything except love. The one who never asked anything from him except presence. And somehow that made him want to give her everything.

He pressed the heel of his palm to his chest. Right over the place it hurt most.

What if she knew?

What if the woman inside that hospital room opened her eyes fully, smiled at him with her old self again, and realized—

That while her world had been on pause, his had kept moving.

And somewhere along the way…

He’d started to fall.

The guilt came in like waves. Sharp. Unrelenting.

He thought of your laugh—that small, sad, brave thing you'd let slip in front of him that day in the courtyard.

He thought of you telling him, “You held me.”

He thought of how you never reached for him first, never asked for comfort, never once tried to cross the invisible line between grief and want. And yet he was the one who blurred it, every time he caught himself staring too long, hoping too hard, wishing things were different.

A voice broke into his thoughts.

“Cheol?”

He turned.

You stood there in the stairwell doorway, hoodie sleeves pulled over your palms, hair a little messy, eyes a lot sad.

You.

Of course it was you.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

You stepped in slowly, not expecting anything. Not demanding anything. Just there.

Like always.

“I’m happy for you,” you said softly.

“I know.”

A beat.

“You don’t look happy.”

He let out a hollow laugh. “I should be. Right? This is what I prayed for.”

You didn’t say anything. Just waited.

“I feel like I’m… cheating on her,” he finally admitted, voice cracking. “Even just standing here with you. Even thinking about you when I’m with her.”

Your gaze fell to the floor.

“I never meant to,” he said. “It just… it happened.”

You nodded. “I get it.”

“No, you don’t—”

“I do, Seungcheol,” you said, meeting his eyes. “You don’t owe me anything. I knew this wasn’t real. I knew I was just… the wrong place, the wrong time.”

He stepped forward, something desperate in his expression. “You were the only thing that felt right.”

Your breath caught.

“I just don’t know how to live in both,” he whispered. “The before and the after.”

Silence settled between them.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he said. “I don’t want to lose her. But losing you—”

He broke off, choking on the words.

You blinked back tears, chest rising and falling with the weight of every unspoken thing.

“I won’t ask you to choose,” you said gently. “But I won’t lie either. You matter to me. And if this is all it is—a hallway, a few coffees, a handful of broken nights—then I’ll take it. And I’ll let go.”

Your voice cracked like glass.

“Just don’t pretend it meant nothing.”

Seungcheol stepped closer, eyes shining. “I could never.”

And then—

A breath.

A heartbeat.

His forehead dropped to yours, just barely, as if touch alone might anchor him to something real.

Neither of them kissed.

But something inside them did.

And it broke. Quietly. Beautifully.

Right there on the stairwell steps of a hospital neither of them wanted to be in.

---

The hospital smelled the same as always—like antiseptic, old coffee, and waiting.

Seungcheol moved slowly down the corridor, step by step, clutching the small plastic bag of belongings the nurses had packed for his girlfriend. Discharge papers tucked beneath his arm. A bouquet of tulips from her mother poking out the side.

She was getting better.

She was going home.

And still… he felt like he was leaving something behind. No—someone.

He paused at the end of the hallway, where two paths met. One to the exit. One to the oncology wing.

The bag crinkled in his grip as he stood there, torn in a silence that pressed into his ribs.

He hadn't seen you since that night on the stairwell.

You.

The one who’d cracked his chest open and shown him he still had a heart, even while it bled.

The one who sat beside him when his world was ending, and gave him pieces of her own shattered one just so he wouldn't drown alone.

He’d meant to go back.

He wanted to go back.

But life has a way of moving without asking if you're ready.

The next morning, the room was empty. Your name scratched off the whiteboard. No answers. No goodbye.

He’d asked a nurse. She looked away. "I'm sorry. The patient in Room 204 passed away in the night. Family discharged shortly after."

And that was it.

Just like that, you were gone.

And he never got to say goodbye.

Now, days later, as he stood there at the fork in the hallway, everything in him screamed to turn around. To check. To hope that maybe somehow, somehow, you'd still be there.

But you weren't.

You had left.

And so had your grandmother.

All that remained was the memory of that last vending machine smile—the one with the tears hiding just beneath.

The sound of your voice when you said, “Just don’t pretend it meant nothing.”

God, if you only knew. If you knew what you meant. If you knew what you took with you.

“Seungcheol?” his girlfriend called softly from behind, her voice weaker than he remembered but full of cautious hope.

He turned slowly.

She was standing just outside her room, hair brushed back, wearing the soft hoodie he used to sleep in when she first went under.

Her eyes searched his face. “Are you ready?”

He looked at her.

This girl he’d loved. Still loved, maybe. But not in the same way.

Not in the way that twisted and broke and healed. Not in the way that made him want to live again.

He offered a small nod and walked toward her.

They exited the hospital slowly, carefully, like the world was something they weren’t sure how to re-enter.

Outside, the sky was a dull gray.

A car waited at the curb.

He placed her bag in the trunk, then helped her into the passenger seat.

But before he closed the door, he glanced back.

One last time.

Toward the entrance. Toward the hallway. Toward a girl who wasn’t there.

And in that one look… everything ached.

You would never know how often he still looked for you in crowds. How sometimes he woke up wanting to tell you something, only to remember he couldn’t. How even in someone else’s recovery, he felt like he lost something irreplaceable.

He closed the door gently.

And with it, their story.

Not with fire. Not with fanfare. But with a quiet kind of sorrow. The kind that lingers.

The kind that asks, What if?

And never gets an answer.

---

[wonwoosmagnetic]

No Saints Here | kmg

Pairing : bodyguard!mingyu x rich!reader

Genre : angst, romance, mystery

synopsis :

Some secrets are meant to stay buried. Some love stories were never meant to begin.

Evangeline Perez thought she buried the past along with her sister. But when whispers of the truth resurface, she finds herself tangled in a web of secrets, power, and deception—one that could cost her everything.

Mingyu is a complication she never asked for. Cold, relentless, and far too protective, he’s determined to keep her from chasing ghosts. But Eva has never been one to obey orders, and the deeper she digs, the harder it becomes to ignore the tension pulling them together.

Because some things refuse to stay in the dark.

And some hearts are doomed from the start.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Elias leaned back against the sleek leather chair in his father’s private study, fingers tapping idly against the armrest. The morning sun filtered through the large window, casting sharp lines across the mahogany desk. His father had been here just moments ago, leaving behind the scent of his expensive cologne and the suffocating weight of his expectations.

The conversation still echoed in his mind.

"You are running out of time, Elias."

"I have it under control."

"You better. I won’t clean up after you if this falls apart."

His jaw clenched at the memory. It was always like this—every conversation a test, every test a reminder that he was just another piece on the board, meant to move strategically or be discarded entirely.

But it didn’t matter. Not yet. Not when he was so close.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

Finally.

He straightened, smoothing his expression into something neutral. The door creaked open, and Eva stepped inside.

Elias barely had time to process her arrival before his gaze flickered past you—and landed on him.

Mingyu.

Standing just behind you, shoulders squared, expression unreadable but undeniably present.

Elias’s grip tightened around the armrest, irritation flaring hot in his chest. “Are you serious?” His voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet room. “You brought him?”

You exhaled, already bracing yourself. “Elias—”

“No.” He shot up from his chair, eyes narrowing at you. “You were supposed to come alone.”

Mingyu didn’t so much as flinch. He remained by the door, arms crossed over his chest like he had every right to be here.

You lifted your chin. “That wasn’t an option.”

Elias scoffed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Unbelievable. What, is he your personal shadow now?”

“He wasn’t going to let me meet you alone,” you bit out, voice sharp but steady.

Elias let out a humorless laugh. “And you let him? Since when do you let people make decisions for you?”

“Since I don’t have a fucking choice,” You snapped.

The tension between them thickened. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, slowly, Elias exhaled, shaking his head. “So what, I’m just supposed to trust him now?”

You didn’t waver. “Yes.”

Mingyu met Elias’s glare, silent but unwavering.

Elias’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t convinced. Not yet. But whatever this was—it was far from over.

---

The café was buzzing with quiet chatter, the scent of freshly brewed coffee lingering in the air. You stirred your drink absentmindedly, your mind a million miles away, while Caro sat across from you, eyes narrowed in concern.

“You’re acting weird,” Caro muttered, tapping her nails against her cup. “Weirder than usual, I mean.”

You blinked, dragging herself back into the present. “I’m fine.”

Caro scoffed. “Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.”

Before you could argue, her phone vibrated on the table. A message.

She glanced down, her breath hitching.

Unknown Number I know what you did.

Attached was a picture.

A grainy, black-and-white shot of you slipping into the file room.

The blood drained from your face.

“Eva?” Caro’s voice was softer now, the teasing gone. “What’s wrong?”

You locked the screen and forced a smile. “Nothing.”

But your fingers curled tightly around the phone, your heart hammering in your chest.

Someone was watching.

And they wanted you to know.

"How's your cat?"

Caro blinked at you, clearly caught off guard. “My… cat?”

You nodded stiffly, forcing yourself to focus on anything but the icy dread seeping into your veins. “Yeah. You know. The little gremlin that tries to claw my face off whenever I come over.”

Caro frowned. “You mean Biscuit?”

You latched onto the topic like a lifeline. “Yes. Biscuit. How’s he?”

Caro’s frown deepened. “You hate Biscuit.”

You let out a short, breathless laugh. “Hate is a strong word.”

“You called him a ‘demon in a fur coat’ last week.”

Your grip on her phone tightened. “Well, I’ve been reconsidering my stance on demons.”

Caro tilted her head, suspicion creeping into her expression. “Okay, what the hell is going on?”

You waved a hand, too fast, too unnatural. “Nothing. Just making conversation.”

Caro narrowed her eyes. “Right. Because you suddenly care about my cat. Who you’ve never once asked about before.”

You could feel the weight of your phone in her palm, the message burning in the back of your mind. Someone was watching you. Someone had proof. And you had no idea who it was.

But you couldn’t let Caro know.

"I am a changed person."

Caro snorted, crossing her arms. “Yeah? Since when?”

You smirked, even as your pulse pounded in her throat. “Since approximately five minutes ago.”

Caro arched a brow. “Oh, so this is fresh delusion.”

You shrugged, gripping your phone tighter. “I prefer the term ‘personal growth.’”

Caro stared at you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. Then she sighed, shaking her head. “You’re acting weird.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m always weird.”

“This is different.”

You forced a laugh. “Maybe I had an epiphany about life. Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf.”

Caro gave her a flat look. “Or maybe you’re deflecting.”

Your smirk faltered for half a second. Just long enough for Caro’s eyes to narrow.

Before she could press further, you pushed yourself to your feet, stretching your arms overhead like you had not a single care in the world. “Well, this has been fun, but I have places to be.”

Caro stood too, not buying it for a second. “Eva—”

“Say hi to Biscuit for me,” You interrupted, spinning on your heel and heading for the door.

You needed to be alone. Needed to think.

Because someone out there knew what you had done.

And if they had gone through the trouble of warning you—

That meant they weren’t done with you yet.

--

You rushed into the parking lot, your pulse pounding as you yanked out her phone. The message burned on the screen—a picture of you sneaking into the files room. A warning. I know what you did.

Your stomach twisted. Someone had been watching. Someone who wasn’t Mingyu. Someone who wasn’t Elias.

You pressed the call button, barely breathing as the line rang once before clicking.

"Where are you?" 

"At the estate. Caroline told me she was just taking you to her's... are you both outside?"

You ignored the question. “Can you come pick me?”

A pause. Then, firm, steady, "I'm there."

Minutes later, the familiar low hum of an engine filled the air. His car pulled up, headlights slicing through the dark. The second the door unlocked, you slipped inside, exhaling sharply.

“Drive.”

Mingyu didn’t move. His hands tightened on the wheel, his eyes scanning your face. “Eva.”

You shook your head. “Just—please.”

He exhaled through his nose, jaw tight, but didn’t push. Instead, he shifted gears, the car peeling out of the lot with a sharp turn.

The silence was suffocating. You could feel his frustration, simmering, pressing against your skin.

Then, finally—

“You’re not doing shit for him.”

You blinked. “What?”

Mingyu’s grip on the wheel was vice-like. “Elias. Whatever the hell he asked you to do, it’s not happening.”

You stayed quiet, staring ahead.

His voice darkened. “I’m serious, Eva.”

You turned to him, eyes flashing. “I can handle myself.”

“That’s not the point.” He shot you a hard look. “The point is that you shouldn’t have to.”

You opened you mouth, but the words caught in her throat.

Mingyu shook his head, fingers drumming against the wheel. “He’s using you.”

You clenched your fists, looking away. “I don’t have a choice.”

Mingyu exhaled, slow and sharp. “There’s always a choice.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Because, you weren't sure if that was true.

--

Seungcheol stood in his father’s office, the air thick with tension. The heavy oak desk between them did nothing to soften the weight of his father’s gaze—cold, calculated, assessing.

“You’ve been… distracted.” His father leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping against the polished wood.

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched. “I don’t know what you mean.”

A low hum of amusement. “Don’t insult me, son.” His father’s eyes gleamed with something unreadable. “First, you make a scene at the gala. Now, I hear you’ve been sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Seungcheol forced himself to stay still. To not react. “I didn’t realize dancing required your approval.”

His father’s lips curled. “It’s not about the dance, and you know it.”

Silence stretched between them, taut as a wire.

Then—

“You forget your place.” His father’s voice dropped, quiet, but sharp enough to cut. “I raised you to be above them. To lead. Not to get caught up in childish… distractions.”

Seungcheol’s stomach twisted. He knew what this was really about. Knew who this was about.

Caro.

He gritted his teeth. “It’s none of your concern.”

His father’s expression darkened. “Everything you do is my concern.”

Seungcheol held his gaze, fists tightening at his sides. He wanted to argue. To fight. But he knew how this conversation would end—how it always ended.

With his father having the last word.

Sure enough, his father exhaled, leaning forward slightly. “I won’t warn you again, Seungcheol. You will focus on your responsibilities. You will stop wasting time on meaningless things.” A pause. Then, quieter, more pointed— “And you will remember who you are.”

His father exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I blame your mother for this.”

Seungcheol’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t take the bait.

His father leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “You have too much of her softness, her sentimentality. It makes you weak.”

Seungcheol’s fists curled at his sides. “I’m not weak.”

His father scoffed. “No? Then explain why you’re letting yourself be dragged into your sister’s mess.”

Seungcheol’s jaw ticked. “Evangeline knows what she’s doing.”

“She’s a liability,” his father sneered. “Reckless, ungrateful, embarrassing. Just like her mother.”

Seungcheol didn’t think—he just reacted.

His palm slammed against the desk, rattling the crystal decanter. “Watch your mouth.”

His father’s eyes flickered with something dark—amusement, maybe, or warning. “You dare—”

“I won’t stand here and let you talk about her like that.” His voice was low, shaking with barely restrained anger. “She is smarter than you give her credit for. Smarter than half the men in this room.”

The words barely registered before—

SMACK.

Seungcheol’s head snapped to the side, his cheek burning. The room went silent.

His father slowly lowered his hand, fixing his cuff like nothing had happened. “You will not raise your voice at me again.”

Seungcheol stood still, breathing hard, fists clenched so tight his nails dug into his palms.

His father straightened. “You will stay in line. You will remember your place. And you will not make a fool of this family again.”

Seungcheol forced himself to swallow the rage clawing at his throat. He gave a sharp nod, turning on his heel.

But as he walked out of that office, something settled inside him.

He would not forget this.

Seungcheol barely registered the impact until he heard her voice.

“S-Seungcheol, are you okay?”

Caro stood in front of him, eyes wide with concern. Her hands twitched at her sides, uncertain, like she wanted to reach for him but didn’t know if she should.

His jaw clenched. His cheek still burned, the sting of his father’s slap pulsing beneath his skin. The last thing he needed right now was this.

“I’m fine,” he bit out, voice sharp, clipped.

Caro frowned, eyes flickering to his cheek. “No, you’re not.”

His patience snapped. “I said I’m fine, Caro. Drop it.”

She flinched at the edge in his tone but didn’t back away. Instead, she swallowed and squared her shoulders. “Did he—”

“Don’t.” His voice was cold, warning. He didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want pity, didn’t want concern, didn’t want her looking at him like that.

Caro’s throat bobbed, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Something in him bristled at that—at the quiet understanding in her voice, at the way she just stood there, waiting for him to let her in. Like she thought she could fix this. Like she thought he could be fixed.

His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, wasn’t quite anything. “That’s cute,” he muttered. “You think you know me that well?”

Caro’s face fell, hurt flashing across her features before she masked it.

She took a small breath. “I just—I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Well, I’m not. Happy?” His voice was low, edged with frustration, with anger he didn’t know what to do with.

Caro swallowed. She looked at him for a long moment, like she was searching for something in his face—something he didn’t have to give. Then, finally, she nodded.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Message received.”

She turned to leave.

And for some reason, watching her walk away made his chest ache worse than the slap ever did.

---

You hesitated at the doorway.

Lia’s room looked untouched, like a perfectly preserved snapshot of a life that was no longer there. The bed was still neatly made, the soft lavender sheets tucked in at the corners the way Lia had liked them. Her vanity held traces of her presence—half-used perfume bottles, tubes of lipstick she’d stolen from you and never returned, a small pile of rings and earrings she’d worn and discarded without a second thought.

You stepped inside, the floorboards creaking under your weight.

It smelled the same.

The realization made her chest ache. The world had moved on without Lia, but here… here, it was like time had refused to keep going.

You ran a hand along the wooden surface of the vanity, your fingers ghosting over the delicate glass bottles, the silver hairbrush, the tiny photo strip tucked into the mirror’s corner.

It was of them.

You let out a breathless laugh, plucking it from its place. The memory surged up so vividly you could almost hear Lia’s voice.

It had been at some stupid festival. Lia had dragged her to the photo booth, giggling as they crammed inside the too-small space.

“Act natural,” Lia had whispered, and then—click.

The first frame was of you rolling her eyes as Lia grinned.

Click.

The second was Lia throwing an arm around you, yanking you close, your foreheads nearly knocking together.

Click.

The third was both of you laughing, Lia’s head thrown back, your dimples showing.

Click.

The last one—Lia pressing a dramatic kiss to your cheek while you groaned, trying (and failing) to shove her away.

Your fingers curled around the strip, your throat tightening.

“You’d be so fucking mad at me right now,” you whispered into the quiet, your voice unsteady. “Telling me to let it go, to stop running into danger. But guess what, Lia?” A small, humorless laugh escaped her lips. “I’m still the same idiot, aren’t I?”

Silence answered you.

You swallowed, blinking rapidly, but the tears slipped free anyway. You sat on the bed, gripping the photo like it was the only thing keeping you together.

“I miss you,” you murmured, your voice cracking.

You waited, like maybe if you sat there long enough, you'd hear Lia’s teasing reply, the warmth of her laughter.

But there was nothing.

After a long moment, you exhaled shakily, running a hand down your face. You needed to get it together.

Sniffing you wiped at your eyes and reached for the bedside drawer, searching for something—anything—to hold on to.

It was mostly junk. Letters from old friends, a couple of bracelets, a broken watch Lia had never fixed. You rummaged deeper, your fingers brushing against the smooth bottom of the drawer—until you felt it.

A small, folded piece of paper, tucked so deep into the corner that you almost missed it.

You pulled it out, frowning. Carefully, you unfolded it.

Your heart stilled.

A phone number.

No name. No context.

Just a string of numbers in Lia’s handwriting.

You stared at it, your breath caught in her throat.

A part of you screamed that it was nothing. But another part—one that had learned to listen to the things Lia never said out loud—knew better.

This meant something.

You stared at the small, crumpled chit in your hands, your heart hammering against your ribs. A number. Just a number. But it had been hidden—tucked away in Lia’s things like a secret meant to stay buried with her.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the paper. What did this mean? Who did it belong to?

Your chest ached.

Slowly, you reached for your phone with your free hand, your breath unsteady as you pulled up your contacts.

You hesitated only for a second before pressing call.

The line rang twice before a familiar voice answered.

“Jack,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. “I need your help.”

And just like that, the past refused to stay buried.

----

You barely had time to process Jack’s promise over the phone before the door slammed open behind you. The sharp crack of wood against the wall made you flinch.

You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?”

Seungcheol’s voice was ice, edged with something darker, something livid. You forced yourself to breathe, to school your expression as you turned to face him.

His gaze burned as he took in the room—Lia’s room, untouched, frozen in time. His fists clenched at his sides like he was holding himself back.

You lifted your chin. “I—”

“You what?” He stepped closer, his jaw tight. “You thought you’d dig around in my dead sister’s things? That you’d play detective? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Your stomach twisted, but you held your ground. “She is my sister too.”

Seungcheol scoffed, the sound sharp and cruel. “Oh, don’t give me that shit.” He shook his head, laughing bitterly. “You didn’t care about her when she was alive.”

The words hit harder than a slap.

You sucked in a breath, but Seungcheol wasn’t done.

“Where were you when she was spiraling? When she was drowning in all the shit our father put her through?” His voice rose, raw with anger. “You ignored her, Eva. You let her slip away, and now you want to act like you give a damn?”

Your nails dug into your palms. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You don’t get to play the grieving sister now. You don’t get to tear open old wounds just because you suddenly decided you need answers.”

You swallowed against the lump in your throat. “You think I don’t regret it?”

“I don’t fucking care.” His voice was low, biting. “What I care about is you sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

You opened your mouth, but he cut you off.

“Stop this, Eva.” He stepped back, like looking at you for another second was too much. “Stop playing hero before you get yourself killed.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Leaving you standing in the center of Lia’s room, alone, drowning in the weight of his words.

---

The city sprawled below, glowing like a constellation of golden lights, but you weren't looking at it. You took a slow drag of your cigarette, letting the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling, watching it dissipate into the cold night air. The buzz of the party behind you felt miles away. Out here, you could finally breathe—or pretend to, at least.

Then—footsteps.

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

Mingyu stepped beside you, leaning against the railing with a sigh, his presence solid and unwavering.

You glanced at him, arching a brow. “That’s not very bodyguard of you. Did you leave your professionalism at home?”

Mingyu didn’t look at you. “Figured you weren’t in the mood for another shadow tonight.”

You let out a low chuckle, tapping the ash off your cigarette. “How thoughtful.”

Silence stretched between them, thick but not uncomfortable. Mingyu didn’t press, didn’t demand answers like everyone else did. He just stood there, the warmth of his presence a quiet contrast to the cold air biting at your skin.

You took another drag, then exhaled sharply. “You gonna tell me to quit, too?”

Mingyu finally looked at you, his gaze steady. “No.”

That surprised you. You turned slightly, studying him. “No?”

He shrugged. “You already know it’s bad for you. You don’t need me telling you.”

Your lips twitched. “Wow. A rare moment of wisdom.”

His jaw flexed, but there was amusement flickering behind his eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. But then, just as quickly, the lightness faded. You turned your gaze back to the skyline, your grip tightening around the railing. “You think I’m stupid, don’t you?”

Mingyu frowned. “What?”

“For getting involved. For doing all this.” You gestured vaguely, cigarette still pinched between your fingers. “You think I’m reckless. That I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Mingyu exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “I think you’re playing with fire.”

Something in his voice made your chest tighten.

You swallowed, rolling your shoulders like you could shake off the weight pressing down on you. “I don’t have a choice.”

Mingyu scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s bullshit.”

You turned to glare at him. “You don’t get it.”

“Then make me.”

Your breath caught. The words hung between them, daring, waiting. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You didn’t know how to explain it—not without giving too much away, not without letting him see too much of you.

So you looked away instead, taking another slow drag, your hands suddenly unsteady.

Mingyu was still watching you, eyes sharp, searching. Then, quieter, he asked, “Is it worth it?”

You froze.

He wasn’t angry anymore. He wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding answers. He was just… asking. And that was somehow worse.

You inhaled deeply, then exhaled. “I don’t know.”

Mingyu didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, just as softly, “I think you do.”

Your throat tightened.

You flicked the cigarette away, watching the embers dim as it disappeared into the night. Then you turned to him, forcing a smirk. “You getting soft on me, Mingyu?”

He didn’t blink. “Not even a little.”

But the way he was looking at you said otherwise.

"What was she like, to you?" You asked.

Mingyu didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened, his gaze drifting past you, past the city, like he was searching for something he couldn’t quite reach.

You waited. You weren't sure why you asked—maybe because you were tired of the silence, or maybe because you just needed to hear something real. Something unfiltered.

Finally, Mingyu exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “She was... kind.” His voice was rough, like the words scraped his throat on the way out. “Too kind.”

Your chest ached. “Yeah,” you murmured. “She was.”

Mingyu hesitated, then glanced at you. “But she was also stubborn. Relentless. When she wanted something, she wouldn’t stop until she got it.” A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “Drove me insane.”

You let out a quiet breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “That sounds like her.”

“She talked about you.”

Your head snapped up. “What?”

Mingyu’s expression didn’t change. “She talked about you,” he repeated. “More than you think.”

You swallowed hard. “What did she say?”

Mingyu was silent for a moment, then he looked at you—really looked at you. “That she wanted to protect you.” His voice was softer now, the anger from before gone. “That she was scared for you.”

Your breath hitched.

Lia had been scared for you?

You shook your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. “That’s stupid,” you whispered. “She was the one in trouble.”

Mingyu didn’t say anything. He just watched you, letting the weight of his words settle between them.

You turned away, gripping the railing so tightly your knuckles went white. The night air felt suffocating now, pressing against your chest.

“She never told me,” you admitted. “Not once.”

Mingyu’s voice was quiet, steady. “Maybe she thought you already knew.”

You closed your eyes.

You hadn’t.

And now, it was too late.

You blinked away your tears. "I am a little jealous."

Mingyu huffed out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Jealous?”

You turned to face him fully, tilting your head as you exhaled smoke. “I mean, Lia got your words. She got your trust.” Your lips curled slightly, but there was no real amusement behind it. “And you don’t even talk to me.”

Mingyu’s jaw tightened, his fingers flexing against the railing. “Maybe because you don’t listen.”

You scoffed. “Oh, please.”

He turned to you then, his gaze sharp, unyielding. “I’m serious, Eva. Every time I try, you push me away.”

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you studied him—the tension in his shoulders, the exhaustion in his eyes, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for something but didn’t know if he should.

You flicked the cigarette away, watching the ember fade into the night. “Maybe I don’t want to hear it.”

Mingyu exhaled sharply. “That’s exactly my point.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken.

Then, softer—more hesitant—you spoke. “It’s easier this way.”

Mingyu didn’t look away. “For who?”

Her throat tightened.

You didn’t answer.

Because you weren't sure you knew.

---

<a/n> is it my finals week or my final week? stay tuned! (ong I am TIRED)

[wonwoosmagnetic]

The Things He Left Behind | jww

ONESHOT!

Pairing: wonwoo x hopeless oc! Warnings: heartbreak, angst Word count: 1.1k words. Synopsis: Somewhere, in another life, maybe just maybe, wonwoo doesn't let you go. Authore Note: A little drabble I wrote in between drafting my next no saints here chapter! hehe hope you like it! oc's name is chaeyoung!

You had spent years pretending he didn’t exist.

"Tell me your name." He had asked it so casually, so effortlessly, like it wasn’t the beginning of something that would ruin you. "Why?" you had asked, teasing. He had smiled, lopsided and warm. "Because I think I was meant to know you." And just like that, you had been lost.

You had erased him in every way a person could be erased—deleted his number, blocked his calls, ripped every reminder of him from your life.

But before you erased him, he had been everywhere. His laughter in your ears. His touch on your skin. His promises—so soft, so real—that you had been foolish enough to believe in. "You’ll stay?" you had whispered once, buried in his arms, afraid of the answer. And he had kissed your forehead. "Always."

You had spent every second since trying to forget.

And for a while, it worked.

Until tonight.

Until now.

Until the moment you heard your name.

"Love isn’t real." He had said it so casually, as if the words weren’t a knife. They were lying in his bed, tangled in sheets and moonlight, your fingers tracing patterns against his bare shoulder. You had looked at him then, waiting for the teasing smile, the flicker of hesitation. But there was none. Just quiet certainty. "You don’t believe in it?" you had whispered, voice small. "No." You could have left right then. You should have. But instead, you pressed closer. "That’s okay," you had said. "I’ll believe enough for the both of us."

You had been moving through the city like a ghost, head down, heart carefully buried somewhere it couldn’t be reached. The streets were alive, chaotic, full—voices and neon lights colliding in a blur of sound. The kind of noise that made it easier to breathe, easier to pretend that nothing was missing.

But then—

"Chaeyoung."

Soft. Familiar.

A voice you had sworn you would never hear again.

Your heart stopped.

No. No, it can’t be.

But you turned anyway.

And he was there.

"Promise me." His voice had been raw that night, his fingers tight around yours, desperate. "Promise me we’ll always find our way back." And you had smiled, because you had been naïve, because you had believed that love was enough. "I promise."

You felt sick.

You had spent so long trying to forget him, to convince herself that he was just a ghost, a figment of your past that couldn’t hurt you anymore.

But he wasn’t a ghost.

He was here.

And he was looking at you.

And the worst part?

He wasn’t alone.

"You’ll leave one day," he had told you once, arms crossed, gaze unreadable. You had shaken your head, smiling as if it was the easiest truth in the world. "No, I won’t." His jaw had clenched then, eyes flickering with something unreadable. "You say that now." "I mean it." But it didn’t matter. He never believed you. Never trusted that someone could want him without conditions, without expectations. So he kept his walls high, locked every door, kept you at a safe distance even when you were right beside him. And you let him. You had been so desperate just to be near him that you accepted every cold shoulder, every dismissive word, every quiet rejection masked as indifference. Because you thought one day he would see. That one day he would believe in love, too. But he had.

You breath hitched.

The world kept moving, kept spinning, but you—you were stuck.

Because he was standing right there, close enough to touch, close enough that you could almost imagine it had all been a nightmare, that none of it was real, that you could still reach for him and—

But then you saw her.

The girl beside him.

The one with her hand in his.

The diamond on the woman’s hand catches the light, and your stomach twists violently.

Because now, you know.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t love. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how.

He just didn’t want to love you.

And suddenly, you couldn’t breathe.

"You’ll forget me," you had whispered. He had laughed, shaking his head. "How could I?" But now— Now you were nothing but a forgotten name on his lips.

He blinked. For a second—just a second—he looked almost surprised to see you. Like he hadn’t been expecting this, like he hadn’t considered what it would mean to run into you again.

And then—

His fingers curled tighter around the other girl’s hand.

And just like that—

You knew.

"Wonwoo, I love you." You voice cracked, but you didn’t care. You were past the point of pride, past the point of pretending this didn’t hurt. Your heart was breaking in real time, splintering into pieces right in front of him, and he just stood there. You took a shaky breath, stepping closer, searching his face for something—anything. A reaction, a flicker of emotion, even pity. "Why can’t you love me too?" Your voice was louder this time, desperation bleeding into every syllable. "Why can’t you just—" you stopped, pressing a trembling hand to your chest. "Just say something, Wonwoo. Just—please." He looked at you. For a minute too long. And you thought, maybe this is it. Maybe he would finally let himself feel, let himself see you the way you had always seen him. Maybe he would reach for you, pull you close, whisper something that could make all this worth it. But then— He blinked. Turned around. And walked away. No hesitation. No final words. No second glance. The air left your lungs. You stood there, frozen, watching as he disappeared, waiting for him to stop, to turn back, to realize. He didn’t.

The crowd surged.

A wave of people moved between them, breaking them apart, tearing her away from him before you could even think, before you could even move.

You stumbled back, your chest caving in, your hands shaking.

No. No, no, no—

You pushed forward, desperate, needing to see him, needing to find him—

And then—

There.

He was still there.

Still standing in the same spot.

Still looking at you.

But this time—

He wasn’t reaching for you.

He wasn’t fighting the crowd, wasn’t calling your name, wasn’t trying.

He was just watching.

And then—

He turned.

And walked away.

With her.

"We’ll always find our way back." But they hadn’t. He had found someone else instead.

Your vision blurred. Your fingers curled into fists.

You could run after him.

You could call his name.

You could fight against the tide, push through the crowd, make him remember.

But you didn’t.

You just stood there.

Because this—this was how it ended.

Not with screaming. Not with a fight. Not with desperate pleas or broken promises.

But with him walking away—and not looking back.

And that— That was what hurt the most.

----

[wonwoosmagnetic]

No Saints Here | kmg

Pairing : bodyguard!mingyu x rich!reader

Genre : angst, romance, mystery

synopsis :

Some secrets are meant to stay buried. Some love stories were never meant to begin.

Evangeline Perez thought she buried the past along with her sister. But when whispers of the truth resurface, she finds herself tangled in a web of secrets, power, and deception—one that could cost her everything.

Mingyu is a complication she never asked for. Cold, relentless, and far too protective, he’s determined to keep her from chasing ghosts. But Eva has never been one to obey orders, and the deeper she digs, the harder it becomes to ignore the tension pulling them together.

Because some things refuse to stay in the dark.

And some hearts are doomed from the start.

CHAPTER SIX

You grit your teeth, digging deeper, flipping through files—

Then, suddenly—

A presence.

A shadow loomed behind you, blocking the dim light from the doorway.

You froze.

“Tell me you’re not this fucking stupid.”

Mingyu.

His voice was low, quiet—but burning with barely restrained anger.

Your grip on the open drawer tightened, your heart slamming against your ribs.

Shit.

You turned slowly, schooling your expression into one of feigned innocence. “It’s not what it looks like.”

His jaw clenched. “Then tell me—what the hell is it?”

You straightened your shoulders, refusing to shrink beneath his glare. “I—”

“Don’t.” His voice was cold, cutting through the air like a blade. “Don’t lie to me.”

You swallowed, your fingers twitching at your sides. “I’m not—”

Mingyu was in front of you in two long strides, towering over you, the weight of his presence suffocating. His voice dropped lower, quieter, but no less furious.

“You’re reckless,” he bit out. “Do you have any idea what will happen if someone else finds you here?”

You tilted your chin up defiantly. “Then it’s a good thing you’re the one who did.”

Mingyu exhaled sharply through his nose, his frustration palpable. “You think this is funny?”

You smirked, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “A little.”

His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist—not harshly, but firmly. “We’re leaving.”

You yanked your arm back. “I’m not done.”

“Yes. You are.” His grip tightened ever so slightly. “You’re coming with me. Now.”

You glared at him, your pulse hammering. “Or what?”

His expression darkened. “Do you really want to find out?”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them crackled with tension—thick, suffocating, dangerous.

Then, footsteps echoed down the hall.

Your breath caught. Mingyu cursed under his breath.

Without thinking, he grabbed your waist and pulled you against him, backing them both into the shadows between the shelves.

His grip was unyielding, his body heat searing against hers. She could feel his breath on her cheek, the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

Her heart pounded.

The footsteps stopped.

You didn’t dare move.

Neither did Mingyu.

And then—

The door handle rattled.

The door creaked open. Mingyu’s grip on your waist remained firm as they pressed deeper into the shadows between the shelves. You could feel the tension radiating from him, the controlled rise and fall of his chest against your back.

A pair of heels clicked against the marble floor.

“I understand, sir.” The voice was smooth, professional—your father’s secretary. “Yes. I’ll confirm with the shipment team, but the package is already in transit.”

You frowned. Shipment?

Mingyu was as still as stone behind you, his body locked in silent tension.

“No, sir,” the woman continued, the faint glow of her phone screen casting shadows on the shelves. “Everything is moving as planned. We don’t want a repeat of last time.” A pause. “Yes. Mr. Moon was understanding, but if it had been anyone else, we wouldn’t have been able to contain it.”

Your stomach twisted. 

“Lia.” The secretary’s voice dropped lower, almost hesitant. “Yes, sir. I know. It was unfortunate.” Another pause. “Of course, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

You felt like the floor had just slipped out from under you.

Lia.

Your breath caught, and instinctively, you shifted—just a fraction, but Mingyu noticed. His hand pressed against your hip, a silent warning. Stay still.

The secretary turned slightly, eyes flicking toward the shelves as if sensing something.

You clenched your jaw. If they were caught now—

But after a moment, the woman exhaled. “Yes, sir. I’ll oversee it personally.”

The door handle clicked. A second later, the room was empty again.

Silence.

Then—

Mingyu released you like you burned him. You turned sharply, heart still hammering against your ribs, but his expression was unreadable.

“Lia,” you whispered. “What the hell was she talking about?”

Mingyu’s jaw clenched. “Not here.”

You swallowed. You didn’t trust him, not fully—not yet. But you knew one thing: whatever this was, it was bigger than you.

And you were going to find out the truth.

"Then help me find that fucking file," You hissed, stepping closer, your voice low but urgent.

Mingyu’s eyes flashed with anger, his stance unyielding. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?” he whispered harshly. “You heard what she just said.”

You clenched your jaw. “Exactly. Which is why I need to find that file.”

Mingyu let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “No. What you need to do is walk out of here before you make this worse for yourself.” His voice was quieter now, but no less firm. “You don’t even know what you’re looking for.”

Your fingers curled into fists. “I know enough.”

His jaw ticked. “No, you don’t. You’re grasping at straws, Eva.”

Your breath hitched at the way he said your name—low, like a warning. But you refused to let it shake you. “If you’re not going to help me, then get out of my way.”

Mingyu let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You don’t get it, do you?” He stepped closer, closing the already suffocating space between them. “You think you’re in control of this? That you can just walk in here, dig around, and what? You’ll find the truth? And then what, Eva?” His voice dropped lower, sharper. “What are you going to do with it?”

You exhaled through your nose, refusing to waver under his scrutiny. “I’ll figure it out.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“It’s all I have!” The words ripped from you, your voice raw, cracking at the edges.

For the first time, Mingyu stilled. His brows pulled together, his gaze flickering over your face like he was seeing something he hadn’t before.

Mingyu’s breath came sharp, his chest rising and falling with restrained frustration. His fingers twitched at his sides like he was fighting the urge to grab you, shake some sense into you. But for the first time since walking into this room, he didn’t have another sharp retort waiting on his tongue.

You had never begged for anything in your life.

And yet, here you were—eyes burning, voice barely above a whisper, asking him for something he didn’t even know how to give.

His throat bobbed. “Eva…”

“Please,” you repeated, voice steadier this time, but just as desperate. “I need to know.”

Mingyu clenched his jaw so tightly it ached. Because he didn’t know. Because he didn’t have the answers you were searching for. Because despite everything—despite knowing you were reckless and stubborn and walking a thin line that could break beneath you at any second—he didn’t want to watch you shatter.

And yet—

“This isn’t safe,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, tension radiating off him in waves. “You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be doing this.”

Your lips parted, a bitter laugh escaping. “And yet, here you are. Stopping me instead of helping me.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “I don’t even know what the fuck you’re looking for, Eva.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, turning back to the open drawer, the stacks of files blurred in her vision. “Then help me find out.”

Mingyu dragged a hand down his face. This was insanity. He was supposed to be protecting you—from people who wanted to hurt you, from threats lurking in the shadows. Not from yourself.

And yet, the way you were looking at him now—like he was the only lifeline you had left—made something in his resolve crack.

He cursed under his breath. “We have five minutes.”

"Actually three. Three minutes before Jack turns the lights back on."

Mingyu let out a sharp breath, muttering another curse. “Three minutes? Are you fucking kidding me?”

You shot him a look before turning back to the drawers, your fingers trembling slightly as you yanked them open. “If you’re not gonna help, at least don’t waste my time.”

Mingyu’s jaw tightened, his broad frame blocking part of the dim light filtering through the cracked door. “I shouldn’t be helping you at all.”

“And yet,” you snapped, rifling through the files, “you’re still here.”

His glare burned into the side of your face, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Pages flipped beneath you fingers, document after document, none of them the one youy needed.

Two minutes.

Mingyu exhaled sharply, then stepped closer, his hand brushing against the edge of a file as he scanned the labels. He wasn’t even sure what the hell he was looking for.

“This is insane,” he muttered under his breath.

You ignored him.

Then—

Her fingers stilled.

Project Dominion – Financial Records

Her heart lurched. This was it. The file Elais wanted.

One minute.

You yanked it out, barely breathing as she flipped through the contents. She didn’t have time to process all of it—just enough to confirm the details, the numbers, the undeniable proof of whatever her father was doing. 

Mingyu’s voice cut through the haze. “Eva, we have to go. Now.”

You hesitated. Just for a second.

His hand closed around your wrist—more rough than firm. “Eva.”

Thirty seconds.

Your pulse roared in your ears as you shoved the file into your clutch.

Mingyu was already moving, pulling you toward the door.

Fifteen seconds.

You exhaled sharply, casting one last glance at the room before slipping out into the dark hallway.

And just as the door clicked shut behind them—

The lights flickered back on.

Mingyu barely had time to process what was happening before you pulled out your phone and pressed it to your ear.

Her voice was steady, cold. “Yes, I have it.”

He stiffened beside her, every muscle coiled tight. What the fuck was she doing?

You turned slightly, angling your body away as you listened. A pause. Then, your lips curled slightly—not quite a smirk, not quite anything he could place. “They’ll be in your inbox in ten.”

Mingyu’s patience snapped. “What the hell was that?”

Not your business.”

His teeth clenched. “Like hell it isn’t. You just stole something, Eva. And now you’re making deals?”

“I’m handling it.”

“You’re—” He let out a bitter laugh, running a hand down his face. “Do you even hear yourself?”

You rolled your eyes, already walking. “Save the lecture, bodyguard.”

He grabbed you again—this time by the arm, turning her to face him. “You think this is a game?”

Your breath hitched. “Let me go.”

He didn’t. Not yet. His fingers pressed into the fabric of your dress, his expression dark. “Tell me who was on the phone.”

Eva tilted her chin up. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Silence crackled between them.

Then, after a long moment—

Mingyu exhaled, jaw tight. “You will if you want me to say quiet.”

---

You barely had time to breathe before Caro appeared at your side, slipping her arm through your's with a familiar ease—except this time, there was tension in the way her fingers curled around your wrist.

“There you are,” Caro said, her voice light but edged with something sharper. “Where the hell did you disappear to?”

You swallowed, forcing your expression into something unreadable. “Just needed some air.”

Caro hummed, unconvinced. “Right. Air.”

You glanced at her, only to find Caro already watching you, gaze searching. It made something twist uncomfortably in your chest.

Caro sighed, her grip loosening. “You could’ve told me, you know.”

You stiffened. “Told you what?”

Caro let out a small, humorless laugh, looking away. “Never mind.”

The air between them thickened, heavy with words neither of them were saying.

Then—

“Ms. Perez”

A voice interrupted them. A man—one of her father’s associates, charming and slick, stepping in front of her with an outstretched hand. “Care to dance?”

You blinked, caught off guard. You hesitated, glancing at Caro for just a second—

And in that second, you saw it.

The way Caro’s expression fell, just slightly. The way her fingers twitched like she wanted to reach for you but thought better of it. The way something small and fragile inside her seemed to crack.

But Caro just smiled, the same way she always did, and stepped back.

“Go,” she said, voice soft, forcing brightness into it. “You should.”

You hesitated.

But the man was already waiting, and the weight of the room—the expectations, the eyes—pushed you forward.

You let him take your hand.

And as you were wept away onto the dance floor, you caught one last glimpse of Caro, standing alone, her hands clasped in front of her, her smile frozen in place.

And it broke something in you, too.

---

Seungcheol wasn’t looking for her.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

But his eyes still found Caroline across the ballroom, standing alone near the gilded columns, her expression carefully neutral—except for the way her fingers curled slightly into the fabric of her dress, like she was holding herself together.

His brows furrowed.

She looked… small. Smaller than usual.

He took a step forward, the instinct to go to her—say something, anything—taking over before he could think twice.

And then—

“Seungcheol.”

A delicate hand curled around his wrist, stopping him.

Aurelia Graham.

She was smiling up at him, the kind of poised, practiced smile that belonged in rooms like this. “Dance with me?”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering back to Caro. She still hadn’t moved, still standing there with that unreadable look on her face.

Aurelia followed his line of sight, and something in her expression turned sharper, lips curving into something almost amused. “Oh, Mr. Perez,” she tutted, leaning in slightly. “You shouldn’t waste your time.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened. “What?”

She gestured subtly in Caro’s direction, her voice dropping to a whisper just for him. “Girls like her… they don’t belong here. And if you want to keep your reputation intact, you’d do well to remember that.”

A flash of anger surged through him.

His grip on Aurelia's hand almost loosened—almost—but then, across the room, Caro shifted.

She had heard.

She had definitely heard.

Her shoulders tensed, and before she could stop herself, she curled inward just the slightest bit—shrinking, like she always did when the world around her reminded her that she was out of place.

Something inside him twisted.

Aurelia was still waiting for an answer, still standing too close, still looking at him like she expected him to agree.

And Caro—

Caro was already looking away.

Aurelia barely had time to react before Seungcheol gently pulled his wrist from her grasp.

“Pardon me, Ms. Graham,” he said smoothly, his tone polite but distant—final.

Then, before he could think better of it, he stepped past her and toward Caro.

Her head snapped up, eyes widening as he reached for her hand.

“I’d rather dance with the realest person in this room.”

Caro froze.

For a second, she just stared at him, her lips parting slightly like she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

Seungcheol didn’t let go.

He felt the delicate hesitation in her fingers before, finally, slowly, she let him lead her to the dance floor.

Behind them, Aurelia scoffed, but he didn’t care.

All he cared about was the way Caro’s palm felt in his—the way she looked at him, uncertain but something else, too. Something softer.

Something real.

Seungcheol led Caro to the center of the grand hall, where couples swayed in elegant synchronization beneath the shimmering chandeliers. The music swelled around them, slow and steady, as he placed a careful hand on her waist.

Caro hesitated, her fingers barely resting on his shoulder, like she wasn’t sure she belonged here—like she wasn’t sure he was sure.

“You don’t have to do this,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

His grip on her tightened just slightly, just enough to ground her. “I want to.”

Caro swallowed, eyes flickering toward the people watching. She could feel them—feel the weight of their gazes, the judgment, the whispers just barely out of reach.

But then Seungcheol moved, guiding her into the first step of the waltz, and suddenly it was just them.

Just the warmth of his touch, the quiet steadiness in his gaze, the way his presence wrapped around her like a shield against everything else.

“You don’t have to look so nervous,” he said, voice laced with the hint of a smile. “I’m not that bad of a dancer.”

A breath of laughter escaped her, quick and unguarded. “I know you’re not.”

“Then what is it?”

She hesitated. “They’re all staring.”

He hummed, glancing around briefly before meeting her eyes again. “Let them, Carrie.”

Caro’s heart lurched. That nickname always had that effect on her.

There was no hesitation in his voice, no second-guessing. He said it like it was easy. Like he had already made his choice and wasn’t afraid of anyone knowing it.

The thought made her chest ache.

She lowered her gaze, focusing on the rhythm of their steps, the warmth of his hand in hers. The room blurred at the edges, the whispers fading into the music.

For the first time tonight, she allowed herself to exist in the moment.

And for the first time ever, she let herself wonder—just for a second—what it would be like if this wasn’t temporary.

Caro let out a quiet breath as the waltz slowed, the music swelling into its final notes. Her fingers tightened slightly against Seungcheol’s shoulder, holding onto the moment just a little longer before reality could creep back in.

She looked up at him, her lips parting before she could stop herself. “Thank you, Seungcheol.”

His eyes softened, the corners of his mouth twitching up like he meant every word before he even spoke them. “Of course,” he said simply. “You’re my sister’s best friend, after all.”

The words landed like a blow she hadn’t braced for.

Caro barely managed to keep her expression from falling, but something in her chest pulled tight, something fragile and aching.

Right. Eva's best friend. That’s all she was to him.

She forced a smile, nodding as she stepped back, slipping her hand from his grasp before he could feel how cold her fingers had become.

“Right,” she echoed, voice quieter than before. “Of course.”

She took another step back, then another, until she was no longer in the center of the dance floor—no longer under his careful gaze.

Seungcheol furrowed his brows slightly, as if sensing the shift, but she didn’t give him the chance to question it.

Because if she stayed any longer, she wasn’t sure she could keep the hurt from showing.

And the last thing she wanted was for him to see it.

----

<a/n> guys. what do we think about the cheol caro romance ;) p.s so proud of me to update so soon

taglist!

@svtrightherekids @syluslittlecrows

[wonwoosmagnetic]

No Saints Here | kmg

Pairing : bodyguard!mingyu x rich!reader

Genre : angst, romance, mystery

synopsis :

Some secrets are meant to stay buried. Some love stories were never meant to begin.

Evangeline Perez thought she buried the past along with her sister. But when whispers of the truth resurface, she finds herself tangled in a web of secrets, power, and deception—one that could cost her everything.

Mingyu is a complication she never asked for. Cold, relentless, and far too protective, he’s determined to keep her from chasing ghosts. But Eva has never been one to obey orders, and the deeper she digs, the harder it becomes to ignore the tension pulling them together.

Because some things refuse to stay in the dark.

And some hearts are doomed from the start.

CHAPTER FIVE

You could feel your father’s gaze searing into you the moment you stepped into the gala. The weight of his disapproval clung to you like a second skin, but you didn’t falter. If anything, it only made your chin tilt higher, your steps slower, more deliberate. The emerald silk of your dress cascaded around you like liquid, the high slit cutting up your thigh in a way that made every glance linger a second too long.

A statement. A provocation.

As you approached, the murmur of the room shifted, voices dipping into hushed whispers. Your father stood tall, rigid in his finely pressed suit, his expression unreadable—but the tension in his jaw spoke volumes. Beside him, your stepmother inhaled sharply, eyes widening as they raked over your attire in barely concealed horror.

“What on earth are you wearing?” she demanded, voice sharp enough to cut.

You barely spared you a glance. Instead, you met your father’s eyes, the ghost of a smirk playing on your lips. “Dior.”

Your stepmother sputtered, visibly flustered, but you had already turned your attention back to your father. He hadn’t spoken yet, hadn’t moved. He was waiting.

So were you.

“Father.”

You acknowledged him with a slight bow of your head, the act one of forced respect rather than sincerity. The weight of his gaze didn’t waver, his expression carved from stone. Around them, the whispers grew louder, hushed yet unmistakable, a symphony of judgment and curiosity.

Your stepmother’s lips pressed into a thin line, her disapproval practically radiating off her in waves. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

You merely smiled, slow and deliberate. “Isn’t that the point?”

Your father exhaled sharply through his nose, the only outward sign of irritation. He didn’t need to raise his voice—his presence alone commanded obedience. “You will behave tonight.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Have I done something wrong?”

His jaw ticked. “Eva.”

You knew that tone. A warning. A reminder of the invisible leash he expected you to abide by.

"Have I, Father?" Your smirk curled at the edges, sharp and taunting. "Sure as hell, I’m allowed to show a little more cleavage than my dear stepmother."

A scandalized gasp escaped from the woman in question, her manicured fingers clutching at her pearls like you had just spit in the champagne. Her father’s expression didn’t waver, but you saw the shift in his posture—the slight tightening of his fingers around his glass, the flicker of barely contained fury in his gaze.

“Enough.” His voice was low, even, but sharp enough to slice through the tension.

You just raised a brow, unbothered. "You’re the one who wanted me here, Father. Did you expect me to play pretend and smile pretty?"

His jaw ticked, the silence between them stretching, suffocating.

And then—

A new voice entered the conversation.

“Ah, Rafael, your daughter is quite… captivating this evening.”

Your stomach curled the moment you recognized it. Slow, deliberate, thick with a kind of amusement that felt like a hand sliding over your skin uninvited.

Victor Moreau.

One of your father’s most important business acquaintances. Old, powerful, and—most of all—someone she wanted nothing to do with.

Moreau was past seventy, draped in a suit worth more than most people made in a year. His silver hair was neatly combed back, his thin mouth curling as he let his gaze linger on you for a second too long.

You barely resisted the urge to recoil. Instead, you steeled herself and took a slow sip of your champagne, not bothering to acknowledge him.

Your father, however, turned smoothly, his expression shifting into something far more amicable. “Victor,” he greeted, shaking the man’s hand. “I trust you’re enjoying the evening?”

“Quite,” Moreau said, though his focus remained solely on you. “Your daughter is certainly adding… intrigue to the event.”

Eva’s fingers tightened around the stem of her glass.

“Indeed,” your father said, voice neutral. Then, too casually, he gestured between them. “You two haven’t danced yet, have you?”

The champagne nearly soured in your stomach.

“No, we haven’t,” Moreau said, and his smile widened. “But I’d be honored.”

The request—or rather, the command—hung in the air.

You didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Instead, you set your glass down on the nearest tray with slow precision.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” you said smoothly. “It’s been a long day, and I’m not in the mood for dancing.”

Your father’s eyes cut to you, dark and cold. “Eva.”

You met his gaze head-on. “Father.”

Moreau chuckled under his breath, the sound deep and indulgent, like he found this all very amusing.

“Oh, Rafael, don’t trouble her if she’s unwilling,” he said, though there was no real dismissal in his tone—just the quiet confidence of a man who knew he wouldn’t be denied.

Your father, predictably, smiled thinly. “Nonsense,” he said, the edge of steel slipping into his voice. “Eva would be delighted.”

Your pulse thrummed in your ears.

For a split second, you considered making a scene. Considered pushing back, loudly, in front of all these people, making it impossible for your father to save face.

But then—

“Go,” he said quietly, so that only you could hear. “Or we’ll talk about this later.”

The unspoken threat wrapped around your throat like a noose.

You inhaled slowly, then turned back to Moreau, lips curving into something dangerously close to a smirk.

“Well, then,” you said, reaching for his extended hand with fingers you wished you could break. “Shall we?”

Moreau’s grin widened as he led you toward the dance floor, his grip just a little too tight around yours.

As the music swelled and they began to move, Eva caught a familiar pair of eyes across the room.

Mingyu.

Watching. Waiting.

Your pulse skipped before you scoffed, turning your head away as Moreau’s hand pressed against your lower back.

-------

The moment Victor Moreau’s hand settled on your waist, you had to fight every instinct not to recoil. His grip was firm, fingers pressing just a fraction harder than necessary, a silent reminder of control. His other hand enveloped yours—cool, dry, and practiced.

The orchestra swelled, the haunting melody of a waltz filling the room. You forced your muscles to relax as he led you into the first steps. You had danced this routine a thousand times, had perfected the effortless grace expected of someone in your position. And yet, every movement felt calculated, like walking a razor’s edge.

“You dance beautifully,” Moreau murmured, his voice carrying that same unshakable confidence, as if your body belonged in his arms.

You smiled, the picture of composed elegance. “I’ve had years of training.”

His eyes gleamed. “It shows.”

They moved effortlessly through the dance floor, gliding between glittering chandeliers and murmuring onlookers. Moreau kept the pace steady, deliberate, ensuring you had no choice but to match him. You detested the way he controlled the rhythm, how he dictated every step.

But you played along, as you always did.

“You remind me of your sister,” he mused suddenly, his thumb grazing the fabric of your dress as he guided her through a turn. “She had the same fire in her eyes. Always so… resistant.”

Your stomach twisted.

“She never let anyone control her,” you said coolly, her mask unwavering.

Moreau chuckled, low and knowing. “Did she?”

The insinuation curdled your blood, but before you could respond, he tilted his head, studying you with an almost paternal amusement. “You’re quite the spectacle tonight, Evangeline. That dress, that defiance… Is this for someone in particular?”

Your lips curled. “Do you think I dress for anyone but myself?”

“I think,” Moreau mused, spinning you effortlessly, “that you enjoy being watched.”

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t stiffen or falter. Instead, you let your smirk deepen, playing the game right back. “Perhaps. But not by you.”

Moreau’s grip on your waist tightened just a fraction. “Careful,” he murmured, a quiet warning laced beneath his amusement.

You tilted your head, eyes gleaming. “Always.”

The waltz built to its crescendo, the final few steps unfolding with near-perfect precision. Moreau’s hand lingered just a moment too long as they reached the final movement, dipping you in a display that felt more like possession than dance.

You let him, if only to keep the facade. But the moment the music faded, you pulled back, slipping out of his grasp with practiced ease.

A smattering of applause rang through the hall. The next song was already beginning—a slower, smoother rhythm—and around them, partners shifted.

Eva turned to shift, to change the partners, but then—

A new hand clasped yours.

Firm. Familiar.

Her breath caught as she met a pair of dark, unreadable eyes.

Seungcheol.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Seungcheol’s grip was steady, his expression unreadable, but his jaw was tight, his stance just a little too rigid. Around them, the gala continued, a blur of silk and candlelight, of whispered conversations and lingering glances.

You wanted to pull away. Wanted to sneer, to turn your back and leave him standing there, but the weight of too many watching eyes forced her still.

You swallowed hard, then scoffed under your breath. “Well,” you muttered, sliding your hand into his reluctantly, “this is unfortunate.”

Seungcheol’s eyes darkened. “Agreed.”

The orchestra swelled, and with a sharp inhale, you let him lead.

Dancing with Moreau had been calculated, a performance. But dancing with Seungcheol—

It was something else entirely.

His grip was firm but not suffocating, his movements precise but not mechanical. He knew your rhythm, knew your footwork, matched you stride-for-stride as if they’d done this a hundred times before. Which, of course, they had.

Once.

A long, long time ago.

Seungcheol’s palm pressed against the small of your back, guiding you through the first turn. Your fingers curled slightly in his grasp, resisting the instinct to hold tighter, to fall into old habits.

“Father must be pleased,” you murmured, voice light but sharp. “Forcing his children to dance in front of his guests. What a charming display of unity.”

Seungcheol’s jaw flexed, his movements never faltering. “This wasn’t my choice.”

Your lips curved in something like amusement. “No, I imagine it wasn’t.”

They spun, their reflections gliding across polished marble floors, caught in the warm flicker of chandelier light.

Seungcheol exhaled sharply, gaze flickering downward before snapping back to yours. “That dress,” he muttered.

You arched a brow. “What about it?”

His grip on your waist tightened, irritation flashing in his eyes. “You know exactly what.”

You laughed, low and quiet. “Are you scandalized, big brother?”

Seungcheol’s gaze burned. “I’m not Father,” he said coldly. “I don’t care how much of a show you put on tonight.”

You smirked, but the sharp sting in his words settled deep in her ribs. “Of course not.”

Silence.

The music continued, but the space between them was thick with something else, something heavier.

Seungcheol inhaled, his shoulders stiffening. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Your smirk faded.

“And yet, here I am,” you muttered.

He studied you, searching for something in your expression. “What are you doing, Eva?” His voice was quieter now, laced with something dangerously close to frustration. “Do you even know?”

Your pulse thrummed.

For a second—just a second—something inside you wavered. The old Seungcheol was there, beneath the hardened exterior, beneath the disappointment, beneath the distance.

But then you blinked, and he was gone.

You exhaled through your nose, tilting your head. “Dancing,” you said simply. “Same as you.”

Seungcheol’s eyes flashed. “Is that what you call it?”

You hummed. “Careful, brother. You sound concerned.”

“I am,” he snapped before he could stop himself. His grip on you tightened just slightly, like he wanted to shake some sense into you. “If you weren’t so damn stubborn, you’d see—”

But he didn’t finish.

Because suddenly, the music shifted, and around them, the dancers moved again, partners slipping away into new hands.

Seungcheol tensed, his fingers twitching as if debating whether to hold on.

You smiled. “Looks like we’re done here.”

And then, before he could respond, you let go.

Spinning effortlessly into the arms of someone new.

But not before catching the flicker of something unreadable in Seungcheol’s expression.

Something you refused to look too closely at.

Not now.

Not ever.

----

Your fingers itched to push—to see how far you could go before your father snapped.

But then, you felt it.

A presence.

Steady. Unmoving.

Your pulse skipped as you gaze flickered across the room—until it landed on him.

Mingyu.

Watching. Waiting.

Something unreadable flickered behind his eyes, but you didn’t give yours the chance to decipher it. Not now. You scoffed, grabbing a champagne flute from a passing tray. “Enjoy the gala, Father.” And with that, you downed the drink in one fluid motion, the burn searing down your throat as you turned on your heel.

The moment you stepped away, you pulled out your phone.

"Jack, now."

Your voice was steady. Controlled.

The line clicked. No response. Just silence—until—

The lights cut out.

Gasps rippled through the ballroom, sharp and panicked. The grand chandeliers flickered once—twice—before plunging the entire hall into darkness. The music stuttered to a halt. Someone let out a startled yelp. Glass shattered somewhere in the distance.

You didn’t stop moving.

You knew exactly how much time you had—ten seconds before the emergency lights kicked in.

Enough.

The surveillance cameras would have stopped recording.

You slipped through the crowd, your steps quick but measured, weaving between dazed guests and disoriented guards. The moment the emergency lighting flickered on, casting eerie golden hues against the chaos, you were already at the entrance of the hall.

Then—

"Miss Perez!"

A voice. Sharp. Commanding.

One of your father’s security guards.

You didn’t flinch. You turned, letting the dim lighting cast an elegant shadow across your face, tilting your chin just so—just enough to make your look like the perfect inconvenienced heiress.

"What the hell is going on?" you demanded, voice sharp, cutting through the disarray. "Fix it. Now."

The guard hesitated. "We’re handling it, Miss, but—"

You exhaled sharply. "You’re not handling anything," you snapped. Then, you raised your voice, your next words calculated.

"Guards! There’s danger in the hall! Protect my family!"

It worked.

Years of obedience, of blind loyalty, of training not to question—they kicked in instantly.

The security team scattered, moving in unison toward the ballroom, toward the most important guests, leaving their posts undefended.

You didn’t waste another second.

You turned on your heel and strode toward your father’s office.

The corridor was darker than the ballroom, the emergency lights casting long, eerie shadows across the lavish decor. The towering paintings of her ancestors loomed overhead, their oil-painted gazes watching.

You barely suppressed a scoff. Judgment, even from the grave.

Her steps were precise. Sure.

By the time she reached the heavy oak doors, her pulse was steady.

Two guards still stood at their post.

You hated improvising.

You didn’t hesitate. Didn’t break your stride. Instead, you let irritation seep into your tone as you barked, "Follow them!"

The guards hesitated.

A flicker of uncertainty. Then—obedience.

They stepped aside. No one questioned you. They wouldn’t dare.

You pushed open the door, slipping inside as it shut behind you.

Silence.

The office was eerily quiet—only the faintest sliver of moonlight streaming through the towering windows.

You exhaled.

You moved swiftly, your heels barely making a sound as you crossed the room.

You knew exactly where to look.

First drawer. Nothing. Second. Useless. Third—

Bingo.

Your father’s scanner ID glinted under the soft light.

The key to his world.

You reached for it—

Then stopped.

A noise.

The faintest shift in the air.

Eva’s breath hitched.

Someone was outside.

A shadow under the door.

Your pulse spiked.

Your father’s security was still busy dealing with the staged "threat"—which meant whoever was outside was not a guard.

You didn’t have time to think.

Your gaze flickered toward the balcony doors.

Move.

You didn’t hesitate. Slipping toward the glass doors, you flicked the latch and stepped onto the stone balcony, the cool night air biting at her skin.

You had seconds.

Your stomach twisted. You had to move.

You turned, gripping the balcony railing—

And swung yourself over the edge.

The wind whipped against your skin, your fingers catching onto the stone ledge below. Pain shot up your arms, your muscles screaming in protest.

Don’t look down.

The drop was a few stories. If you slipped—

No.

You gritted your teeth and climbed, one hand over the other, shifting sideways along the ledge.

You needed an open window.

A few feet away, you spotted one.

You swung your leg forward—kicked.

The glass cracked but didn’t shatter.

You kicked again.

This time, it gave way.

You climbed inside, your heels hitting the marble floor in an empty, dimly lit hallway.

Footsteps.

Coming closer.

You straightened, smoothing the fabric of your dress. By the time the guards turned the corner, you looked bored. Annoyed. Completely unbothered.

"Miss Perez?"

One of them stepped forward.

You exhaled sharply, rolling your eyes. "For god’s sake, I stepped outside for fresh air and now half the security team is acting like I started a war."

The guard hesitated.

"We heard something break—"

You scoffed. "Yes. The champagne glass I dropped. Now, unless you want to explain to my father why you’re wasting your time on me instead of handling the blackout, I suggest you go."

A pause.

Then—obedience.

"Of course, Miss Perez."

You didn’t wait for them to leave. You strode past them, heading for the ballroom, the stolen scanner ID pressed against your skin.

Your father had no idea what was coming next.

---

You exhaled sharply, your fingers curling around the stolen scanner ID.

The heavy weight of it in your palm sent a rush of triumph through your veins.

This was it.

One step closer.

You didn’t allow yourself to revel in it for too long. Every second counted.

Tightening your grip, you turned swiftly and slipped back into the dimly lit corridor, your heels clicking softly against the marble floor. The security room—the one storing the classified files—was just down the hall.

You had mapped out every inch of this place long before tonight. You knew the route. The guards' shifts. The blind spots.

But knowing wasn’t the same as executing.

Your heart pounded against your ribs as you moved.

One mistake—one wrong step—and you wouldn’t just be caught. You'd be ruined.

You reached the end of the corridor. Left turn. Twelve steps. Second door on the right.

The security room.

The door loomed ahead, sleek and unmarked, blending seamlessly into the lavish architecture. To the untrained eye, it was nothing. But you weren't untrained. You knew exactly what lay beyond that door.

Everything.

Steadying your breath, she pulled out the scanner ID and swiped it against the panel.

A soft beep.

Then—

The lock clicked open.

You slipped inside, shutting the door behind you in one fluid motion.

The room was small, cold, illuminated by the soft glow of multiple screens. Security monitors flickered in real-time—or they would have, had Jack not killed the feeds.

You exhaled. Good. That gave you more time.

You didn’t hesitate. The air inside was cold, humming with the soft buzz of the security system. Floor-to-ceiling shelves loomed before you, towering rows of locked drawers, classified documents, secrets buried beneath dust and metal.

You had minutes.

Moving quickly, you scanned the labels, your fingers trailing over the sleek surfaces. Come on. Where are you?

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you flipped through files—faster, more desperate with each passing second. You couldn’t leave empty-handed.

Then—

A presence.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose.

The dim light from the doorway vanished—blocked by something large, unmoving.

You knew before you even turned.

The voice that followed sent ice through your veins.

“Tell me you’re not this fucking stupid.”

Mingyu.

----

(a/n) : I am so scared for this chapter that I think I delayed it too long..I think I went a little too overboard with the 'action' HELP

[wonwoosmagnetic]

No Saints Here | MASTERLIST

Pairing : bodyguard!mingyu x rich!reader

Genre : angst, romance, mystery

Synopsis :

Some secrets are meant to stay buried. Some love stories were never meant to begin.

Evangeline Perez thought she buried the past along with her sister. But when whispers of the truth resurface, she finds herself tangled in a web of secrets, power, and deception—one that could cost her everything.

Mingyu is a complication she never asked for. Cold, relentless, and far too protective, he’s determined to keep her from chasing ghosts. But Eva has never been one to obey orders, and the deeper she digs, the harder it becomes to ignore the tension pulling them together.

Because some things refuse to stay in the dark.

And some hearts are doomed from the start.

[a/n] : mood board is from Pinterest! I think the proper credit goes to @Lkucky on telegram!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

[1] CHAPTER ONE

the one where it all begins

[2] CHAPTER TWO

the one where you can't take it any longer

[3] CHAPTER THREE

the one with the blackmail

[4] CHAPTER FOUR

the one with all the controlling

[5] CHAPTER FIVE

the one with the change

[6] CHAPTER SIX

the one with the confusion

[7] CHAPTER SEVEN

the one with the scare

[8] CHAPTER EIGHT

coming soon!

[wonwoosmagnetic]

No Saints Here | kmg

Pairing : bodyguard!mingyu x rich!reader

Genre : angst, romance, mystery

synopsis :

Some secrets are meant to stay buried. Some love stories were never meant to begin.

Evangeline Perez thought she buried the past along with her sister. But when whispers of the truth resurface, she finds herself tangled in a web of secrets, power, and deception—one that could cost her everything.

Mingyu is a complication she never asked for. Cold, relentless, and far too protective, he’s determined to keep her from chasing ghosts. But Eva has never been one to obey orders, and the deeper she digs, the harder it becomes to ignore the tension pulling them together.

Because some things refuse to stay in the dark.

And some hearts are doomed from the start.

CHAPTER FOUR

Mingyu’s voice was sharp, irritated. “What the hell?”

Caro winced, stepping back from the door like it might bite her. “Uh. So. Funny story—”

“Caro.” His tone was flat. Deadly.

She cleared her throat. “—I think this might not be the room we intended—”

A pause. Then a much calmer, much more unimpressed voice spoke from inside.

“Caroline.”

Caro squeezed her eyes shut. “Yes?”

“What. Room. Is. This.”

She let out a small, nervous laugh. “Well. So, funny thing… this is—uh—Seungcheol’s room.”

A beat of silence.

Then Seungcheol, sounding utterly unimpressed, drawled, “You two want to tell me why I’m locked in my own room?”

Caro glanced at the door like it might give her an answer. “Um. Not particularly?”

Mingyu’s voice was ice. “Open the door.”

“Right! So, about that,” Caro started, clasping her hands together. “I actually, uh… can’t.”

Another pause. Then Mingyu, voice dangerously quiet: “Caro.”

She cleared her throat. “It’s kind of… locked.”

“No shit.”

“From the outside.”

Mingyu’s silence was somehow worse than his yelling.

Seungcheol sighed. “And I’m guessing you’re the only one who can unlock it?”

Caro rocked on her heels. “Technically… no?”

“Carrie.”

“Okay, yes,” she admitted quickly, heart pounding. “But I’ll open it eventually! I just… need you guys to chill for a bit.”

“Chill?” Mingyu repeated, his disbelief palpable. “You locked us in here.”

“Yes, but in my defense, it’s, uh, cozy?” She cringed. “And, you know, could be worse! Could’ve been a closet.”

Seungcheol sighed again, and Caro could just picture him pinching the bridge of his nose. “How long are we stuck in here?”

She hesitated. “Not long!”

Mingyu’s patience was clearly running out. “Define ‘not long.’”

Caro coughed. “A little while.”

Silence.

Then Seungcheol’s voice, slower now, more observant. “This isn’t just you being an idiot, is it?”

Caro gasped, clutching her chest. “Wow. Rude.”

But Seungcheol wasn’t buying it. “You’re stalling.”

Mingyu caught on immediately. “Who are you covering for?”

“No one!”

“Caro.”

She groaned. “Why do you both say my name like that?”

Seungcheol ignored her. “Eva put you up to this?”

“No!” she said too quickly.

Mingyu’s frustration grew. “Caro, open the damn door.”

“Look, it’s fine! No one’s dying, no one’s—”

“Yet,” Seungcheol muttered.

Caro rolled her eyes. “Okay, drama king.”

“You’re the one holding us hostage,” he pointed out.

“‘Hostage’ is such a strong word,” she said, crossing her arms. “I prefer ‘unexpected quality time.’”

Seungcheol let out a dry chuckle. “Is that what this is?”

“Yes,” she declared. “Think about it. When’s the last time we had a nice, uninterrupted conversation?”

Mingyu scoffed. “This isn’t a conversation, it’s an interrogation.”

“Semantics.” She waved him off. “We can talk about anything! Feelings, childhood trauma, our biggest fears—”

Mingyu sighed. “You’re so annoying.”

Caro scowled. “Okay, I think we’ve bonded enough.”

Mingyu crossed his arms. “Then unlock the door.”

She hesitated.

Seungcheol caught it immediately. His voice was quieter now, lower. “You can’t, can you?”

Caro swallowed.

He wasn’t mad. Not yet. Just… watching her. Waiting.

She forced a smile. “Of course I can.”

Seungcheol held her gaze. “Then do it.”

A beat of silence.

Caro slowly turned toward the door, hand hovering over the lock.

Then, she grinned and stepped back. “Nah.”

Mingyu groaned. “I swear to God—”

Seungcheol let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

Caro shrugged. “Might as well get comfortable.”

Mingyu muttered something under his breath. Seungcheol just watched her with that unreadable expression, something almost amused—curious—lingering in his gaze.

---

You sat at the dinner table, your fork idly poking at the food on your plate. The tension in the room sat heavy, thick enough to choke on. Across from you, your father scrolled through his phone, uninterested, while your step mother carefully sliced into her food, each movement precise, controlled.

The silence stretched.

“So,” your step mother finally said, lifting her gaze. “Where were you today?”

You barely blinked. “Out.”

Your father sighed, still not looking up. “Must you always be so difficult?”

Your jaw tightened. “Must you always ask questions you don’t actually care about the answers to?”

Your step mother exhaled through her nose. “Eva.”

You just shoved a bite of food into your mouth, chewing slowly, deliberately, like you weren't already done with this entire conversation.

Her father finally put his phone down, rubbing his temples. “This attitude of yours—”

“—is completely warranted,” you interrupted. “Let’s not pretend otherwise.”

Your step mother shot her a warning look, but you were past caring. You weren't in the mood to play whatever game they were trying to rope you into tonight.

The meal continued in near silence, the occasional clinking of silverware the only sound.

Eventually, your step mother placed her napkin on the table, the universal sign that dinner was officially over. “I don’t know why you insist on making things so difficult for yourself,” she murmured before standing.

You didn’t reply. Didn’t look up.

A moment later, your father followed suit, and just like that, you were alone.

You exhaled, pressing your fingers to your temples.

Then, you stood, chair scraping softly against the floor as you turned to leave.

You didn’t make it far.

Seungcheol stepped into your path, arms crossed, gaze sharp.

You stilled. “Move.”

He didn’t. “What are you doing?”

Your brow furrowed. “What?”

His jaw tightened. “Evangeline, whatever you’re planning—”

“Don’t,” you cut in, voice sharper now.

He exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“I get that you think you know everything,” you shot back. “That you think you have some right to—”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

You scoffed. “Protect me?” you shook your head, lips curling. “You’re just like them.”

Seungcheol’s expression darkened, but you were already brushing past him, ignoring the way his hand twitched like he wanted to grab you, stop you.

You didn’t stop until you reached your room, yanking open the door and stepping inside.

You barely had time to exhale before you heard the door click shut behind you.

You froze.

A presence loomed near, heavy and unmistakable.

“Where were you?”

His voice was low. Rough.

You turned, already rolling your eyes. “Ugh, fuck off—don’t you start now.”

Mingyu didn’t move from where he stood, just inside your room, broad shoulders stiff, jaw clenched tight. He looked like he was holding himself together by a thread.

“I’m serious, Eva.”

You scoffed. “Yeah? And?”

“And if you ever pull that shit again, I will make sure you don’t step one foot outside without me knowing.”

You bristled. “Excuse me?”

Mingyu’s eyes darkened. “You heard me.”

A slow, heated silence stretched between them.

You tilted your chin up defiantly. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

He stepped closer.

Not enough to touch, but enough to make you feel caged in.

“No,” he murmured. “What you need is to stop acting like you’re untouchable.”

Your breath hitched.

Mingyu caught it. His gaze flickered—something unreadable passing through his features before he schooled them back into steel.

“I’m here now,” he said. “Every second. Wherever you go, I go.”

Your pulse hammered in your throat.

It shouldn’t feel like a promise.

It shouldn’t make you shiver.

“You’re overreacting.”

Mingyu’s gaze didn’t waver. “And you’re underestimating how much I mean it when I say you’re not doing this again.”

You scoffed. “Or what?”

His jaw flexed, a muscle ticking, like he was biting back something sharper.

Then, quietly—dangerously—he said, “Try me.”

Your breath caught.

You hated this. Hated the way he got under your skin. Hated the way he made you feel seen when you didn’t want to be.

So you rolled your eyes, shoved past him, and made for the door.

But right as you reached for the handle, his voice stopped you cold.

“Next time, I won’t ask.”

You didn’t turn around. Didn’t trust herself to.

Instead, you scoffed, pushed open the door, and walked out.

Because staying any longer?

That would be a mistake.

----

The office smelled like old leather and expensive whiskey. A fire burned low in the grand fireplace, casting flickering shadows over the bookshelves lining the walls. Elias sat stiffly in the chair across from his father’s desk, fingers drumming against his knee. The silence stretched between them, thick and expectant.

His father—ever composed, ever unreadable—poured himself a drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass. He didn’t offer Elias one.

Elias exhaled through his nose. “She’s stalling.”

His father took a slow sip, eyes sharp beneath the dim lighting. “Of course she is.”

Elias’s jaw ticked. “I’m handling it.”

A quiet hum. “Are you?”

Elias straightened. “She doesn’t have a choice. She’ll do it.”

His father set his drink down, the sound deliberate. “You’re assuming she’s as weak as you need her to be.”

Elias’s fingers curled into fists. “She’s not weak. She just doesn’t know how this ends if she doesn’t cooperate.”

His father tilted his head, studying him. “And do you?”

The question sent something cold slithering down Elias’s spine.

“She’ll finish the job,” he said, voice controlled. “I’ll make sure of it.”

His father leaned back in his chair, gaze calculating. “Good,” he said simply. Then, after a pause, “She reminds me of her.”

Elias’s throat tightened. “She’s nothing like her.”

His father gave him a slow, knowing smile. “That’s what you keep telling yourself.”

The words settled like lead in Elias’s chest. He clenched his jaw and looked away.

Outside, the wind howled against the windows. Inside, his father watched him, patient as ever.

Waiting.

-----

Your grip on her phone tightened as you stood near the dimly lit window, you voice steady despite the weight pressing against your chest.

“I’ll do it at the gala this weekend. Yes, I’m sure, Elias.”

There was a pause on the other end, then a quiet hum of approval. “Good. That’s the best time. Everyone will be too distracted.”

You exhaled slowly. You hated how easily he spoke about this, like it was just another business transaction. Like it wasn’t your own company you were about to betray.

“Make sure you’re not followed,” Elias continued. “Get in, get out. No mistakes.”

No mistakes. Easy to say when he wasn’t the one risking everything.

“I’ll handle it,” you muttered, hanging up before he could say anything else.

You barely had time to gather yourself before a voice cut through the silence.

“You’re going to handle what?”

Your stomach twisted. You turned around sharply—Mingyu stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes locked onto you like a predator cornering its prey.

You forced your expression into something neutral. “None of your business.”

He stepped forward. “See, that’s where you’re wrong.” His tone was low, firm. “You’ve been acting off for weeks. And now you’re standing here, whispering on the phone about doing something at the gala?” His jaw tightened. “Try again.”

You squared your shoulders, refusing to back down. “You’re my bodyguard, Mingyu. Stay in your lane.”

His nostrils flared, frustration creeping into his features. “My lane? My lane is making sure you don’t do something reckless.” He took another step closer, voice sharper now. “If you think I haven’t noticed, you’re wrong. You disappear, you lie, you get defensive when I ask simple questions.” His eyes darkened. “So tell me, Evangeline—what the hell are you planning?”

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

You wanted to tell him to back off. You wanted to push past him and pretend none of this was happening.

But Mingyu wasn’t letting her go that easily.

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “You’re so goddamn nosy.” You folded your arms, glaring at him. “Is this what you do all day? Lurk around corners, waiting for me to say something you don’t like?”

Mingyu’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t back down. “I do my job.”

“Well, do it better,” you snapped. “I don’t need you breathing down my neck every second, analyzing my every move like I’m some kind of—”

“Some kind of what?” His voice cut through yours, low and warning. “A liability?” He took another step closer, and suddenly he was too close—towering over you, heat radiating from where he stood. “Because that’s exactly how you’re acting.”

Your pulse hammered against your ribs. “Oh, fuck off, Mingyu.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, but his patience was razor-thin. “You think this is a joke? You think I like chasing you around, watching you make reckless decisions when I’m the one who has to keep you alive?”

Your fists clenched. “I didn’t ask you to.”

Mingyu stilled.

The air in the room thickened.

He let out a slow breath, eyes narrowing. “Say that again.”

Your stomach twisted, but you lifted your chin. “I didn’t ask you to,” you repeated, voice quieter but just as sharp. “You don’t have to be here, Mingyu. If it’s so exhausting, just leave.”

Mingyu let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You think it’s that simple?” His voice lowered, rough with frustration. “You think I can just walk away and let you self-destruct?” He scoffed. “You’re a goddamn headache, Eva, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you get yourself killed.”

“I’m not some helpless idiot who needs saving,” you shot back.

His eyes darkened. “Then stop acting like one.”

That one hit.

Your nails dug into your palms, anger mixing with something else—something you didn’t want to name.

You hated this. Hated how he saw through you, how he pushed and pushed until you had nothing left to hide behind.

You opened your mouth, ready to snap back, to say something that would make him let this go—

But Mingyu was faster.

His voice dropped, quiet but firm. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but it stops now.” His gaze burned into yours. “Whatever the hell you’re doing at the gala—you’re not doing it alone.”

Your breath caught.

You wanted to argue. You needed to argue.

You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through your hair. “I told you to drop it.”

Mingyu didn’t move. His gaze stayed locked on you, dark and unrelenting. “And I told you to answer me.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You’re so fucking stubborn.”

“So are you.” His voice was edged with something rough, something dangerously close to concern. “Where were you?”

You turned your back to him. “None of your business.”

Mingyu’s jaw clenched. “You are my business.”

You froze. Just for a second. Then you let out a bitter laugh and spun back around, shoving at his chest. “No, I’m not.”

Mingyu barely stepped back. “Eva—”

“No,” you snapped, shoving him again, harder this time. “You’re my bodyguard, Mingyu. That’s it. You don’t get to stand here and act like you have any fucking say in my choices.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides. “When your choices get you killed, I do.”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “That’s cute. You think you can stop me?”

Mingyu’s patience snapped. “You think this is a fucking game?” His voice was low now, furious. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing? Running around behind everyone’s backs, taking risks you shouldn’t—”

“Oh, I shouldn’t?” Your eyes flashed. “And what about you, huh? You’re always right there, always watching, always waiting to catch me—like I need you.”

His expression hardened. “Maybe you do.”

You inhaled sharply, something cold curling in your chest.

No.

No, you couldn’t let him—

Your hands were shaking. Your clenched them into fists, stepping back, forcing distance between them. “Go to hell.” 

Mingyu stood there, staring at the door, his jaw clenched so tight it ached.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. Go to hell.

You had slammed the door in his face. Shut him out. Again.

His fingers curled into a fist at his side. He could still feel the ghost of your warmth where he’d grabbed your wrist, the way you had ripped herself away, like his touch burned you.

Like he burned you.

He should walk away. He should let it go.

But fuck—he couldn’t.

With a low curse, he took a step closer, pressing his palm flat against the door. “Eva.”

Silence.

He let out a slow breath. “I know you’re still standing there.”

More silence. Then, muffled, from the other side—

“Go away, Mingyu.”

His patience snapped. “Not happening.”

Still, nothing.

His voice dropped lower, rougher. “I’m going to be here. Every second. Every goddamn moment. So get used to it.”

A beat. Then, quieter, your voice came through the door, sharp but unsteady. “I don’t want you here.”

Mingyu exhaled, his fingers curling against the wood. “Too bad.”

More silence. Then, after what felt like forever—

Soft footsteps. A shift of movement.

And then—

The click of the lock turning.

Mingyu’s breath caught.

But the door never opened.

And you never let him in.

-----

Caro let out a dramatic sigh, running her fingers over the delicate fabric of a blush-colored gown. “I don’t know how we find ourselves here every few days. Do you always need new dresses for every event?”

You, seated on the velvet ottoman, barely looked up from your phone. “Yes.”

Caro scoffed. “That wasn’t even a real answer.”

You smirked, finally glancing up. “Sure it was.”

Caro rolled her eyes, reaching for another gown, holding it up against herself. “Okay, but do you ever just—oh, I don’t know—rewear things like a normal person?”

You hummed. “I could. But where’s the fun in that?”

Caro groaned, tossing the dress back on the rack. “You’re insufferable.”

You tilted your head. “And yet, you’re still here.”

Caro huffed, folding her arms. “Because someone has to make sure you don’t pick something so expensive it comes with its own security detail.”

You let out a soft laugh, standing and running your fingers over a sleek, black number. The fabric was smooth beneath your touch, the kind of dress that clung in all the right places.

Caro studied her for a moment before speaking. “So…”

You arched a brow. “So?”

Caro hesitated, then sighed. “Are we going to talk about the fact that you’ve been acting even more suspicious than usual?”

You turned back to the dresses. “No.”

Caro groaned. “Eva.”

You sighed, finally meeting her gaze. “It’s fine, Caro.”

Caro narrowed her eyes. “That’s exactly what someone who is not fine would say.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a dress and shoving it into Caro’s arms. “Here. Make yourself useful and help me zip this.”

Caro took the dress but didn’t drop it. Instead, she studied you carefully. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

You hesitated for only a fraction of a second. Then—

A practiced, easy smirk. “Obviously. But right now, I just need a dress.”

Caro didn’t look convinced. But she didn’t push. Instead, she just sighed, shaking her head as she followed you into the dressing room.

And as the door clicked shut behind them, you exhaled, just a little too quietly. 

Caro raised a brow as she leaned against the dressing room wall, arms crossed.

“I need a statement—you know how your dad is about galas. Specifically the ones he’s hosting.”

You, halfway through unzipping the dress you were trying on, let out a dry laugh. “Oh, I definitely know.”

Caro sighed. “He’s going to expect something from you. A speech, a perfectly rehearsed smile, the usual.”

You turned, meeting Caro’s gaze in the mirror. “And?”

Caro gave you a pointed look. “And you can’t just breeze through this one. You’ve been distracted, Eva.”

Your jaw tightened as you turned away, tugging the fabric over your shoulders. “I’ll handle it.”

Caro hesitated, then said, softer, “You don’t have to handle everything alone.”

You stilled for just a second before shaking your head, your voice clipped. “I said I’ll handle it.”

Caro sighed but didn’t push. “Fine. But at least try not to piss off your dad before the event even starts.”

You smirked, glancing over your shoulder. “No promises. How do we feel about this?"

Caro tilted her head, lips pursing as she gave you a slow once-over. “Well, if the goal is to piss off your dad and brother, then congratulations, you’ve outdone yourself.”

You smirked, turning slightly to examine the deep slit in the mirror. “You think it’s too much?”

Caro snorted. “Oh, absolutely. But that’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

You hummed, running a hand down the silky emerald fabric. It clung in all the right places, the thigh-high slit leaving little to the imagination. It was bold. Defiant. Everything you weren't supposed to be.

Caro leaned in, lowering her voice. “You sure you wanna give your dad an aneurysm and have Mingyu go into cardiac arrest in one night?”

Your smirk widened, but something in your chest tightened. “Mingyu’s job is to watch my back, not my legs.”

Caro rolled her eyes. “Right. Because that man doesn’t have eyes.”

You turned away, dismissing it with a wave. “It’s just a dress.”

“Uh-huh.” Caro crossed her arms, unimpressed. “You’re playing with fire.”

Your met her gaze in the mirror, something unreadable flickering behind your eyes. “Good.”

Because fire was the only thing that ever burned her father.

And maybe, just maybe, she wanted to watch it all burn.

---

(A/N)

HELLO GUYS AFTER SO MANY DAYS! exam season hit, and updating was very hard amidst that but I made it! if you have made it here, I am so happy that you waited for me! I promise to be more consistent!

[wonwoosmagnetic]

No Saints Here | kmg

Pairing : bodyguard!mingyu x rich!reader

Genre : angst, romance, mystery

synopsis :

Some secrets are meant to stay buried. Some love stories were never meant to begin.

Evangeline Perez thought she buried the past along with her sister. But when whispers of the truth resurface, she finds herself tangled in a web of secrets, power, and deception—one that could cost her everything.

Mingyu is a complication she never asked for. Cold, relentless, and far too protective, he’s determined to keep her from chasing ghosts. But Eva has never been one to obey orders, and the deeper she digs, the harder it becomes to ignore the tension pulling them together.

Because some things refuse to stay in the dark.

And some hearts are doomed from the start.

CHAPTER THREE

"You’re too tense," Lia had said, her voice laced with amusement as she stirred her coffee. "You act like the world is resting on your shoulders all the time."

Mingyu exhaled sharply, leaning back in his seat. "Because it is."

Lia rolled her eyes. "Dramatic much?"

He smirked but said nothing. She always saw through him, no matter how much he tried to keep his walls up.

"You should let yourself breathe once in a while, Mingyu."

He scoffed. "Says the woman who never takes a break."

Lia hummed, tapping her fingers against her mug. "Maybe. But I have my reasons."

There was something wistful in her tone, something almost unspoken. Mingyu had wanted to ask, but he didn’t.

Instead, he just watched as she glanced out the window, her gaze distant.

"Sometimes, we don’t have all the time we think we do," she murmured, almost to herself.

He slowly opened his eyes, pushing the memory down before it could swallow him whole. It had been happening more lately—Lia slipping into his thoughts uninvited, her voice whispering between the cracks of his mind.

Mingyu let out a quiet breath, forcing his focus outward. That’s when he saw you.

Standing a few meters ahead, deep in conversation with Caro.

His stomach twisted.

The resemblance was uncanny. The same sharp gaze, the same delicate bone structure, the same damn eyes. But that’s where the similarities ended. Lia had carried a quiet sadness, the kind that settled into the corners of her smile. You, on the other hand, held yourself like you had nothing to lose. As if you were ready to fight the world before it could take anything from you.

And yet… something about you felt familiar. Not in the way you looked, but in the way you existed. Like a puzzle piece he didn’t realize he had lost.

Mingyu clenched his jaw. It was ridiculous. You weren’t her.

And yet, for reasons he couldn’t quite name, he couldn’t look away.

-------

“So, I’m meeting Elias for lunch today.” You keep your voice low, barely above a whisper. Caro groans, her face twisting in frustration. “You’re actually going through with this?” You cross your arms. “Of course, Caro. I need to know why my family is so hell-bent on keeping me away from him. Like they suddenly give a damn about me.” Your voice hardens. “I need to understand why they sent Mingyu after me like some damn attack dog—with a gun, no less.” Caro sighs, dropping onto a nearby bench, picking at her waffles. “This isn’t going to end well.” You exhale, rubbing your temples. “I know. But I don’t have a choice. I can’t just sit around and do nothing.” Caro looks at you, unimpressed. “There’s a difference between doing nothing and running straight into a burning building.” You scoff. “Then I guess I’ll find out how bad the fire really is.” She glares. “That’s not funny.”

You shrug, but the truth is, none of this feels funny. None of this feels like something you can just brush off. There’s something deeper, something no one is telling you. Caro leans forward, her voice quieter now. “And what if Elias is exactly who they say he is? What if they’re actually trying to protect you?” You pause for half a second before shaking your head. “Then they should’ve told me the truth instead of playing these games.” Caro chews on her bottom lip, staring at you for a moment. “You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?” “No.”

She exhales heavily, tossing the rest of her waffle into the container. “Alright. If you’re gonna do this, at least be smart. Meet him somewhere public, text me the location, and for the love of God, do not go anywhere alone with him.” A smirk tugs at your lips. “You sound like my babysitter.” “I sound like the only sane person in your life,” she corrects. “And what about Mingyu?” "That is one thing I need your help with." You look at her pleadingly.

Caro throws her head back with an exaggerated groan. “You have actually lost your mind.”

You clasp your hands together in a pleading gesture. “It’s just thirty minutes, Caro. You don’t even have to do much—just keep him busy.”

She levels you with an incredulous look. “Keep Mingyu busy? The same guy who stormed in like a damn action movie villain? Yeah, sure. Let me just ask him about his favorite rom-coms and hope he forgets about murder.”

You sigh. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No, you’re being reckless,” she snaps, pointing a fork at you. “You’re walking straight into a trap, and now you want me to babysit the guy who’s probably plotting ten different ways to take out Elias as we speak.”

“Caro.” You look at her, your expression softening. “I wouldn’t ask if I had another option.”

She presses her lips together, shaking her head. “I hate you.”

“I love you.” You flash her your best hopeful smile.

She exhales sharply. “You owe me so much for this.”

“I’ll buy you coffee for a week.”

“Try a month.”

You bite back a groan. “Fine. A month.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. "Look, I just need a distraction. Take him for coffee, pretend you have some urgent favor to ask him, I don’t know—flirt a little."

Caro chokes on absolutely nothing. "Excuse me?"

You resist a smirk. "Oh, come on, you’ve flirted with worse."

Her glare sharpens. "First of all, rude. Second of all, I would rather die than flirt with Mingyu. Third, he would see through me in ten seconds."

"Not if you’re convincing enough," you argue. "You’re a great liar when you want to be."

"Gee, thanks," she deadpans.

You huff. “I’ll figure something out.”

“You better.” She stabs her waffle with unnecessary force. “Because if this goes wrong, you know he’ll take it out on me.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

Caro lets out a dry laugh. “Right. Because you’ll be so available to save me while you’re having lunch with the guy everyone keeps warning you about.”

You wince. “Okay, fair point.”

She shakes her head, muttering under her breath. Then she looks up at you, her expression more serious. “Eva, are you sure about this? Like, really sure?”

You hesitate, just for a second. Then you nod. “I need to do this, Caro. I need answers.”

Caro exhales, rubbing her temples. “Fine. But if I die because of your dumbass plan, I’m coming back to haunt you.”

You grin. “Noted.”

---

Caro peeked into the living room and instantly regretted it.

Mingyu was standing by the window, arms crossed, exuding a level of intensity that made her insides shrivel. He looked like the main character of some noir film—brooding, mysterious, and very much not someone she should be bothering right now.

She could leave. She should leave.

Instead, she made the absolute worst decision and cleared her throat—way too loudly.

Mingyu turned, dark eyes landing on her.

Caro froze. “Uh. Hi.”

Mingyu just raised an eyebrow.

She pointed vaguely behind her. “I was just—uh—walking. Past. And then I thought, ‘Hey, why not…uh…check if the air is good in here?’”

Silence.

Eva, hidden behind the doorway, slowly dragged a hand down her face.

Mingyu just stared. “The air?”

“Y-yeah.” Caro nodded way too fast. “You know, like, sometimes different rooms have different…air qualities?”

Oh God. What was she even saying?

Mingyu blinked. “Right.”

Caro coughed and shuffled further into the room, trying to act normal but failing miserably by walking like a malfunctioning robot. “Sooo…” she dragged out, flopping onto the couch. “Do you…uh…do this often?”

Mingyu looked at her like she was an unsolvable puzzle. “Do what?”

“Lurk. Stand around. Look like you’re plotting a murder.”

Mingyu exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I’m not lurking.”

Caro squinted at him. “You totally are.”

He didn’t reply.

She tapped her fingers on her knee, forcing herself not to fidget. “Sooo, uh, what are you doing? Like, actually?”

Mingyu turned back toward the window. “Keeping an eye on things.”

“Vague.”

Silence.

You pressed both palms to your face. This was physically painful to witness.

Caro shifted in her seat. “You know, I—uh—used to think you were scary,” she blurted out.

Mingyu glanced at her. “Used to?”

Caro let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah. But now I think you’re just…uh…very…serious?”

Mingyu didn’t react.

She tugged at the hem of her hoodie. “Which is totally fine! Nothing wrong with being serious. I mean, I’m serious. Well, not that serious. But like, sometimes I can be. But not in a broody way, more in a ‘wow, she really overthinks everything’ way, which is honestly worse, because then I start spiraling and—”

Mingyu pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you always like this?”

Caro snapped her mouth shut. “Like what?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely at her.

She blinked. “Um. Yeah. Kinda.”

Mingyu exhaled. “Great.”

You clenched your jaw. This is taking too long.

Caro, seemingly oblivious to your growing impatience, straightened. “Well, since we’re, uh, talking, I have a question.”

Mingyu gave her a look that screamed do I have a choice?

Before he could answer, Caro suddenly perked up like she just had the best idea in the world. “Wait! Actually, come with me for a second.”

Mingyu frowned. “Why?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s important.”

He stared at her, unimpressed.

You could feel the plan crumbling before your eyes.

Caro pouted. “Come onnn, just humor me.”

Mingyu sighed like he was already regretting every decision that had led him to this moment. But, to your relief, he followed.

You quickly scurried ahead, heart pounding. The plan was simple: shove him into the room, lock the door, and run.

Caro, still rambling about nothing, gestured toward a door. “Yeah, yeah, just in here! Super important thing I need to show you—”

Mingyu barely had time to react before Caro practically shoved him inside and Mingyu caught her hand and she got dragged too.

You didn’t hesitate. You darted forward, slammed the door shut, and turned the lock in one swift motion.

A moment of silence.

Then—

“What the hell?” Mingyu’s voice was sharp, irritated.

You took one breath, two—then bolted down the hallway.

Caro’s voice, muffled through the door: “Uh. So. Funny story—”

 Caro.”

“—I think this might not be the room we intended—”

You slapped a hand over your mouth.

No. No way.

“Caroline,” Mingyu’s voice was deadly.

“…Yes?”

“What. Room. Is. This.”

Caro let out a nervous laugh.

“Well. So, funny thing… this is—uh—Seungcheol’s room.”

Silence.

Then Seungcheol, voice dry as hell: “You two want to tell me why I’m locked in my own room with you?”

You turned on your heel and sprinted.

-----

You tapped your fingers against the edge of your glass, eyes flicking up to watch Elias as he skimmed the menu. The restaurant was nothing special—just a quiet, unassuming café tucked between a laundromat and a bookstore, the kind of place no one would think twice about. Perfect for a conversation like this. Elias looked… normal. Too normal. Dressed in a plain black sweater, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, he almost blended in with the other customers. If you didn’t know better, you'd think he was just some regular guy meeting a friend for lunch. But you did know better.

"So," he said finally, setting the menu down. "I wasn't expecting this invitation." You forced a small smile. "Figured it was time we talked." He hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Talk about what?" You shrugged, keeping your expression neutral. "You tell me." A slow, amused smile tugged at Elias's lips as he leaned back in his chair. "You invited me, sweetheart. Shouldn't you have something to say?" You clenched your jaw at the nickname but let it slide. "Fine," you said, leaning in slightly. "Why is my family so desperate to keep me away from you?" Elias didn’t react immediately. Instead, he picked up his water, took a slow sip, and set it back down with deliberate ease. "Now that," he said, "is a very interesting question."

You arched a brow. "And?" His eyes flickered with something unreadable. "And I think you already know the answer." You exhaled sharply, fingers curling into your lap. "If I did, I wouldn’t be here." Elias studied you for a moment, then sighed, like he was deciding how much trouble this conversation was worth. "Your family," he said finally, "isn't exactly known for their honesty. So tell me, Eva—what do you think they’re hiding?" You didn’t blink. "I think it has something to do with you." Elias let out a short, quiet laugh. "Smart girl." Your stomach twisted.

"That doesn't answer my question."

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. "Let me give you some advice," he said, voice softer now, almost gentle. "There are some things you're better off not knowing." You swallowed. "And there are some things I can’t afford to ignore." Elias held your gaze for a long moment, then shook his head with a small, knowing smirk. "You really are your sister’s shadow, huh?" Your breath caught for half a second before you forced herself to stay still.

Your pulse hammered in your ears, but you kept your expression steady. "How do you fucking know Lia?" Your voice came out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t care.

Elias simply smirked, like he had been waiting for you to ask. "Now, now," he drawled, tapping his fingers against the table. "That’s not a very polite way to continue a conversation."

"Cut the shit, Elias." You leaned in, your nails digging into your palm beneath the table. "You brought her up for a reason—so answer me."

Elias exhaled, tilting his head like he was considering his next move. Then, slowly, he sat back, shoulders loose, gaze amused. "Lia and I… crossed paths," he said vaguely.

Your stomach twisted. "That’s not an answer."

"It’s the only one you’re getting."

Frustration burned in your chest. He was toying with you, giving you just enough to keep you hooked but not enough to actually tell you anything. "When?"

Elias let out a quiet chuckle. "Persistent."

"Answer me."

He sighed, shaking his head as if you were some naive little thing. "Let’s just say Lia and I had some… mutual interests, once upon a time."

Your grip on your glass tightened. "You’re lying."

Elias arched a brow. "Am I?"

Yes. No. You didn’t know.

What you did know was that your sister never mentioned this man. Not once. And if Lia had been involved with someone like Elias—someone your family clearly saw as dangerous—why had she hidden it?

Unless… they weren’t hiding Elias from you.

They were hiding you from Elias.

The thought sent an uneasy shiver down your spine.

You inhaled deeply, forcing yourself to keep your cool. "Whatever game you’re playing, I’m not interested."

Elias just smiled. "Oh, but you are, sweetheart. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here."

You opened your mouth to snap back, but before you could, a shadow passed over the table as the waiter arrived with their drinks.

"Here you go," the waiter said, setting down the cups. "Anything else I can get for you?"

You shook your head. "No, we’re good. Thanks."

As the waiter walked away, Elias picked up his cup, swirling the liquid inside lazily. "I’ll give you one more piece of advice," he murmured, not looking at you. "If you keep digging, you better be prepared for what you find."

You clenched your jaw. "That almost sounds like a threat."

Elias finally met your gaze again, his smile still in place but his eyes colder now. "It’s a warning."

You exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the napkin in your lap. You had walked into this dinner thinking you'd get answers. Instead, you were leaving with more questions.

You met Elias’s gaze head-on. “What do you know about her?”

Elias took a slow sip of his drink, watching you over the rim of his cup like he had all the time in the world. “Lia?” he mused, setting it down with a soft clink. “I know quite a bit.”

Your nails dug into your palm beneath the table. “Then start talking.”

Elias exhaled through his nose, a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. “You remind me of her, you know. Stubborn. Reckless.” His eyes darkened slightly. “Always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

A chill ran down your spine, but you forced yourself to remain unfazed. “Did you know her well?”

Elias tilted his head, like he was debating how much to give away. “Well enough.”

Vague. Again.

You clenched your jaw. “She never mentioned you.”

His smirk deepened. “That’s because she didn’t want you to know.”

Something sharp twisted in your chest. “Why?”

Elias leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. “Because she was protecting you.”

You felt your breath hitch.

Protecting you?

“What the hell does that mean?” you asked, voice tight.

Elias just watched you, unreadable. Then, after a moment, he shook his head with a quiet chuckle. “You really don’t have a clue, do you?”

Your stomach churned. You wanted to scream at him, to demand he stop playing games and just tell you the truth.

But you couldn’t let him see how much he was getting to you.

Instead, you inhaled sharply and sat back, mirroring his earlier ease. “You like talking in circles, huh?”

Elias hummed. “I like seeing how much you already know.”

You stared at him, searching his face for anything—any crack in his smug exterior that might give you an edge. “She’s dead,” you said, voice flat. “If you know something about what happened to her, I suggest you stop being cryptic.”

Something flickered in Elias’s gaze. Just for a second. But it was enough.

You straightened. “You do know something.”

Elias’s fingers tapped lazily against the table. “I know a lot of things.”

“Did you know her before she died?”

Elias smiled, but this time, it didn’t reach his eyes. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

You pulse pounded in your ears. If he was telling the truth—if Lia had been involved with him before she died—then why had your family never mentioned it?

And more importantly…

Had they known?

You swallowed hard. “What was she protecting me from?”

Elias exhaled, shaking his head. “You really are stupid if you think I am going to tell you that easily."

Elias leaned in, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down her spine.

Your eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

Elias’s smirk returned, slow and deliberate. “Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.” He leaned back in his chair, stretching out like he had all the power in the world. “It’s simple, really. You do something for me, and in return, I give you the truth you’re so desperate for.”

You didn’t trust him—not even a little—but you also knew he had you exactly where he wanted you. He had answers, and you needed them.

Still, you crossed your arms, unimpressed. “You haven’t even told me what you want.”

Elias’s fingers drummed against the table, his gaze flicking over you like he was sizing her up. “There’s something I need retrieved. Something I can’t get myself. And lucky for me, you happen to be in a… unique position to help.”

That set off every alarm in your head. “Why can’t you get it yourself?”

Elias let out a low chuckle. “Because, sweetheart, some doors don’t open for people like me.”

Your stomach tightened. You already knew this was a terrible idea, but you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. “And what exactly am I retrieving?”

His smile was razor-sharp. “A file. Locked away in a place you have access to.”

A cold weight settled in your chest. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m stealing from my own firm.”

Elias tilted his head. “Who said anything about stealing? Just take a little peek. Let me know what it says. That’s all.”

You wanted to walk away. Every instinct screamed at you to leave, to cut ties with whatever mess Elias was dragging you into.

But then you thought of Lia.

Of the secrets.

Of the protection you never even knew you needed.

Your pulse hammered as you met Elias’s gaze again. “And in exchange, you tell me everything about Lia?”

Elias smiled like he had already won. “Every last detail.”

You exhaled slowly. You were really going to regret this.

“Fine,” you said. “Tell me what I’m looking for.”

[wonwoosmagnetic]

No Saints Here | kmg

warning: light making out, showing of gun (not actual using)

Pairing : bodyguard!mingyu x rich!reader

Genre : angst, romance, mystery

synopsis :

Some secrets are meant to stay buried. Some love stories were never meant to begin.

Evangeline Perez thought she buried the past along with her sister. But when whispers of the truth resurface, she finds herself tangled in a web of secrets, power, and deception—one that could cost her everything.

Mingyu is a complication she never asked for. Cold, relentless, and far too protective, he’s determined to keep her from chasing ghosts. But Eva has never been one to obey orders, and the deeper she digs, the harder it becomes to ignore the tension pulling them together.

Because some things refuse to stay in the dark.

And some hearts are doomed from the start.

CHAPTER TWO

The door barely clicked shut before you pulled Elias toward you, your fingers tangling in his shirt as you pressed your lips to his. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing—just heat, just movement.

Elias responded instantly, his hands sliding down your waist, pulling your flush against him. The kiss was urgent, all hands and hunger, your fingers tugging at his collar while his palms roamed the curves of your body.

You both stumbled backward, knocking into a table, but neither of you cared. The city lights filtered through the window, casting long shadows across the room, but everything beyond this moment felt distant, irrelevant.

Elias’s grip tightened, his lips trailing down the line of your jaw, your neck. You let your head tilt back slightly, your breath coming out in soft, shallow exhales. It didn’t matter that you barely knew him. It didn’t matter what came next. 

Your breath came fast and shallow, your skin still burning where Elias had touched you. The tension between them had been electric—until it was shattered by the sound of a gun being cocked.

Mingyu stood in the doorway, gun raised, eyes locked on Elias. His expression was unreadable, but the energy in the room shifted in an instant. Elias stiffened beside you, hands lifting slightly in a universal sign of surrender.

You felt your stomach plummet.

“Mingyu—” you started, but he didn’t even look at you.

“Step away from her.”

His voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that came before a storm.

Elias hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second. His gaze flickered between you and Mingyu, something calculating flashing behind his eyes. “She’s here of her own will.”

Mingyu’s jaw flexed. “She doesn’t belong here.”

You found your voice, your rage slicing through the suffocating tension. “You don’t get to decide where I belong.”

Mingyu’s eyes flicked to you then, dark and unreadable. “Neither does he.”

You clenched your fists. “You think you do?”

There was a pause. A beat too long. Then, slowly, deliberately, Mingyu lowered his gun.

“Your father sent me.”

The words landed like a blow. For a moment, everything in you froze.

Then you laughed. It was sharp, bitter, with no real humor behind it. “Of course he did.”

Elias exhaled sharply beside you, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what kind of mess this is, but I’m not getting involved.” His voice was light, but there was something else there now—a hint of wariness, maybe even wit. He looked at Eva then, searching your face for something. “Are you sure you want to go with him?”

You hesitated. For the first time, you weren't sure.

Mingyu’s presence had always felt suffocating. Overbearing. But it also carried a kind of certainty you had never been afforded. And that terrified you.

You squared your shoulders, tilting your chin up. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

Mingyu’s eyes darkened. Something in his jaw ticked, but he didn’t argue.

Elias studied you for another long second, then sighed, shaking his head. 

Mingyu extended a hand. You ignored it as you stepped past him, the weight of inevitability settling heavy on your shoulders.

---

Once you both were alone in the car, the silence was suffocating. The city lights blurred past them, but your mind was stuck on the moment Mingyu had barged in, gun in hand, shattering her night like glass.

You turned to him, fury bubbling up, your voice sharp as a blade. “You had no right!”

Mingyu, hands steady on the wheel, didn’t even flinch. “I had every right.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, really? Bursting into someone’s apartment with a gun? Dragging me out like I’m some reckless child? Enlighten me, Mingyu, how exactly do you justify that?”

His jaw tightened. “I had orders.”

You scoffed, arms crossing over your chest. “Yeah, well, fuck your orders.”

Mingyu exhaled sharply through his nose. “Eva, you don’t get it.”

“Oh, trust me, I do,” you shot back. “My father snaps his fingers, and you come running, guns blazing, like some attack dog.”

His grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles going white. “That’s not what this is.”

You turned fully to him now, glaring. “Then what is it? Because from where I’m sitting, it sure as hell feels like control. Like I have no goddamn say in my own life.”

Mingyu stayed silent for a long moment, eyes fixed on the road. Then, finally, he muttered, “It’s for your protection.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Protection from what, Mingyu? A random guy I was making out with? What exactly was the threat?”

His jaw clenched. “Save your anger for house, Evangeline."

You scoffed, turning to fully glare at him. "Oh, so now I’m Evangeline? You only use my full name when you're trying to make a point. Spit it out, Mingyu. What exactly am I supposed to be so mad about?"

Mingyu didn't answer immediately. He kept his eyes on the road, his expression unreadable, but the way his fingers drummed against the steering wheel betrayed his frustration.

You leaned closer, your voice sharp. "What aren’t you telling me?"

Mingyu exhaled through his nose, like he was bracing himself. “Elias Park isn’t just some random guy you were making out with, Eva.”

You frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

Mingyu finally looked at you, his gaze dark and serious. “It means you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

You stared at him, your pulse quickening. You hated this. The secrecy. The half-truths. The way Mingyu always acted like he was carrying some terrible weight you weren't allowed to see.

You crossed your arms. “Then tell me. Who is he, really?”

Mingyu hesitated for a split second—just long enough for you to catch it—before turning back to the road. “Someone you need to stay the hell away from.”

Your blood ran cold. Not because of the warning itself, but because of the way Mingyu said it. Like it wasn’t just a suggestion. Like it was an order.

---

You stood in the doorway, your heart hammering as the weight of everyone's stares bore down on you. The room was eerily silent for a second—before your father’s voice exploded through the air.

“What were you thinking?!”

His face was flushed with anger, his hand gripping the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turned white.

You swallowed hard and looked down, biting your lip. There was no point in answering—not when his mind was already made up.

Seungcheol stood off to the side, arms crossed, his face unreadable, but the tension in his jaw told you everything. Nichika, you father’s wife, was lounging on the couch, her glass of wine swirling in her hand, watching the scene unfold with thinly veiled amusement.

Your father took a step closer, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “You snuck out of the event, got caught, and with Elias Park of all people? Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you’ve just caused?”

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. Trouble? What trouble? Because you had been kissing someone? Or because you had been seen?

“I wasn’t—” you started, but your father slammed his palm onto the table, the sound making you flinch.

“Do not lie to me, Evangeline.”

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, the frustration bubbling in your chest close to boiling over. “I’m not lying,” you shot back, yourself voice sharp. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

Your father exhaled harshly. “You don’t understand what’s at stake here.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “No. I don’t. Because no one tells me anything. You just expect me to sit here and obey while you—”

“You don’t need to know everything,” Seungcheol cut in, his voice calm but firm. “You just need to listen.”

You turned to him, searching for even a flicker of understanding in his eyes. But there was nothing—just the same quiet authority, the same frustrating distance he always kept.

“That’s bullshit,” you whispered, shaking your head.

“Enough.” Your father’s voice was final, his patience wearing thin. “Go to your room. We will talk about this tomorrow.”

Your jaw clenched. Of course. Tomorrow. Like that conversation would ever happen. Like it hadn’t always been this way.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and stormed up the stairs, your pulse pounding in her ears.

But one thing was clear—

They were hiding something from you.

And you were going to find out what.

------------

The morning sun filtered through the heavy curtains, painting long streaks of gold across the room. You lay still, eyes half-lidded, staring at the ceiling as the echoes of last night’s disaster settled deep in your bones.

Then—bang, bang, bang.

The door burst open before she could respond.

“Get up.” Seungcheol’s voice was sharp, filled with barely concealed irritation.

You groaned, pressing a pillow over your face. “Fuck off.”

“Not happening.” His footsteps were heavy as he stepped inside. “You’ve got five minutes before Father drags you out himself. And if you thought last night was bad, wait until you see how pissed he is this morning.”

You let out a slow breath, rubbing your temples. “I don’t see why you care.”

Seungcheol let out a short, humorless laugh. “You really don’t, do you?” His tone was ice, sharp enough to cut. “You think you can just go around acting like nothing matters? Like there aren’t consequences?”

You sat up, your head throbbing. “Oh, spare me the lecture, Seungcheol.” Your voice was hoarse, exhausted. “What’s the worst that could happen? Huh? Father yells at me? He already did that. Nichika looks at me like I’m a fucking disgrace? Been there, done that. So what, Seungcheol? What exactly am I supposed to be scared of?”

His jaw tensed. “You should be scared of what happens when Father decides you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

Silence.

Seungcheol didn’t move, didn’t say a word. He just stared at her, something dark and unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out, the door slamming behind him.

"Little Shit."

--

The breakfast table was tense, the air thick with unspoken words.

You sat across from your father, your hands resting idly in your lap. The quiet clinking of silverware was the only sound in the room as Nichika delicately stirred her tea, her watchful eyes flicking between them with veiled amusement.

Your father finally set his cup down with a measured clink. “You will stay away from Elias Park.”

You exhaled slowly, setting your fork down. You didn’t look up. “Why?”

His voice remained steady, firm. “Because I said so.”

A small, humorless smile tugged at your lips. “That’s not a reason.”

His gaze hardened. “It’s the only reason you need.”

You let out a quiet scoff, shaking your head. "You can’t control everything I do.”

Your father leaned back slightly, considering you. “You’d be surprised.”

You met his gaze then, eyes cold. You could feel Nichika’s amusement from across the table, like this was some kind of game to her.

You swallowed the sharp words threatening to spill out. Instead, You simply pushed your chair back and stood, your appetite gone. No one stopped you as you turned and left, though you could feel their eyes on you the entire way out.

------

Your voice was rushed as you pressed your phone to your ear, pacing your bedroom. “Elias, I know that was bad, but please—”

Elias cut her off, his tone sharp. “Bad? Eva, your guy put a gun in my face.”

You winced, closing your eyes. “I know. I know, and I’m sorry—”

“Sorry doesn’t really fix that, does it?” he snapped. There was a pause, his breathing uneven.

You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of your dresser. “It’s complicated. I need to talk to you though, even though I know you were fucking with me.”

A dry, humorless laugh came through the speaker. “No shit.”

You bit your lip, willing herself to stay calm. “Elias, I didn’t want this to happen. I just—fine. I want to talk about something. It is about my family.”

He was silent for a long moment, and for the first time, you were genuinely afraid of his answer.

Elias sighed on the other end of the line, the tension in his silence heavier than words.

You gripped your phone tighter, your voice barely above a whisper. “Elias, please.”

And just like that, the call ended, leaving you gripping your phone, your heart pounding just a little too hard.

You exhaled slowly, staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your mind was made up. You couldn’t keep living under their control, pretending you were fine with all of this.

--

Caro barely had time to process before you stormed into the room, your voice sharp with frustration.

“Caro! Can you fucking believe them?” You exclaimed, throwing your bag onto the couch. Your whole body radiated anger, your hands clenched into fists at your sides.

Caro blinked, looking up from her phone. “Uh… them, as in?”

You let out a sharp laugh, but there was no humor in it. “My father. My brother. The whole damn house acting like I’m some fucking prisoner they can just order around!”

Caro sighed, setting her phone down. “What happened now?”

You ran a hand through your hair, pacing. “They lost their minds because I was with Elias. Like, full-on interrogation, yelling, threats, the whole fucking thing.”

Caro winced. “Shit.”

“Yeah. And guess what? I’m still meeting him,” you said, lifting her chin defiantly. “I don’t care what they say. I can’t live like this, Caro. I won’t.”

You paced the room, your movements sharp, restless. Your frustration was palpable, crackling in the air between them.

“If I stop now, then when?” you snapped, running a hand through your hair. “Next thing I know, I’ll be locked away like fucking Rapunzel—trapped, controlled, waiting for permission to breathe.”

Caro watched you carefully, arms crossed. She knew you had a point—your family wasn’t just strict, they were ruthless. Defying them wasn’t just rebellious. It was dangerous.

“You know this isn’t just about rules,” Caro said cautiously. “Your family—they don’t just make threats. They follow through.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, trust me, I know.”

Caro hesitated, then sighed. “So what now? What’s your grand plan?”

You finally stopped pacing, turning to face her, fire burning in your eyes. “I go. I meet Elias. And I don’t look back.”

Caro crossed her arms, watching Eva carefully. "So let me get this straight—you’re just going to Elias willingly knowing he is trouble?"

You met her gaze without hesitation. "Yes. If they won’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll figure it out myself."

Caro let out a slow breath. "That’s a dangerous game, Eva."

You scoffed. "So is letting them keep controlling me. I need to know the truth."

---

[wonwoosmagnetic]

No Saints Here | kmg

Pairing : bodyguard!mingyu x rich!reader

Genre : angst, romance, mystery

synopsis :

Some secrets are meant to stay buried. Some love stories were never meant to begin.

Evangeline Perez thought she buried the past along with her sister. But when whispers of the truth resurface, she finds herself tangled in a web of secrets, power, and deception—one that could cost her everything.

Mingyu is a complication she never asked for. Cold, relentless, and far too protective, he’s determined to keep her from chasing ghosts. But Eva has never been one to obey orders, and the deeper she digs, the harder it becomes to ignore the tension pulling them together.

Because some things refuse to stay in the dark.

And some hearts are doomed from the start.

CHAPTER ONE

You had spent your entire life performing.

The daughter of Rafael Perez didn’t get the luxury of being anything else. Every movement, every carefully measured smile, every moment of silence in a room like this—it all meant something. Tonight was no different.

The ballroom glittered under chandeliers, the golden light reflecting off silk gowns and polished shoes. Laughter drifted through the air, mingling with the clinking of glasses, but beneath the practiced pleasantries lay a current of power. Deals were being made, alliances solidified, and Eva, as always, was a pawn on the board.

You lifted a champagne flute to your lips, though she barely took a sip. The bubbles fizzed against your skin, but you weren't drinking. You never drank at these events. Staying sharp was a necessity, not a choice.

--

You sat on your bed, eyes fixed on the blank canvas before you. The brushes, untouched and coated in dust, sat idle on the windowsill. You used to be able to lose yourself in the colors, the strokes, the world you created. But now? Now, it all felt hollow, a reminder of the life you were supposed to want, but couldn’t seem to care about.

Every day felt like you were moving through a fog, playing a part in a show you didn’t audition for. The more the days passed, the more you felt lost. A knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts, and before you could even respond, the door creaked open. Rafael Perez, your father, stepped inside with that cold, calculated look he always wore.

His presence was like an impenetrable wall, looming over your every move. “I see the canvas is still here.” he said, his voice devoid of emotion, but there was a clear disappointment in his words.

Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t respond immediately. He’d been saying the same thing for months, as though avoiding painting would somehow fix everything in your life. You stood, brushing your hands together, as though trying to dust off your frustration.

���I told you, I’m not interested in your... ‘vision’ for me, Dad,” you replied, trying to keep your tone neutral, but there was a sharpness to it you couldn’t quite hide. Your father didn’t react to the anger in your voice, like he didn’t even hear it.

He just stepped further into the room, his gaze never leaving yours, and approached the canvas with that same critical look. “You’re wasting your time, Evangeline. You’re wasting your potential. You have a responsibility to the family, to the company, to everything we’ve built.”

You scoffed, folding your arms across your chest. “What about what I want? Does that even matter?” His eyes flickered to you briefly, the hint of irritation flashing in them, but he quickly masked it. “What you want doesn’t matter. What matters is what needs to be done.” He paused for a beat before adding, “I’ve arranged for you to attend an event tonight. Mingyu will be there to make sure you’re... presentable.”

The mention of Mingyu made your stomach twist. You'd almost forgotten about him—almost. That damn bodyguard was always around, like a shadow, looming over your every move. He wasn’t just your father’s watchful eye; he was the constant reminder that you weren't in control of your own life.

Your eyes narrowed. “Mingyu,” you muttered, trying not to let the frustration creep into your voice. “What a surprise.” Rafael turned toward the door, as if the conversation was over, but not before adding, “You should be grateful he’s here. He’s only doing his job. I trust you’ll behave.” Your teeth ground together.

“I’m always behaving, Dad,” you spat, sarcasm dripping from the words. Your father didn’t flinch. “I’ll see you later.” He gave you one last look, this time more piercing, before he left, the door closing behind him with a soft thud. You stood still for a moment, staring at the door, your chest tightening with frustration.

You could hear his footsteps fading down the hallway, but the suffocating feeling remained, heavy in the air. You hated how his presence seemed to fill every corner of your life, like you were never allowed to breathe without someone watching.

And Mingyu? He was just the physical embodiment of everything your father represented. The rules. The control. The expectations. You let out a shaky breath and glanced over at the window, the bright sunlight streaming in, but it felt like the room was closing in on her.

Every day felt the same—tethered to your father’s demands, suffocated by the people he surrounded you with, and watched over by Mingyu.

--

You tossed your phone onto the couch, frustration building in your chest. Another message from your dad about the upcoming event—the usual “you need to look perfect” reminder. You sighed deeply, your fingers dragging through your hair as you sat down beside Caro, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor flipping through a fashion magazine.

The two of you had spent the entire afternoon together, but your mind was miles away. “I hate these events,” you muttered, glancing down at your phone. “Everything’s always so perfect and expected. I feel like I can’t breathe.”

Caro stayed silent, a soft smile playing on her lips as she nodded. She was used to your rants, always ready to listen even though Caro’s own thoughts were a little more complicated when it came to these events. She didn’t have to attend them. She was always on the outside looking in.

You, completely oblivious to the weight of Caro’s thoughts, looked up, her eyes bright with determination. “I need your help. I have to look perfect tonight.” Caro blinked, not sure what to expect. “What do you mean?” Her voice was soft, but she couldn’t quite hide the curiosity.

You tossed her phone aside again and turned to Caro, her eyes lighting up. “I need a dress. Not just any dress—something that'll make a statement, you know? Something that says, ‘I’m here, and I’m not going to play by anyone’s rules’.” Caro’s heart skipped, the awkwardness creeping in as soon as she realized what this was about. She shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the floor.

She knew the drill—Your extravagant events, the expectations, the people. It wasn’t her world. She didn’t belong there. “I—I don’t know if I’m the right person to help with that,” Caro muttered, her voice faltering slightly.

She fiddled with the corner of the magazine, a nervous tick she always had when she was uncomfortable. You, however, didn’t seem to notice. She was already on a roll, thinking about all the details. “But you know fashion better than anyone, Caro. Please, just help me pick something out. I trust you. You always know how to make me look amazing.” Caro didn’t answer immediately.

She just nodded, forcing a small smile, even though the thought of stepping into that world made her feel out of place. She was just the friend—the one who didn't belong to the circle of high society, the one who had to watch it all from the sidelines.

Your excitement seemed to fill the room, making Caro’s discomfort that much more pronounced. You weren't just talking about a dress; you were talking about fitting in with your father’s world, about being the perfect image for all the people who would be watching. And Caro wasn’t even invited to those events.

When you suddenly brightened, your smile widening, Caro’s stomach twisted. “Oh! And you can come as my plus one. I mean, you’ve got nothing to do tonight, right?” Caro’s throat tightened. She stayed silent for a long moment, biting her lip as the awkwardness settled over her like a heavy blanket.

You were expecting her to say yes, but all Caro could think about was how out of place she’d feel surrounded by people who had everything she didn’t.  She forced herself to nod, her voice barely above a whisper. “I... yeah, I guess I can come. If you want me to.”

Your face lit up at her agreement. “Of course, I do! You’re my best friend. You’re going to help me pick out the perfect dress, and then we’ll go together. It’ll be so much fun.” Caro smiled weakly, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

She didn’t want to be the one to burst your bubble, but it was hard not to feel like a pawn in this whole thing. You had no idea how different their worlds were. No idea how uncomfortable it made Caro to be asked to be her “sidekick” in a world that would never accept her.

Instead of speaking up, Caro just nodded again, still feeling out of place. “Sounds fun,” she said quietly, her voice almost sounding distant. You, completely oblivious, bounced up from the couch, heading toward the door.

“Let’s go! We’ve got to find that dress, and then I’ll text Mingyu and tell him I’m all ready to go.” And as you dragged her out the door, Caro couldn’t shake the feeling that this night was going to be another reminder of just how different they truly were.

--

The venue was dazzling—golden chandeliers casting a warm glow over the sea of elegantly dressed guests. Laughter and the soft clinking of glasses filled the space, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and champagne.

Everywhere Caro looked, people moved effortlessly, slipping in and out of conversations like they belonged to some secret world she could never quite step into.

You, on the other hand, fit right in. The moment they arrived, you were swept up in a flurry of greetings—soft cheek kisses, perfectly rehearsed compliments, and warm, effortless smiles exchanged between people who had known each other since childhood.

You shined in the dress Caro helped you pick, a sleek midnight blue gown that hugged your form just right. Confidence radiated off you as she laughed, gesturing animatedly while talking to a group of perfectly put-together people.

Caro, however, stood off to the side, her fingers wrapped tightly around the stem of her untouched champagne glass. She shifted on her heels, her dress—borrowed from your closet—feeling a little too tight, a little too foreign.

The conversation around her moved like a fast-flowing river, and she was just a rock stuck on the bank, watching it all pass her by. You had promised they’d stick together, but within minutes, she was off mingling, seamlessly blending into the crowd.

Caro swallowed, her gaze flickering over the room. There was no one here she knew, no one who would even think to talk to her. And maybe that was the point—she wasn’t supposed to be here. She was just the friend. The outsider.

Caro swallowed, her gaze flickering over the room. There was no one here she knew, no one who would even think to talk to her. And maybe that was the point—she wasn’t supposed to be here. She was just the friend. The outsider.

"You know you have to say no to her someday, right?" The deep, measured voice made her flinch. She turned to find Seungcheol Perez- your brother, standing beside her, a crystal glass of whiskey in one hand.

His dark brown eyes, always sharp and unreadable, carried a hint of amusement as he glanced toward Eva, who was across the room, laughing with a group of perfectly polished socialites. Caro sighed. "Oh, is this where you deliver another one of your grand lectures?" He smirked, tilting his glass slightly.

"Not a lecture. Just an observation." He took a slow sip. "She drags you into this world like you belong here. But we both know you don’t." Caro scoffed, arms crossing over her chest. "Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence." He chuckled lightly.

"I’m just saying, you let her pull you around like a shadow." There was teasing in his voice, but something else, too. Something heavier. "She’s my best friend," Caro muttered, glancing at you again. Seungcheol nodded. "I know."

His voice softened, just slightly. Then, after a pause, "But you don’t always have to say yes just because she asks." Caro hesitated, shifting on her feet. "Why do you even care?" He tilted his head slightly, considering her. "Maybe I don’t. Maybe I just enjoy watching you squirm." Caro huffed out a quiet laugh despite herself.

"You are the absolute worst."

"Mm." He smirked again. "And yet, here you are, still talking to me." She rolled her eyes, but the warmth between them was unmistakable. Seungcheol may have been blunt, but he wasn’t cruel. And despite everything, she knew he was right—you never saw how hard it was for her to be in this world. But Seungcheol did.

And for the first time that night, standing beside him, Caro didn’t feel so alone. “Come here to steal my best friend as well?” Your voice cut through the air, her words dripping with barely-contained irritation as she approached them. There was no warmth in her tone, only an edge of frustration. Her eyes narrowed as they settled on Seungcheol.

He didn’t react, his expression calm as always, though there was an underlying tension that was hard to ignore. He took a casual sip from his drink, his gaze steady on you as he replied, "I’m not stealing anyone, Evangeline. Just having a conversation." Your lips tightened into a thin line. You didn’t miss a beat.

"You should know better than to waste your time," you said coldly, your voice flat, like she was talking to a subordinate. “If you’re not here to work, I don’t know what you’re doing.” There was no affection in your words—just the distant, sharp edge of someone who had long ago put up walls. Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “I’m not here to waste anyone’s time,” he replied, his tone smooth, his posture professional.

Your gaze shifted to Caro for a split second, “you really think I need you to babysit her too?” Seungcheol glanced briefly at Caro, whose awkwardness was palpable, before responding in a level voice. "I’m not babysitting her, Evangeline. We’re just talking." You took a step closer, your heels clicking against the floor in a purposeful way. “It’s not your job to talk to her,” you said with a brittle smile, now aiming your words directly at him.

“So why don’t you go find something else to do?” Caro felt herself shrink a little, the tension in the air thickening with every word. She wasn’t sure what had caused the rift between them, but it was clear that whatever it was, it was deep—and it wasn’t about her. Seungcheol didn't flinch.

He met her sharp gaze with the same unflinching calm. "You really don’t need to control everything, Evangeline." Your eyes flashed for a moment, your jaw clenching as your fingers curled slightly around your drink. “And you don’t need to lecture me," you snapped back, your voice low but cutting.

“You’re not in charge here. Stay out of it.” There was a moment of silence before Seungcheol sighed, as if he was tired of this back-and-forth, but he didn't show it. "Fine," he said simply, his voice calm as always. "Enjoy your night." He says raising the glass in Caro's direction as he leaves. Caro watched as Seungcheol disappeared into the crowd, and for a moment, she felt an ache in her chest.

But before she could linger on it, your voice broke through. "I don’t know why he has to make such a scene everywhere he goes." Caro didn’t even look up at you. Instead, she took a slow sip from her drink, trying to steady the chaos in her mind.

"It’s not a scene," she replied quietly. Caro let out a soft breath, glancing over at you, who was clearly still fuming. She could feel the weight of the conversation, but at this point, she wasn’t going to let it ruin her night. Not when you had gone out of her way to make sure they were having fun tonight.

“We don’t like him, Caro. He’s is an asshole,” You said again, her voice steady, but there was a sharpness in it that made it clear you weren't backing down. Caro nodded, her eyes scanning the crowd for a moment, avoiding the topic. She wasn’t sure what else to say. “Yeah, of course. I was just—” “There is no ‘just,’ Caro. He is a fuck up, and I won’t let him ruin our night,” You cut in, more serious now, your expression set. Caro turned back to you, her voice a little quieter as she sighed. “Yeah, yeah obviously.”

There wasn’t much else she could add. She knew you were just looking out for her, but sometimes it felt like everyone had an opinion on Seungcheol. He was complicated, yes—hard to deal with, yes—but he was her friend, and that made things harder. She didn’t want to argue with you about it. Not now. Not tonight.

Caro let the music wash over her, the bass thudding beneath her feet as she tried to shake off the lingering tension. You, on the other hand, had already moved on, flagging down a server to order another round. “You need to stop letting him get under your skin,” Caro said, forcing a smile as she leaned against the bar beside her best friend. You scoffed, picking up your drink.

“I don’t. He’s just always in the way.” You tossed back a sip, your nails drumming against the glass. “It’s pathetic, honestly. He acts like he’s some kind of protector.” Caro hesitated, glancing down at her own drink. “Maybe he’s just—” “Don’t,” You cut in, her voice firm. “You don’t owe him the benefit of the doubt, Caro. Not him.”

Caro swallowed back her words. There was something unshakable in your voice, something that made arguing feel pointless. Maybe you were right. Maybe Seungcheol wasn’t worth defending. But if that were true, why did Caro feel the way she did? Before she could think too much about it, a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Ladies.” Caro turned, blinking as she took in the man who had appeared beside them. Sleek suit, charming smirk, an air of confidence that was just a little too polished. Elias Park. Your posture relaxed instantly, a slow smile curling at your lips. “Elias,” you greeted, tilting your head in interest.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.” “I could say the same,” he replied smoothly, his dark eyes flicking over to Caro for a second before returning to you. “But then again, you do have a habit of making any place worth being at.” You let out a quiet laugh, clearly enjoying the attention. Caro, however, just gave a small, polite smile before turning back to her drink.

Elias leaned a little closer, lowering his voice. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you.” You raised a brow, intrigued. “Oh?” “Yeah.” His eyes gleamed under the dim lighting. “There’s something I think you’d be very interested in.” Caro barely heard the rest of the conversation.

Her mind was elsewhere, her thoughts drifting back to Seungcheol. Something about the way he left—unbothered on the surface, but carrying something heavier underneath—stuck with her. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over.