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justbelievinginmagic · 16 days ago

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like a waltz⎯ part 5: aplomb. (pt.1)

pairing(s): ateez ot8 x fem!readerseries summary: when 8 mysterious bachelors arrive to town and fall for your charms, will you be able to reach your goal to be prima ballerina or be dragged into a selfish waltz between love and obsession?glimpse: with swan lake’s end approaching, you gain more free time and notice the changes within your port town – and your relationships with the bachelors of ateez house. warnings/tags: inspired by Ateez’s Ice on my Teeth MV & Teasers, Mafia AU, Ballet AU, early 1900’s AU with some divergences in tech advancements (i.e rule of cool), 3rd person POV, use of YN, mxm, polyteez, MATURE topics, canon typical violence, canon typical gore, sugar daddy themes, unequal power dynamics, polyamory, exploitation in ballet, intimacy, Korean honorifics, controlling & obsessive tendencies, infatuation, stripping, gambling, mafia things, alcohol, smoking, kissing, possessiveness, jealousy, stalking, sexual themes but no smut, alcohol abuse, partying, pain, medical drug usage, traumatic injury, injuries, reader discretion advised & 18+ readers only! Let me know if I should tag anything else! word count: 30.2k previous chapter <- aplomb (pt. 2) -> next chapter series masterlist read on ao3! important note: hi! this part was too long for tumblr’s word count rules, so it has been split! please check out the rest of this part after reading this post, here! or you can read it uninterrupted via the ao3 link ;)

aplomb ; French pronunciation: [a·plomb], unwavering stability maintained during a vertical pose or movement OR self-confidence or assurance, especially when in a demanding situation.

It was snowing in Cromer. What had started as a light rain and cold chill had turned into snowflakes falling over the port city. The streets had grown icy and slippery. The weather’s wind was biting. People hurried to their next location with bundled coats and warm scarfs wrapped around themselves. Automobiles sped past – causing a brutal wind for those who couldn’t afford such luxury on the sidewalks.

The nearby docks were horrid to walk around, let alone work at. It was colder than anywhere else; the humid air felt sharp against bared skin. The water became slushy and turbulent with rising seasonal storms. But, in the storm, a new fleet of ships had made port in the docks. It wasn’t just one but many. All expensive with new-smelling wood, not made briny from the sea, and hulls absent of mussels or barnacles. Spotless. They towered over the fishing boats and trade ships of Cromer; they were larger than any docked vessel. All of them bore the same headlining name on their stern: Halazia.

The Halazia Utopia.

The Halazia Siren.

The Halazia Twilight.

The Halazia Illusion.

And, of course, the Halazia Aurora.

That night the snow whipped and whistled through the downtown with such force, that even some of the elite stayed huddled inside the grand foyer of the Cromer Opera House for hours after the performance. The boudoir wasn’t a saving grace either. The chill penetrated the gold-gilded walls and made the entire space feel like an ice box. Even with the heated floors activated by the Madame and the few wood-heaters they had burning, it was no contest to the chill. It was cold.

When her patrons joined her in the boudoir that night, they had immediately zeroed in on her attire. San and Wooyoung were men – they had initially enjoyed seeing the extra skin on their ballerina; it was the appeal of the ballet to many. But now, all they saw was goose-fleshed skin and too much of it. Rosy red in the warm-gold light of the boudoir, it made them frown and furrow their brows. San and Wooyoung had insisted YN changed immediately. Nylon tights and sleeves did little to keep someone warm.

“Oh, my honey,” San cooed concernedly at the sight of red flushed skin. He typically enjoyed the sight but only when it was from their affections not the cold.

Unlike usual, they huddled closer to her as she changed, almost shielding her from view as she wiggled and wormed her way out of her costume. San glanced aside when the nylon slipped down her form, baring herself for a moment.

“I’m okay, Sannie,” she reassured, tugging on her skirts and warmer layers once more.

Wooyoung tutted a bit with his tongue, but his eyes remained turned away, pouting at the way she reassured them. She shouldn’t have to. He wanted her warm and content.

When she assured them, she was decent, they both glanced her way, a boyish look on their faces making them look so soft and concerned. Perhaps it was the way their own skin blossomed with a faint blush beneath their eyes on the apples of their cheeks.

Like most of the ballerinas, she was trembling; her teeth chattered from the exposure of the cold. Even when properly dressed once more, she continued to shiver, pulling the fine dark jacket that WooSan gifted her weeks, no, more like months ago close to her form. At the sight of her shivering, Wooyoung manhandled her into their embrace before reaching out to tug San closer by his tie, hoping their two bulking forms would warm her faster.

They were warmer closer, but not by much. Her cheek rested against San’s lapel, and she shuddered as a chill climbed her back. San tutted softly, holding her and Wooyoung moved closer. He wished he was bigger, stronger, warmer so he could hold them closer and warm them up. Instead, he began the tedious task of unpinning her hair. Something he only just began to do – a sort of intimacy she didn’t know was intimate until he started one night as they sat and talked. The way he massaged her scalp was kind and unasked for; the way he carefully pulled away the pins so they didn’t pull at her hair. YN knew the warmth that bloomed in her chest was one of love and not actual heat from their forms.

The pins clinked onto the table as he continued his efforts. His hand occasionally rubbed her neck as she rested close to San’s chest. San was content with being a makeshift pillow for her; his hands went to rest on her waist, supporting her as they huddled close.

Glancing around the boudoir, he saw how few patrons lingered, seeking out the warmth of their automobiles or the lobby rather than rendezvousing with their ballerinas. He gritted his teeth as he noticed the lack of the highest-paying patrons.

“I can’t force you two to walk me home,” she whispered into San’s chest. Her breath fanned out in a visible puff. Hidden from her view, San pouted dramatically. “It’s too cold.” YN continued.

Wooyoung squeezed her neck, scoldingly, before her hair began to unravel from her bun, bit by bit. She could sense their disapproval by the way San hugged her closer and the intake of Wooyoung’s breath, critically.

They’d freeze, she worried. Walking all the way to her apartment and then back to the opposite side of town with this wind and ice? No way. She shook her head against him, mussing Wooyoung’s work carelessly.

“We are not going to let you walk out in weather like this,” San argued, his tone not harsh but firm.

“Can’t she just come home with us?” Wooyoung whined before warming his hands with his breath and rubbing his warmed skin over the visible skin of her neck.

“Captain said –” “I know. I know.”

They spoke over one another for a moment.

The chattering of her teeth was audible. Wooyoung pressed his lips to her neck before there was an interruption.

“YN,” it was a new voice in the conversation. A younger one.

Tiny rushed forward, looking smaller than ever as she curled into herself. The young ballerina buried herself in YN’s side, her face pressed against her hip (half-buried by the black coat she wore).

“Tabitha!” another youthful voice hissed nearby.

It was known to never interrupt a ballerina when she was with her patron. Patrons were first-and-foremost. Without them, the ballet and the ballerinas didn’t survive. But the little one was so cold and found comfort with YN, she ignored all rules (like always). Tiny hugged YN’s waist, hiding into the folds of her skirts.

A flush came to YN’s cheeks as she pulled away just enough to glance down at the girl hiding away in her extra fabric. San’s brows pursed while Wooyoung let out a soft chuckle.

“It’s cold,” Tiny exclaimed, voice muffled into her skirts.

“You have a little duckling huddling close to you,” Wooyoung teased.

“Always,” YN commented but she didn’t push the girl aside. Instead, her hand, still trembling from the chill, went to pet over the mussed hair of Tiny. “It is, Tiny. Do you have your sweater on under your coat? Your mother hasn’t arrived yet?”

Unlike the other girls, Tiny wasn’t of low status. She wasn’t rich but, her parents were secure enough that if Tiny had wished it, she could’ve been at an academy of sorts. Instead, she had fallen in love with the theatre. She reminded YN of herself. Except for the fact that Tiny’s mother wanted her to shine – and wasn’t exceptionally cruel or distant. She and her husband paid for the little one’s costumes rather than have her be in debt to the Madame. Her shoes weren’t worn ‘til they fell apart like the others. She had no need for abusive patrons; she had attentive parents.

Tiny shook her head into her waist with a ‘mhmh’. YN petted over her head again. She glanced over at Wooyoung and San who had taken an appropriate but not too far step away. San’s cheeks flushed as he looked over her and the young ballerina. Wooyoung’s smile was still large before he went to shed his own jacket.

“Here,” he offered it to YN, his gaze directed at the little girl.

She was quick to drape it over the younger and Wooyoung nearly cooed at how the little girl sagged in relief, hugging the warm fur-lined coat closer and closer. It consumed her with how small she was. His gaze returned to YN, warmly, despite the way the chill bit at him.

At Wooyoung’s actions, San adjusted his glasses before shrugging his own jacket off. She could see him suck in a breath at the cold and spotted the pebbling of his nipples through his vest even.

“Honey,” he instructed to her as he held his jacket out which she was quick to obey. With San’s body-warmed jacket over her shoulders, she finally stopped shuddering.

“Thank you, both of you.” She said softly. YN nudged Tiny with her hip lightly.

“Yes,” the word came out hissed still as the little one shivered on. “Thank you, Mr Kim… and Mr Kim.”

“You can call me Wooyo.” The younger of the men encouraged sweetly.

San couldn’t stifle the smile he leveled at Wooyoung’s head as he squatted just a bit as if to be on the child’s level. He knew how much Wooyoung loved children, wanted children. He suspected it had been because of guilt. He left the other street rats on Aurora while he moved onwards…and upwards.

“Mr. Wooyo,” Tiny murmured, bashful for the first time ever. She buried her face into Wooyoung’s jacket.

YN chuckled, squeezing the young ballerina close and waited for her parent to arrive to the boudoir’s doors. Wooyoung was quick to ask the little girl questions – if she liked dancing, if she was working hard, was YN her favorite unnie? – thank goodness that her mother arrived soon because San was sure he was close to adopting the sweet and sassy girl before long. When Wooyoung got his jacket back and Tiny was rushing back to her mother, YN shook off San’s jacket too.

“YN,” he scolded, brow firming into a scowl.

“I’m not letting you become a snowman, sweetheart.” YN argued back. “You’ve been a gentleman.” She praised.

His pout made her smile and she leaned in to capture his lips with hers. He grinned easily into it as he tugged her close, wrapping them both into his long coat.

“We should go now,” Wooyoung announced, adjusted his gloves and sleeves as he shrugged his jacket back on. “Before it gets worse – it looks like there has been a lull. More of the girls have sneaked out.”

“I agree,” she nodded.

Instead of waiting for her outside of the Opera House, San refused to let her out of his embrace, walking with her close to his chest as they navigated through the halls of the ornate building. She tried to whisper her arguments, mentioning that it wasn’t proper, that she’d meet them out front, that the Madame would scold her if she went through the main doors. They didn’t hear one word as they continue onward, passing the high society finding shelter from the storm in the lobby.

She could feel their beady eyes on her as they passed, rumors budding from freezing lips.

“Come on, honey,” San encouraged into her ear as he continued to lead her along.

His eyes were cold as they grazed over the judging audience. Soon enough, they were heaving open the grand opera house’s doors, letting a whirlwind of snow to blow in.

On the steps of the opera house, the downtown looked like a winter hellscape. Not quite a blizzard, but definitely a powerful ice storm. San’s hand went to shield her head into his chest from the chill.

“Finally,” she heard a deep-voice whine out.

“Mingi,” Wooyoung’s voice crowed out, joyfully. “I could kiss you.”

San’s laughter made her head shake, rumbling deep in his chest.

“Mingi’s here for you two?” she mumbled into his coat, trying to pull away to see for herself.

“For you,” San told her; she turned her head just enough to see Mingi and his fancy car radiating heat in the cold air.

The tall driver stood bundled up in jackets, fur icy with snow shards. He trembled a bit but had a large smile on his face as Wooyoung bounded towards him.

“Careful for the ice!” YN cried out, warningly.

Wooyoung was surprisingly slick, keeping his footing as he consumed Mingi in a hug. One that the other didn’t seem to dislike – he didn’t even shove him away. He laughed lightly and said something YN couldn’t quite make out over the snow fall.

San shifted his hold on her until he was partially holding her, her feet no longer touching the ground as he navigated the icy steps and cobblestone. She argued but he simply smiled as he made his way down the elevated steps. It wasn’t until they were in front of the car that her feet touched the cold stonework again.

“Hello, babydoll,” Mingi smiled over at her; Wooyoung firmly buried into his side, most likely to leech the warmth from the other. “Thought you’d need a lift tonight.”

“You’re a life-saver.” Her smile was like the sun, he swore. Addicting. He needed it. Her eyes blinked, and her brows pursed curiously a moment after – worry stealing her happiness. “Is it safe to drive right now?” she asked, dubiously. More concerned for him than herself.

San scoffed.

“Mingi’s the best driver out of us,” he promised as he nodded towards the door.

The tall driver’s chin rose up in pride at his friend’s words before he went to pull open the backseat’s door. The visible breath of the car’s heater kissed the air. San was quick to wiggle the pair of them in without little discussion. YN let out a small gasp of surprise; before she could even say anything, he squeezed her into a cuddle.

“Let’s go home; he’s here for you,” San insisted, shivering as the heat warmed his cheeks.

Wooyoung sat down in the front passenger seat, glancing over his shoulder at the bundled-up pair. Oh, he wished he could take a photograph of them. So cute. He sighed as the warm heaters heated his chilled nose.

Mingi slid into the driver’s seat, the squelch of the leather against snow-wet slacks made her frown. Almost as if sensing her displeasure, he glanced back at her through his rearview mirror. Genuine brown eyes met hers and they shut in happy half-moons – even while he shivered.

“I’ll drop YN off first,” Mingi said flicking half-melting snow off of the freshly-polished leather seats.

Wooyoung whined a bit, wanting her to come home with them. But he was quickly shut up by a sharp look from Mingi.

“Thank you, Mingi.” She praised; her words were half muffled from San’s embrace.

The red flush of his ears wasn’t from the chill she deduced.

“No problem, doll. You warming up?”

San was like a big cat as he answered with a pleased hum for her, nodding and nuzzling her closer into his arms. Mingi chuckled at San, rolling his eyes. He wished he could’ve just stolen her away to the mansion and kept her safe and warm beside a fire. But Captain’s orders were Captain’s orders.

No outsiders without approval.

He got her safely home, and the three men watched longingly from their automobile as she hurried inside.

“I want her at the mansion,” Wooyoung mumbled to the two others.

“One day.” Mingi replied earnestly; he leaned forward to nudge his forehead against Wooyoung’s temple. Wooyoung leaned into it, turning to press his lips against Mingi’s cheek. “I know it. They’ll see. She’s different.”

Ever faithful, Mingi held onto the starry-eyed obsession he had for her. He imagined her doing the night-time routine he watched her do from the shadows of the streets, just in the warmth of the mansion. A bedroom she could decorate to her hearts content – maybe it’d be soft and lacey like the night gowns he got glimpses of on his nightly watches. The smell of her lingered in the now-hot car.

The storm raged on that night; the apartment shook and rumbled from the roaring wind. YN slept with her coat on, the distant smell of a tropical shore transporting her to a warmer climate in a warm embrace.

YN was surprised that the next tennis match was still held. A makeshift tent had covered the tennis court at the Cromer Sports Facility; the fabric heaved with the weight of the snow settling there. The workers seemed to constantly being eying it to make sure it wasn’t about to cave in.

San had made sure she was bundled up warmly, her dark jacket pinned up to her neck by a broach that was once on his breast-pocket. He even unwrapped his own scarf from his neck to fold and drape around her cozily. He hummed lightly at the sight.

“Thank you, San,” she thanked sweetly.

San’s smile was only for her, spreading wide like a content cat. He nuzzled his nose against hers fondly, uncaring of the public’s eyes on them as they sauntered on the steps of the sports facility.

“Of course, honey. Let’s go see Yeosang.” He pressed another kiss to her forehead. “This morning, he said you were the one thing he was looking forward to see today.”

They sat in their typical seats, in a private sort of box with the other seats near them blocked off. They had a perfect view of the court, the score, everything. She hadn’t taken notice of it before, thinking it was just how the rich paraded about. But after examining the other attendees, she noted it was different. They were different. A selection of extra chairs, plush and clean rather than the folding metallic chairs other attendees had, were around him and her. Six others seats to be exact.

YN thought it was almost cruel to have the competition still. The air was cold, billowing in from the open sides of the tent. The tennis players were still wearing the typical uniform - shorts and short-sleeved tunics. She could see Yeosang’s goose-fleshed skin even from their far-away seats. She bit her lip in empathy. Yeosang didn’t give any other indication of the weather affecting his performance. He didn’t even shiver when his breath billowed out visibly like a dragon breathing out smoke. Ever professional, he glared down at the competitor, cruelly. As if he was some sort of ice prince.

“Why don’t they cancel the game?” she asked quietly to San as the game continued onwards. The grunts of the players filled the air as did the tennis ball thwacking against the tennis court repeatedly. Whenever the point was made a light bell was rung out in different tones for the different players.

San took a sip of his drink, swirling the liquid in his cup. It was surprising the alcohol hadn’t frozen over in the chill. His fur-coat was heavied over his white-button up’ed shoulders, something soft compared to his sharp features. His lips pursed as if weighing his words before speaking.

“Money,” San answered. “There were bets made for this match already.”

“Did you bet?” she asked.

He glanced over at her with a cocked brow. As if that was answer enough. And well, she knew better. He had pushed the idea of betting on her last time – promised he’d bet money for her, buy her anything she wanted with the winnings.

He definitely had money on Yeosang’s victory.

“A lot?” she clarified, brows raising.

His lips quirked at that, sharp as a razor blade. He looked over at Yeosang as he swung and hit the ball with a grunt.

“I trust Yeosangie’s skills.” He said simply.

“So, yes,” she chuckled.

San’s smile remained on his lips as he lifted her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles, holding her hand close for a moment before he tilted her hand to reveal the diamond bracelet on her wrist. His bracelet. He kissed it next.

“Yes.”

The game was relatively quick. It made her aware that perhaps Yeosang truly was that good and the other games were like a performance of sorts. A dance between the two athletes until Yeosang truly showed his power. Or maybe it was the chill – it had weakened the other competitor… but even Yeosang from the tropical temperatures of Aurora managed. Better than managed, Yeosang won.

The other competitor shivered and huffed in the cold air; Yeosang barely flinched. He slung his racket over his shoulder as soon as he scored the final point. A triumphant grin pierced his delicate features, proud. His gaze was quick to find out their booth and smile up at her and San, applauding him.

Folk walked onto the court, cheering, and patting him on the shoulder. Press, bundled up with their camera lights smoking and shattering as they took their photographs, crowded too close. The smell of burnt bulbs and cigarette smoke was choking even from how far San and YN stood. But Yeosang was always a good socialite, smiling politely and waving. He answered some questions with his calm tone, his breath a plume of warmth in the chill. His body heat even made a halo of steam radiate off him.

His gaze flashed back to them and she swore she saw a change in the light that gleamed there. A darkness, a frustration, something…

“Let’s head to his tent,” San encouraged, leaning in to speak over the chatter. “He’ll want to change into warmer clothes immediately.”

YN nodded in agreement, rising from her spot. Her own hands were aching from the chill with her lack of gloves. She wondered if Yeosang’s skin was frostbitten. She frowned at the thought. San took her hand in his, squeezing it purposefully before guiding them through the crowds of the rich and fanciful.

Yeosang’s private tent was the same one as before except for the addition of a stovetop, a roaring fire going to warm the space the best it could. It wasn’t much but it still made her sigh out in relief. She was glad he’d have this at least.

San let go of her hand, letting her huddle closer to the stovetop. He instead moved towards the locker, swinging it open after entering Yeosang’s code (one he knew easily somehow), and taking out the clothes she was sure Yeosang would be changing into. A coat, a pinstriped suit, dark sleek gloves. It wasn’t like the soft fabrics she saw him in at the mansion. It was sharp and tailored and sleek. Where was he headed after this? A press meeting perhaps?

He placed them on the nearby bench, close to the fire to warm them up.

“Are there any more games planned?” YN queried San.

“I think they’ll be cancelled after today; the snow is brutal here.”

Cromer was known for its hot summers and chilly winters, the extremes of both seasons. She knew Aurora, from Wooyoung’s descriptions, was often warm. Pleasant besides the occasional hurricane or tropical storm. They weren’t used the ice and chill – despite handling it remarkably well. But she supposed when someone was decked out in furs, they’d be warm.

“I hope so.” she admitted. “Yeosang doesn’t deserve to suffer like that again.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” She heard his delicate masculine voice chime out as the tent’s fabric rustled as he entered.

She noticed how Yeosang’s cheeks were flushed now that he was closer, the blush over his cheeks and nose complimented his reddish-brown hair. The glow of sweat rested on his forehead, gleaming in the firelight.

“Good work today, Sangie,” San approved from across the tent.

The tennis player raised a brow at the other before wiping his forehead with an Ateez-embroidered towel.

“It’s cold,” he said, deadpanned.

“You did a good job,” San continued to praise, voice softening sweetly.

There was a hint of annoyance on Yeosang’s face before he turned his attention back on YN.

“It’s nice to see you again,” he admitted. “I hope you weren’t too chilly.”

YN’s face was one of gentleness as her mouth dropped in shock. “No, no! I was worried about you. Even though you were fierce; I can’t imagine how cold you were -- are.” Her hand went to touch his arm as if to reassure him, but flinched as soon as her skin touched his. It was icy. Her brows rose in disbelief.

“Yeosang! Get changed; you are freezing.”

In a flash, she felt what San and Wooyoung felt when they bore witness to her shivering in the boudoir. She was debating even unbuckling her own coat to drape around him; he was so cold. But instead, she took a step to pass by him. She knew he’d have to remove his clothes to get changed. No respectful person would just change in front of their company – unless you were a part of the boudoir that is.

His hand, sharp and quick, twisted in her grasp to hold onto her wrist tightly, preventing her from leaving.

“Don’t go.”

It wasn’t a plea. It was a command.

“You have to change,” she insisted, her head snapping to look at Yeosang and, then, San.

They both held an air of nonchalance; San’s lips even smiled just a smidge. Didn’t they know it wasn’t proper? A man changing in front of a woman was scandalous. Her own cheeks began to heat up – and not from the nearby furnace. Yeosang’s eyes sought hers out, fiercely. His skin tingled where he held on tighter. Squeezing for her attention, he clung to his confidence as he met her gaze solidly.

“It’s only fair,” he said. “We’ve seen you.”

Her eyes widened at his words; slowly, his hand slipped from her wrist slowly, carefully as if she’d run off. Her mouth had dried up. Uncertainty. It wasn’t like she had a choice at the ballet. He had a choice… but here he was offering her it. It was intimacy. Fragility. Sharing something in confidence. An invasion of privacy. One that was stolen from her day-in and day-out in the boudoir.

Her heart raced at the thought – the idea that Yeosang hadn’t even seen her like that yet didn’t cross her mind as he took a step back.

San tilted his head as he watched Yeosang silently, approvingly. Almost prideful, but YN’s gaze was locked on the athlete. The tennis player’s eyes did not leave hers as he pulled his polo shirt up and over his head with ease. Bare skin was revealed, flushed rosy from the chill or maybe embarrassment or excitement? She didn’t know.

Sharp collarbones, chiseled muscles, flexing tendons. He was lean, muscular, fit as he was lithe. His shoulders tucked back, confidence growing in his eyes like a lit fire as he tossed the shirt aside. He paused, stomach tensing as she glanced over his form. He smirked just a bit, pride radiating from him as he turned to reach for the clothes laid out for him by San. His arms flexed, his back muscles tightening as he reached for a white undershirt. He fisted the fabric, glancing over at her before he moved to shift his sports’ shorts lower and lower. A peak of his V line taunted her before YN forcibly glanced away. Red-cheeked.

She didn’t want to be like those at the boudoir. She didn’t want to leer and take away their privacy. She respected Yeosang. She respected San and Wooyoung. She didn’t want that – just as they glanced away, so did she. Swallowing, her throat jumped.

The sound of fabric jostling against each other paused as he stopped in his motions. There was a fond smile on his lips now (invisible to her as she stayed looking away), sweet on his icy features. He glanced over at San and the other looked just as smitten.

“You are an angel sent from above, YN.”

Yeosang chuckled lowly, his signature lilt, as he hastened to dress once more. She remained looking aside, rosy cheeked.

“A true lady,” San commended as he approached from aside. He came into her line of sight, a fond look over his face as he caught her waist in his grasp and tugged her into a sweet kiss. It wasn’t one of fire or licking passion, something sweeter. Like honey, it made her melt.

Yeosang’s hand slid over San’s hand, not yet touching YN at the small of her back, but she could feel the shift of pressure on her waist through San’s hand. Glancing over, Yeosang was now dressed, sharper than ever in a clean-cut suit. His hair was mussed from the quick change and she couldn’t help but raise a hand to shift it behind his ear, delicately.

“YN.” He breathed. “You surprise me again and again.”

“Isn’t she something?”

Yeosang looked at her like she was magnificent, worthy, and it made her heart burn. She licked her lips and she saw his attention shift there for a fraction of a moment. His fingers squeaked in his gloves as if he physically had to hold himself back.

“Shall we go on a date, Miss YN?” he prompted instead. Her mouth dropped at the increase of his confidence. His query happened while she was in another man’s arms at that! Bold and daring and almost cunning. Her eyes lit with curiosity.

“If you’d grant me the pleasure.”

San’s hand squeezed encouragingly, his gaze warm and happy on her facial features. He watched carefully with a pleased grin as he looked over at Yeosang who peered over her shoulder.

She, of course, agreed – to the bubbling excitement of San beside her who squeezed them both into a hot embrace quickly. He couldn’t be happier with the development. He reiterated to her quickly that Wooyoung would be even more pleased – saying that Wooyoung once followed after Yeosang because he wanted to be his friend so badly. All they wanted was their happiness – their shared happiness.

Her date with Yeosang was scheduled for the following weekend, if the weather permitted. She tried to query the location of the date out of him but all the socialite did was smile coyly and said good things come to those who waited. Diplomatically teasing her. YN daydreamed of garden walks and warm spring days beside the athlete in her fictionalized date-dream.

Unfortunately, the weather had only gotten worse as winter crept further into Cromer.

At the ballet the next morning, she realized how badly her joints ached; her muscles were cold and stiff as she stretched out. The floor of the boudoir was colder than ever, almost like she was sitting in a pile of snow. Huffing out, she was looking forward to the end of Swan Lake. All the ballerinas were. They all shivered and cursed the weather as they warmed up and dressed up in the boudoir.

“What do you think the next show will be, YN?” Tiny asked while she wiggled and waddled this way and that during her make up application.

Too young to properly apply it, the lone costumer, an apprentice, did so instead for the littlest of ballerinas. Tiny like always was a rebel. Rouge was rubbed on her cheeks roughly, as if punishing the little girl for her movements. YN gave the costumer a sharp look. They didn’t need to be so harsh.

“I’m not sure; Madame hasn’t hinted at anything. It won’t be Swan Lake… or anything by Tchaikovsky I bet.” YN commented as she gathered her hair from her neck to put into a tight bun

“So, no Sleeping Beauty,” one of the other girls pouted.

“Maybe we will do something like Romeo and Juliet!” Tiny beamed. “I love when it’s a romance!”

“Is that a tragedy?” the ballerina that shot down the girl’s hopes solidified it was a whack of her fresh ballet shoes against the cold floor, breaking its arch for a more comfortable dancing experience.

“They’re in love!” Tiny screeched indignantly.

“What about Coppélia?” Someone suggested. “It’s a love story.”

“No,” Tiny lamented; she shivered in disgust rather than the chill (she suspiciously had a new jacket around her shoulders YN noticed.) “It’s too weird. Dolls coming to life is scary. Plus, we’ve worn so much white – I don’t want to be a porcelain doll next.”

That made YN laugh. “So, a love story, not spooky, not a tragedy. That’ll be a hard find in ballet. Where’s the drama?”

“Life is full of drama,” the little one complained slumping down into the collar of her fluffy jacket.

“You are so young; you don’t know drama,” said the costumer, slapping the girl’s arm to get her to sit upright again. “Stop your wiggling.”

Another performance was a success; another evening of seeing her patrons. Wooyoung approached without San in tow. The confusion on her face made him coo out fondly.

“Hello, my swanette,” he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Hi Woo,” she greeted him with a blossoming smile despite the confusion. She trusted him to answer her. His grin only grew at his nickname. He nuzzled her cheek; warm breath sending goosebumps up her arms, hidden by their dark tropical-scented coat. He breathed her in – getting a gulp of a familiar cologne mixing with the uniqueness of her.

“Where’s San?” she asked.

“Caught up in business,” he sighed out, wrapping her in his embrace tighter.

His jacket was a pleasant mix of him and San’s colognes; he was warm to the touch and she couldn’t help herself from pushing her cheek further into his chest. He let her smiling pridefully as her head nudged underneath his jaw. He wrapped both arms around her in a bear hug, humming pleasantly. His eyes shut.

“What is business to you both?” she queried, half-muffled into his chest.

“This and that. He’s talking to Takahashi.”

Takahashi… he handled most of the factories in town; her own mother worked in one of his warehouses sewing on a new-electric sewing machine. She didn’t know they had factory agreements. Yeosang was a sportsman… she had assumed that’s where their business laid. Sports, betting, maybe even their patronage somehow benefitted them. Rich fueled the rich after all.

Their mansion didn’t imply factory-building, but she wasn’t so sure what would indicate it. Takahashi didn’t work in the factories – hell, he rarely visited them according to her mother. He was a distant owner, counting the coins her mother and the other seamstresses made for pennies on the gold piece.

Maybe Yunho could have a hand in factories. He was intimidating like a foreman YN thought.

“What of?” she couldn’t help but query.

Wooyoung squeezed her as he enjoyed her presence; he had missed last night’s performance and one night without her felt like an eternity now. His hand stroked over her head, fiddling with some of the pins. He didn’t know why he eagerly waited to pull each pin out of her bun; to hear her sigh in relief with the released tension. He liked bringing her comfort, liked her closeness, liked their intimacy.

“Something on behalf of Hongjoong,” he admitted before going to hoist her into his arms.

She gasped out at his daringness; his hands shifted to hold her close, lacking most respect. His fingers spread out under her thighs, although clothed by her skirts and layers.

“Bold, Mr. Wooyoung.” She commented, teasingly rather than outraged.

“You like bold. You liked Yunho’s confidence you said. You liked Yeosangie’s, too,” he retorted, not sharply but quick. He leaned his neck forward as he shifted her weight. “I’m the boldest. San says you’ve been complaining about your joints; I’ll hold you so you’ll be pain free,” he argued.

“Uh, huh,” she replied unconvinced. It surprised her that they observed her so closely – was that why Yeosang pulled that stunt? To be seen as confident? He had been so respectful before. Not that she saw him as disrespectful – no, she just… was surprised.

“Shall I get you a new fur-lined coat? Or boots? Anything to keep you toasty? Maybe kisses?” Her first of the Ateez bachelors continued talking, teasing her.

Wooyoung smirked up at her before he pressed a daring kiss to her lips, hot and sweet. Her hands went to rest on his shoulders. His hair brushed over her knuckles; it was longer than ever, lightly wavy. She raised a finger to twist around a strand. He pulled back, their breath lingering together in a tango. Her eyes flickered over his features. His mole on his cheek tempted her and she gave in easily, leaning forward to press a kiss to the birthmark.

“My swanette is bold today,” he teased in return.

“What will you call me when Swan Lake is over?” she chuckled, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Wooyoung began to stride over to the nearby settee – the one that he and San had taken as their own. No other man would take it while the boudoir was open to visitors (if they knew what was good for them). He sat down and settled her across his lap, scandalous for public eye and normal within these walls.

YN enjoyed the closeness, their intimacy, his warmth. She didn’t try to move away. The fleeting glances of the other ballerinas felt like flies rather than bee stings. She didn’t care that they looked on nowadays.

“You’ll always be mine, my swanette,” Wooyoung commented, hand going pluck a stray white feather from her hair. “Even after Swan Lake.”

“I don’t doubt that,” she teased. He grinned up at her before going to press a kiss to the available skin of her neck, almost possessively. His teeth nibbled in a gentle bite. Nothing wild but enough that he felt her fingers curl around his suit jacket, a sharp smile came to his lips at her reaction.

“When the next show starts, I believe you’ll find something. You’re like that. I wonder what nickname you’ll come up with?” she hummed, fingers fiddling with his collar.

“Do you know what you’ll be dancing yet?” he inquired, pulling away from her skin.

“Not yet,” she admitted. “They keep it close to their chests; I think producers have a big say here.”

“Hmm,” he hummed. “Do you want something in particular?”

She fiddled with his hair and shook her head lightly. “Nothing too boring hopefully. And something with plenty of women roles. I want to make at least lead dancer.”

Auditions were always a daunting prospect – a mix of talent, luck, and nepotism surrounded the process.

“I know, YN,” he soothed. “Have you ever considered another company?”

There were few companies nearby; Cromer Opera House was most well-known in the area. Money ruled the world and most companies never had enough to perform for as long as Cromer did. Competitors would fade away after a season or two, but Cromer Opera House had been here for ages. It was just natural to gravitate towards the Cromer Opera House Company rather than leave town to find a ballet company she wasn’t privy to.

“No. I’ve only known this company; any other has failed in this town, and I can’t leave my ma without anyone,” she told him.

“Would you? If they were available?” he asked softly.

“Maybe. I’m not sure.” She admitted. “I wish I could just make the Madame see my potential. I swear she has it out for me.”

Wooyoung grimaced, sharing her gossip and her frustrations. He pouted in agreement before nuzzling at her jaw.

“It’ll work out.” He assured, pressing another kiss to her jaw. “Oh! I see Sannie.”

Yunho watched from afar, his gaze settling on the trio as they walked outside into the cold air. It seemed like she had begun to leave through the main doors now rather than sneak out the alleyway doors. Good, he thought. Mingi would be glad. He hated her wandering in the shadows.

The snow crunched between his boots as he leaned back against the brick wall of the bank; their tall stain-glassed windows were dark and dim so late into the night. His tongue passed over his diamond-inlayed teeth. He felt Mingi, peering out at them from the shadows of the alley. But he hadn’t been here initially for her (he argued internally). He was on business with Jongho; though the consigliere-in-training had hurried off after their meeting. Swearing it was also business related, he snuck into the opera house; Yunho doubted it was unless YN suddenly had become a business endeavor.

Maybe she had. Things that happened behind Hongjoong’s office doors weren’t shared with him – only Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and Jongho were allowed in that room or by invitation by the Captain only.

It almost made him chuckle into the night.

The chill wasn’t the only thing that bit at his bones as he watched her giggle under the affection of San and Wooyoung. San’s smile was a beacon of light in the dark, his joy undeniable and Yunho couldn’t help but let out a soft smile. It was an improvement; Hongjoong and Seonghwa would be happy.

His gaze settled back on her. She was the cause of such joy; was is selfish to ache for it too? He knew she was frightened of him even if she wore a brave mask. Yunho didn’t want her to wear a mask around him – ever. He wanted her like this, smiling, happy, jovial.

He yearned to be the reason she smiled so bright.

San caught his eye – ever aware, ever protective. He gave him a slight nod of acknowledgement when her head was turned, talking to Wooyoung excitedly about something.

“Ready to go?” Jongho queried, his voice close to his ear.

The older jumped, startled for once. Jongho giggled mischievously.

“When did you get here?” Yunho countered, shoving him playfully.

“I’ve been here,” Jongho teased.

“Did you enjoy her dancing?” Yunho retorted, raising a brow as he looked back at the youngest.

Jongho wore a face of indifference, childish as it was charming. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Yunho smirked, all intimidation and darkness and brooding melting away as he nudged his friend again.

“Uh-huh, I’m sure,” he teased. He’d bear the youngest’s secret – let him sneak off to look at the pretty dancer before he was allowed. Like a child with his hand in the cookie jar, he was being naughty – but Yunho, ever a good hyung, wouldn’t tattle. “Let’s get out of here.”

“You don’t want to go walk her home?” Jongho’s chin nudged towards the group, shivering as they spoke on the steps of the Opera House. “Swoop in and be the gentleman? Get her on your good side?”

Jongho was always a romantic at heart. Yunho saw the way he stared at YN longingly even if they barely knew one another. Him and Mingi were similar in that way. There was a rev of an engine; a familiar engine at that. Yunho let out a light huff of a chuckle. Out of a nearby side-street, Mingi drove their newest automobile car onto the main street.

“Mingi’s got it covered.”

Jongho smiled a conflicted smile. Yunho echoed it before slinging an arm around his neck to guide him towards the path home.

The next day YN didn’t have a morning practice; a rarity. She knew the upcoming closure of Swan Lake made their producers, choreographers, and Madame all busier. They had meetings and discussions behind closed doors; cancelling practices allowed them to do so in quiet with no ballerinas sneaking near to listen in on their conversations.

YN took them as a blessing. When she was younger, she’d do anything to be in that room, to know what show was next, how could she prepare the best for a certain potential role. But call it age or karma, she knew now that the world of dance wasn’t as simple as being the best dancer. Imara and Julia both remained on her mind – a yin and yang, the best-and-worst-case scenario of patrons. No, the ballet was more than just dancing.

Gathering her basket and her hat, a new fashionable cloche hat rather than something wide brimmed, she prepared herself to go to the market instead. Bundled up in her warmest layers, she didn’t wear her fancy jewelry out in public – instead they rested in a jewelry box in her bedroom under her pillow.

Walking to the market was quiet, the winter air whooshed and whirled snow about her feet. But as she approached the market, the crowds grew. It wasn’t like the pretty town center with their towering banks, bustling offices, bright theatres, and grand opera house. It was the original port’s epicenter with its salt-eaten brick and blue-green oxidized metal pipes. Children and women, men with canes and old top hats, horses and roaming dogs and cats, they all wandered, pushing past one another.

It wasn’t open and wide like the town center. The port’s downtown was boxed in, covered by a wooden tiled roof (some were gone from the snow fall), but it was still open air. There were all sorts of shops around the stalls of pungent meat, stinky fish, blocks of cheeses, and boxes of the last remaining un-canned vegetables. The scent of street food filled the air, warming it with its spices and garlic aromas; flames sizzled from their make-shift stovetops. There was a jewelry shop, a shop full of record players and radios, a high-fashion shop, an old theatre long-defunct, scatterings of warehouses of smaller trades, and the port house. Bustling with common-folk.

She weaved in and out the streets, dodging a passing carriage, still pulled by a horse. The cobblestone was uneven but familiar as she continued past table after table of craftsmen and salesmen.

“Miss YN,” a fisherman cried. “Any fish today?”

It was a familiar face – a fisherman she had bought from before who was kind and old. Her mother would often talk to him when they bought tiny fishes for stews. There were eyes staring at her – fish eyes that is. Big, glassy, and dead. All staring at her from the ice beds. It made her shiver.

“No, not today.” she declined politely, pausing in her step and moving out of traffic to talk to him. There weren’t that many fish available she noticed. “Good haul?” she made conversation.

The man made a face of uncertainty, weighing his options. “It was alright. The chill is brutal, sends most fish swimming. Port has some new rules, too.”

She smiled understandingly – a crinkle forming in between her brows. “It’s a bad storm,” she agreed. “New rules?”

“New fees.” He admitted with a click in his tone. “Frederickson needs to pad his pockets more.”

YN’s brows crinkled, remembering how Frederickson had just paid for Julia’s private room… Here he was charging more money to hard-working folk.

“I’m sorry,” she empathized. “I hope things get better. And that folk buy.”

The man tutted, after all she was one of the people not buying. He waved her off good-heartedly nonetheless. “Tell your mother hello.”

YN nodded pleasantly as she turned away to join the crowd once more. Figures pushed past her; a baby cried; dogs ran between legs. She felt eyes on her back, like that of the dead fish. Staring. Heavy. She glanced aside looking for the source. The crowd continued, not minding her pause in an ocean of people.

There was a smell of gardenias and pineapple. Soft distant, warm in such a cold climate. It made her blink, blink, turning to look the other way. She swore someone was staring at her. She knew the way a gaze felt on her like a flame’s warmth, like the sharpness of a diamond bracelet on her wrist, like the heaviness of a coat. Finally, amongst the crowd she spotted something familiar – a gleam of an anchor broach catching the sunlight, the fluffed bangs of a bulky figure, pursed lips as he caught her gaze for a moment before turning away.

Jongho was here… looking at her… and then he was gone.

Seonghwa watched from a second-floor window. His brow jerked as he saw Jongho, peering back at YN. The younger paused in his step before turning back on his path. Seonghwa tilted his head thoughtfully, glancing between the two of them. He couldn’t help the sneer of a smile that twitched on his lips. He watched as she paused and spoke to the fisherman. Her smile, oh so sweet and polite. She seemed to be everywhere now.

Pretty little bird.

Jongho looked back again. Seonghwa’s smile itched at the corner of his mouth.

“Mr. Park,” a man cleared his throat.

He spoke uncertain; trembling as he stuttered out in fright. Park Seonghwa was a frightening man, tall like a towering statue. His features were handsome, almost otherworldly with his handsomeness but what was more unearthly was the way he maintained composure. His lips were in a firm sneer, nose sharp like a statue’s; his eyes were dark even in sunlight. His leathered hands held onto a large brimmed hat, polite but firm.

“Are the facilities pleasing?” the man continued, tentatively.

Seonghwa glanced around the building. A majority of it had white sheets covering its interior, its once-polished glass lights were covered in a thin layer of dust, and the smell of mildew and ocean-air stank the place up - even here in the rafters. A sharp tongue darted over his upper lip prodding at his teeth.

“Let’s discuss it down in the office, shall we?” Seonghwa replied, turning on his heel and leading the way down a stairwell.

YN always loved to look out over the crowd. She was used to the watchful gazes of Wooyoung and San; YN even loved to flash a wink their way when it was appropriate. But she never tired of looking over the crowd and seeing their reactions. While she loved the attention the stage provided, she liked to see the wonder, the emotion, the investment flicker on the audience’s faces. Even now so late into the performance’s run, she’d see a new face in the sea of many – sometimes with an open mouth in awe. It always filled her with pride, making her chin raise higher.

Tonight though, as she did a pirouette, she swore she saw a ghost. A figure standing near the entrances on the sides of the theatre. Not especially odd. Sometimes there were folk waiting to shuffle to his seat when there was a lull between scenes or simply standing to stretch their legs. Sometimes a mother had to soothe a babe in her arms by the doors as it cried and whined into its pacifier.

But tonight, she spotted something stranger: a so-called stranger that her bachelors knew of by name. Jongho. Kim Jongho, she supposed. His face was illuminated by casted light of the hot stage-lights. Sharp masculine features, softened by the darkness of the shadows he crept back into. She still saw him. Watching her, with a soft smile on his lips. Fond and kinder than she expected he wanted to reveal. He was far from Box #8. She wondered why he was so separate from the pair in their box; others had joined them before; why was it such a secret to watch her perform?

He was here to see her, right?

He checked his pocket watch before taking one last look at her and turning to leave.

She wanted to talk to him again… but how? The next musical cue made her leap towards the wings, her legs scissoring in the air elegantly.

“Who is Jongho?” YN asked San that night during intermission.

His hands rested on her waist, fiddling with the feathers that laid there, sewn by her careful hands. His thumbs prodded over the thread, fondly. At the mention of the illusive man, he grinned.

Like all of the other so-called bachelors, it was clear how much San adored them; the smile on his face one that she’d compare to a bunny. Almost giddy, excitable.

“He’s the baby,” he told her.

“I’ve heard,” she said chuckling at the immediate description as if Jongho was a young boy. Nothing about Jongho was boyish. He was bulky, firm, sturdy. Safe. In a different way than San.

San felt protective. Jongho was protection. A wall rather than a shield.

“Why do you ask, honey?” he asked, almost sympathetic to her curiosity. They spoke of him in front of her at the mansion. Perhaps she wanted to meet them… he knew she wanted to meet anyone they brought to the box. “He isn’t here tonight.”

That answered her own assumption – his visits were secret. Why? Why was he a secret? Should she keep that secret?

“I just—I met him.” she told San. “Before.”

The shield was lowered, and she saw surprise flicker over San’s face. Almost so serious she was flabbergasted by the shift of muscles on San’s face.

“You have?” he clarified, brows furrowing just a smidge.

“He knew my name,” she told him. “It was that night when I was scared while walking home. He saved me.”

There was a hiss of air passing through pearly teeth. A flicker of… anger? But it was quickly caught. A blink and she saw the sweet kitten of her Sannie once more rather than a lion. She wasn’t sure if San pouted on purpose, tempting her. He kept his lips pursed in thought. “We’ve talked about you.” He admitted.

“How much?”

San’s gaze was like an ocean’s. Consuming, roaring. “How much time do you have?” he teased.

“He knew me without meeting me.”

“Wooyoung can be… descriptive.”

Now that was something she believed. A part of her still wondered why he was near the opera house.

“Does he like the ballet?”

“He does; he’s just… is so busy.” San said.

“What does he do? Is he like you? You… do things for Hongjoong?”

“Talk to investors,” San revealed, his hands rubbed her hips soothingly. “Boring things. I dislike business.”

His pout was back on his handsome face. Did he know how pretty he looked when his lips pursed? She thought maybe he did because when she leaned in just a smidge, his lips quirked into a smile, triumphant. He leaned in to close the distant, capturing her lip-sticked lips into a soft kiss.

The chill faded with the warmth of his breath; his hands pulled her closer still. One of the girls in the boudoir giggled nearby. YN was growing too comfortable. She pulled away after another moment, eyes that had fallen shut flickering open to see him gazing down at her with warm brown eyes.

“I like being with you more,” he teased, nudging his forehead against hers like a cat would and pressing her into the vanity.

She smiled, nodding. The way he lingered so close reminded her of Jongho’s arms around her, pressing her into the pillar of the Opera House.

“So do you all just work for Hongjoong?” she redirected.

His pout pressed against her lips, on accident but he didn’t shift away to reply. He spoke low and close.

“Sort of. We all respect him.” he said. “He is a respectful man, a gentleman through and through. Jongho,” he paused, swallowing. “He is the youngest but he’s a pillar for us. He helped get the mansion prepared. He organizes the cars; he’s—like your Madame.”

She made a face. San laughed.

“Okay, okay, maybe more like a choreographer; that Madame is –“ he sucked in a breath through his teeth dramatically, as if bracing himself for a scolding. Like he’d be frightened of a retired ballerina-of-old. It made her chuckle, and his shoulders relaxed. “He helps plan things, keep things in running order. Without Jongho… we’d have our lifestyle, but it’d be different.”

She nodded thoughtfully as she wrapped her arms around San’s shoulders. He smiled into her affection, liking that she felt warm still – his jacket had found its way around her shoulders even if the dark fuzz could cling to her feathers. He didn’t care about some costume.

There was still one question that buzzed in her head.

“Why was he at the opera house that night, San?” she asked, fiddling with the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Genuinely curious. He saw that and sighed.

“You’ll have to ask him. I didn’t know he’s even been to the opera yet.”

He didn’t sound sweet anymore, but he tugged her close into a tight hug.

“The factory is under new management,” her mother lamented that evening. It was late by the time YN came home, after waving off Wooyoung from her doorstep. Her mother was still awake in the living room. A cup of warm milk was half-drunk, and her mother’s hands were knitting. Restless. Waiting for YN to return with a blast of winter air filling the apartment’s floor.

“What? By who?” YN exclaimed in surprise as she shook her jacket free of any fallen snow, water pooling on the hard-wood floors.

“A company named Hala…Hala… Halazia.” Her mother struggled to remember, her knitting needles clanking as she thought.

“Halazia?” she repeated.

“The Halazia Company.” Her mother sighed out. “They work in construction or materials, something like that – from what the girls told me.”

“What of Takahashi?” YN asked, brows furrowing and arms crossing over her chest.

“He sold it, said it clearly to us before the new owners walked in and surveyed the place!”

“Do you think everything will be okay at the factory?” YN asked, slowly.

Her mother’s factory had always been under the same owner and the same foreman. Was the manager still there? Were things still the same?

“I’m not sure,” her mother murmured.

YN bit her lip before approaching her mother to give her a reassuring rub of the shoulder. No words could make things better; she knew that. But her mother shifted to grab her daughter’s hand and squeezed it firmly, gaining her full attention.

“You stick with those men, you hear me?” her mother encouraged lowly. “If anything happened to me or my job…” she couldn’t imagine the struggle they’d face. They had already gone through hardship when sewing became a second-thought to consumers– when factories and stores replaced seamstresses.

Her mother was old-fashioned; she knew security was best secured with a husband. She hoped that these boys would be men and treat her daughter right rather than as entertainment. The pretty coat, the automobiles, the jewelry, the spare coins… it was all reassuring to her old heart. She even hoped that YN would be able to stop dancing.

Not that YN ever wanted to stop dancing before.

YN frowned. Not at her mother’s words – she did adore Wooyoung and San and the other men of Ateez House. But she worried. From that night onwards, she’d save her extra coins, any extra money, just in case. The new cloche hat she had bought recently taunted her from the hook on her door.

The streets were coated in a new fine layer of snow the next morning. YN had shivered awake, shuffling on her warmest clothes. Her trembling hadn’t stopped even by the time she shrugged on her fancy coat. The idea of walking through this chill made her want to climb back into bed, but the thought of the conversation she had with her mother the night before encouraged her. She had to work… she had to make that money, make purse.

As she grabbed her handbag and opened the door to the outside, she was greeted by a lurking shadow. A tall figure blocked the door way. Smoke trailed from his cigarette that he was ash-ing of into the snow.

“Oh Mr. Mingi,” she exclaimed, glancing up at the tall man.

Mingi suited up in fine expensive attire, his velveteen long-coat now sodden with snow. How long had he been waiting there? He trembled in the chill, long fingers discarding the cigarette at her arrival before his hands ducked to tuck into his pockets.

“Hello doll,” he greeted. “I thought you’d need a ride.”

Behind him was a different car that before, rumbling like a beast in the winter-time air. His cheeks were flushed pink and she suspected it wasn’t from the cold. He looked hopeful, almost mischievous in the snow.

“Oh, you came all this way for me?” she queried, flattered and blushing.

Mingi nodded; he took in the flush to her cheeks with pleasure, leaning on the door frame only for snow to shift from the old wooden frame and sprinkle down over their forms.

“Fuck! Baby!” he cried out, tugging her closer as if it’d save her from the wetness that now speckled her face.

She laughed out lightheartedly, charmed by his boyish nature.

“Are you alright? I’m sorry,” he pleaded, arms around her still.

“I’m fine,” she giggled out, swiping the slush away from her face and off of her fancy coat. He quickly let go of her, red-cheeked. “Are you alright?”

He let out a tut of a sound, almost offended. Him, a tough guy not alright from snow? … He wouldn’t admit the snow fall was a surprise or that it now chilled the front of his dark shirt.

“Yes,” he rumbled. He was trembling.

“You look cold,” she told him softly, concernedly. “Let’s go sit in the automobile and talk?”

He wouldn’t say no. He took her by the arm and led the way, opening the door for her once more, respectfully. He sat beside her in the driver’s seat soon enough.

“It’s so warm in here,” YN nearly moaned. “Why would you wait out there?” she told him, humming pleasantly in the blasting warmth of the car.

“I didn’t want you to walk by,” he told her honestly.

She snorted at the thought. “Like I’d ignore you? I know your cars anywhere now.” she grinned over at him.

“You wouldn’t?” he asked softly.

She shook her head. “I would’ve noticed you in an instant. But why are you out here waiting for me?”

A flicker of a thought passed her brain: did Wooyoung or San or even Yeosang send him? But the second thought of maybe he came on his own tumbled forward. He seemed sweet like that. After all, he had cared enough to trek to the Opera House the other night for them – unprompted.

“I thought it was cold out,” he said gently. “Too cold for a dame—a, a lady like you to walk so far.”

Scooting closer, his head ducked to the side as he looked at her. It was surprising how he managed to balance both this masculine energy – an intimidating look with how deep his voice mumbled and how tall his figure felt as he glanced her way and yet his actions reminded her of a pup. A boyish tinge to his words when he spoke to her, bashful and respectful. She knew he could be otherwise – remembering how he cursed out while talking with Wooyoung or even moments ago when ice fell down upon them.

Mingi’s dark eyes didn’t leave hers as he leaned on the car seat’s headrest, casualness dripping off him (or was that the snow?)

“That’s sweet of you,” she told him. “I can’t turn you away when you’ve come so far.”

“It’s no trouble at all, babydoll.”

The nickname was sweet, flirting even, but the way his eyes were didn’t feel like a cat-call. His hazel eyes were wide and calm; genuine.

He smiled that sweet smile once more and went to shift the car into gear. The car rumbled in the cold but continued onwards. The heat billowing from the air vents was so pleasant, she couldn’t help but warm her finger tips against the vents.

“This has been the most brutal storm I’ve seen hit Cromer,” she commented.

“Hm?” he raised a brow, glancing her way.

She couldn’t contain the way her eyes glanced up and down his form. He drove like he did before, casual but in control. One hand rested on the wheel and the other controlled the gear shift easily.

“Have you been to Cromer before?” she asked. “Did you arrive with Wooyoung and Sannie?”

He smirked, a chuckle in his chest. “I arrived before them,” he told her. “We made sure the house was ready.”

So, the house hadnt been used! Her eyebrows jumped in curiosity. “We? You and Jongho?”

“And Yun.”

That was awfully casual.

“Do you—pardon me, do you work for them?”

He laughed out at that, the sound bright and loud in the rumble of the automobile. His head threw itself back, his grin bright.

“No, babydoll,” he giggled out, actually giggled! He smiled her way. “I don’t work for them.”

“I’m sorry, I just assumed—”

“Because I picked you up?” he smiled jovially. He hummed. “I’d understand the misunderstanding.”

Her cheeks flushed from embarrassment but he simply clucked his tongue, a hand raising to pinch at a cheek casually. He cooed out a rumble, a growl of a giggle. She was precious. Precious!

“But no, I don’t work for Wooyoungie and Sannie. I’d say I work for Hongjoong,” he said simply. “If I had to say I worked for anyone… Which I don’t.”

“Hongjoong.” She repeated. It was less of a question and more of a breath. Another man connected to this mysterious man. She was growing more and more eager to meet the person that altered so many lives.

“He’s like my older brother,” he said. “Closer than blood.” He flexed his hands on the steering wheel, rings glinting a silver light in the morning sunshine.

“San said the same thing,” she said. “That you’re like family.”

“We respect him” he said simply.

He ached to include her in that grouping – even if he knew the implications. He’d keep her oblivious to that part of the family. San and Wooyoung had done a marvelous job so far. He wished he could join in – that’s why he had been inserting himself. Now that he was known to her, there was no harm driving her places. He liked feeling needed. In control.

“So, Kim Mingi,” she repeated. “Kim Wooyoung. Kim San. Kim Hongjoong. Kim Yeosang.”

“Actually, my name is Song Mingi,” he introduced, properly.

“Not Kim?” she asked surprisedly.

That was strange considering what Wooyoung had told her of Hongjoong. Mingi shook his head.

Glancing her way as he came to a stop as a lady and her baby carriage crossed the street. His hand outstretched to YN. A scar was cut up his palm, large and silvery against his tawny skin. Rings decorated every finger. Some looked like tentacles curling around his knuckles; one was an ‘Ateez’ emblem; another bore the signa of the letter ‘S’. She took it properly to shake. He obliged but kept her hand in his hold when she tried to pull away, fingers grasping hers.

“Song Mingi, Miss YN LN.” He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, particularly to her ring finger she noticed. “At your service. Always.”

“Thank you, Mister Song.”

“You can call me just Mingi, doll,” he encouraged. “I want you to.”

“Mingi,” she corrected herself again. “Thank you.”

It was Thursday evening now. Mingi had picked her and the duo of patrons up last night as well, saving them from strolling through the snow. This morning she was greeted by a butler driving a metallic car, less flashy compared to Mingi’s cars. He said he was instructed to take her to the opera house that morning.

Now, an hour into the performance and in intermission, she glared over at Takahashi and Mina. The man was preoccupied with the ballerina on his lap, his fingers grazing up over her corseted back. In these moments, most ballerinas tried not to watch, out of respect. But today, she was annoyed. Her mother had relayed their wages had been cut but their hours extended before she left this snowy dawn. She felt like it was this man’s fault. He owned most factories; why sell now?

Wooyoung was talking away on her left, chattering about the chill and how they smell like wood and smoke with all the fireplace usage and how he missed the sun and how it was too cold for his fingers. San had taken his hands coyly then, reaching across her to do so. San told him how to warm his hands up with little work outs. Flexing the other’s hands. It felt like an excuse between the two of them to touch one another.

“Honey.” The larger man tried to get her attention.

San glanced over the way she looked, seeing the dancer and factory-owner in an embrace. His eyes flickered back to her. Was she needy? Were they neglecting her? But he quickly saw as Wooyoung, perceptive even if he was bratty and chatty, interlaced one of his hands with hers. Squeezing and rubbing her knuckles.

“You’re quiet tonight, honey,” San teased.

She gave San a soft smile, apologetic as she took his hand in hers.

“Just thinking. I’m sorry,” she told him.

“About what, swanette?” Wooyoung pressed. “Can we help?”

“You help always,” she reassured.

And it was true. Their appearance was a bright part of her day, a light. Their patronage wasn’t a thing of burden; she didn’t scrub herself clean afterwards knowing she was a guilty party of an affair or an object of desire. Them asking her about her thoughts proved that. They were good men like her mother had said.

Wooyoung squished her hand again before pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “We’re here,” San spoke for them. “We can help more?”

His hand rose to adjust her coat around her shoulders before tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

“Talk to us?” Wooyoung urged.

YN licked at the back of her teeth, tempted to fall into their comfort. To trust them with her worries. She had long forgone following the rules of the boudoir and the ways of a patron and protégé. San, Wooyoung, and her were different.

“My mother’s factory is having trouble, that’s all.” She told them lowly as if they’d be overheard.

It wasn’t like Takahashi was aware; he was too busy groping Mina’s breast brazenly as he bit at her lips. She glanced away from the man in a mixture of disgust and annoyance. At least her patrons weren’t so brazen. They were gentlemen in her mind.

“He owned it.” she continued.

“Owned as in past tense?”

She nodded. “He sold it; changes have been made – wages and hours - just things that we hadn’t expected. And yet, here he is spending money on patronage.” She sneered a bit.

Wooyoung’s fingers caressed her face. “I’m sorry, pretty,” he hummed.

She sighed out, heavy. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain.”

San hushed her apologies as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

A warehouse in the market place had been taken over recently; scaffolding climbing its brick exterior. Boxes and boxes of materials were stacked up against its walls all bearing the same name. Halazia Company.

It was Sunday, her day out with Yeosang. She had received word from him the night before – via Wooyoung – that he’d come to her house to pick her up for their outing. Both Wooyoung and San were tight lipped about what she could be doing. The only hint was that it was something neither of them had taken her to do yet.

So, no movie theatre, no dinner or lunch at fancy restaurants, or sports outing. It made her ponder all night, building up dreams of what ifs. Similar to her other dates, she primped and polished herself to the best of her abilities. It took forever to heat up small amounts of water for her bath but she did (even if her mother complained of the bill – she had money put aside with the lack of bills from the ballet company). Her hair was pin-curled and brushed out in a stylish fashion. Just dashes of her makeup rather than painting it on for a performance. The chill outside her window didn’t let her wear any pretty dresses, her day-dresses all too thin to handle the snow. It made her worry that it wasn’t enough.

He had seen her in so many of her winter dresses now. She rubbed her hands nervously as she paced this way and that for Yeosang’s arrival. Glancing outside every now and then, she was waiting for a rumble of a car, or the rolling wheels of a carriage. But when he did appear, it was simply by walking on the streets, an umbrella in his hand as the snow fell, picturesque, over the neighborhood. He looked like he was from a painting, maybe even one of those paintings from the Ateez House. Angelic, soft, sweet – despite the dark coats he wore layered over his form.

“Yeosang!” she beamed.

He smiled at her, sweetly at her excitement. The door was thrown open before he even was able to walk up the icy steps of her apartment. She looked adorable, he couldn’t help but preen. Unlike a few months ago when she wore the light day-dress to the cinema with Wooyoung, she was bundled up. The gifted coat was tight around her, her skirts she wore were darker in tone. There was even a scarf wrapped around her throat that Yeosang recognized as San’s.

“Hello, Miss YN,” he greeted ever diplomatically. Ever the gentleman. He hurried up the steps to stand beside her, his umbrella shifting to cover her from the snow fall.

Glancing back to grab her handbag and tie her boots a smidge tighter, she was quick to leave the shelter of her front porch. Huddled closer to him, he felt her exhale a smile towards him. A smile he returned easily.

“Your mother isn’t in?” he queried.

YN shook her head as she locked the door with a key. “No, no, the shifts had changed at her factory.” It was said almost neutral in tone, but he could sense the dissatisfaction. He was good at reading the air, managing the public perception of things.

He frowned softly as he took her arm to wrap around his. “I’m sorry; that’s probably put a change in your routine.”

YN laughed a bit. “Yeah. More for her; I worry you know.”

He nodded empathetically before guiding her down the steps of the apartment and past the rickety half-frozen gate.

“But that’s not what we are focusing on today,” she corrected, her tone uplifting. She squeezed his arm. “I’m excited for our time together.”

Yeosang’s heart fluttered; he cleared his throat as he nodded. “I am too. Let’s go.”

Their walk was full of gentle conversation. Yeosang was soft-spoken she knew this, but when alone with him, truly for the first time, it became obvious that he was shyer than anticipated. Not that it was a negative but instead it made her realize that perhaps the socialite she saw interacting with the press was not the same Yeosang that strolled beside her talking. He was more intimate, hushed, and caring. Whenever there was a pavement full of ice, he’d notice and take her weight onto himself to make sure she wouldn’t slip on the slippery surface.

“Where are we headed?” she couldn’t help but poke and prod at his arm with her hands and he laughed out.

“Somewhere special,” he told her. “To have tea.”

Afternoon tea! How exclusive. How rich. Her face expressed so with a pursed ‘o’ face.

“Do you like tea?” he asked after a moment.

She hummed in approval even if her preference didn’t matter much she thought. “I like spending time with you; that’s all that matters,” she told him, nodding.

“I want to know your likes though,” he insisted adamant.

His gaze was intense, sincere. So, she told him her preference and he hummed as if making a mental note. Their conversation continued down likes and dislikes and just as she had previously thought she and Yeosang were similar. Hard workers who unfortunately were workaholics. They both had their fondest memories around their skills – ballet and tennis.

Slowly, but surely, she realized they were walking back to the mansion, winding down cobblestoned road and past bridges where salt water bays met fresh water rivers. The water barely trickled through the ice, casting fractals of rainbows about.

“Is it at the mansion?” she asked again. She had voiced her guesses many times throughout their walk. Each one made Yeosang buzz with excitement, his grin growing.

“Maybe,” he tempted, smirking.

The sound of an automobile rushed behind them, coming down the road. He shifted the umbrella to shield them from its oncoming splash into half-melted slushed snow. Quick and efficient. His hand-eye coordination was top-tier.

“Thank you,” she praised.

He nodded, seriously and she could help but squeeze his arm. The temptation to kiss his cheek to ease his tension was intense. It was clear he put great effort into this date and she already was touched. She enjoyed spending time with him just like this. He adjusted the umbrella to shade them again and continued their walk.

They managed to come to the grand roundabout of the mansion. In the morning light, it didn’t burn with a sunset glow, its windows weren’t a fiery orange but instead reflecting the pale-blue sky on this winter’s day. The snow had been freshly shoveled away from the paths and the driveway, void of any ice to slip on thankfully. She let up on the grip she had on Yeosang’s arm – something he noticed with a pout. He liked her close.

He grabbed her arm tighter, boldly.

“Let’s go this way,” he encouraged her as he guided her towards the right of the roundabout, away from the grand doors of the Ateez House.

Their stroll took them down delicately placed stonework paths winding through what she assumed were the gardens. There was nothing but twisted branches, half dead in the winter chill. Like hands reaching up out of the ground, like something from a haunted storybook.

She eyed them before glancing up at the winding trees that rested nearby, their branches thick and undulating with braided layers reaching up into the sky overhead. Some even poked and prodded at the mansion’s nearby windows. One of these windows had a figure looking down at her and Yeosang, masked by the gleam of sunlight hitting the glass pane.

They weaved through what she assumed was a hedge-maze with its rows and rows of dead plants before they were faced with a large structure she had never seen before. Coated in fallen snow, the structure looked like an ice palace, but as butlers up on top of ladders dusted off the snow, YN could see it was actually a conservatory. Made of glass.

“It’s-it’s new,” Yeosang told her softly. “We had some plants shipped in. We love fresh flowers.” A luxury her mind reminded her. The rich could afford to go against the seasons and nature to have flowers at any moment. But she couldn’t help her curiosity, her intrigue. Yeosang saw it in her eyes. He loved it, the fire she held. It’s the same thing he saw when she danced.

It made him happy to think he could ignite that without the ballet.

“Let’s go inside?” he offered, gesturing towards the door with his umbrella-holding hand. Snow landed on their heads delicately like butterflies kissing their hair and cheeks. She nodded.

For something erected so quickly, it was gorgeously done. The conservatory was all glass panels; its high ceilings circulated humid warmed air around the place with its electric fans. Quickly, she felt stifled by the coat around her shoulders and she wiggled to unclasp its highest buttons.

“We have lots of tropical flowers,” Yeosang said, glancing her way as he placed the umbrella on a silver platter a butler held out. He slipped out of his gloves and placed them there as well. His jacket was next before he turned to her to ask for hers. She nodded and obliged.

The interior was scented with clashing florals – some light and herbal and others pungent with almost-perfume-y scents. There were climbing vines all over, palm trees brushed at the highest glass panes making the ceiling, and roses were blooming nearby in reds, whites, and pinks. Lush and blooming. Everything was well taken care of and she remembered Yeosang’s lament at their last house dinner.

“Do you care for these?” she asked, glancing back at the man.

Yeosang was quick to shake his hands in disagreement. “No, no, no. I like the gardens; we all do – it’s like our own little slice of Aurora - but I don’t tend to them. The butlers do – sometimes Seonghwa can be found out here as well.” There’s a pause. “Not today though. Today is just for us.” He offered her his hand, the fingers twitching lightly. “Just us.” He repeated.

YN smiled at him, pleased to know there would be no surprises. Yeosang seemed to value their alone time it seemed – perhaps its was his more intimate, private nature. The more time they spent together it felt like she was meeting Yeosang and not Kim Yeosang, the athlete. She hoped that it was similar for her and her patrons. That they saw her, not the dancer.

She took his hand easily and squeezed.

“Just us.” She repeated.

Their afternoon consisted of tea, surrounded by the little slice of Aurora like he said. The tea was only the finest, sweet and un-bittered. Their snacks were a wide array of things she had tried with Wooyoung and San once before. Yeosang told her grand tales of his winnings – reminiscing of different lands he visited and the people he wooed with his socializing. Nothing explicit – in fact, it sounded like he had no time for romance these past few years. Or he was just that good at diverting the stories away from that topic. He retold stories of him and the others – sharing moments of them traveling. San apparently got drunk easily; Mingi apparently was good at racing cars too when they needed to get to their ship quickly. Every story was littered with affection, clear in his tone of annoyance.

“You are so sweet,” she cooed at him after he shared another moment between him and his closer-than-friends friends.

“I’m not sweet,” he pouted. “I’m tough.”

She giggled. His pouted increased, playfully.

“You are. Nothing wrong with that,” she argued. “You’re like a Maltese,” she teased. “Sweet, angelic.”

“No, no I’m a Doberman!” he argued back. He bared his teeth, shoulders went back.

“Hmm, maybe,” she agreed after a moment. “Protective guard dog.”

Yeosang’s brow jittered and he laughed out a rumbling laugh. “Fine. Your Doberman.”

Mingi had begun to pick her up in the evenings. Her and whichever of her patrons were present. It was strange how in the last few days they’d not been together. Nonetheless she enjoyed time with them alone. There had even been a few mornings Mingi had shown up, surprising her once more with the car. He claimed it had been too cold for her to walk but the storm had greatly disappeared, leaving the world chilly but not unbearable.

She didn’t say anything though – she enjoyed his company. He talked about his passions – ranging from music to money to machines. He especially liked cars. He had countless cars, supposedly imported from Aurora.

“I’ll buy you a car,” he claimed when she once again complimented the upgraded interior of his newest automobile – everything gold and white like some sort of royal chariot.

“No way!” she laughed. “I’d never be able to pay you back.”

Mingi joined in her laughter at first before processing what she said.

“Wait, do you think you owe us?” he queried. “Me? San? Woo?”

Her giggles trailed off at his sudden seriousness. His brows were sharp, nothing like the soft arcs that greeted her with his boyish smile. No. He looked masculine, fierce, concerned. His lips remained the softest thing on him, pouting plumply at her words.

“Not exactly,” she admitted tentatively, carefully navigating her thoughts with him. “But I couldn’t accept such a gift – I struggle with things like jackets or jewelry.”

She wasn’t dumb. She knew what patrons wanted – she hoped they were different but it never left. It never faded. Imara had a new patron now and she couldn’t help but feel the betrayal for her fellow ballerina. The way a new man’s hands went up and down her arms made YN shudder for her. Patrons were patrons. They were giving something for something.

YN hoped it was just to see her succeed but she wasn’t a fool.

They could drop her any moment or insist on something else. Even if Mingi wasn’t her patron he was connected. He wouldn’t be talking to her, driving her, associating with her without San and Wooyoung.

Mingi pouted and scooted closer to her in the car.

“You don’t owe us anything,” he told her firmly. “Anything we spend on you isn’t with something insidious in mind. I promise, baby.”

He went to stroke the hair away from her face and she let him but he felt the distance she had put up. A tension formed in her muscles. He sighed.

“You don’t owe me anything ever.” He reiterated. “And I bet if you said anything like this to San,” he let out a whistle. “You’d receive a hundred jackets and jewels.”

He chuckled a bit but she couldn’t find the humor.

“Why?”

Why was she so different? Why did she draw the attention of them? Her gaze shifted to meet Mingi’s gaze.

“Because you’re you.” He told her simply.

“We like you.”

Yeosang was here. Yeosang was here! She could see him sat beside San and Wooyoung high in their box and she couldn’t help the electric zing going up her spine. She rose up on relevé and genuflected towards the Odette of the production; each step she knew by heart. Her mind was preoccupied with the thought of the additional pair of eyes. Perhaps he’d come visit. It was strange to crave their presence in the boudoir, knowing the implications. She didn’t wish for the other girls’ patrons to arrive – sometimes she’d hope theyd just pay and let the overworked ballerina go home after the show. But her patrons! They were different. She liked them.

YN performed a grand jete toward a false tree; she and the other swans and baby cygnets pretended to parade about. Her eyes flashed back to the familiar box. He smiled and said something to Wooyoung, mouth obscured behind a polite hand. Wooyoung less-polite grinned out and nodded excitedly.

She like their eyes on her; their attention on her; their thoughts on her. She did a triple pirouette, breaking choreography to show off just a bit. Hoping her pearls would catch the light just right to make her sparkle.

Their scene was over; the flock of swans run away back to the lake of tears – offstage.

“What was that?” the Madame scolded her, grabbing her arm before she could pass to the boudoir to see if Yeosang had snuck back (funny she thought of it as sneaking when she knew money was no object to them – they’d pay the fee if they wanted to).

The cruel ballerina-of-old glared at her with a grimace. Her grip on her arm was vicious and bruising. The other ballerinas glanced at her before they weaved around the pair, unlikely to speak up to face the Madame’s wrath.

“I miscounted my turns,” YN lied. “I’m sorry.”

A hiss was sucked in between the madame’s teeth. She bared them in anger, disbelief, and hate. It took YN aback; she had seen the Madame angry before but this felt targeted. Intense.

“I’m sorry,” YN repeated, uncertainty blurring into her words.

“Stupid girl; you had to show off, hm?” The Madame bit out. “Upstaging and insulting the prima, me, your producer – did you think it’d impress?”

Her arm was shaken roughly, the Madame’s nails piercing through her nylon sleeves and digging into her skin. YN yelped and tried to pull away.

“I’m sorry,” she pleaded.

“Wretched girl.” The Madame tugged and pushed YN’s arm away fiercely; she raised her cane up.

“Is there a problem?” A voice chimed out.

The Madame turned quicker than YN had seen in a long time – and YN’s gaze settled over her shoulder.

Jongho. YN’s eyes widened at the sight of him. Rather than shadowed by the veil of night or a darkened opera house, he was bright. Tawny skin, masculine sharp lines, his lips were firm and his brows furrowed as he eyed the cane and YN’s form pressed against the wall.

“Mr. Choi,” Madame stuttered out.

The intimidating man’s hard look didn’t soften at his name. The icy glare was steady on the older woman before he glanced at YN. Almost as if she was a flame, she could see the chill melt from his dark eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asked directly.

She nodded. The Madame spoke,” She’s fine. This is between me and my ballerinas.”

“Your ballerinas that I fund as the highest-bidder,” Jongho bit back. “Perhaps that discussion would be of more interest than… this.” He glanced over YN once more, an itch in his bones to go check her over but he knew deep-down this was helping.

Get her out of the situation. Just like Hongjoong did for him.

“Ah, y-yes, let’s discuss,” she said stepping away from YN, her cane clanking to support her bad leg once more.

Jongho, stern-faced, nodded and turned away from YN and waited for the Madame to pass.

YN let out a soft breath, eyes not leaving Jongho’s brooding form as he strode away. He had saved her ass from being beat. But beyond that she learned something important – he was the highest funder of the ballet. Since when? Was it just him or was it for the Kim Family? Why was it that he and Mingi both had different last names while some of the bachelors insisted on using the moniker, Kim? It was confusing.

They were confusing.

Her excitement had been dulled by the attack from the Madame and the remaining questions but she still had to return to the boudoir. So, like pulling upon a costume, she pulled on a smile and walked into the boudoir.

It was bustling in the foyer de la danse. Ballerinas rushing to and fro, in half-naked states. Some pulled on their costumes as they held hairpins in-between their teeth to fix their buns. Others were busy talking to their patrons or potential-patrons. She watched as one of the girls trailed her fingers up a man’s arm, playfully.

It made her remember how her own arm ached, glancing down to see the pierced nylon and crescent-moon imprints of the Madame’s nails. Sighing, she knew she’d have to fix that sometime soon – even if there was only a limited amount of time left for Swan Lake, she didn’t want to be shoddy-looking. The adrenaline rush was fading and she felt dull.

“Swanette,” Wooyoung was the first to spot her and call to her from their spot at the settee. There he and Yeosang lounged. San stood nearby, back against a mirrored, gold-gilded wall.

Her smile settled on her face and she ignored her torn costume, her injury, everything in the name of the patron. It was funny almost how the Madame had to do the same moments ago.

“Hello,” she greeted. Her gaze flickered to the nearby grandfather clock, noting the time. She liked to hurry to the boudoir to be ready for their arrival – it was rare for her not to be here when they arrived. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“It’s alright,” Yeosang reassured. He stood from his spot to embrace her which she eagerly returned.

“Hello, Sangie. I’m so happy to see you.”

He grinned into her neck. “Hello sweetheart. You’re doing magnificent.”

It made her blush and she buried her face into his shoulder taking in his herbal, woodsy scent.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“What is this?” San was keen-eyed. His hand had taken her bicep, carefully – even while in Yeosang’s embrace.

“Its nothing,” YN said quickly. “Hello Sannie.” She leaned up with Yeosang’s arms still around her waist to press a kiss to San’s cheek.

His pout was scolding, if a pout could be. “Don’t do that.” he whined softly. He squeezed her arm, not painfully or cruel, but as if to bring attention to it again. “What happened?”

“I’m okay,” she told him.

Boudoir issues stayed boudoir issues. It was funny how a new face reminded her of that – she had grown too comfortable around Wooyoung and San.

Yeosang was next to look at the nail-marks, peering close. “Oh, sweetheart.” He hummed.

It was sweet the way the huddled and mother-hen’d over her not-injury. None of the nail marks even broke the skin. If the blunt head of the cane had hit her, that’d be a different story, but she was also used to it.

“I’m okay,” she reassured sweetly.

Yeosang brushed over the wound carefully, frowning.

Her hand rose to cup Yeosang’s cheek and caress his skin. He couldn’t help the way his eyes fluttered. He was unused to her being so bold. The boudoir truly brought out a different side to her. He breathed out shakily before turning his head to smell at her wrist. He pressed a kiss to her palm, startling her. Her breath caught in her throat. San beside her hummed lightly, his thumb brushing over her skin.

There was a lull in conversation as the two men fell into two different stupors. San worried and debated if pushing was worth it. She was more often than not honest with him now. Perhaps it was nothing. He could always investigate later. He could sense her emotions were out of whack. Sensitive, he allowed her privacy for now.

Meanwhile, Yeosang was overwhelmed with the way she reacted to the gentle kiss. The gentleman knew that they hadnt even broken three dates but perhaps this counted as the third. He ached for her – for her affection that she gave the other two so freely.

His eyes raised to lock with hers as he pressed another kiss to her pulse. Reverent. There was a tension like a taut rubber-band between the gentleman socialite and the ballerina. Her heart thrummed, a different melody than the one that played for San or Wooyoung. But together it formed the beginning of a symphony she knew it.

“Not to interrupt,” Wooyoung interrupted. “But sweet swanette here, hello.” He greeted pressing a kiss to the tips of his fingers to wave at her from his spot on the settee. “Does need to prepare for the next act.”

Her head swooped to see some dancers leaving; the clock taunted her.

She cleared her throat, nodding. “I do. Thank you, baby.”

Like a peacock, he preened at the nickname, a soft giggle rumbling. YN removed her hand from Yeosang’s cheek and untwined herself.

“Shall I look away?” Yeosang teased her.

Her cheeks flushed as she began to turn away. She heard a thump of flesh-hitting-flesh. “You will.” San warned, although it wasn’t threatening as it was teasing in tone. “Gosh, what’s gotten into you?”

“Love.” Yeosang hinted, her eyes flashing to meet his once more and her heart whirled at the connotation, no, the declaration. So clear and easy.

He loved her? Her wide eyes flashed to them, despite her feet taking her further away to grab her next costume.

“Join the team.” Wooyoung laughed.

It was later that night when the lights were low in the boudoir. Ballerinas and patrons alike had waddled away in their winter clothes.

She, Yeosang, and her patrons remained, sitting on the settee, talking. She couldn’t help the high that trickled through her veins at the thought of them loving her.

Yunho had asked her a few weeks ago if she loved them… and she thinks she might.

They were different. Yeosang laughed out as Wooyoung told a joke. San glanced at them fondly before taking her hand. The athlete then turned to her to tell her a joke of his own. Comfortability, security, softness, happiness.

That’s what she felt around them. Even when a moan broke free from the nearby corner of the boudoir, she could ignore it and scoot closer to her patrons. And be safe.

Yes, she did harbor love for them.

The table was a familiar one, but rather than dish after dish of food laid out, there was money. Stacked piles of coins, dollar bills, loose diamonds, jewels, and jewelry. San picked up a stray ruby, looking it over with intrigue.

“You did good,” a voice praised.

“Thanks, Captain.” Yeosang replied. “And thank you for the ticket.”

“How was the performance?”

San and Wooyoung glanced to look at the other, gauging his reaction. Wooyoung’s mouth parted to speak before a firm elegant hand squeezed the back of Wooyoung’s neck; the younger biting out a scowl, a mix of pain and pleasure written over his face. He remained quiet like a cat being scruffed.

“She’s a sight,” Yeosang admitted.

“And afterwards?”

“The foyer de la danse, yes.” Yeosang continued. “Wooyoung is right – there are many high societal figures there; it’s good that we are there. Easier to control from within.”

“Should you be there?”

Yeosang’s face didn’t hide his dissatisfaction, the grimace. Around his family, he didn’t wear the stone-faced socialite façade well.

“He hated it,” Mingi interrupted.

Yunho kicked his leg. “It’s true,” the younger retaliated before glancing at the head of the table, brows upturned. “Its all he talked about on the ride home. ‘It’s a fucking whorehouse’, hyung.”

“Don’t talk about it like that,” Wooyoung bit back.

“Girls groped; money being traded for who knows what? I heard of heavy petting in a foyer de la danse but shit - that Madame is more of a Mistress than anything.” Mingi commented. Mingi was nothing but passionate. Soft hearted as he was pompous. Out-spoken only because he was so loyal. “No wonder she feels like she’s a piece of meat.”

Mingi tossed down a coin in frustration. San sighed out through his nose, a hand going to adjust his glasses. He knew she felt that way for a while but hearing Mingi state it so bluntly made him conflicted. Brows crinkled on his beautiful face.

“We knew that after San joined Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung scoffed, leaning back. He hated how they talked of the place their YN worked in. She wasn’t some harlot.

“It’s just not my taste,” Yeosang argued simply, hands raising in defense. “I’ve already got newspapers crawling down my neck after Yunho’s stunt.”

“No one writes about ballet girls,” Jongho commented, exhaling over his drink.

“You’ll get to spend more time with her.” A smooth voice commented, thumbs digging into Wooyoung’s neck. The man melted in his grasp just a bit.

“As an equal to those men,” Yeosang scoffed as if San and Wooyoung hadnt joined their ranks already – but they always hadn’t been afraid to climb into the dirty underbelly of something for their Captain.

Tip, tip, tip, tap. There was the sound of fingers tapping on the wooden table, thoughtfully.

“Hyung?” Mingi prompted.

“What do you think?” Yunho queried.

Jongho glanced over at Seonghwa before his gaze shifted to the head of the table, carefully.

“I have a proposition, my love.”

Seonghwa was the one to speak up; his other hand going to curl over Hongjoong’s fiddling fingers.

All eyes settled on him, his lips curling into a smirk.

The rehearsals that would typically take up her mornings and afternoons were absent with the show closing soon. There were only limited performances left – the Opera House even canceling a few to encourage scarcity (or so they were told).

So instead, she spent her days at Ateez House. Each of the men she knew encouraged her to visit whenever she wished. But at the start of each morning, she’d see Mingi sitting in a car waiting for her. She felt like she couldn’t say no with how he greeted her, so kind, so sweet, so warm.

When she arrived to the house, her activities would change each day, sometimes each hour.

Sometimes she’d take tea with Yeosang in the conservatory. He had grown more daring, pressing kisses to her cheek now when they met. His ebbing and flowing shyness was somehow charming and drew her into his orbit even more. He was comfort – devotion that it was hard to see him and not be overwhelmed by his passion.

But then in the afternoon, she’d be cuddled up near a fire with a big fur coat engulfing San and herself. He’d show her what he was working on, her form half on his lap as he showed her the tiny trinkets he collected and worked on it. It was fascinating that a man such as him would be so invested in cute things like knitting and fixing gadgets. She showed him how to sew, her nylon sleeved corset in her hands as she carefully repaired the tear. He eventually weaseled the truth of that night from her mouth – after copious amounts of kisses.

“If she ever hurts you again,” he threatened, intimately.

Her body felt hot all over at his affections, his eyes burned as he shifted closer. Pressing her into the study’s couch, the large fur-coat warmed them to the point of sweating – hiding them from view.

“It’s happened before,” she told him softly. He frowned deeply at her words. “It’ll happen again.”

“I don’t like it. I don’t want you hurt.” He’d mark his words by capturing her lips with his.

Other times, she’d be joined by Mingi in a round of chess. He revealed that he was quite good at games. He didn’t even let her win! But when he did win with a growled out ‘checkmate’, the way his smile bloomed on his face was a condolence. She liked his smile; she liked him happy.

He’d pout at the sound of his name across the house. The voice was unfamiliar to her.

“Mingi-ah! Mingi-ah!” it’d call, melodically.

“It’s hyung,” he’d tell her. “I’ll be back! Don’t go anywhere!”

She nodded, rearranging the chess pieces back to their designated spots. They were ornated figures – each one made of jewels. She was careful with every single one. They sparkled in the gas-lit room; the crystals gleaming like diamonds but their surfaces were both so different. Transparent, cloudy white diamond for the white set of chess pieces and a starlit night sky of a black color for the other set. Its texture was bumpier than the crystalline white pieces. She placed the pawns in a row precisely.

A meow startled her, hands fumbling the knight piece. It clattered on the floor loudly. YN jumped back in surprise; eyes darting to the expensive piece. Luckily, it didn’t shatter and she let out a sigh of relief. Glancing around the room, she tried to spot where the cat was. How did it even get in here? The door had been shut.

The cat meowed again closer. It leapt from a nearby table towards the fallen chess piece, easily snatching it up between its fangs.

“Wait!” YN exclaimed.

There was a hissing sound from the creature as it raced away out towards the double doors.

“Come back,” she whispered lowly, afraid of causing a scene as she rushed after the cat.

The blue-black cat weaved out of the door and down the hall. YN glanced both ways down the hall – empty of any butlers, thankfully (surely, she looked crazy racing after a cat). She followed after the kitten who was now purring loudly as it continued to pad towards an opened door down another hallway. The cat wasn’t going to let her get its treasure.

“Kitty,” she called softly as she trailed after the animal, looking around to make sure no one was watching.

She felt uncomfortable leaving the study that Mingi had left her in. In the past few days, it had become familiar, safe, in comparison to the maze of a mansion before her. But she felt even worse that she let an expensive jewel-esque game piece get snatched up by a cat. A cat who most likely was going to chew and ruin it! Oh, she couldn’t afford to replace such a thing! Even a regular chess set was expensive with its wooden carved figures. A diamond-carved one! She couldn’t imagine.

The cat’s purrs grew as it wiggled its way into a cracked doorway – the same doorway she had seen the cat come from her first visit to the mansion. Tentatively, she pressed the door open a smidge.

“Kitty.” She repeated. “Come here.”

YN peered into the room cautiously. It was somehow darker and brighter than the other rooms. Perhaps it was due to the blood-red carpet that filled the entire floor. Its velveteen texture sucked up any light, making it look flat. Its walls were a mix of tawny browns and sharp blacks, only emphasized by the few warm gas-lights in the corners of the room; emblems of the Ateez House rested in gold on the large columns. A sort of clock window-frame was the lone floor-level window present; its curtains drawn tight over whatever window resided there. A large skylight was in the center of the room, pouring natural sunlight over a piano that rested there.

That was it in the large room… a piano with a white marble figurine on its top. And a midnight-black kitten gnawing on a crystalline chess piece beneath the grand piano.

“Kitty!” she hissed herself, trying to get its attention from the door way. YN made a soft psp-psp-psp sound to tempt the animal; all the spoiled kitty did was chew harder on the horse head of the knight. YN could hear the grating sound of teeth against diamond.

She slapped her knees, trying to get the cat’s attention.

“Kitty!” she hissed again, shuffling closer and closer.

The gnawing stopped for a moment before it started up again. Gosh! YN quickly got to her knees and ducked her head underneath the grand piano.

“Give me that.”

She tried to swipe the diamond chess-piece from the cat, only to get a swipe of a paw in return. The cat hissed violently before chewing on the piece possessively. Grumbles and hisses gurgled from the animal loudly.

“It isn’t yours,” she hushed as she tried to grasp it again.

Hiss!

“Z?” A masculine voice called out.

YN’s cheeks grew hot as she stared at the cat with wide eyes. It mimicked her; the cat’s large eyes looked like glossy marbles. Its muzzle was askew, mouth half-stuffed with the diamond chess piece.

“Z,” the tone was lighter this time, sing-songy. “What are you doing?”

The cat had the audacity to meow. YN’s face turned into a grimace of a scold. She tried to grasp the piece again, finally wrapping her fingers around the jeweled thing. The cat hissed again, the chess piece loosening a bit. There was a grumble mroawr from the cat before she finally let go and hissed fully with her fangs out. A paw swiped at YN but she quickly dodged it, holding onto her prize.

A triumphant ‘ha’ escaped her in a huff as she landed back on her bum; the cat scurried away.

“YN?”

Her head banged on the bottom of the piano.

“Oh, love,” he was quick to jump forward, his hand going to the piano to first catch the jostled porcelain statue as he knelt down beside her. “Are you alright?”

“Hi Jongho,” she greeted, voice strained as she rubbed the top of her head.

He tutted, his cheeks puffing out as he examined her forehead. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this?”

“You don’t like rescuing me?” she teased, trying to laugh off the blossoming pain.

He laughed softly, smiling at her with kind eyes. “I didn’t say that,” he retorted, his thumb rose to rub at the bruise gently. She flinched and his touch softened even more.

“I don’t know,” she hummed. “I like you being my hero.”

It was a flirt and he knew it. But he was a romantic so he let her get away with it. Z meowed nearby and rubbed up against his thigh. He glanced aside at the animal before settling back on YN, spotting the ornamental piece in her hand.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked softly. Intimately. As if they had more background than a few passing encounters. It was strange how she already felt comforted, safe, in his gaze. He shifted to help her up from the floor; his hands felt strong as he took on her weight easily. He set her onto the piano’s stool. He joined her on it as well.

“She stole this from the study,” she said, showing the chess piece. “It looks so expensive and –”

Jongho laughed, the sound a giggling melody. “Its just a chess piece.” He told her. There was a wave of heat down her neck, equivalent to shame.

He sensed her bashfulness and his hand fell over the hand that held the game piece. “Thank you, love.” he said softly. “You are sweet. And daring.”

“Daring?” she chuckled out at that, eyes raising to meet his.

Jongho’s features lit up into a sweet smile, far sweeter than she had seen yet on the fairly-serious man’s face. He nodded, his hair flopping against his forehead.

“Chasing after Z?” he glanced over at the cat who was lounging out on the red carpet, licking her paws, spoilt. “Very bold. She’s an expert on this house; she could’ve gotten you lost.”

She chuckled again. “That’s true,” she snorted.

“Good thing I found you before you went down a wrong turn,” he said, almost seriously she noted. His shoulders softened and he took the chess piece from her to place on top of the piano. Beside the figurine.

YN’s gaze flickered from the chess piece (that was lightly chewed now that she was looking at it) to the porcelain figure. It was a ballerina in fourth position. Squinting, she swore she saw her own features frozen in the doll’s face. A freckle, a mole, the curve of her smile. She blinked at it.

“I like bold,” he told her quietly. “The others do, too. But let’s not be too bold yet,” he encouraged.

He glanced over at her and she saw a fragility that she hadnt seen on him before. He was giving her advice she realized and she nodded thoughtfully, if not a bit confused. How was it bold to go after a cat? Sure, wandering around a house that wasn’t yours was a bit rude, but… it was just a house.

He nodded back and rose to stand, a hand outstretched for her to take. “Let’s get you back to your study, hm?” he offered.

Her hand took his and he smiled. His other hand rose to take the game piece from its surface, and he began to guide her out of the room.

“Jongho?” she prompted on their walk.

He glanced at her, his hand shifting their intertwined hands to his arm politely. Charmingly even, she thought, because she swore she felt him flex beneath her fingertips.

“Do the others know that you attend the opera?” she asked.

Jongho’s stiff lip remained firm and he glanced out the rainy windows they passed. A meow followed them and she realized that Z was following after them like a little ghost.

“A few do,” he admitted. “But not your patrons, yes.”

“Why?” she queried, her curiosity getting the better of her. “I’ve seen you there – after that night. I’d love to greet you. Yeosang has visited the foyer de la danse; perhaps you can as well.”

Her hero’s lips quirked and he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “I’m a busy man,” he admitted. “But I would love to greet you when I can.”

It didn’t feel dismissive as it sounded. In fact, to YN, it felt hopeful. Her hero, her rescuer, her mysterious viewer… it was quite exciting to have someone sneak way to see you. Even when busy.

“Swan Lake is ending soon – next weekend… I’d love to see you.”

“I’d like that.”

When they returned to the study, Mingi was there, looking stressed; his eyes wide as he seemingly was tugging on his coat, adjusting something behind his back.

Jongho cleared his throat and Mingi jumped, his gaze flickering over to them with a sharp precision. And like that, all his tension, all his anxiety, melted away.

“Doll, where did you go?” he insisted.

Before she could even answer, Jongho tossed the chess piece towards Mingi. The other reacted quick and caught it easily, glancing at it. Confusion filled his brown orbs adorably so, his lips pouting.

“Z stole it,” Jongho informed. “Miss YN chased down the criminal.”

Mingi sighed out through his nose, examining the piece for not a moment longer before he placed it down on the chess board. “You didn’t need to, baby.” He told her. “It was just a game piece.”

“I didn’t know she was going to send me on a race throughout the house,” YN tried to defend. “I’m sorry.”

Mingi hushed her, walking towards her. His hands rested on her shoulders. “No apologies; just don’t go running off,” he insisted. His gaze flickered over to Jongho. “You’ve met our baby.”

Jongho didn’t whine, didn’t complain, didn’t wiggle like others did at being babied. She had seen Yeosang and Wooyoung swoon over the affectionate teases of San, of his babying. But Jongho stared, stoic at the other. Mingi chuckled at it.

“We’ve met before,” YN revealed to Mingi. “It was nice to see him again – in better circumstances.”

“You hit your head,” Jongho argued, brows crinkling at her words.

“You’re hurt?” Mingi asked.

“I’m fine, really!” she exclaimed laughing as the taller looked her over with care. “Next time, it’ll be the best circumstances,” she told Jongho. Implying it would be at the ballet, hopefully.

He smiled. “Hopefully.”

“Are you busy? Want to join us for a game?” Mingi nodded towards the selection of games on the table – from chess to cards. “Jongho is the best at cards,” he told YN.

“It’s true,” Jongho peacocked. “But I have to get back to work. I have paper-work to do; Z simply caught my attention. Miss YN.” He raised her hand, that was warm and almost sweaty from their interlocked hands being interlaced for so long. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles delicately, respectfully.

“I’ll be seeing you.”

He squeezed her fingers before letting go. Quickly, he playful messed Mingi’s hair in a mischievous way that made her laugh. The two scuffled; Mingi tried to get him back before Jongho escaped the room.

Wooyoung liked having her in the mansion. At first, she wondered if it was the privacy – closed doors, shut curtains. But whenever they entered one of the many studies that graced the large estate, Wooyoung never pounced – he didn’t tear at her dresses and growl and bite at her lips. Instead, a different intimacy was made.

He was casual. Soft fabrics, lounge wear, slippers, rolled up sleeves, tousled hair. He wore long robes and would sprawl back on sofas, less than appropriate but nothing explicit.

He’d make grabby hands for her to join him on the sofa, but his hands didn’t wander. He just enjoyed the closeness of her. They often napped and talked. Their conversations wandered from the topics they typically stuck to in the boudoir. Shifting beyond ballet, society, and culture. She shared their struggles – YN’s worries about her mother and the factory, Wooyoung admitting to her that what Hongjoong orders is law around here and sometimes he feels stifled, and other sensitivities. All while wrapped in each other’s arms.

Wooyoung yearned for when she’d wear similar clothes as him rather than her longsleeved heavied skirts of the passing Edwardian Age. He yearned for her – yearned for her comfort, for her happiness, for her.

YN’s head lulled to rest against his chest; the sound of his heart beat soft and lulling like a lullaby. Their hands were interlaced as he continued to retell a story about Yeosang and him butting heads, affectionately. His thumb rubbed up and down her side gentle and soothingly. Her eyes blinked sleepily like a cat’s as she kept her gaze on their intertwined hands. His hands were so large, veiny, compared to hers. She followed the veins over his knuckles down his wrist, further further, until she spotted darkness. Ink?

“Wooyoung?” his name was muffled against his chest as she pondered aloud.

“Hm?” he retorted, head jolting up from the pillow in concern.

Her delicate fingers trailed lower and lower, pushing his sleeve up more and more. To reveal a tattoo.

“You have a tattoo?” she exclaimed. A mixture of awe and danger clashed in her stomach. Danger, intrigue, potato, poh-tah-to. Her eyes were near glowing as she pushed herself up to investigate.

Wooyoung’s low chuckles made his lips curl and eyes shut into half-moons.

“I have tattoos,” he clarified, shifting up on the avalanche of pillows he was resting back on.

His other hand went to her waist, keeping her close as he adjusted and rolled back the entirety of his sleeve to reveal the ink in his skin.

It was a relatively new tattoo. The skin was still faintly red, healing. But Wooyoung didn’t flinch or whine when her fingertips brush over the ink. The dark lines painted out a sharp thorny rose, only highlighting his veiny arm.

Wooyoung’s gaze flickered from his arm to her fascination, a coy look on her face.

“It was a gift from Seonghwa,” he told her.

“Huh?” She was still tracing over the tattoo's lines softly, mouth parted in awe. Her gaze shifted to look up at him, her fingers pausing in their path.

“He offered the design to me,” he said. “It’s a rose that will never wilt, just for me. He loves roses.”

His other hand rose to pull at his skin to show off every bit of the new ink to her, biting a grin out at the sting of the sensitive skin. Seonghwa was always affectionate like this; he knew that Wooyoung loved intimacy and ink; he loved things that felt like he was theirs. That’s why he always caused so much trouble, Seonghwa thought. Wooyoung loved being put in his place. Lovingly, of course.

“You have other tattoos?” she asked. She had never seen ink on his skin yet. Where could they be? Hidden away from proper view? She imagined his legs... his biceps... his bare chest...

He smiled as if he knew where her mind went.

“I have three others, birdie." His hand shifted to brush up her back, firm and teasingly slow. Tip, tap, tapping as he dragged his hand upwards until they rested at the nape of her neck. He tickled there faintly. “Here.”

His other arm- the one bearing his tattoo - shifted, twisting from her grasp so he could place his hand on her knee only to slide up her leg slowly. Dark eyes locked onto one another; Wooyoung carefully judged her reactions. Swallowing each change in her eyes, the microscopic swallow of her throat, the fine shift of her facial muscles, the lick of her lips. He grinned wolfishly at her before his fingers pinched at her thigh playfully. And despite her thigh being clothed in layers of skirts now, she knew he'd seen her skin before, hugged her close before, it somehow felt taboo. Exciting enough to make her stomach whirl pleasantly. She jumped in his grasp, and he giggled.

“Here, too.” He clarified at his thumb brushed over the spot he pinched. He licked his lips as he leaned in closer, tugging her closer as the hand on her thigh trailed over her hip. Squeezing fondly for a moment before it crawled up her waist, higher and higher until his hand rested against her ribs. “And here.”

“A lot of places,” she breathed; he chuckled again. A whoosh of minty breath fanned over her face; he felt her ribs expand and deflate. He leaned forward closer still until they shared the same breath. “Are they all Seonghwa’s?”

“Nah,” he laughed out. He leaned in to press a kiss to her lips, quick and sweet. He adored her and the way she made connections - even if they were wrong. “They’re mine. Sannie and I share one though.”

“San has a tattoo?” YN exclaimed out, eyes alit with curiosity once more.

Wooyoung giggled like a child.

“Mh-hm,” he agreed, tugging her close to cuddle once more. "There's a lot you don't know of Sannie and I."

She pushed her hands onto his chest, towering over him for a moment.

“I want to know, Woo.”

He smiled with a cupid’s arrow sharp grin. He turned their forms so she’d be below him, peppering her face with kisses.

“I know, swanette. I want to know you inside and out too.”

She had fallen asleep in the study, snuggled into Wooyoung’s chest after a scandalous amount of kissing. Wooyoung made her feel so safe, warm, and cozy that she fell asleep against his collarbone as he hummed soft melodies in her ear. Only for her to awaken with the sun setting and Wooyoung nowhere to be seen. A soft quilt had been draped over her and a pillow propped under her head.

Sitting up, she glanced around. A butler stood; stone faced at the door. He didn’t even look at her. Her cloche hat – that Wooyoung had removed for her – rested on a nearby end-table.

“Uh… where is Wooyoung?” she asked tentatively as she put her hat back onto her head.

“In a meeting, Miss YN.”

She blinked and nodded softly, glancing about. Unsure. Was she to wait for him here? Should she leave?

“He said Mr. Kang could keep you company if you awoke before he returned.”

Mr. Kang… her brows pursed, unfamiliar with the name.

“Kang?” she repeated.

The butler nodded sturdily before opening the door, gesturing with one hand. “Come with me.”

Glancing between the disheveled sofa and the butler, she pursed her lips and swallowed, her curiosity got the better of her and she walked towards the doors.

Being led throughout the maze was easy, following along as she glanced at the artwork and listened for the tell-tale crow of Wooyoung’s laugh. There was none; instead, she heard the siren call of a big band tune. Something jazz with a full band. The further they walked the closer the music grew.

The butler opened another set of double-doors.

She wasn’t expecting this. A full-sized tennis court within the grand mansion. The court held freshly painted court-lines over a polished clay flooring. The walls were still the elaborate and lavish walls from the foyer. With large paintings done in a Renaissance- style, the entire room felt less like a gym and more like an art piece.

There was the fairest socialite of the Kim family. Kim Yeosang, star athlete and top tennis player on this side of the continent. He was dressed in an expensive-looking lounge-wear, something all black and sleek even if it was meant to exercise in. He was thwacking tennis balls, custom ones judging by their unique black color.

He grunted as he swung his racket harder, the ball darting back across the court. Multiple of their servants, men in all-white ball boy attire stood holding their own rackets. They were no help with keeping the ball in play, diving and jumping only to miss the tennis ball by great lengths. Another servant, a butler of sorts judging by how he was dressed in a black suit, would throw one ball after another towards Yeosang.

He wasn’t even breaking a sweat, his perfect hair remaining in place as he swung and hit each ball with ease. A record player played off in the corner; some extravagant big band tune as he huffed and puffed.

“Mr. Kang,” called the butler with her. “You have a visitor.”

Mr. Kang was Yeosang? Did they all have different last names than Kim?

She shifted her hands in one another as she waited. He hadn’t heard judging by how he continued to hit each ball tossed his way.

The butler blinked a few times before swallowing and calling, louder this time. “Mr. Kang.”

Thwack. Hit. Thud. Thwack. Hit. Thud.

The loud saxophone on the record belted out brashly in a dance-tune.

“Mr Kang!” He called the loudest.

Yeosang turned fast, grasping his racket tight and striking a ball their way. Ducking fast, she dodged the bullet-fast ball, her hands holding her cloche hat close to her head as she did so. Remaining squatting, she looked up at Yeosang who stood with an agape mouth.

He snapped a finger in the direction of the record player and off its needle was tugged with a loud record-scratch screech.

“Miss YN,” Yeosang breathed out, his deep voice surprised. “Sweetheart.”

“Hello,” she greeted, still crouched. “Yeosangie.”

He hurried forward, long strides with a purpose as he helped her up.

“I’m sorry; I wasn’t expecting you.” He babbled. In fact, he almost looked nervous. His cheeks dusted a soft pink that she hadn’t seen before. “Are you alright? You weren’t hit, were you?”

His hand not holding a racket cupped her cheek, his fingers were warm from gripping the racket.

She shook her head. “No, no, I’m okay. I promise.”

“I didn’t know you were here,” he admitted. “When did you arrive?”

“I don’t blame you. Wooyoung stole me away,” she revealed. “I fell asleep and well… apparently, he got caught up in a meeting of some sorts. He sent me your way.”

She bent at the knee, curtsying just a bit. He blinked at the information before letting out a small laugh, ‘ha-het’.

“Of course, he would,” he said. There’s a soft lull as he glanced about. Uncertainty. Nervous. It was a strange aura about him; he shifted on his feet.

“This place is much nicer than the outdoor court; I’m happy you can practice in warmth,” she told him.

Yeosang nodded. “I’d be lost without my sport; I’m thankful Hongjoong built this for me.”

She knew the feeling; she couldn’t imagine life without dancing. Maybe she’s be a seamstress like her mother but the passion in her life would be gone. This Hongjoong seemed more and more interesting. He helped Wooyoung and San in a hard time; he made this court for Yeosang. He seemed kind.

“I interrupted your practice; I can go…” she offered after a moment.

“No!” Yeosang was quick to interrupt. His hand rose, a slight tremor to his phalanges as he reacted. “No, please, Miss YN. Stay. I’m—forgive me, your appearance has me speechless. We don’t have company often, and I don’t entertain here.”

She was clearly invading his safe space and she felt uncomfortable. He felt uncomfortable – even if he was pleading with her to stay.

“No need to entertain me,” she reassured him, leaning in as if it was a secret between them. “Its just me. I can go back to the study if you wish.” She wanted his shoulders to relax for his tense attitude to lighten. He offered a tight-lipped smile.

“I don’t wish that. I… am happy to see you, you know.”

So, she instead leaned into what he adored.

“Teach me then?” she asked softly, glancing towards his racket resting by his side.

His surprise wasn’t masked in any way. His eyes widened and his mouth forming a sweet ‘o’.

“You want to learn?” he asked.

She smiled, nodding. “Be wary I am not a good shot like Yunho.”

It was a joke and at the same time a bitter reminder of her and Yunho’s introduction. She wasn’t quite convinced of his innocence especially with how brooding he appeared. She believed he wanted the best for Yeosang and the others. She wasn’t sure if she was in that.

Yeosang’s laugh was pure as he giggled; an honest thing that burst forth from his chest easily.

“Few are, sweetheart,” he chuckled, his hand going to curl around his lips to contain his giggles, before nodding. “Okay. We can play a little.”

He glanced over at a butler, nodding at them with a silent command. A butler left and returned with a new racket, a carbon-copy of the dark black racket that Yeosang held.

They played for a while; Yeosang clearly was holding himself back, but the grin on his face was adorable and eased her conscience. He enjoyed sharing his hobby.

“Swing more like this, sweetheart,” he instructed, showing how to swing once more.

YN repeated it and she could see the conflict in his brown eyes. “That wasn’t it, was it?” she laughed openly.

Yeosang giggled and shook his head honestly. He crept forward hopping over the net like it was second-nature. He approached her with a confidence she couldn’t help but lean into. He seemed so in his nature here. Like she was on the stage. She was happy to let him puppeteer her around to see his smile. He reached for her arm carefully, mindful of her as he instructed how to hold her racket just so.

He was so close she could feel the heat of his sweat, the faint smell of musk and herbal-tea of his cologne, the press of his body against her back. He shifted her arms this way and that to show her the proper swinging technique.

“Like that,” he breathed into her ear. “Got it?”

His voice was a delicate thing, not boisterous like Wooyoung’s. It had a masculine rumble against her ear that she couldn’t hold back a shiver. He smiled, the ghost of it brushing against her skin.

“Yeah,” she replied.

He pressed a kiss to her ear before nodding towards a butler who had a ball in his hand.

He tossed it towards her and, with Yeosang’s aid, they both whacked it towards a wall that had better days. It looked like Yeosang used it for practice often; its drywall had dents and discoloration in its surface.

“The protégé and the prodigy,” a voice commented.

YN chirped out a surprised warble while Yeosang was quick to whack the tennis ball that was bouncing back towards them in the voice’s direction. Yunho, standing nearby with his hands tucked into his pockets, was quick to react. A singular hand raised to grapple the tennis ball, catching it mid-air and shocking YN.

“Good shot,” he teased Yeosang before tossing the tennis ball aside and shaking out his hand. It was a hard hit. Yeosang never pulled back his strength.

Yeosang laughed under his breath, glancing at the distance made between him and YN now. His gaze felt sharp for a moment before it settled into a sort of mask of politeness once more. He smiled at his elder.

“Hello again darling,” Yunho greeted as he walked further onto the court.

His smile was smoldering and she couldn’t help but enjoy the flare of excitement at his attention. Yeosang nearby pouted.

“When did you get here?” he asked before YN was able to greet the man.

“A while ago.” Yunho admitted. “I was asked to find our little dancer. She was gone from the study.”

“She’s with me,” Yeosang retorted wittily. Almost coyly. As if that was it and Yunho could go. Petulant

“I see that. Good game?”

YN’s brow tilted in exasperation. Her arms ached; she had sweated through her warm clothes by now. But she couldn’t help but see how glowing Yeosang was as he swung his racket over his shoulders.

“You’re a fast learner,” Yeosang complimented, glancing her way.

“I’m not as strong of a hitter though. Critique is something I’m familiar with; no need to be soft,” she teased, glancing at Yeosang and then Yunho. “My training doesn’t focus on the upper body as much as a tennis player’s regimen.”

“No, they don’t,” Yunho commented, gaze flickering to the sneak peek of her ankles before he locked eyes with her once more. He smiled coyly, charming. He was a confident creature she had to admit.

She shifted her hands to hold the racket in front of her.

“Were you in the meeting?” she asked simply.

Yunho’s brows flickered, a twitch of his features as he glanced to Yeosang. The younger’s gaze flashed to a particular butler – the one that led YN in earlier. The elder Kim smiled at YN then.

“Yes.” He answered. “It was informative.”

“Was Hongjoong there?” she asked curiously.

His smile felt sharper but he replied,” Yes.”

It was simple, cut off, no additional information to be found. Her fingers curled tighter around the racket. She suddenly remembered Jongho’s advice. They liked bold but not too bold. Yeosang, ever adaptable and versatile in any situation, nodded at Yunho with his chin.

“Play a round?” he asked.

Yunho looked tempted, she admitted. His gaze crawled over her carefully before he agreed. “Sure.”

There was a palpable excitement in Yeosang as he giggled. Yunho’s smile turned fonder the more it lingered, the sharp lines fading into devoted adoration. It was interesting. The man shed his jacket and rolled up crisp-white sleeves.

“You’ll have proper competition,” YN told Yeosang, chuckling. She walked to the sidelines, past Yunho and handed him her racket. He took it, his fingers grazing hers. “Thank you, darling.” It was soft, said to just her. A wave of his minty breath caressed her cheeks.

She swallowed at the way his eyes burned. He was so intense. She glanced away, and she heard Yunho chuckle lowly.

“You’ll see Yeosang has no match, however. He’s too skilled.”

“Hyung,” the younger’s warm tone was flattered, bashful.

Yunho winked and YN was shocked to see such a tease.

Their game started up and it was easy to see their comfortability. Their skilled swings were forceful and sharp; the thwack of the ball against the court almost sounded dangerous. Watching them play was entertaining as it was indulgent. She got to look Yunho up and down, properly.

His shined shoes squeaked against the clay floor; his tailored pants swished around his long legs; the vest he wore only emphasized his lean waist. There was sinewy, flexing muscles visible from the white of his shirt, bulging when he swung. The sharp look on his face only grew more sharp as he played, a look of focus coming over him. A bite of his lip.

He was attractive.

But, despite his hard work, Yeosang was better. There was a whack of the racket and the ball would hit just outside of Yunho’s long arms’ reach. One point, then two. Before he racked up enough points for game.

“I win,” Yeosang declared, triumphantly.

Yunho was huffing. “Congratulations. Well done.” He complimented, a hand raising to wipe at his forehead.

YN from the sidelines applauded.

“Good game, both of you – Yunho, you could compete if you wanted to!” she complimented. It was true. He held his own quite well, better than her and better than some competitors of Yeosang’s, too.

“You’re sweet, darling,” he purred before he winked at her.

Her cheeks flushed and he laughed lightly, the sound sweet to her ears.

“No performance today? Strange.” he asked, accepting a towel from a butler. He wiped at his sweatied brow. His gaze flashed to the butler who had led her to the room earlier, shoving the racket into his arms.

“Don’t get her paranoid,” Yeosang spoke next, speaking over Yunho’s whisper to the butler who paled. “This is your day off, sweetheart.”

How did he know her schedule so well, she wondered? Perhaps Wooyoung or Mingi had told him? It was kind of him to try to reassure her nonetheless.

It made her chuckle lightly even as she glanced between the frightened butler, Yunho, and finally Yeosang. He smiled at her, and she couldn’t help but return that look.

“It is,” she confirmed. “This Saturday is the last show; we’ve reduced our schedule in preparation.” It was a strange thing to do. In the past, they’d be working harder and harder ‘til the last show; now, it was all about orchestrated demand.

“Will you attend?” she asked Yeosang before glancing over at Yunho. The butler was gone, left the room in the short span of her talking to Yeosang. “Will you?” she added.

Yunho’s dark eyes lit up with something she couldn’t tell.

“You’d like me there?” he queried. Why was everything he did a challenge, a tease. It made her stomach twist.

“I would like both of you there,” she admitted. “If you can make it?”

“Anything for you.” Yeosang promised, reaching out to cup the back of her head and place a kiss to her cheek.

Halazia. There were more Halazia products in the market. YN had never heard of this brand ‘til it was consuming their world. Canned goods now bore the branding of Halazia, a sort of hourglass symbol with the name Halazia Company beneath its image, in its metal. Crates had a painted version of this symbol.

There were construction sites popping up with the banners of ‘Sponsored by Halazia Company’ written across their fabrics. Old buildings being renovated; new buildings being constructed; current buildings being invaded. The factory her mother even worked in now bore a new name: ‘Halazia Textiles.’

It was the last show.... (hi! this part was too long for tumblr’s word count rules, so it has been split! please check out the rest of part 5, here! thanks; sorry tumblr is weird lol)

#ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez fic #jongho x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #mingi x reader #san x reader #wooyoung x reader #atz x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #woosan x reader #ateez mafia au #ateez scenarios #written by haley

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