#I was giggling and kicking my feet while writing this

[heeikeuu]

── .✦ ENHYPEN DRABBLE; When You Play Love&DeepSpace

۶ৎ featuring – enha x fem!reader

۶ৎ genre – fluff, romance, slice of life

note: hai people, I'm new to writing fanfics, but I hope you enjoy this <3

HEESEUNG ᝰ.ᐟ

You were lying in bed giggling at your phone while your boyfriend was gaming. "Nightly Rendezvous" banner teasers just dropped, and u were watching them with the volume a little too high that heeseung heard and got curious. He sneakily decided to check out the commotion. His eyes were wide, and jaw dropped. "Baby, what are you doing?" He asked, making u flinch in surprise, "Jesus christ, seungie, you scared my soul off my body." Upon seeing how red your face got your boyfriend smirked, suddenly you're trapped in the bed with his hands on either side of your head. Looking up at him like a deer caught in headlight, "I didn't know u were into stuff like this?" The question really was rhetorical but you just sheepishly smiled at him and grabbed your phone, "he reminds me of u a lot" you showed him Rafayel, your boyfriend is taken aback at first but soon shakes his head and giggles at you. "At least now I know what you do when you miss me." You lightly slapped his arm before giving him a peck on the lips, not really disagreeing with his statement.

JUNGWON ᝰ.ᐟ

Jungwon was lying beside you in bed. Both of you on your phones and just enjoying each other's presence after a long hectic day at work. You were busy trying to pull for Xavier's limited myth after saving up for a long time that you didn't realize your boyfriend got bored of his phone eventually and was watching you instead. Suddenly, your boyfriend spoke, "Which cards you aiming for?" Looking up from your phone, you notice his eyes on you and smile softly, "I want to get Xavier's limited myth, Lumiere is so hot" your boyfriend blinked at you for a few seconds before giggling, "not more than me though, right?" He asked teasingly while poking your arm, but you definitely caught on to the double meaning. "Of course not, wonie, nobody is hotter than you, silly." You stated as a matter of fact while looking at him through your lashes, "y-yeah" stumbling on his words a little he smiles sheepishly and pulls you closer with his head on your shoulders, landing a small kiss there, "don't mind me."

JAY ᝰ.ᐟ

Jay was in his office. It was break time, and he opened his phone to see what his fiance was doing. He noticed her newest post update saying she really wanted to collect new outfits for her mc, shaking his head lightly and smiling. Being the gentleman he is, he sent her money to buy that outfit and more, whatever her heart pleased. He loved spoiling her rotten, and he was well aware of that and didn't mind. You heard your phone ding while doing your makeup, you eyes widened seeing what your boyfriend texted, "I noticed you wanted new outfits for your mc so here's some money to get whatever you want, darling ❤️" with $500 sent to your account. You quickly texted him back, thanking him and saying he really didn't have to. A call interrupted your thoughts. It was your fiance, picking it up quickly. "Hi darling, just wanted to let you know that I will be heading home a little late today due to an emergency meeting so please make sure to eat well and don't stay up too late waiting for me." You hummed in agreement, "I need words, darling" blushing at his words, "okay, I promise." "Good, also make sure to show me your cute mc outfits later." Smiling to yourself at his thoughtfulness, you agreed, and the call ended. Kicking your feet and rolling in bed like a maniac, you thanked your lucky stars for giving you a real life Zayne.

JAKE ᝰ.ᐟ

Jake just came home from practice, hearing your fast footsteps after yelling, "Baby, I'm home." He smiled warmly, seeing you run into his arms. "I miss you, baby, and I have so much to talk to you about!" You exclaimed excited. Holding you up with one arm, he smiled back at you. You were his little fluff ball of energy. He already knew you were going to talk his ear off about Sylus later, but he didn't mind at all because he loved seeing how you got all nerdy about your interests. After taking a shower and eating dinner together, he sat on the couch with her in his arms as she started explaining the whole lore to him with a PowerPoint ready on her ipad. Giggling at how cute she is being. She let out a sigh "jakey are you listening? This is super important!" You stressed, and your boyfriend looked at you sweetly, "I'm listening, baby. Please continue. What happened next?" He always matched your energy, and you loved this about him. No matter how tired he was, he was never too tired to listen to his girl yap about whatever for hours.

SUNGHOON ᝰ.ᐟ

You were scrolling through tiktok during your break until you stumbled upon an edit of zayne with enha's song. Letting out a gasp, you excitedly sent the link to your husband while giggling. The familiar sound of your notifications filled the quiet office room. Already knowing its sunghoon, you smiled and opened the chat. "I see you're having fun, but I'm here suffering missing my pretty girl," you mentally face palmed at his cute antics. Deciding to tease him a bit, you responded, "Can't a girl have two husbands?" And the next lines of texts of him went like "oh my god. My wife hates me. She wants me to die. Goodbye, world." Chucking at his dramatic behavior, you decided to call him. He picked up almost immediately, "Hi Zaynie~" you chimed in a teasing tone, you heard your husband sigh, "hello to you too wifey, now would you please mind finishing your work early because your husband is going to die waiting for you at home." You always loved how dramatic and cute sunghoon was, people often thought he was cold at first but to you he was a grade S soap opera actor, and you wouldn't trade the world for him. You always told him that and whenever he asked, "What about Zayne then?" You jokingly told him,"know your limits." But deep down, you were grateful your man always supported your interests despite acting sulky at times.

SUNOO ᝰ.ᐟ

You were laser focused on trying to win kitty cards against Caleb that you didn't notice your boyfriend was calling for you from the bathroom. It was nighttime, and usually time for your skin care routine together. "Princess, can you hear me?" He asked worriedly. He came into view with a face mask and his arms crossed. "What's so important it has your mind preoccupied like this?" He questioned, but you quickly brushed him off saying "wait I'm trying to beat caleb in kitty cards, and he's driving me crazy!! He keeps freezing me and stealing my points!" Your frustrated tone made sunoo chuckle before coming closer and taking your phone away, gasping you look up, "sunoo please baby just this one round," "You said that like 2 rounds ago, baby, come on, it's time to take your makeup off. I promise after we can beat him up together." Puffing your cheeks, you agreed. "Okay, but since you're better at kitty cards, you better win all!" You pointed your finger at your boyfriend who took your hand and kissed it softly, humming in agreement. Smiling at him while you both went to finish your night routine.

RIKI ᝰ.ᐟ

Sitting on riki's lap, you let out sighs making sure your boyfriend could hear you. Riki glanced down at you from the TV, "what's wrong, you big baby?" You were having a hard time passing the open orbit battles and started getting extra frustrated. "Ki, I can't seem to pass this level no matter what I do!" You expressed, "here, let me try, angel." He sweetly offered, and you let him help. You watch him intently choose the cards and weapons, and start the battle. Your heartbeat spiking as you watched the timer count to 10, and the wanderer's HP was like 3 hits away from victory, which is where you kept failing. "Fucking bitch" you heard your boyfriend mutter under his breath and you closed your eyes dramatically scared of losing, "LET'S GOOO" you suddenly heard him say, opening your eyes, you saw the screen flash "victory" and you jumps his bones while thanking him all giddy, "fear not baby, no matter how hard the boss battle is, nishimura will always prevail" he says proudly making u giggle at his silliness, "of course, baby" you kiss his cheek and returned to your game but noticed through your peripheral vision him blushing with a smile he failed to hide.

© heeikeuu | likes and reblogs are appreciated ♡

[idkshithead]

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ 𓊆ྀི gi-hun headcanons! 𓊇ྀི

·˚ ༘ — pairing: seong gi-hun x fem!reader

—❕warnings: nsfw content, mentions of trauma and insomnia (slightly), gi-hun being a cutie pookie patootie that i actually giggled and kicked my feet while writing this. i love him sm

｡𖦹°‧ sfw!:

season 1

— 𐙚 your relationship with gi-hun is a “pretty gf, obsessed bf” typa thing. he’d do anything for you. literally. you have cramps during your period? no problem cause he’s already out buying your favorite sweets. you don’t feel good about yourself all of a sudden? no worries cause he’ll sit you on his lap reminding you of how beautiful you are, of how much he loves you (and of how much you turn him on).

— 𐙚 s1 gi-hun is def the jealous type. mostly because he knows he’s not the perfect man to date due to all his family and financial problems so every time he sees a guy approaching you, maybe even good-looking, he’ll definitely pout: either he comes closer and grasps your waist tightly to show him you’re his, or he’ll just be silent and pretend to mind his business even tho he’s hurting inside cause he’s afraid you’ll replace him.

— 𐙚 later you’ll eventually tease him and tell him about how cute it is when he acts all jealous even when he tries to deny it. loves when you ruffle his hair/pinch his cheeks/cover his face in kisses to reassure him.

— 𐙚 s1 gi-hun is the type of man who really wants to spoil you with expensive gifts to make you happy but knows he can’t because of his lack of money. tries to make it up to you with simple dates (pic-nics, late night walks/drives, cuddle sessions etc.) even tho you tell him you don’t care about gifts and that you like simple actions. he’ll keep that in mind and will eventually start giving you picked-up flowers or short handwritten letters.

— 𐙚 s1 gi-hun’s life felt so much brighter when he met you and he couldn’t tell why. your presence just made him feel warm in his chest and he would remind you every. single. day.

— 𐙚 would definitely hug you from behind while you cook and start kissing your neck. later he would pick you up and sit you on the kitchen counter and start making out/cuddle with you while he whispers how much you mean to him etc. will make you promise to never leave him.

— 𐙚 one thing you ABSOLUTELY love about gi-hun, is his hair. it’s so fluffy and soft that you wanna touch it every minute of the day. in rough days he loves to lay on your thighs while you caress his scalp, play with strands of his hair to relax him until he’ll eventually fall asleep.

— 𐙚 s1 gi-hun would let you meet his daughter almost immediately cause when he met you first, he knew you would be the one. when he sees you get along really well with her he would smile like an idiot cause he loves to see the 2 most important girls of his life talking/having fun together.

season 2

— 𐙚 hate to say this, but s2 gi-hun is a whole different person. he’s not the smiley guy he once was and stay sure that he WILL be over protective, over possessive, over everything. can you blame him tho? he got traumatized so no, you can’t. he’s just afraid you’ll get in trouble as well.

— 𐙚 s2 gi-hun will definitely check on you every. damn. minute. he can’t find you? he’ll spam call you till you answer. you don’t answer his calls cause you’re out and can’t hear your phone? h’ell put on the gps in his car and come find you.

— 𐙚 at first you argued with him many times cause it became overwhelming. you basically couldn’t even go out with your old friend cause he’ll call you every 30 minutes and stuff. you didn’t want to get mad at him cause it wasn’t his fault, he just went through a lot and was worried for you.

— 𐙚 when you got mad, tho, you felt guilty not even a second later cause he looked at you with a sad and hurt expression and said: “i’m sorry. i just over worry and can’t stay calm when you’re out alone.”

— 𐙚 you’d tell him you understand but still you’re an independent woman and can defend yourself. (you’re lying cause deep down you like it when he worries a lot about you. but not in an obsessive/unhealthy way.). you will definitely cuddle him after that.

— 𐙚 s2 gi-hun never sleeps at night cause he feels the need to look after you while you sleep. he still feels like he’s in that room, keeping watch of bastards that could attack and kill you. if he manages to fall asleep, he’ll wake up in the middle of the night due to the nightmares. in those nights, you are the one who doesn’t sleep to look after him.

— 𐙚 he still loves to hug you from behind while you do stuff but also loves when you are the one to do so. he’s not as talkative as before so while old gi-hun would whisper loving sentences to you, present gi-hun just wants to feel the moment. he would bury his face into your neck and stay silent as you caress his hair and kiss it while he rubs your back and holds you tight.

— 𐙚 s2 gi-hun likes slow mornings. while in s1 he would go out to gamble/work and you would work too, now he likes to take his time to wake up to cuddle you, kiss you. just wants to enjoy his time with you, especially in weekends.

— 𐙚 s2 gi-hun would still take you out to late night walks/drives to relieve stress from both of you. his old manners of showing you his love are still the same: simple actions/gifts, physical touch etc.

｡𖦹°‧ nsfw!:

season 1:

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 the first time you two made love was quite embarrassing for him cause he hadn’t touched a woman in years after his ex wife(that is something that every gi-hun fan thinks lol😭). he was really scared to hurt you or make you uncomfortable but once you reassure him he will make sure he’ll be the best sex you’ve ever had.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s1 gi-hun will definitely cum really fast the first times cause he just can’t control himself with you. he doesn’t even make it on purpose but that man is able to cum in his pants by you just grinding on his lap.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s1 gi-hun is the type of man that really doesn’t care about sex. he’s not a really “horny-guy” cause he thinks sex is not that important in a relationship but since he met you he gets hard often times and can’t control it.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s1 gi-hun would think he’s not that good in bed but god, the way you moan his name or just moan in pleasure makes his ego reach the stars. he thinks he’s not that big but doesn’t realize that even common size (14/15cm) actually is.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s1 gi-hun def talks you through it. would tell you how much you turn him on, would tell you how good you feel around him and would tell you how good you are for him. loves to praise you during it.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 i feel like he LOVES blowjobs. they make him feel so damn horny and he doesn’t know why himself. probably is the way your pretty, innocent eyes look at him while your lips are wrapped around his length, pleasuring him.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 gi-hun is clearly noisy. be prepared to hear him moan even if you just move your ass while sitting on his lap.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 forget about degrading names/praises. will def not call you a “whore, slut, pathetic” etc, not even if you ask him. he’s just not that kind of man and it makes him uncomfortable

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 once you’re done, even if he’s dead tired, he won’t get in bed before making sure you’re all cleaned and feeling as comfy as possible. you chuckle almost every time and tell him to just lay with you and that you’ll take a shower later.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 thinks he needs to be the big spoon cause he’s the “man of the relationship” but loves to be the small spoon as well. depends on who needs more cuddles after that. if he’s the big spoon, he’ll lay you on his chest, pull the blanket over your bodies and rub your skin, whisper loving words till you both fall asleep.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 if he’s the small spoon he’ll be the one to lay on your chest and shyly ask you to caress his head/play with his hair cause it relaxes him. you can’t help the cuteness so you just roughly grab his face and kiss him nonstop. you’ll apologize later and both end up chuckling. likes when you rub his bare back with the other hand as well. will fall asleep immediately cause your heartbeat helps him relax.

season 2:

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s2 gi-hun would prefer blowjobs even more since he can’t sleep and is really tired most of times. he loves when you help him relax with that and loves it even more when you’re the one to initiate first cause he feels shy to just ask you to make him cum. thinks it’s inappropriate.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s2 gi-hun loves lazy and slow sex (unless he had a really bad day), prefers when you ride him cause it’s hotter to see your breast bouncing and stuff. will grasp your waist/hips gently and guide you through it while he praises you.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 he may not be as noisy as before but will never stop praising you. he realized he loves it even more when you are the one to praise him. sentences like: “fuck, you’re so good, gi-hun” or “you make me feel so good” make him cum immediately.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 will def ask you to do that again cause he LOVES to hear how good he makes you feel and how loved you feel even when your sex is not romantic and slow.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 if you’re not in the mood he’ll immediately pull away and apologize 5 times in a second cause he doesn’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable in any way. you smile and reassure him and then promise him to do it later (if you’re in the mood ofc).

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 will feel guilty cause he feels like he’s forcing you but you remind him that if you didn’t want to, you wouldn’t cause yes you love him with your whole being, but will never do something you feel uncomfortable with. especially if it’s related to intimacy.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 most of the times it will start by you massaging his shoulders cause they’re so tense. then you would start kissing his neck, make out and it will lead to bed.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 will praise you with nicknames like: “such a good girl for me, hun.” or “you’re so tight, sweetheart.” if you call his name he would respond with: “yes m’am?” cause he’s such a gentleman and loves to respect his woman.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s2 gi-hun also loves missionary cause he needs to look at your pretty face and all the cute and horny expressions you make when he makes you reach the stars. would definitely kiss your neck/jawline/cheeks while he praises you.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s2 gi-hun enjoys every type of quickies. on the kitchen counter when you cook? definitely. in the shower? always. in the car after a long late night drive? sure, why not. in the dressing room when you go shopping? loves the risk.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 when you do quickies in public he’d cover your mouth with his big hand and loves the sight of it. the way you try to keep quiet, the way you close your eyes to focus on not being noisy, your flustered cheeks. it turns him on even more.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s2 gi-hun thinks aftercare is the most important thing. probably like it even more than sex itself. he wants to be the big spoon always but when you manage to convince him to be the small one, he would act as if he could accidentally hurt you.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 you would play with his short hair and kiss his head while you tell him how good he made you feel cause he’ll ask you if you liked it. if you would tell him that something made you uncomfortable he probably won’t touch you in “that way” for weeks. to the point you’d ask him if he still loves you cause you think he got tired of you.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 will look at you with an expression that clearly says “are you okay?” and then immediately reassure you and apologize for being a jerk.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 i feel like gi-hun hates porn and wouldn’t watch them not even if he got paid. thinks they’re too unrealistic and stupid. plus, he has you so what’s the point in watching other naked women having sex? not his thing, really hates it.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 doesn’t feel the need to jerk off when you’re not around, he’ll just wait till you come back if he needs it. would do that only if he’s desperate af.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ — a/n: soo here are few of my headcanons for this little cutie pie. idk if some of these are similar to others or something but if so, i’m so sorry, i didn’t copy anyone nor i inspired by anyone, i made them in my head based on my hc/scenarios😭 anyway i hope you enjoy reading this🥹

[justbelievinginmagic]

omg literally was kicking my feet reading your comments!!! i sincerely appreciate and enjoyed it!!!!

i'll place my response under a read more bc i got so much to say hehe

im so flattered you fell asleep while reading!!! its mean you really wanted to read it!! ive fallen asleep to my fave fics so it really made me smile!!

and yes!!! i've been waiting to see if someone noticed hehe. I was so happy you did! the pineapple scent fits him too i feel! ive actually looked into their real perfumes/colognes (from what google says is their perfumes/scents) and referenced what they actually wear! apparently hongjoong does have a pineapple undertone perfume o_o <3 i love him. hes the sweet tangy boy lol. im happy you like their scents!!

SAN IS SO SOFT. i love big strong men who are soft sweethearts. he isssss so soft for all his loves. youll see how the others want to wrap him up in pillows and blankies soon! ateez loves him.

and omg everytime i write san drinking im just like hes a lightweight. hes giggling. hes blushing. hes just keeping it under control. hes gotta be Cool.

Alleyway Scene!! Mingi is right!! but if its hwa or joong.... that'll have to be seen.

i do have to say i thought about yn remembering their voices. For both jongho and the alley scene men. but i eventually was like ehhhh lets have drama lol.

JONGHO IS BABY. he deserves a meetcute. and im happy that the maknae whisper was a good leeway!! I didnt want him to give away his name for a while but eventually thought JH would introduce himself.

I wanted her to freak out - i think she was kinda in her head so she was more ready to get out of there. but i wanted her to notice that he knew her name before she gave it!! spooooky.

woo is just so downbad in love. hes like ill do anything swanette. i really liked that angel between two demons line too!! i also think its fun bc hongjoong's lil nickname for her will be angel (like we saw in the chpt 3 flash to the future bit)

aw im happy you like her fidgeting! i try to make them feel as real as possible. people fidget and self soothe and have tells for when they lie. body language is hard to get across in writing imo but i hope these help to show how she is feeling to the people around her too.

san icing her legs will be pEAK. it was a spur of a moment idea and i was liek i gotta write this or else ill go insane!

thats an interesting point!! do they want her to need them - want them?? i feel like its definitely good and toxic. bc they are totally pushing limits to see what she is comfy with.

i read yandere fics and im like this is fine, knowing like no its not lol. right now there are totally red flags from all of the boys but woosan feels sweet rn still. so much is still blurred i feel that i dont blame yn for being swoonful.

wooyo is a softie jokester. he wants to live life comfy, casual, worryfree.

tall and taller, my boysssss!! its totally yungi! theyre planning something that definitely is setting butterfly effects off.

wooyoung being just a tease is my fave thing. he wants attention from everyone lol.

ooo s rings for seonghwa is a fun idea but i will reveal the story behind this one lol. this was to allude to it being mingi. i took inspo from the S/$ necklace he wears in the MV and the line that says "Draw a line on the name and take the won and dollars" for his name sake S/$ and M/₩. i thought an $ necklace would be a bit tacky lolol so i made it a ring instead to imply Song Mingi.... though there is more to this story i'll keep quiet for now haha.

BUT CLAIMING THINGS FROM SEONGHWA IS A BIG EYES IDEA.

Jongho loves the arts! he wanted to see what was up!! hes just a bit more suave - he knows she'd be checking out the box if he sat there.

Julia is definitely showing the more give and take of the boudoir. she wants to be more than the system she is locked into but was mean about it for sure to yn. its good advice but said badly i think. and for sure yn thinks woosan and her are different!

aaa i like that you noticed that about introvert/extrovert/outings/privacy! and also wy loves yn he loves that shes clever and caring and listening!! hes really whipped.

jooongie will make it known for sure one day! and its an interesting idea! hes been very private so far in the story - canonically he hasnt even been to the show yet (if im remembering my own writing correctly lol). why would he give her a coat? is it just a coat or is it more? why is he letting all of the boys be so captivated by her?

the necklace being tugged was a comment reply!! someone said it made them think of a collar which was not the initial implication - but then ...

i was hooked on the idea and had to add it!

I really love reading the comments you are sharing!! im literally giggling and clapping my hands!! it made my night!! i appreciate it so much!!

«hes mine just as wooyoung and you are mine» that is the dream. oh to be sans and be wrapped up in his big ol chest.

yeosang is going to be featured more heavily next chapter and im like metaphorically glaring at him likes hes a bad cat rn haha. hes unhinged but also same. i need a soft hug from good cat yeosang.

and gosh this is so sweet im so happy you are enjoying!!!!!!!!!!

san is Gentleman. He likes the glitz and glamour and pretty things on his arms.

YN just wants to be star

i love love love strong yeosang, doberman yeosang. hes got an aura around him even if he is soft boy

like hes got an intensity even if hes gentle/cutesy/demur

yeahhhhhhh san wishes it was an easier answer than prima.

she is very innocent. i try to balance it so people arent annoyed or think of her as a mary sue. BUT i dont think she'd assume mafia first and foremost. there isnt really that in this town. small town gangs, rich conglomerates, ateez is a new force.

lolol about the newspaper guy!

ys just wants to spend time with heeeeeerrrrrrrrr and it got all messed up later. he will spend more time with her for sure!! like i said hes wild in the next chapter imo.

mingi my shaylllaaaaaaa. hes soooo alrfafgvafnvlnaflv i want to squeeze him. i LOVE cute mingi. i love bashful kind silly smile mingi beneath his sexy aura!!!

matz my loves. i wanted to include them in little ways this chapter. next chapter might not feature them yet depending on pacing but i love and miss them. im a matz girlie through and through.

aaaa oh my gawddddd thats all im saying about the tooth gems hehe!!!

everything reminds me of him. i love mv san.

i loved throwing in the kitty hehe. its just a strange thing in the mv to have this kitty prowling about imo. shes jongho!!

oooo im excited for an ask if you are still curious!!!

Yeosangs flower outfit!!! hes so cuteee and soft boy. i wanted him super soft before we see him ever in his sharp pinstriped suit.

i take a lot of things from the mv lol or the behind the scenes or the teasers!! they give me so much inspo!! im happy you are spotting them!!

wy and mg's scene in front of the desk is totally derived from mingi's moment at the desk in the mv!! a lot of people got confused thinking mingi was yunho/seonghwa since they've been delegated as higher in power buttttt mingi is at a desk in the mv... mingi has his ring kissed in the mv.....

hongjoong in iomt was first goofy looking and then I LOCKED THE FUCK IN. hes so fine. i love the hair. i love his cocky vibe. i love him FLOATING LIKE AN ANGEL. i just have to try to include those vibes from him and i thought a portrait painted in a Renaissance style would fit that!

im glad!! that gives me the ick too!! another ick that i get is when wooyo blows smoke in the butlers' faces as theyre walking in the foyer. i wanted to show that they really dgaf with other ppl.

he did say that >:((( he keeps calling her a doll and nows he like liking her. wooyo and san will tease yu haha. though i will note 1910s/20s doll was common for a girl as a nickname. i think he did mean it like "this doll, this broad *raised eyebrows*" though so the growls are warranted still.

yunho is the guard dog totally. hes here to sniff out trouble and set records straight! we can trust him...right?

i love yeowoosani! i love them theyre babies!!!!!!!

mingis just a boy, surrounded by boys. hes like "shit a lady is here and now i said shit oh shit i said it again D:<"

kitty z is precious and has done no wrong yn is just going through it.

im hoping to get another chapter out faster (even if my brain is like sludge with writing rn). these comments really inspire to me keep writing and get it out faster so thank you so much!! it really brightened my day!!!

like a waltz⎯ part 4: piqué.

pairing(s): ateez ot8 x fem!reader; this chapter focuses on all the boys & reader except my beloved matz :(( (their time is coming.) series 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: As trouble arises and your patrons spend more time with you, more attention gets locked on you. Their interest is thoroughly piqued by you. 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 (choking, fighting, punching, etc), canon typical gore, blood, death, guns, explicit language, stalking, alcohol, smoking, bribery, lack of privacy, allusions to exploitation in ballet, implied sexual themes, suggestive themes, kissing, intimacy, angst, fluff, voyeurism sort of, obsession, infatuation, sugar daddy themes, unequal power dynamics, food descriptions, missing people, polyamory, pain, medical drug usage, traumatic injury, injuries, reader discretion advised & 18+ readers only! Let me know if I should tag anything else! word count: 20.4k previous chapter <- -> next chapter series masterlist

piqué ; french pronunciation: [piːk], ‘pricked’… or to stimulate interest or curiosity.

Creeping out of the stage-door hours after a performance was a normal thing for ballerinas. The alley way was something all the girls were familiar with just as they were with the foyer de la danse. Its damp cobblestone, nearby rotting trashcans, and the barely lit path was their red-carpet entrance. They were not allowed the luxury of entering through the grand doors of the opera house with its tall columns, brightly lit lamps, and the many steps towards its shiny, gold-painted extravagance The only days they were allowed to enter through the front doors were when the opera house was closed and they were rehearsing. The petit rats were only welcomed with glamour when the rich weren’t nearby. They had the back-entrance. This was the ugly underbelly of the pretty façade.

Dressed in her pretty coat and her warmest layers, she had said goodbye to San and Wooyoung ages ago. But then, the Madame had spoken to her and a few ballerinas in her office, relaying some notes, insisting on the girls performing the rectifications immediately. So, there they stood in the rehearsal room, satin-ribboned shoes laced up over thick winter stockings and their day-dresses on. The ballerinas repeated their motions: turning in pirouettes, performing jetes, and piquing across the hall. It was only after the city’s clock tolled twelve times that the Madame allowed them to stop with a slam of her cane into the wooden floorboards. Then, after confirming each dancer had paid their weekly bill (YN smiled, wiping sweat from her brow as she was told her patrons paid once more), they were allowed to leave. The other ballerinas had all scurried home by the time she had gathered her bag and coat once more.

It was late into the early hours, past midnight and not yet morning when she finally left the opera house and crept out into the alley.

Pushing the heavy door open with her shoulder, the chill of night soaked into her bones with a whoosh. Shivering a bit, she adjusted her pretty coat closer to her body and prepared herself for the walk home. Her boots click clacked on the icy pavement as she exited the mouth of the alley. Looking this way and that, the streets were abandoned. Seemingly abandoned. Some of the candle-lit lamps even had fizzled out in the evening with no leeries about to relight them. She continued to walk along, humming softly until she heard the noise. Loud panicked whispers. A crackling fire. The crinkling of a tin-barrel. The smell of smoke. Ahead of her, dark smoke was tumbling out of a nearby alleyway, firelight lighting the brick-walls. She paused, her foot-steps slowed.

Click. Clack.

“You fucked up the deal?” It was frightened.

Click, clank.

“I didn’t mean to; I didn’t mean to. Johnny stole some cash from them, and then-“

“I don’t care! We needed this deal – the money, before he arrives – before we all lose –“

There was the squealing of car wheels and the smell of hot gasoline in the air. YN froze, her footsteps stopping. A car door slammed open, and there was a new click-clank of boots. A startled yell, a shuffle of footsteps, voices overlapping; there was a thud of a body hitting the icy ground with a yell. YN held her breath.

“Gentlemen,” the newcomer’s voice was gravely. There were heavy footfalls and a scrambling sound of someone walking backwards. Something hit a tin-can.

“B-B-Boss.”

“Where is it?”

“Oh, about that –“ the other chuckled. 

“My money isn’t no laughing matter.” There was a thud like someone being shoved into a wall violently. The man groaned in pain. “You think I’m someone to be crossed? Where. Is. It?” the intimidating deep voice asked, lowly.

YN swallowed, frozen at the alley way’s entrance just out of view. When would she be able to pass? She needed to get out of here quiet and without being noticed. Or else… she was scared what would happen. This wasn’t the usual gang-dealings. Gangs would fight back, fist with fist. These men were scared.

“We can get it to you- We can- just give me some time, boss!”

“This is the second time,” the graveled voice grumbled; there was a low whistle, sharp and piercing.

And then it was quiet. There wasn’t even pleading, no whimpering.

Silence.

YN’s breath was held as she tentatively peered out from her spot. A sliver of her face was visible against the brickwork wall of the alley way. Smoke hazed the figures, but she could just make out the broad shoulders of the deep-voiced man, cornering another man to the brick wall. The man’s hand scratched at the many-ringed fingers that grasped his throat mercilessly. A gagging sound was heard. Not one of the gang-member’s allies moved to help them. Instead, they were all staring at the automobile.

A truck was reversed into the alley way. Black and large, it shined and flickered in the firelight. Its back-doors pushed open with a click, and men in dark masks tumbled out. Large, intimidating suited figures held bulky guns she had never seen before. YN had seen muskets, shotguns, and even a revolver once. These weren’t that. These were heavy, mechanical, and dangerous-looking. They piled into the alley, the metal of their weapons glinting in the firelight of the makeshift-barrel fire. The frightened figures strewn about the alley way were frozen-still; a few on the ground pleaded, praying. The masked men pointed their weapons at them warningly.

Her heart rate jumped.

This was more than just a gang fight – this seemed methodical. Frightened, her eyes darted to the other side of the alley, her path home just a few steps away. But she’d have to reveal herself… While they were distracted, she’d run. She would. She needed to get out of here quick. Like a mouse, she’d escape when the cats played with their prey.

There was the clink of a car door opening and a metallic thunk of it shutting firmly. A sigh echoed out into the air, disappointed.  

“Please, boss.” The figure held to the wall managed to splutter out.

His captor pushed him up the wall with a violent thud before finally letting go. The man gasped and gaped like a fish as the dark figure took a step backwards to look towards his accomplice. The figure exiting the car didn’t have the dark masks like the others. In this light and smoke, she could only make out the shape of him. Clean cut short hair, the trail of cigarette smoke, the gleam of his teeth. He tossed the cigarette to the icy floor.

Click, clack.

Click, clack.

Click, clack, BANG.

A gunshot went off. His hand was outstretched in a flash; the pistol in his grasp smoking. A man on the ground let out a yelp of pain; his blood splattered against ice and stone. His hand grasped at his leg helplessly in agony.

“Shall we send a message to your pals?” the new man insisted, cocking his red-hot gun again and aiming it at the man his companion had just released from a chokehold.

There was pleading; names babbled over one another until they were unrecognizable. “Sir! Mercy please!”

“I think we should,” the deep-voiced man commented, nearly growling out his words. “We knew you scum thought this was some game. And here you made it all messy.”

His teeth gleamed and glinted with his snarl.

“Let’s make it messy in return.” He finished, nodding at the other.

There was a signal, and the men fired at the others at the two tall figures’ command. Gunfire, loud, fast, and hot, blazed out across the alley way. Her voice escaped her, screaming out. Hiding quickly out of danger, YN jumped back.

“What’s that?” a voice bit out. “You got some dame in this? Find her. Get her!”

They had heard her. Ice flooded her veins. She turned to run, only to run face first into a broad chest. She screeched out again, her hand raising to muffle it. By the looks of his attire, he wasn’t one of the gang members from the alley way. No, this gentleman was dressed nicely in a midnight-black tuxedo with a black cummerbund sash around his waist like he had been at the opera house. His face was firm, almost furrow browed as he righted her with a careful hand on her shoulder. He couldn’t be in this mess; he looked so polished and unaware.

“Mis—” He didn’t get to finish his statement as she interrupted him. Her hands shoved unlady-like against his sturdy chest, wrinkling what had been previously a fine-pressed white button-up.

“We’ve got to get out of here.” She hushed. “Now!”

Her eyes dripped of innocence, of protectiveness. Her fear was palpable. His intense brown orbs met hers and, without hesitation, he nodded. Surprisingly, despite his height and stature, he let her push and pull him away from the alley way and back towards the front of the now-abandoned opera house. She tugged him by the hand up the stairs, so they could stand hidden by the columns. 

Her boots click clacked with each step of the stairs. More gunshots rang out; footsteps followed after them. She stumbled a bit, yelping; the mystery man’s free hand reached out to support her waist before he pulled her into the cover of the tall columns.

She could hear gunfire echo through the street, and she jumped with each bang, bang, bang. The stranger’s hand rose to duck her closer to the column rather than hide against it himself. Curling into herself, into the man’s side, the column, her eyes shut tight. This was a nightmare. The masked figures would surely come after them. They’d pull him away and then her, and what would happen next? She was shaking. There was yelling, shouting. She flinched. A loud whisper.

“Maknae?”

No reply. There was a crunching of snow, the moaning of men in pain. There was a long pause; she didn’t dare open her eyes. And then, there was the sound of footsteps walking away, heaving and thuds of something, and finally the squeal of car wheels going far away from the scene. The smell of gun-smoke and burnt rubber and gardenias (her rescuer’s cologne she realized) was all that was left.

A silence tumbled over the square like the cold water of an ocean’s tide, overwhelming and discombobulating. She stayed frozen for a long until a single finger poked at her shoulder.

“Miss?” he prompted softly; he shook her shoulder firmly then.

His tone sounded nervous, almost afraid. Of course he would be; she was afraid! It was frightening to almost be caught up in trouble. They had been so very close to being looped into a gang fight. She swore she’d never go down that alley or any alley again - ever. Shortcuts home be damned.

“It’s okay. You can open your eyes.” His voice was melodic, soft. Warm in this icy cold.

Her eyes opened tentatively, and she took in the sight of the gentleman in front of her.

He looked down at her with those intense deep-brown eyes, his dark hair mussed over his forehead. She could see his brows furrow at her in concern; his tongue peeked out to swipe over his top lip. His clothes, presumably for the ballet, were wrinkled by her man-handling.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, glancing her over with a quick look.

He didn’t let his gaze linger, but he hadn’t let his hand up from her shoulder either. She swallowed and shook her head as she shifted her shoulders, physically gathering herself as she replied.

“I’m okay, sir. Are you?” she asked politely. Her voice trembled still.

His face smoothed into something she’d almost call relief before he nodded. “I am.” He glanced out at the road. “They’re gone.”

He spoke to reassure her, the tone firm and resolute.

“Do you want to go to the police?” he asked slowly.

He seemed not too disheveled as he took a few steps away from her. His eyes remained on the nearby street, monitoring it. There was no sounds of moaning or pain. What had happened to the gang members? The gun fire was horrible; she hadn’t seen much. Except for red, red, red. No. No! She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want any reason for those men to come find her! They heard her. They had. Her hands rubbed over face; hours old makeup and sweat was sticky against her palms. It felt like blood for a moment.

It sent chills up her spine.

“Miss YN?” her rescuer prompted again, dragging her attention to him.

“No, sorry,” she babbled out. “No.” she confirmed firmly. Her arms wrapped around herself, tugging her coat closer.

“Are you sure?” the man’s brow raised.

“It’s easier to ignore these things,” she muttered out. “Safer. To not get involved.”

The man hummed low in his throat, melodically.

“Thank you,” she said after a moment, trying to shake off her fear. “For shielding me up here. And running away.”

“You warned me. You saved me I guess,” he chuckled. “Thank you.”

She smiled shakily before glancing back at the now-quiet streets. Her hands clutched her coat closer.

“Will you be alright, Miss YN?” he asked.

Her nod was preoccupied.

“I will be,” she told him, glancing up at him. He fit right in with the glamour of the opera house. She wondered why she had never seen him before. He was memorable. His face was handsome; his form strong in a different way to San’s but still imposing.

“I’ll be on my way. It’s late and I don’t want trouble. I’m glad that we are both aliv-okay.” she corrected.

“I understand,” he said. “You don’t want a chaperone?”

She didn’t even know him. She wished Wooyoung or San was here. She shook her head, and she took a step away, fiddling with her coat.

“I’ll be okay. Good night…”

“Jongho,” he answered, even if she wasn’t asking. “My name is Jongho.”

“Jongho,” she repeated. “Thank you again.”

He nodded, bowing at the waist.

“Good night, YN.”

He’d whisper, “stay safe,” but he knew he’d be following after her in just a little while. After all, her designated shadow was busy tonight, too busy taking care of business to watch over her. So, the once-street-mutt Jongho had been sent in his stead to watch over his lady. And Jongho couldn’t help but be curious about her. Even more now that he had held her in his arms and seen the sweetness of her soul in her eyes.

YN was safe in her bed that night when she realized she had never told him her name.

And yet he had said it.

-

Her motions were sloppy. Her pointe was weak. And her mind lost. She plied.

“Are you alright, honey?” San asked.

It was the next night - before showtime. San and Wooyoung somehow weaseled themselves into the boudoir before any other patrons could. Sometimes she wondered how much coin that costed them. The Madame had been strict with no patrons before shows – allowing the fragile privacy to warm up and prepare for the shows. It was so easily broken by the two men, but their eyes were only locked on her. And when she turned away to shimmy into a costume or fix a corset or a loose ribbon, they’d respect her. Glancing aside no matter how much temptation itched at their hands.

Wooyoung had offered once to lace her up, and he was met with a look of sharp disbelief – even if it was shadowed by a sweet blush. He hadn’t asked again, but he looked forward to the day he would be able to lace her up… and unlace her.

Tonight, they stood leaning against the barre as she continued to warm up. But, of course, San had caught her shakiness, her focus weaning.

His hand slide across her waist slowly, thumb caressing up and down.

“I’m okay,” she said honestly, leaning into his support as she lowered her leg off the barre. She flexed her feet and rose up on to a pointe for a moment before sighing out and turning to face the two men.

San’s hand ghosted after her waist, guiding her close as she came to settle between her patrons. She rested her bum on the barre between San and Wooyoung. Her pristine white costume made her look like an angel between two black-suited demons. Wooyoung flicked his cigarette bud into an ash tray he’d stolen taken from the front lobby of the opera house.

“I’m sensing a but,” Wooyoung teased. His fingers trailed lower that they had before, grazing over her the small of her back closer and closer ‘til… San slapped his hand, albeit lightly. She didn’t chuckle at his joke. In fact, it was almost like he didn’t joke at all. He frowned.

“Hm, swanette?” he encouraged again.

“It’s—things have been different around town recently. I just got scared last night,” she admitted, fingers trailing back and forth over the barre pole supporting them. Restlessly. “I think its just shaking me up today.”

“How so?” San asked inquiringly.

“I don’t know. I’ve seen two gun fights in the past month while walking home. That’s not normal. There’s all sorts of kidnappings or disappearances. It’s just,” she shivered, thinking of the fear that had clung to her bones since last night. “Scary.” Her arms wrapped around herself.

Wooyoung frowned, his thumb going to rub at her arm soothingly. He didn’t like her fear. He liked her smiling far more.

“You didn’t go to the police, honey?” San asked, brow pursing. Wooyoung glanced over at San.

“No,” she admitted. “It’s—not my business.” She shook her head a bit, not agreeing completely with her phrasing. “I mean, that’s how it’s always been. Ignore, walk faster, try to get away before being seen. If you mind your business, they’ll mind yours… unless you’re involved. I’m not. Never have been. But… there have never been gun fights. I’ve seen fist fights, even switchblades being pulled.” She shook her head again. “I sound silly. But I know there were gangs around town – I know the familiar faces of troublemakers, their tells – and they’re afraid. And if the monsters are afraid--”

She trailed uncertain. She sighed out again before her hands went to squeeze both of their hands that rested on the barre.

“Sorry, I’m just shaken up, that’s all. I’m spiraling a bit,” she reconciled. “Sorry.”

Wooyoung was first to cut her off. “No, no, pretty girl. Don’t apologize.” He soothed. “We don’t want you scared.”  

“You weren’t hurt,” San clarified. It didn’t even sound like a question but still he said it.

She nodded in agreement. “Nope,” she showed her bare arms and twisted this way and that. As if it’d prove she was unharmed.

“Someone helped me,” she admitted.

San raised his brow at Wooyoung before the shorter began to fuss over her.

“My scared swanette,” Wooyoung pouted, huddling close. He pressed a kiss to her cheek as he wrapped her in his arms. “Shall we walk you home from now?” he murmured. “San and I will be your personal bodyguards.”

“Uh, huh,” she teased lightly. “I’m sure you will.”

They’ve only walked her home on occasion. She knew it was in the opposite direction of the Ateez House. She didn’t expect them to walk her home. She wanted them to.

“Trust me, you’ll never get hurt around me if I walked by your side,” San promised, pressing a kiss to her cheek as well.

“I’ll make the ground you walk and dance sacred.” Wooyoung whispered. “Drench it in holy water for you.”

She laughed at that.

“Stop teasing me,” she giggled. “You’re being mean.”

“We’re not teasing, honey.” San pressed another kiss to her cheek.

“I’m sure.”

“Shall I carry you home instead? Like a damsel.” Wooyoung teased, arms sweeping underneath her legs.

Wooyoung was growing bolder by the day, and it made her cheeks flush. She let out a shriek of laughter, dragging the eyes of the other ballerinas their way. San raised his brow at them. Unbeknownst to YN, San seemed to harden when looking at anyone other than Wooyoung or her. He spun her playfully. Her mind rightfully distracted from her fear finally.

“You’ll never step foot on ground again while I’m around, Miss Swanette.”

-

It was dark in the restaurant’s backroom. Smokey and lowlight with flickering candlelight. The servers, the cooks, everyone had been pushed out, locked out. The long table was bare of any meal. Water in crystal glasses sat in front of each man. At the head of the table, there was a decanter of amber liquid with two empty pristine glasses. It was quiet, so quiet that the squeaking of rats could be heard in the floor board. Nervous eyes looked this way and that; bodies shifted and fidgeted. The door opened, and all eyes were sucked to into their orbit.

Two figures stood side by side. Matching Rolexes glimmered on their wrists as they both adjust their suits. One shoved their gold-lined, midnight-black suit’s sleeves up with little finesse while the other took his time, slowly peeling off his suit jacket before rolling his white button-up sleeves up. Slinging his discarded jacket across one of his broad shoulders, he then adjusted his black tie, a long silver ring encompassed his pointer finger of his dominant hand. It almost looked like a claw. The other rolled his neck, the glimmer of multiple gold and pearl necklaces matching his sneer. 

Tall and taller glanced down the long table. Young and old sat there; most didn’t look like they had much. Fake luxurious hats with feathers, rings that didn’t sparkle quite right, and sweat-stained pinstriped suits. Some did have money. Their fat fingers rubbing their gold necklaces nervously. All of them shifted in their seats as the duo approached. One on each side of the table, they prowled.

“Gentlemen,” the one who spoke out first nearly growled his words in a snarl.

Rather than walk with his chin high like his companion, he tilted his chin to glare down the table. Dark eyes made darker still by anger. There was a laziness in his swagger as he walked behind one row of chairs; a hand trailed over each leathered chair.

“We have some… requests,” the taller one stated, a smile coming to his glimmering mouth.

 -

YN watched as Imara grab Dohyun’s hand. Her words were hushed in the loud boudoir, unreadable. But she could see the panic, the tears twinkling on her lash line.

‘Don’t do this please.’

She could read the pretty dancer’s lips.

The bank owner yanked his arm away, harshly. As if they hadn’t touched Imara’s body up and down like it was his for over a year. He glanced about as he spoke, mouth moving too quick for her to catch any words.

He shook his head again as he turned and left the boudoir.

Imara had to pay for her dues the next day for the first time in over a year.

-

Wooyoung stood by his promise. Each night since, he or San walked YN home, winding through the streets with their fingers interlaced. Most nights it was him. He liked the shared time for just them he said. Sometimes, he grew daring and would wrap his arms around her waist, chin on her shoulder. Like two lovers taking a stroll.

The following nights had been relatively calm; there were no gun fights, no gangsters. In fact, the streets seemed boring. Not a soul was seen around them except for, of course, her loyal following shadow. Not that she’d know. He was like a ghost, sneaking around the corners and alleys to keep them in his sight.

From the darkened corners of the streets, the figure followed after them night after night. His annoyance only growing as Wooyoung’s touches grew bolder in the solitude of night. With no one there, the idea of public decency was lost to the second-youngest. It wasn’t anything explicit. He just was touchy. Touchier than if it were daylight. Holding her closer, his touches longer, longing.

Longingly, he wanted to hold her; he wanted her to curl into his arms. Her shadow-man scowled deeply. Wooyoung truly was a brat he decided. Still, he continued to trail them from far away. But every now and then, Wooyoung would turn and give him a wink over his Swanette’s head. His hand sliding up her back, slow and teasing; his fingers tickled and trailed lower and lower on her waist. He whispered something in her ear, and she giggled.

Wooyoung’s smirk was triumphant as his eyes flickered over to the shadow in the alleyway. Wooyoung was teasing. Teasing both of them.

She’d huddle closer after, and the stalking figure would whisper out a curse. Jealousy itched at his stomach, and he was sure to return home with a scowl. He wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted, and, while he was a gentleman, his thoughts felt not-so gentle. He wanted to hold her. Kiss her. Have her love him. He’d give her anything she wanted. He was already so weak for her, and they hadn’t even met.

He buried himself in the work that was piled on his desk, thanks to Hongjoong. Still, he’d get distracted, imagining fantasies of him and her. He spun a ring on the desk, the ‘S’ emblem on it taunting him.

Would he be able to see her perform soon? Seonghwa and Yeosang had visited. Even Jongho had. Maybe he’d convince Hongjoong to let him go to the foyer de la danse like Wooyoung and San were able to. Why couldn’t he?

The young man knew the answer like a bitter liquor.

Later that evening, Wooyoung and him would meet face-to-face. A smirk on his kiss-swollen lips as he popped his head into the higher-rank’s office.

“Had a nice stroll?”

-

It was a Friday, and Julia with the red hair had been given a private dressing room. That was all anyone could whisper and gossip about.

It wasn’t large. It didn’t even have a mirror or dressing table yet. It was a small closet of a space. But it was hers - exclusively. Her name on a golden plaque had been placed on the door with the title ‘Featured Ballerina’ etched below it. There was space for more.  

The entire ballet troupe knew it had been paid for by her patron and wasn’t a result of any promotion amongst the troupe. She wasn’t prima; there was no way for her to achieve higher with no new show to audition for. It was all an act. It wasn’t talent. It was money and favoritism.

Meanwhile, Imara was despondent, cold as ice to anyone that gave her a pitying look.

Patrons came and went like the seasons – even if one thought they’d last forever, winter always came.

It made talking to either woman difficult. Julia was high on her excitement. The way she walked was like she owned the world. She would run off to her closet the moment she came off stage, even if there was hardly room for two people in the space, let alone warming up or staying warm. But, as YN exited stage left, she and the red head stumbled into one another with a clank.

They both yelped, flinching at the pain that radiated up their shoulders.

“Sorry,” YN apologized before her gaze rose and realized who it was.

“Hey Julia.” Her tone was sharper, less friendly than. Almost icy.

The red-head rubbed her shoulder scowling at the other before her own face dropped into an attitude of sorts.

“YN.”

It wasn’t said fond or with blooming respect like it had been before. Where was the respect that had been trickling down with San and Wooyoung’s support? Was it because Julia was still ever-higher than her? Was it because she had a dressing room now?

Maybe it was because they spotted one another outside of the ballet with their patrons by their side.

“Why did you lie to me?” YN spouted out, brows furrowing.

The other ballerina laughed out, too loud. She was almost heard over the orchestra playing a lofty tune as the White Swan jete’ed about on stage nearby.

“What are you talking about?” the other replied, dramatically hushing her tone.

“You said your patron never invited you out of the ballet.” YN stated. “But I saw you at the tennis match.”

There was a condescending tut that escaped the other, and it made YN’s eyes fall into slits.

“Oh, honey,” it was said cruelly. “You need to catch up. If you want to be like them, not be theirs, you must play like them.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ve gone on plenty of outings with my patron.” She stated, fixing her hair.

“So, you lied,” YN clarified again, simply. What wasn’t clicking? She lied to her.

“I’m not invited; I’m expected,” she said. “I go where I want.”  

Semantics. It made her roll her eyes.

“He pays for you just as mine pay for me,” YN commented. “Why didn’t you just tell me it was normal? I was worried.”

Julia finally sighed out.

“Listen, YN. Liars are the only thing that fill those rich homes. Even your boys.” She bit out. “You better learn the game, how to play it, and how to tell if someone is lying to you if you want to be upper-class so badly, YN. Otherwise, you’ll just keep playing pretend, and nobody wants a pretender.”

Then, without another word, the red head pushed past her with a huff.

-

The game. Julia had called it a game.

YN had always looked at the boudoir as a show. A performance between patron and protégé. Usually explicit. But Julia saw it as a game. What type of game YN wondered?

Was it chess? A game of wits? A game of checkers? A game of hopping to the next best thing?

Wooyoung and San didn’t see her as a game. This she knew in her bones. Their sweet words were too sweet. Their genuine excitement and care were a balm to her. But then, she glanced aside at Imara who was like a lost sock without her patron, use ambiguous and left lonely in the corner of the busied boudoir. She had thought the same thing about her patron.  

Doubt crawled in. Trickled in her veins. Even as the pair of men strode into the boudoir after the show per usual. San fixed his vest, the white button up loosened and less appropriate, but pleasing to the eye. Wooyoung finished his drink, handed to him by the bulkier man obediently as they walked.

“Hello you two,” YN greeted.

“Hi, pretty lady,” Wooyoung replied. “How was your evening? You were lovely as always.”

“It was good.” she said.

Wooyoung presented his cheek to her, expectedly. With their increase in dates and walks home, he’d become openly affectionate now. Not that she fought against it. If she didn’t press a kiss, he’d pout but when she did a pleased hum would reverberate through his chest like a cat’s purr. It made her beam; his happiness became her pleasure.

She pecked his cheek, quick. He grinned and quickly engulfed her in an embrace. His lips danced over her face. Tiny millions of butterfly kisses were pressed over her cheeks, her nose, her forehead. Giggles consumed her; his quirking lips hummed as he worked his way down to her jaw, underneath it, her neck, to her collarbone, before he was pressing fond kisses over her pearl necklace and up the column of her throat. Each one sent a tingle running through her.

“No pain?” San questioned, aware of how easily she bruised and ached.

She shook her head distractedly.

“Only a few more shows left anyways if so.” She commented. He gave her a scolding look. “Training will be less strenuous than performing. Surprisingly.” She chuckled, gasping out as Wooyoung pressed a deep kiss to the spot beneath her jaw. Not quite a hickey but close.

“Good,” the man replied. She needed a break San thought. He saw how her toes were a bright red through her tights.

“It’ll be nice to dance something new soon – but it’s bittersweet.” She just managed to get out.

San hummed out in agreement, pressing his own kiss to her forehead as he wriggled Wooyoung away from his honey to let her begin to dress into every-day clothing once more. She gave him a thankful look as she quickly went to change nearby. Her face was flushed, and her heart raced. How was her hair even more mussed from her bun? He hadn’t even touched it.

“I know,” San replied. “You must be excited?”

She smiled as she shed out of her feathers.

“Closing night is always such an experience,” she taunted.

It was. Full of celebrations, champagne, and influx of patrons spending their last pennies of the season.

“Will you be there?”

“Of course, baby,” Wooyoung cooed from San’s arms. She saw him ghost a kiss across his neck.

“We’ll be there for every closing and opening from now on.”

-

Wooyoung sat by her side, her hand in his as he gestured to the menu about this tea and that americano and this croissant. Their spread was already far more than either of them could finish. Large oozy cookies, steaming croissants with chocolate fillings, savory bite-sized tarts, and a large sandwich Wooyoung had already cut in half. One for him and one for her.

They had begun to have more dates like this; Wooyoung favored more intimate places such as cafes where they could cozy up close and share treats and talk while San liked to show her off at tennis matches and outings of public attention. She had liked it – but she couldn’t help but hear Julia’s voice in the back of her head.

Did she know her patrons?

Wooyoung smiled brightly and talked easily with her now; an air of comfortability was palpable as his fingers played with hers.

“Wooyo,” she prompted tentatively, interrupting his yapping.

“Hm?” he looked up from the menu, his face inquiring. Brows raised, and mouth squeezed shut.

“I have a question.”

“Ask away, swanette.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly before letting go and flexing his arms to resettle his sitting form to look at her more attentively.

“Why is it you introduced yourself as a Jung? And not a Kim?” she asked.

“Force of habit, really,” he admitted. “Hongjoong insists on us sharing his name.” He raised his coffee to his lips, taking a sip.

“Because he helped you when you needed him?” she recalled.

His grin grew wide, amused. “Yeah.” He paused, biting his lip for a moment before he scooted closer. “He took me in basically. Which is why I consider him family, close as thieves just like Yeosangie and Sannie.”

“He’s at Ateez House?” she queried, fingering a cookie. Tearing it up but not really eating as she thought.

How many were at that mansion? Yeosang, San, Wooyoung… Hongjoong and Seonghwa as well?

“There’s a lot of you there.”

He nodded as he picked up one of the crumbs she was making and pressed it to her lips. His fingertips were warm from the hot ceramic of his coffee cup. He smiled fondly as she nibbled at it. Before raising the rest of the crumb to his mouth, licking at the chocolate melting on his fingertips.

She licked her lips as she watched, chocolate fragrant on her tongue.

“There are eight of us,” he told her. “Eight men in one house, you can imagine the chaos.”

He spoke as if they shared an apartment and not a grand ‘haunted’ mansion.

“What does he do?” she mumbled, half focusing on her attempt to solve the mysteries that had plagued Ateez House’s occupants.

“Eh, a lot of things,” he sucked at the crumbs on his thumb before reaching out a wiping a smudge at the corner of her lips. “This and that. Loves art and shows and spectacle. Is a bit of a collector, more than Sannie is – you know, San loves pretty things.”

She already knew where this was going.

“Like me, Wooyoung?” she teased, beating him to his flirt.

“Just like you, Swanette.” He nudged her tea her way, urging her to drink before it went cold. “C’mon, try this too.”

And like that, her mind was sucked into his fancies as he fed her a warm tartlet that tasted richer than any food she had ever had.

-

It was the first night Wooyoung and San would be unable to walk her home. Wooyoung was good at keeping his promise; he walked her home for many many nights. His babbling softened with his sleepiness which was cute. It was worth it to press a kiss to her lips before she went inside, and even more worth it when he caught the shadow of a figure watching them. He’d blow him a kiss – behind her back that is.

She was anxious to walk alone. Her stomach churned at the though. Wooyoung had apologized as they rushed off to something that needed their attention – him and San. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, promising she’d be okay. He’d see her tomorrow. Walk in the light and you’ll be fine, little bird. As if she walked anywhere else anymore – all her shortcuts scared her now.

It was too late to call for a carriage or a buggy to take her home, so it was the only way. Unless she wanted to sleep on the uncomfortable settee in the boudoir (and most likely be kicked out by the janitor early in the morning. She could hear the Madame already. “This isn’t an orphanage, Miss YN.” Despite the selection of orphans that made up their ranks.)

So, YN hugged her jacket around herself and began her trek home.

And it was so peaceful. Not a whisper, not a fight, nothing. The streets were abandoned – even the men who were stumbling home drunk were absent. It was absolutely empty. Except for her.

And her stalker, of course.

-

San was early at the opera house the next day– so early the doors to the boudoir weren’t unlocked yet. Instead, he lingered out front, pacing this way and that.

“Sannie,” she exclaimed at the sight of him.

How did he know she was going to practice early today? The question was quickly forgotten as she hugged him. His arms wrapped around her in a warm bear hug before he pulled back to press a kiss to her nose.

Sweet, that’s what San was.

“What’re you doing here?” she asked, smiling affectionately up at him.

They hadn’t shifted in their embrace; San kept her close to him as he looked down at her. There was clear fondness there. His fingers rubbed up and down her back, over her warm winter coat.

“I wanted to see you,” he admitted. “You look so cute in your coat.”

His words brought a flush to her cheeks. This was what she imagined when she thought of Julia’s words. No way could this be false. He was cooing over her, his touch reverent. It was different.

“I love it,” she replied. “It keeps me warm. Just like you.”

He laughed, warmly. He brought her close to his chest again, hugging her. It was funny. For as much as he claimed Wooyoung was touchy, San loved skinship. He liked to keep her close.

“I got you something,” he whispered after a moment, shifting one arm to reach into his pocket.

“What’s this?”

In his small hand (well, small compared to his broad form) sat a beautiful bracelet, teardrop-cut diamonds were linked together into a delicate yet unbelievably expensive gift.

“For you.”

San smiled like a content cat as he watched her fiddle with the pretty diamond bracelet. His dimples were deep in his cheeks. Her fingers brushed over the jewels admiringly. He loved pretty things and seeing her openly awe made him buzz with excitement. Carefully, he linked the clasp over her wrist and turned her hand over in his, watching the gems glimmer and shimmer in the gas light. He grinned.

“What’s this for?” she asked, brows crinkling curiously.

It wasn’t like Wooyoung’s gift – a month anniversary gift – or even San’s gift of the coat, something she had needed in all honesty. This was sudden. Strange.

His fingers brushed over the jewels before he spoke again.

“I was jealous that Wooyo had this pretty necklace around your throat.”

He leaned forward, fingering the pearls around her throat before tugging experimentally at them like it was a leash. They tightened with the pressure, choking her lightly and forcing her to lean closer to her patron. YN’s breath stolen, not in pain but in a flicker of excitement, surprise, pleasure. Her head tilted back to smile up at him. His fingers tightened around the pearls ever so.

“Oh, honey,” San cooed soft and sweet as he continued to tug her up by the collar of her necklace to capture her lips in a kiss. One kiss that devolved into many as he pushed her up against the door to the boudoir, lifting her lightly into his arms. Pressed against the door, her bejeweled hand tangled in his hair, tugging him ever closer.

They were lucky no one passed by as they devoured one another.

San may have been a gentleman, but his greed and power revealed itself slowly but surely.

-

Another man was missing. He had been a regular in the boudoir. A young man who spent his spare pennies to leer at them. He wasn’t missed by any of the ballerinas, but it was frightening. Too many people were disappearing or getting into trouble.

Her mother and the other ladies at the factory walked together now. To and from work, in case trouble arose. She had even pushed for YN to walk with someone to the Opera House for once.

“Your boy is a good one,” she appraised. “That Wooyoung walks you here every night now. Like a gentleman. Stick around him.”

-

San had invited her out to another tennis match. Wooyoung had been caught up in business (business she still didn’t know of, she lamented as they walked along the cobblestone streets. San had whispered in her ear that it was boring. Wooyoung was unlucky to not be here with her. And he, in turn, was ever lucky.)

She wore his pretty diamond bracelet on her wrist, and, every time he stole a glance, his face curled up into a pleasant happy grin. He looked sweet like a kitten.

His arm wrapped around her waist as they sat and watch Yeosang’s match. Drinking champagne, he’d offer her his flute every so often, and she’d sip away. It was an expensive brand, far more easy to drink than the piss-poor alcohol the ballerinas could afford for their own celebrations away from the leering men of the opera. Drinking the expensive liquor the men offered was never a good idea – it led to worser things.

Yeosang looked as pretty as ever. He reminded her of a ballerino the way he danced about the court.  Somehow both pretty and masculine as his form bent and stretched. Muscles rippled, leaner than San’s but not any less bulging. His arms flexed and she held onto the shared flue of champagne tighter.

San’s fingers stroked over her hip.

“You’re staring, honey,” he teased.

It wasn’t the tone of a jealous lover or a scolding of a respectable man. It was lilting, gentle. Her eyes looked away from Yeosang and rested on her date. He sipped his champagne, lips pursing and brows dancing. San’s lids were heavy as he grinned. Just as cat-like as earlier but more cheshire. Like he knew a secret.

He glanced away from her and looked over the athlete. His gaze mirrored hers, she realized. A fondness… no, an attracted air radiated in his deep brown orbs.

Was he teasing her? Was he genuine?

“Now, you’re staring,” she teased in return.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” he replied coyly. He glanced back at her as he leaned in. “He’s handsome, hm?”

Her cheeks flushed at that and she looked away.

“San!” she exclaimed.

His laughter rumbled in his chest as he held her closer. His lips pressed to her ear intimately. 

“It’s alright, honey. He’s mine. Just as Wooyoung’s mine.” He replied easily. “Just as you are mine.” His lips kissed her skin before he pulled away. Her hand shifted to grasp his in hers. His thumb grazed over her bracelet lovingly.

-

Yeosang greeted them after his victory; the zing of celebratory champagne on his breath stinging her nose as he leaned forward to wrap her into an eager hug. Daring for a second-meeting. It made her worry she had been too obvious with her friendliness, her intrigue… her interest in the athlete. She did like him after all.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he beamed.

The smell of his cologne mingled with his sweat. Masculinity mixed with the soft thyme and tea of his perfume. It made her want to hug him closer. He pulled back, his eyes burning with the same intensity beforehand. A straightforwardness. He wasn’t afraid to meet her gaze. His honeyed eyes were sweet and inquiring. Taking in every feature of her – the dark coat, the pearls, the diamonds. He smiled.

“Hello Yeosang. Congratulations,” she returned.

The man nodded respectfully before he glanced over her shoulder at the tall muscled man, eyeing Yeosang with clear adoration.

“San,” he greeted.

“Yeosangie,” San replied with a fond grin. His cheeks were blushed, maybe from the champagne they shared?

The athlete rolled his eyes lightly, playfully, before he settled his gaze on the lady.

“Did you make any bets?” he asked curiously, leaning into her with intrigue.

Her eyes widened. “Oh, no,” she exclaimed. She hadnt even thought of that; she was a guest after all.

“You know what? Yeosang’s right,” San retorted. His hand squeezed her waist. “Next time, you should bet some coin. We do all the time.”

Her brows crinkled, doubtfully. Not because she doubted Yeosang’s abilities. He was a powerful athlete. But betting… she swallowed a bit. She didn’t have much money to risk in general. She had just gotten used to having extra coins in her coinpurse. Her embarrassment burned at her ears.

“I’m not sure,” she said softly.

Yeosang eyed her before he hummed lightly. His gaze settled back on San, firmly.

“I’ll do it for you,” San said instead, downing the rest of his drink. His eyes reopened from the gulp and he shrugged. “I’ll buy you anything, honey. Everything.”

Yeosang laughed, lips curling. Pleased. He leaned in to whisper close. 

“You’ve got our San, sweetheart. Wrapped around your pretty finger.”

The athlete’s fingers were close by still, and they tickled her fingertips playfully. If he was any bolder, he’d be holding her hand. But instead, like a tease, he pulled back. Licking his lower lip and flashing a charming smile that only a socialite had. Easy and well-practiced.

“I’ll buy you anything, too, baby,” San purred towards Yeosang. He looked at the buff man with a raised brow. He always looked so sharp, in a delicate way despite his rippling muscles.

“I know,” he teased.

Yeosang raised a hand to squeeze the younger’s cheeks fondly. San smiled, pleased, a mirror of the grin he gave her earlier. His cheeks looked plump in the other’s lean long fingers. Yeosang chuckled, squeezing them again before his hand dropped and he turned.

“Come with me,” he nodded over his shoulder. “We can talk in the shade – the weather is horrid.”

He was right; the clouds were whirling and swirling into what was sure to be a downpour soon. They walked further into the tennis court’s shaded areas – the betting shop in the corner with a long line. People, mostly men, were cashing in their rewards. San’s hands went to rest on the small of her back; if she had glanced aside, she’d see he did the same to Yeosang, guiding the pair of them this way and that.

A rush of reporters, dressed for the weather with raincoats and large brimmed hats, flooded towards the winner. Yeosang slung his black tennis racket over his shoulder, smiling and waving at the flashing paparazzi’s cameras. Her eyes shut at the bright lights. San’s hand squeezed her waist and tugged her closer.

“Sir, congratulations!” There were cries of celebration and excitement. “Good show! Good show!”

YN wasn’t used to such fanfare, and it made her fantasize of the flashing lights she was hopeful for. One day… she glanced over at Yeosang. She’d be like him. Successful. In his own right. He grinned politely at a reporter, waving with a tight structured wave.

“Mr. Kim! Is it true you know Kim Yunho?” she heard over the chatter.

Yunho… she had heard that name before. But where? She didn’t have time to think as San guided them throughout the crowd, his hand curling over her hip to keep her closer with the writhing crowd jostling them this way and that.

The athlete didn’t reply, and he let his friend guide him through the swarm until they entered a tented area. Once the tent’s curtains were tied together, Yeosang huffed.

“I despise paparazzi,” he admitted, scuffing his feet against the concrete as he walked.

The space wasn’t special, but it was private. Scattered about were a few folding chairs, a wrought-wire bench, and a grey-green locker. Yeosang went to it, and opened it with ease. Within it wasn’t much. A folded assortment of clothes, a letter plastered to the locker’s interior, an extra racket, and a water jug. He placed his dark racket within and picked up the water jug. Raising the glass jug to his mouth, he took a big gulp. San patted her hip encouragingly as he moved away going to sit on the nearby bench. YN tentatively took a seat in a folding chair.

“Your performances of Swan Lake are coming to an end, are they not?” Yeosang queried.

“Oh, yes. They are; will you be able to attend closing night… or any show anytime soon? I’d love to see you there.” she admitted.

Yeosang’s lips quirked against the water jug’s rim before he pulled it away. Swallowing, he nodded. “I would love to see you once more, Miss YN. In your element.”

“You must encourage him to come backstage,” she turned to San. Less asking and more pressing.

He nodded in agreement. Easily swayed by his lovers, he leaned back in his seat casually.

“Is it like this?” Yeosang asked; a hand went to push back his locks, sweatied and damp.

The sight of his sharp brows quirking in curiosity sent a flare of excitement through her. He was so handsome; she couldn’t help but awe. San chuckled at her ogling.

“It isn’t, Yeo.” San admitted. “The backstage is grand and too open with too many girls running about half-dressed and men staring at them.”

Yeosang’s eyes flickered to him. “Even our girl?”

San glanced at her, head tilting. “Not as of late.”

He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and placed it in between his lips. The look he gave Yeosang confused her – sharp, dark, and biting as he bit down on the cigarette before fiddling with a silver lighter. Yeosang hummed lowly.

“San and Wooyoung are polite,” she said, as if that would help the conversation. As if that was the topic at hand. “They’re the best gentleman in the boudoir. Honest.”

San grinned around his cigarette as he finally lit it. He knew she spoke the truth. She always did around him now. It made him happy to know she was so comfortable around them that she didn’t even notice the glares he sent the way of any man that dared eye her as she switched costumes.

Little did she know what would happen to one if they did. 

He puffed out smoke.

“I’d rather see you outside this boudoir then,” Yeosang commented, closing the locker’s door. “I don’t wish to see you improperly, sweetheart. I wouldn’t put you in that situation.”

“We don’t mean to either,” San coughed out, the smoke scattering about bashfully. He turned to look at her with the gentlest of eyes. “You’re painting me to be a villain, Yeo.”

“No, I know,” she interrupted. “I know San and Woo mean well.”

They had said so since the beginning. Wooyoung claimed he didn’t even know he was playing as potential patron until San said so. And now, well, she felt safe around them. When she was with them, when she was introduced to Yeosang, it made her feel permanent. Not a doll on a music box to show off around the right clientele.

Imara never had this.

“Still,” Yeosang tutted. “I’d hate that. If I had those reporters watching every little move I made back here.” He bared his teeth. “I’m sorry you have to suffer that, sweetheart.”

-

“Do you want diamonds?” San asked.

This was the fifth time he had asked if she wanted some grand gift as they walked home. The umbrella San had kept them mostly dry in the drizzle. YN knew he felt bad about the boudoir. Especially at Yeosang’s commentary.

“No,” she let out a chuckle.

“More pearls?” Not his favorite thing, but they looked pretty around her neck and they were useful.

“No,” she giggled, swinging their conjoined hands.

“Then what, honey?” he whined a bit, sounding childlike as he squeezed onto her hand.

She was surprised this bulky beefy man was acting so openly whiney in public. He didn’t need the illusion of masculinity to cling to; there was an element of strength in him deeper than attitude. Even if he was acting like a child.

“I’m okay,” she said. 

He licked the back of his lips. Doubtful. He frowned before stopping in the streets. The lamplighters were out and about, lighting the last remaining candle lights amongst the new gas-line lamps. He didn’t falter. He didn’t care if they were intimately close. His hand around her wrist as he pulled her close in the wet setting sun.

“What do you truly want, honey?”

What did she truly want? She smiled up at him. All her life she had only wanted and yearned for one thing – til Wooyoung and him and Yeosang all tumbled into her life that is.

“I want to be a ballerina. The ballerina prima,” she told him sincerely. Her hand rose to pat his cheek softly. “You are helping me get it.”

His lips pouted as he looked down at her. He didn’t like that answer. That was a harder request. But he wouldn’t tell her that. Instead, he leaned forward to press a sweet kiss to her lips, so quick one would’ve missed it if it hadn’t tasted of champagne and cigarette smoke. His sweetened coffee cologne wafted over her soothingly like a chaser.

-

“Extra edition!” a newsboy cried out.

YN had been walking towards the newest restaurant that San and Wooyoung insisted on trying. It was expensive. Far too expensive for her, but San insisted per usual and Wooyoung pouted that without her he’d be bored. So, here she was walking the streets towards the richer side of town. The richer side of town where all the newsies made their routes; the rich had money to spare.

“Star tennis player Kim Yeosang associated with Kim Yunho, the man released on 1 million coin for murder in broad-daylight! Shocking details revealed.”

Now, that caught her attention. Her feet slowed until she came to a stop. For once, it felt like the newsies had given just enough information to lure her in. Her coin purse pressed against her thigh was heavy. Heavy enough to spare a few coins to buy the paper.

“I’ll take one, Jack,” she told him, digging into her pocket to hand him the necessary amount.

The younger grinned up at her. “Thank you, Miss YN.” He shuffled the heavy stack around, untying the twine to present the fresh-printed and warm newspaper her way.

She nodded in thanks as she unraveled it and began to read.

-

San and Wooyoung sat in the corner of a restaurant, talking lowly in the shadows as they waited. Only to be interrupted by a newspaper being plopped down on the table. Their eyes shifted from one another to the newspaper. Doubtful, almost darkened looks were engrained in their faces before they glanced upward to see their swanette. Haloed by the light pouring into the café, her arms were crossed; brow raised. Their expressions softened immediately like butter.

“Hello, honey,” San rumbled. He tugged the chair out for her.

“What’s wrong?” Wooyoung added.

They hadnt looked at the paper yet.

“What the fuck is this?” she murmured, taking the seat easily as she shoved the headline their way.

Wooyoung licked his lips at her expletive. She didn’t curse much in the boudoir. Hearing it made his cell burn, biting at his lower lip after a moment. He glanced down at the paper; that hot feeling fizzled at the headline. He sighed, head rolling back, before he glanced San’s way. San’s expression hadn’t shifted; not even a twitch of his brow as he looked over his glasses at his partner.

“It’s a long story,” Wooyoung replied.

“I’ve got time,” she retorted, crossing her arms. “Start with the part where Kim Yunho is living in your mansion. Kim Yunho, the man who shot a near-billionaire, dead, in broad-daylight after a supposed bet gone wrong.”

Her voice raised as she retold what the inky print said. She didn’t look intimidating in their eyes. Especially with her pout. San wanted to kiss it off her. Instead, he offered, “Yunho’s got a complicated past, but he only acted in self-defense.”

“He shot a man in broad daylight. Is Yeosang safe? Are you?” she worried. “Hongjoong?”

Wooyoung scooted close at that, hating the way her voice accelerated. San chuckled lowly, shaking his head.

“Oh, little bird,” Wooyoung hummed, taking her hand. “We are safe. We are safe. You don’t need to worry – is that why you are so upset?”

She frowned at them, her furrowed brow deepening. Wooyoung cooed.

“You are, oh, baby,” he hugged her, nearly joining her on her chair. “You are sweet, YN.”

“I’m worried; you are with a criminal,” she mumbled out, making sure her words were too loud. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Wooyoung stole a kiss. “You really are a doll, an angel. We are okay I promise.”

“You can’t just kiss me and tell me it’s okay. How? How is it okay?”

“Yunho is a free-man,” San reminded. “He didn’t break out of jail; he served his time; he paid his fees; he was let go. But apparently caught the attention of the press while doing so.”

“Poor Yeosang,” YN lamented suddenly. “He hated the paparazzi and now-“ she buried her head into Wooyoung’s shoulder.

The younger cooed. His hand going to pet at her back as he glanced over at San while her back was turned. There was a rustling of the newspaper, the crinkling paper being folded over.

“Yeosang will live. He’s been reported on his entire life. Yunho will not hurt us, promise, honey.” San replied. “You’re working yourself up. I’ll get you tea.”

There was a snapping sound of his fingers. A waiter obediently came. The man whispered his order as Wooyoung murmured to YN.

“It’s alright. It really is. You’ll see.”

San and Wooyoung’s eyes met once more.

They should’ve let Yunho meet her before this all happened; their shared grimaces said so.

-

Not even a day later, there were rumors about town. That night whispers about her patrons were all about the boudoir. The Ateez House truly was haunted some said. It had a killer living there. It made her scoff. There were seven others in that house – how could you build a house to be broken and haunted by one person?

The next day, a man from the newspaper company, the Cromer Chronicle, was missing. He had disappeared in the night without a trace. Or well, there was a trace. A letter saying he was going on vacation for a while. But few believed it.

Gossip roared. What was even more interesting, was that the newspaper headlines the next day were completely free of any mentions of Kim Yeosang or Kim Yunho.

But on her vanity, a letter rested with her name in an elaborate script signed by a certain man. The seal was the same ‘A’ emblem that both San and Wooyoung wore on a gold ring.

Miss YN.

You are cordially invited to join Kim Yeosang at the Ateez House estate for a night of fine dining. Casual attire permitted. I am so excited to see you again – if you will join me!  

Yours,

Kim Yeosang

“Did you place this on the vanity?” she asked the two men who sat side by side on a sofa. Sometimes they looked too close for comfort; tonight was one of those nights. Wooyoung was nearly draped across San’s chest, his head cradled on his muscular shoulder as he stared up at her.

“No, swanette,” Wooyoung claimed. “Our hands are clean in this.”

He raised his hands in surrender, wiggling his fingers playfully at her.

“Yeosangie must’ve liked you,” San added with a smirk.

“You’d know,” Wooyoung muttered; San grasped the other’s hip warningly.

Wooyoung giggled out almost like a hyena, head tilting back in mischief.

“You should’ve seen how he looked at her, Wooyo,” San continued, his gaze flickering towards YN from over his spectacles.

“I know,” the other giggled.

“Will you be there?” she asked tentatively.

Her fingers fiddled with the corner of the thick cardstock Yeosang’s handwriting graced. She was used to their presence. They felt safe to her. They glanced at one another. San’s fingers trailed up and down Wooyoung’s waist. Wooyoung went to interlace their fingers smoothly. Squeezing it once and then twice.

“I’m not sure, honey,” San said. “We have business to attend to this weekend.”

“Sorry, pretty,” Wooyoung pouted at her. “We may see you in passing? If you miss us so much, we can meet you here early the next day. I want to hear all about you and Yeosangie.”

She smiled sweetly at them, flushing at the idea that the pair of them encouraged her to dine and possible flirt with another. It was strange but not… unfavorable. Yeosang was handsome. He was delicate but strong. Eloquent and interesting. Understanding. She liked his company. Despite the company he kept… her mind flickered back to the elephant in the room… or yesterday’s newspaper in the nearby waste basket.

“Is… Yunho –“ she asked, shifting this way and that. San couldn’t help but think she looked so sweet, so innocent, so naïve in her little feather tutu, all virginal white. “Is it safe for me - with Yunho there?”

They didn’t even need to look at one another. Wooyoung’s hand held San’s tighter as he shifted his gaze to simmer on her.

“Yunho would never hurt a lady, honey,” San replied, sincerely and instantaneously.

His hand outstretched for her to take. Which she did. It was San after all. Secure, sweet, strong San. He’s been so straightforward. She trusted him. His fingers caressed over her knuckles, “Especially you.”

“Okay,” she breathed. “I believe you.”

“Yeosang will be excited.” San promised, raising her hand for him to press a kiss to her knuckles. “We can deliver the news to him when we get home.”

He pressed a peck to each knuckle before continuing up her hand to press kisses over his bracelet. He placed a final sweet kiss to her pulse before pulling away, and pulling her towards their embrace. San could hold both of them in his lap after all. Wooyoung slid further down on the settee until his head rested on one of San’s thighs. His lips curled.

“I will send a car for you, swanette. You won’t have to lift a foot,” Wooyoung promised, reaching a hand up to tuck hair aside as she sat on San’s rippling thigh. “Easy-peasy.”

-

It was her first time in an automobile. She had traveled in carriages and open buggies but never something so expensive as a brand-new automobile. Something so polished and metallic and rich. Her excitement was almost like a child’s; her smile was bright at the sight of the car sitting curbside. Its lacquer was a deep-olive color, gleaming in the golden sunlight peeking out of the rain-heavy clouds. The chill that nipped at her heels and the rain that itched at the sky made her thankful that Wooyoung had sent a car for her – even if every single one of her neighbors were being nosey. She could see their faces pressed to their windows with curtains shoved aside haphazardly. No cars came here. And certainly, no car like this.

The driver was tall and handsome, his dark brown hair styled sharply across his forehead. A multi-layered suit with shimmering gold detailing looked expensive on his form, a long-coat making his appearance look clean cut and sleek. Just like the car.

His entrancing eyes were dark, siren-like as they locked onto her form as she hopped gracefully down the icy steps. He felt his breath catch. A mix of excitement and fear tumbled through his stomach. She looked so pretty. Her hair was done nicely and modern. Her day-dress was a pretty (if a bit washed out) green color, complimenting the car’s hue perfectly. The sparkle of her pearls around her throat and her diamond bracelet peeking from beneath the sleeve of the dark fur coat made him smile. His full lips quirked into a smirk of a close-lipped smile.

His eyes haven’t left her form yet. Not even when her mother stepped out to awe at the car and the man waiting for her on the curb.

“Hello, doll.” He greeted her, polite with a deep-voice.

His hand, covered in multiple rings, opened the passenger door for her.

“Hi,” she smiled at him, and he wanted to swoon then and there. But he stayed firm, icy, tall. It wasn’t his turn. He wasn’t even supposed to be here. But he knew the way to her house; he had a car. And he was higher than Wooyoung or San in the hierarchy. He’d do what he wanted to do… as long as the Captain allowed that is.

His eyes didn’t leave her as she entered the automobile, tucking her dresses beneath her lady-like. He closed the door behind her and circled around the car to enter the driver’s seat. He took a shaky breath before entering; he felt like a school boy. When was that a feeling he’s felt recently? (The Ateez House would say every time he whined and pouted at them like a princess.)

The interior of the car smelt expensive, too. The well-taken care of leather, the wiped down metal accessories, everything reeked of rich maintenance. Her eyes ate up the new machine, looking at the gearshift, the polished controls. There was even a record player in the dash.

She never realized how rich they were. It surprised her. He ate up how her eyes widened, and she sat so delicate, hands in her lap as if touching something would bite her. She was so cute. His lips curled into a smirk as he turned the key in the ignition. The car rumbled to life, and she let out a little sound of surprise.

He chuckled low, the sound reverberating around her. She glanced over at her driver. He looked casual in the driver’s seat. One hand was on the wheel; the gleam of an expensive watch shone at her. He was leaning back, his hand cupping the back of her car seat carefully as he began to pull the car away into the street.

He didn’t want to intimidate her. Wooyoung had said she was already so nervous about Yunho. So, he didn’t speak, didn’t tease, didn’t do much except drive. He enjoyed her gaze on him though. He watched her so many times that it made the back of his neck and the tips of his ears burn pleasantly. He tongued at his canines, hiding his smirk. His plush lips pursed instead.

Her awe shifted as he sped up, her eyes flickering to the streets that passed by, faster, faster, faster. Faster than any carriage or bike or trolley. It sent a whirl of excitement in her stomach.

“This is my first time in an automobile,” she admitted into the silence.

“It is?” his voice was deep as honey, and it made her spine tingle.

He glanced over at her. He wanted to show her so many new things. He was glad to have one of her firsts. Wooyoung had stolen so many. Her first date, her first kiss, her first embrace. He’d at least be her first car ride – one of many. He’d take her in any of his cars – if they were in the countryside rather than the city, he’d show her how fast these automobiles can go. He’d impress her. They’d go one day, he imagined. They’d go all sorts of places together. He’d show her the world if she wished it.

She hummed out in agreement, pulling him from his daydream.

“It’s nice,” she complimented, shifting her seat.

A flood of rose-petal aroma consumed him. Her perfumed skin. She put so much care into this; into them. It was intoxicating. His eyes locked on the road, his fingers trembling lightly. He flexed his hand and gripped the leather of the wheel tighter.

“Thank you, darling.”

The car ride was a quick one. Ateez House was on the outskirts of the city but not too far away to be a long journey. Just far enough to be private amongst the trees and rolling hills. It looked more alive than it had ever been in all the years she lived in Cromer. While the estate was sprawling and the mansion itself large and imposing with a complicated layout, it always looked abandoned. But now, there were crystal windows gleaming with light, gardeners trimming bushes, and luxury cars pulling into a nearby car garage. People tended to the large fountain in the center of the roundabout driveway, despite the threatening rain that rumbled in the sky. The mansion’s greyness seemed to fade with the orange-light the windows poured into the evening.

It was a phantom resurrected; the flame of life was burning within the house once more.

Mingi cleared his throat. “Welcome to Ateez House, YN.”

Her eyes were locked on his home; winding over the overlapping rooftops, grazing the glowing windows to see if anyone was looking out at them. Two figures, dark silhouettes at most, stood on the upper floor, one short and the other tall.

Her head tilted in curiosity before they walked off.

“Thank you,” she smiled at him before going to open her door. “And thank you for the drive.”

There was a squeak of leather as he shifted closer suddenly. His arm outstretched over her, bracing over her chest. Her gasp was all the sound that filled the air between them. Her head turned and they were nearly nose-to-nose.

He was so close. The blood-orange of his cologne licked at her senses, mingling with the polished leather so refreshingly. He smelled intoxicating and sharp. His face was only inches away; the fabric of his long-coat brushed against her. His hand closed around the metal handle of the car door, gently nudging hers aside. He laughed out nervously. His eyes were wide and gentle. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he flashed the sweetest grin she had ever seen, all toothy and bright. It sparkled… wait, he had diamonds on his teeth. His canines were adorned with gems that gleamed in the setting sun.

“Let me,” he bumbled out. He opened the door from within, before pulling his arm back. His cheeks were painted a rosy color that only made his flustered appearance look more sweet.

“Thank you,” she said, offering him a grin of her own.

She hoped he wasn’t too surprised by her own initial surprise. He was just trying to be a gentleman she realized. Bowing her head, she quickly ducked out of the car, closing the door behind her with care.

The only thought that filled his brain – besides the intoxicating smell of YN – was ‘damn you for winning, Yunho.’ After a long moment of breathing the remains of her deep into his lungs and watching her form walk towards his house, Mingi restarted the automobile with a rumble to guide it back to their private car garage. 

-

Everything reeked of extravagance. Tall walls with recess ceilings and wainscotting details. Gilded gold and glowing gas-lamps. Italian-Renaissance inspired tiles of saints, angels, and the Heavens were inlayed in the ceiling. The floor was patterned, a rich expensive textile making up the carpet.

There were butlers lining the walls of the foyer; all in matching midnight pin-striped suits. It was almost eerie. They were like statues, repeating over and over and over. Expressionless. Each face was stoney, eyes ahead. It reminded her of when the ballet troupe lined up in their matching leotards and were separated by height; row after row. Slicked back hair, delicate body lines, starving ribs. Identical and indistinguishable until they reached prima title.

None of them acknowledged her except for one, a rogue, that walked up and nodded at her politely.

“Welcome to the mansion, Miss YN. Please, come.” He outstretched his hand to encourage her further into the lavish space.

She curtsied, uncertainly. One of the many ghostly butlers took her coat as she walked down the foyer’s hall. Her kitten heels were soft against the carpet flooring until they rounded a corner. They click-clacked across marble flooring, polished ‘til she could see her reflection.

“Mr. Yeosang has requested a meal to be prepared at the West Wing. Please follow me.” The same butler spoke once more before he turned to lead the way.

Following after him, she was awed by the space. The very place that had been teased and taunted and ghost storied about was a gleaming jewel. As they walked, she realized how each hallway, each living space was opulent. The current path had walls that were painted an ice-cold baby-blue. Yet there were touches of warmth everywhere. Fine art in gold-leafed frames, elaborate trims around columns and the floor were the same shining gold. The art was all heavenly. Literally. Gods, angels, and disciples portrayed in blurred brush strokes, painted with colors that ached of softness. Everything was all gold, fluff, and magnificence.

The ceiling had multiple heavy hanging chandeliers of pure jewels. Diamonds dripped from its wire frame and sparkled in the gas-light. Everywhere was gaslit; she was surprised. No one had notice workers here and yet it was modern. Not a speck of dust or age present anywhere – besides the ancient art she supposed.

She slowed as she passed a large Renaissance-esque painting full of cherubs with feathered wings and glowing haloes. Squinting, she saw one figure wearing a ski mask. Huh? A cat meowed nearby. Her attention was caught, her head turning to the sound.  She stilled as she glanced down a nearby hall, one that seemed darker than the others. Doors lined each wall; all shut except for one at the end of that hall. It was opened just a crack, the siren call of a piano trickled out, and a little cat peered around its corner. The sweet cat was a midnight-black, almost blue-ish in tone; her tail twisted behind her as she meowed out again.

YN’s eyes lit up at the sight; the cat meowed again as it wiggled itself out of the doorway. Its paws and claws clinked against the tile, almost in rhythm with the piano music playing. Large green eyes peered up at her curiously as the cat approached; the collar around its throat was expensive – a leather thing with jewels, pearls, and a large silver bell that jingled out the closer it got.

She meowed at her again.

The piano stopped; the reverb humming out discordantly.

“Z?” a voice called out before a gentle melodic whistle chimed out.

The kitty’s attention was caught again, its ears perking up and meowing as if answering the call of its owner. It began to stroll back where it came from.

“Miss YN,” the butler’s monotonic called out.

Her head snapped towards him, answering his call immediately. She stood from the slight crouch she had taken for the kitten’s approach. Her butler stood some feet away, arms behind his back. She expected a disapproving look, but he provided none.

“Please follow me, Miss. We wouldn’t want you disappearing.”

That was almost worse! It sounded so ominous coming from his stone-faced mouth. She swallowed.

“Sorry,” she apologized before she quickened her pace to catch up to him.

“We wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

They continued to walk down this hallway and that hallway. Someone could easily get lost here. It was like a grand castle. Finally, after crossing some carpeted stairs, they were in front of a grand hallway of windows. As they passed, she could see a dreary exterior. Rain had begun to pour, fogging the outside in grey. But she could distantly see a maze of hedges, rose bushes, apple trees, and all sorts of gardens awaiting. She awed at the sight as they continued down the carpeted hall to come to a set of dark oak doors.

“One moment, Miss,” the butler warned as he entered the room quickly.

“Boss, er, sir – “

The doors shut behind him before she could hear any more. She was left alone. YN glanced aside at the wall opposite of the windows. There were inlayed gas lamps, glowing a soft yellow. A portrait hung nearby, painted in a similar style as the painting she saw before.

It was of a young man, a handsome one at that. His inky-black hair was slicked back in shiny waves, a singular strand curled over his forehead daintily. He was in all white, soft silken tunic and oversized bowtie of virginal white. Despite the softness of his attire and of the atmosphere surrounding him (he was almost painted with his own divine halo as if he was an apostle), there was sharpness to his midnight-black eyes and the smirk of his mischievous smile. His ears were pierced up and down, pearls and fine metals looping them in sparkles. A twinkle was shining at the corner of his grin as if his teeth gleamed in the heavenly light around him. He was beautiful, but she couldn’t help but feel like his dark eyes were staring her down.

The tall doors opened behind her suddenly. YN turned to see the reveal of a dining hall as luxurious as the rest of the mansion. But the aroma that wafted from its interior was far more intoxicating.

“Enter, Miss YN.” The butler encouraged, beside the door.

He held them open for her as she took a stride inside. Her lips widening into a smile as she prepared to greet Yeosang at the head of the table. But this was no Yeosang she realized as she gazed down the long, lavish table to meet the dark gaze of a stranger.

With a calculated look, he stared at her from the head of a ten-chaired, decadent table of hot food. It was more than she had eaten in months even with San and Wooyoung: sizzling side dishes, steaks covered in thick luscious sauces, cracked fruits that had a sweet nectar gleaming on them, chocolate-oozing pastries. An open bottle of red wine rested in a frosted chest of ice; eight crystal glasses sat upside down. One glass of red wine sat in front of her spot; the other in the grasp of the man’s hand. The ruby liquid gleamed like blood. A sea of lit-candles decorated the spare space of the table; the chandelier above keeping the candles instead of trading them for their gas-lit counterpart. The orange glow illuminated the intimate room in a hazy feel. Smoke trailed out of his mouth in a long plume, perfuming the delicious air with the heady scent of tobacco.

“Hello.”

His voice was a soft drawl. His close-lip smile was the same. Soft, slow, and confident. His eyes were illuminated by the flickering candles, making the darkness there look like a night sky spattered with stars rather than with blood. He tapped his cigarette into a crystal ash tray with his long fingers. Rings after rings curled over his knuckles; some sharp and some with the emblem ‘A’ just like San and Wooyoung shared. He raised the cigarette back to his lips to take another drag into his lungs.

“YN.” The smoke billowed from his lips as he spoke her name tenderly.

She should’ve left then, knowing it was different from what she had agreed to. She should’ve asked him where Yeosang was immediately – and who was he? But she already knew, didn’t she? She had worried about this man since she read the newsprint that bore his name.

She shifted, fingers tugging at her skirt as she heard the heavy wood doors shut behind her. The butler that led her here disappearing, leaving her with him. Her fingers pressed into the door behind her, tentatively. It didn’t budge beneath her. In the shadows of the room, she saw there were men lining the wall. Like ghosts, they didn’t speak or move – they simply stood like gargoyles surrounding a castle. One broke the line to pull out her chair opposite of her dining companion. Her eyes flickered back to the man at the head of the table.

“Hello,” she said instead. “Yunho.”

It wasn’t a stutter, but there was a pause in her words. Yunho’s laughter was almost fond as he chuckled out a plume of smoke before she was urged forward with a flick of his hand. Ashes splattered across the white dining cloth, sizzling burns into the fabric. She sat down in the chair pulled out for her; the servant pushed her in towards the table with a screech of the wooden legs against the wood.

The silverware in front of her was polished, gleaming in the candle-light. A perfectly folded napkin rested on the center of her gold-lined plate. The initial ‘A’ in a circle was embroidered fancifully in shiny black thread on the pristine white fabric.

Her fingers flexed against the wood arm rests of her chair as she looked down the table, over candles, meats, cheese, and vegetables at the intimidating man. He was far away, but perhaps that was the safest option for her.

“I like you already,” he proclaimed, his words solid and confident. His smile simmered.

“Please,” Yunho gestured to the piles of food in front of them with a hand, swinging the cigarette and a trailing path of smoke about. “I’m sure you’re hungry.”

Her stomach felt tight with nerves, but even so it grumbled at the sight before her. Everything smelt so nice and rich and oily. Decadent. She licked her rosy lips, dragging her eyes up to look at him once more.

“Where’s Yeosang?” she asked finally.

He smiled, a peak of glimmering teeth shining in the candlelight. No, it wasn’t his teeth that shined – it was the inlayed diamonds on his canines that twinkled. Just like the driver. Just like the painting.

“He’ll join us,” Yunho reassured. “He’s running late from a previous engagement. I promise.”

Her gaze was doubtful. Why didn’t he just tell the driver to alert her? She could wait. She was used to waiting upon rich men.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“I was curious of you.” He stated as he raised his cigarette to his mouth once more. As he breathed out, he gestured again at the food. “Please help yourself. Wooyoung told me some of your favorites.”

There were her favorites; steaming and hot. Some tartlets from their recent date sat on a pearlescent serving tray. Tempting. Her stomach grumbled. Watching him carefully, she reached out a fork to stab into a piece of meat and plating it.

“I’m just a ballerina,” she claimed, eyes flashing to look at him as she picked up her utensils to cut at the singular item on her plate.

Yunho’s lips quirked up on one side before he glanced aside at a man. He nodded towards her and she couldn’t help but jump as a suited butler approached. Yunho’s gaze took in the small tension that rippled through her.

The butler began to pile up her plate with this and that. Steaming vegetables, savory pastries, fluffy mashed potatoes scented with garlic, sticky soy-sauce braised meats, pasta with a rich cream sauce, seafood with clarified butter. It was more food than she could finish. The amount of food laid out was enough to feed eight men.

“You’ve entranced my brothers for being more than just a dancer,” Yunho commented. “I wanted to see what was so special about their swanette.”

She swallowed, her throat dry. She felt like a trapped bird in a zoo being observed. She tried to imagine the boudoir around her rather than the intimacy of a dining table.

“I’m a good dancer,” she told him boldly. They like bold, an older ballerina’s voice was in her ear once more.

Yunho smiled. “I heard. I apologize for never attending a performance.” He said.

“You’ve been… busy,” she said. But not too bold. Another ballerina warned.

It was a dig, and Yunho knew it. She knew it too with how wide her eyes became. And still, his lips curled into a smile, his eyes simmered.

“Its no wonder Wooyoung took to you,” he breathed.

He raised his glass of wine to his lips and took a long sip. At the mention of Wooyoung, he saw the way the muscles in her face flickered. Lightening. Interesting. Placing the glass down, he leaned forwards, hand resting under his chin as he stared at her, intrigued.

She was intriguing. She had four members of the family wrapped around her little finger and here she was in his sticky webs. Yunho ached to figure her out, dive deeper. The vein in his forehead bulged a bit with his intensity.

His eyes felt magnetic. She had cut up her slice of steak into tiny bites at this point, but all he had done was stare at her. He had not a lick of food on his own plate. It felt more like an interrogation than a meal at this point.

So, she stared back. Her eyes met his, swallowing down her fear. The twisted mangled amalgamation of fear, intrigue, and something else. She was safe, she chanted internally. Wooyoung promised. San promised. He hadn’t done anything to her…yet.

She took in his appearance. While his eyes were a hypnotizing thing, his entire face was like one of a siren’s. Handsome with chiseled features. Sharp cupid’s bowed lips, sharp brows, sharp clean lines of his suit. A pair of glasses were tucked into his pocket… he needed glasses just like her Sannie. Her eyes darted up the line of his throat. His hand rose to bring his cigarette back to his lips. He tilted his head, the midnight-black hair swaying over one eyebrow smartly.

How were all these men so handsome? The driver, her patrons, Yeosang, Yunho. All breathtaking compared to the oil-grubby handed rich men of Cromer. It made her soften just a smidge, guard walls lowering as he breathed out smoke once more. Lips pursing delicately. Cheeks soft, she noticed. It was quiet. The clinking of her utensils against her meal was the only sound in the hall.

“Do you like dancing?” she asked. Dancing was safe. Dancing was all she knew.

“Enough,” he said. “My brothers like it more than myself.”

Brothers he said again. It was strange. Wooyoung spoke of the others as friends, dear ones – explained that the shared last name was something pushed upon them. Yunho embraced it.

“Then, sports?” she countered. “Tennis perhaps?”

Yunho chuckled lowly, and it felt like a tiger’s rumble. “No,” he laughed. “Not particularly – though, I have good hand-eye coordination.”

Her mind flashed to the shooting the newspaper relayed – a fictionalized imagining in her head bloomed. Him and his gun aiming and firing with ease, just like that man in the alley way.

“Oh,” she breathed.

He wondered if she knew how blatant her face revealed things. Her fear, her thoughts, her soul. It was strange though. Yunho didn’t want her frightened.

“I play against Yeosang often,” he clarified.

“Oh,” she repeated, a different tone trickling into her exclamation. Her knife scraped against the plate’s china, screeching out suddenly like a soprano at an opera house. Her gaze turned to it, surprised.

Her meat was completely shredded now. Almost inedible with how much she had sawed into it over and over.

Yunho laughed again, the sound warm and full. “Darling,” he cooed out, soft. “Please relax and eat. I insist. Yeosang won’t mind.”

Yeosang. Of course, that’s why she was prolonging it. Her smile was bashful and Yunho’s eyes swallowed it up just like she bit into a piece of her meal finally.

“Will you not eat?” she asked.

Innocent, sweet. Yunho’s eyes simmered as he reached out to grasp a fruit from an intricately weaved wired basket. He bit into a red apple, sharp and vicious. Juice dripped over his fingers, down his chin. He raised a black napkin to the corner of his lips wiping it away. His eye contact never ceased. Did he just wink?

“How long have you lived in Cromer?” he asked.

“My entire life,” she admitted.

He hummed out. “And the ballet almost as long I suppose?”

“Ballerinas are taught young,” she said.

“The best way to shape someone.” He snubbed his cigarette out in his ash tray.

“I suppose,” she admitted. “But I love dancing. Truly.”

It was spoken sincerely, passionately. He nodded. “It’s been mentioned. They say one can tell by just the way you breath. You are full of it.”

“D-dancing?” she queried.

“Love.” he countered. “Passion.”

Her eyes blinked owlishly. “Oh.”

“Do you love them?” he asked directly. His head tilted curiously.

The topic had shifted in tone dramatically suddenly. Her heart raced to its hummingbird speed once more. Her face blushed. Yunho drank it all in like the wine in his glass.

There was a clambering down the hall way, muffled by the oak doors. Her gaze broken from his, and she looked over her shoulder at the doorway.

“Here he comes now,” Yunho whispered.

As predicted, Yeosang came busting through the doors. His hair askew, his eyes burning with the cruel fury she had only seen on the court. His elegant clothes looked rumpled; the softness of his sweater that cut into a deep v revealed more skin that she had seen of the sportsman yet. A rose was pinned on his chest, gentlemanly, and yet somehow tempting her to stare at his chiseled chest more. A decorative scarf wrapped around his throat, disheveled.

He glared at Yunho with such contempt before it was washed away at the sight of her. He glanced her up and down, quickly as if his lingering gaze would be scolded. Appropriately for such an inappropriate action. His lips parted gently; his rounded face soft with a gentle blush.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he immediately apologized, head bowing.

The long strands of russet-brown hair that framed his face swooped over his cheeks. His hand rose to tuck one strand back. “I was caught up with something unexpectedly.”

With little show, she stood, discarding her utensils to greet him. Her smile was soft, reassuring, genuine. She ducked her own head to catch his gaze – he was still glaring through his lashes at the man at the head of the table she noticed. But when he saw her own face come into view he straightened sweetly, awkwardly. But in such a charming way somehow. Yeosang was so charming even in his anger and discomfort. She didn’t want him to be in discomfort.

“Its alright,” she reassured him.

“We’ve just been chatting,” Yunho chimed from the end of the table. Unhelpfully.

Yeosang adjusted his leather gloves nervously, tugging them off finger by finger.

“I see that.” Yeosang rumbled.

His eyes settled back on her like she was his seas’ moon.

“You look lovely, YN,” he complimented. Her smile lit up the room, he swore.

He licked his lips, deep voice humming out as he looked over the table.

“I-I,” he gestured to the table, the meal he had ordered the chef to prepare, “I have those tarts you liked at the café on Riverfield Street.”

She smiled at him; he was so cute.

“Thank you,” she grinned. “And I saw. They look perfect.”

He breathed out a little, fixing his clothes once he tucked his gloves into his back pocket.

“It’s been perfect,” she tried to reassure him, sensing his anxieties. His blooming nerves. Her hand reached out to squeeze his.

He jolted at her touch, just enough for her to catch it. His ears were red. Yunho’s grin was wide, sparkling.

“Thank you for the invite.”

“Of course, I wanted –” he glanced at Yunho’s leering gaze. “I wanted to get to know you better, sweetheart.”

“And we shall,” Yunho agreed. “Sit, Sangie. Let’s eat.”

A butler appeared to pull out a seat for him. It wasn’t near either of them, in fact. It was the third seat to the left side of the table. Yeosang glanced at the butler silently before pulling out the chair directly beside YN and seating himself.

He was served a selection of the meal, silently. She went to break the silence.

“How are you?” The headline still brandished itself in her mind. His words about paparazzi left a lasting impact.

Yeosang huffed out. “Well,” he replied. “News articles come and go. I’ll remain on top of my game regardless.”

Yunho nodded steadfastly from across the table. “It’ll be nothing by the next game.”

Yeosang offered her a smile. “Thank you for worrying about me. I’ve survived worse.”

She nodded solemnly. “I don’t like it still.” Yunho watched the interaction carefully. His brow quirked.

“How are you liking Cromer?” she asked. She was used to asking men how they enjoyed the show… but that wasn’t an option here when the room lulled into silence.

“It’s different. But I’ve seen places as beautiful as Aurora, as desolate as the Strictlands, and as rural as Paradise. Cromer reminds me of Aurora in a different way.” Yeosang explained. “It feels homely.”

She smiled. “Ateez House is yours, correct?”

“Its in the family,” Yeosang replied.

“What do you think of it?” Yunho queried.

“Its very nice,” she politely said.

Yeosang tilted his head fondly at her. “Meaning?”

Her brows crinkled in surprise. “Its—nice?” she repeated.

“Shall I remind you what San encourages you to do, sweetheart?”

To be honest. How did he know about that? Her neck and ears became a soft pink in the candlelight. Swallowing, she glanced to the side.

“It is genuinely nice – its just… this house has been called haunted my whole life,” she told them. “There are ghost stories linked to this mansion. It’s strange being here and seeing that it is, in fact, not rotting or some supernatural force of nature.”

Yeosang chuckled out, smiling sweet.

“There are stories?” he leaned in. “Do tell!”

“I love a good gruesome story,” Yunho commented.

But for some reason, the way the words lilted in his tone didn’t make her flinch like before… in fact, was he teasing her? Her eyes flickered from Yeosang’s open form to Yunho. His cheek rested on his hand; elbow pressed into the table as he eyed her with Yeosang.

He smirked at her as they met one another’s eyes. He nodded, urging her. And so, YN went into the ghost story she had been told as a little girl, sitting among the tutu’ed training ballerinas while her mother did alterations on the prima’s show-stopping costume.

“The story goes that this house was home to a Captain,” she started, twirling pasta about her fork as she spoke.

Yunho and Yeosang’s eyes locked.

“The Captain was no ordinary captain; he was the fiercest pirate king of all. With his crew, the Black Pirates, they terrorized the seas and reaped countless treasures. When he grew old and hoarding like a dragon, he docked at Cromer under a false name. Ateez House was built upon blood-soaked jewels and coins; they say the pirate captain passed in his vault, hidden deep in the mansion’s basements. His bones are still there, unrested. His ghost terrorizes the house and refuses to let any soul except his pirates’ prowl.” She dramatically told.

Her fingers wiggled sensationally. “Or that the treasure was haunted by those they robbed and killed mercilessly. Their ghosts remain and haunt these halls.” She shrugged her hands landing back in her lap. “The story changes every so often.”

“What a story,” Yunho breathed. “Do you believe it?”

“It’s just a story. Maybe there are some real parts but… ghosts aren’t real. I’m not that silly of a girl.”

“You aren’t,” Yeosang commented immediately.

“But everyone in town knows it, so it sticks,” she told them, reaching out for the glass of wine in front of her and taking a sip.

“Cromer loves its gossip.” Yeosang commented.

“They’re stuck in their ways,” Yunho added.

“What do you think of Cromer?” she redirected to Yunho.

He took a small breath in. His previous grimace faded and his brow crinkled as he looked at her thoughtfully. His lips pressed together before replying.

“At first,” Yunho said, tilting his chin. “I did not like it… but now…”

His gaze felt hot, ever present. There wasn’t a barrier of modesty she often felt with other men. Yeosang’s was intense. San’s was careful, observant. Wooyoung’s eager and challenging. Yunho’s was steadfast. Confident. Even the men in the boudoir knew there were limits. They had their wives. They had their image with the other men within the boudoir itself. Here she felt both hunted and examined. Admired but equal. He was looking at her soul.

“Now, I like it.” Yunho purred. “Very much, darling.”

He placed his silverware down with a clink. He leaned forwards, hands pressing into the table.

“There’s more to you that meets the eye,” Yunho commented. “I see that, so now I will let you speak your mind, truthfully.”

Her heart nearly stopped. Was he going to ask her about her love again? In front of Yeosang?! Her eyes remained on him steadily. Her ears burned.

“You’re frightened of me, yes?” he said.

It was strange to feel relief at the confirmation of something so horrible. Because she was still nervous around him, for his boldness frightened her just as much as his previous actions. Yeosang’s eyes shifted to her, widening as he watched her nod.

“Sweetheart,” he reached out for her hand, petting her phalanges but not grabbing it. He simply wished to reassure her. Just as she had done for him earlier.

“San and Wooyoung said I didn’t have to be,” she replied. She licked her lips.

“Ask me what you want to know.” He stretched back into his chair, neck flexing as he met her gaze.

“Is it true? Should I be frightened?”

“That’s not it,” he laughed a bit, lip curling almost scornfully, scoldingly. He raised a brow, head tilting as if weighing his options. “But no, you don’t need to be frightened. Ask another.”

“I don’t have another question.” She countered, only to state simply and firmly. “You shot a man.”

And he smiled. “I did.” Yunho confirmed.

“On purpose?” she asked.

“Yes, darling.”

Her blood felt cold. She hadn’t met someone like him and it sent her stomach into a cramping mess. Yeosang did take her hand now. Interlacing his fingers softly. He glanced over at his elder as he rose from his chair. Oh, Yunho was tall. Very tall, in fact. With them sitting, he looked giant. His heels thudded against the floor.

“Why?” she asked. Yeosang felt her hand tighten in his grasp.

“He tried to fool me, steal from me,” Yunho stated, walking towards them. “Lied to me. I don’t like being played.”

There wasn’t a moment for the words to sink in for YN. Instead, like a game of tennis, she shot back.

“So, you shot him? Just like that?”

“For your information, yes.”  

“That’s frightening.”

“Yes.” Yunho was beside Yeosang now.

“But!” Yeosang was the next to interrupt. “If you must know… Yunho isn’t some cruel man, sweetheart. It was done in self-defense.”

“Self-defense?” she asked doubtfully. Wooyoung and San said so themselves as well.

The air that Yunho carried seemed to be more than that. He wasn’t exactly proud, but he was at peace with what he did. Yunho’s face pulled into a tight thing as he rested a hand on Yeosang’s shoulder. They both looked at her inquiringly.

“He pulled a blade on Yunho,” Yeosang interjected. His gaze flashed to her. “He has the scars to prove it.”

They had an answer to everything. It was self-defense. Not a thing of violence. Of necessity.

She stared at them

“It wasn’t… he struck first?” she repeated slowly.

They glanced at one another before smiling at her with dual grins. Yunho tapped his fingers on Yeosang’s shoulder before he pulled back. A hand went to his chest, gentlemanly and earnest in nature.

“Yes.” He ensured.

Her eyes flickered to Yeosang. He had been a sensible figure – likeable, nothing formidable. If he trusted him, if her Wooyoung and San did. Yunho spoke with such authority. He valued truth just like San did.

Her defensiveness, something she didn’t even see in her body language, softened. Yunho’s sigh was one of understanding as he walked back to his seat, stealing a glance at her. He smiled again, his teeth gleaming in the cande light.

“YN.” He spoke her name luxuriously. “If there is one thing you should know about me. I don’t do mess.”

He plucked a dessert from his plate, biting into the chocolate with slowness. Calculated. He kept her gaze. It sent a thrill through her; he sent a thrill through her. Swallowing together, the corner of his lip curled. He raised a napkin to his lips, gentlemanly.

He was a gentleman, straightforward and powerful. He had to be telling the truth.

“I’m not a messy man, darling-doll.”

The dinner didn’t last much longer. Yeosang encouraged conversation; Yunho threw in some topics, mostly of things she had mentioned to San and Wooyoung. It struck her then that they shared many stories about her. They must’ve talked about her a lot. It made her cheeks flush as red as the chocolate strawberries Yunho ate.

Their eyes were hot on her; it felt like they were captivated and it made her heart race. Like she was on the stage.

She liked it.

Surprisingly, her two patrons made an appearance at the end of the meal. Wooyoung, of course, was the one to pop his head into the grand dining room.

“Swanette!” he beamed at the sight of her.

Yunho took in how her shoulders softened and her chest heaved at the sight of Wooyoung, at his voice. He smiled, softer and truer than any other smile he shared tonight so far.

Wooyoung was dressed the most casual she had ever seen him. A fashionable patterned white-and-black button-up shirt was barely buttoned, revealing a black ribbed tank-top beneath it. His hair was pushed back casually and messy; a rolled cigarette was behind his ear. His slacks were a deep black, loose and flowy rather than a structured fabric.

“Woo,” she barely got out, her mouth dropping at the sight of him.

He smirked, arms slinking over the chair and over her shoulders.

“Hello hyungs,” he greeted the others, barely glancing at them before ducking his head and pressing a less-than-decent kiss to her mouth. Smothering and all consuming. She squeaked into it. A ringed hand rose to cup her guide her head in the kiss, icy cold against her flushed red cheek.

Yeosang and Yunho chuckled out. The sound was a mixture of fondness and annoyance. Yunho’s brow twitched. Yeosang’s hand held hers tighter… he hadn’t let go, of course. But YN hadn’t noticed the entire dinner and dessert. ‘Til now. Her fingers flexed in his as Wooyoung swiped his tongue across the seam of her lips.

“Alright,” San scolded Wooyoung, his hand going to the back of the shorter’s neck. He nearly pried him off her. “Wooyoung!”

“I missed her,” Wooyoung said simply, flushed face and breathless.

His hot breath fanned over her rosy face; his lips were spicy and left hers burning. Mischief twinkled in his eyes as he stole another kiss from her lips. San pulled him back again with a harsher hand.

It was then she got a glance of her other patron. San had freshly washed hair, the locks combed out and dripping over his forehead. He wore a similar tank top to Wooyoung, but in a white shade. Shockingly, he had a pair of workman’s light-washed blue jeans hugging his thighs. Thick thighs, muscular shoulders, tawny honey skin. It was tantalizing, tempting. But when she looked over his face, her mouth dropped in surprise. A bruise kissed at the corner of his lips; his sweet smile tarnished with a purple-red watercolor splotch.   

She couldn’t help stand immediately, half in the clutches of Wooyoung. Her hand rose to cup San’s cheek.

“Honey!” he exclaimed out in surprise.

He didn’t shift away, actually bending at the knee for her height, but San was certainly surprised. He had taken the lead between them often. YN rarely made the first move with either of her patrons. But what he had mistaken for sexual tension only led to pain. He was shocked when her thumb’s brush against his lips made pain radiate up his face.

“Ow,” he whimpered, frowning. His brow furrowed.

Yeosang laughed nearby. “He forgot he’s hurt,” the athlete commented.

“It’s been a while,” Yunho added, finishing his drink as he watched the interaction play out.

San’s lips pressed together, blinking rapidly before taking in the concern look on her face.

“Oh, honey, I’m okay,” San tried to reassure. His hand rose to cup her hand that was pressed to his jaw, thumb brushing over it soothingly. “It doesn’t even hurt.”

“You just said ow, you liar,” she scolded him, brows furrowing. “What the hell happened?”

“I’m fine,” he swore, tilting his head to press a kiss that stung his mouth to her palm. “Promise.”

“This town is getting more and more dangerous,” she breathed out.

Her thumb brushed over his cheek softly. His pretty face marred. Without his glasses on, she could see how his eyes sparkled in the chandelier’s candlelight. Soft and starry, as if she hung the world.

“You are an angel,” he murmured. “I’m okay. I’ll live.”

“Wooyoung, will you tell me what happened?” she prompted, not moving. Wooyoung pressed to her side made a humming sound.

“The streets are rough around here,” he said. “Someone really ought to fix that.”

Yunho huffed from across the long table.

San smiled at her again, eyes falling into half-moons. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. His lips stung to do so, but she was worth it. “Thank you for worrying.” He told her. His stomach did somersaults at the thought of her jumping to his aid.

“Shall we walk you out, swanette?” Wooyoung directed instead, head tucking over her shoulder to look at the table. “Yunho has a meeting to attend unfortunately.”

Yunho hissed in through his sparkling diamond-inlayed teeth. “Does the—”

San nodded.

He breathed in through his nose before offering YN a simmering smile. Full of warmth. “It was lovely meeting you, Miss YN. I hope to see you very soon.” He bowed politely before with long-legged strides left the room. Wooyoung winked at him as he passed.

“I’ll join you,” Yeosang offered YN. “You must come visit again soon – in the spring, the gardens are beautiful. We could have tea or -”

“Yeosang likes to take long strolls through the gardens – even if it’s raining,” Wooyoung revealed, finally peeling himself off her back to look at the selection of food laid out. He plucked a grape from a platter.

“You gossip like the upper-class now,” Yeosang commented, raising a brow.

Wooyoung laughed brightly at his friend before popping the fruit into his mouth. “Eh, they rub off on you – I had to keep up with you, Sangie.”

Hmm, it was an interesting interaction. Playful but also… strange. She knew their pasts implied they hadn’t always been wealthy… Yeosang had been a protégé tennis player at a young age but how did he meet Wooyoung? Was it all because of Hongjoong?

San’s hands squeezed her waist. When had both of his hands shifted there? “You sleepy, honey?” he asked.

“Too filling of a meal,” Yeosang complained as he rose to his feet.

As if the food was her reason to getting lost in her head.

“It was perfect,” she countered, taking a step back. “Thank you again for the invitation.”

“Thank you for gracing us,” Yeosang replied, offering her his hand. She took it, and he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. A picture of a gentleman. But he was quick to wrap her arm up into his, pulling her into his side now. Surprisingly daring for the Yeosang she knew.

“Shall we?”

Their exit seemed to take forever just as before. Yeosang lead her down hallway after hallway after hallway. It almost felt like they were navigating a maze. San and Wooyoung framed the two in; Wooyoung on her side and San on Yeosang’s.

“How was Yunho?” San prompted, tentatively. “He didn’t scare you?”

“Did he frighten you – when you were alone with him?” Yeosang repeated, arm tightening around her.

“No, no, he wasn’t frightening,” she reassured them. “He was a surprise certainly.”

“Ah, Yunho was sneaky. He doesn’t like the opera, so he found his own way to meet you,” Yeosang sighed. “I feel like he caused the trouble for me on purpose, so I’d run late. You’re popular around here, sweetheart.” He squeezed her arm teasingly.

“Who else here?” she chuckled. Seonghwa? Hongjoong? She hadnt yet to see either of them – like they were ghosts.

“You’d be surprised,” Yeosang commented before leaning in and admitting. “I quite like you, too.”

He made her cheeks burn red, and Wooyoung giggled.

“She likes you too, Sangie,” he crowed out, fingers reaching to tickle her waist. “I’ve seen her blush over San, over you… Do you like Yunho as well?” Wooyoung queried, his words becoming less and less playful. They were almost inquisitive, as if testing the waters instead.

There was a crack as he lit a match across a gold-leafed frame. He placed the cigarette that was behind his ear to his lips and lit it.

“I did,” YN told him, honestly, as they continued through the foyer. Wooyoung chuckled out, smoke puffing out in front of his face in surprise. He wasn’t expecting her to admit it so fast.

“Not like that,” she interrupt his giggles, face burning. “I just—”

Looking down another hall they, she made out Yunho’s form, tall and slim walking down the hall with purpose. His back to her as they turned into the foyer finally.

“He was kind. Even if he was a bit intimidating… he wasn’t cruel or harsh. Just… confident.”

Yeosang smiled close-lipped. Wooyoung blew out his smoke to the side, the plume passing over the butlers’ faces. Not one flinched or coughed.

The smell of expensive tabacoo wafted over her face warmly as Wooyoung walked in front of them to push open the large heavy doors of the mansion.

“So he wasn’t so scary after all?” he teased. “Wait ‘til you meet Hongjoong and Hwa-hyung. They’re properly-”

“Wooyoung, don’t tease her,” Yeosang defended.

The younger raised one of his hands in defense as he held open the door for them. “I’m just saying – she got pass the guard dog.”

“She hasn’t met Jongho yet,” Yeosang giggled lightly. “He’s truly got a bad case of looking gruffer than he is. He’s our baby.”

Jongho. She had only heard that name once, and it was that night. Her ears rang.

“Jongho?” she queried softly.  

He had been at the opera! He was one of their ‘brothers’.

“Or Mingi--Ah, here he is now,” San commented, smiling over at the man standing in front of the green-painted car.

“Hello,” the driver greeted, voice as deep as earlier. His eyes flickered to her arm in Yeosang’s.

Wooyoung smirked at him. “Mingi, I didn’t know you were driving today,” he said.

“I thought you and San were doing business today.”

“It was a fast deal.”

Mingi looked unamused, his siren-eyes looking him and San up and down. “Uh huh.

“You know a Jongho?” she turned to Yeosang as they spoke.

“Jongho is the youngest of us. You’ll meet him soon, sweetheart,” he reassured, squeezing her arm. “He’s busy too often. I think they overwork him; he’s just a boy.”

“He’s only a year younger than us,” Wooyoung commented with a pout.

“He’s a baby,” San agreed offhandedly.

“I think I—"

“Is she going the hell home or not?” Mingi bit out. Before looking bashfully at her. “Sorry, doll,” he apologized for his gruffness. “I’m not used to a dame being around.”

“Its okay,” she mumbled out. Her mind was preoccupied with trying to figure out why Jongho was at the opera… without his supposed family knowing.

Mingi pouted at that. “No, its not.” He admitted. “Don’t take disrespect.”

Her distracted gaze rose and nodded softly, not really processing his words.

Wooyoung tsked out. “Here he goes about respect,” he sighed out. “Hurry up, swanette, or else we will be here for hours.”

There was a rumble of chuckles in the group. Yeosang squeezed her arm once more before pressing close to her ear, cheek to cheek. A whispered “next time it’ll be just you and I, hm?” was hushed into her ear before he unwound himself from her and allowed the others to hover about. “I’ll see you next time, Miss YN.”

San pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he promised. “And again, I promise you, I’m fine.” He pressed another kiss to her hairline before guiding her into Wooyoung’s arms.

He was warm and smelt of smoke. His grin was playful, wolfish as he leaned down and stole her lips into a kiss. He was getting bolder and bolder. His kiss was hot, a lick of his tongue into her mouth this time. She squeaked and he chuckled deeply.

“Mmm,” he moaned as he pulled away just a fraction. Wooyoung smiled as if he was innocent but his teases were devilishly. “Perhaps I should call you little mouse instead of swanette.”

She pushed at his chest, playfully. Wooyoung tugged her closer, grinning. Her face was akin to a rose.

“Let her go, Wooyoung,” Mingi said from the side. His face was sharp as he glared at the other. He didn’t appreciate the teasing. “She must be tired.”

Wooyoung heaved a sigh as if this was the hardest thing to do. He pouted at her before stealing a kiss, pressing a peck to her nose. “Fine,” he relented, unwinding her from his spider web embrace.

“See you soon, pretty. Mingi will make sure you get home safely.”

Mingi nodded steadfast before he offered her his hand.

“Shall we, baby-doll?”

-

Next time, when she woke, it was to a cat’s sandpaper-esque tongue licking her cheek. Little tiny licks with the familiar nuzzle of her wet nose, Z investigated her like any other day. The little more-blue-grey-than-black cat sniffed at her, the talkative pet meowing loudly. Her green eyes blinked slowly at her before she nudged her cheek with her forehead once more.

Her body didn’t burn. It didn’t ache. It didn’t feel like anything. Whatever drugs she was on, they were good. She blinked at the kitten, slow to do anything once more.

She was still in Yeosang’s room. The smell of him was all around her, Jongho’s familiar gardenia aroma mingling in the sheets. YN tried to move. Pushing herself upwards was easier than before but the slightest shift in her legs reminded her of the heavy casts that wrapped her ankles. The pain nothing like before but there was still the zing up her knees that made her pause. Her breath caught as she stared at her limbs before her.

Her reality. Bedbound, grounded. It was a depressing thought. Even more depressing when she realized she wasn’t sure what day it was nor what hour. How many shows had she missed? Did her mother know she wasn’t well? Was she just the same as those folk written about in the papers? Missing and forgotten.

She let out a shuddering breath as she laid back into the fluffy luxurious pillows, contemplating what to do. Should she cry out for them? Hongjoong was the last face she remembered but she didn’t want to see him. Or Seonghwa. Or any of them. Really. Anger burned her throat like the nearby fire place. Z’s whiskers dusted over her arm, nudging at her for attention as she let out another inquisitive meow.

“Leave me alone, Z,” she mumbled into her pillow. The little tongue peaked out to lick her again. “Stop, Z; go away.”

Her tone was raising with her rising grief. That was the only way to describe what she was feeling grief – a mixture of hoping, pleading, that everything had been a dream only to be reawaken to reality. Anger and sorrow clashed like cymbals in her head.

The cat nuzzled her again, and she snapped this time.

“Z, go!” Her hands shifted the quilts aside in a huff, making the little cat hop away, back arched.

“Z, come here,” a voice, melodic as it was masculine, called. The doorway creaked open, the gaslight in the hallway illuminated his figure, bulky in the best way. “Love isn’t in the mood to play.”

She frowned over at him, even if Z hopped off the bed and went towards Jongho eagerly. Her little body pressed against his leg as she passed him, purring softly. He smiled after his kitten before his gaze settled back on his love bed ridden.

“Hi love,” he greeted. “How are you feeling?”

“Angry,” she told him.

“But not in pain,” he smiled.

The youngest crawled up onto the bed, sheets rustling and ruffling as he settled beside her. Jongho wasn’t one to be silenced by a glare or dirty look. He was made for this world – his hyungs’ beloved aegi was used to getting what he wanted. And she was his baby. His love. He wanted her.

She turned her rageful eyes his way. He simply smiled just like the others. “I know,” he hummed. “I tried to warn you.”

He had. He cried to her last night… or a few nights ago? Her anger was quenched by those tears now. Her eyes softened just a smidge, and Jongho took a mile. He pressed his lips to her forehead in a soft kiss. His arms wrapped around her ‘til she was caught in his embrace, warm and coddled.

He indulged in the way she didn’t pull away or yell. He had heard her shouts at Yeosang’s attempts at affection.

“What happened? I remember waking up in pain – why?” she murmured into his chest. Trying to gather information from when she was asleep.

Even now, she felt safe in his embrace. It caused a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach.

He heaved out, her head rising and falling with his chest. “You had an infection – the doctor said it was possible dirt from that alley way. It entered your injury for too long. He fixed it.”

“Is he alive?” she mumbled.

“By Yunho’s grace.”

She felt the ebbing and flowing rage, the despair rush over her again. Almost as if sensing it, Jongho shifted, his chin tilting into his chest to look down at her. He moved to tilt her own chin to meet his gaze. Fiery passion burned there. He liked it better when her passion burned for her dancing… but he supposed it had to go somewhere while she was incapable.

“It’s the way things are,” he told her. “Stop fighting it.”

Stop fighting and give in. Look what fighting did. Just let them control her…

YN scoffed. “I’m not some doll,” she bit back. “Or some—"She wriggled like a worm on a hook. Jongho’s eyes ached, and he reached for her hands. He cupped them in his. His bloodstained ones. How many time had he scrubbed away ichor? Dug it from under his nails? Her hands were dainty.

“It’ll never touch your hands,” he interrupted earnestly. “You’ll never bear it. Our work. Our lifestyles. If that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“I’m bearing it now,” she whispered to him, voice breaking. “I’m afraid of you.”

He frowned, his face firm and thoughtful. He was always thinking her Jongho. He never stopped. His thumbs brushed over her palms, his forehead pressing to hers intimately.

“You tried to leave,” he said. “I didn’t want this. None of us did. If you hadn’t, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“You understand what that means – I’m just something you control like your butlers and your members and your-.”

“No.” Jongho interrupted soft and earnestly.

“You are no pawn, my love. You are our priority… our treasure. Always.”

[kazumist]

randomly thought of girldad soshiro

✩ — includes: soshiro hoshina x f!reader. fluff. no cws. wc: 332. reblogs are very much appreciated !!

✩ — note: ANON I SWEAR WHEN I CATCH YOU OMFGHJHAJHAJHAJDKHASV PLSSSS

soshiro had doubts in his abilities as a father, if ever the time came.

and well, it did come—but on that day, he swore that he'd do his very best to be a good father figure. (despite your husband being confident in himself in the regular sense, he isn’t that confident when it comes to fatherhood so he can’t really say that he’ll be the “greatest”.)

when it’s only hoshina and his daughter alone, he'll let his daughter play with his hair, letting her put some random ribbon clips on it. and when your daughter gets her hands on your little makeup collection, soshiro prepares himself. the way his daughter drags the brush against his skin is ticklish as he tries to hold back a laugh at the feeling since his daughter would scold him, saying, “daddy, don’t move! you’re gonna ruin your makeup!” with a little pout on her lips.

he spoils her ever so often too. whenever soshiro finds something that will remind him of his daughter, he will get it. although he gets scolded by you, the words “you shouldn’t spoil her this rotten, soshiro.” repeat themselves every time it happens. but hey, nothing could beat the sparkle in his daughter’s eyes when she saw what her daddy got her. could you really blame him?

there are times when his daughter gets fascinated by her daddy’s little fangs. always trying to poke them whenever hoshina speaks. hoshina’s fangs are also something that your daughter has inherited from him and they always peek out whenever she laughs out loud (a sound that’s music to both of you and your husband’s ear). she will always point out how pointy it is, wondering if her little fangs will grow that pointy too when she grows up.

yet as time went on, soshiro realized that he’s already doing his best to be a good father figure to your daughter. as long as she’s happy, then he’s happy. that is simply how it works.

[stars-by-the-pocketfuls]

💫 18/05/24 💫 @rosekillermicrofic 💫 prompt: rings💫 word count: 316 words

"Really Evan?"

In an ideal world, she wouldn't have seen them, and in an ideal world Evan could have retreated to his bed, never to be seen again. But it seems today was out to get him, for reasons that seemed content in eluding him.

“What.”

“You made out with Barty in front of the entire school, proceeded to tell him that’s what best friends are for, and then legged it out of the Great Hall. Don’t ’what’ me.”

It was mortifying.

“I don’t need a blow by blow account of my minor mishaps,”

Her other eyebrow joined the first in a positively McGonagall-esque expression.

“Fine, I will admit it may be a slight problem,”

“You need to stop running rings around him, he’s more clueless than Reg and that’s saying something. He can’t take a hint, and you literally kissed him, don’t forget,”

Unsurprisingly, it seemed impossible for him to forget.

When he saw Barty’s cheating ex approaching, he didn’t really think. Eliciting jealousy was his forte. It didn’t take much to grip Barty’s jaw and it kind of spiraled from there. Marmalade had never tasted so sweet than when he had licked it off the corner of his mouth. Barty’s lip piercing was high up on Evan’s list of things he wanted to try, and it turns out the metallic sting was not dissimilar to blood. Evan was obsessed. And Barty was just as deliciously feral in his kisses as he was with his hands, they yanked on his hair, and his belt loops, and his goddamn sanity. He was sure that if he ever got a skeleton scan, the healers would find Barty’s fingerprints seared into his hips. It was warm and messy and visceral.

“10 out of 10, would definitely recommend,” he mumbled.

He wasn’t sure if he had ever seen Pandora's eyebrows so close to her hairline in his entire life.

[murderoushagthesequel]

Silly, Happy Mornings

this is for @idkkkjustgay because i ruined All Too Well for them and i am sorry

Regulus giggles as he feels something warm and wet licking his face waking him up. He curls into himself, batting the other creature away, giggling all the way.

"James, stop it!" he laughs, opening his eyes to find a rather adorable stag looking at him innocently. "Yes, you're very cute," he assures, reaching up a hand to stroke his nose. James lets out a satisfied sigh, nuzzling Regulus' hand. "Now get back here, I'm cold!" he huffs, snuggling deeper under the covers. The chilling November air hitting his wet face is sending shivers over his body.

A few moments later, a human James is under the covers next to him, holding him.

"Why did you wake me up?" Regulus asks, burrowing into James' chest, reveling in his warmth.

"I was lonely," James shrugs. Regulus laughs, batting at his shoulder.

"You're ridiculous," he smiles, kissing James' cheek. James smiles widely.

"And you're lovely," he responds, leaning in to kiss Regulus' nose. Regulus giggles at the feeling, wrapping himself around James and settling back into the bed. James kisses the top of his head.

"Okay, I was lying... I made you crêpes," James says. Regulus squeals.

"James Potter, you're amazing."

[viietta]

college roomate!vi x classical musician!reader

part one

men/minors dni!

pairing: vi x fem!reader

2.5k words

contains: brief mention of hockey player!vi, fluff, friends to lovers, reader’s instrument is described as being in a case, or for percussionists a stick bag (sorry pianists), reader plays in a symphony orchestra, reader is briefly described to wear a long skirt

note: I've been working on this for about a week now! I am a violinist and ex percussionist who wrote this. I tried to make it as inclusive as i could for other instruments, but alas I will never truly understand what every single instrument goes through. there are a few words or phrases that aren't universal, so feel free to ask what they mean! I'd love to explain. 😚

college roommate!vi who isn’t exactly well versed in classical music before she meets you. the best she knows is the songs played in commercials and at stores; beethoven 5, can-can, maybe even a couple of pieces from the nutcracker. she spends her time listening to rock music, because that’s all she’s ever known.

when the two of you first met, you made proper introductions, and violet--no vi, as she insisted, looked down at your case/stick bag. curious, she asked you what instrument you played. she nodded at your answer and said, "cool," in fake understanding.

for people who play an instrument that isn’t well known: vi asks you to explain to her what it is, and you show her, then she pulls the “oh so it’s like a _____?” you smile tightly at her and say, “sure, something like that.”

college roommate!vi when you leave your dorm to find a practice room for the first time.

"where ya goin'?" she asks.

“to go practice,” you say, pointing to what you were carrying with you.

“you don’t want me to hear you or something?” she said teasingly.

you rolled your eyes and said, “no, the campus here has rooms for people to practice their instruments in.”

she stared at you for a second. “huh, i had no idea we had those here. well have fun,” she said, ending the sentence with your name.

“I'll try," you chuckle.

one day, when there are no practice rooms open, you get fed up and go back to your dorm. vi is there, laying on the couch in a cropped black tee and grey sweatpants. she nods in acknowledgement toward you.

“hey vi,” you smile, trying hard not to stare at her abs on display, “is it alright with you if i practice in here? there are no practice rooms open.”

“yeah sure, knock yourself out sweetheart,” she replies, laying her head back down lazily.

you try not to show a reaction to the pet name, but the thumping in your chest makes it a little harder. you turn and walk into your room, letting the door close behind you. you stand in silence for a moment before letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding in.

you situate yourself and set up your instrument, palms suddenly a little sweaty. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous about vi hearing you play.

vi listened through the wall as you practiced a particularly slow and sweet piece. she felt a calmness wash over her. about 10 minutes in, her eyelids became heavier. your playing was quite literally lulling her to sleep. the only thing keeping vi awake was when you'd stop playing, and she'd realize that she wasn't listening to a recording of music, but to you, shaping every note that reached her ears.

when you finished practicing, vi found herself longing to hear more of your playing instead of the silence that followed. it was something different from the genre she typically listened to, but she definitely didn't hate it. she was definitely asking you later for some song recommendations.

you walked out of your room, immediately heading toward the fridge for a snack. vi looked at you from her spot on the couch, wondering how you could look so normal after gracing her ears with the most gentle sound she's ever heard.

vi sat up, grabbing your attention.

"damn, I've never heard anything like that before, it was--," she paused, trying to find the right word, "beautiful."

you look up at her, and find yourself looking at those bright eyes of hers with the most sincere smile on her face.

you felt something churn in your stomach, and a heat rise up to your cheeks that you tried to brush off as being flustered by the praise.

"thanks," you said, trying not to melt.

college roommate!vi who is up in the middle of the night scrolling on her phone when she hears you practicing for your rhythm dictation midterm. she hears a metronome going off in your room, and your voice carrying strings of "do-ta-da-ta-di-ta" through the wall. your mantra being occasionally broken by you slamming your hands on your desk and groaning out a frustrated, "fuck." your actions earning a chuckle from her.

college roommate!hockey player!vi who would periodically leave for practice at the same time you would leave for a rehearsal, and who was rather pleased when she found that the music building was not very far from the ice rink.

let's see...I have my music, my instrument, a pencil, and water. perfect, you thought. looking at the clock, it was 5:25 pm, 35 minutes before rehearsal started, and it was about a 5 minute walk to the music building from your dorm, give or take.

you walked out of your room and looked to the door, to see vi turning the door handle, on her way out.

"oh hey, leaving now too?" you say, looking down at her stuffed duffle bag.

she turned to look at you with a smile, and nodded. "let's walk together?"

you felt your stomach flip in excitement at the invitation. "sure," you said, in the most casual tone you could muster.

vi held the door open for you as you left the dorm building, following close after you, finding her spot beside you.

the sun was setting, and the orange light it cast on your face combined with the slight breeze blowing your hair as you walked made vi draw in a breath.

"so I've been thinking..." she started, her pause lasting longer than she meant for it to when you looked at her so intently with your big round eyes, "I want to get out of my comfort zone in terms of music. right now I only listen to rock, and you seem like you know all about classical music..."

you gasped, your face lighting up. "oh my god are you really asking me to put you on classical music?"

god, she's adorable, vi thought.

“yeah, hard to believe, i know,” she snickered.

"okay, so what do you think you'd be into? something more hardcore like Shostakovich?" you started.

"what do you mean by hardcore?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

you began to explain different periods of classical music to her, pulling out your playlist on your phone and showing things to her. listening to you talk, she realizes that your knowledge matches your skill. you talk for a while, asking her "does that make sense?" here and there. all the while she watches you with eyes that sparkle with adoration.

once you reach the music building, you say your goodbyes, and vi is left alone as she watches you through the glass door, waving at her one last time before walking down the hallway and greeting a friend.

she turns and continues walking, the space next to her feeling awfully empty.

college roommate!vi on a cold winter day, who is painfully bored and has nothing to do, so she nags you to let her go grocery shopping with you. you let her tag along, her presence not at all unwelcome.

when you pull in to the shopping center, you see somebody in the parking lot playing the same instrument as you. they have a speaker set up next to them, seemingly projecting the sound they were producing.

"playing in the cold must be rough," vi commented.

you took a few glances at the performer before saying, "it probably helps that they're not actually playing."

"they're faking it?" she said in surprise.

"yeah, look at their hands. it doesn't match up with what the speaker is playing."

vi leans forward in her seat, further examining the person. she leans back in realization once she sees your point.

"rent must be that high I guess."

you laugh at her joke, and the sound fills vi's chest and blooms onto her face with a smile that she turns away to hide from you.

you turn the car into a parking spot, oblivious to her reaction.

college roommate!vi during the nutcracker season, who gets so excited when you have to practice in your dorm again, and she recognizes one of the pieces you play (it was in the classical music playlist you gave her).

the moment you leave your room after practicing, vi approaches you and asks, "that was a piece from the nutcracker, right? russian dance?"

your face lights up in surprise. "yeah it was!" you grin. "look at you, you're a pro now, you even called it a piece," you joke, lightly bumping her arm with your elbow.

vi laughs and gets this feeling she has whenever she's around you, the one that makes her heart race, and her face spike with a flush of heat.

college roommate!vi randomly asking you if you want food (image below)

college roommate!vi who can't remember when the two of you got so close. since when did it become normal for the two of you to start listening to classical music together? to laugh and talk late into the night? or for vi to have been in your room so many times that she's memorized all of your stuffed animals' names?

college roommate!vi who is worried sick when you come back to the dorm after a long rehearsal, slumping face down into the couch with a groan.

"what's wrong sweet cheeks?" she asks, taking a seat beside you, rubbing your back with her hand comfortingly.

you chuckle at the nickname, feeling a bit of your worry leave with your laugh. you turn over to look at her.

"the conductor gave me a solo, and I'm honestly terrified. when I play, no one else is playing. it's dead silent. the only sound the audience is going to hear will be me."

vi's expression softens, and she lets out a little chuckle. "and that's a bad thing?"

"of course it is, what if I bomb the whole thing?"

"then you carry on. you're going to do the best with what you have in the moment, and whatever happens will happen," she shrugs. "at the end of the day, that moment will not have changed the trajectory of your life."

you prop yourself up and stare at her. it's dark out, but thankfully the living room window always lets in the moonlight, casting the room with a soft blue glow. vi is beautiful in this light, her eyes looking into yours.

silence lingers between the two of you, but vi doesn't seem bothered by it, and neither are you.

"violet," you say. the use of her full name catches her off guard, but the way it leaves your mouth leaves her wishing you would say it again.

"yes," she whispers. it's so quiet that she wonders if you can hear her heartbeat.

she didn't know what you were going to do, but she didn't expect you to wrap your arms around her in a hug. she felt you sigh into her shoulder, the breath of air rushing down her back.

vi wrapped her arms around you, returning the gesture. she settled her hands at either side of your waist. she felt your soft hair brushing against the side of her face, the scent of your shampoo entering her nose.

"I'm so lucky to have you," you tell her, arms tightening around her toned muscles.

"so am I," she smiles, and you feel her relax into you.

college roommate!vi who since that night, cannot stop replaying the moment in her head. something inside gnaws at her to find out if the hug you two shared meant anything more than gratitude.

college roommate!vi immediately saying yes when you invite her to one of your symphony orchestra concerts. you tell her what you'll be playing, and she adds the pieces to her playlist. she listens to them all day long leading up to the concert.

college roommate!vi who sees you dressed in concert black right before you leave for your dress rehearsal, and she swears she's never seen anyone look so good in a black long sleeve and a long skirt.

vi's eyes travel across your body, lingering on the way the skirt hugs the curve of your waist before dropping down into a long flowy curtain.

you catch her staring. "how do I look?" you smirk, twirling to show off your skirt.

vi stares at you, forcing herself to tear her gaze away to meet your eyes. "you look...stunning," she says breathlessly.

you don't want to assume anything, but the way that she's looking at you as if you were an oil painting of an angel makes you think that she would get on her knees and worship you right then and there.

"I'm gonna get going now," you say, slinging your music bag over your shoulder. You turn towards the door and open it, standing in the doorway. "I'll see you at the hall, yeah? 7:00 sharp!" you smile over your shoulder.

vi clears her throat and stammers out, "y-yeah, see ya there."

the door closes with a click, and vi slumps down, holding her face in her hands. she replays the image of your face cast in the golden sunset light.

she lets out a low "fuck" at the realization that she is madly in love with you, and the chance that you might love her back drives her insane.

ending note for my musicians: I know it may seem like I was over exaggerating the way that vi reacts to reader playing for the first time, but I'm really not! people who have never listened to classical music before have nothing to compare you to, especially when all they're used to hearing is some pop song with guitar and drums, accented on beats 2 and 4 (not that pop music is bad, it's just not the same as classical). I've performed many concerts in my life, and even when I was in high school, playing with my mediocre symphony orchestra, people who had never heard such music were always amazed and loved our playing. don't think that you need to be a professional to be a good musician. music is all about conveying emotions that cannot expressed with words, so as long as you are able to put your heart and soul into a piece, and just go out on stage and feel something, you are an amazing musician.

sorry to leave it on a bit of a cliffhanger, I'll make the next part worth it. 😏

comment if you want to be in the taglist for part 2!

[potatobugz]

tanzen is very funny actually

[sefynarose]

Bound - A Short Sylus Story

(Loosely based off of Sylus’s dialogue if you don’t login for 30 days (based off the tiktok I saw, I could never leave him for a DAY let alone a month but I wanted some angst) Side note this ends abruptly because I stop writing when I lose inspiration so this is just me getting out the little scenario that played in my head :<).

TW: Mentions of blood, death, sadistic sylus, hurt mc, dom!sylus (?), etc.

(Let me know if I need any other tw's. I haven't had to do this on tumblr in forever!)

Mʏ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜ ʜɪᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ ᴀs I ғᴜᴍʙʟᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀɴᴅᴀɢᴇs, ᴍʏ ғɪɴɢᴇʀs ᴛʀᴇᴍʙʟɪɴɢ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɪɴ. Tʜᴇ ᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴇᴇɴ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀᴜᴛᴀʟ, ᴀɴᴅ I ʙᴀʀᴇʟʏ ᴍᴀɴᴀɢᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴅʀᴀɢ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴄᴏʟʟᴀᴘsɪɴɢ.

Mʏ ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴡᴀs ʟɪᴛᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʙʀᴜɪsᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ғʀᴇsʜ sᴄᴀʀs, sᴏᴍᴇ sᴛɪʟʟ ʙʟᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ I ᴡᴀs ᴀʟᴍᴏsᴛ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴ I ʜᴀᴅ ᴀ ʜᴀɪʀʟɪɴᴇ ғʀᴀᴄᴛᴜʀᴇ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ʀɪʙ. Iᴛ ᴡᴀsɴ’ᴛ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜ sᴇɴᴛ ᴀ sʜᴀʀᴘ ʀᴇᴍɪɴᴅᴇʀ ᴏғ ʜᴏᴡ ғʀᴀɢɪʟᴇ ᴍʏ ʙᴏɴᴇs ғᴇʟᴛ. I’ᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴠɪsɪᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏsᴘɪᴛᴀʟ ᴛᴏᴍᴏʀʀᴏᴡ, ʙᴜᴛ ғᴏʀ ɴᴏᴡ, I sᴛʀᴜɢɢʟᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀᴀᴘ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏᴜɴᴅs, ᴡɪɴᴄɪɴɢ ᴀs I ᴅᴀʙʙᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴛɪsᴇᴘᴛɪᴄ ᴏɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴅᴇᴇᴘ ɢᴀsʜ ʀᴜɴɴɪɴɢ ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴀʀᴍ.

I sɪɢʜᴇᴅ, ᴄʟᴏsɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴇʏᴇs ғᴏʀ ᴀ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ, ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴜsʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɪɴ ᴀsɪᴅᴇ. Tʜᴇ ʀᴏᴏᴍ ᴡᴀs ǫᴜɪᴇᴛ, sᴀᴠᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ sᴏғᴛ ʀᴜsᴛʟᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴀɪᴅ ᴋɪᴛ.

I ʜᴀᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪssɪᴏɴ—ɴᴏᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ʜɪᴍ.

Mʏ sᴛᴏᴍᴀᴄʜ ᴛᴡɪsᴛᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ. Iᴛ ᴡᴀs ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴏғ ʜɪᴍ, ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ. Wᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ғᴏᴜɢʜᴛ. Nᴏᴛ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀɴʏ ғɪɢʜᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʟᴇғᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴅs ʟɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɪʀ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴡᴏᴜɴᴅs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ’ᴛ ʜᴇᴀʟ. I ʜᴀᴅ sᴛᴏʀᴍᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ N109 ᴢᴏɴᴇ ɪɴ ᴀ ʙʟɪɴᴅ ғᴜʀʏ, ɴᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴇsᴄᴀᴘᴇ ᴛʜᴇ sᴜғғᴏᴄᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴇɴsɪᴏɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴜs. Tʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ʜᴀᴅ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇʀғᴇᴄᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, sᴏ I ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ɪᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴀ sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ. I ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴛᴇʟʟ ʜɪᴍ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ I ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴇᴀʟ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪᴍ. I ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʙɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴡᴏʀᴅs ᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴅ ᴅɪsᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴀʟ ɪɴ ʜɪs ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ.

I ʟᴇғᴛ ᴍʏ ᴘʜᴏɴᴇ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ᴏɴ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏsᴇ. Tʜᴇ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴏғ ʜɪᴍ ᴍᴇssᴀɢɪɴɢ ᴏʀ ᴄᴀʟʟɪɴɢ, ᴋɴᴏᴡɪɴɢ ᴇxᴀᴄᴛʟʏ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ I ᴡᴀs, ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴍʏ sᴋɪɴ ᴄʀᴀᴡʟ. I ʜᴀᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋᴇᴅ ɪᴛ sɪɴᴄᴇ. Iᴛ sᴀᴛ ᴀᴄʀᴏss ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴏᴍ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇsᴋ, sɪʟᴇɴᴛ, ɪᴛs sᴄʀᴇᴇɴ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴍɪɴᴏᴜs. I ʜᴀᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴅᴀʀᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘɪᴄᴋ ɪᴛ ᴜᴘ, ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ʙᴏᴍʙ ᴡᴀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴇxᴘʟᴏᴅᴇ. I ᴡᴀsɴ’ᴛ sᴜʀᴇ ɪғ ʜᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇᴅ I ᴡᴀs ɢᴏɴᴇ. Bᴜᴛ ᴅᴇᴇᴘ ᴅᴏᴡɴ, I ᴡᴀs ᴛᴇʀʀɪғɪᴇᴅ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ—ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ᴅɪᴅ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ. Aɴᴅ ɪғ I ʜᴀᴅ sᴜᴄᴄᴇᴇᴅᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴘɪssɪɴɢ ʜɪᴍ ᴏғғ… I ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ I’ᴅ ғɪɴᴅ.

I ᴅᴇʟɪʙᴇʀᴀᴛᴇʟʏ ᴀᴠᴏɪᴅᴇᴅ ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ɪᴛ, ғᴏᴄᴜsɪɴɢ ɪɴsᴛᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀsᴋ ᴀᴛ ʜᴀɴᴅ. Wʜʏ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ I ᴘᴏᴋᴇ ᴀ sʟᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ʙᴇᴀsᴛ?

I ʜᴀᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ɪᴛ ʜᴀʟғᴡᴀʏ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴘᴀᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ ᴜᴘ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɢʜᴛs ғʟɪᴄᴋᴇʀᴇᴅ. I ɢʟᴀɴᴄᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪᴍᴍɪɴɢ ᴄʜᴀɴᴅᴇʟɪᴇʀ, ᴀ ғᴀᴍɪʟɪᴀʀ ᴄʜɪʟʟ ᴄʀᴀᴡʟɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ᴍʏ sᴘɪɴᴇ, ᴍᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ʜᴀᴍᴍᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ᴄʜᴇsᴛ. I ғᴇʟᴛ ғᴏᴏʟɪsʜ. I sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ’ᴠᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ʜᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ғɪɴᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ I ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ, ᴡʜᴇᴛʜᴇʀ I ᴄᴀʟʟᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍ ᴏʀ ɴᴏᴛ.

I ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴇᴇɴ ɢᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ. I ʜᴀᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʜɪᴍ.

Tʜᴇ ʟɪɢʜᴛ sᴘᴜᴛᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ, ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴅɪᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇʟʏ. Dᴀʀᴋɴᴇss ᴅᴇsᴄᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ, ᴛʜɪᴄᴋ ᴀɴᴅ sᴜғғᴏᴄᴀᴛɪɴɢ, ᴀs ɪғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɪʀ ɪᴛsᴇʟғ ᴡᴀs ᴡᴀɪᴛɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ ʜɪs ᴀʀʀɪᴠᴀʟ. Eᴀᴄʜ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜ ɢʀᴇᴡ ʜᴇᴀᴠɪᴇʀ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴇɴsɪᴏɴ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴏᴍ ᴛʜɪᴄᴋᴇɴᴇᴅ. A ғᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀ, ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴀs ᴍɪᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ, ғʟᴏᴀᴛᴇᴅ ɢᴇɴᴛʟʏ ᴘᴀsᴛ ᴍʏ ғᴀᴄᴇ. Tʜᴇɴ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ. Aɴᴅ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ.

Mʏ ᴘᴜʟsᴇ ǫᴜɪᴄᴋᴇɴᴇᴅ. Tʜᴇ ᴀɪʀ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ғʀɪɢɪᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪᴄᴋᴇɴɪɴɢ sʜᴀᴅᴏᴡs, ᴄʀɪᴍsᴏɴ ᴇʏᴇs ʙʟᴀᴢᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʟɪғᴇ, sᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋɴᴇss ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴇᴍʙᴇʀs.

“Y/N,” ᴀ ʟᴏᴡ, ᴍᴇɴᴀᴄɪɴɢ ɢʀᴏᴡʟ ғɪʟʟᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴏᴍ. Hɪs ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴜɴᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴀʙʟᴇ.

Mʏ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ɪᴄᴇ. Tʜᴇ ғᴇᴀʀ I ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ sᴏ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴜʀʏ sᴜʀɢᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴍɪxᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀs sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜs—ᴀ ᴘᴜʟʟ, sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴅᴇᴇᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴsᴛɪɴᴄᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ғᴜʟʟʏ ᴇxᴘʟᴀɪɴ. I ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴛᴇᴇʟ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ, ᴛᴏ ᴘᴜsʜ ʙᴀᴄᴋ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ʙᴏᴅʏ ʙᴇᴛʀᴀʏᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ—ᴍʏ ʜᴀɴᴅs ᴛʀᴇᴍʙʟɪɴɢ, ᴍʏ ᴘᴜʟsᴇ ᴇʀʀᴀᴛɪᴄ. Tʜᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴀɪᴅ ᴋɪᴛ sʟɪᴘᴘᴇᴅ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍʏ ɢʀᴀsᴘ, ʜɪᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ғʟᴏᴏʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ sʜᴀʀᴘ ᴄʟᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sʜᴀᴛᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ sɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ.

Hᴇ sᴛᴇᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴏɪᴅ; ᴛᴀʟʟ, ᴍᴇɴᴀᴄɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢʟʏ ɢᴏʀɢᴇᴏᴜs, ʜɪs ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴏᴠᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴘʀᴇᴅᴀᴛᴏʀʏ. Mʏ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴏᴡɴ ᴀɴɢᴇʟ ᴏғ ᴅᴀʀᴋɴᴇss, ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀs ʜɪs. Hɪs ɢᴀᴢᴇ ʟᴏᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴏɴᴛᴏ ᴍɪɴᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ sʜᴇᴇʀ ɪɴᴛᴇɴsɪᴛʏ ɪɴ ʜɪs ᴇʏᴇs ʟᴇғᴛ ᴍᴇ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴄᴏʀɴᴇʀᴇᴅ, ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴘʀᴇʏ ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴊᴀᴡs ᴏғ ᴀ ʙᴇᴀsᴛ. Hɪs ᴍᴇʀᴇ ᴘʀᴇsᴇɴᴄᴇ ғɪʟʟᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴏᴍ, sᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɪʀ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍʏ ʟᴜɴɢs, ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴘᴀssɪɴɢ sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏғ ʜɪs ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ғʀᴀʏᴇᴅ ғᴜʀᴛʜᴇʀ.

I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ sᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴀɪɴᴛ ᴛᴇɴᴅʀɪʟs ᴏғ ʜɪs ᴇᴠᴏʟ ᴄᴏɪʟɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɪʀ, ᴄʀɪᴍsᴏɴ sᴡɪʀʟs ғʟɪᴄᴋᴇʀɪɴɢ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ sʜᴀᴅᴏᴡs. Tʜᴇʏ ᴡʀᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ʜɪᴍ, ᴘᴜʟsɪɴɢ ᴀs ɪғ ᴛʜᴇʏ, ᴛᴏᴏ, ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀᴇᴅ. Hᴜɴɢᴇʀᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ ʀᴇᴛʀɪʙᴜᴛɪᴏɴ. Fᴏʀ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ.

“Yᴏᴜ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴅɪsᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀ?” Hɪs ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴡᴀs ʟᴏᴡ, ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴜᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɪʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʙᴀʀᴇʟʏ ʀᴇsᴛʀᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ғᴜʀʏ.

Hᴇ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ᴀ sɪɴɢʟᴇ sᴛᴇᴘ ғᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜsᴄʟᴇ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴛᴇɴsᴇᴅ. Mʏ ғɪɢʜᴛ ᴏʀ ғʟɪɢʜᴛ ɪɴsᴛɪɴᴄᴛ sᴄʀᴇᴀᴍᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴏᴠᴇ, ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ, ʙᴜᴛ I ᴡᴀs ᴘᴀʀᴀʟʏᴢᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀᴡʜᴇʟᴍɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇsᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏғ ʜɪᴍ—ʜɪs ʀᴀɢᴇ, ʜɪs ᴘᴏssᴇssɪᴠᴇɴᴇss, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴇsᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴇ, ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜs ɴᴇᴇᴅ ʜᴇ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs sᴇᴇᴍᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀʀʙᴏʀ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ.

I sᴡᴀʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ ʜᴀʀᴅ, ᴍʏ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛs sᴄᴀᴛᴛᴇʀɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴏs ᴏғ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀʀʀᴇᴅ ɪɴsɪᴅᴇ ᴍᴇ. Hɪs ᴘʀᴇsᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴡᴀs sᴜғғᴏᴄᴀᴛɪɴɢ, ᴘᴜʟʟɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ. Fᴇᴀʀ, ᴅᴇsɪʀᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪɴᴇsᴄᴀᴘᴀʙʟᴇ, ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜs ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴜs sᴡɪʀʟᴇᴅ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ, ʟᴇᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ᴅʀᴏᴡɴɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴛɪᴅᴇ ᴏғ ᴄᴏɴғʟɪᴄᴛɪɴɢ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢs.

“Yᴏᴜ’ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ,” ʜᴇ ᴍᴜʀᴍᴜʀᴇᴅ ᴀs ʜᴇ sᴛʀᴏᴅᴇ ғᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ, ʜɪs ᴛᴏɴᴇ ᴍᴏᴄᴋɪɴɢʟʏ ʟɪɢʜᴛ, ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ʜɪs ɢᴀᴢᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʙᴜᴛ. Hɪs ᴇʏᴇs ᴡᴇʀᴇ sʜᴀʀᴘ, ᴡɪʟᴅ. “Yᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ʜɪᴅᴇ ɪɴ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇs ᴇᴠᴇɴ I ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ғɪɴᴅ.”

Iɴ ᴀ ғʟᴀsʜ, ʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ɪɴ ғʀᴏɴᴛ ᴏғ ᴍᴇ, ʜɪs ʜᴀɴᴅ ɢʀɪᴘᴘɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴄʜɪɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ғᴏʀᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴡɪɴᴄᴇ. Hɪs ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʜᴀɴᴅ sᴋɪᴍᴍᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴅɢᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴀʀᴍ, ɴᴏᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛᴇɴᴅᴇʀɴᴇss, ʙᴜᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴘᴏssᴇssɪᴠᴇɴᴇss ᴛʜᴀᴛ sᴇɴᴛ sʜɪᴠᴇʀs ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴍʏ sᴘɪɴᴇ. I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ’ᴛ sᴛᴏᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʜɪᴍᴘᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴇsᴄᴀᴘᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ʟɪᴘs, ᴛᴇᴀʀs ᴘʀɪᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʀɴᴇʀs ᴏғ ᴍʏ ᴇʏᴇs.

“Sʏʟᴜs, I—”

I ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴘᴇᴀᴋ, ʙᴜᴛ ʜɪs ғɪɴɢᴇʀs ᴛɪɢʜᴛᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴄʜɪɴ, sɪʟᴇɴᴄɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ. Hɪs ᴇʏᴇs ᴅᴇᴠᴏᴜʀᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ, ʟɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ʙʀᴜɪsᴇ, ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴄᴜᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ғᴇᴇʟ ʜɪs ʀᴀɢᴇ sᴡᴇʟʟ, ғᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ ᴏғғ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ɪɴᴊᴜʀʏ ʟɪᴋᴇ ғᴜᴇʟ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ғɪʀᴇ.

“I ᴡᴀs ᴀғʀᴀɪᴅ ᴍʏ ᴋɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ɢᴏᴛ ʜᴜʀᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡɪɴɢ.” Hɪs ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴅʀᴏᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴠᴇɴᴏᴍᴏᴜs ɢʀᴏᴡʟ. “Sᴇᴇᴍs sʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ʜɪᴅɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴄᴏʀɴᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ʟɪᴄᴋ ʜᴇʀ ᴡᴏᴜɴᴅs.”

Hɪs ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴡᴀs ʜᴏᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ᴍʏ sᴋɪɴ ᴀs ʜᴇ ʟᴇᴀɴᴇᴅ ɪɴ, ʜɪs ᴄʀɪᴍsᴏɴ ᴇʏᴇs ʙʟᴀᴢɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴜɴʙʀɪᴅʟᴇᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴ. Tʜɪs ᴡᴀsɴ'ᴛ ᴛʜᴇ Sʏʟᴜs I ᴡᴀs ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ. Hᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴏsᴇᴅ, ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴀɴɢᴇʀ. Tʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀs sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀʟᴍᴏsᴛ ɢʀᴀᴄᴇғᴜʟ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ɪᴛ—ɢʀᴀᴄᴇғᴜʟ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴜɴʙᴇᴀʀᴀʙʟʏ ʟᴏɴᴇʟʏ. Bᴜᴛ ɴᴏᴡ, ʜᴇ sᴇᴇᴍᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄʀᴀᴄᴋɪɴɢ. Yᴇs, ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴀ ᴍᴏɴᴛʜ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴇs I ʜᴀᴅ ɪɢɴᴏʀᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʜɪᴍ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴅɪsᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪs ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴡᴀs ғᴀʀ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴡʜᴀᴛ I ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ, ʟᴇᴀsᴛ ᴏғ ᴀʟʟ ғʀᴏᴍ ʜɪᴍ.

“Dɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴅᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ? Nᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I’ᴠᴇ ᴇɴsɴᴀʀᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ?” Hɪs ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴡᴀᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ, ᴛʜᴇ ғᴜʀʏ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴄᴜᴛ ʙʏ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜs—ᴅᴇsᴘᴇʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ. 

“Yᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ.”

Hɪs ᴡᴏʀᴅs, ᴀs ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs, sᴛʀᴜᴄᴋ ᴀ ᴄʜᴏʀᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ᴍᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪs ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ᴛʜᴇʏ ғᴇʟᴛ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴘɪᴇʀᴄɪɴɢ. Hᴇ ʜᴀᴅ sᴀɪᴅ ɪᴛ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ᴡᴀs ʜɪs, ʙᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴅɪᴅ ʜᴇ ᴛʀᴜʟʏ ᴍᴇᴀɴ? Oᴜʀ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ ᴡᴀs ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʙᴜᴛ ᴅᴇғɪɴᴇᴅ. Iᴛ ғᴇʟᴛ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ʙᴀᴛᴛʟᴇғɪᴇʟᴅ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀsʜɪᴘ—ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴡᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴇɴᴇᴍɪᴇs ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴏғᴛᴇɴ ᴛʜᴀɴ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅs ᴏʀ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴀʟʟɪᴇs. Aɴᴅ ʏᴇᴛ, ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴛʜɪs sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ, ɪɴᴇxᴘʟɪᴄᴀʙʟᴇ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴜs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɴᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ᴏғ ᴜs ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɪɢɴᴏʀᴇ.

Dᴇsᴘɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀʀsʜɴᴇss ᴏғ ʜɪs ᴡᴏʀᴅs ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇɴsɪᴛʏ ᴏғ ʜɪs ɢᴀᴢᴇ, ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀs sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴇʟsᴇ ʟᴜʀᴋɪɴɢ ʙᴇɴᴇᴀᴛʜ ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ. Sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ’ᴛ ǫᴜɪᴛᴇ ɢʀᴀsᴘ. I ғᴇʟᴛ ᴀs ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ I ᴡᴀs ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴡᴇʙ ᴏғ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴs ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴏᴛɪᴠᴇs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɴᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ᴏғ ᴜs ʜᴀᴅ ғᴜʟʟʏ ᴜɴʀᴀᴠᴇʟᴇᴅ. Hɪs ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴏɴ ᴍᴇ—ᴛʜɪs ᴄᴏɴsᴛᴀɴᴛ ᴅᴇᴄʟᴀʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ᴡᴀs ʜɪs—ʜᴀᴅ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴀ ᴍʏsᴛᴇʀʏ. I ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴡʜʏ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ’ᴛ sᴇᴇᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴇsᴄᴀᴘᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴘᴜʟʟ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴜs.

Iᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴛʀᴜᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴏᴜʀ ᴇᴠᴏʟ-ʟɪɴᴋs, sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴅᴇᴇᴘᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴘʀɪᴍᴀʟ. Iᴛ ᴅʀᴇᴡ ᴜs ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ғᴏʀᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ғᴇʟᴛ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴍᴀɢɴᴇᴛɪᴄ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀᴅᴅᴇɴɪɴɢ. Mᴏsᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ I ғᴇʟᴛ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀʟᴇss ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ɪᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ ᴡᴀs ᴅᴇғɪɴɪᴛᴇʟʏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇs.

As ʜᴇ ᴘᴜʟʟᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴄʟᴏsᴇʀ, ʜɪs ʜᴀɴᴅ sʟɪᴅɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴏғ ᴍʏ ɴᴇᴄᴋ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴘᴏssᴇssɪᴠᴇ ʜᴏʟᴅ, I ғᴇʟᴛ ʜɪs ғɪɴɢᴇʀs ᴅɪɢ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴍʏ sᴋɪɴ, ɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ɪɴ ʜɪs ᴏᴠᴇʀᴡʜᴇʟᴍɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇsᴇɴᴄᴇ. Hɪs ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴀʀᴍ sɴᴀᴋᴇᴅ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴍʏ ᴡᴀɪsᴛ, ᴘʀᴇssɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ᴍʏ ʀɪʙs ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ғᴏʀᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ sᴇɴᴅ ᴀ sʜᴀʀᴘ ᴊᴏʟᴛ ᴏғ ᴘᴀɪɴ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴍᴇ. I ɢᴀsᴘᴇᴅ, ᴀ ᴄʀʏ ᴇsᴄᴀᴘɪɴɢ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ sᴛᴏᴘ ɪᴛ.

Sʏʟᴜs ғʀᴏᴢᴇ, ʜɪs ᴇʏᴇs ᴡɪᴅᴇɴɪɴɢ ᴀs ᴛʜᴇʏ ғʟɪᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ʙᴀᴛᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ’s ᴜɴɪғᴏʀᴍ. Hᴇ sᴇᴇᴍᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴇɴsᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇxᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴏғ ᴍʏ ɪɴᴊᴜʀɪᴇs ᴀʟʟ ᴀᴛ ᴏɴᴄᴇ, ʜɪs ɢᴀᴢᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋᴇɴɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴍɪx ᴏғ ᴀɴɢᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴘʀɪᴍᴀʟ.

"Tᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴏғғ. Nᴏᴡ." Hɪs ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴀɴᴅ, ᴄᴏʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴʏɪᴇʟᴅɪɴɢ. 

Tʀᴇᴍʙʟɪɴɢ, I ғᴏʀᴄᴇᴅ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ ᴛᴏ sᴛᴀɴᴅ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴍᴏᴠᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴇxᴄʀᴜᴄɪᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴀs I ᴘᴀɪɴsᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢʟʏ ʀᴇᴍᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ᴄʟᴏᴛʜᴇs. Mʏ sᴋɪɴ ғʟᴜsʜᴇᴅ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ʜɪs ɪɴᴛᴇɴsᴇ sᴄʀᴜᴛɪɴʏ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀsᴛ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ ғᴇʟʟ ᴀᴡᴀʏ, ʜɪs ᴇʏᴇs ʀᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴍᴇ, ʜɪs ᴇxᴘʀᴇssɪᴏɴ ᴜɴʀᴇᴀᴅᴀʙʟᴇ.

“Cᴏᴍᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ. Lᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ɢᴇᴛ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ.”

Mʏ ᴋɴᴇᴇs ᴡᴏʙʙʟᴇᴅ ᴀs I sᴛᴇᴘᴘᴇᴅ ғᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ, ᴍʏ ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇsᴛɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴏᴠᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ. Hɪs ʜᴀɴᴅs—ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇғᴜʟ ɴᴏᴡ—ɢʀᴀsᴘᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ʜɪᴘs, ʜɪs ғɪɴɢᴇʀs ʙʀᴜsʜɪɴɢ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʀᴜɪsᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴜᴛs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʟɪᴛᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴍʏ sᴋɪɴ. Gʀᴏᴛᴇsǫᴜᴇ ʙᴏᴜǫᴜᴇᴛs ᴏғ ʙʟᴜᴇ, ᴘᴜʀᴘʟᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ʙʟᴏᴏᴍᴇᴅ ᴀᴄʀᴏss ᴍʏ ʀɪʙs, ᴍᴏʀᴇ ʙʀᴜɪsᴇs ᴍᴀʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴛʜɪɢʜs ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀʟᴠᴇs. A ғᴇᴡ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ɢᴀsʜᴇs ᴅᴏᴛᴛᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ʙᴏᴅʏ, ʙᴜᴛ ɴᴏɴᴇ ᴀs ʙᴀᴅ ᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀsʜ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴀʀᴍ.

I ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜʀᴏᴡɴ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ʙʏ ᴀ Wᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴜɪɴs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄɪᴛʏ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʀᴜʙʙʟᴇ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴀɢʀᴇᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ ʙᴇɪɴɢ sʟᴀᴍᴍᴇᴅ ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ɪᴛ.

Sʏʟᴜs ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ɪɴ ʜɪs ɢʀᴀsᴘ, ʜɪs ᴄᴏʟᴅ, ᴄᴀʟᴄᴜʟᴀᴛɪɴɢ ɢᴀᴢᴇ ɪɴsᴘᴇᴄᴛɪɴɢ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ɪɴᴄʜ ᴏғ ᴍᴇ. Hɪs ғɪɴɢᴇʀs ᴛʀᴀᴄᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴜᴛʟɪɴᴇ ᴏғ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ʙʀᴜɪsᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪs ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ, ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛᴇɴᴅᴇʀ, sᴇɴᴛ ɪɴᴠᴏʟᴜɴᴛᴀʀʏ sʜɪᴠᴇʀs ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴍᴇ. Hɪs ʟɪᴘs ᴛᴡɪsᴛᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ɢʀɪᴍ ᴇxᴘʀᴇssɪᴏɴ, ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ sᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴀᴍᴜsᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ғᴜʀʏ.

"Yᴏᴜ ᴅɪsᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴇʟʟɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ, ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ɪɴ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ɪɴ ᴛᴀᴛᴛᴇʀs, ᴋɪᴛᴛᴇɴ."

"I'ᴍ sᴏʀʀʏ," I ᴍᴀɴᴀɢᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴏᴀᴋ, ᴍʏ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ʜᴏᴀʀsᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʀᴇᴍʙʟɪɴɢ. Gᴏᴏsᴇʙᴜᴍᴘs ʀᴏsᴇ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ sᴋɪɴ ᴀs ʜɪs ғɪɴɢᴇʀᴛɪᴘs ɢʜᴏsᴛᴇᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴍʏ ɪɴᴊᴜʀɪᴇs. Tʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀs ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴋɪɴᴅ ɪɴ ʜɪs ɢᴀᴢᴇ ᴀs ʜᴇ ʟᴏᴏᴋᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ ᴀᴛ ᴍᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʜᴇ sᴀᴛ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴅɢᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴅ. Hɪs ʜᴀɴᴅ ᴛɪɢʜᴛᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴍʏ ᴀʀᴍ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ sᴜᴅᴅᴇɴ, ʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴ, ʜᴇ ʏᴀɴᴋᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴅᴏᴡɴ. I ᴄʀɪᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴀs ʜᴇ ᴇᴀsɪʟʏ ғʟɪᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴏɴᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ʙᴀᴄᴋ, ʜɪs ʟᴀʀɢᴇʀ ғʀᴀᴍᴇ ʟᴏᴏᴍɪɴɢ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴍᴇ, ᴘɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ᴅᴏᴡɴ.

Hᴇ ʟᴇᴀɴᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴄʟᴏsᴇ, ʜɪs ʟɪᴘs ʜᴏᴠᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜsʟʏ ɴᴇᴀʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ᴏғ ᴍʏ ɴᴇᴄᴋ. “Yᴏᴜʀ ᴀᴘᴏʟᴏɢɪᴇs ᴀʀᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴛʜʟᴇss ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ,” ʜᴇ sᴀɪᴅ, ʜɪs ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴛʜɪᴄᴋ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀɴ ᴀɴɢᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sᴇᴇᴍᴇᴅ ᴀʟᴍᴏsᴛ ᴘᴀʟᴘᴀʙʟᴇ. I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ’ᴛ sᴇᴇ ʜɪs ᴇxᴘʀᴇssɪᴏɴ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇɴsɪᴛʏ ᴏғ ʜɪs ʀᴀɢᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴜɴᴅᴇɴɪᴀʙʟᴇ, ʀᴀᴅɪᴀᴛɪɴɢ ғʀᴏᴍ ʜɪᴍ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴀɴɢɪʙʟᴇ ғᴏʀᴄᴇ. I ᴡᴀs ᴘᴀʀᴀʟʏᴢᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ғᴇᴀʀ, ᴛᴏᴏ ᴛᴇʀʀɪғɪᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴏᴠᴇ ᴏʀ sᴘᴇᴀᴋ. Hɪs ᴜɴᴘʀᴇᴅɪᴄᴛᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ ᴡᴀs ᴏᴠᴇʀᴡʜᴇʟᴍɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ I ᴋɴᴇᴡ I sᴛᴏᴏᴅ ɴᴏ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴏғ ᴏᴠᴇʀᴘᴏᴡᴇʀɪɴɢ ʜɪᴍ, ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪғ I ᴡᴇʀᴇɴ’ᴛ ɪɴᴊᴜʀᴇᴅ.

“Aɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ.” Hɪs ʜᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏsᴇ, ɢʟɪᴅɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ᴍʏ ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ʜɪs ғɪɴɢᴇʀs ᴄᴜʀʟᴇᴅ ᴘᴏssᴇssɪᴠᴇʟʏ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴍʏ ᴛʜʀᴏᴀᴛ, ʜɪs ɢʀɪᴘ ғɪʀᴍ ʙᴜᴛ ɴᴏᴛ sᴜғғᴏᴄᴀᴛɪɴɢ. “Yᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴅɪᴇᴅ,” ʜᴇ ʜɪssᴇᴅ, ʜɪs ʟɪᴘs ɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴠᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀʙᴏᴠᴇ ᴍʏ ᴇᴀʀ. “Aᴡᴀʏ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍᴇ. Bᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴍʏ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜ.” Hɪs ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴅʀᴏᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴡʜɪsᴘᴇʀ, ᴀ ᴄᴏʟᴅ, ᴛᴇʀʀɪғʏɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪsᴇ. “Tʜᴀᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ.”

Hɪs ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴡᴀs ʜᴏᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ᴍʏ sᴋɪɴ, ʜɪs ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴘʀᴇssɪɴɢ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴍɪɴᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ғᴏʀᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀs ʙᴏᴛʜ sᴜғғᴏᴄᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴsᴜᴍɪɴɢ. Tʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪsᴇ ɪɴ ʜɪs ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴀs sʜᴀʀᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴʏɪᴇʟᴅɪɴɢ ᴀs ʜɪs ɢʀɪᴘ, ᴀɴᴅ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ғᴇᴇʟ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴜʟʟ ᴡᴇɪɢʜᴛ ᴏғ ʜɪs ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴs ᴘʀᴇssɪɴɢ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴏɴ ᴍᴇ. Iᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴄʟᴇᴀʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇғɪᴀɴᴄᴇ, ᴍʏ ᴀʙsᴇɴᴄᴇ, ʜᴀᴅ sᴘᴀʀᴋᴇᴅ ᴀ sᴛᴏʀᴍ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ʜɪᴍ—ᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ᴡᴀs ɴᴏᴡ ᴛʀᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ ɪɴ, ᴡɪᴛʜ ɴᴏ ᴄʟᴇᴀʀ ᴡᴀʏ ᴏᴜᴛ.

[baconplasm]

I miss awakening ough

[megumiluvv]

I have a cute lil idea for your brothers-babysitter au!! What if reader and Choso take Yuuji rollerskating, and they’re both holding one of his hands so he won’t fall 🥺

OR on the flip side, somehow lil kid Yuuji is better at rollerskating than reader and Choso is holding their hand/ keeping an arm around their waist to steady them while Yuuji zips around them asankakab

(Just an idea, obvi u don’t have to write it if it’s not ur style!!)

THIS IS SO CUTE OMGGG!!! I suck at roller skating so imagining Choso holding me while skating is sooo ughhh

You, Choso, and Yuji enter the skating rink, the smell of shoe disinfectant and whatever food is in the concessions in the air. Yuji quickly grabs his skates and starts putting them on, only for them to be on the wrong feet. You have to help the kid out and put the skates on the correct feet while Choso gets your skates picked out.

Once you have your skates on, your legs are shaky and it seems you’ve lost your balance. Choso has to hold back any laughter watching you attempt to stand up straight, not wanting to embarrass you. All the while, Yuji is skating around the other kids his age that are almost as wobbly as you.

“Big brother, look! I’m fast!” Yuji giggles excitedly.

“Yup, you sure are, Yuji. Wait for us, okay?”

“Okay!” He doesn’t listen and keeps skating.

Choso smiles as he sees you clinging to the wall.

“You can’t stay there forever, you know.”

“I know, and before you say it, I’m not scared, I’m just… making sure I can balance.”

“Sure you are.” He takes your hand and pulls you onto the skating floor. Before you lose your balance, he wraps his arm around your waist.

“It’s all in the knees, yeah?”

“…yeah,” you whisper back, clinging onto his hand as he guides you around the outer part of the floor. “I’ve always been terrified of falling.”

“It’s a natural thing, everyone falls when they first start.”

“Yeah, but they still don’t specifically want to.”

“That’s true. I’ll catch you if you fall.”

Your heart can’t help but flutter a little at the softness in his voice and expression as he says those words to you.

“…Thanks.”

You eventually get better at skating and stick to squeezing his hand instead of sticking to him like a leech, while Yuji laughs and skates around, working off his pent up energy from the car ride there. Choso hopes you never let go.

Masterlist

[rustedleopard]

I'll ask! Would Cerojin get divorced? They are both very stubborn people. I can see them trying to work it out somehow (even if only for Kanako's sake).

I love how people are starting to see me as the Cerojin divorce guy, lol

For the most part, I see Ceroba's and Chujin's relationship going out in such a spectacular fashion that there's no way for them to try to salvage it. I'm talking "months/years of poor communication and the stresses of life and having to provide for the family practically singlehandedly" putting cracks in the dam that is Ceroba's idolization of Chujin that holds back anything... unsavory that she might feel about him. And then, one day, the dam breaks and Ceroba goes from "Chujin is so wonderful and perfect" to "Chujin is awful. He's done nothing but bum around while I've had to do everything for the family!!! I hate him!!!" And then their relationship goes out in a full-on "flinging magic and words you can't take back (and maybe a chair)" messy explosion. (Okay, well, it wouldn't be immediate, there would be signs that Ceroba's getting frustrated with him, but she's too busy trying to bury/ignore those feelings, so you'd only really see her temper flare up occasionally before she tries to steady herself by saying "My husband is a wonderful person, I'm doing what I can to help him. I shouldn't be acting like this" and Chujin's too busy focusing on what he wants to do that he's not paying attention to how his wife feels. They CANNOT communicate properly for the life of them :'). The relationship still peters out pretty quickly once Ceroba stops feeling the love, though.)

Buuuuuut, let's say that they're able to communicate well enough that they can tell each other "We NEED to make this work. We can't get a divorce. We can't have our marriage fail." Well... It would be a nightmare. To say the least. They'd both only try to force the relationship and make it work for their own egos without any of the groundwork that makes a relationship work, so at best it'd be a public performance of what a happy couple should look like instead of what it would be like. A happy and healthy marriage needs more than just love to work. It needs trust. It needs shared responsibilities. It needs proper communication. And these are areas where Ceroba and Chujin fail each other. Sure, maybe they might be able to act like they tolerate each other when they're out in public (i.e. not yelling at each other, though there's still some weird tension between them that some people would be aware of). But behind closed doors, I can't see this facade holding up well. Conversations would be so insanely passive-aggressive, that you'd have to call them "passive-aggressive-aggressive." They would probably develop a routine like this every day:

Ceroba: "You're home late. How was work?" (<- Said with a smile tight enough that she could put teeth marks into steel)

Chujin: "Fine." (<- Chujin got his ear chewed off about not contributing financially around the house so he got the first job that he could to prove her wrong. He hates it and his negative feelings about his job rebound onto Ceroba because he feels like she forced him into it.)

Ceroba: "Oh, that's wonderful to hear! Well, dinner's on the table for you. Kanako and I already ate, so you'll have to have it alone."

Chujin: "... It's cold."

Ceroba: "Oh, well. That's what happens when you stay late at work without telling me. Microwave's in the kitchen, you can handle it yourself." (<- she is already thinking about the bottle)

And on and on and on. They'd be the sorts of people that everybody else around them wants them to get divorced because they're sick of all the arguing and stress and anger. Starlo in this situation, brave man that he is, tries to recommend that Ceroba gets a divorce and ends up getting yelled at because "How dare you suggest that we can't make things work!!" Martlet doesn't seem as privy to Chujin's home life as Starlo is with Ceroba, so all she knows is that things are rough at home, but she tries to invite him out bowling or to relax in Honeydew's hot spring to get some of the stress out. Both of them are trying their best to help their friends, but this isn't something that they can handle because their friends are just.... astronomically stubborn and stupid.

(And this isn't even getting into how a monster's health is heavily tied to their emotional state. A monster can literally be put into a near-death state from grieving too hard. Can you imagine how rough things would be with all that stress? Humans already experience a myriad of health problems when put under stress for an extended period of time, so you can just imagine how bad things would be healthwise for a monster. Food for thought...)

And as for Kanako? Oh my god. Out of everybody in this situation, she is the one I sympathize with/pity the most. Ceroba and Chujin have a choice in their relationship and how it's going/turns out, but Kanako doesn't. She's just a kid. Like I said earlier, on paper they might say that they're trying to make this marriage work, perhaps "for Kanako's sake," but that's their egos speaking because if they were actually paying attention to what their daughter wants, they'd realize that she'd be happier if they weren't fighting all the time, even if that means a divorce. I can see her feeling responsible for how terribly things are going because they keep saying "We're trying to stay together for your sake." Maybe she tries intervening in arguments to stop Mommy and Daddy from fighting each other, but over time gets burnt out on doing that because she's not stopping them from fighting, she's only delaying the inevitable. Most likely, she'd avoid being at home/around her parents as much as possible because there's so much tension at home and she never knows when tempers are gonna flare, so it's better to sleep over at friends or spend the day at the Wild East/the Sunnyside farm/at the playground/Cafe Dune/somewhere else. Over time, her parents' constant quarreling could even burn her out/make her jaded and irritated with her mom and dad as well as depressed because she feels like it's her fault they're like that. She never asked for her mom and dad to try to maintain their relationship for her sake; she just wants to be happy, whatever shape that happiness may take.

Tl;dr Divorce is a mercy in this situation.

[whoyacallinyellow]

Borrowed Time

Javier Escuella x F! reader

Spoilers: major RDR2 events chapters 1-6 Content: 18+, Javier angst, loyalty, dramatic, possessive, referenced/implied sex, canon typical events & violence, possible unintentional spelling mistakes, google translated Spanish Type: changed to second pov (wc - 2278) / pc: pinterest Prompt / inspiration credit: @/red-dead-do-over246

Summary: Javier has changed after his time in Guarma. With what’s left of the gang, his loyalty between you and Dutch becomes convoluted.

You gazed at Beaver Hollow’s entrance, which resided Javier, stiff as a board, shoulders squared and hips narrowed. Pacing every so often as he fiddled with his carbine. 

The sight alone made you cringe, pitying the feller who stumbled upon the camp while Javier was on shift. 

Drawing attention to your presence with steady steps, he turned towards you in a trance, eyes clouded over with deep thought. 

“Hello.” Javier greeted absentmindedly, rolling up the sleeves of tattered shirt. 

“You alright?” He wondered softly, as if he was nearly confused by your sudden presence. 

“Of course.” You replied, hoping the matched tenderness of your tone was convincing enough.

“I was jus’ wondering if we could talk? You still haven’t told me what happened in uh— Guarma.” You proposed hesitantly, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. Just thinking about the boys ending up there made your head spin. 

“Can it wait? I needa focus, things are complicated right now— ‘nd I’m sure Ms. Grimshaw needs you.” He replied, an automatic response he has given you more than once since his return. 

You sighed, gazing down at his recently shined cowboy boots. Javier held so much loyalty, you wondered if he had lost himself in the process. As if he broke out of his trance he shuffled around, rubbing a harsh calloused hand down his mouth and chin. 

“Okay— ok, sure, mi amor— come.” He rambled softly with a disoriented head shake. Javier trudged up to you and placed a gentle hand on your back, ushering you to a nearby log. 

After a brief moment of silence he sighed tiredly, if you did not know any better, you would think it was in relief. Waiting for you to break the ice, he wrapped an arm around you and welcomed you into his warm embrace. 

“I— I thought you were dead, Javier…” you trailed off, your face being a constant reminder of how much you worried and cared about the man. You felt his grip tighten in reassurance before speaking. 

“Dead? Oh— mi amor, you know I would never leave you.” He cooed, his silky voice nearly resembling the man he used to be. 

You abruptly leaned away from him, eyes glossy from the tears that welled up. His rough thumbs responded almost immediately with small shushing noises exiting under his breath. He began stroking your cheeks, preparing for the tears threatening to fall. 

“Please no tears.” He whispered, the sight of you broke his heart— he knew his love didn’t deserve this, but you had to trust him. 

“‘M scared, I dunno what’s goin’ on anymore.” Your voice shook, chest heaving as you desperately tried to blink away the tears. You had always tried to be strong for him, the last thing you wanted was for him to be distracted while on a job.  

“Don’t be, hermosa, there’s a rat in the gang, s’all. We're takin’ care of it.” Javier’s vague words left a lot of room for interpretation, causing you to shutter nervously. Poor Molly was all you think about, and how her love for Dutch killed her in the end.  

“I know you would never... mi novia, I know.” Javier reassured, catching onto your fearful thoughts.

“Now, what about that talk?” He changed the subject, planting a small kiss upon the crown of your head before leaning away. 

You paused with a deep breath, with everything that has happened since Black Water, you were not sure how the man would react anymore. Things have changed more than you expected since the two of you have joined the gang. 

“Well, I found a place, it’s a bit to the west—“ You began hesitantly. 

“A place? Why didn’t you say? That’s great, I’ll let Dutch know.” He cut off your timid words, grinning brightly, a rare smile you usually can’t force out of him if you tried. 

“Not for the gang.” You quickly added as Javier frowned in confusion, staring at you over his brow-line. 

“A small cabin with a garden, birds in the pines up yonder.” You describe in awe, in attempts to win him over. The both of you gazed off the small cliff side, trying to imagine the place despite the reality of the damp smog you currently resided in. 

“It ain’t Tahiti, but it’ll be quiet for us.” You continued, not noticing the concerned look plastered upon the man. 

Javier hummed gently in consideration, entertaining your thoughts as he conceptualized your vision of a quiet life as a farm man, just for a moment. 

“Don’t we already have that? I mean— besides the cabin.” Javier asked, suddenly sizing you up. His stare possessed a dreadful amount of tension and certainty— as if his question were a test. 

You met Javier's tranquil stare; a long hardened face, he was simply a husk of a man he once was. It felt like years ago when he would treat you so tenderly, like a prize he had won and held sacred, something he could only have. His gentle, yet timid hands that used to run along your figure in the night now seemed like a mere dream. 

No longer a bright eyed cowboy, but a dangerous outlaw, consumed in drunken power and delusion, his trigger happily gunning down any poor soul that dares to get in his way— or look at him the wrong way. 

This new reality broke everyone, Javier was no exception. Bandoliers decorated his vested torso, his wounds earned in Guarma still raw, paying it no mind to rest and heal. 

“You sure you’re alright?” His words broke through your clouded mind, you gazed back at his prying eyes in hesitation. 

“Leave with me. Let’s run away.” The words finally escaped you, your heart now pounding in your ears. The added tension was bound to break at any moment. 

The outlaw now lazily wore a cigarette on his lip, it sagging ever so slightly as he contemplated your words carefully. Javier seemed to always deliberately think about what you said; that is just the kind of man he is. But if he could properly rationalize his reaction was a shot in the dark. Before too long his dull eyes turned ablaze in blinded fury as if you spoke blasphemy. 

A sharp breath exited his nose, his broken fists clenched at his side as he prepared to speak, a powder keg waiting to blow. 

“My bones break for you, I’ve killed for you, fuck— amor, if I didn’t know any better I’d die for you.” Javier’s words cut through the air like knives, sharp but quiet. 

“—and now you’re asking to leave? Is my loyalty not good enough— have I not proven worthy to you?” He ranted, presenting a side you had not seen before. 

But you had no defense, Javier was the most loyal lover and companion you ever had. Time and time again he proved that, with no hesitation he would put himself in between any dangers you could face. A promise he made to himself that night, unable to bear the thought of losing you. Additional scars and wounds that would be nonexistent if he were not protecting an extension of himself. 

“Answer me!” He shouted, not caring if the gang— or what was left of it heard.

“Why can’t you trust me?” Javier’s voice suddenly lowered again in betrayal, like a horse who finally broke under the stress of Dutch van der Linde’s wrath. 

“Javier—“ You mumbled softly in shock, begging for some sort of reasoning from the outlaw. 

“I trust you, Javier, it’s—“

“Then what do you want from me?” He spat, arms gesturing out in frustration. 

“I want you, Javier.” 

“Me?!— I am yours! I’ve been yours since that night at the lake! Whether you know that or not, estúpida.”

That night you two had snuck away for a swim while the gang rested in Clemens Point. The lake looked like glass, reflecting off the starry night, only to be broken by your intimacy. Your eager fingertips ran over the cowboys scars and insecurities, gentle lips trailing down his olive skin, from his cheeks to his collarbone, covering every area not submerged. 

In midst of Javier’s vulnerabilities he couldn’t do anything but hold you dumbfoundedly, his trembling hands resting underneath your thighs which wrapped around his hips. The close contact made blood rush to his head, and among other places. 

He remained that way for the entire swim, afraid to make the wrong move and scare you off, despite your naked body quite literally holding onto his, an unmistakable gesture for the trust you held for him. 

Javier swore up and down there were twice as many stars in the sky that night, which only encouraged him to make that promise to you. It was also that night he knew you officially had to be his, despite Micah’s advances—

“If you trust me, you’d trust Dutch’s plan.” He offered calmly, resting a hand on his belt. 

“They’re picking us off one by one— Javi, we’re on borrowed time, you must see that.” 

Javier adjusted his neck handkerchief, gaze locked on the ground away from you and the camp dwellers. 

“Why don’t’cha go, Dutch needs me strong.” He murmured simply, unaware of the extent you would obey. 

Your hands ran along the crumbling log bark before raising to your feet, wishing the man could see things how he used too. Quiet foreign curses and phrases then fired off the outlaws tongue while you departed, you recognized some of the words being that of a female dog. As you spun on your heel, the entire gang silently watched the dispute unfold from camp. 

“Fine! Sit here and wait for Dutch to turn the water into wine!” 

“Oh fuck off, chica!”

And those were the last words he spoke to you, they painstakingly replayed in his mind for the rest of the day. No one dared to ask the short-tempered outlaw what happened— not even Micah. 

The following day Javier figured he’d offer an apology to you, and perhaps convince you to prolong the running away. Emerging into your shared tent that early morning revealed an empty cot, along with your ransacked belongings at a disarray. 

After asking around camp, no one seemed to know where you wandered off to, everyone had problems of their own— the girls spat curses at him after witnessing yesterday's event, they were the least likely to talk, especially after what happened to Molly. 

The guilt and worry ate him alive throughout the day, he spent it scouting around, fearing the worst— what kind of man was he if he couldn’t keep the only promise he made? 

Defeated, the outlaw rode back into camp, Dutch lecturing him about his prolonged absence, while Micah sat at the wooden table behind them. A shit eating grin plastered on his face. 

Javier’s suspicions grew as his temper shortened, afterall, Micah was the only one he didn’t ask. 

“See my girl today? Hope not, for your sake.” He asked casually, gesturing towards the man. Micah grinned at his obvious uneasiness, dragging his boots from the table. 

“I was gon’ follow ‘er, partner, honest, but she’d threaten to gun me down, of sorts.” He shrugged, stretching out his arms lazily. 

“Where is she?” Javier demanded with a shout, further approaching Micah. 

“Easy now.” He replied, reaching slowly into his inner vest pocket, then presented a folded piece of paper he had nabbed from the tent after you fled. 

With an aggressive snatch of the paper, Javier read your note, a western cattle town scribbled down with a simple “I’ll wait for you.” 

Written so beautifully, he ran his fingers over the letters, but was rudely interrupted by a certain condescending voice.  

“So— is she our rat, amigo?” 

Javier glared at the man over the paper he clutched, unable to speak. 

“Ah, well, I knew she was no good, shoulda just let me have—” 

“Shut up, Micah— Don’t speak of her.” He hissed after a contemplating pause, desperately trying to restrain himself from disposing his pent up anger on the shyster. 

“C’mon cowpoke… only jokin’, ya’know how women are.” 

“Sure. You weren’t this chipper the nights she’d lay with me, cabrón.” Javier growled, taking a step closer to him, cracked knuckles beginning to bleed from the strain— anything to get the bastard to shut up. 

Micah chuckled sourly, his teeth gritting as he rocked in his chair. 

“Whatever you say, Mr. Escuella.”

Javier spat at the bastard's feet before crumpling up the letter with a toss, he then watched the paper engulf in flames and eventually turn to ash. But his love for you remained. 

That same night Javier sat on the edge of the path, unbothered to stand for his shift, revolver placed in the dirt next to him. 

He dug his boot into the dirt, creating a little divot with his heel, which only made his injured leg burn and sting, the pain keeping his mind at bay. 

Restlessly propped up against the same log the pair sat yesterday, he sighed in despair, freeing his aching head from his bowler hat. 

The cigarette Javier desperately puffed on nearly burnt his bloody fingers, his cheek puffy and purple. For what it was worth the outlaw would have killed Micah with his fists alone if Charles wasn't around to pry him off. Flicking away his ash he ran his fingers over the bloody patch, his mind unable to stray away from you. 

Leaning back on the log, Javier gazed up into the nights sky— and there were twice as many stars as usual— he huffed shakily, thinking of your words out loud. 

“Borrowed time.”

~

[blindmagdalena]

I was rereading the reader breaks up with homelander fic and it got me thinking 🤔 . What if homelander and his partner are hanging out or something and homelander is talking and his partner isn't paying attention or misunderstands him and thinks he's breaking up with them and they're like what? You aren't breaking up with me! You arent getting rid of me buddy that ship has sailed and there's no receipt! How would he react?

Homelander blinks several times. "What?" "It's not happening," you tell him, audibly swallowing a lump in your throat. He can smell your anxiety, and yet your head is tipped back in pure defiance.

He has to bite back the smile that threatens to form. Christ, you think he's dumping you. Admittedly, he probably could have phrased this whole plot of his better than I think we need a break.

"It's not?" He asks, carefully talking around his amusement, keeping his tone even.

"No," you say firmly. You take his hands, and knowing what he knows, he can't help but find the anxious purse of your lips deeply endearing. You always do that when you're trying not to cry. "We'll talk, and we'll-we'll figure out the problem," you say, squeezing his hands.

He almost feels bad keeping you on the hook like this, but fuck, you're so goddamn cute. "You think so?"

"Yeah," you say quietly, heart thudding loud and sweet in his ears. You sure got worked up quick. It's almost mesmerizing to watch how rapidly your demeanor falls into this frenzy, desperate to fix what isn't even broken. It's like yanking a direct line to seeing just how deeply you love him.

"Just... Just please don't... don't-" Your voice catches, eyes turning glassy.

Oop, too far. Now you really look like you're going to cry.

"Okay, okay, okay," he says, untangling his hands from yours so that he can pull you into his arms, stroking his hand up and down your back in firm, soothing sweeps. "It's alright, okay. I hear you. No vacation."

There's a long pause. He tries desperately not to laugh. Slowly, you press your hands to his chest, and lift your gaze to meet his. Your eyes narrow. "What?"

"You know, a break. I was thinking we could use a break, get out of the city. Check out Hawaii or Italy," he says, practically chewing each word. He can't keep the Cheshire cat grin off his mouth any longer.

Your jaw slowly drops. "You..." Even though he sees it coming a mile away, he does nothing to prevent you from whalloping your fist against his chest. "You evil man!" You gasp, striking his padded chest again. "You wicked beast! You creature!"

Homelander's outright cackling now, impervious to your strikes. He catches your wrists and yanks you into a gleeful kiss, humming a devious little purr against your lips. "C'mon," he rumbles. "You didn't really think I'd let you get away that easily, did you?"

"Stop kissing me, I'm kicking your ass," you say, stubbornly twisting in his grasp, kicking ineffectually at his shins. "You scared the shit out of me."

"I don't see how this is my fault," he says, backing you up against the wall, maneuvering both of your wrists into his one hand, pinning them above your head. His grin is downright wolfish. "You're the one jumping to conclusions."

"You said we needed a break!" You say, but when he presses his body against yours, you practically melt into it. He kisses you until you stop biting at his lips, until you cease those meager attempts to twist out of his iron clad grip. He kisses you until your heart beat settles, and you're kissing him back.

"Italy," you say, warm breath mingling with his.

"Hmm?" He hums, in a little daze all his own. He feels intoxicated by your visceral response, by your possessiveness and desperation to keep him.

"I want to go to Italy," you clarify, kissing him again.

He smiles.

"Anything you want, babe."

[keirawantstocry]

writing idea: fit finally returning a morning crew "I love you"

been thinking ab this for a while just havent had the motivation to write it but i finally did!!! <3

Fit woke with a gasp as he felt his communicator repeatedly buzzing against his chest. In his speed to get it, he knocked into the two men curled into either side of him, waking them both up. 

“Fitch?” Pac asked, his accent thicker with the blanket of sleep still draped over him. 

Tubbo just groaned, burying his face deeper into Fit's chest. 

Fit squinted at his com, trying to blink the thick sleep out of his eyes. Ever since coming to the island he had the best sleep of his life. He had never been this relaxed in the wasteland, never been trusting enough to sleep without being on the urge of waking up to protect himself. He sighed. “It's Phil.” 

“Does he need you?” Pac asked at the same time as Tubbo grunted, “Tell him to fuck off you're busy.” 

“It's about the eggs,” Fit said, trying and failing to push them off him gently. “He needs my help, guys.” 

Tubbo's groan turned into a whimper. “Do you have to?” 

Fit murmured affirmation, peeling Tubbo's arms off him as Pac let go easily. “I'll be back before you know it okay? Keep each other warm while I'm gone, okay?” 

Tubbo scooted in closer to Pac, wrapping his arms around his chest, before murmuring discontentedly and repositioning himself to be higher up, Pac's face resting in the soft flesh of his chest. 

“We will, Fitchie,” Pac murmured in a soft voice. “Love you.” 

“Love youuu,” Tubbo echoed in a drawl. 

Fit paused as he took out his warpstone. “I love you too,” he said quickly before he felt his face grow bright red and teleported away before they could respond. 

Their eyes flew open as soon as he was gone, looking quickly to each other. 

“He said it,” Pac said in awe. 

Tubbo sniffled, wiping away an imaginary tear. “They grow up so fast.” 

Pac elbowed him in the stomach. “Be serious. Can you imagine how hard it was for him to say that? And he said it to us!” 

Tubbo looked down at Pac curiously. “He's never said it to you before?” 

Pac shook his head. “No, he hasn't. Just us. When we're all together.” 

It was Tubbo's turn to go a bit red. “Oh,” was all he could muster. He pulled Pac in closer, tightening his fists in his shirt and closing his eyes. “That's… nice.” 

Pac hummed in agreement, as they both settled back down into the depths of sleep. 

[spotaus]

New Age AU (Waking Nightmare)

Heyyy everyone! I'm scheduling this to post rlly early in the morning my timezone so don't mind that- We are officially (at least for a little bit) going in order for these drabbles! So, they may be a bit more boring than some of my other ones, haha-

Having said that, here's a third addition for the main-story! (un-edited as usual so please ignore my fumbles haha!)

(My beloveds @ancha-aus , @papiliovolens, and @mutzelputz ! Hi again!)

Comforting darkness. Night couldn’t be sure of the last time he’d slept so soundly. The remnants of a chill against his bones worn away by heavy sheets and a warm softness that engulfed him. 

His mind was bleary as he felt the edge of consciousness snake into his skull. Some little energy that sparked in his chest and urged his mind to catch up with the restlessness of his stationary magic. He was so cozy. His magic was right, though. Like every other day, he had duties to attend to and events to oversee. 

A meeting with the lord of a border town at 9 this morning, a temple-leader at 10, a break until lunch which he planned to use to help prepare Horror’s gear for his upcoming mission, then an incoming shipment of goods would arrive around 2, he’d host the merchants for an hour or two, then the Knights training would be at 6. Most of the tasks felt like routine at this point, there was always someone who needed direct audience, and Nightmare saw fit to at least hear them out, though some obviously took priority over the others. The shipments wouldn’t be too difficult either, and the merchants were often simply charmed to spend time in the parlor of the King, he usually only had to sit and listen to grand tales until the merchants excused themselves for their next delivery. Training was likely his favorite daily task, he usually looked forward to it. Getting to be active, see his knights active, it was a treat after a long day. 

Hmm. Actually. Why was he having such a hard time remembering his plans for their work today? 

Nightmare felt his brows furrow in the blissful darkness of his room at the thought. He always ensured he established a new routine before he turned in for the night. Usually mulled it over during dinner as the others chattered about any sort of interesting topic, and wrote it out in his journal before changing and laying down. Or, more usually, turning to other papers and projects in need of handling. 

Only, he didn’t remember doing any of that. 

He would blame it on his sleep-addled brain, but as far as he could recall, he only can think of Cross and Horror’s sparring. He’d called it a day when Cross fell into routine, but… That was where his recollection of the day ended. No dinner chatter, no late-night bookkeeping, it was almost distressing. 

Maybe he’d simply had a long night. Sometimes when he went without sleep for a week or two his sleep would be heavy and he’d be groggy. Ccino might’ve been right, he’d need to be more aware of his sleep-schedule. Especially if it was starting to affect his memory. He didn’t want to start forgetting things. That would leave him vulnerable, susceptible to trickery and claims against his fitness to rule. He swore he’d ask Ccino about it later, if his journals didn’t provide him with enough context to jog the missing memories, of course. 

The only good news was that he must’ve only been asleep for a normal amount of time. There had been no wake-up call, from Ccino, his knights, or otherwise. Perhaps he was lucky enough to have awoken before the rest of the castle deemed him needed and he might get a chance to explore his writing before anyone expected him. 

Right, that decided it then. It was time to get up and around. 

Soundless, Nightmare outstretched an arm above his head and let his limbs uncoil as well. Cold air surrounded them, and he thought little of it as he moved to shove himself upright. He planted his elbows behind him, lifting, only-

“Nightmare?” 

The soft voice didn’t so much as startle him as it confused him. It came from somewhere behind him. Above him? He opened his good socket and found the room was, in fact, not pitch-black like he’d assumed. There appeared to be a single candle somewhere to his left. More alarmingly, however, was the familiar crimson glow of a target-shaped soul. Though, as Nightmare caught sight of it in the darkness with his fuzzy vision, it wobbled a bit, shape becoming unstable. 

Why… 

He blinked in thought, his mind running slowly to catch-up. That was Ccino’s voice. 

Nightmare twisted his head, and spotted, now, Ccino. He seemed tired, and he. He had been tucked under the covers, right beside him. Nightmare realized, with a jolt, that one of his elbows was digging into Ccino’s lap, and he lifted his weight off of him the second he connected the dots. Ccino’s eyelights were wide and bright despite the obvious bags under his eyes, and Nightmare felt like his skull was full of pudding as he tried to figure out why exactly this situation felt so strange. 

Of course, Killer probably shouldn’t have been in his quarters, to start with. He was welcome, of course, but the only time Nightmare had asked him in for the night were when he had paranoia fits, back at the start. He doubted he’d ask in both Killer and Ccino at once, though. So perhaps Ccino had asked him in? To watch over them or to deliver something? But that brought him back. Why was Ccino in his quarters? He would never complain, of course, he had always slept best with Ccino nearby, his magic and voice soothed his troubles, but it was strange. He didn’t recall having a break-down. There had actually been very few major stressors over the past few months, and very few which would bother him enough to need comfort. 

“Ccino?” He questioned in return after his prolonged silence provided him nothing in the way of answers.

Though. His voice seemed to tip him off to… something. It was tired, a tone Ccino was all too familiar with, but it was not deep. It didn’t rumble in his chest or project beyond himself with ease. His voice was hoarse and weak, as though he’d been crying. And. It was familiar. In the same way that Ccino’s arm which wrapped at his shoulder was familiar. 

“You’re awake… How do you feel, my king?” Ccino asked, then. 

Yes, something was certainly wrong. 

In the corner of his vision he noticed that Killer had gotten closer, stood at the foot of the bed, his soul dimly illuminating the underside of his skull. His grin was wide, the kind which followed naming a new cat or testing the weight of a new knife. Something had made him happy. Nightmare, realized starkly, that he could not feel that happiness. In its place was the cold of the room, and an eerie internal silence. 

“Strange. …Cold.” Nightmare spoke without thinking. 

Ccino had always been able to help him with his troubles. It was second nature to tell his woes to his caretaker- Caretaker? Ccino hadn’t- Nightmare hadn’t thought of Ccino as his caretaker in years. Ccino was- his guardian. 

Ccino shifted slightly, and Nightmare felt the arm on his side shift so that it covered more of his side. A significant portion of his upper arm, over his shoulder, and across his back. He leaned into it a bit. Ccino was warm. 

He could feel warmth again. And cold. What had happened?

“I… imagine that you would, my king. How much do you remember?” Ccino’s other hand crossed over his chest to rest on Nightmare’s forehead. 

It was warm, and he only barely refrained from attempting to throw his whole weight into Ccino’s palm. The back of his hand nearly covered all of Nightmare’s forehead. It was strange. 

Nightmare wanted to answer him, to say that he didn’t remember, ask for answers. But he lifted his hand to meet Ccino’s outstretched arm and. Well. Those were white phalanges. Peeking out from his heavy, thick sleeve were little hands with pearly bones and a soft purple hue between the joints. His reaching fell short by an inch or two, coordination lacking, his arm felt shorter than he expected it to be. 

And on the same note, his back felt sorely empty. Tendrils missing from his spine. Nothing to wrap around Ccino, subconsciously or not, and nothing to lean back on. 

Memories started filtering back. Feeling unsteady, falling off his feet, collapsing and losing his senses. His magic, all draining, all at once. His knights there, arms holding him. Ccino holding him. 

“I collapsed. Didn’t I?” He asked, voice small. 

There was a gentle hum from Ccino. 

“Yes, you did. Your Knights said that just after training your magic seemed to drain away, and they called for me when you became unresponsive. Does that sound right?” Ccino explained quietly, removing his hand from Nightmare’s skull.

He thought about it for a moment, but it sounded right. There was no reason to doubt Ccino was telling the truth, either. Ccino wouldn’t lie to him. He nodded. Yes, it did sound correct. 

Nightmare pulled his hand closer into view of his eye, and shoved himself to sit up with a little grunt. His bones ached again at the motion, but he ignored it in favor of looking at his hands in the low light. They both seemed untouched by the dark substance that had made up his body for the past seven years. In fact, they looked like they hadn’t been touched by any injuries at all since he’d acquired the apple. No cuts from catching Killer’s stray knives or blocking Horror’s axe swings, nothing that would even hint at him having been part of any training at all. The only sign of damage, for course, being the groove along his inner left palm. His bone has slowly, but surely, been stripped away in that location from his repeated practice with blood oaths as a youth. He’d nearly forgotten the mark was there at all. The scar hadn’t transferred to the god-like body the apple had given to him. 

Tentatively, he pulled up his sleeves just a bit and found the, now unfamiliar, gleam of fragile, thin bone hidden beneath the heavy fabric. He shivered at the invasive chill, but nonetheless dragged the covers back. Someone, likely Ccino, had removed his boots along the way. His feet were just as his hands, pure bone, not a hint of the negative magic left. There was likely none hidden under the rest of his wardrobe either. Entirely gone. 

He was entirely small.

By his assumption, and likely the conclusion Ccino had already confirmed to himself, Nightmare was now, physically, exactly as he was the morning of the coronation. A frightened, weak, untrained teenager. He was 13 again. 

“This isn’t-” good. He stopped himself.

Nightmare felt his soul pound in his chest for a moment as a realization struck him. As much as he felt young again, as much as sitting beside Ccino brought him calm, time hadn’t fallen back. Just his body. And, considering how slowly it felt he was chugging through realizations, maybe his mind had fallen behind again as well. 

He looked back to the end of the bed. 

Killer was stood there. Or, well, leaned. He had draped himself partially against one of the banisters which supported the dark cyan canopy above Nightmare’s bed. He was still grinning, though it had been toned down. He worried, for a moment. He couldn’t feel him still. He knew that look was often associated with contentedness from him. But what if he was wrong? What if Killer was only wearing a poker face, already aware that Nightmare had lost the ability to sense his lies- 

No, this was Killer. He was Nightmare’s first and most loyal knight. Ccino wouldn’t let him nearby, let alone inside the room, if he was planning anything nefarious. 

“Killer.” nightmare drew Killer’s attention, and the other perked up, though he’d already been staring, “What is the status of the others?” 

He watched as Killer stood up a bit straighter and chuckled to himself. 

“The others are well, my lord. We’ve been taking shifts ensuring this room stays secure, and going about business as usual. Horror and Dust took up Cross’ training the past two days, and we rescheduled Horror’s mission for two months from now, since we weren’t sure when you’d recover and didn’t want to have anyone too far from home.” Killer reported, his voice low, as though expecting someone to be listening in. 

Nightmare let the information roll through his skull for a few breaths. 

His knights had all stayed. They’d all still been in the training room when it happened, so they weren’t unaware of his… affliction. And. Days. Two days? Killer didn’t just add information like that for nothing. He’d been out for two entire days. Wow. So much for his meetings and shipment-collections. 

He felt himself frown in thought, before he caught himself and schooled his expression again. 

“And. I assume no one knows about… this. Aside from ourselves, Dust, Horror, and Cross?” He questioned, then.

Killer nodded smoothly, “Our most valuable team player came up with a cover. The rest of the castle believes you’re resting after overworking the past few months. Not a peep outside the grounds far as I can tell.” His hand gestured to Ccino, and Nightmare didn’t doubt that his head of house would be quick on his feet. After all, Nightmare had done similar things, tucking away after working on long and draining new laws or projects. “We threw folks off the scent who visited by letting Dust listen to them. Scary bastard got the information pretty fast, it’s in your study for when you’re feeling better, my Lord.” 

That was good. Nothing he’d have to worry about having missed, no tarnished reputation. 

He shivered again. It was still cold, even wrapped up in his heavy everyday clothes. 

There was much he had to catch up on, much he had to do. First of all being that he’d want to go back to the library, research the ritual. His mother had ruled for hundreds of years and those before her had centuries under their belts. Nightmare had seemingly been stripped of the magic. Only after seven years at that. He’d need answers. For himself, for those who trust him, for his people… Oh he was not looking forward to facing his people. 

Point was, this wasn’t normal. Never in their recorded history had a ruler lost the god magic. Maybe his corrupted appearance had always been a warning sign, a connection not made between himself and the apple? Maybe it was that Nim had been somehow tailoring the magic to Dream rather than him, so receiving a host that was incompatible it would only thrive for so long? Or perhaps it was that bloodshed which never happened. Whatever burning desire to kill which had driven him to near madness in those first moments, in the weeks after, maybe because he never fed it enough, the magic starved? He hadn’t gotten blood on his hands since that first year… 

“Understood. Thank you, Killer.” Nightmare praised his knight. 

He needed to get started. Make up for lost time. He could already feel the nerves of uncertainty starting to kick in.

“If you could, collect them? I want to speak to you all, and-” Nightmare’s voice fell short with the sound of a clearing throat. 

He paused and glanced back at the culprit. Ccino. 

Nightmare had slipped free of his hold at some point, now only their legs touching through the comforter. Ccino’s arms were crossed and he was watching Nightmare with a look the king knew all too well. It was a dissuading stare, one he knew meant ‘think about what you just said and try again’ without saying it out loud. This was the stare he’d received when he’d brought Killer back to the castle. And hired Dust. And every other questionable character roaming the halls. 

The king remained silent in the wake of Ccino’s stare, though he looked at him with what he hoped were the big, watery sockets he used to wield in his youth. Maybe one thing might be working in his favor from this bodily downgrade. 

Ccino seemed to give in first, letting out a gentle sigh. 

“My king, you are still in recovery, you just woke up from a very large change. The castle won't expect you for at least another two days, maybe longer. Your knights will be patient. Besides, you have a skull wound, and I do believe that if I don’t help you tend to it before Horror sees you again, he may be distressed.” Ccino explained, lifting one hand out to gently pet over the blind side of Nightmare’s skull. 

The king was frustrated to find that he let out a little squeak as Ccino’s feather-light touch caught on a crack he hadn’t even realized was there. He flinched down a bit, and Ccino retracted his hand like lightning. 

Nightmare noticed, but he didn’t think much of it, too occupied with reaching his own little hands up to touch the bottom of his dark socket and trail up out of his line of sight. It hurt, if felt like his skull was on fire and a headache split through his thoughts when he had seemingly traced too much of it. Near the top of his skull, a little fragment was misplaced, other cracks and crevices trailing from it. Ouch. 

Unlike his palm wound, he didn’t recall being so injured on his skull. Unless. Oh, right. How could he have forgotten? At the coronation, before the magic had fully bonded to him. The blow that had made him half-blind in the first place. He hadn’t realized the strike had been so deep. 

He focused again on Ccino, and saw how closely he was being watched. 

“You- You’re right.” Nightmare practically mewled, “Killer, disregard that request. Continue with what you’ve been doing since I became indisposed.” 

He didn’t have to look to the Knight, having heard a ‘Yes, m’lord’ from the end of the bed. 

“Then, we should get this wound cleaned.” Nightmare voiced. 

Ccino hummed. 

…

The water was warm. That he was grateful for. It seemed to chase away the chill of the room he’d left behind. 

The bath was connected through a doorway, of course, but he’d asked Killer to stand guard and ensure no one entered. He didn’t want anyone seeing him like this, least of all entirely nude. That would only end in disaster. 

It had been years since he’d taken a proper bath, the negativity never quite agreed with water, and yet Ccino had slipped into the routine as though it’d only been yesterday that he’d last done it. He started the water and collected soaps and scrubs and towels. Then he’d helped Nightmare out of bed, and walked with him to the bath. Locked the door behind them, and assisted Nightmare in removing his too-big layers. He was shaky still, with movements. It felt like he couldn’t carry his own weight anymore. 

Now, he sat submerged up to his chin in the clear, warm, water enjoying the weightlessness and trying to ignore the strangeness of looking at his own bones again. In some ways he knew this was him, but in others… 

“Nightmare, are you alright with me starting to clean your wound?” Ccino’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. When Night looked at him he continued briefly, “Horror said it might hurt, so if you need a break just tell me, alright? We can take as long as you need.” 

Night glanced to Ccino, and found that he’d, at some point, removed the apron Night had spotted on him earlier, as well as rolled up his sleeves, and removed his fur shawl. His eyelights met Nightmare’s, but he was pretty sure that they’d been examining his skull again. Based on how it had felt before, he didn’t doubt it’d probably hurt. 

“Yeah, okay.” He agreed quietly, leaning his back against the warmed edge of the tub. 

It was an inground tub, one seemingly carved into a smooth stone. It was far too big for him, especially now, but it might’ve fit his mother perfectly and given her room to stretch. She was a tall woman. Nightmare was curled nearest to one of the edges where ‘steps’ had been carved in. Ccino sat cross-legged just behind him on the ledge. 

He stayed still as Ccino scooped down beside him and cupped some of the water into a little bowl he had on-hand. Carefully, he poured it over Nightmare’s skull, moving one of his hand to make sure none of it went into his dark socket while he closed his other one. The warmth made him shover, but it was nice. He missed being able to feel warm. Maybe now he’d remember to light the hearth in the study more often. 

Next, he felt as Ccino must’ve grabbed a cloth, because he carefully slid it across the top of Nightmare’s skull. Just as his finger had, it snagged a few times, but Nightmare bit back the need to flinch. It was fine, he could handle it. This repeated a few more times, before more water poured over his skull. The repetition was calming. 

There was a pause, and then the silence of the bathroom was quietly filled with the beginning notes of a hum. Night knew that hum, it was the one that Ccino always hummed for him when he was stressed, or couldn’t sleep, or needed to relax. Of course, sometimes Ccino would hum on his own, too. When he was working, or when they were sitting in the study, or he was pleased with something. It was always a comfort. 

He figured it must’ve been to distract him, because a pressure invaded a portion of his skull towards where the big opening had been, and squinting his socket open revealed that Ccino had begun to actually work at the cracks left in his head. He had… some sort of brush, he thought, and scrubbed slowly, but with more force than anything previous. Sure, it hurt, but he didn’t want Ccino to stop, it’d better to get it all over with at once. 

The humming persisted, only pausing every once in a while for Ccino to check in with Night, but the young king always just nodded and asked him to keep going. 

Only when the wound was entirely clean did Ccino see to stop and let out a breath. 

“Alright, all done.” Ccino announced. 

If he’d been well, if he hadn’t had such an injury, Night probably would’ve let himself sink fully under the water and sit there for a few breaths. That would’ve been nice. 

“Thank you, Ccino.” He said instead. 

His skull still throbbed in protest from the cleaning, Ccino probably dislodged particles that had been in place for seven years just waiting to cause him trouble. Despite that, he shifted so that he could prop his arms up and out of the water, to look at Ccino. 

His head of house was already going about cleaning his supplies, putting them away all neat and tidy. He didn’t say anything, but when he caught Nightmare looking at him, he gave a soft smile.

Ccino stood to go return the items to their rightful place in the cabinet, leaving only a washcloth, soap, and several warm towels in his wake. 

Nightmare took up the washcloth and soap, taking the initiative to start scrubbing away at his own bones. This scenario felt like something straight out of. Well. Before. Before he found the scroll, before the ritual, before the coronation, before sending Dream away, before his rule, before the knights, before all of it. It was as though, in all that time, so little had changed. 

“Ccino?” Nightmare spoke up, the other skeleton was still on the other side of the room. He only continued when he heard a quiet ‘yes, my king?’ from across the space. “Ccino. I- I don’t know- I don’t know what I’ll do now.” 

He hadn’t allowed himself to have the thoughts before, to doubt himself, but the truth was blaring. He was young again. All the magic that had provided him security, that had been able to earn him a face of fear and power, that had drawn so many to respect him… it was all gone. He would do research, but he doubted he could get it back. The magic was provided by his mother’s soul, and well, he was sure that it was no longer with him. Whatever magic he’d assessed to have lost had to be gone. Long, long gone. 

And with the loss of the magic would come the loss of his status, and the loss of his status would mean the loss of everything. One well-placed sword-strike or arrow-bolt could end his life, and the entire kingdom would fall to the wayside in his wake. Of course, he believed in his people to maintain best they could, but he hadn’t even finalized his revisions. The farms were still being subsidized by shipments out of kingdom, the funding for restoration after the floods and storms wasn’t anywhere near finished, and he had no heir or next of kin to pass the throne to… except for Dream. And he loved his twin dearly, but he was sure his brother would seek to undo all his work, would dismiss those he cares for, would reinstate the blood-magic. It would leave way for slave contracts and sacrifices to arise again. 

“What do you mean by that?” Ccino asked, crossing the space back to him. Had he spaced out?

Nightmare returned to vigorously scrubbing at his neck and shoulders, using it as an excuse to partially turn away from Ccino’s gaze. 

“Everyone has followed me because I could promise protection, safety, a new life. My plans are not finished yet, and I’m weak now. Anyone who were to see me would see me as weak, and an easy target. I-” He paused a second, “I worry I won’t survive to be able to see my promises through. My- my state will only put people in danger. Put you in danger.” He voiced. 

He would have died in those first few weeks if not for the might of his magic. It worked as a repellent enough that assassins and rebels learned to not even go near him. Without that…

“My king, are you doubting the skill of your Knights?” 

Ccino’s question caught him off-guard, enough-so that he shot his skull around to look at him. What did he mean?

“No, they are highly skilled and powerful.” Nightmare answered.

Ccino was watching him with a stern expression, had he said something wrong? 

“Your Knights have been trained, by you, to do two missions. Their second is to serve and assist this kingdom. The first, which you seem to have forgotten, is to protect you.” Ccino explained, tone even. “Until now, you’ve simply been strong enough that they haven’t had the chance to show you just how often they’re looking out for your wellbeing.” 

Nightmare felt foolish as he stared at Ccino. He couldn’t muster any words, his mind was racing to figure out if he was right. 

“You know. He likely won’t say anything, so as to not wound your pride, but when I got to the training room after your collapse? Killer had you tucked in his arms, holding you close. The only reason he let go, I think, is because I showed up and you wanted to get to me.” Ccino explained, and Nightmare felt heat rush to his skull. He remembered collapsing, and Killer caught him, but Ccino was right, he hadn’t ever touched the floor. “And I was there to witness as your other knights agreed to stay. To continue to train, and work, and wait for you to wake up. Even Cross, and he’s hardly been here a fraction of the time the others have.” 

Ccino let out a tired sigh, and Nightmare stared at him, wide-eyed. “My point is, my king, that they have all seen you. As I see it, they plan to abide by their oaths, and their own morals, to continue to serve you. Not your magic, but you. So, at least for their honors, don’t dismiss them so readily.” 

Ccino moved again to sit at the edge of the bath, and Nightmare hesitantly sat his washcloth back on the edge. A sniffle escaped him as he let Ccino’s words sink in. He was right, of course. Without his being awake, any of them could have simply left, no harm no foul. And yet Killer was outside the bathroom door right this moment, the others working their hardest to keep up appearances. 

He sniffled again, and felt tears attempting to well in his sockets. 

“Y-you’re right, Ccino.” Night muttered, but, “You won’t leave, right?” 

He wished, a part of him at least, that Ccino would. He’d stayed here in this place that tormented him for so long. He’d stayed by Nightmare’s side through it all. But now Nightmare couldn’t protect him. Couldn’t keep him safe. He wasn’t even an adult anymore, he was young and inexperienced again, and- He knew he wanted Ccino close, though. Moments like this, selfishly, he needed. Especially now.

“My Nightmare.” He was only a bit startled as Ccino shifted and cupped his hands around the sides of Nightmare’s skull, careful of his newly revealed injury. He allowed himself to be dragged closer to the edge where Ccino was sat. “You know my answer. I have no plans to leave your side. Not back then, and especially not now. I love you too much to ever think of leaving.” And Ccino gently brought his skull down to nuzzle his nose against the top of Nightmare’s skull. 

The little king sniffled again and felt the tears fall from his good socket. He leaned his skull closer to Ccino’s legs and pressed against the soft fabric of his pants leg. Ccino always knew just what to say to him. 

“Promise- promise me something?” He piped up, socket closed, trying to stop the flow of tears. 

Ccino hummed in question.

“Promise you’ll tell me? If you’re upset, or sad, or mad? I- I can’t just know anymore, and I don’t want to hurt you because I don’t notice.” The again was silent. They both knew that Nightmare had been an ignorant child. That Ccino was good at hiding what he really felt. 

“I promise you, Nightmare. I will tell you.” He agreed.

…

“My lord!” Killer greeted enthusiastically when Nightmare trailed Ccino out of the bathroom. 

The knight had been standing standing in the space beside the door just next to the bed, and Nightmare looked to him as he exited. 

He realized, suddenly, that Killer was taller than him. 

Oh. That would take some getting used-to.

“My lord, do I have something on my face?” Killer asked, moving his sleeve to drag across his cheeks. 

Night realized, with a start, that he must’ve lost his poker-face along with the negativity which used to engulf his expression. He blinked, and watched as Killer, very much intentionally, smeared the magic which fell from his sockets across the lower half on his face. His grin didn’t fade.

“Well, you didn’t.” Nightmare responded almost out of habit, furrowing his brow. He tried to ignore the fact that he had to reach up in order to plant his hands on other side of Killer’s skull. It only occurred to him in a moment that he no longer had his tendrils to wipe away the excess markings like he would normally do. “Hold still.” Nightmare insisted, even though Killer hadn’t moved an inch. 

Instead of tendrils, Nightmare used one of his sleeves, pulling the baggy fabric up and over his fingers, to scrub at the still-fresh magic and wipe it away. It hardly took a few second, but he huff in content when he deemed it a job well-done and released Killer’s skull. The way the other straightened up and his sockets turned to crescents alongside his grin made Nightmare smile a bit to himself too, before he quickly turned away. 

Only when he saw Ccino standing near his desk with a fond smile did it occur to him that what he’d done must’ve looked silly now. Actually, he used to do it all the time without a second thought. Had Killer done that on purpose? Well, he usually did it on purpose, but. Whatever. Don’t overthink it! 

Nightmare quickly started to walk away, moving himself with wobbling steps towards his desk where Ccino had stood. 

He was still uneven on his legs, strides connecting with the ground much more quickly than he was used to, but he’d manage okay. The warm water had helped to loosen his sore magic and now only a dull ache persisted from the wounds in his skull. 

He was silent as he popped up onto the stool sat before it and pulled open the main drawer, just below where he would normally be writing. The drawer itself was full of papers, organized and filed away, several being scrapped versions of the newest laws he’d put into place. He moved those aside, lifting them onto his desk, before digging his phalanges beneath a piece of wood in the bottom. Secret pockets in drawers were nothing special, Nightmare had found there was one in about every drawer in the castle with any significant purpose, and so he rarely used them for anything actually important. Except for this one. 

He had to take a breath as he stared at the object before him, and lifted it up with careful hands so that the other two could see it. 

A mask. One carved out of sacred wood, made for him when he was only five. One of a pair, the other far off, safe in another kingdom with his twin. 

This one was flat, shaped like the curious, round face of a barn-owl, the eye-holes round and wide. The wood was an unnatural ashy gray, slightly tinged purple from years and years of exposure to his magic. IOn either side sat a thick, satin ribbon, which would easily support the weight when it was tied around the back of his skull. 

Nightmare, honestly, had never intended to bring this relic back out. It hadn’t fit his skull as an adult, and so he’d resorted to hiding it away in storage. A relic of an era behind him. And yet, here it was, back in his hands again. No doubt it would fit his skull just as perfectly as it had the day of the ritual, when he’d finally grown into it. 

“I’ll wear this, I think, when I return to my duties.” He voiced to no-one in particular, before turning to Ccino, “Would you do the honors?” He asked, lifting the wood to his skull.

Ccino was quiet as he stepped around and took up the soft purple ribbons. Ccino knew just how secure it needed to be, and we evidently careful of his wound. Nightmare knew when he was finished, and hopped off the stool. 

A mirror in the far corner of his room was his goal, and when he stood in front of it, he felt small. The clothes were baggy, his body thin and scrawny, his stature almost hunched. Had he always looked so scared as a kid? Maybe that was why Ccino had always stayed nearer to him than Dream. Most strikingly, his mask, and his socket, looked identical to the last time he remembered looking in a mirror like this. Aside from his dark socket, of course. 

No one had directly told him so, but they had been right to keep him inside, to not take him to the healers. He was probably about half his normal height with his bare feet against the carpet covering the stone floor. He looked tired. His magic wasn’t even right anymore. 

He laughed, quietly, at the sight.

“It looks like I’ll have to do some training of my own.” he voiced, already feeling tired at the prospect as he moved to untie his mask. 

By the time it slipped into his free hand, Ccino was at his side, and Nightmare passed it off to him to hold. He got closer to the mirror now, to get a better look at his skull. The light was still dim, but being more awake his magic was working to make up the difference. 

“Training, my Lord?” Killer questioned curiously from somewhere behind him.

Nightmare nodded to himself, prodding at one of the cracks which trailed down to his socket. He hissed before deciding not to touch them again, just look. 

“Yes. Not for combat, though. To alter my magic signature and appearance. King Nightmare doesn’t have purple magic, after all.” He explained, “I think if I tried to spar with any of you now I would be tagged in half a second.” 

He hoped his tone wasn’t too weary as he admitted it. 

Killer laughed from behind him, “I don’t know, I think you’d make it at least a minute if you convinced Cross to a dueling-spar.” He joked.

It was a tease. Nightmare laughed in agreement, feeling a bit lighter. It must’ve been obvious to his knight that his physical condition was poor, and Killer had been there to watch Nightmare learn to fight as they both trained together. He didn’t seem distressed that Night wasn’t much of a combatant anymore. 

He could do this. He could do this. He just… needed some time, was all. Just like before.