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tothelasthoursofmylife · 11 months ago

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“Trains have surpassed ships as the worst type of transportation after all.”

On the way to Paris, France – June 1848

~Cloudia~

June 23

About 10:40

With a hiss and a screech, the train rolled out of the station.

Blood pounded in my head; thoughts and plans swarmed through my mind.

The train would not stop until it reached Paris.

Yvette and Jacques were five wagons ahead.

But where were Townsend, Florentin, and Maxime? And how many of their accomplices were here too?

“Countess,” she heard Cedric’s voice next to her. Only when she turned to face him and saw the wide, worried look in his eyes, did Cloudia realise that he must have called her a few times before she had reacted. His hand was still on her arm, their shoulders brushing against each other in this cramped space.

“They are on this train.” Her heart was racing, she was out of breath, and the words tumbled out of her before she could dwell on them. “I saw Jacques and Yvette boarding the train.”

Cedric’s eyes went wide behind his glasses. Cloudia registered a movement behind him: Aurèle, who stood behind Cedric and Kamden and was folded into this small space by the door with the others, lifted his head at the mention of his brother.

A passenger shoved his suitcase into his cabin and raised an eyebrow at the odd lot by the door before he entered the compartment and closed the door behind him. With the corridor now empty, Cedric gently pulled Cloudia into it. As soon as they stepped into it, the bubble broke, and the others spaced out too. Lisa and Newman remained in the back, whereas Milton stepped a little bit forward, close to Kamden. It was still very cramped – two next to each other was an imposition, three was an impossibility. Now, at least, they weren’t packed like sardines in a can.

“Jacques and Yvette are on this train too. I spotted them entering the wagon five coaches ahead of ours,” Cloudia said. This time she was slightly louder. The thundering of her heart had ebbed into a flicker, waiting in anticipation to re-ignite.

“But didn’t they kidnap Jacques nearly a day ago?” asked Cedric in bewilderment. “And you said Yvette and Maxime left Nanteuil-la-Forêt at about one or two in the morning – how did they arrive in Creil only now?”

“The heavy rain must have slowed them down,” Cloudia mused. “And maybe they did not immediately leave the village after I saw them at the hospital. They could have gone somewhere else within Nanteuil-la-Forêt first and might have been affected by the fire too.”

“That would explain why Maxime and Yvette might have been late but Jacques?”

“My brother isn’t an idiot,” said Aurèle. Cloudia saw Cedric open his mouth before quickly closing it again. “He wouldn’t have led them right to the Clockmaker, even if he was afraid.”

“You mean he could have led them astray first?” Cloudia replied, and Aurèle nodded.

“Cloudie, did you see anyone besides Yvette and…” Kamden wanted to know but his question was cut off by a gunshot and the sound of glass shattering. Cedric yanked Cloudia to the side. She crashed against a compartment door right when the bullet flew past her by a hair’s breadth.

And hit flesh.

A scream tore through the carriage. Cloudia did not turn to check who was hurt. Instead, she swiftly stepped away from the door, her own gun ready in hand – but another shot rang through the air before she could move.

Followed by the sound of metal hitting metal.

And a scream and a curse. Before she turned and confirmed it, Cloudia knew that their assailant hadn’t fired that shot.

Milton lowered his pistol. Though he remained alert, his gaze softened, changed, when he sighed, from concentration to worry. She could see he was about to say something but did not wait for him to speak. Cold realisation having hit her, Cloudia rushed along the corridor to the door at the other end of the wagon.

The clang, the sound of metal clattering against metal.

Of course, Milton had only disarmed the attacker. His gun must have hit the connector bars and was likely now bedded somewhere in the shrubbery behind us.

Which meant that the gunman was still alive.

Glass shards cracked under her shoes as she reached the door. She stared through its broken window to the neighbouring coach, saw the other coach’s door flung wide open and the attacker hastening to the end of the wagon. Cloudia raised her gun, fired once, twice, thrice until she saw him topple over, dead or close.

Cloudia turned to the others, the morning wind from the shattered window cool on her skin. Kamden scrambled to his feet – he must have either thrown himself on the ground or been pushed down – to tend to Aurèle who held his right shoulder, his face a mask of agony. Lisa and Newman walked towards her from the end of the coach. Cedric was still by the compartment door. He jumped to the side and against the windowed wall when the door slightly opened, and a head peeked out. Newman told the woman to stay in the cabin, and she readily obliged.

“I’m sorry, Lady Cloudia, I-” began Milton, who was the only one who had not moved.

“No need to apologise, Milton,” Cloudia cut him off. “You reacted perfectly; I did not expect you to shoot at the man,” she continued. As the words left her mouth, it dawned on her that she had just killed someone right in front of him, and the realisation sent an odd feeling through her. Cloudia mustered his face, but all it reflected was sorrow, a silent apology, not fear, and she recalled his words from earlier. Strange how only hours had passed since; the memory seemed further away. And although she knew that Milton didn’t lie, it was still soothing to be certain that he was not afraid of her.

But…

A thought bloomed in her head, something dark and pointy. Cloudia pushed it away. Later, she told herself; there was no time for that right now.

A shriek vibrated through the air, mixing with the hammering of the open door against the carriage wall and the rattling of the train as it breezed over the tracks. Cloudia glanced back to the other coach and spotted some passengers leaving their cabins and hovering over the body, pointing to the open door.

“That man, that reckless idiot,” said Cloudia to the others, “may not have been able to contact Yvette and Townsend somehow, but the passengers certainly will if enough noticed the corpse and heard the shots. And we don’t know how many of their people are aboard too, and where Townsend, Maxime, or the Clockmaker are.” She reloaded her pistol and pocketed it. “I doubt we can just stay put and wait until we reach Paris to get to Jacques; I suppose we need to go now.”

Cloudia looked at Newman. “I am not sure if the corridors are too narrow for you to move fleetly in,” she said. “I would not mind if you stayed behind, Newman.”

“I understand your concern, Lady Cloudia. However, as a butler, I cannot stand by idly while my mistress brings herself in peril,” replied Newman. “And as the Phantomhive butler, nothing shall be impossible. I will follow you, even if I am slow.”

“Very well,” sighed Cloudia.

“I’ll come too,” Aurèle pressed out from between clenched teeth. “I need to get to my brother.”

“Definitely not,” said Kamden firmly. “The bullet got stuck in your arm. I need to get it out first.”

“You heard that, Aurèle? You’ll stay. Jacques also wouldn’t want you to strain yourself when you’re injured.” Aurèle’s expression darkened, though he did not retort anything to her surprise. Cloudia then levelled her gaze at Milton. “You stay back too, do you hear me? When I agreed to let you come with us, it did not entail this.”

Before she could hear any protests, Cloudia pushed the wagon door open. Keeping her eyes firmly on the wagon ahead of her, not on the tracks below or the world blurring around, she took a run-up and jumped.

***

~Cedric~

June 23

About 10:50

The question of how she meant to go to Yvette and Jacques when the train was moving turned into a horrified “oh” when Cloudia jumped to the other coach. Immediately, Cedric ran to the open door, glass crunching beneath him. He sighed in relief when he saw that Cloudia had landed well and safely on the other side. Without looking back, she walked down the corridor to the terrified passengers.

Cedric turned to the others. When he noticed the expression on Kamden’s face – the wide-eyed horror – he wondered if it was a mirror of his own countenance too. Then, Kamden took a deep breath and returned his attention to Aurèle who looked rather pale and miserable. Blood seeped out from behind his fingers.

“Could you please hold him still, Mr Newman?” asked Kamden, and Newman obliged with a nod. Kamden carefully pried Aurèle’s fingers away and stuffed a cloth into Aurèle’s mouth before he stuck his finger inside the wound without any warning. Cedric winced when he saw that. Aurèle squirmed and shoved Kamden and, miraculously, even Newman away, spitting out the cloth in the process and cursing at Kamden in French.

“I’m sorry but I need to look how deep the bullet lodged,” said Kamden, undeterred.

“But like that?!”

“Yes, it’s either the finger or the probe.”

Kamden opened his bag and before he could pull out the probe, Cedric cleared his throat. He was far too familiar with that infernal metal rod, and he feared Kamden might procure the forceps alongside it for good measure. “K… Emyr, maybe it would be best if you got into a cabin where there are still empty seats. It’s better if Aurèle could sit down, isn’t it?” Cedric said and opened the closest compartment door. A pale-faced woman and a man holding an umbrella in defence stared at him.

“Do you mind…” Cedric started before he remembered that, of course, the couple could not understand him.

“If you may allow me, Your Grace,” said Newman gently before he began talking to the couple who grew paler with every word. Cedric wondered if they would turn translucent, eventually.

“Your Uselessness,” Lisa chuckled as she squeezed past him.

“You don’t know French either, Miss Greene,” Cedric shot back.

Lisa did not react; without another word, she simply followed Cloudia to the neighbouring carriage. Next to him, Cedric heard a half-swallowed, horrified “Lisa,” and when Cedric turned, he saw Newman shaking his head. Nevertheless, when he noticed Cedric’s eyes on him, Newman said tersely, “It is only right for her to follow Lady Cloudia. She can do it more swiftly in this environment than me.”

Cedric nodded. Newman had finished his explanation, and the umbrella-wielding man and his wife now hurried to gather their belongings. They, apparently, did not want front-row seats for an amateur bullet removal. Cedric watched them briefly before he shifted away from the cabin and noticed that pieces of rope were now dangling from the ceiling in a line by the windows. He stared up at the ceiling and saw that part of it had opened, letting the ropes fall out. Bewildered, Cedric looked around to the others, an enquiry on his lips. He halted upon noticing Milton knock on a compartment door. The door tentatively opened, and he spoke a few words with the woman. Cedric could not understand anything besides the final “Merci” (he recognised the word from the chocolate brand) before the door was drawn shut again.

With whatever he had wanted to do done, Milton walked to the open door. Unlike Aurèle who had slowly made his way away from Kamden and his probe and was now uneasily mustering the space between the carriages, Milton seemed unfazed when he looked outside. Alarmed by the look in his eyes, Cedric called his name and hurried to him.

It was such a small space, only a few metres, a few steps, from one end of the wagon to the other but Cedric was still too late to stop Milton.

Thankfully, Aurèle wasn’t.

Just when Milton was about to take a run-up, Aurèle grabbed his arm and yanked him back and against a cabin with impressive force considering his injury.

“You,” Aurèle hissed at Milton when Cedric reached them, “are meant to stay behind. Didn’t you hear my cousin tell you that?”

“I heard Lady Cloudia,” replied Milton calmly. He held Aurèle’s gaze, meeting his eyes with an expression so oddly hard and intense it felt foreign on Milton’s face. “Only I have no intention to stay put. She had one condition for me accompanying you all and that was that I would stay safe. And I agreed. Lady Cloudia only told me to remain behind because she thinks it would be unsafe, but I assure you I will be perfectly fine. You should also not have done that; you are only worsening your injury.”

“Aurèle, let him go,” said Cedric before Aurèle could retort anything.

“Yes, Aurèle,” Kamden added, joining them by the door. “Let him go. They vacated the cabin; now come. The bullet shouldn’t be inside you for too long.”

Scowling and grumbling, Aurèle took a step back and followed Kamden into the compartment. When the door was closed behind them, Cedric said, “Milton, I hope you’re well-aware that the Countess’ current plan of action is to jump between coaches on a running train until she reaches a bunch of criminals. One slip-up between wagons and you’re dead.” As soon as those words had slipped out, they dragged Cedric to the truth he had been ignoring for the last few minutes, ever since Cloudia had left their wagon.

One slip-up, one fall, one push, and Cloudia was dead.

“Kristopher,” Milton said with such gentleness that Cedric knew that his face had betrayed his thoughts. “There is no time to argue, is there? And I promised her, as I will promise you and whoever else I must, that I will keep myself safe.”

Cedric glanced to the other carriage. Cold fingers traced his spine when he saw that Lisa and Cloudia had already headed to the next one. “Very well,” said Cedric with gritted teeth. “Let’s go, Milton.”

***

~Cloudia~

June 23

About 10:50

Reckless, brash, idiotic, it swirled through my mind while I was airborne.

A moment ago, there had been rattling but firm ground under my feet. Now, there was nothing at all. I had jumped out of windows and carriages before, had felt the wind catch me, tear at my hair and clothes, force me down or sideways before.

But none of those memories fit with the sensation that overcame me now, in this moment, this second, this blink in which I was flying.

From one coach to another; metal beasts shrieking through the landscape with dozens of kilometres per hour.

Over a space only two, three steps wide and still as large as a canyon’s divide.

And then my feet touched the platform, and the moment was gone.

Cloudia grabbed the metal bars; the train hissed in anger at this violation of locomotive etiquette. Adrenaline pumped through her when she let go of the metal railing to stand properly on the small platform. The platforms on each end of a wagon were connected to a small set of stairs and possessed a simple bannister with an open gap on the side that faced the next coach. As if, despite locomotive etiquette, one was meant to jump between coaches.

Without looking back – she did not need to turn to know that Kamden and the others must have horror written all over their faces – Cloudia entered the carriage. Inside, three passengers were standing by the corpse, blocking the entire narrow walkway, and talking to one another with increasingly disturbed, panicked voices. Four more passengers were hovering on the doorsills to their cabins, their faces ashen and shocked as they stared at the body.

Straightening her back and squaring her shoulders, Cloudia approached the three men by the body and asked them to step aside for a moment. Puzzlement bloomed across their faces, mixed with their panic; still, one of the men stepped halfway into a compartment, allowing Cloudia to kneel by the corpse.

“I would recommend returning to your cabins,” she implored the men in French. “Or you might end up like that man here.” Though Cloudia had directly looked at the onlookers while she had spoken and pointed at the corpse and the slowly growing bloodstain, they were rooted to the spot, watching her with wide, terrified eyes. Cloudia clenched her teeth.

This undertaking could only be a hassle with all these civilians around and no proper way to evacuate them. Couldn’t the gunman have stayed put?

Cloudia pushed down her irritation and glanced at the dead man. From his clothes, she could tell that he must have been a Nanteuillat. What can you tell me? she thought and was about to look quickly through his pockets when she heard a clang and a curse behind her. Cloudia lifted her head and saw Lisa holding onto the railing and trying to regain her balance, cursing under her breath.

“Not waiting for Newman?” asked Cloudia and rolled the dead man on his side to gain better access to his pockets. “And miss out on some fun? Definitely not,” Lisa said. She glared at the onlookers until they stepped back a bit and then carefully squeezed past Cloudia and stepped over the body. “I also didn’t want to stay any longer with him,” she continued. Cloudia knew without Lisa needing to elaborate that she meant Milton. “His Gracelessness and Al got Mr Kamden and Mr Beauchene to sit in one of the cabins.”

“That’s good.” Cloudia pulled two knives and a train ticket from the corpse’s pockets; his cabin was the one right in the middle. Cloudia got to her feet and went inside the man’s cabin. It was empty. He had brought no luggage with him – understandable considering the situation. What truly brought Cloudia’s mind into motion was the fact that this villager had been given a ticket for a compartment for four people, even if he was left all alone. Had Yvette and Townsend travelled with an odd number? Or did the dead man have a partner? But if yes, where could they be?

There was no one hiding here, but they could be hiding in one of the other cabins, having threatened its actual passengers to remain silent. Or…

Cloudia left the compartment and looked down the corridor. The door at the end was closed. The platform was too small for anyone to get a proper run-up to be able to jump the distance between the coaches.

If the dead man’s partner had jumped to the next wagon, why would the dead man bother to close the door after them?

Cloudia retrieved her father’s dagger, holding it firmly in her hand as she slowly approached the exit door.

Why not leave it open?

Abruptly, Cloudia kicked the door open, catching the man behind off-guard and slamming it into his face. Surprised screams echoed through the air behind her. The man’s gun slid out of his fingers, tumbling one, two steps down. Before he could recover, Cloudia sliced his throat and pushed him down the stairs. She saw him hit the ground and watched him roll down the hill for only a moment – a moment in which the cabin door closest to her opened.

A man burst out of it, his gun raised. He fired, but Cloudia dodged, and the bullet collided with the railing. The metal vibrated behind her. She lifted the dagger, saw his finger about to pull the trigger again.

Before they could do anything, the man fell forward.

Cloudia fled to the narrow stairs, holding onto the bannister with one hand, as the man’s head hit the metal of the railing, then the platform’s.

“I should have waited for Newman, right?” said Lisa, bloody needle in hand.

Despite everything, a chuckle burst out of Cloudia. “Of course not.” She returned to the platform and kicked the corpse to the side before she glanced back to the corridor (squinting past the passengers who were now moving around like headless chickens, she could make out Cedric and Milton at the last carriage’s door). Then, she turned to the coach ahead.

And right into the face of a wide-eyed woman looking through the little window, having spectated everything unfold.

A passenger, maybe. Hopefully.

But then she didn’t scream, didn’t remain.

Instead, she tore herself free from her stasis and turned and ran to the end of the wagon, hammering on the cabin doors she passed.

“Damn,” Cloudia said and got ready to jump, “we need to get going.”

***

~Cedric~

June 23

About 11:00

With a sigh, Cedric held onto the bannister. The wagon rocked softly under his feet, and he needed a moment to compose himself after having jumped between coaches on a running train.

This was one of the most idiotic things I had ever done.

Nausea brushed its fingers against him when Cedric glanced into the chasm between the coaches, saw the tracks running and blurring beneath. He quickly tore his gaze away from the sight and shook his head. Letting go of the railing, he turned to walk into the corridor.

Milton had jumped first.

There had been no talk. He had simply gone first, and Cedric had felt odd when Milton landed on the next wagon’s platform, looking unfazed as he glanced back at him. The image clung to Cedric still as he watched Milton talk to the passengers. Although they were in uproar and hysteria, the soothing tone of Milton’s voice managed to reach Cedric; it was like a band of calmness weaving itself through the panic and trying to bring everything under control.

Cedric hovered by the door for a moment, mesmerised by Milton gently guiding passengers back to their cabins and easing their worries with a few, to him, unintelligible words. Then, Cedric shook himself free and elbowed his way through the screeching crowd and the narrow walkway, bumping against walls and shoulders and nearly tripping over a corpse before he finally got to Milton.

Cedric grabbed Milton’s arm, careful to avoid his wrist this time. “Milton! We need to go!” he said and tried to drag him along, but Milton would not budge.

“What are you doing?” yelled Cedric. “We need to continue to the next coach!”

“What about the passengers?” replied Milton, surprisingly steadfast although Cedric pulled on him again.

“We have no time to look after panicked passengers! They will manage.”

“No, you have no time for that,” Milton retorted. “You can go ahead without me, Kristopher. I will be fine on my own.”

“I cannot just leave you behind, Milton,” said Cedric, getting even more irritated that he had to move a bit sideways to let a man push through. This space was far too cramped for his liking.

“Of course, you can. I’m sorry; that might be your way, but it is not mine.” The serious expression Milton had worn in the burning cabin crawled back onto his face. He tried to pull away from Cedric’s grip; however, just like Milton had not budged, neither did Cedric, and he held on tight to him.

“Stop being so stubborn for once, Milton. You know I cannot leave you alone.”

“I am not a child that needs to be looked after,” replied Milton with an uncharacteristic cold edge to his words that startled Cedric, “and you are not my butler. I know you don’t even want to be with me right now, so just go ahead. Mr Newman will follow soon; I won’t even be alone for too long!”

“But…”

“Kristopher. We have little time for arguments. Can…” Milton faltered for a moment. Anguish briefly washed over his face as he continued, “Kristopher, can’t you trust me for once?”

Cedric flinched slightly. For a moment, a wing beat, they only stared wordlessly at each other. “Very well,” he said ultimately; his voice sounded distant even to his own ears. “Take care, Milton.”

Cedric let go of him and immediately turned to make his way through the crowd. Just as he reached the end of the carriage and was about to jump, he heard Milton’s voice, soft and quiet but still clear over the chaos, “You too.”

***

~Cloudia~

June 23

About 10:57

Cloudia landed on the platform with a loud clack that reverberated through the metal. Without stopping, she opened the door – and immediately someone ran into her. Instinctively, she grabbed his shoulders, shoved him back. “What are you doing,” she said. “There is nowhere for you to go.”

The man’s eyes widened at her sight, making Cloudia wonder if she had blood on her. Then, he yelled something that sounded like “murderer!” and turned and ran, right into someone else.

“What on earth,” Cloudia heard Lisa behind her.

“We were announced, apparently,” replied Cloudia dryly and ran into the wagon. The corridor was cramped. People were looking out of open compartments, wide-eyed; others were blocking the walkway. The damn woman from earlier had been quick to alert them all.

But she had not been quick enough to escape.

Cloudia thrust people aside. Some tried to grab her, but she kicked them away. The woman flung the door at the carriage end open. Behind Cloudia, Lisa cursed and then she heard a scream and a shout. No time to turn and look. Cloudia shoved someone away, quickened her pace.

The woman set out to jump. Cloudia lunged and grabbed her jacket. They both tumbled down to the ground. The woman yelled out when she hit the metal platform. Cloudia pulled out the dagger and was about to stab the woman in the leg when someone pulled on hers.

Caught off-guard, Cloudia let out a gasp but quickly composed herself and pushed herself off the ground and around, kicking at her assailant. He let her go, and Cloudia jumped to her feet. Unlike the men from the last wagon, she could not tell if he was a Nanteuillat or not. He could be with Townsend or a passenger who could not mind his business, believing that Cloudia was the villain here. All she knew was that the man was a nuisance and that behind her the woman must have regained her composure as well.

No time, no time.

Cloudia rammed the hilt of the dagger into the man’s jaw before she whirled around. The woman had just jumped off the platform. Fleetly, Cloudia switched from dagger to gun, raised it, took aim. The woman landed on the next coach’s platform. Cloudia’s finger curled around the trigger, pushed down.

Then, Cloudia was thrown against the windowed wall. The bullet was sent flying elsewhere. Passengers screamed.

A man pinned her to the wall, a hand clasped around her neck.

Goddammit, Cloudia thought and immediately raised her gun; thankfully, she had held tight to it. Before she could pull the trigger and shoot the man’s leg, he slammed it out of her hand. He tightened his grip around her neck, and she gasped for air that wouldn’t pass to her lungs. Cloudia tried to kick him, but she was beginning to see stars, and the man, so much taller and stronger than her, pressed a knee against her stomach.

Damn, damn, damn, echoed it through her mind as her lungs burned and her vision blurred. And then she remembered something Oscar had told her years ago.

With another wheeze, Cloudia stopped struggling, closed her eyes, and went limp in the man’s arms.

A moment later, he let go of her throat. She did her best not to gasp for air immediately. She let her body sack sideways. Before the man noticed that Cloudia was still breathing, she heard a familiar “Countess!” ring through the air followed by a grunt.

Not pinned against the wall anymore, Cloudia sank to the ground and now she allowed herself to take deeper breaths. She re-opened her eyes and peered right into Cedric’s concerned ones.

“Chartreuse eyes,” Cloudia managed to press out, her voice hoarse. “Am I dead?”

“Don’t joke about that,” said Cedric and helped her to her feet. “Are you okay, Countess?”

She rubbed her neck. “Yes,” Cloudia replied. She glanced at the man sprawled on the floor, unconscious. “I hope you didn’t kill him, Undertaker.”

“I just hit him with a knife handle. Maybe I should have killed him,” Cedric said darkly.

Cloudia immediately snapped her head around to him; a poor choice because she briefly saw stars again, though she did not care at this moment. “Don’t you joke about that. You know you cannot kill anyone.”

He looked at her. “But…”

“No ‘buts’. No killing for you.” Cloudia bent down to pick up her gun and quickly checked it. At the edge of her vision, she noticed the passengers staring at them. “Lisa should still be here somewhere.”

“I haven’t seen her. I…” Cedric quietened. Cloudia raised an eyebrow in question, though he did not continue.

With a shrug, Cloudia stepped through the crowd that, now shocked and terrified by what they had witnessed, parted like jittery ghosts for her. The carriage wasn’t big, so it was not difficult to find Lisa. Breathing heavily, she stood in a compartment. She clutched a bloody needle in her hands; her hair was half-pulled from her braid, and blood bloomed across her side. Still, Lisa looked better than the man lying in front of her on the bench, glassy-eyed and stabbed to death. Behind Lisa, a woman was hugging her two children to her chest and whimpered.

“Lisa!” Cloudia called, and her maid turned to look at her. “I hate this goddamn train,” Lisa said before her face crumpled in pain.

“Miss Greene! You’re hurt; what happened?” Cedric asked when he joined them.

“I hate you too,” hissed Lisa and sank into the seat next to the petrified little family, pressing her hand against her wound. “What do you think happened, you genius? This asshole pulled me into this cabin and yanked at my hair and stabbed my side. And I stabbed him many more times in return,” she finished with a wince.

Cloudia stepped to her. “Let me look at that.”

Lisa shook her head. “I assume that woman managed to get away? You need to follow her immediately.”

“I will after I quickly fix you up.”

Lisa glared at her. “I can bandage myself up just fine, Lady Cloudia. You know that I have practice. I’m only annoyed that I’m now out of action. Please avenge me by going after that woman and Yvette and whoever else is on this damn train.”

“Very well,” said Cloudia with a sigh. “Do you have what you need?”

Lisa rolled her eyes and dug out a roll of bandages from her pocket. “Yes. Now leave with His Gracelessness before I actually bleed to death in this miserable place.”

***

~Cedric~

June 23

About 11:05

The next wagon was mayhem too; only I barely registered any of it. As soon as I spotted Cloudia, my vision tunnelled and everything else went black, fell away. The passengers, the noise, even the coach itself.

The light only turned on again when I heard Cloudia’s laboured breaths.

After we found Miss Greene bloody and bleeding but alive and full of rage in a compartment, I slipped away, letting Cloudia argue with her alone. I glimpsed back at the carriage behind us and was stunned to see that it had cleared. Somehow, Milton had managed to coerce the passengers back into their cabins. He even seemed to have dragged the corpse elsewhere. Seeing the emptied, dirtied corridor, I could not help but feel bad that Milton had to move a dead body.

Even though he had not minded it at all to carry his dead employee.

I stumbled over that thought. Milton was standing on the side, and when he stepped away from the windows (what had he been doing?), our eyes met looking through the opened doors.

“Can’t you trust me for once?”

“Undertaker?”

Cloudia’s voice behind him made Cedric flinch. He quickly turned to face her, carefully obscuring her view to the door. She did not have to see that Milton was in the neighbouring wagon – at least not now as she would only get upset. Cloudia frowned at him. “Is everything fine?”

“Yes,” Cedric replied. “I was only looking around and didn’t notice you were done with Miss Greene.”

“I think saying that she is done with me is more fitting,” Cloudia said, sighing. “She insisted that I should go after that woman as she can very well fix herself up.”

“She can? That wound didn’t look good.”

“No worries; Lisa did that all the time before we met,” she told him and turned to jostle through the crowd. “Now, come. We do have to hurry and throttle some pests.”

***

~Cloudia~

June 23

About 11:15

Cloudia jumped first. Even before her feet touched the platform, she could hear the chaos in the wagon. She gritted her teeth together. That woman had turned out to be an absolute annoyance; she had even closed the door behind her. Cloudia went to the door and glanced through its small window but couldn’t spot her anywhere. With her hand on the handle, Cloudia craned her head to Cedric. He had still not jumped. Frowning, she watched him look back – did he look nervous or was she imagining it? – before he finally took a run-up and hopped from one carriage to the next.

“Is everything all right?” Cloudia asked. Cedric who was looking back to the previous wagon again snapped around to her.

“Yes, of course,” he said unconvincingly. “And you?” he added, his eyes drifting to her neck.

“Yes, perfectly,” Cloudia replied. She wanted to enquire further; only they had no time. Without another word, she pulled open the door and let them be engulfed with hysteria and hysterics.

A man thought it was the best moment to roll out his suitcase, blocking a good portion of the walkway. A couple started an argument with him about that. They pushed and pulled the suitcase, their faces red and their voices agitated. A mother tried to soothe her crying, screaming baby, and yelled at others around to calm down. A young man asked the other passengers what was going on, his voice becoming shriller and squeakier every time he asked. A moustached man tried squeezing through the crowd while holding a large, open bottle of water.

Pandemonium was a tin of confused and distraught passengers; Cloudia did not look forward to making her way through it.

“Please excuse us and let us through; this is an emergency,” Cloudia tried. However, when the majority neither budged nor listened, Cloudia decided to drop the courtesy and thrust people away left and right; Cedric was right behind her. She kicked the damn suitcase back into the cabin, kicked its owner for good measure, shooed away the jittery young man, and accidentally elbowed the moustached man’s face. He grabbed her jacket as he stumbled back, pulling her with him; water slopped out of his bottle. Cloudia tumbled back too but managed to find her footing back quickly.

Cloudia sighed in relief when she and Cedric finally reached the exit and could feel the fresh, cold air on their skin again. At least, there had been no incident in that wagon.

They lost no time getting to the next one. When Cloudia landed on the platform, her heart began to beat a bit faster. They entered the wagon, hurried through the passageway as best as they could. More and more electricity and excitement pulsed through Cloudia with every step she took, with every step that brought her farther and closer to the end of the coach.

One wagon.

Jacques and Yvette were only one wagon ahead of us now.

The tension, the anticipation, tried to pry her attention away, exchange it for tunnel vision and only make her focus ahead – in vain. Despite her excitement, Cloudia did not allow herself to let her attention drift away. She was hyperaware of everything – the passengers, the open and closed doors of the compartments, Cedric right behind her, assuring like a safety net – as she nudged people aside. Again, there were no incidents as Cloudia made her way forward to this wagon’s door.

And then to the next.

With a clack, Cloudia jumped on the platform five carriages ahead of the one where she had boarded the train. The platform of the wagon where Yvette and Jacques were. Cedric arrived right behind her.

I couldn’t wait to cut Yvette’s throat and get Jacques back. I was so close now but…

Cloudia put her hand on the door handle, dragged it open.

But…

A wave of foreboding hit Cloudia. She was just quick enough to turn to Cedric and grab him.

“Coun–” he began, the address torn in two when she yanked him to the stairs. Reacting swiftly, instinctively, he pulled her to him right as a bullet soared through the air.

Blood rushed through her ears. Cloudia’s hand reached for the dagger before she realised it. With cold terror did she notice its absence. It was not attached to her side anymore; she had no idea when she had lost it or where. Part of her wanted to cry but she pulled herself together and procured a knife instead. When another bullet followed the previous one, and a body followed the bullet through the door, Cloudia was there. Her knife was already raised, his gun still held low.

Cloudia slit the man’s throat.

And then the platform vibrated, and time slowed.

Again, Cedric called out to her. Again, the word was split apart.

One of Townsend’s people had been in the previous coach after all.

Another loud, panicked “Coun–” was shouted into the air when Cedric rushed between Cloudia and the new arrival…

… and trailed into nothingness when Cedric was thrown off the train.

***

June 23

About 11:30

��Cedric!”

She didn’t register the shout escaping her throat.

She was aware of nothing but the sight, the memory, the shock of seeing Cedric be shoved and – vanish.

All the rest was a blur. Cloudia was only pulled back into the now when she heard a loud clang.

She was panting, her grip iron-clad on the bloody knife. Something wet was running down the side of her head. She could not care less about that or the body on the small metal staircase. Her body forced her to put one hand on the bannister and go down the stairs to see and check.

The train was rattling through the landscape, endless fields of green and specks of houses and colour passing by.

But there was no grey, no black, no chartreuse.

Breathe in, breathe out. Deeply, steadily.

Collecting her strength, Cloudia went upstairs, ripped her hand from the railing. The rush had ebbed away, leaving her body full of ice. Fascination overcame her that she was not crumbling or breaking apart when she raised her hand to her throat, yanked the necklace free from beneath her clothes, cradled the pendant in her fist.

Undertaker, she sent to him, waited.

One second, two seconds.

A sharp inhale.

Undertaker, she tried again. Thoughts had no volume; still, she pressed as much force and insistence into that one word as she could.

One second, two seconds.

Her eyes fluttered closed.

There was no voice at the end of the line.

But as she concentrated, she could feel, faintly but surely, that there was an end of the line still.

That invisible thread, pulled taunt, vibrating like the heart beating in her chest.

As long as the pendants were intact, as long as the thread and its strangeness were running strong, she could find him.

And don’t be ridiculous, Cloudia thought to herself as she let the pendant vanish behind her clothes. She stepped away from the bannister while wiping the blood from her face.

I might not know what could kill Death and if it could be done at all.

Cloudia kicked the corpse from the stairs, though refrained from watching it go.

But it couldn’t be done like that.

I was certain of it.

The skull pendant was warm against her chest when she strode into the carriage.

***

~Cedric~

June 23

About 11:35

The skull pendant was warm against his chest, its heat coaxing him awake.

For a moment, he didn’t know where he was, wondered whether he was dreaming. His head hurt, his body felt sore and cold, the world around him spun…

… no, it ran past him, the train and its speed smearing all colours to a blur.

The train.

Cloudia.

Cedric heaved himself to his feet, reached out to the railing to steady himself.

The memories flowed back to me. I had followed Cloudia through the coaches until someone had shot at us and someone else had jumped from the previous wagon to ours. When he had charged at Cloudia, I had jumped between – only to get pushed off the platform.

If I hadn’t teleported at the last moment, I would lie in shambles a few kilometres back in the grass.

The thought made me shudder.

But where exactly was I now instead?

Cedric looked around, the wind tearing at his hair. At some point, his ponytail had come loose, and the band had flown away. He brushed some wayward strands from his face and adjusted his glasses.

He was still on the correct train; his impromptu teleport had not taken him elsewhere entirely, that he knew. Only, on which wagon was he right now? He had not landed at the very back at least (Cedric didn’t know how he could have explained himself that he was back there, in case Aurèle and Kamden decided to look out of their compartment at this very moment). If this was the fifth wagon from the back, it would be ideal. He could easily catch up with Cloudia then. He would not mind if it was the fourth wagon either.

Cloudia. Her name rang through my mind with such heaviness.

I knew she was fine; of course, she was. Nonetheless, the image from earlier clung to me, seeing her limp in that man’s arms.

Cedric reached to retrieve the pendant – and halted when he saw something odd from the corner of his eye: Something was attached to the carriage wall behind him.

He turned to figure out what it was and realised with horror that no, it was not something that clung to the train.

It was someone.

His heart dropped when he registered that he knew who it was.

“Milton!” Cedric cried out, just as Milton rammed through the window.

***

~Cloudia~

June 23

About 11:35

The annoying woman had been in this wagon too. This time, of course, not only she had alerted the passengers and beckoned them out of their cabins; the gunshots and the fight had as well. They had, however, also frozen the civilians with fear. Now, instead of wandering around, wondering, crying, arguing, they stood still in the corridor and doorsills, staring at her anxiously.

In the last few coaches, Cloudia might have welcomed the change, even if it had come at the price of such a horrific scare. Here, the sight only made cold tendrils curl up her spine.

After all, Yvette and Jacques were meant to be in this wagon.

***

~Cedric~

June 23

About 11:38

It took Cedric a moment until he could move again. His mind had momentarily blanked upon the sight of Milton vanishing in a shower of glass inside the wagon.

Now, his mind replayed the memory while Cedric hastily jumped to the carriage behind him. No matter how often it ran through his head, he could not understand why on earth this idiot would do something so absurdly reckless – hadn’t they left all doors open when they passed through the train?

And if the door had somehow closed in the meantime, couldn’t he have simply opened it again?

“I will keep myself safe,” my ass, Cedric thought as he landed on the platform, took the one, two steps to the door. Anger mixed with horror and worry. He could not wait to chew out Milton for his behaviour. But when he laid his hand on the door handle and pushed it down, it did not budge.

And when he looked up and through the door’s small, broken window, he froze again.

How could that be?

***

~Cloudia~

June 23

About 11:38

Cloudia hurried to search the compartments, one by one.

They were not here; they were not there.

And when she reached the last cabin, she tightened the grip on her blade, drew the door open…

… and gazed at people she had never seen before.

***

~Cedric~

June 23

About 11:39

The scene in front of him was nothing if not surreal.

In bafflement, in puzzlement, Cedric watched everything unfold; his brain tried its best to comprehend the strange sequence that played before him.

Yvette was backing away, inching closer to the door behind which Cedric stood. He could not see her face; still, he knew that she must be looking terrified. After all, he could see the tension in her body.

And the horrifying look on Milton’s face as he charged at her, knife in hand.

His oddly calm expression. The bloodcurdling blank fury in his eyes.

Blink; Milton turned the knife in his hand. Cedric hadn’t even registered that he had been holding it oddly, had been grasping its blade before.

Blink; the space between them was conquered.

Blink; the knife was raised.

Blink – and Milton was pulled back.

The moment was broken, the tense seconds shattered as Newman grabbed Milton’s arm and yanked him back.

Yvette, unhurt, stumbled back, and lost something in her haste to get away.

It tumbled out of her pocket, that rectangular little object, and rolled right to Milton’s feet.

Cedric inhaled sharply when he saw Milton snatch it and the look in his eyes shift.

Milton might be standing on the other end of the walkway. Still, Cedric could make out his expression as clear as day.

It was a familiar one, after all. One he had got to know only days before.

***

~Cloudia~

June 23

About 11:39

I cursed under my breath.

I had not excluded the possibility, of course, that Yvette or Townsend or Maxime might move between the wagons too. I had only anticipated that the probability would be rather small as they would have to jump with hostages in tow, one of which was little Jacques.

But with all that commotion, they must have seen no other way.

They could only hope for their own sakes’ that they had not decided to simply discard Jacques on the way.

Cloudia stepped away from the cabin and briefly glanced back before she opened the door and jumped to the carriage ahead.

***

~Cedric~

June 23

About 11:40

“I wondered if it were you. It is such a pleasure to finally meet you, Baron Salisbury,” said Yvette and straightened up. Cedric could hear the smile in her voice. He would have broken open the lock, bolted through the door, and torn it right off her face if Maxime hadn’t come out of a cabin at that moment, a blade pressed against Jacques’ throat. He was followed by a man Cedric didn’t know who levelled a pistol at Milton and Newman.

Damn, damn, damn.

Yvette, Jacques, and Maxime were here, in a completely different coach than we had anticipated. Cloudia was ahead, trying to find them. Newman and Milton were with them – and my hands were bound.

If I made myself noticed, at best, Maxime and Yvette would threaten to cut Jacques’ throat if I did not stay back. At worst, they might kill him immediately, the suddenness of me breaking the door or whatnot possibly spooking them enough to draw the knife across his neck.

I could not even teleport myself behind Yvette, Maxime, and the gunman and knock them out in secret because of Milton and Newman.

I had to find another way, another opportunity, to get inside. For now, all I could do was turn myself invisible, in case Yvette, the gunman, or Maxime spotted me through the window, and listen to their conversation with my teeth clenched.

Goddammit, Milton; couldn’t you have a better poker face?

“Townsend told me about your company,” Yvette continued, delight dripping into her voice. “How Salisbury Trading, already successful, thrived with you as its head, Mylord, and established itself as one of the quickest transportation companies that exists, if not as the quickest one. And how secretive you are. However, Townsend still managed to take a glimpse at some machine blueprints while he ‘worked’ for you. His father used to work on machines in a factory and told him a lot about his job, did you know that? Townsend himself was never adept with technology; nevertheless, he knew from the moment he saw those blueprints that they were unlike anything he had seen before.

“When he told me all that, all I could think was what a waste it is to hide machinery like that. You could become richer than you already are; you could become more known than you already are. Instead, you keep everything away and yourself too. Not a singular picture of you in any newspaper! There was only some hearsay about golden hair.” The delight in Yvette’s voice darkened to something bitter. “You could have everything, but you hide yourself because of ‘humbleness.’ I could laugh! Selfishness is all that is. I even viewed you as tyrannical for withholding those blueprints and the people behind them. At the same time, I could not help but wonder if Salisbury Trading’s prodigious accomplishments are truly coming from its employees or actually from its elusive director.”

Yvette made a step towards Milton. Cedric tensed when she reached into her pocket, but she only procured a pair of handcuffs, not a weapon. He still did not like it at all what Yvette must want with it.

“Mylord,” Yvette said, boasting with confidence. “I have a proposal for you. I will hand over Jacques to your companion. In exchange, you will remove your weaponry, return the Queen’s box to me, put on these handcuffs” – she lifted them – “and come with me, Maxime, and Stevens with no protest. We would also lock Jacques and your companion in one of the cabins. It’s not long until Paris anymore. When we arrive, I’m sure Miss Watchdog or someone else in her entourage will free Jacques and your companion. By that time, we will be long gone and traversing the city until we find a nice, quiet place for you to open the box. Of course, if you refuse, Maxime will slit Jacques’ throat.” On cue, Maxime tightened his grip on the boy, and Jacques whimpered. Cedric clenched his jaw. “And if your friend there tries anything, Stevens will, of course, shoot you both.”

Yvette held the handcuffs out to Milton. “What do you say, Mylord?”

“Do you not have the Clockmaker in your grip? Why would you require another to solve the box?”

To everyone’s surprise, it was not Milton who responded but Newman. Cedric sucked in the air when he heard his friend’s voice and wished he had a better view of him and Milton. Yvette, Maxime, Jacques, and Stevens the gunman were in the way, and Cedric could only vaguely make out that Milton turned to Newman. Cedric pictured him looking aghast and was sure that Milton must be saying something in protest to Newman, though he could not hear it.

“Of course, we have that disagreeable Clockmaker in our grip,” replied Yvette. For once, Cedric was happy that Florentin was like he was; he must have made the journey to Creil rather unenjoyable for Yvette and Townsend.

He should not have let himself be taken though. Even if they had held Jacques hostage.

“I simply like having options,” Yvette continued. “And as you can see, the box is a unique oddity – just like the Baron’s machinery. The Clockmaker seems to work with the old, the Baron with the new. Between the two, they should be able to open the puzzle box. Now, what do you say, Baron Salisbury?”

“Yes, of course,” Milton said with shocking immediacy.

“Baron Milton,” gasped Newman in a mirror of Cedric’s thoughts.

“What other decision is there for me to make, Mr Newman?” Milton said before he addressed Yvette. “I will put on the handcuffs, and then you will hand over Jacques at the same time as Mr Newman will surrender me and the box to you.”

“And then, you will remain with Maxime until Jacques and Mr Newman have let themselves be locked up,” added Yvette.

“Exactly.”

“Lord Milton, don’t!” cried Jacques. Maxime tightened his grip on him anew, and he whimpered again. Cedric could hear the tears in his voice as Jacques still strained to continue, “You can’t let them have the box! It doesn’t matter what happens to me!”

“Don’t say something like that, Jacques,” Milton replied softly. “This is just a box, and what kind of queen would place a keepsake above the life of a child?” Yvette shifted a bit to the side, allowing Cedric to see Milton pass the knife he had still been holding in his left hand to Newman. Only then did Cedric notice its familiar glint.

How did Cloudia’s father’s dagger end up with Milton?

Milton proceeded to remove his odd utility belt and gave it to Newman too. Just when he took the handcuffs, Jacques cried out again. “They won’t let you go, Lord Milton! No matter if you cannot open it or if you can!”

“That is fine,” Milton said with an odd voice. The handcuffs clicked loudly into their locks when he bound himself. “There is nothing they can do to me that is new.”

With that, Milton stepped forward. “The box for the boy, me for their survival.”

“Yes, of course, Mylord.” Yvette beckoned Maxime to her. He dragged Jacques forward, keeping the knife pressed to his neck, until they were standing next to Milton in this narrow space. Newman was behind Milton, Yvette stood behind Maxime, and Stevens remained where he was and pointed his weapon at Milton.

“Lord Milton,” sobbed Jacques.

“Do not be afraid and go to Mr Newman as fast as you can when you’re released,” Milton replied and held the box out to Yvette. Now that Milton was closer, Cedric could see the serene expression on his face better and the engravings on the box. “Miss Guilloux?”

“Flattered that you know my name, Baron Salisbury,” said Yvette and grabbed the black box in his hand, though she only lifted it from his palm the moment Maxime let the knife sink.

Then, everything happened in short succession.

Maxime nudged Jacques to Newman. Newman pulled the boy behind himself. Yvette took Milton’s arm, dragged him to her.

With a glance over her head, Milton turned and rammed his shoulder into Yvette, thrusting her back into Stevens.

A bullet was released. A scream was heard.

Stevens was pressed against the door. Cedric broke the lock and threw the door open.

Stevens stumbled backwards. Although he didn’t fall through the open door, Cedric was still there to catch him and yank him to the side. He fought against the itch to shove him down the stairs and dodged when Stevens fired at him, the bullet flying half-heartedly past his leg.

Cedric hastened to take the pistol away from him but was suddenly overpowered and pushed too. For a moment, his stomach fluttered as he feared to be kicked off the train again. Instead, his back hit the cold metal railing, the bars digging into his clothes. He clenched his teeth, and when Stevens raised the gun to his head, Cedric slapped it away, sent it flying into the landscape.

Cedric had just taken hold of Stevens’ wrist and twisted it until it broke – a body injured was no life taken after all – when he noticed someone rushing past them, escaping to the next wagon.

Yvette.

Cedric’s curses mixed with Stevens’ wails of pain. He punched him in the face, knocking him out, before he turned, ready to follow her. But she had already vanished in the carriage, making her way through it – and getting closer to Cloudia.

Go, Cloudia! Get her!

With a smile, Cedric dropped the unconscious man on the platform and quickly checked if this had not accidentally killed him and cost him his job and existence before he hurried inside. Adrenaline and worry pumped through him. There had been a gunshot, and he had no idea if the bullet had hit anything, anyone, and Maxime had been right behind Milton with a knife too.

The instant Cedric stepped into the wagon, he realised that his worry had been unfounded. Newman stood protectively before a shaky Jacques, and Milton stood above an unconscious Maxime. He was still handcuffed and although he was a bit dishevelled, Milton seemed perfectly fine when he turned to Cedric and said, “Kristopher! Are you all right?”

Cedric pressed his lips into a grim line and grabbed Milton by the shoulders. “What are you doing, you idiot!” he yelled and shook Milton. “I saw you climb around outside a moving train! Break through a window! Pawn yourself off and take a gamble tackling someone with a gun! What happened to keeping yourself safe?!”

He stopped shaking Milton and took a deep breath. Every conversation he had had with Anaïs and Aurèle about faeries, death, and Milton returned to him now. The possibility that Milton might be on the verge of death, his candle about to be blown out, the “complete” stamp pressed to his Dispatch file. A possibility that was both strengthened by all the nonsense Milton had done and weakened because he was still alive.

And in it all, all I could think of was Cloudia’s reaction to everything – his carelessness, his potential death.

When Cedric looked up at Milton, remorse was written all over Milton’s face. “I’m sorry, Kristopher. I didn’t mean to worry or upset you. I wouldn’t have done any of that if I hadn’t known I would be fine.”

“Have you gone mad? How on earth would you have known…” began Cedric but was cut off by Jacques wailing and hugging Milton from behind.

“Lord Milton! I’m so sorry!” he pressed out between sobs. “You got hurt because of me!” Abruptly, Jacques shrieked and jumped back. “Oh no! I got carried away! I’m so sorry, did I hurt you? Maxime stabbed you in the back after all… And the bullet must have hit you too…”

Cedric’s eyes widened. “What?” it slipped out of his mouth. “Why didn’t anyone say anything before I shook him like a rattle?” He swiftly turned Milton around to inspect the wound.

Only to find nothing. Solely his jacket was a bit chafed.

“I said I’m okay,” said Milton. Cedric could have sworn he sounded embarrassed. “I was stabbed, yes, but I am fine.”

Milton turned around, and Cedric stared at him. “The jacket,” Cedric said, dumbfounded. “I wondered why you chose to wear a suit jacket of all things for the journey. I thought you were maybe being a bit silly or forgot to pack enough practical stuff but that’s protective clothing?”

Milton smiled sheepishly. “A prototype. The test run has gone well, I suppose.”

“The test run? You chose to do a test run on a prototype now?”

“Well, it’s not the first test run…”

“And that should pacify me?!”

“… just the first one with the new amendments. It’s good to know it works well for stabs and cuts and if you’re grazed by a bullet. If I had been hit with it, the jacket wouldn’t have done anything; it’s not that far yet…”

Cedric ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “You have gone mad, most certainly. A test run! Don’t use an actual criminal hunt as a test run! And why would you even need to trial protective clothing in the first place?!”

“Your Grace,” said Newman and stepped forward. “Please calm down. Excessive shouting is detrimental to your health, and you are spooking young Mr Beauchene.” Cedric opened his mouth to protest only to close it again. Newman nodded at him before he turned to Milton. He gently lifted Milton’s hands, rattling the handcuffs. “This was a particularly reckless endeavour, Mylord,” Newman stated and rummaged in his pocket. “In my life, I have only observed my dear mistress acting in such a manner, equal parts brave and imprudent.” He procured a skeleton key and began to try opening the handcuffs.

“I am sorry, Mr Newman,” Milton said quietly, sounding oddly young. “Are you fine? Have you got hurt?”

“Not at all, Mylord. I apologise; I was unable to thank you before for endangering yourself for my sake.”

“You do not have to thank me for that, Mr Newman.” Milton’s voice was almost a whisper.

Confused, Cedric looked between the two. “What happened?”

“Baron Milton broke through the window because I failed to secure my back, and the door was jammed,” explained Newman. “You even suffered an injury for my sake; I deeply apologise for that.” He took the now-open handcuffs from Milton’s wrists. However, when he tried to turn Milton’s bloody left hand for inspection, Milton hastily pulled it back.

“It is only a shallow cut,” Milton insisted. “The blood crusted already. I am fine. And you really don’t need to apologise to me or thank me, or please, least of all, don’t feel guilty, Mr Newman. It was my own choice and doing. Now, could you give me the handcuffs?”

Wordlessly, Newman handed them over alongside the utility belt; the dagger he kept. Milton took the items, put on his belt, and knelt to Maxime. Cedric had completely forgotten that they were standing around his fainted body. He glanced around a bit then and discovered another body unconscious on the ground on the other end of the walkway; Newman’s large frame had hidden it from view before. Some passengers peeked out of their compartments, and Cedric recognised the agitated couple and the moustached man from before. That explained why a portion of the ground was wet.

Milton quickly let the handcuffs snap around Maxime’s wrists and stood up again. He shrugged off his suit jacket and placed it over Jacques’ shoulders. The boy’s eyes, red and poufy from crying, widened; his glasses made them appear even larger. “But, Lord Milton! I can’t take this!”

“Of course, you can,” said Milton gently. “It will help to keep you safe until we have all returned to the château. I will be fine without it too.” He smiled at Jacques. “Mr Newman? Would you be so kind and deliver Jacques to his brother or simply remain here until we have arrived in Paris?”

Newman bowed his head. Milton went to the windowed side of the corridor, stretched, and did something Cedric could not see that culminated in a flap clicking open and a row of short ropes falling out. “And if the right time comes, could you pull on these ropes?” said Milton to Newman. “Please pass this information on to the passengers here, thanks.”

With that, Milton strode to the door. Cedric, seeing red and realising that he was gradually losing his patience with him, shot out his arm and grabbed Milton’s. “I don’t think you should continue after the stunts you have just pulled and after Yvette found out that you could open the box. It’s best if you stay very far away from Yvette and Townsend, Milton.”

“I told you that I have to go on, Kristopher,” replied Milton adamantly. “There is no reason to repeat that argument; I will not budge. Regarding the box…” He was quiet for a moment. “They aren’t even sure if I can open it. And they only nearly had me because I freely handed myself over. I’ve never been kidnapped before.”

“This might be the worst situation for firsts, Milton.”

“It won’t happen.”

“Unless you’re clairvoyant, I doubt you can know for sure.” Cedric sighed. “You’re giving me a headache, Milton.”

“I’m sorry. We do have no time to argue though. It’s not long until we arrive in Paris now.”

Cedric sighed anew and glanced at Newman. “Please take care of Jacques, Al. It seems I need to take this one here through the train.”

***

~Cloudia~

June 23

About 11:41

Commotion, commotion, commotion.

The next wagon was a chaotic wreck too. Cloudia was tired of jostling her way through the masses and narrow corridors. Thus, when she finally spotted the woman who had caused all that, Cloudia wished she still had the dagger and didn’t have to cut her throat with an ordinary knife.

At least, when the woman spotted her, she turned in panic and tried to run – only to be held back by passengers.

She just reached the door when Cloudia slammed her against it, holding the cold blade against her neck. “Interesting, isn’t it? How things can turn out to be,” whispered Cloudia into her ear, first in French, then in English for good measure, before she slid the knife across her throat like a violinist drew a bow along the strings of their instrument. Instead of a melody, her action only coaxed gasps and screams out of the passengers who tried to pry her off the woman.

“Murderer, murderer, murderer,” they called her. Cloudia simply yanked herself free from their grips and wiped the knife on her clothes. Again, there was no sight of Yvette and Jacques. She wondered about them as she moved on to the next wagon, the last one before the locomotive.

***

~Cedric~

June 23

About 12:00

“Are you done here, Milton?” Cedric asked. Since they had left Jacques and Newman behind, they had managed to cross a wagon and were about to jump to their third. After that, there was only one carriage left between them and the locomotive which meant they had nearly caught up with Cloudia.

“Yes,” said Milton and stepped away from the windowed wall. Yet again, it was lined with the short ropes; this time, Cedric had managed to glimpse Milton plunging an odd, bi-coloured key into a small hole and turning it though.

Milton glanced at the passengers, and Cedric sighed. They had had to forgo easing the civilians back into their compartments in the last coach which had visibly pained Milton even if he understood.

“Milton, we don’t have much time. If we don’t catch them before the train enters the station, they will run off wherever,” Cedric reminded him.

Milton nodded, looking a bit absentminded. “Yes. Give me a moment, Kristopher,” he said and turned to some of the passengers to say something to them in French. He had done that in the previous wagon too, had done that throughout the entire train. Cedric had initially thought he was simply reassuring them that everything would be fine; now, he knew better.

“And if the right time comes, could you pull on these ropes?” Milton had told Newman. Cedric knew next to nothing about trains; before he met Cloudia, he had barely ridden on them before. There had not been any trains yet before he became a Grim Reaper, only wagonways. Afterwards, there had been little need for Cedric to take a train as he could transport himself wherever he liked on his own. Still, whatever Milton was doing unnerved Cedric, and he searched his memory, in vain, if he had ever seen such ropes in trains before.

Cedric wanted to ask. His body itched with the question; nevertheless, he kept his mouth closed. Something told him that Milton would either avoid answering if needed, or fall into rambling and mumbling, and Cedric really had no time to pry a proper answer from him.

“I’m done,” announced Milton and gave him a little smile.

This little gesture, so innocent and normal, paired with his earlier thoughts sent an unexpected shudder down Cedric’s spine. He had never wanted to admit it before, not to Cecelia, not even to himself. Only, with all the events of the last ten hours, it was becoming harder and harder to ignore the indescribable unease that made its home within him whenever he was with Milton and write it off as mere jealousy.

***

~Cloudia~

June 23

About 11:46

Her heart beat faster when she arrived in the last coach before the locomotive.

Townsend and the others had to be here, or in the cab after all.

This wagon, unlike the previous ones, was quiet. No one stood in the passageways, wide-eyed and panicked and wondering what was going on. While Cloudia had only seen one very shoddy daguerreotype of Townsend, she could easily pick Yvette and Jacques out in a crowd. She was also confident that she could identify Florentin. The striking colour of his eyes might be dampened by his glasses, but Cedric had described them with as great care as he could.

It would be so easy to open each compartment until she found Townsend or Yvette so that she could drag them out and beat them up. It would be greatly satisfactory, though would certainly lead to yet another commotion, and Cloudia had no way of telling whether some of Townsend’s companions were here too. They might have decided for Townsend and Florentin to board alone so as not to deviate any attention to them, or for many others to board with him as to keep them safer.

However, if she stood here and waited for them to arrive in Paris, the civilians would file out of the cabins too, making it difficult to locate and reach Townsend and Florentin, Yvette and Jacques.

Cloudia clenched her teeth and turned the knife in her hand.

Beating them up would not do. She was not a barbarian but a lady after all. A clean cut would suffice, or a well-placed stab through ribs or guts.

And because Yvette must be here already, Townsend must be awaiting Cloudia. A commotion was inevitable anyway.

Cloudia was about to open the first cabin door when she saw a movement from the corner of her eye and whirled around to see.

A man had stepped onto the platform of the locomotive. He wore practical but pristine clothes, from what she could tell from afar. An easy smile decorated his face, and the midday sun kissed his gold-blond hair as he waved at her. Cloudia frowned; she had thought he had darker hair.

“Yvette Guilloux told me all about you,” said Nicodemus Townsend so loudly that his words were still clear across the howling wind and through the closed carriage door. “Miss Watchdog.”

Cloudia tightened her grip on her weapon but did not move. Every fibre of her screamed trap, the scream vibrating through her body with each heartbeat.

Thus, when a compartment door ahead opened and a gunman stepped out, she was ready. Charging forward, knife raised before he could even aim. Cloudia had intended to pierce his chest, but he had moved away at the last moment, and she cut his side instead.

He yelled out and fired, unwavering. Cloudia dodged, her heart racing and adrenaline singing through her veins. Blood dripped from Cloudia’s blade to the floor, splattered a bit through the air as she lunged again. The man blocked her knife with the pistol, thrust her back a bit. She stumbled back a step but quickly found her footing again and sent the knife flying. The gunman stepped aside, the blade grazing his cheek and lodging in the cabin door behind. Cloudia used this small window in which he was surprised, distracted, to procure one of the knives she had taken from the first assailant, the one who had shot at them and set the ball rolling.

She charged ahead. And when the man raised his gun, she stabbed him through the hand before he could pull the trigger. Cloudia ripped out the knife, coaxing a cry out of him. His body staggered back just as another rammed into her from behind.

The air was knocked out of Cloudia’s lungs. Before she could recover, strong arms took hold of her and crushed her against the ground. The wagon shook from the impact. Pain blossomed across her chest, even with the corset partially absorbing the shock. The knife clattered out of her hands, and she could hear it being kicked away.

Cloudia strained against the grip. Her attacker held on tight, holding her hands and keeping a leg pressed against her back.

“I would refrain from doing anything rash,” Townsend said, entering the wagon. He must have jumped when Cloudia was attacked from behind. He smiled again; up close, she could see it was a politician’s smile, wide and pretty but it did not quite reach his eyes. “You would not want anything to happen to the poor, innocent passengers on this train, do you?”

The gunman scowled at Cloudia, holding his injured side with his injured hand. He now held his pistol with his left hand, not with his right one, and waved it towards the row of compartment doors before levelling it at her head. Cloudia gritted her teeth together.

“I knew the Queen would send her rumoured Watchdog after me, of course,” Townsend continued. “Never in a million years, I anticipated that it would be a woman, and was stunned to hear Miss Guilloux’s report from Nanteuil-la-Forêt. Who would have thought! The underworld’s watchdog, a woman! Such a beautiful one too. An unheard thing, but then, we are undergoing times of change, times of revolution.” His smile widened; it made Cloudia’s blood boil. “Revolution brought us two together too, and I will bring revolution to the kingdom.” Swiftly, Townsend retrieved a box from his jacket. Cloudia stiffened momentarily at the sight.

The Queen’s box. Glossy black, engraved with eerie furrows that stretched across it. The object for which Cloudia had taken this long, long journey. And now, it was right before her, in the enemy’s hand.

“Oh, an object of legends! I still cannot fathom that I could behold it with my eyes, let alone with my hands.” Townsend turned the black box in his hand and his eyes lit up. “Two myths, two rumours in one train wagon. The Queen’s puzzle box containing something of national importance, and Her Majesty’s Watchdog. What a marvellous day it is, don’t you agree, Miss Watchdog?” He tilted his head. “Calling you exclusively ‘Miss Watchdog’ like unrefined French village girls do is rather rude, is it not? You know my name; am I not entitled to know yours too?”

“It’s hilarious that you care not to be perceived as rude as if one of your men wasn’t pressing me against the ground and another wasn’t pointing a gun at me,” returned Cloudia.

Townsend laughed. “The woman talks, how lovely! And it’s all very well for you to talk too. Have you not come to me with the objective of vicious murder?

“You will not believe it, but I do not blame you for that. You are merely a victim of the system, after all. Though not for long when the Clockmaker opens the box for me.” Townsend sighed. “All that could have been avoided if they had not kept rejecting our petitions. It is not our fault that we were driven to take such drastic measures.

“What did we demand? Secret ballots, that all men above twenty-one should be able to vote, that everyone should be able to become a member of the parliament, frequent changes of parliament, equal electoral districts, and payments for members of parliament! They even rejected the last point. We have done our best to make ourselves be heard peacefully. See? Our demands were not even outlandish; we did not want to see Queen Victoria dethroned and beheaded. We only wanted to be heard.” A grin spread across his face, and he gently ran his hand over the box. “And heard we will be.” He pocketed the box and put his arms behind him. “Do not worry, Miss Watchdog. We do not wish any harm; we only want things to be better.”

“Yes, and for that, you kill innocent workers and villagers,” said Cloudia bitterly.

“They died for a higher cause. If you killed me now and took the box from me, wouldn’t their sacrifices have been in vain? This, my dear, is true villainy.”

Cloudia heard the clack of someone landing on the metal platform and cursed under her breath when it was not immediately followed by a shout or a gunshot or anything. Where was Cedric?

“Oh, my, there we meet again, Miss Watchdog,” Yvette said as she squeezed around Cloudia to stand before her.

“Where is Jacques?” Cloudia demanded to know.

“Ah, did you assume I fled to the front? I took little Jacques with me and went towards the back of the train after Maxime noticed you in the train station. It was a pain to make Jacques jump; thankfully, Maxime was with us too.

“Your friends are just as obnoxious as you are, do you know that? They got Jacques back, and if it had not been for Maxime, they would have caught me.” Yvette bent down to Cloudia and grinned. “All the more satisfying to see you caught.”

Yvette stood up again. “A few minutes until Paris now. They will crawl out from everywhere to chase us then; we need to be vigilant and escape on time.”

“Yes, of course,” replied Townsend. “Let’s head to the locomotive, Miss Guilloux,” he continued and something about the way he said that and Yvette’s smile in response bothered Cloudia. Yvette jumped first, and Townsend waved at Cloudia again before he followed her.

His henchmen, of course, stayed behind.

Cloudia was beginning to feel sore in this position. She knew she would be covered in bruises despite Wilbur’s special corset.

“Do you think Townsend would mind it if we blew holes into her pretty head?” enquired the gunman and bent down to press the barrel against Cloudia’s head. “It’s not as if he has any use for her, right?”

“A waste of such a pretty thing,” replied the man holding her down. “But she is only trouble. It’s better if she’s dead.”

The gunman grinned and moved the pistol down to her side. “Dirty girl stabbed me in the side; maybe, I should return the favour in the same area,” he mused.

Now that the gun was away from her head, Cloudia was about to try freeing herself, driven by the need to knock out his teeth, when she heard a godly, lovely clack.

The gunman yelled out in agony, his pistol flying out of his hand, just as the other man was pulled off her. Cloudia jumped to her feet, glimpsed Milton ahead of her by the end of the wagon, and fleetly rammed her knee into the gunman’s face. He was knocked out instantaneously, and she was maybe a bit too giddy to see that he had indeed lost a tooth or two.

Cloudia then looked around and saw Cedric uppercutting the other man into unconsciousness. She smiled watching him hastily check his pulse and place him on the ground with a sigh. She wanted to speak to him, to him and Milton both, but there was no time for that yet.

Unholstering her gun, Cloudia ran along the walkway to the front.

She was about to jump – and staggered back right before.

Townsend and Yvette had decoupled the locomotive from the rest of the train.

Yvette stood in the cab, happily waving at Cloudia as the gap between them widened.

Taking a deep breath, Cloudia took a run-up, bracing herself to make a longer jump than she had to do before when, suddenly, an arm was slung around her waist, pulling her back into the carriage. She yelled out, protested. The door was kicked shut. A terrible sound rang through the train. Milton shouted, “Kristopher! Pull on the ropes!”

Everything rattled and tilted – the wagon, the ground, Cloudia herself. If she had not been held, she might have fallen. The wheels shrieked like banshees, piercing her ears, echoing terribly through her skull.

And then the train came to a halt.

Right before an explosion sounded in the distance.

***

June 23

About 12:07

What on earth? Cloudia thought breathlessly as her mind and body slowly adjusted to the world calming down.

The hand on her waist was pulled away. In her periphery, Cloudia noticed Milton gazing through the door’s window. Her ears were still ringing from that hellish sound and the shrill wheels. Cedric appeared next to her. He said something that she could not make out. A brief wave of dizziness washed over her. Nonetheless, Cloudia forced herself to stumble to the window too and see for herself.

Their wagon and the rest of the train were standing still. The locomotive was several metres ahead of them and giving off unusual amounts of smoke.

What on earth? Cloudia thought anew and rubbed her ears awake.

“Are you all right, Countess?” she finally heard Cedric say. This time, she knew to nod. Passengers came out of the cabins, their voices hammers that punched against her bruised ears.

Someone emerged from the cloud of smoke outside too, running away.

“Countess?” said Cedric behind her just as she kicked open the wagon door, jumped out, and ran.

***

London, England, United Kingdom – May 1843

~Cloudia~

After the tense conversation in her father’s office, Barrington had insisted that he would remain in the Phantomhive townhouse. Cloudia did not exactly mind having him around even if he could be a handful; only the circumstances and the length of his stay made her stomach churn.

Barrington was rooting himself in her townhouse to keep an eye on Oscar, and he would only dislodge when Oscar was gone again. This did not refer to Oscar eventually passing away (Barrington would have preferred if it did, particularly if Oscar died in the foreseeable future; Cloudia would rather kill them both than live with them for decades) but to Oscar’s moving date. The Queen had provided him with a secret house because Oscar could not stay with Cloudia forever after all.

Cloudia might need to watch over him, but his constant presence in her homes would prevent her from receiving visitors and fulfilling any of her societal duties. In the brief time Cloudia had known Oscar, she was rather sure she could tell him to stay in a room with an adjourning bathroom and not come out, and he would obey with no protest or difficulty. He would likely survive being locked up like that. It felt horrendous though, to retrieve Oscar from a cell and throw him in another. His movements were limited now already, restricting them even more to a single room seemed too much.

But then, as Barrington had drilled into her, Oscar was a serial murderer who did not deserve anything at all.

The day had stretched itself long and thin due to all the hostility Barrington had brought with him. They had taken lunch all together; throughout it, Barrington had been on the verge of cutting Oscar’s throat with a steak knife. For dinner, Cloudia had simply sent Oscar to eat alone in his room.

Now, although Cloudia had done nothing all day as she was still recovering from her last attack, she was exhausted. When they had all retreated to bed for the night, Cloudia had been surprised that Barrington had not insisted on chaining himself to Oscar (with a chain long enough that they did not have to sleep in the same room, of course).

The Queen had said the house would be ready after a probation period of a month for Oscar. If this was what the first day of living with him and Barrington was like, I wished I could hibernate for the next few weeks. Perhaps, I could temporarily move in with Kamden.

Right after Cloudia finished a chapter of her book, Oscar knocked softly on her door before letting himself in. “You looked like you wanted to talk to me all day,” he explained. “I hope it is not too late.”

“No, I don’t think I could have fallen asleep with all these questions on my mind,” Cloudia said and put her book on the bedside cabinet. “You can sit down by the desk or vanity if you like.”

Oscar shook his head. “I prefer to keep standing. What do you want to know after you spoke to Weaselton?”

“Did you ever do anything personal to Barrington? He hates you so much; it makes me wonder whether you spit into his tea once.”

“No, not at all,” Oscar replied and went to stand by the window. The drapes had been pulled across it, blocking out the world beyond. “Weaselton has always disliked me for the same reasons as everyone else does. It’s unsurprising that this dislike intensified into hate. I did murder plenty of people after all, though I never spit into anyone’s tea, no matter how annoying they were. Trudy’s best friend tended to be rather bothersome, and my old partner knew very little about personal space. I have become quite accustomed to this type of person because of them. I suppose I did not mind Simon’s company because he was the opposite.”

“I see.” Cloudia dug her fingers into her blanket. “Barrington does not trust you.”

“This is very obvious to everyone, yes.”

“His distrust is not baseless though.”

“Of course. Now you are asking yourself if you can trust me?”

“Yes,” said Cloudia firmly.

Oscar leaned against the windowsill and crossed his arms. “This is something you have to decide for yourself,” he said. “I cannot make you trust me. Any plea of mine will fall on deaf ears if even a part of you simply does not want to place any confidence in me. I have no desire to make any plea though; I do not care if you believe in me or not.

“However, I remind you that this current situation is of your own doing. You do not need to trust me for us to work together, but you must figure out if the distrust you harbour for me impedes our cooperation and makes you lose confidence in your own choice. I can only say that I have neither any desire nor incentive to betray you.”

“And do you have no desire to kill anyone too?” Cloudia enquired Her heart raced at the question.

“I have no desire to kill anyone unless I must.”

“Really? Was it like that with your victims too?”

Oscar looked blankly at her. “Yes,” he said, making her shiver. “I hope you are well aware that I cannot impart any details of my crime to you.”

“Yes, of course.” Cloudia hesitated before she asked, “Do you think you must kill the person that opened your basement door?”

Oscar did not flinch, did not stiffen; he only became very, very still, and it was more than enough of a sign that Cloudia had caught him off-guard. She could not believe she had managed to do that. The implication of it, however, prevented her from rejoicing internally. She only tightened her grip on the blanket, her blood running cold.

“No,” Oscar said ultimately. “I have never had the desire or even the thought to kill or harm that person.”

Cloudia blinked at him. “Truly? Barrington was certain that you plotted to take revenge since you were imprisoned and would now wait for the perfect opportunity to strike.”

“Weaselton has nothing but a lively imagination. As I said, killing that person has never crossed my thoughts and it never will.” Oscar looked at her. “You do not need to worry about the wellbeing of a person you do not know and likely never will. If you do not take my word for this, I’m afraid I can only offer Rowan’s as well.” Like the last time, he had mentioned the police commissioner, a shadow crossed Oscar’s face. “There are not many who know about that person’s identity and know that I would not do what Weaselton is theorising.”

“Only Rowan? Not Mayne too?” Cloudia wanted to know.

“Yes. They may be joint police commissioners, but Rowan has always handled everything connected to me. Although Mayne surely knows some things about my crimes and imprisonment, the details are only privy to Rowan within the Metropolitan Police.”

“I’ve been wondering,” said Cloudia, “why you don’t seem to like Rowan. Not because I believe he is someone so pleasant it would be shocking if someone did not like him but because I know you have known him since your military days. He recruited you to Scotland Yard too. I assumed you, at least, tolerated each other until your imprisonment and was surprised to notice that you cannot even say his name without looking like you’re about to vomit.”

“Well observed,” Oscar said dryly. “You are right. I’ve known Rowan since I was fifteen years old because we were both part of the 52nd Oxfordshire Regiment of Foot. At first, he was the regiment’s second-in-command, and he became my commanding officer when we were sent to Ireland years later. As such, Rowan became one of the few people I ever told about Trudy as I had to ask him for permission to get married. I wish we had delayed our wedding a little because he retired from the military not long afterwards. Things might have turned out very differently if Rowan had never known about Trudy, and Trudy had never known about him.”

“What… what do you mean?”

Oscar’s eyes darkened. “We have spoken about trust. Harm lies in both baseless distrust and misplaced faith. I told you what Trudy was like. She was the most wonderful, intelligent person with a heart full of trust, though she never gave away her trust freely. However, because Rowan was the person who had, in her words, ‘looked after me’ since I was a teen and I had no family left, she reached out to him to give him a chance. He attended our wedding; he knew about my children.”

Even though Oscar grew quiet, Cloudia could see that he could barely restrain his feelings. She might not have known him for too long but, to her, Oscar was someone who was mostly calm and collected; someone who did their utmost to conceal their emotions, or who had difficulties expressing them plainly and openly. Most of the time, he seemed oddly subdued, and it was very difficult, albeit not completely impossible, to read him. His mask had cracked before though. Unbound feelings had broken through his surface when Oscar had spoken about his family in that inn after Cloudia had retrieved him from the asylum and in the parlour a few days earlier.

The gentleness and plain love that had found their ways in the tone of his voice and the lines of his face had startled her then; now, the pure loath that seeped through with every word Oscar spoke as he went on did too.

“I do not care for my own life, Lady Phantomhive. I am not thankful that you saved it; you will, however, have my deepest gratitude for preventing my execution and making Rowan seethe. He must have counted down the days until I was finally dead, and he could wash himself free of me. Only he could not have foreseen what you had planned. Now I am still alive, and Rowan cannot do anything about that unless he can prove that I violated the terms of our contract, Mylady.

“I’ve known Rowan for most of my life and, still, I have not realised until recently how despicable a man he is, and it brings me great joy to know that my existence continues to haunt him and that I can now work for you, his despised Queen’s Watchdog, and against him.”

#watchdog of the queen #main chapters #kuroshitsuji #cloudia phantomhive #undertaker #fanfiction #ANOTHER CHAPTER AFTER 84 YEARS!!!#I anxiety wrote and edited it #please cross your fingers for me that uni people will answer my emails next week #I'm dying orz #anyway #this chapter does not have over 30k words #I couldn't have done that anyway and the last and only 30k chapter still haunts me #it ended up being almost 15.5k because I last-minute decided to add the 1843 section #that one's for you A-chan! XD #I also noticed that next chapter is the 30th MAIN chapter and omg #500k in 30 (main) chapters would be it!#'just' 20k to the goal orz (kill me)

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jensthwa · 5 months ago

Text

i was made for lovin' you (PSH x reader)

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

In an attempt to grasp at his youth, Seonghwa buys a motorcycle despite not knowing the first thing about them. When it inevitably breaks down, he has no other option that to ride it to a mechanic shop and, after following a sweet hum, he’s faced with the life-changing (and predictable) fact that, maybe, what he needed after all was not a motorcycle. Maybe, just maybe, what he needed was you.

PAIRING: new bike owner!seonghwa x afab mechanic!reader.

GENRE: strangers to lovers.

WORD COUNT: 20k.

WARNINGS: SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI) attempt !!! at comedy, dual pov (both seonghwa's and reader's), wooyoung being a little shit for the umpteenth time + jongho, yeosang AND hongjoong (omg), that feeling you get when your youth is ending, midlife crisis! (or so yunho says), a loooot of work related/motorcycle plot, flirting, seonghwa losing his rizz, reader is adopted so that may count as a trigger warning for some of you, shitty exes, crying a bit but not really, pet and nicknames (ghost, dear), they almost get caught in a thunderstorm, lots of tension, making out, oral ( f & m reciving ), descriptions of the female anatomy, floor AND protected sex ( wrap it up pls ), the ending leads straight up to the next story on this universe so be aware of that.

NOTES: hello everyone! after almost a month in the making, here you have it! THIS IS PART OF THE SHOW AND TELL UNIVERSE but can be read as a stand alone, although there's some characters and scenarios you can understand better if you read the last three parts (you can find them in my masterlist). this really didn't need to be so lenghty but it turned out that way for some reason (i'm the mayor of yap town). this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: september 02 2024.

permanent taglist: @hotteokkay, @potatomountain, @fairylover68, @e3ellie, @alsomimi

masterlist.

Seonghwa is proud to be the type of person who can just tell what's going on after assessing a situation for a few seconds.

His intuition is something he can rely on and he almost never misses the mark when he makes predictions that he doesn't share with anyone else in case it brings anyone down.

As he watches San kissing his girlfriend's cheek and then stare at her like a lovestruck idiot, his mouth quirks up a bit and he quickly hides it behind the soda can he's been nursing for the past couple of minutes.

He's happy it finally happened.

He's also a little butthurt that he didn't get the chance to fully get to know her first.

They've been together for a few months now, maybe four if he recalls correctly. Back then, he danced with her at Wooyoung's and San’s apartment like he didn't know one of his closest friends had been in love with her since they both were in highschool.

He didn't tell anyone, but a part of him did it to see if it would prompt a reaction. And, from what he was told by Wooyoung, it did.

She is his type of person, though. And when he texted her a few days later and she sent in a non-detailed voice note briefly explaining what went down after they all left the party and she stayed behind to help her drunk best friend, he told her he understood and that he kind of already knew.

Or at least, he expected it.

He also explained to San that, although his intentions with his girlfriend (before she was his girlfriend) were mostly genuine, he’s obviously not in love with her.

After all, they only met that one time and now, back in San and Woo’s shared apartment for what feels like an overdue reunion after months of busy schedules and adult life, he can assure them both with a nod and smile that he is, indeed, happy for them.

He treasures admiration for those who are able to find love in this modern age, anyway.

Now there's two couples in the group. Seonghwa has never been the type of guy who chases relationships and has a goal set on when and how to get married. He simply exists and welcomes the opportunities life gives him as they come.

That's how he got his job at Room for More. His professor gave him a recommendation letter after finishing the last presentation of his career and suggested he try his luck at his colleague’s company.

And now he's actually doing what he studied to do and he's loving it. Working in interior design and fighting minimalism while he's at it?

Incredible. Life could not be better.

Kind of.

As rare as those types of opportunities are, he truly believes it is way easier to find a niche profession people are actually comfortable with than it is to find love in modern society.

Life might give you your dream job out of nowhere, but it can also take away the opportunity of finding a partner you can celebrate your success with.

He never even told his friends when he got the job. Only Hongjoong, who then passed on the word to the rest of the group and, after they all congratulated him for it, they quickly moved on to their thesis and focused on not letting their last year of university eat them up while they were at it.

Except for Jongho, he very much had a few months left to ignore the unavoidable adulthood period he was about to suddenly enter his senior year. The rest of them, minus Hongjoong, had the right to grasp as much as they could of the freedom of only being weighed down by exams and not by other obligations like rent and bills.

Wooyoung and San’s lease is being paid by their parents, so they don't really count.

And Hongjoong lives with his bandmates in a little apartment above the rehearsal space provided by a lovely grandma who treats them all like they are her sons, so he doesn't really count either.

Seonghwa feels like, in the span of a year, he took a whole step forward while everyone else is still enjoying their youth. Now, he has presentations and meetings with clients he needs to worry about.

Love is not his top priority, not that it ever was, but now it barely crosses his mind.

He just wants to stay cool and young for a few more years before giving in completely into feeling like an adult.

So, naturally, what's the first idea that popped in his mind a few weeks ago when thinking about the inescapable passage of time?

That he should definitely be a little more irresponsible with his finances. Why not? He's in the perfect period of his life where he's allowed to make a mistake without the fear of eternal judgment by a superior being.

The superior being happens to be his mother, of course. Who else would it be? The woman could make a God shake in their shiny boots and silence them with a single scowl.

She's all the way back in his hometown, though and she's really rooting for him to make it big in the city.

Surely, she wouldn't mind if he bought a motorcycle to help him commute faster to his appointments, right?

Well, he's about to find out any day now.

Looking out of the window that looks to the street, Seonghwa can see his new acquisition parked and sparkling under the streetlamp and the smile that it brings to his lips it's big enough for Yunho to bump him with his hip and lean against the window sill as well.

“Who's making you smile like that?” he asks, looking away from Seonghwa and following his line of sight till it reaches the beautiful Bonneville he just got on a great deal with a guy who wanted to get rid of it.

The auction post said that it was because it looked too vintage and the owner wanted to upgrade to something more ‘modern looking’.

A fool, he thought.

Because to him, this bike checks all his marks: it is modern enough that in case he needed to get any parts for it, it wouldn't make him lose his mind in the process. But also, it has that vintage, nostalgic, old film feel and look to it that is just right up his alley.

He loves it.

Huh, maybe he did find true love after all.

And after breaking open his savings, Seonghwa managed to get a hold of it without financially ruining himself. Only a bit.

He didn't tell any of his friends about it, maybe that's why Yunho whistles after he checks it out.

“Now who's riding that baby?”

“Me,” Seonghwa smiles, turning to his friend who, as the response dawns on him, drops his jaw and lets out an amused chuckle “What? That's my bike!”

“Are you being serious?”

“Why would I lie to you?” He returns, softly.

A bit passes and then Yunho turns to everyone else scattered around the living room.

“Guys, Seonghwa is having an early mid-life crisis and bought a motorcycle!”

Yeosang gasps “Ain't no way…”

“Hwa? A motorcycle?” Wooyoung hollers, louder than everyone else “What's next? Tattoos?!”

Oh, for the love of God.

Maybe there's a reason he didn't tell anyone until now. Everyone gathers around the window to look at it like children at a zoo and he takes a step back, sitting on the arm on the couch, a subtle smile on his lips.

The only person that turns to him is San’s girlfriend, smiling proudly like he just won the lottery or something.

Damn, she really is his type.

“Are you happy?” She asks and it tugs at his lonely heart strings like crazy.

He pushes through, nodding and shrugging a bit, dismissing his feelings for the final time. It's not really her, he reminds himself. It's the thought of having someone in his life that treats him the way she treats San.

“Sure am,” he murmurs “My bank account? Not so much.”

She laughs and Jongho turns to him at that “Are you an old man with debts now? Noooo,” he pouts “Who am I going to ask for bail money now?”

Gyuri, Wooyoung's ex-girlfriend who somehow manages to stay friends with him, scoffs “You've never been to jail, kid.”

“But he's the first person on my emergency contact list for that!”

And just like that, they all pull away from the window and back into their seats to discuss the reasons why Jongho would end up behind bars.

Being annoying seems to be winning.

Seonghwa is glad to take the attention off of him. This way, he can't be caught staring at the way Mingi’s girlfriend sits on his lap and nuzzles her nose against her boyfriend’s neck. This way, the sigh he lets out when he catches San whispering sweet things into his girl’s ear gets lost amidst pointless banter and giggling.

He shouldn't feel envious.

But somehow he ended up wearing a green short-sleeve today, so it checks out.

“Important client. Wants to renovate their whole space, his apartment and his office.”

His boss is excited. It makes him smile as he stares at her with his hands behind his back, like he usually does when he receives instructions.

“He loved your work, I showed him the photo studio you helped with last month and requested you specifically. He said that he feels trapped in a box every time he gets to work and everytime he returns home, so… He wants you to lead the project,” she smiles, tapping her manicured nails against her desk and cocking her head to the side “Congratulations, kid, you got your first big commission coming.”

“Thank you so much,” he bows, his body bending out of pure gratefulness and instinct “I'll make sure to run everything by you accordingly, boss.”

“Well, I'm expecting a report in two days.”

“Two days?”

“Mhm. He wants to meet with you this afternoon… In four hours, exactly. I already sent you an email with the details,” she gets up from her desk, extending her hand towards him and he rushes to shake it “You're doing the initial assessment today, alone. Everyone else has something going on.”

Fuck.

“Of course,” he's worried and anxious, but he makes sure none of it shows as he gives her hand a firmer shake before letting it go “I'll do my initial research in the meantime, then.”

She nods and dismisses him with her hand.

He stresses the whole time he looks up the name and company of this new client. It seems like a serious business, not the kind that wants to reject minimalism especially when the nation's professional aesthetic runs on it.

It’s a modern tech silicon valley run by, what he's able to gather, a very rich family his new client is part of. There's a picture of them, smiling at an event, looking like the nightmare of working class people.

He tends to keep his opinions on chaebol’s at bay (Yunho is his friend and he’s rich, so he can't really voice what he thinks so freely anyway) but the fact that they contacted his company, an interior design business with barely any recognition amongst their competitors, is both surprising and concerning.

He clicks an article where his new client is featured. He's the heir of his family's empire, a tech savvy himself and he can tell, from the way they framed his answers, that he is well media-trained.

Seonghwa has no name for himself. Why would he request him? He's not so sure the ambiance he helped to create in a mere photo studio is what is granting him this opportunity.

His intuition is telling him, as he clicks for his initial research to print, that there must be an ulterior motive.

But he's going to embrace the chance of securing his rent money either way.

He just hopes his hair is presentable enough when he gets there. The helmet he bought is really not helping, the wind that somehow gets into it as he cruises through the streets doesn't help either.

Wanna know what else adds up to his problems today? The engine sounds weird.

It sounds fucking weird.

At a red light, Seonghwa lifts up his visor and tries to figure out what the hell is going on as much as he can.

He's too green for this. Too new to this world.

Would his mother scold him if she finds out he lied about doing a thorough research about the bike world before investing in one?

He looks at his watch. He has time to spare, an hour and a half before the meeting takes place.

Before he can fully make a decision, his body weight is making him turn into a street he doesn't know that well. But he's sure he saw a repair shop on the way to work today.

Or was it just a body shop? Maybe he imagined it and the sudden panic he feels rising and darkening his cheeks under the visor is convincing him he's right.

When he sees the floatable mascot waving in the wind, he lets out a sigh of relief.

Pulling up, he sees a few cars with their hood open and a few new, modern bikes to the side, so he parks a few meters from them and when he turns off the engine and gets down from his -apparently- damaged new acquisition, he feels like he can finally breathe.

No, scratch that, he takes his helmet off and then he's able to breathe.

When he scans the place, there's not a soul in sight.

Until he hears someone humming. It's a song he heard before, he can't quite put it together by the melody but it sounds like something he used to enjoy when he entertained the idea of joining Hongjoong's band all the way back in first semester of college.

Something with heavy guitars, which kind of fits the place’s vibe. Looking around, he swears to himself he's trying to find the source of the humming.

After all, he doesn't have much time to take in the place.

But he does anyway.

When he steps deeper into the shop, he feels like he's been teletransported into a decade he never got to experience, into a culture that is not his to experience in the first place.

It's like a Sons of Anarchy set, something he would see in an indie two thousands movie, maybe. There's a lot of stuff laying around, an organized chaos he guesses he can attribute to the nature of this kind of job.

But there's also a lot on the walls, aside from the usual tools hanging from it that look worn out there's posters and the Harley Davidson logo plastered at least five times in shirts, hats and jacket applique patches.

He thinks the walls can be painted a new, muted color instead of the sort-of bright blue and beige they have going on.

Focus. What the hell.

Shaking his head, he follows the sound of the voice until he reaches the back of the shop. There's what it looks like an office, maybe a reception? With a door that's wide open and seems to lead to a storage he doesn't need to get in to.

There, on her knees, he sees the source of the sound: A girl.

A beautiful, beautiful girl.

With her hair out of her face and overalls that seem too loose on her frame.

Is his heart okay? It feels like it stopped beating.

And then the beating comes back in full blast, goosebumps on his skin reminding him to speak up. Clearing his throat softly, he does.

“Hello?”

“Oh, shit,” she drops whatever she's working on, stops writing something down on a notebook that looks like it's about to run out of space “You fucking scared me!”

“I can… see that. I'm sorry.”

“Did you float all the way down here? Fucking Christ,” she mumbles something under her breath, getting up from her position and leaning into the desk in a way Seonghwa will probably remember forever. He gulps “What can I help you with, Ghost?”

She's breathtakingly beautiful and he, who's usually smooth with words and random interactions, stammers out his response “H-hey, yes I… I'm Park Seonghwa,” he starts, smiling a bit “I was hoping there was someone here who can help me with my bike?”

She looks around and he assumes she's looking for someone until he sees the corner of her lip curving up a bit “As I said, what can I help you with?”

Did he already fuck this whole thing up?

“Oh! I wasn't suggesting that you couldn't— I mean that's not what I…” her smirks widens, he suddenly remembers he's running out of time so he gets it together “I just bought a motorcycle and I'm sure the engine is not supposed to sound the way it's sounding so I thought I could use someone taking a look?” He gets out as fast as he can and the stranger claps her hands in a way that makes him take a step back.

She intimidates him. Just a little bit.

“First time owner?” She asks but he's sure she already knows.

Chuckling nervously, Seonghwa nods “What gave it away?”

“Your gear,” she simply states, getting out from behind the desk and into the garage space, moving swiftly through it like she owns the place. Damn, does she own the place? “You're barely wearing any. I get it, it's stuffy,” she turns over her shoulder to smile at him “It'll grow on you.”

“More like I'll get used to it, I feel like.”

“Yeah,” she rounds a car, tapping the hood of it and taking a pause as she scans the front of the place “That's what I said.”

That's definitely not what she said.

He's not sure if she's being rude or merely sarcastic, but he shouldn't be enjoying it the way he is. What drags him out of it is the way laughs when she sees his bike “This one?”

Concerning. Danger. Why is she laughing?!

“Y-yeah.”

“I don't get to see this type of bike often. Damn, she's beautiful.”

He smiles, taking down his worries a notch “Yeah, I got a great deal for it. The guy said he wanted something like that instead,” he points at the one right next to his “Said he wanted something that looked out of Terminator. I didn't have the heart to tell him that they used a Harley Davidson for the movies.”

“I'm guessing he meant Robocop?”

“Maybe.”

“What an idiot,” she sighs, inspecting his bike closely “Not you, Park Seonghwa, the guy who sold you this. Key.”

Key? Oh, right, the key. He tosses it to her and she catches it with expertise.

“Well, thanks for clarifying that.”

She laughs again, taking his helmet that's resting on the seat and putting it down on the floor as she straddles the bike “You're welcome,” she starts it, revs the engine a few times and then grimaces in a way that makes Seonghwa’s heart drop to his ass “Okay, Ghost, please tell me you have time to spare today.”

“I actually don't,” he takes a few steps, worried frown on his face that prompts another sigh from her “I have a very, very important appointment in…” he checks his watch “In an hour that I really, really need to get to and— Is it that bad?”

“No! No, not at all, I'm just better with cars than with bikes but, uhm… My brother is coming back in around fifteen minutes?” She offers and with the scowl on his face, she seems to backtrack “Listen, Park Seonghwa, why don't you leave your number with me and we can get this fixed by the end of the day. You can come by to pick it up or we can drop it to you early, tomorrow.”

“Would you? Oh, my God,” he lets out another nervous laugh “That would be amazing, actually.”

“Yeah, it's probably just the chain tensioner that needs an adjustment. Nothing's wrong with the engine as far as I can tell but that's why I want the guy who specializes in this type of thing to check it out.”

“Your brother.”

“Exactly,” she nods, turning it off and getting off as quickly and if Seonghwa was a little less concerned that he might've waisted his money on an expensive motorcycle, he would've noticed the proximity and the way she looks him over with a curious glint on her eye “So, Park Seonghwa, what's your number?”

She takes a step to the side and offers him her phone after unlocking it. He reacts to that.

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

He doesn't notice the big smile she offers him either. He doesn't have time. He enters the digits fast and checks over them two times before saving the contact information and returning the phone.

Checking his watch once again, he curses under his breath and looks at his baby with desperation, begging, praying that he doesn't have to spend a fortune on it.

“I really have to go.”

“I can see that,” she returns his words from before, smiling and leaning to rest her weight on the hood of the car she tapped earlier “Good luck with your, uh…” she looks him over one more than and this time he notices it, blushing like a teenager for some reason because of it “Business meeting?”

The crossbody bag he's wearing probably gave him away, huh?

“Yeah, yes. Thank you so much for all your help… Ian?” He reads the nametag on her overall and immediately thinks it is an unconventional name for a girl, but doesn't add anything about it “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“I get it, you're grateful, now leave.” He catches on that she's pretending like his presence bothers her so he can hurry, which he's actually grateful for.

It occurs to him that he could stare at her forever like an idiot if she didn't.

“Okay, bye. Please tell me if I have to, uh, rob a bank or something to cover the cost.”

She laughs again and it sounds pretty this time.

What the fuck.

“Sure,” she nods and he takes a few steps backwards until he's about to turn and then he hears her voice again, so he doesn't but he keeps walking “It's Y/N, by the way.”

“Huh?”

“My name is Y/N, Ian is my brother.”

His heart beats loudly and he can't help but smile as wide as he possibly can “Ah, that makes more sense.”

“Goodbye, Park Seonghwa!”

He finally turns and then screams back “Goodbye, Y/N!” as he's hurrying to raise his hand and call on a taxi who just passed the entrance like divine intervention, placed perfectly just for him.

He misses the sudden blush on your cheeks because he's already in the cab by the time you reach the garage’s door to glance at the beautiful man one last time.

Seonghwa is right on time. With a few minutes to spare, actually.

The building looks even more modernized than in pictures. He can even see some workers remodeling an office he passes on the way to the… third? Main desk he has to go to.

It's a very big company and he can see the silicon valley aspect of it all once he notices the few different uniforms everyone is wearing. It seems like the building is one big, creative space and he likes it, but it does feel a little cold in a sense.

“I'm looking for Mr. Kim? I have an appointment in… five minutes with him, I was sent from—”

“Room for More. Park Seonghwa is here.” The lady at the reception doesn't spare him a glance as she talks through her headset and he has to blink a few times, bowing briefly when she points towards the elevator to his right “Floor sixteen, the only big office on the floor.”

“Thank you—”

“Next!”

Turning back, he sees there's some people lined up behind him and he quickly moves out of the way and towards the elevator that drops him, two minutes later, into the sixteenth floor.

As he walks towards the big doors at the end of the hall, he feels so out of place his armpits start sweating even though it is a cold day and the heating is barely on.

There's a few cubicles, glass separating them from the hall and, in consequence, forcing him to glance a few times out of curiosity. The uniforms and creativity that he saw downstairs is lost and all he can see is the nightmare he had once, when he thought he would end up working in a similar space: men in suits and women in pencil skirts typing away and printing reports he is never going to understand.

Maybe that's why he's a bit surprised when he gets to Mr. Kim’s office and he's waiting by the door with a kind of ironed three piece suit and a few hairs out of place, toothy grin and open arms.

“Mr. Park Seonghwa, thank you so much for taking the job!”

He moves in to give him a brief hug he doesn't really get to reciprocate before he's moving away and into his office.

“It's, um, a pleasure,” he stammers out, following him “Thank you so much for the opportunity, Mr. Kim— Wow.”

“I know, I know,” his client sighs as he takes a box and throws it to the side of his desk. The space is a mess and both of them grimace at the sound of something breaking inside the cardboard “This is why I recruited you. I tried to do something myself and ended up with… Whatever this is.”

Looking around, Seonghwa is able to see what he means. The walls are mismatched and there's an unfinished design on the one to his left. Someone started painting a tree and gave up after sketching out a few branches.

“And please call me Soohyun. Everyone here already calls me Mr. Kim and it makes me feel like my father,” he adds, sitting down on his desk chair and pointing to the one in front of it “That's my sister’s work. She tried to help me but broke one of her nails trying to get the cap off a painting tube so… She left me with this mess.”

Seonghwa smiles, sitting down in front of him and getting his sketchbook out of his bag. Seemingly excited, his client rests his arms on the desk and grins at him, expectantly.

He seems a little childish, not like the guy he studied earlier today. He looks younger than what he actually is like this, in a space that mimics what Seonghwa picks up like impatience and boredom, maybe the desire of breaking free of a corporate jail.

Now, he understands why he contacted Room for More.

“So, Soohyun… What do you want me to do for this space?”

He spends the rest of the day in the middle of the mess, getting to know Soohyun’s vision and learning about the company as he helps to pile up the boxes laying around and drawing different ideas down. When he tries to talk about a possible budget, the man silences him and tells him not to worry about it.

The pretty girl he met earlier crosses his mind one time, when Soohyun asks him if he can stay later than anticipated to give him an excuse to get out of what he says it's about to be a very boring and pointless meeting.

Her image, your image makes him smile and he wonders, for a second, what the hell are you doing with his bike.

And if he gets to see you again.

Your brother comes back like a whole two hours later, so you're grateful you didn't push your new client to waste fifteen minutes of his, apparently, very busy day.

“He said he got a great deal for it?” you nod “This one is not even that old, I'm sure they still make them!”

You shrug and your brother sighs.

“Maybe he got scammed.”

“I didn't ask but I think it started making that noise today because he seemed… alarmed,” you tell him and Christian pushes his hair back before taking the key out of your open palm “He didn't stay because he had a business appointment or something. He looked very laid-back, though, not rich at all, so don't you dare overcharge him for this.”

“Oh, so you liked him.”

Rolling your eyes, you turn to open the hood of the car you're supposed to be working on instead of giving away information he should've listened to if he didn't tend to walk out mid-shift “Yeah, we're actually getting married next week.”

“Well, that means I can dispute getting the whole garage once dad goes away.”

You let out a groan but you smile a little as you try and remember where you left off last night.

“The only way he can go away is if he's dead, Christian,” you remind him “And he's going to outlive both of us.”

“Of course he is.”

You're not sure if your dad has a will at all. You're not his real children after all, so If he does you're not sure you're included either.

It's not hard to tell you're adopted, but you've known Christian since before it was decided you two would share a family and even a last name.

You grew up together, the adoption home treated both of you decently enough so you two never struggled as much but the children your age were a different story entirely. They used to tug at your hair and push you to the ground during group activities and the only one who was brave enough to make them stop was Christian.

So, when your dad showed up at the adoption home and picked him out of the hundred children, he told him he didn't want to go anywhere without you.

Sure enough, your dad took one look at your frightened little face, hiding behind Christian like a coward, and filled out the paperwork twenty minutes later.

You remember gaping at the director, waiting for him to do something about this six feet tattooed guy in his late thirties wanting to take you both away from the only home you ever knew, but you're grateful the system didn't give two craps about children back in the day.

Not that it gives a crap about them now, but at least they're a little more careful with just handing out kids like that.

Because it could've gone terribly wrong. You were sure, at eight years old, your hand grasping the seatbelt on the back seat of your new dad’s car, that it was about to go terribly wrong.

But he turned out to be nothing but a kind, hardworking (with an amazing credit score, no criminal record and steady income), widowed man who was looking to fulfill his late wife’s dreams of having a family and someone to leave their business to.

After all, she was the one who built the shop from the ground up. You desperately needed to know more of her and your dad made sure to let you know how amazing she was in every aspect.

She became someone you looked up to, even if you never really knew her, maybe that's why you ended up working at the shop as well.

And yet, you still don't think it belongs to you. Ian is the one your dad wanted to begin with, you're just an added bonus.

You're not sure you want it, either.

But there's not much you know outside of it. Your time in school was great, no one bullied you anymore and the tough skin you developed out of nowhere cushioned the typical jokes that kids and teenagers are apparently programmed to make.

You never made fun of anyone with ill intentions, so you're not sure how true that statement is.

Either way, you kind of know where they were coming from. You weren't particularly exceptional at any subject but you never got in trouble for anything either, so you just kind of floated in everyone's orbit until you graduated, never belonging to any specific group of people or participating on any extracurriculars to help you maintain your barely there friendships after graduation.

This shop is truly all you got. And the family that comes with it, of course.

Your dad coughing in the back and the sound reaching your ears even when the sound of Park Seonghwa's damaged motorcycle is right next to you, reminds you that spending every second of your teenage years and early adult life learning all you could about how to fix a car was worth it.

“Fucking chain tensioners.”

Smiling, you turn your head to your brother and he's already working on it “So it was the chain tensioner?”

“Yeah,” he wipes the sweat off his forehead “it's always the fucking chain tensioner with these things.”

You don't tell him you already knew that.

“So you could get it fixed today?”

“Yeah, yeah. He said he's coming back tonight?”

“Oh, I kind of suggested dropping it off tomorrow so I'm not sure…”

“Y/N!” he scolds immediately and all you can give him in return is an innocent smile “I'm not dropping off shit tomorrow.”

Turning back to the car, your smile grows into a cheeky one.

“I never said you would do it.”

He scoffs “If this is your way of flirting with people, I can see why you never got far with anyone befo— What the fuck?”

Jaw slack, holding the greasy towel you sent flying into his direction a second ago, he throws it back and it lands by your feet.

“Did I lie?”

“Stop being an ass or the next thing I'm throwing your way are my bedazzled pliers.”

Your dad’s voice behind you puts a stop into the petty and pointless bickering “Well, don't, I worked hard on those,” you smile at him and Ian all but sulks before returning to the task at hand “I expect you both to be done on whatever you're working tomorrow, by eight. We have dinner with the Lee’s.”

Ah, dinner with your dad’s closest friends. Usual Tuesday shenanigans, of course, but it doesn't stop the nervous bubbling inside of you.

You pray Deokhee can't make it (he rarely shows up) but you mutter out an okay in response even if you don't feel like going anyway.

Nodding, he quickly looks over on what you're both doing before disappearing into the back of the shop again. You look down at your toolbox and find the bedazzled pliers your dad gave you as a part of your fourteen birthday gift with a tiny, grateful smile.

The eternal loop of working in the same usual five, fixable problems on the cars that people drop off at the shop sets in afterwards. And, for the rest of the afternoon, you keep stealing glances at the Bonneville and wondering what type of man its owner is.

You've always been drawn to pretty faces, even if it costed you your sanity only a few years back. Not that Christian or your dad or anyone else knew about it.

The little secrets you keep give you some sense of identity, it sets you apart from the oil changes and calluses on your hands and they remind you of the brief aspirations you once had outside of all of this.

When you dreamed of belonging to someone else and not just this family business, someone who you thought used to get you before he shattered your heart into a million pieces.

Deokhee thought cheating would not affect you.

Why? Oh, maybe because your edges were worn and rough and you've been through worse stuff before.

What's worse than getting abandoned and picked out as an afterthought later in life?

Being abandoned and treated like an afterthought by the guy you wasted your teen years obsessing over, probably.

Nothing breaks like a heart or whatever the song says.

And, to his advantage, he knew you'd keep calm and collected and accepting of his ways because he never promised you the life you imagined for the both of you, even after giving yourself to him multiple times.

Even after he told you how amazing you were.

Even after he whispered how lucky he was to have you, hushed and hurried at the backdoor of his house that last time before he broke it off.

Before he told you he found someone else.

So you know wondering is a bad idea. You should not wonder about a client, at that. How unprofessional of you, how immature.

But there was a spark this afternoon you never felt with anyone else. He was brave enough to joke around, even when you did try your best to intimidate him and lost tragically at one glimpse of his pretty smile.

What's so wrong in indulging in a fantasy no one will ever know about? Heavens know you need one to keep you from smashing the wrench on the windshield of this old, ungrateful, misbehaving Chevrolet that's proving to be more difficult than any other car you've ever worked on before.

It's only at ten after seven that you're allowed to think about Park Seonghwa without the guilt brought on by delusion.

“There, fixed,” your brother says and, after starting the bike again, the noise is gone “Call your future husband and tell him to pick it up, I want to meet him.”

Huffing, you reach for your phone and look at the recently added contact before shaking your head.

Indulging in a fantasy it's fine, as long as you keep it to yourself.

You get a chance to prove yourself wrong if you allow yourself to see him again.

“Not a chance in hell.”

Couple of minutes pass and you fidget the whole time. You're hoping for a yes, so it can all die down tonight. Seonghwa’s lack of transportation and your fantasy included.

He doesn't respond the way you need him to.

You hate that it makes you smile a bit.

You glance at your brother and scrunch your nose in disapproval. Would it be nice to not go wherever he is and have time to actually get ready for dinner tomorrow? Yes.

Do you want Christian to meet Seonghwa? No. That meeting would solidify everything else as a reality, it would pull you out of your little fantasy and you don't want that.

You want to keep it (Seonghwa) to yourself for a while longer.

You shouldn't be flirting, you really shouldn't.

His flirting back puts you in a dangerous zone, a territory you desperately want to explore but can't. Shouldn't.

Is it dumb of you to re-read the conversation at least eight times before going to bed?

Probably.

But you do anyway.

When Seonghwa is finally walked downstairs by his new client, he's promised a meal by Hongjoong, only if he buys some beer on the way to his apartment.

His roommates are apparently out and he didn't feel like going, although he didn't explain why. And when he gets there, Yeosang is also splayed out on the couch and with his laptop on his belly.

“Hwa’s here!”

“Oh, man, finally,” Hongjoong walks out of his room with wet hair and a towel around his neck “The takeout is getting cold. Come on!”

He seems… Off.

Seonghwa eyes Yeosang for an answer but the youngest just shrugs and sits straight on the couch as he closes his laptop.

“Is everything alrig—”

“I'll explain it to you when the time is right. Something's up with the band but it's nothing we can't fix.”

“Okay…” Seonghwa sits down on the tiny table that somehow fits the three of them, the beers and the takeout with a tiny smile, knowing not to intervene until he's told to.

Eating with his friends is like second nature to him. Everytime it happens, it's like a family dinner and everyone knows what to do and what to serve to everyone so, soon enough, they all have their chopsticks helping them get food into their mouths while they talk about their day.

Seonghwa is nodding along, not sharing a lot because, well, work is work and he just tells them how excited he is for the new project and what he's planning on doing, he even shows them the mockups and drawings he spent the whole afternoon making, gaining supportive praise for it a second later.

Yeosang looks up from his meal to him “So it's like a lot of little companies inside one company?”

“Sort of,” Seonghwa smiles “I don't really get it, either, but that's okay. It doesn't seem like I have to get the concept of the company to plan this whole thing out, only what my client wants and that's… Very different from the company image.”

He plans on saying something else but all train of thought gets interrupted when his phone dings right besides him.

And he almost spills his beer on his pretty mockups trying to get to it fast enough.

Only to end up disappointed, because it's not you but a discount notification from the food app he normally uses when he has the money to order in.

It had to show up in his face, because what he hears next has the color draining from it “Oh?”

Oh, God.

It's like Wooyoung's spirit possessing Hongjoong, he sees it happen in real time and the wicked smile his friend sends in his direction is enough to know where it's all going.

Yeosang sighs and eyes him with a tiny smile that says I'm on your side, but not really.

“Hwa… The motorcycle, the looking at your phone waiting for something or someone… Are you seeing anyone?”

“He obviously is!”

“Yeosang! Stop feeding his delusions!”

“So?” Hongjoong places his beer down, cocking his head to the side inquisitively and eyeing him up and down, like he can figure something out that way “Are you?”

“No! I just… I met this girl today and—”

“At the company?”

“No! No, uh… My bike broke down and—”

“Already?!”

“Let him talk, hyung!”

Letting out a sigh, Hongjoong sets his lips into a straight line that makes Seonghwa huff out a chuckle of disbelief “Thanks, Yeo. Anyway, my bike had a weird sound this morning and I took it to a shop, so the girl who's… In charge?” he frowns a little, because he's still not sure “Of the shop sent me a text a while ago saying that it's fixed, I was just checking if she sent anything else.”

“And you like her.”

It's more than that, really. He can't even explain it, the smile tugging at his lips a dead giveaway of the whirlwind going inside his head at the thought of you.

“Ye— No! No, I don't even know her.”

He shouldn't feel so flustered, really, but the things he felt while looking at you earlier were weird and confusing and he needs to think straight before he lets it consume him.

It felt a little too freeing for his liking.

Free from what? He's not really able to pinpoint it. But it looks like he's going to have to.

The way his friends are staring at him like they know something he doesn't it's annoying, but telling.

“Okay, maybe I do like her a little.”

Yeosang hums “Like her, like her or just… You know.”

“I'm not sure…”

“Well, figure it out!” Hongjoong is excited, almost jumping in his chair at the prospect of Seonghwa getting with someone “You have her number, ask her to… Meet you somewhere or whatever people do when they like someone.”

“Ask her on a date, hyung. That's what this idiot is trying to say.”

“Hey!”

Seonghwa closes his eyes because he can't believe his friends are entertaining the idea, feeding the growing feeling inside his chest “I just met her today, though.”

“And?” Hongjoong bites a piece of meat and shrugs, dismissively “Timing is never off when you like someone. Do something about it because I swear if I have to hear anyone else complaining about not getting with the girl they like because of timing I'll—”

“Wait, who complained?”

The table falls quiet as Seonghwa looks between his friends to find an answer but Yeosang just shakes his head and he gets it.

Not the time to talk about it.

Hongjoong points at him with his chopsticks, threateningly “Do. Something. About. It. Anyway!” He gets up from his seat, points at Yeosang this time “Guess who almost got kicked out of college for messing around with the wrong crowd today?”

“That's not what happened!”

And Seonghwa swears he's focusing on the story Hongjoong is so eager to tell, on Yeosang’s ears turning pink at the mention of a girl he's never heard before, too.

But all he can think about is you.

The next day, after briefly stopping by his office, Seonghwa is back with a few coworkers who help with measurements and put their input in the assessment. He spends all day with it, too and, once again, serves as an excuse for Soohyun to get out of some meetings he's not interested in attending.

As the day passes, he wonders how Soohyun maintains the important position he's in. Nepotism can't do everything for you, right?

Right?

But his new client seems down to earth enough to be aware of his advantages in an industry that's quick and cruel and doesn't hold too much space for laziness.

So he lets it go because, well, he tends to judge but he can't really do much for people who actually deserve to be in charge.

It's close to seven and Soohyun bidded him goodbye only a few minutes ago, saying sorry he can't walk him out because, at this time, he actually has an international call to make that can't be excused like the rest of his afternoon schedule.

Seonghwa doesn't make it out of the office before getting stopped by a manicured hand to his chest.

After the texts last night and Hongjoong's threats, he was practically ready to sprint downstairs to meet you (or whoever you sent) and get his bike back, maybe apologize for panicking and sending a whole ass sticker as a response instead of keeping the conversation going.

And to see you again. God, he wants to break his Bonneville one more time just to get to see your pretty face again.

He already idealized you in his head, which is bad and very amateur on his side, but no one needs to know that.

But now he might have to keep all of that waiting for a few more minutes because there's someone staring at him like just committed a crime. A crime he's unaware of.

“Who are you?”

Her scowl tells him she's trying to get a read on him and he thinks he's transparent enough for it to be easy. If he really thinks about it, though, it looks like she wants to scare him a little bit.

It doesn't work.

“Um, Park Seonghwa,” he says and then points over his shoulder, to Soohyun’s office “I’m working on renovating Mr. Kim’s office?”

“Oh, for fucks sake. Why can't no one in this family keep normal people around?” She peeks through his shoulder, the high heels she's wearing helping her with the task. Groaning, she turns around and starts heading for the elevator, mumbling something under her breath.

The only thing he can make out of it it's something about supermodels and a it's not fair.

She turns around briefly to look at him again and scoffs, clearly annoyed.

“I feel like I know your face from somewhere else.”

Seonghwa feels a little lost, but steps into the elevator when she does. Now he's afraid, maybe she's a crazy person but then it clicks.

Clearly, he knows her from somewhere else too.

“I'm sure the only place I've seen you before is on the news, Miss Kim,” he replies with a sheepish smile, shrugging a bit and hitting the main floor button on the panel “That's a nice tree, by the way.”

“Excuse me?”

“The one in Mr. Kim’s office?” he offers, turning to her “He told me his sister painted it and as far as I know, he only has one sister.”

That brings a smile to her face and Seonghwa counts it as a small victory, for some reason.

“Ah, so you did your research,” she nods “Please scrape it off the wall if needed. It made me bleed.”

“He omitted that part.”

“Of course he did, it was his fault. Anyway,” she shakes her head, stepping out of the elevator and walking ahead without waiting for him. She looks like the type of person who knows everyone else will follow and he does, but only out of curiosity “my brother has your number, yes, Mr. Park?”

“I'm assuming he does or, at least, my company's numb—”

“I'm not interested in your company, I'm interested in you.”

She's also very forward. How could he not guess that from the way she carries herself around?

“I don't usually do freelance work, Miss Kim.”

As they both reach the main entrance, she turns around gracefully and with a, for what he can tell, very rehearsed smile tugging at her lips.

“I'm not interested in your work either, Mr. Park.”

That, he did guess, but it's disappointing either way.

“Then what good am I to you?”

Her grin widens “You'll see.”

The sound of his Bonneville pulling up it's what gets him to turn away from the mischievous glint in the chaebol's eyes.

And when he sees you take off a helmet that's not his and wave your hand at him, she blends into the background completely.

You look good, hair down and probably freshly showered because there's a few droplets falling down from the ends of it to your shirt and leather jacket. Your hands are gloved up and all, like you've been riding bikes your whole life.

He wonders if that's the case. God, he wants to get to know you so bad.

“Oh God, not another one, I— Is she your girlfriend, Mr. Park?”

His head snaps back, eyes wide and cheeks turning pink “N-no, I just met her yesterday, she… That's my bike, I had to get it fixed.”

Pulling her bottom lip in with her teeth for a second, she nods and then takes two long strides into the direction of a car he didn't see until now “Perfect, then. She looks pretty cool,” she waves at you and he doesn't get to see if you wave back, too focused on getting the color out of his cheeks “Tell her I said that. Goodbye for now, Mr. Park.”

Seonghwa wants to ask a million questions. What does she want? What does she mean goodbye for now? But he doesn't get to. She gets into the car and drives off and that leaves space for you to drive his bike again and pull up right in front of him this time.

“Hope I didn't interrupt anything there, Ghost.”

A nervous chuckle abandons him and he manages to shake his head “No, no, she's… my client’s sister?” He offers and you smile, turning off the bike and getting off a second later “She said you're, um, cool.”

“And why would she say that?”

“Because you look cool? I don't really know, don't question me,” he's sure the efforts he put on making the blush disappear were pointless, cheeks burning when you laugh at him “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Don't thank me, Seonghwa, I didn't tell you how much it'll cost you yet.”

He gulps.

You take mercy on him and the way his eyes glisten with worry, laughing again “It's not too bad. It was the chain tensioner and my brother worked on it pretty fast, don't worry.”

Relaxing, he takes his helmet and key off your offering hands with a tiny smile, touch lingering on your skin for a second too long “Did you enjoy seeing me suffer just now?”

“A little bit,” you shrug and mutter your apologies although he can tell you're not sorry at all “I'll text you the invoice with the account you can send the money to?”

No.

He wants to say no and make you go with him to an ATM so he can pay in cash just to keep you around for a while longer, he doesn't want this interaction to be over.

And he's usually very good at communicating things of this nature but something about you makes him giddy and nervous and his charisma is not able to keep up.

It dawns on him that it's very weird to want to keep a stranger, someone he only met a day ago, in his life for as long as possible.

Do you feel the same way? He wants you to feel the same way.

The unexpected desire sits on his chest heavily, making him take in a breath more shakily than he intended to.

“Sure,” the words taste bitter on his tongue, his tone gives away that he doesn't really mean it and then said desire takes over, making him stammer the next words out “Do you want me to take you somewhere?”

Surprised, you blink a few times and then look down at your own helmet for a second. He feels like he screwed up by asking you that.

Of course, you don't feel the same way. Of course, you must have someone waiting for you already.

Of course, of course, of fucking course.

But just before he can backpedal on his offer, you're looking up, your mind made up and the same teasing smile you've been wearing ever since he saw you yesterday “It won't save you from the debt I'm about to put you through with that invoice but sure.”

Seonghwa lets out a huff and chuckle all in the same breath, straddling his bike a second later “Ha, ha. Count it as a tip, Y/N.”

“Oh, I'm so telling my brother that,” you beam when he returns the joke and he moves a little, making space for you at the back “Somehow, I don't feel safe with you riding this bike, Ghost.”

He ignites it and the whole thing shakes a bit before you can even put on the helmet, so he can't really refute that.

“Do you want to ride it?”

It's a second too late when he realizes the double meaning behind his own words, unintended, but there they are floating on the air around you both, electric and maybe one sided.

But you don't back down, taking a step into his space and crowding him, almost towering over him even if he's on the bike and even if that makes him taller than you. It feels that way, so he welcomes the sensation and the pang of his heart against his chest when you lean in just a little.

“Do you want me to ride it?”

Breath caught in his throat, Seonghwa takes in your smirk as a sign that, maybe, it's not one sided at all.

“The bike,” you clarify a second later, like it's necessary “It would be easier to get us to where I need to go, anyways.”

Planting his feet on the ground, he keeps the Bonneville stable enough to slide back to the space he created for you a minute ago, and if you can feel his heart beating with an unfamiliar, yet exciting song when you take a seat, put your helmet on and press your back against his chest, you sure cover it up when you turn to look at him.

“Does your fancy job provide you health insurance?”

He lets out an amused huff “Yours doesn't?”

“I never asked,” you shrug, taking the handles and looking forward again, leaning in slightly so now he's not that close to you but he feels you everywhere still “Just making sure in case I break you.”

When you start driving him, handling the Bonneville in a way he never would even with the years of experience ahead of him, he wants to tell you that he wouldn't mind that.

In fact, he finds himself wanting it.

As he holds tight to your waist, he finds himself on the verge of telling you to break him apart piece by piece so he can do the same with you. Explore you, not physically, but in the way it truly matters.

He wants to know your soul, he wants to understand the reason he feels attached to you after a brief meeting and little more.

You lean back to rest your back a little at a stop sign and he suddenly doesn't care if the way he squishes your waist for a few seconds gives his intentions away. He has your number, he's going to make a move eventually.

What he does care about is the way you don't tense up and just lean into his body a little more before resuming the task of getting both of you wherever you're going

This? The way he feels so free as you move through the highway, make your way in between the cars at stop signs and the wind hitting his arms? This is the grasp at his youth he's been waiting for. Even if it's just for the night.

Even if it's over too soon for his liking.

You stop in front of a house that looks empty. He wonders if it's yours for a second, but then again he's going to find out any minute soon.

“That wasn't too bad, was it?”

Getting down from his Bonneville, you take your helmet off and offer him your hand. He slides up his helmet so you can see his face, about to reply, but you beat him to it “Thank you so much for the ride that I technically gave myself, Park Seonghwa, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

Why are you saying goodbye like you're not planning on seeing him ever again?

Suddenly, he's planning on ways to mess up his bike again just to get an excuse to see you again.

No.

He has to be braver than that.

Taking your hand, he pulls you in a little bit and you let out a surprised noise that looks like it embarrasses you.

Your cheeks turn red under the streetlight and he thinks you look beautiful like that.

“Y/N,” he starts in a whisper, gathering his courage up “Would you like to—”

“Y/N.” A voice interrupts him and your eyes widen in panic while you look at him, slowly turning your head to the person as he does the same.

Not before he notices how the pretty blush and all colors drain from your face.

A guy, with blonde shaggy hair and tattoos covering his neck and hands is standing on the sidewalk with a grocery store bag and a weird look on his face. Beside him, a girl who’s smile fades away when she seems to recognize you scoffs.

The guy smiles and Seonghwa wonders why you don't say anything back, your grasp on his hand tightening before letting go.

“There you are, your dad said—”

“Ghost?”

Seonghwa doesn't like the way your voice shakes when you say the nickname he's grown used to in such a short amount of time.

“Yes?”

You don't bother putting the helmet back on, simply dropping it to the ground and turning back at him “I trust you to ride this bike now, yeah?”

He doesn't have to be told twice. Making space for you again, you hop on and hug his waste. He slides his helmet back on.

The guy takes a few steps but Seonghwa stops him with the sound of him revving his Bonneville “Come on, Y/N…” Is what he says when he starts to drive off, accelerating just a little bit before the houses start fading and the busy highway welcomes you both.

Deokhee has some nerve.

The fact that he does boils your bloodstream and you wish you could say that the warm sensation spreading through your body is caused by the guy who you're currently holding to.

Seonghwa has checked in with you once and, after confirming you were okay to keep going, he has held your gloved hands at every red light and stop sign.

You have no idea where you're going, but you're sure you can't go home and deal with this alone for now. He can't take you home, either (he doesn't know the address) but even if he could, you wouldn't let him.

The nameless girl that was with Deokhee is the same girl he cheated with. A girl who, by judging her expression, probably knew about you.

Mind going as fast as the Boneville, you ask yourself how many times she made fun of you for grasping a fantasy, a make-believe story with her now boyfriend.

What did you lack that she obviously has? What prompted him to hurt you this badly?

Is he stupid enough to not realize that the sight of them together would tear you apart all over again?

The scene replays in your head again, after all these years of trying to get over it: Him, holding your hand and telling you how amazing you were to him but that, in all honesty, he didn't see himself going out with someone like you.

You were too much, too proud, too loud.

Which doesn't make any fucking sense because although you never held back a jab or a sarcastic comment if needed, you knew the time and place to speak your mind.

It also didn't make any fucking sense because he knew you would keep his little secret from your father and your brother and, in consequence, keep the relationship you both had and the cowardly way it ended from his family as well.

You were too much, composed of many flaws and adorned with rough and burnt edges, but you would never in a million years tarnish the happiness of the people who love you because of a rookie mistake.

Falling in love with Deokhee was a rookie, horrible mistake.

Falling in love in general? You doubt it.

Because the way Seonghwa takes his time to slow down the bike on a lookout you were too distracted to notice you were climbing up to, pulls it to a full stop and then immediately reaches for your hands again, makes you believe there's good people out there after all.

He took you away without asking any questions and you're suddenly welcomed with the same grateful feeling you have towards your family.

Had you stayed there, you're not so sure you would've kept your words to yourself anymore. Your pain, your anger.

Getting down from the bike, Seonghwa takes his helmet off and drops it in front of you, on the seat, before leaning in searching for your glossy eyes.

You can see him hesitate through the fog your tears form and you don't let them drop just yet. You're angry, but there's no way you would let Deokhee make you cry again in this lifetime.

You should get down from the bike, but it doesn't move under your weight even if you readjust your position on the seat and you fear that, if you do, you would only plop down into the ground and let it swallow you whole.

You should say something, too. Thank him, probably, but the tall man lets out a breath before opening his arms and pointing at the view. Gladly, you take the opportunity to take in your surroundings and wipe your eyes with the back of your hand.

“Didn't know where else to take you, so I brought you to my breaking point.”

“Hm?” frowning a bit, you peel your eyes from the city lights to him “Your breaking point?”

“Yeah, that's what I call it,” he smiles and you do too, halfheartedly “Here's where I come to break down and let everything out. There's a playground back there too,” he points behind him and you scoff, amused “If you want to climb up somewhere and scream. The neighbors don't mind it.”

“I take that as a I've done it before.”

“Once or twice,” he shrugs “It's good for the soul.”

“God,” you cover your face with your hands “I'm so embarrassed you had to see me like that.”

“Like what? You didn't do anything.”

“Running away and acting all weak in front of…” you fake gag, but it's kind of real “Some guy.”

A bit of silence passes in between you and your savior.

And then Seonghwa laughs so hard you're forced to uncover your face and stare at him in disbelief “I'm serious! That's like… top one most embarrassing thing I've ever done.”

His laugh comes to a stop and he doesn't step closer even if you want him to, just puts his hands in the pockets of his pants and looks at you for what it feels like forever.

You don't mind it one bit.

“I've known you for a day, Y/N, but even I can tell that's not the most embarrassing thing you've done.”

Sulking, you turn to the beautiful view one more time and pout like a child. You want to tell him he's right, but your pride doesn't really allow it just yet.

It's quiet for a minute or two. You move around, throw your leg over the Bonneville and sit on top of it as you stare at the city. You feel Seonghwa move around, pace behind you until he finally reaches around and he takes a few steps before stopping on the railing separating the street from the hill.

He's looking in your direction instead of the view. You realize he's giving you space to sulk, to take in everything without pestering you with questions about why the hell you both just bolted instead of facing the situation.

Your gratitude towards him rises a bit more.

So your word vomit is justified, you think, because you don't want to leave him in the dark any longer.

The fantasy you indulged yourself in earlier might just grow into a reality you have to embrace, a reality you want to embrace.

“He's my ex-something and the girl he was with is the one he chose over me. I was supposed to have dinner with them— Well, no, not really,” you sigh, looking at Seonghwa who, in the deem light, just nods and waits for you to continue “He's my dad’s best friend's son and we have dinner with them every Tuesday. Their family, I mean. Deokhee… He never shows up,” you shrug “And when he does, he's alone and it's towards the end of it all so I never get to see him that long. But this?” you shake your head, disappointment written all over your face “I never thought he would do this to me.”

Finally getting off the bike, you walk slowly towards the railing as well and feel Seonghwa's eyes follow you as you do “He cheated on me with her, for Christ sake.” You whisper once the metal of the railing stops your step.

“How long ago?”

“Does it matter?”

“No,” from the corner of your eye, you see how he shakes his head and leans in slightly “I'm wondering because if I was your dad or your brother or your friend, I would've done something to, at least, ensure something like this never happens to you.”

“Yeah, about that…” A bitter chuckle abandons you and you shrug one more time “They don't really know what happened between us— They don't know something happened in the first place,” ashamed, once again, you turn to him “He asked me to not tell anyone when we started… Ack, whatever, it doesn't really matter.”

“It does if it's affecting you,” he insists “It does if you go pale at the sight of him, Y/N. Did he do—”

“No,” you cut him off, the corners of your lips lifting a bit “He didn't do anything weird besides breaking my heart.”

“Good.”

“I would've killed him if he did, by the way.”

“As you should,” he returns right away and finally, for the first time in the twenty minutes it took both of you to get there, you laugh sincerely. That prompts a smile on his lips “Good to know he's an idiot but not that type of idiot.”

Huffing, you turn to the city before you again “The only idiot in this situation is me.”

“For loving someone? Y/N,” his hand reaches your shoulder and you close your eyes in defeat, surrendering your heart to the weird emotion it brings you “He cheated on you. He's the idiot, the dumbass, the—”

Laughing again, his rant comes to an end and you open your eyes to find him staring at you in delight “Park Seonghwa,” you start, putting a hand over his on your shoulder “You, sir, don't know me.”

The reminder does nothing to stop him from looking at you with stars in his eyes “I'm a great judge of character, Y/N.”

“And if you're wrong?”

“Then let me be wrong,” he shortens the distance a bit, the warmth on your shoulder leaving as he lowers both of your hands, not letting go “But let me get to know you first.”

The emotion grows bigger, it swirls around your heart and spreads around your body in a way you never felt. It feels good and you hate to compare it to what you felt for Deokhee but where it once was filled with regrets and doubts and a need to hold on tight to whatever that guy made you feel now sits something that you can only describe as excitement and thrill.

Peaceful, too.

It steals your breath in a beautiful way.

Squeezing his hand a little, you inhale slowly and let go of the air when you speak “I don't really do dates, Ghost.”

“I didn't ask you on a date,” he counters immediately and your cheeks darken “I asked if I could get to know you. We don't have to go on dates, talking to you is enough.”

“O-oh, I… I thought—”

He seems to get it right away because he takes another step, your arm pressed to his by now, your hands still tangled in the middle “I one hundred percent meant it that way,” he assures you, chuckling a bit “But I don't really do dates either. Asking you out to a restaurant or a movie or whatever it is people do on dates doesn't really suit me.”

“How so?”

“There's this… Weird intention laced into it, into the prospect of a date that I don't particularly enjoy. I want to get to know people and see where it takes us without pressuring ourselves into anything romantic or sexual.” Your heart picks up at that. Not at the image it paints, but at his explanation as a whole.

It shows he might be interested in you beyond something physical and it's a beautiful thing to note when, all your life, you have felt like people only wanted you for one thing and one thing only.

You intend to tell him just that but the way he's looking at you makes you forget everything else. Brown eyes scan every inch of your face and stop at your lips for a second.

Now your heart beats for a different reason.

“No matter… How bad I want to kiss you, though.”

Words fall short. They do when for the first time in a long time you entertain the possibility of letting yourself want to kiss someone else, too.

Leaning in and straightening your back fully to give you the possibility of almost standing face to face with him, you silently communicate your desire.

It's not enough. He's too respectful.

Fuck, you like him a lot already.

“If you want to kiss me then just kiss me…” you whisper, teasing smile in full display “Dummy.”

He fakes a gasp at your jab as he leans in, his pretty nose bumping into yours for a second and making you giggle, part your lips and close your eyes while buzzing with expectation.

The sky has other plans, though. It roars above you and you both look up.

It's been cloudy, a couple of days of unusual humidity throwing off everyone but you guess the steam gathered up in the clouds just in time to knock some sense of reality into you.

Or pushing you further into the craziness of this one day alone.

Seonghwa groans a little and then a phone starts ringing in someone's pocket.

Not yours, you made sure to hit the not disturb button as soon as you got ahold of it.

You should probably tell your brother you're okay.

But Seonghwa is still close to you, his lips a breath away from yours, so you put it aside when he shows no intention of picking up his call either.

The tension builds up again, both of you ignoring the thunderstorm approaching and everything else.

There's many things from today you're not going to be able to explain any time soon, the magnetic pull Seonghwa had on you the first time you laid eyes on him is one of them, the freedom you touch with your fingertips when your mind is finally off your duty, off your family…

It's so dangerous you quickly become addicted to the recklessness of it all.

And then his phone starts ringing again, so you welcome the reality that washes over you with a sour face and pout on your lips.

“The universe must be against us being a thing, huh?” You whisper and he clicks his tongue in disapproval, resting his forehead on yours for a second before pulling away completely, pulling out his phone from his pocket.

“I don't think the universe has much to do with this one, dear,” he frowns and misses the way you flush at the sudden nickname. You swear on your life, normally you would be pretty disgusted at the endearment. Now? You want him to call you that again “I should take this and we should probably go somewhere else. There's not much to cover us up if it starts raining.”

“Sure, uh…” You fish your phone from your pocket as well, grimacing when you look at the missed calls and texts “I have to make a call, too.”

He seems to understand immediately “Go right ahead.”

Putting even more distance in between both of you, you faintly hear a what's going on from Seonghwa and then tap your screen to return your brother's call.

He picks up right away.

“Are you okay?!”

His tone forces your eyes closed. Rushed, you picture him in the backyard with a cigarette in between his fingers, trying to get ahold of himself without worrying everyone else too much “Yeah, I'm okay. I'm with a friend and—”

“Then why don't you pick up the fucking phone?!”

“Calm down,” taking in a breath and letting it out, you hear him do the same before continuing “Is there a way I can explain all of this to you tomorrow? I'm fine, Deokhee is a dick and I don't ever want to see him so I ran away like a—”

“What did he do?”

“No, nothing now, it's just… Listen, I'll explain tomorrow, alright? I'm staying with my friend tonight and everything will make sense tomorrow. It's really dumb, like… Teenage drama dumb,” you sigh, hoping that the minimal information you're giving him can help him figure it out “Just tell dad that I'm fine and if he asks I'm with a friend who is a girl and she's staying over at my place because there was a… Boy emergency or whatever.”

“Are you with—” what seems to click is something else and your brother gasps “Y/N!”

“Can you help out this time?”

The silence on the line seems to extend forever and guilt licks your throat, giving you the feeling that it's about to close up.

You want to grasp what you felt a minute ago again, the freedom of this, of doing too much, of unnecessarily putting Christian through it because he already did so much for you growing up.

Just tonight, at least, you owe yourself the feeling of not proving your place in your own family.

But the silence hurts and you wonder if you could ever, truly, be free from it.

“You owe me an explanation. Take care and text me goodnight at least, yeah?”

“Okay,” you whisper back “Thank you, Ian.”

“Yeah, yeah. I love you, kid.”

His words fill your eyes with tears again and you don't get to reciprocate them before he hangs up. You know he knows, but it still hurts when you remember how unlovable you felt before you met him as a child.

It hurts when you remember that you allowed Deokhee to make that feeling return.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

And the more it hurts, the more the sky rumbles and you fear that, if you break down here and now, it would not only embarrass you in front of Seonghwa but also strand him on this hill with you.

It doesn't matter that he calls this his breaking point, it's not yours to use.

So again, your tears stay at bay and when you turn around you catch Seonghwa looking at you with an unreadable expression on his face.

He wants to hug you, his body language gives him away as soon as he steps closer to you but a storm is about to soak through your clothes any second, so you pass him and grab his hand to pull him to his bike in the process.

When his fingers intertwine with yours, you know he understands. He doesn't make any questions, he doesn't press any information out of you and just allows you to climb his motorcycle.

“We need to leave.”

“Where do you want to go?” he asks, getting on the bike as well and goes in for his helmet but your words stop him.

“Do you want to stay the night with me?”

Turning his head, he blinks at you a few times and you smile a little before the curve fades away.

“I have my own place, we can order something in and just talk. Seonghwa, you…” biting the inside of your cheek, you try to approach this the right way “I don't expect this to go anywhere but can't you… Do you feel it too?”

He stays silent and you fear you might've taken it too far. But it doesn't really matter. Willing to take the risk, you take his hand on yours again and hold it close to your heart.

The sky roars again in response.

And you catch when his breath hitches because of it, too.

“Do you feel it, Seonghwa?”

A bit passes and then some, his eyes searching for something in yours and then dropping to where your heart beats again.

“What's your address?”

It's already raining by the time you both get into your building’s garage and park his Bonneville.

The entire ride was a bit long. It had you resting your head on his back while his fingers tapped against yours with impatience.

But when you make it to the safe space that is the elevator, clothes showing the evidence of the droplets falling from the sky and all, you finally get to breathe.

Until Seonghwa steals that breath away again.

He stares at you through the mirror, steps closer until he can take your face with his hands and swipes under your eyes where the makeup has run a little.

“Ghost…”

‘I didn't answer before,” he murmurs and wet his lips with his tongue. You can't help but stare at them, the moment somehow more intimate now, under the fluorescent glow of the elevator, than with the city lights and lighting above you “But I do feel it. I stand on what I said before, though.”

“No dating?”

He chuckles “No, not that,” shaking his head, he steps away when the elevator gets to your floor “I want to get to know you either way.”

“Ah. That,” you feel silly for assuming he didn't want to date you, but given your history you're not sure you can blame yourself too much “Well, you're about to see my cave, so we're both halfway there.”

As soon as you open the door and turn on the light, you can see in his face that he sees what you mean.

It's a one bedroom apartment that doesn't leave too much to the imagination. Your bedroom’s door is opened, the bathroom door is closed and the kitchen is an American style one that's separated from the living space by a small counter you can barely fit your mail on.

There's a lot of old furniture that you remodeled, painted over the cracks and stuffed where you needed the most. Your fridge is also old, the couch is somehow the only modern looking item in the living room and it stands out a bit because its material is not as worn out as everything else.

There's posters on the walls, unframed and placed randomly because, here, you don't have to be put together. The only people who come over are your brother and your dad, so it's okay.

It's not even an old building, but your apartment makes it look like one.

“Hope you don't mind the mess, Grandpa.”

“Oh, I'm not Ghost anymore?” He asks with a breathy laugh, taking his shoes off as you place yours by the entrance and shrugging his jacket off too “It's not messy, it's… Kind of like the shop, really.”

Mirroring his actions, you take off the leather jacket and welcome the warmth of your apartment “Greasy?”

“Cool,” he corrects and you walk through your space picking up a few things from the floor and putting them by the living room table “Is it yours, by the way?”

“The shop?” he nods and you walk to your fridge to fetch you both some water bottles “It's my dads. Why do you ask?”

“You seemed to own the place, with the way you walked around it,” shrugging, he takes a seat on your couch as he takes in the space “I just wondered…”

Walking in front of him on purpose, because you could've easily rounded the table and sat at the opposite edge of the couch, you sit right beside him and offer him a water bottle that he takes with a whispered thanks “You wondered…”

“A lot of stuff, actually,” he admits and you smile “Like your age, for example. Your last name, how did you end up working as a mechanic, if you were studying something, if you…” he pauses and turns to the side, resting his shoulder on the couch “If you liked me the way I liked you.”

Choking on the water you're gulping down, it's very evident you didn't think he was about to go down that lane again.

So directly, too.

He laughs, leaning in and wiping your chin with a familiarity that has you even more breathless than his confession. No, scratch that, it's all of it. All of him.

“Don't make me get on that bike again tonight, dear.”

That goddamn endearment again. You might risk it all and kiss him, chin wet and all.

“Whatever for?”

“You clearly almost choked to death,” he exaggerates, probably an excuse to stay that close to you longer than he needs to “And it was my fault, too.”

Smiling and shaking your head, you push him a bit until he falls back into his previous position, smugness tugging at his lips in a way that has your insides jolting up with excitement “I do like you, Ghost.”

“I know that now, but earlier I did wonder.”

“Wondering is such a dangerous thing, isn't it?”

His smile settles with a softness that melts you, your hand back in his with ease “Not necessarily.”

Squeezing his hand in unspoken agreement, you nod and then try to remember the topic of conversation before… Well, before he distracted you.

“Well, you were kind of right with your assumptions then. It's not my shop, but I grew up in it,” you shrug, letting go of his hand to grab your phone “We should probably wait to order something.”

“Yeah, until the monsoon dies down,” he says, looking outside your window that does little to conceal the thunderstorm outside “You grew up fixing bikes?”

“Cars,” you correct with a nod, connecting your phone to the speaker that lies under your tv “Is my day to day playlist alright?”

“Yup,” he crosses his legs on the couch and you see from the corner of your eye how his follow your actions, heat rushing to your cheeks at how attentive he is “Did you always want to be a mechanic?”

The question takes you by surprise, but you cover it up as you set the volume to the perfect percentage to let you two have a proper conversation without raising your voices “Kind of. It's all I'm good at, really,” you shrug “Also, my dad’s wife looked very cool in pictures growing up and I wanted to be just like her, so.”

“Your mom?” you shake your head and he frowns “Your stepmom?”

“No, uh…” clearing your throat, you get ready to reveal a piece of you that you rarely share with other people, even if it's obvious to everyone else “I'm adopted. Me and my brother we, mmm, we used to live in this sort of… Group house, I guess, and dad just picked us one day,” word vomiting again, once that you open the dam you don't know how to stop “I mean, he's not… We're not blood related, either, he just brought me along like when you adopt a dog at a shelter and they give you their favorite blanket, you know?”

Seonghwa is full on frowning at that and you think that, for the sake of just agreeing with you, he's going to nod and let it go, but he doesn't “I don't think you're just something your brother brought along with him. Adopting two kids is a big decision, isn't it?”

Reluctantly, you nod.

“Well, there you go.”

“I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him, though,” you shrug and sip on your water bottle again, gulping the liquid to send that lump on your throat down “But it doesn't really matter because it was a long time ago and now they're both stuck with me.”

He shakes his head but laughs a little at your sudden shift and, this time, he does let it go.

But you don't.

“Thank you, by the way.”

He smiles, a little confused “For what?”

“Helping me when I needed you to. We don't really know each other and yet…”

“It feels like I know you, though.”

Sharing the sentiment, you nod “I know, it's weird but, uhm… You didn't need to do what you did for me tonight. You even took me to your breaking point!” you let out a puff of air, making it a bigger deal than what it sounds. It's a bigger deal for you, anyway “And then drove me all the way here. That's a lot.”

“It's not much. It was my fault, really,” he shrugs and shakes his head at the confused look you give him “I kind of… Asked the universe for an excuse to stay with you, so…”

“Ah, so it was your fault Deokhee showed up,” the lighthearted joke lands the way you intended because he laughs with a sound so beautiful it makes your heart pick up “Got it.”

“Do you feel better? I mean, after seeing him, are you feeling better?”

“Not really, it sucks,” you say with a bitter laugh “But I hold grudges like that. It's not…” you raise your hands in self defense suddenly “I don't want him like that anymore, it's just that I can't help but…”

“I understand,” he whispers and you let out a sigh again, grateful that he interrupted your rambling “People believe that forgive and forget is the way to go when you're resenting someone but human beings don't really work like that, hm?”

“Yeah…”

Staring at him, that weird emotion that you felt at the top of the hill comes back. That dangerous warmth that makes you want to take his hand in yours and place your lips at the back of it with a familiarity you haven't really earned yet.

So when you catch him staring at you the same way, you change the subject.

“What do you do?” eyebrow raising, you eye him suspiciously and that makes him giggle “Meetings all day, past normal shift hours…”

“I renovate spaces, Y/N,” he laughs again “You made it sound like I work with the mafia.”

“Do you?”

“No. I have a buddy that does, though.”

“Oh, so I was kind of right then?”

“Yeah, yeah…” you both laugh again and then he looks around your living space like he did when you two first got in “You were right about the whole getting to know you just by looking at your apartment.”

“I know, it says a lot about a person.”

“It does!” He's excited now, sitting straighter and turning ever so slightly, your knees bumping now “There's only a few people that I trust who have those… Beige, white and black houses or apartments and that's only because I got to know them before I saw where they live.”

“So, you have rich friends?”

He stops and thinks for a second “Yeah, they all have a lot of money. I mean, the people I'm talking about, not my friends,” you raise your eyebrow again and he chuckles “Alright, I only have one rich friend. The rest of them are broke musicians and college students. He was actually the one who called earlier and, uhm…”

“Interrupted us?” You offer, smiling.

His cheeks gain a little color, maybe from the memory “Y-yeah.”

“Everything's okay?”

“Yes! Yeah, he wanted me to go pick him up from something but I told him I couldn't because, well—”

“You were with me.”

“Mhm,” you see him gulp and the mood shifts a little bit again. His face falls down as he eyes your parted lips, leaning in again ever so slightly, like he's not really thinking it through “Couldn't leave you stranded and he has a chauffeur.”

Unconsciously, you start leaning in a bit too.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes… D-do I like what?”

You chuckle and he breathes out a laugh, too “Renovating spaces…”

Pressing his hands into the fabric on the couch, at your sides, he invades your space a little more now “I do… Do you like fixing cars?”

Nodding, your nose is a whisper away from his now “I do…”

He breathes and it lands right on your mouth, making you pant as well.

“That's good.”

“Mhm.”

Eyes closing, your lips tremble a little as you wait for him to close the distance.

“You're so fucking pretty—”

You close the distance instead, pressing your mouth into his and letting the tension deflate your posture because you're finally tasting him.

Your little fantasy is not a fantasy anymore.

And it feels so fucking good. It feels good to have someone you desire, so suddenly, so unexpectedly, reciprocate your emotions and pull you closer to make acquaintance with your taste as well.

Seonghwa makes a noise you want to engrave into your brain the second you grab his shirt and pull him to you as well. And then you move.

The couch is stuffy, your bed is a mess and the cold from the thunderstorm makes its way to your living room even if you feel your entire body lit up from the swipe of his tongue against yours.

So you stand up.

You give him a teasing smile when his mouth chases after yours once you pull away “Where are you going?”

“Another thing you should know about me,” you start, breathy, your thumb swiping your bottom lip on instinct and his eyes follow the motions “Is that I have very noisy neighbors. The woman in that apartment over there,” you point at the window right in front of yours, the building separated by the street but still close enough to tell everything that goes inside your neighbors apartment if you wanted to “Once made a complaint against me because I walked out in my underwear one time.”

“Is she blind or bitter or something?” he asks, amused by your sudden storytelling, chest heaving as you pull your curtains closed “Or both?”

“She's old,” you tell him, turning around “And you haven't seen me in my underwear to make that a point, Ghost.”

“Yet,” he smirks slyly and you blush at the implication. Seonghwa reaches for you as you pass in front of him again and slip right through his fingers a second time “Now where are you going?”

He sounds whiny.

You like that.

“Another thing you should know about me,” walking to the door and turning off the big light, the living room goes dark except for the lighting that illuminates it as you're making your way back to him, getting on your knees on the couch and reaching behind him to turn on a lamp that doesn't do much but, this way, at least you can see each other “Is that I don't invest in new shit. Can't afford it, so those curtains are useless during the day… And when the lights are turned on.”

“You don't want people to gossip about you kissing a hot guy?”

“Wow,” his cockiness is clearly a joke but you won't let the opportunity of making fun of him go “Is the hot guy in the room with us?”

He beams at you.

“Oh, shut up, Y/N.”

Humming and feeling a lot more comfortable now that you know that, in fact, the spotlight won't be on you when you keep kissing his lips raw as you intend to, you loop your index finger in the collar of his shirt and tug with minimal force at it.

He acts like you put a lot of strength while doing it, his lips a breath from yours again as a consequence.

You're about to let out a witty remark, something to keep the teasing and flirting going but then his eyes actually light up like the sky when the song playing on the speaker changes.

“That's what you were humming yesterday!” His hands fall to your waist and you all but get whiplashed at the quick change in attitude.

He looked like he was about to risk it all a second ago and now he's letting his back fall into the couch and taking you with him.

“Huh?”

“I didn't see anyone when I came into the shop yesterday and then I heard you humming this song.”

“Oh,” you laugh, braising yourself on your forearms as he moves his hands up your back “Is one of my favorite songs by them.”

“By who?”

Eyes wide as saucers, you gape at him in disbelief “Kiss?”

“I don't know them like that!”

“You don't know this?” he giggles under your scrutinizing gaze and you follow, still in disbelief. You don't really know what possesses you, but you start singing along to the lyrics “I was made for lovin’ you, baby. You were made for lovin’ me.”

Seonghwa's laughter dies down at that and you notice it too: How the words somehow seem fitting even though you is day two of knowing him.

The way his heart beats under the palm you place right above it, on his chest, feels intoxicating.

So you descend again, your front colliding with his and your mouth grazing his beautiful one as you sing the song to him.

“And I can't get enough of you baby, can you get enough of me?”

“Fuck…”

You laugh “That's not really how it goe—”

His tongue probing your lips open shuts you up for good.

Seonghwa's hands hold you close, tracing the curve on your back slowly with his thumbs until he finds that spot where your shirt rode up a little, goosebumps on your skin letting him know what he provokes on you.

There's never been a point in time where you let yourself wonder if you're moving too fast.

For you, someone who had to take every chance they got in life to get something, out of fear the opportunity wouldn't show up again, this thing you got with Seonghwa feels like it's going at the right pace.

You both like each other, that much is clear.

Nothing dramatic has really happened to bond you two together, but it feels like it has.

Like you're bonded.

Like it was fated, somehow.

Like his motorcycle had to break down and he had to walk into the shop when you were the only one there to assist him.

Like he had to see you breakdown, take you away from the despair Deokhee brings to your soul, in order for you to finally let go and move on to greater things.

And there's nothing greater than feeling his hand travel down and absentmindedly grab your ass, a noise of satisfaction slipping through your lips and landing on his at the feeling.

“I'm so—”

“I liked it,” your smile blends with his as you peck his lips and he does it again, gaining a pleased hum from you “Come here, Ghost.”

“Where?”

Disentangling your limbs from his, you follow your original plan and slip from the couch to the floor, your knees hitting the soft carpet you have under the coffee table you're grateful is not that in the way.

Seonghwa sits on the couch again, opening his legs to accommodate the new position you're in and you see the image get to him before the suggestion hits your head.

You see him gulp when you lick your lips and then it's your turn to gulp, trying to understand if this is something he wants as much as you want it.

Because suddenly you want it. You want it so much.

It doesn't take much to gather up the courage to touch him, his thighs inviting you to caress them with your nails, teasing, testing him “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” he breathes out, hooded eyes and a soft, whiny, trembling tone making fidget on your knees “More than okay.”

It makes you smile. But there's things to clear up before you go any further.

“I don't want you to think I brought you to my house just to get on my knees in front of you, Seonghwa.”

“I don't… I w-would never think that,” you nod and he releases a shuddering breath “I don't want you to think that this is all I want from you either, Y/N.”

“I don't think that,” you whisper “but thank you for making it clear.”

“Mhm, I… Oh.” He stops when your touch trails higher and you take your hands away.

“You wanted to say something else?”

“N-no.”

Squinting your eyes at him, you press “You sure?”

“I was going to say that I want you… S-so please touch me, please.”

Who would've thought that a man begging would turn you on so, so much?

You catch on to it immediately. Lowering your hands again, this time around his calves, you pull him a little so he can sit on the edge of the worn out couch.

He follows suit.

“You want me to touch you?” you murmur and he nods “Where?”

He closes his eyes, blush beautifully creeping up his neck “Y/N…”

“You asked me to touch you, but I already was…” you say, like it's the most obvious thing ever “So where do you want to be touched, hm?”

Straightening your spine and angling yourself upwards, your nose hovers just below his chin. Hands starting to go up again, you hear his breath hitched when your palm grabs into the fabric of his pants before letting it go, the sound of it hitting the skin under making you and him release a noise.

“How do you want to be touched?”

Looking down, Seonghwa's mouth barely brushes your nose when he says “So it's going to be like this?”

“It's working for you,” you whisper back, the pad of your fingers pressing on his inner thighs and, when you look down, the tent in his pants curves your lips with pride that shows when you turn to him again “Isn't it?”

Pupils blown, he bites down on his lip and you see, for a slight second, a switch in his demeanor that makes you want to drop the teasing just to ask him to take you right there, on the floor, on the couch, wherever he wants to.

But, as soon as your fingernails trace the outline of his cock, he switches back “P-please...”

He doesn't have to beg you anymore.

Desperate to have him squirming under your touch, you push a little with your thumbs and he whines, a sweet sound you can't treasure as long as you want to because hand grabs your neck and his mouth crushes yours in want.

In a few seconds, the button of his pants is off and the fabric is pooling at his ankles. You help him out of them, his mouth never leaving yours except when you two break apart to pass sweet moans in between kisses and barely there bites.

Boxers succumbing to the same fate as his pants, you get him needy and panting into your open mouth as you finally take him fully into your hand.

Pumping one and then twice, you finally pull away to look at him and the sight that welcomes you is beautiful, big and oozing at the tip.

Eyes connecting with Seonghwa’s again, you make sure he's looking at you before gathering spit and letting it fall into your hand.

He moans.

And then he moans a little more when you start working his length, butt connecting to the carpet once again to give him attention fully.

It feels invigorating, the control he gives you makes you float into an intimate space you never had the opportunity to explore before and that just adds up to the list of things you're grateful for.

You take in his reactions, the way he's having a hard time keeping his mouth shut when you get close to the tip and tease it before going back down, the way his breath catches in his throat when you lean in and blow some air on it before letting yourself have a taste of him.

Licking around the tip and eyeing him as you do so, you get to catch him throw his head back in bliss. Then, you indulge both of you a little bit more: hollowing your cheeks, you move forward to take him in your mouth.

And then you moan around him at the feeling and he shivers under the palm you placed on his knee to keep steady as you suck him off.

“Your mouth feels so fucking good, dear,” he encourages and you bat your eyelashes at him teasingly, making him chuckle before whining again. Tangling his fingers on your head to guide you to the right speed, he closes his eyes and curses under his breath “So fucking good.”

It only makes you want to hear him again. So you do your best to stay on him, breathing through your nose and continuing your ministrations as he moans above you, filling your living room with sounds you want to plaster across the walls, encapsulate in a bottle to hear them again when he's not with you.

You take him deeper and his grasp on your head tenses before you release him with a lewd sound you didn't really intend to make.

Breathing hard, you let out a whine when he tilts your head back. He looks at you with indescribable desire, want and a little smile that prones yours.

“You have no idea,” he starts, leaning in to take you mouth with his again, tongue swiping at the saliva that gathered under your bottom lip “How bad I want to ruin you now.”

Oh, so maybe he's not as submissive as you thought. You should've guessed it, the slight switch and the little glint earlier would've hinted at his true intimate nature if you weren't so busy trying to get the act up.

“Only if you want to, of course.”

And yet, he's such a fucking gentleman. You can practically feel yourself getting wetter at his words.

Your whisper is sweet, a confirmation on what you want and what he obviously wants to hear “Come here, Ghost.”

You make space for him on the floor and he doesn't question why the both of you are not on the way to your bed right now.

He seems to like it, even, so you giggle into his mouth at his eagerness to lay you down on the soft carpet and hum appreciatively when his hands bypass your shirt and grab your bare waist to accommodate you both into a comfortable position.

With his leg in between yours and his chest pressed against you, he kisses you until you're pliant, needy and janking him down to earn some sort of friction.

Mouth descending down your cheek, into your jaw and then your neck, Seonghwa scatters kisses in the soft spots like he already mapped you out with his mouth.

His hands touch you where you like, his knee bumps into your core to keep you there as he works his way through you like he had you like this before and it's addicting.

It feels right.

He mouths at the valley of your breasts and softly sinks his teeth into the flesh through your shirt and it makes you dizzy, letting out a moan that makes him smile.

Touching him too, you give his back some attention before sinking your fingers on his silky hair and tugging at the strands.

He kisses down, down, down until he reaches your belly and then bites you the same way he did seconds ago “Ghost…”

“Say my name, Y/N.”

“Hm?”

“I love when you call me Ghost,” he starts, breathing hard and you watch his nose disappear under the fabric of your shirt, raising it a bit more when he moves to be eye to eye with you “but I want you to call my name if I'm making you feel good,” kissing the sense out of you for a few seconds, he talks against your mouth “Can you do that for me, dear?”

“Yes,” you barely nod, opening your eyes to find his “Seonghwa.”

The way you whisper his name, needy and teasingly at the same time, seems to wake something else in him.

Because in a second, he's asking you to raise your body a little so he can take your shirt off. You help him with his and he moves to undo the clasp on your bra after asking for permission one more time and you shouldn't really find his insistent questioning of consent so hot but you do.

He takes his time with you, exploring you with his mouth as you do your best to keep still under him. He kisses your chest, rounding your nipples with his tongue and taking them into his mouth after.

Lightning illuminates the room and electricity runs through you and settles into your core.

“Seonghwa…”

The sky roars when he gives your legs attention over the fabric of your pants, moans blending into the thunder and the sound of the raindrops against the window when he pulls back and raises your left leg to kiss a path from your ankle to your thigh.

You buck your hips at the feeling, asking for more without really saying anything and he smiles before moving to your right leg and giving it the same amount of attention.

“You want me to touch you?” He asks and you're about to call him out for being mean and clueless, but his smirk proves he's only teasing “Where do you want me to touch you, Y/N?” voice low and dripping in honey, he unbuttons your pants and you're not too fucked out yet to know he's returning the way you tortured him earlier “How do you want me to touch you?”

Your pants end up meeting with his somewhere under the coffee table and you smile when he zeroes on the wet patch your arousal has formed on your underwear.

And, unlike him, you're not actually humble in asking what you want “Don't you want to taste the mess you've made, Seonghwa?”

When he eats you out, he makes sure to taste it real good. Open you up with his fingers, learn the right pace and pressure until heat pools on your lower abdomen and you're incoherently babbling praises under your breath.

When you come undone on his tongue, you make sure to repeat his name like a mantra. Over and over again until he's sated with his meal and leaves the remnants of it in wet marks as he makes his way up to your mouth.

Tasting yourself on his tongue is heaven.

“Sound so pretty for me, you're so… Fuck, Y/N.”

Taking him into your hand again, his dick twitches at the sudden attention it's getting and you explore the skin on his neck, lap at his collarbone and nuzzle against it because you just can't get enough.

“I want you inside me, Seonghwa,” you whisper against his skin and you see him close his eyes when your other hand joins you on his chest, thumb against his nipple “Ruin me like you promised, hm?”

He grabs your chin, eyes dark with passion and affection in a way you never want to forget “Your filthy mouth might be the death of me.” He whispers and you giggle, bratty.

“Good, I never want you to forget it,” you whisper back “I never want you to forget me.”

“Never in a million years, dear.”

Happy at his response, you kiss him and feel the warmth of his hand leaving you to try and grab his pants again. You giggle when he curses lowly, letting go of him so he can take a condom out of his wallet with a smile on his face.

He looks back at you in the process, shaking his head in amusement at the way you're taking the tender pause and he's smiling when he rolls on the condom as well as when he lowers himself so he can kiss you senseless again.

When Seonghwa enters you, the whiny mess he was when you first touched him makes its comeback and you welcome it as you sink your nails into the skin of his waist, accompanying his slow movements as he eases you open.

Soon, you're a whiny mess too. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear and kisses your shoulder while you hug him tight to you and let yourself get lost in the buck of his hips and the way he slows downs to make the moment last, like you're not planning on keeping him in your life and making him see stars whenever he wants.

When he picks up the pace, the living room is warmer than it was when you first came in and the cold from the storm outside it's forgotten as his sweaty forehead rests on yours and his hips snap into yours with vigor.

“That’s it, dear. God, you feel so good…”

Ruin you he does. Because this time, as he flicks your clit with his thumb and you come, it solidifies the fact that there's no one else you want.

Is it crazy and a little rushed because you just met him? Yes.

Do you give a damn? No. No you fucking dont.

He ruins you for good and for everyone else, as well.

“Seonghwa! Fuck, fuck, don't stop.” You beg, overstimulated and hips aching, but wanting him to reach his high so badly none of that matters.

When his hips stutter, you take his ass with your hands and keep him in place, buried deep inside of you and walls pulsing around him as he comes with a beautiful cry and a rasp of your name in his throat.

Panting, you take the opportunity to kiss his face as he comes down, nose slowly caressing his with affection and gratefulness and emotion you can't express because it's not the time yet.

“God, Y/N.” He breathes out with a chuckle and you reciprocate it, kissing his mouth once more before deflating against the soft carpet under you.

“I know,” you look at him, at his fucked out expression and the cute way he kisses the hand you use to wipe the sweat out of his face makes you feel giddy and in love, even if you know you're aren't in love with him yet “God bless the fucking thunderstorm.”

Laughing, he nods in agreement “God bless the fucking thunderstorm.”

He kisses you again and then pulls out, making a quick work on the condom and asking for the bathroom so he can dispose of it before making his way back to you.

When he does, you're already sitting down, still naked, but sipping at your forgotten water bottle. Sitting down next to you, he places a kiss on top of your head.

The carpet is definitely going to use some cleaning after tonight, but that's okay.

There's a bit of comfortable silence as you both recover from the amazing sex you just had. He takes a sip of your water bottle as well and then there's another thunder that shakes your window and all, making you both jump a little.

Seonghwa “Do you… Mind if I stay over?”

You snort “I wasn't planning on letting you go anywhere, Ghost.”

He smiles, getting close to your face again “Even if it stops raining?”

You nod, pecking his lips “Even if I have to go and clean up my room just for you.”

“Oh, wow,” he whistles loud and you push him in feign annoyance, looking around for your underwear “You like me, like me.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

He attempts to hug you but you push him away again and stand up, making a quick job of putting your panties back on “Say that you like me and I'll let you kidnap me if you want.”

“That's not how kidnapping works, idiot.”

He gets up as well, taking his underwear and putting it on as he follows you around your apartment.

You quicken your step, but he catches you right as you enter the mess in your bedroom. He hugs you tight, you back against his bare chest and his chin on your shoulder a second later “I'll honestly let you keep me even if you say you hate me, Y/N.”

Is sweet and it should make you cringe but you all but melt against his touch. There's no real need to tell him you like him when you place his hand on top of your chest so he can take in the way your heart beats for him for the second time tonight.

“Good,” you turn a little, smiling at him and then turning to your room again “Do you want to help me clean this up just to make it messy again?”

“Y/N!”

Seonghwa doesn't help you clean your room. He, in fact, makes it a lot messier as soon as you two get into bed and when he falls asleep he dreams of a life where he can be by your side every night.

The only thing that disturbs his sweet dreams is the way you squirm in his hold and he can't quite place the reason for it until he hears the loud, banging alarm ringtone he has set at six thirty so he can get ready for work.

Murmuring and still half asleep, you slap his chest so he can tend to it “Turn it off, Ghost.”

He does and he checks the time and the screen of his phone to find a message from his boss. It reads something about taking the opportunity to take the rainy day and work from home or something like that and Seonghwa can confirm, looking through your bedroom window, that the rain falls softly against it still.

He smiles, grateful to have his laptop with him so he can work on his report if you decide not to kick him out first thing in the morning, and then rolls back to you so he can cuddle you and sleep in for the first time in months of commuting to the office.

Then his phone rings again.

Both of you groan at the sound and you sit up, the big t-shirt you put on after taking a shower gathering messily around your waist and he almost forgets about the call at the sight of you.

You're so beautiful.

“Pick it up and tell them to go fuck themselves for calling you so early. What the fuck.”

He smiles “Bossy.”

“You like it.” You say, smiling back and falling on top of him as he answers the call from an unknown number, your cheek resting on his chest.

He makes sure his voice sounds extra sleepy when he does “Hello?”

“Good morning, mister Park!” It's a woman on the line, a voice he recognizes but can't quite place yet “I'm sorry to wake you up, but yesterday you asked me what good you're to me… Guess what? You can find out today!”

She sounds sarcastic and tired and like she drank seventy energy drinks to stay awake. Seonghwa scavenges his brain until the memory hits him “Miss Kim?”

You look up at that, curious.

“The one and only. Now, tonight you will accompany me to a party and—”

“Miss Kim—”

“I'm not finished,” you cuts him off, annoyed “At the party, I need you to pretend to be my boyfri—”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, I will not go to the party with you and no, I will not pretend to be your boyfriend.”

Now, you sit up on the bed again and frown at him. He shrugs and sits up as well.

“This could be a really great opportunity for you to gain connections and—”

“Miss Kim,” he starts and, after taking in the sudden desperation on her voice, he sighs “I'm flattered you have taken me into consideration for this… Particular, uhm, job?” He offers, feeling awkward as hell “But my day is taken and I'm not single anymore, so I can't do it.”

He watches you as you break into a little knowing smile and he smiles back, not even the disappointed sigh Miss Kim lets out on the other side of the line can break him away from the spell you so easily put him under.

“This is very inconvenient for me but I hope you and the cool girl I saw yesterday are happy together… Even if it ruins my happiness forever!” She sounds like she doesn't really mean the last part but it's trying hard to make it seem like she does “God… Ugh. Don't mention this to my brother and please cover that stupid tree up, okay? Goodbye.”

She hangs up before he even gets the chance of saying goodbye or asking if she'll be okay. He has friends who wouldn't pass the opportunity to fake a relationship and go to a party, anyway.

“So,” you start, getting on your knees and making your way back to him “What the fuck was that?”

He reaches for your waist without really thinking about it, like he's been doing it his whole life and you sit on his lap like this is a morning routine you two crafted with years of experience.

“I don't really know. Remember my client's sister?” you nod “She wanted me to be her fake boyfriend at a party tonight, I think.”

“And you told her you're not single anymore to save face because you didn't want to go?”

“I told her I wasn't single because I'm not,” he says, honestly “Even if you're not my girlfriend right now… I don't really want to see anyone else but you, so…”

You fake a gasp and he rolls his eyes, smiling like an idiot when you lean in to leave a peck on his lips “And I was about to kick you out ten minutes ago!”

Pouting, he holds you tighter “Why?”

“That stupid alarm almost made me.”

“I turned it off!”

You laugh at the way he pretends to be offended and you're about to say something else before his phone starts ringing like crazy.

It's not a call, it's a message notification.

He turns to it and sees that Yunho is spamming the group chat with emojis.

“Oh, God,” he sighs “What now?”

“Is that your friend from yesterday?”

“Mhm.”

When Seonghwa scrolls to the messages to find something that can indicate what the hell is going on, he reads something a little alarming.

Does anyone want to skip town tonight?

He blocks the phone and tosses it into the bed, turning to your worried form with a smile “Do you want to meet my friends tonight?”