#also this is not an attack if you like the characters
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ludosgd · 2 days ago
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IRREDEAMABLE TIME PALS
Played one hour of this and yeah it's really charming.
The artstyle complements the tone very well. You feel in every corner of the world that this place is DOOMED doomed, but the game allows itself to be funny and quirky at times. My favorite thing is Lady's character design, she has metal claws that pop out of her purple dress to attack, that's, like, objectively cool!
The mechanics are a bit janky sometimes but nothing that gets in the way of actually playing the game. The movement surprised me with its depth; you can crawl, make a big jump from the crawl, a dashing jump, you can even roll-dodge. And that's only in the beginning. You actually unlock MORE movement options as you progress. I found myself skipping enemies often after I became familiar with the gameplay loop, but you do actually have to engage with the level to beat it, so it's not like combat is completely skippable. It's always encouraged and sometimes it's the best course of action.
This brings me to the game design; someone cooked here. At first I thought I could just spam attack and beat my enemies, but there's careful thought on both level design and game design. The levels' layout is pretty fun; you get to use your movement kit pretty well, and also making enemies fall in pits is pretty funny. The bossfights are fun. The first one was nothing to write home about, but I liked some of the attacks. It definitely encouraged you to move around; as I progressed, bossfights became more interesting. I caught myself having to strategize and to understand how to beat a certain bossfight section, and it was satisfying to "crack the case." Good stuff!
I enjoyed the writing, especially some of the characters' personalities, my only criticism would be on the spelling: sometimes there are typos, which is a shame since I am interested in what they're saying!!! I cannot stress enough however how these issues aren't all that serious: the characters have heart, I loved especially the "The end is near" girl, her character growth is very sweet.
I strongly recommend giving the game a try. It is FREE and it is like 100MB and it also features a CANNON (favorite weapon so far); it has a surprising amount of depth, both lore-wise and mechanic-wise. It is a complete experience and I want to remind you that it was made by ONE PERSON through sheer force of will, of wanting to make this game exist. The passion behind this game is commendable, and the game itself is well worth your time.
By the way I played an older version I already installed months ago. The game got improved and there is also a "Give me your money edition" on itch for which you can donate if you so feel inclined.
Enjoy, play Irredeamable, and have a wonderful day!
Irredeamable is out!
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Trailer Music: Destiny by Alexandr Zhelanov https://www.youtube.com/c/AlexandrZhelanovsMusic
Play Irredeamable on Gamejolt here! Or play it on Itch.io Here!
About Irredeamable
Irredeamable is my latest project, a semi-linear action-adventure game, where you control this little bundle of anger and angst in her quest to recover her lost powers and bring forth the end of the world.
Join Irredeamable Gamejolt community here! Follow me on twitter here!
The game has a heavy emphasis on combat, with a bit of platforming, and a whole lot of boss fights. There is also some mysterious lore to be uncovered by those willing to brave the world's deepest, darkest depths. My main goal with this account is to spread awareness of the game as i work on it. I'll post threads about the game content, characters, and world, with occasional distractions such as my unhinged game design thoughts and ideas. Don`t hesitate to share thoughts and engage, i love nothing more than to talk about writing and game design.
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seulszn · 2 days ago
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Caitlyn is cannonically an Lesbian so don't headcannons her sexuality as anything other than that she's not straight. She's not bisexual she's a lesbian
Vi is cannonically a Lesbian don't headcannons her sexuality as anything other than that she likes woman, she's married to a woman in the LOL universe (Caitlyn). She isn't straight and she's not bisexual.
Ellie Williams is canonically a lesbian not bisexual, nor straight. All of her love interests in the show have been girls never men.
Like the amount of people trying to erase these characters queerness is insane if you can’t accept that character for their sexuality then that makes you homophobic . And who cares about people writing fem x readers about straight characters like hello did we forget straight is the default sexuality? Also just because a character has a partner of different gender doesn’t automatically make them straight.
The fetishization, sexualization of lesbian’s is absolutely sick. Woman can NEVER have a space without a man being upset about something. you guys have a SHIT ton of media out their that are directed to you. Like even lesbian porn, GL’s and Yuri’s are directed to men never the audience it is attended for which is woman.
And the transphobia that is happening in the community is also fucking sick trans women are women idk why this is another discussion that needs to be had in 2025. Writing Male X readers about Lesbian characters is a form or fetishizing which is overall very sick and homophobic and overall harmful. And getting mad and upset about something that is a very serious issue makes it seem as if you don’t see lesbians as humans but as a toy to your sexual mind.
Lesbian fetishization is the act of treating lesbians as sexual objects for the enjoyment of a privileged group, rather than accepting their sexuality. It can have real-world consequences, such as homophobic attacks and corrective grape.
And for all the men mad because Lesbians or woman in general are Men haters look at yourself and see why. You can’t respect anyone and then get so butt hurt when your called out for it. When people were speaking up about you guys writing Male readers about lesbian characters you tried to justify it when their isn’t any justification for your sick and twisted mindset.
If you maybe idk use your brain and realize why woman don’t like y’all you wouldn’t ask yourself “why doesn’t woman like me” like come on now look at the media, look at what is going on in this world right now for woman just existing. Woman in some countries can’t even speak in public without the fear of getting killed. You guys have so much privilege that it’s starting to make y’all think you are so damn superior. Its so tiring seeing discourse in the tags about something that shouldn’t even be discussed
If your a lesbian you like woman
If your bisexual you like both genders
If your straight your straight but at the same damn time it’s a default sexuality. Also majority of the characters y’all arguing about never once said or mentioned they was straight so y’all argument is pointless.
And another thing they aren’t real characters it doesn’t matter but the only things that do are their background, race, and sexuality
A space that is for woman respect it if a character is a lesbian respect it stop arguing about pointless ass shit and Men once again stop fetishizing lesbians and get a life.
Also another thing (I think the account got deleted) stop writing smut for Isha your fucking sick and twisted that’s a WHOLE ass child their ain’t no such thing as aging up a character. If you have to age up a child to fucking sexualize it you’re a whole ass pedo and need to turn yourself in. It is bizarre how many I’ve seen come up on my timeline like chat are people ok in the head? Like this is a repeat of the MHA fandom writing smut for Eri a whole ass child like it makes no sense that you looked and Isha and was like “I wanna write smut about her” like your weird and need to be called out about it.
Both the Arcane and TLOU fandom needs a cleanse and I mean fast cause this shit don’t make sense AT all like yall done lost y’all’s ever loving mind. (I sound like a black momma 😭)
Also one more thing my page is not a safe space for men I put it in my rules that I don’t want men interacting with my stuff because I am a lesbian and don’t feel comfortable with men interacting with my content and y’all don’t even listen to that so as I said before if a space is for woman don’t try to put yourself in that space if you aren’t the targeted demographic. Hopefully everything I said made sense.
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jeanmoreautemple · 3 days ago
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With The Golden Raven’s release date being Kevin’s birthday, it’s pretty much established that Kevin is gonna be a central character.
Do you think Nora is not gonna retcon this piece of the EC:
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So far they haven’t talked and from Jean’s POV it seems very likely:
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They are going to have the shared interview and Jean’s rumors are 100% gonna be brought up. I wonder if Kevin is gonna want to discuss the topic with Jean in private before, maybe to organize what Kevin has to answer, or afterwards. But last time a raven, Thea, brought up the subject in a very raven-y insensitive way, Jean had a panic attack and sent them away:
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But does this mean they won’t properly talk until book 3? It would actually be pretty interesting to only have solo time with Kevin from Jeremy’s POV. It would also make Jeremy’s role as the bridge between them extremely relevant during the interview. And Neil! It seems Jean is gonna become closer and closer to Neil and Jeremy, both very important to Kevin, but distance himself from Kevin.
Much to think about.
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dawngyu · 1 day ago
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THE LAST SAFE PLACE
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pairing: idol!beomgyu x fem!soldier reader click here for moodboard
Summary: The world didn’t end with a bang. It ended with a whisper, a deadly virus creeping through the streets, turning the living into something… monstrous.
It was supposed to be a mission. Get in. Get out. Rescue the five a-list boys holed up deep in the city of Seoul. But nothing in this new, broken world is simple anymore.
The dead don’t scare you as much as his starry eyes do—deep brown eyes that make you question if you’re the one who needs saving, after all.
warnings!: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. apocalypse!, survival!, blood!, character!deaths, zombies!, descriptions of!killing, gore!, attempted!sa, menace!reader, anxiety!attacks, signs of!pstd, cursing!, side oc characters, reader has her own last name, pov being switched from reader to beomgyu, mini timeskips, drunk-in-love beomgyu, emotional-baggage, let me know if I missed any! (not proofread, first fic.) smut!warnings: fingering!, oral!fem receiving, missionary, unprotected, slightbody!worship.
wordcount: 30k
notes: Whenever I saw writers call their fic their "baby," I used to wonder what that really felt like. Now here I am, sharing my first-ever fic—my baby—with all of you. It’s far from perfect; I know that. But isn’t that the beauty of writing? I believe we all have room to grow, and so do I.
This fic is inspired by two things I hold dear; Beomgyu (and TXT as a whole) and the idea of finding love in the middle of an apocalypse. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed creating it.
taglist: I just want to say I love you. thank you for giving this story a chance. @beomiracles @agustdiv1ne @binluvsu @saejinniestar @haowonbins @vampzity @usuallyunlikelyfox @gyu-tori @xodidarks @tubasmiracle @hyunelixbun @woncheecks @lovingbeomgyudayone @beomsdoll @baekberrie @parkweylyn @lun4mizuka @lilbrorufr @no1likemybbgcharlie
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Saying the military "protects the nation" always felt like a hollow statement to you—something neat and rehearsed, meant for recruitment ads or patriotic speeches, you came to understand it all too well after years of service. Life is fragile, easily dismissed with a single command, and the concept of disobedience isn’t even an option.
You follow orders, make decisions, and carry out tasks already mapped out for you and your team. The oath you swore binds you to honour whatever higher-ups deem necessary for the greater good, no matter the cost. It matters not, even if it costs your life. That’s how it is.
You've lived like that for as long as you can remember, and sometimes you wonder if it’s that very belief—an unwavering fool—that drove you to become the soldier you are. You know by now that it will also be the very reason for your end someday.
The sound of banging at the door jerks you awake. Your eyes strain in the pitch-black darkness of the barracks. You think you might’ve slept, but it doesn’t feel like it—not really. More like you were just drifting in and out of consciousness, never quite at rest.
"Park. Roll Call." You blinked, scrunching your face. The pounding on the door didn't let up, insistent as ever, making it clear there was no chance of them stopping.
"I'm up." You shouted. The cool floor met your bare feet, and you groggily reached for your shoes tucked neatly underneath. Your eyes flicked briefly to the small bottle of sleeping pills on the bedside table. It sat there like an accusation, a stark reminder of the restless hours you spent last night. The tossing, the turning, the damp sheets sticking to your skin as you wrestled with the silence that refused to grant you peace.
You exhaled, rubbing a hand over your face. The pills—felt like the only option. You stared at the bottle, before grabbing it and slipping it into your bag.
Opening the door, you found yourself face to face with a smirking Do-hyun. "Good morning," he said, tone laced with sarcasm. "Except it’s 2:30 a.m. and we’ve got urgent business. Captain’s called us. Did not say anything about it."
"Must be top secret," you muttered, wincing as the harsh overhead light hit your face. You tried to tame your hair, pulling it into a sloppy ponytail. "C'mon."
You fell into step beside Do-Hyun, the sound of your boots hitting the floor echoing down the empty hallways of the garrison. Your shoulders brushed as you walked, the quiet around you almost unsettling. It was way too early—or maybe too late—for anyone to be this awake.
Seeing a few other soldiers from different units, you saw the same thing: them stumbling into their shoes, eyes half-closed, still caught somewhere between sleep and whatever had pulled them out of bed.
Your boots thudded against the floor with each step. Everyone knows the drill—soon enough, you'd find out what the mission was. Probably something you weren’t supposed to ask too many questions about. Face set in a hard, businesslike expression, you could feel another one coming. Another duty. Another unknown.
"This must be a big one," you muttered, scanning the growing crowd of fighters being herded into place. It was rare to see… this many called out at once. "How many teams are they assembling?"
"I don’t know," Do-Hyun replied with a tired sigh, clearly irritated. "I should be asleep, dreaming about anything other than this, but here we are." Early-morning chaos is the only thing that can get under his skin.
You followed him as he turned left down another corridor. People started staring as you passed—from other squads, lingering on the two of you. They knew. They knew who you were.
Black berets. Special Commands Unit. Infamous. You didn’t need to say it aloud; everyone already knows. The reputation of efficiency, precision, and something else—something darker. Your team never, ever failed. Your team didn’t just complete missions. You annihilated them.
That reputation followed you everywhere. You could still feel the weight of their gazes—some filled with admiration, others with something harder to read, maybe even a little fear. It wasn’t new. You’d felt it for years, people looked at you like you were a hero or a big, bad warning.
You were used to it by now.
When you finally enter into the room where your team usually gathers, the moment your eyes land on the team commander, you and Do-yun both instinctively, snap to attention, "Captain Joon. Park Y/N and Jung Do-yun, reporting."
"At ease. Sit down," Captain Joon responds, tone as calm as ever, looking at you directly as if assessing your state. You lower your salute, glancing around at the rest of your teammates already seated. Looks like you’re the last to arrive.
You make your way to an empty seat, crossing your legs as you also folded your arms, leaning back for comfort. You catch the faintest glance from another one of your teammates, Eun-woo, who raises an eyebrow at you but says nothing.
Captain Joon stands at the front, pacing back and forth, usual self missing. He opens his mouth, then stops, words not coming. He closes it again, staring ahead. It’s strange to see him hesitate like this—it’s not like him at all.
"Alright," he starts, avoiding anyone for eye contact. "We’ve got a new mission. It’s… a lot different than what we usually have." You uncross your arms and lean forward without thinking, drawn on the word "different." There’s something about it—his tone, his hesitation, maybe—that makes your stomach clench.
He continues, "This one’s high-risk. We don’t know exactly what we’re walking to. We’ve got intel, but it’s shaky at best; All I know is there’s a virus spreading. Not like Corona. No, it’s not like that. This one… it turns people into something, not human. They become—" He stops, words hanging in the air. "—they kill.. They attack. And they spread it to others. It’s not confirmed yet, but it will be. Soon."
He doesn’t wait for any further response. "We move out in an hour or two. We will be assigned to a specific mission in the middle of this. Get your gear ready. Dismissed." Six pairs of eyes follow him as he exits, leaving a heavy silence in the room. It's cold. It almost feels unreal—like something out of a movie.
You’d been to other countries, thrown into the thick of it—dealing with terrorists, and a hundred other ways to die. After all the things you’d seen, all the wars you’d fought, the idea of a virus outbreak was not the kind of fight you were used to.
"So, a virus? Like zombies?" Seo-jun’s voice breaks the stillness. He stands up, eyes wide with disbelief.
"It's medically impossible." Beom-seok replied, shaking his head, "Or at least… it should be." he added, almost to himself.
"If it's a virus—then what? How are we, supposed to stop that? A plan on how? Is there going to be a… vaccine? Some cure?"
You stand up, movement so subtle yet enough to make the others still, their attention turning to you. "We’ll figure it out," you say, voice firm. You lean back against the table, crossing your arms, "We always do. Whatever it is, we’ll handle it."
Do-hyun shoots you a look, then nods, his expression unreadable. "Right," he says. "We’ll deal with it."
The words hang in the air, and the newly shut door swings open with a loud noise, making everyone turn. A figure stands in the doorway, breathless. "Did you guys see the news?"
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"Did you see the news?"
Yeonjun’s hands were trembling as he shoved his phone into Taehyun’s hands, practically forcing him to look. On the screen was a livestream—a news broadcast, but not the usual kind.
Taehyun blinked, his half-asleep face confused as his eyes adjusted to the screen. He stared, his breath catching when he realized what he was watching. He’d never been a fan of gore or horror, and this felt like both—worse, even. The video was chaos: people running, screaming, blood everywhere. Limbs tangled and barely escaping the streets. The sounds of panic—raw, animalistic—clawed at his nerves. He shivered, his voice coming out barely above a whisper. "Is this… a new movie or something?"
Yeonjun swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the phone as he snatched it back, his fingers quickly tapping away at the screen. "No," he said, voice low, "It’s from.. SBS."
"A drama from SBS?" Taehyun asked, still trying to make sense of what he had just seen.
"No," Yeonjun shook his head quickly. "News live stream. It's been trending. Saw it a couple of minutes ago." Panic flared across his face as he started typing furiously, sending messages to his mom. Where are you? Are you safe? Please reply. His heart pounded with every second of silence that followed.
As the phone screen glowed with his continuous text, the sound of a door creaking open interrupted. Soobin stepped out of the bathroom, checking the two of them that seemed frozen in place. "What happened?" he asked, voice laced with concern.
The question was left unanswered when Yeonjun’s phone suddenly rang. A small spark of relief flaring up in his chest—only for it to fade just as quickly.
It wasn’t from his mom. It's their manager, "Hello?"
Taehyun got up to get his own phone, his movements stiff. Soobin stayed by Yeonjun’s side, eyes flicking between the phone in Yeonjun's hand and his face—filled with anxious expression.
"He’ll speak to you. He wants to," Yeonjun said, meeting Soobin's gaze. His voice was uncertain. Yeonjun did not want to miss out on anything, but the manager had already requested for their leader. Soobin nodded, catching the worry in the latter's eyes. He offered a soft tone, "You can put it on speaker."
"Okay, listen up. I don’t know what’s really happening, but it’s dangerous, very dangerous out there. It’s… people eating people. Do not let anyone leave the house. All five of you. You've just had your groceries dropped, right?"
"Yeah, but what’s—" Yeonjun’s voice cracked, but the manager cut him off.
"Again, I don’t know much. None of us do. We heard the president’s about to announce martial law over this. The military’s locking down the city. You can’t go anywhere. All you need to do is stay inside. Help will come. When they get there, they’ll say my name. You’ll know it’s them." Hands trembled slightly as he held the phone, fighting the urge to hang up and try calling his mom again. Soobin saw it, his own anxiety spiking so he stepped closer, placing a steady hand on Yeonjun’s shoulder then taking the phone from his shaky grip.
"How long do we have to stay here?" Soobin whispered. "What about our families? They’re out there too."
"I don’t know," came the reply, the voice on the other end. "This started in Seoul, based on the news. The military’s setting up safe zones in every city around you. They’ll be protected. But no one can get in or out until things settle. Just… stay inside. I’ll keep you updated when I can-" The line went dead. They stared at the phone, signal bar disappearing completely.
"What are we going to do now?" They heard Kai mutter. He’d stepped out of his room after hearing the commotion. "Hiyyih is out here in Seoul too."
"I don’t have a signal now either," Soobin said, glancing at his own phone, face tightening as soon as he saw missed calls from his dad, his mom, and his sister, brother. He has missed their calls. With a frustrated sigh, he grabbed the TV remote and switched it on, only to be met with a busy signal. The screen flickered, in bold letters, the message appeared:
STAY INDOORS. ANY SIGNS OF WOUNDS, FEVER, OR VIOLENT BEHAVIOR—ISOLATE IMMEDIATELY.
He started flipping through the channels, to see something different. But each station showed the same warning. Taehyun returned, his face heavy with worry. "I got through to my mom, but she was crying too much to say anything. Just told me to stay safe."
Yeonjun was silent. He didn't know what to do, unsure if this was some elaborate prank. Looking around the room, suddenly realised something. "And where the hell is Beomgyu?"
"Sleeping."
A scream pierced the air outside the dorm room, making all of them jump in shock. Kai was the first to react, quickly moving toward the door and peering through the peephole. For a brief moment, there was nothing—just eerie silence. Then, a thump echoed, followed by continuous pounding on the steel door.
"Help!" The voice outside cried, voice hoarse. Shuffling was heard.
"Kai, get here!" Soobin hissed, Kai moved back, frozen in place, gaze still fixed on the door. Slowly, he crossed the room, his footsteps making no sound, cautious as he approached the youngest. He then grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back, away from the door. "Stay away from the door,"
Four men stood paralyzed, eyes wide and locked on the door, afraid that it might open, every muscle tense. The door vibrated with each pound from the other side, and the sound of another scream sent a chill down their spines.
Waiting in terrified silence, hoping whatever was outside would stop.
Yeah. They definitely shouldn’t go outside.
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It had been seventy-two hours since the government declared the state of emergency.
Seventy-two hours, since the virus outbreak hit the public, and almost everything began to spiral out of control. Your team had been pushed from one task to the next—helping transport, fortifying armoury barricades, trying to keep the city standing. You feel like you couldn't even have time to blink.
Nothing seemed to stand a chance against the speed of the virus.
The radio crackled to life, its voice cutting through the tense silence. "It’s reported that some cases have been found outside of Seoul too."
You swallowed, the water in your canteen suddenly feeling too heavy in your mouth. Your rifle was strapped to your back—knives tucked into your pockets pulled at your clothes, a grim necessity. Your backpack packed with supplies, pulled at your shoulders.
The blood on the streets made your face contort. It wasn’t just the sight of it—it was the knowledge that innocent people, civilians, were the ones who’d ended up here. It was their blood staining the ground, their lives cut short. In just seventy-two hours, this outbreak had become a full-blown mad nightmare. It was real, right here—heavy, like the world had already started to fall apart around you.
"How long?" you asked, trying to shake the unease gnawing at your stomach.
"The report came in an hour ago," came the response. An hour. Sixty minutes. That’s all it took for the virus to spread. An hour, it was no longer just the city.
"There’s still some armory left in this area," Captain Joon says, brushing off the latest intel your team just received. "We need to clear this out, then head back to camp for the next mission."
You slip the water bottle back into the side pocket of your backpack and tilt your head back, stretching out any stiffness. It's been almost twenty-four hours since you last slept.
"Ju-won will come with us."
"The newbie?" Ji-ho raises an eyebrow.
But the thing is, he’s not really a newbie. The military doesn’t just let anyone into the special command unit—you have to be overqualified to even get a chance. People are reacting this way because it’s been years since anyone new has joined. They’re not used to it. The whole thing feels a little odd.
The boy walks forward. You glance at him, and it’s clear right away. The way his body stiffens when he sees seven seasoned soldiers in front of him—he can’t be more than twenty. But, something about the way he carries himself catches your attention. His eyes don’t drop, not even for a second. There’s no sign of hesitation or backing down, even as the rest of you appraise him, silently evaluating his physical presence. It’s almost as if he expects to be here, like he belongs.
He's got guts.
"Captain," he saluted, "Min Ju-won. Sent from Unit Two to provide additional assistance. Engineering."
Captain Joon gave a quick nod, his eyes briefly shifting to you. "Stick with Y/N." Ju-won lowered his salute and jogged over to where you stood.
"We leave in 10 minutes,"
Seo-jun let out a low whistle, looking over Ju-won with a grin. "Well, look what we got here. A kid at the end of the world. What a nice day it is." The sarcasm in his voice hung in the air as he effortlessly adjusted his M4.
"Ignore him. He's a twat," you muttered, clicking your tongue and feigning an attempt to kick Seo-jun's leg for his comment.
Ju-won, just smiled and waved it off, his eyes still locked on you with an almost admiration. "It's alright," he said quickly. "Y/N… then I must be looking at the black beret's most skilled team engineer and sharp-shooter."
"Damn right, she is," Do-Hyun chimed in, grinning as he playfully ruffled your hair. You slapped his hand away, the motion half-hearted but familiar.
The wind howled as the cargo truck went down the rugged road, the engine's hum barely audible over the gusts. Beom-Seok was at the wheel, while Captain Joon sat in the passenger seat, checking the horizon. The other six of you were crammed in the back, weapons ready.
You could feel that someone was watching you. You turned your head to the right, and sure enough, there he was—Ju-won, looking at you with an expression that was oddly calm for a day like this. You chewed absently on the sweet gum in your mouth.
"I’ve always heard your name, even when I was still training," he said almost embarrassed, but there was a hint of respect in his words, "A lot of us admire your skills. We even know your schedule—like when you will drop off at the headquarters."
"Yeah?" You raised an eyebrow, curious but not particularly moved. "What am I supposed to do with that?"
Ju-won grinned, unfazed. "And, of course, your temper is well-known too."
You snorted at that. Of course, it was. You'd made more than one higher-up nearly pass out with your snark and disregard.
Most of them acted like you were supposed to kiss their feet, even though they barely had the skills to back it up—just a good last name and a father in a high place. Lucky bastards. They got used to it—eventually.
Ju-won seemed to pause, thinking for a moment. "I want to be like you."
It caught you off, staring at him, no response from your lips. Who would want to be as miserable? Who in the right mind would? No one should have to carry this kind of burden, no one but you.
"You don’t know anything," you said, right after seconds of silence. "Trust me, you don’t."
Ju-won didn’t seem discouraged by your bluntness. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, "Then maybe I can ask questions to get to know you better?"
"No." You're unsure of where he was going with this.
"Just one then? And if I do well on this mission, I can ask for another one after?" He pumped his fist after your silence, the small gesture that made you want to roll your eyes again.
"How old were you when you joined the military?" His voice was gentle, but his curiosity was clear.
It wasn’t a question people often asked, at least not in the way he asked it. Most were interested in your skills, the missions you’d completed, or the stories you could tell. No one, ever cared much about who you were before all that.
"About seventeen, officially," you replied, the words feeling strange in your mouth. Had it really been that long?
"Woah," Ju-won exclaimed, his eyes wide with surprise. "And how long have you been in service?"
You glanced out at the passing landscape, your thoughts briefly drifting to the years that had passed. "Seven years. Counting."
"You're so cool." His gaze flicked to you a few more times, but he didn’t press further.
The only sound in the pitch-black courtyard was the soft shuffle of footsteps against gravel, your team moved cautiously toward the overrun military outpost. It had been more than twenty-four hours since anyone radioed in, and in your line of work, that could only mean one thing.
Defeat. Death. They’re dead.
You gripped the AR-15 in your hands, its weight and feel as familiar as your own skin. Your eyes stayed locked ahead, scanning the shadows, the captain just a few steps in front of you. You could feel Ju-won’s breath on your back.
"Hold." The captain's voice barely rose above a whisper, but you caught it—sharp and commanding. His hand went up in a familiar gesture, signaling. Eun-woo and Ji-ho moved, splitting off to cover the blind spots—each one wary of possible exits or hidden threats.
The minutes stretched on, almost suffocating. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, when faintly, a soft whistle.
A go signal. Finally.
The captain’s eyes flicked to you. Without words, he surged forward, and you followed, close, moving deeper into where the map was marked.
With Eun-woo and Ji-ho still posted at the entrance of the courtyard, and Beom-seok at the Cargo Truck to secure on the road, the remaining five of you moved carefully toward the building’s entrance.
Seo-jun reached for the rail handle and pulled it. It was a split-second decision, but he made the mistake of opening it too wide, too fast. The sound was deafening in the silence—a loud scrape of metal against metal. It was the darkness. Or maybe it was the way no one had heard anything.
The infected—so many of them—started to emerge from the inside, their eyes hungry, limbs jerking unnaturally as they snarled and gnawed at the space where you stood.
"Shut it off!" was yelled, but it was too late. Seo-jun tried desperately to pull the door, but the dead were already pushing their way through, toppling the door with brutal force. No stopping them now.
The growls, their gurgling moans, flooded. You took a step back, when you noticed the next wave of infected closing in from both sides—right and left. The courtyard was becoming a death trap.
“Guns!” Captain Joon barked, voice sharp and urgent. He raised his rifle, opening fire on the approaching dead, and you followed. You didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. You aimed at the nearest infected, firing with the precision you’d drilled into your muscle memory. Beside you, you felt Ju-won moving, his shots echoing through the chaos.
You kicked one of the infected coming too close toward you—hard. The sickening crack of its skull as it spun from the impact of your boots almost drowned out the growls, relief was fleeting—another wave was already pushing through.
"Move!" you shouted to Ju-won, grabbing him by the shoulder and shoving him to the right side, where it seemed there was a slight gap in the swarm. You followed, not letting up on your fire. Each shot to the head was methodical, each kill necessary for survival.
You kept repeating it in your head—headshots. Headshots, or they don’t die.
Through the haze of gunfire and screams, you spotted Do-hyun on the opposite side, surrounded but still fighting, his rifle a blur as he tried to hold the line.
"Captain!" you shouted, your voice rising over, as you saw the widening gap between your team. You continued firing, shots ringing out, each one a desperate attempt to keep the tide of the dead at bay. You grabbed the arm of an infected that crept up from behind, pulling it sidewards with all your strength. The thing flailed, but you kicked its legs out from under it, slamming its head down with a close shot. Blood splattering on your track pants.
Another bullet whizzed past you, too close, and you turned to meet Ju-won’s eyes. There was no time for words. He’d just taken down one of the infected that had come up behind you.
Minutes passed, but it felt like hours. The gunfire echoed in your ears, drowning out everything else. Then, you heard it—Seo-jun’s voice cutting through the noise.
"Captain. Orders!"
It was a soldier’s instinct, that need for direction even in the face of death. It was what you were trained to do, what you had to do.
"Fall back." His command came. The words you’d been waiting for. You began to step back, scanning the darkened courtyard. And then, just as you thought it couldn’t get worse, you saw it—a wave of infected flooding out from the building. Your eyes locked on one of them, a child, no more than twelve, wearing a middle school uniform.
No. No time to mourn, no time to think. You shake it off, turn your attention back to Ju-won, who was already falling back as well.
You ran, but it was a futile attempt. The middle part of the courtyard, the one that had been empty moments ago, was now swarming with infected.
“Go forward!” Captain Joon’s shouted again.
The sound of gunfire, the screams, the snarls—they were all blending together now. You saw Eun-woo and Ji-ho still at the entrance of the courtyard, firing relentlessly. But there were too many. It had to be the sound of all the gunfire—had to be why they were flooding in from the other buildings now.
You couldn’t run without firing. The infected were, too close for comfort.
“Ahhh!”
Ju-won’s scream tore through the noise, and you whipped your head to the side. You saw him—surrounded by four, maybe five infected. Their gnarled hands reaching for him.
You sprinted forward, the gun dropped in an instant. You reached the closest infected, grabbing its hair and yanking its head back with force. The knife you’d pulled was a flash of silver in the darkness, and you slashed it across its throat, the blade biting into the flesh with a wet sound.
You couldn’t fire. Not with Ju-won so close to them.
You felt Do-hyun and Seo-jun near you now, forming a small circle, keeping the infected at bay while you worked to free Ju-won. One by one, you killed the infected around him within seconds. But when the last one finally dropped, you froze for the first time tonight.
There's a wound. The bite. A deep, angry stash on Ju-won’s neck, blood spilling down his chest, soaking through and colouring his shirt. Your heart stopped.
"Y/N…" His voice was weak. Too weak.
"Come on," you said, trying to drag him to his feet. The others were silent, at the sight.
"Help me!" you shouted, the panic finally breaking through as the infected kept coming. "What the fuck are you staring at? Help me!"
Do-hyun snapped out of his thoughts and rushed to help. He moved to slide his arm under the left side, but before he could get a firm grip, Ju-won's hand shot out, pushing him away.
"Leave me."
"No. Come on."
“Just leave me, Y/N.” he whispered again, "I know I can't be helped."
“I’m not having this conversation—”
“It hurts!” Ju-won suddenly shouted, pain in his voice. His lips were turning blue, face pale, eyes glassy with tears. “It hurts so much. I—I want this to just end. End it. Please. I'm begging you.”
Your breath caught in your throat. He started crying, Min Ju-won.
“Y/N?” Do-hyun’s voice broke through, gunshots ringing, “Decide now.” Seo-jun’s voice was distant, more gunfire ringing out, words clear. He was asking you to make a choice.
"Shh, It’s going to be okay," you murmured, wiping his tears away, "Everything’s going to be okay." You pushed the sweat-damp strands of hair from his forehead, fingers brushing against his cold skin. “You’ll be alright.”
Min Ju-won.
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” You leaned in close, feeling his weak attempt to smile on your neck, breath coming out in ragged gasps when he felt you pressed your knife to the back of his head. “It’s okay, Ju-won.”
Making sure to do it quickly, you didn’t want him to suffer—not even for a second. He stilled, and then there was a quiet exhale against your skin. His last breath.
Arms went limp in your embrace.
Min Ju-won.
You stare at your hands, blood too much, not yours, too obvious to wipe away. The vehicle lurches forward, but nothing about this mission feels like it’s worth it. No weapons recovered. And one less soldier with you.
You ignore the stares of your teammates, the silent questions they’re too scared to ask. Even when your captain demands what happened, you can’t find the words.
Death isn’t new to you.
You’ve seen it, lived with it, had to pull the trigger more times than you care to admit. Had to deal with it more times than you'd care to count. But this… this is different. There’s a heaviness in your throat that won’t lift—can still feel him, still hear his laboured breath as you hold him in your arms.
The dog tags in your hand are cold against your palm. They’re not yours. There were too many of them. The infected.
No one could even bring his body back.
"We're here," Eun-woo says, the vehicle finally pulls to a stop at your temporary camp. He'd been staring out the window for the entire ride, lost in thought, barely noticing the road or time. You don’t wait for anyone to open get out. You push yourself out, body stiff and eyes burning, but you do your best not to let anyone see. You try to blink away the moisture, to keep it together. You can’t. You won’t.
“Y/N, I—” Seo-jun starts, his voice hesitant, reaching for you.
"Save it." you snap, harshly, not letting him finish his sentence. He falters at your glare, watching turn and walk straight for the barracks, not even sparing a second glance in his direction.
Your body, with blood, not yours, and the dog tag around your hands swaying with every step.
"Give her space. She did it herself. Again." Do-hyun’s voice is softer, almost reluctant, as he watches you retreat. His eyes follow you, lost in thought.
Maybe it’s because you’re a woman and they’re all men, or maybe because you’ve always been the youngest, they've known you since you were much younger. Or maybe it’s the fact that they’ve never seen you crack, never once seen you break down when they all have at one point or another. After all these years, when they themselves had crumbled, you always seemed to keep it together. You always did. First... they admired how strong you were—physically, emotionally, mentally—and even envied it at times but as time went on, they started to realise something.
The empty look in your eyes—it's haunting. They all knew what you did for them, what you'd sacrificed.
Ji-ho pats Seo-jun’s shoulder, his face mixed with understanding and exhaustion. He points his head toward the door, a silent suggestion to let you have your space.
You stepped inside the massive military tent, the hum of conversations halting as everyone’s gaze turned toward you. You noticed someone even take a hesitant step back, eyes widening.
"I'm not fucking bitten," You didn't pause to explain further. You couldn’t. Instead, you kept walking, ignoring the stares, the whispers that you could practically feel on your skin. You didn't care, walking past the soldiers, the stares heavy on your back. You made your way to your assigned makeshift door, pulling it open and stepping inside.
The small room felt like the only place you could breathe. The bathroom was the next thing you could think of.
Once inside, you slumped onto the cold, unforgiving floor. Your face landed near the toilet, and before you brace yourself, your stomach churned. The contents from your day—what little you had managed to eat—came up violently. It kept going, feeling your body betray you as your throat burned, as your muscles contracted in spasms. The bile, bitter taste, nausea kept pushing until your stomach was empty and you felt nothing but raw, aching emptiness.
You dry your mouth with the back of your filthy hand, smell of blood still lingering in your nostrils. The memory of it—of what you'd seen, what you just did—threatened to send you over the edge again. You fought the urge to gag.
You knew it wasn’t something Seo-jun should be explaining for. He called you earlier, sounding like he wanted to apologize, wanted to make sure you were okay. But you didn’t want to tell him everything was fine. Because it wasn’t. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know what was waiting for you inside that damned place. He didn’t know the hundreds of the dead you'd have to face. He tried his best too, just like you did. But none of that mattered.
Killing is easy. You had convinced yourself that—it was something you could do without blinking now. Maybe you could even kill with the same ease as walking a dog in the park, that it could become second nature.
You killed someone who had just started to make you wonder—what question they would be asking you after the mission. Something small, something so... human. With your own hands. No real reason. No justification. For the sake of getting equipment. You killed him.
It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
With effort, you flushed the toilet, then let your body slide back to the nearest wall. Once it was done, you let yourself slump back against the nearest wall, Your fingers digging into your face as if you could erase the last few hours just by pressing hard enough. Sweat, cold and clammy, trickled down your forehead.
"Y/N," came a voice from outside the door.
Captain Joon. You didn't respond. You didn’t even move. "Rest," he said, his voice softer than usual, "You're needed for another mission after a couple of hours. Rest, fix yourself, and take a bath."
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"Did you just take a bath?" Taehyun asked, seeing Beomgyu’s damp hair, towel draped around his neck, few droplets of water still clinging to his skin.
Beomgyu nodded, not even looking up from the crackers he was munching on.
"Again?"
"You got a problem with that?" Beomgyu’s house slipper flew through the air toward Taehyun’s. It was effortlesly dodged.
"Why are you taking a bath three times a day?"
Beomgyu shrugged, gaze finally lifting to meet Taehyun's. "There's nothing else to do,"
Taehyun paused, small ache in his chest upon the words. Being an idol, he knew well the activities—packed schedules, comebacks, fan events, concerts. It never stopped. Hell, he could not even remember the last time he’d celebrated his birthday with his family.
Beomgyu exhaled sharply, "It's been four days… You think our families are okay out there?"
Every day now was a reminder—waking up to the reality of the virus outbreak, everything at a stop.
"They should be," Taehyun replied, though he didn’t feel as sure as he sounded. "We're the ones stuck here."
Beomgyu didn’t answer, instead shuffling his trash away. Just then, Kai appeared from the bathroom, face slack with disappointment.
"Guys, the water’s stopped."
Yeonjun jumped from his seat, rushing to check the sinks, only to find no water coming out. "Shit."
Beomgyu bit his lip, frustration bubbling inside him. Just when things couldn’t seem to get worse. The isolation, the fear—it was all becoming too much now. It's growing every day. He stood up, ignoring Soobin’s frantic voice as he tried to save whatever little water they had left.
He shut himself in his room, the door clicking softly behind him. His eyes wandered to the small house model his family had made for him—a little reminder of home, something he would look at whenever he needed to feel close to them. He collapsed onto his unmade bed, staring blankly at the white ceiling, his thoughts made up mix of thoughts and scenarios. Maybe there was a miracle out there—something, anything, to change this.
Minutes passed in silence before Beomgyu’s voice broke the stillness. "I hope there’s an angel out there. Someone who’ll come get us… get me. Out here, to a safe place." His heart thudded painfully in his chest—he knew no one would ever hear those words, but he couldn’t help but hope.
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You slowly make your way toward the apartment complex, the team had decided to move under the cover of darkness again—it drew fewer infected and lowered the chances of running into trouble. At least that’s what your team hoped for.
The freshly laundered combat uniform felt like it was made for you. The black fabric, almost matte, clung to your body, moving with you as if it were a second skin. Your boots, worn but sturdy, held you grounded. Each step was sure. They gave you that solid grip. On your hips, the twin knives sat, steel blades catching the light with a faint, almost imperceptible gleam. Your hair was pulled back, tight in a high knot. Not a strand is out of place.
The mission was clear: rescue the five A-list boys trapped in this building, ever since the outbreak began.
Hybe, was the one who went to the military for help. They couldn’t exactly say no to them—so here you are, walking into a situation you can’t quite predict.
Six of you, without Beom-seok to secure the vehicle on the road as usual—all armed and ready, step closer to the entrance of the block—though you spot a few infected lingering around, they’re silently dealt with. A knife to the head, no noise, no struggle—just clean and quick.
Your captain’s biggest worry is the location. The middle of the city. So many people in such a small space can only mean one thing—too many infected. It’s a risk, but it’s the job. That is exactly why these people are stuck here in the first place. No help has been able to get through until your team was sent in.
"It's here," Eun-woo says, pointing toward the stairs in the corner. He folds the marked map and tucks it away. Captain Joon nods, "One by one. Be aware of your surroundings."
Everyone gives a tight nod, moving quickly to follow his instructions. You scanned every corner, every shadow. You don’t miss a thing. There are a few infected nearby, but they have not noticed you. So long as they don’t see or hear, and you’re far enough, you’ll be fine.
Earlier, it was also clear that most of the infected in this area are concentrated in the outer courtyard. It looks like the people who lived here panicked, tried to escape out there, drawing all the infected away from the apartment complex itself. It’s eerily quiet now, almost too quiet.
You reach the door to apartment 304, and the rest of your team spreads out, covering all sides of the hallway. You catch your breath, scanning both directions again, alert to any movement. Someone begins to knock on the door. Minutes tick by, but there’s no answer.
"Are they fucking asleep?" Ji-ho whispers, his voice sharp with impatience.
"What do you expect?" you snap,"You think they’re awake at this hour, just waiting for us to show up?" The words feel bitter, but you don’t care. "Move,"
Before you can even make a move toward the door, a voice breaks the silence. It's soft, hesitant, almost as if the person speaking is scared to even let the words out.
"Who’re you?"
Kai had been just about to head to the bathroom for a quick piss when he heard it—an soft rattle against the door.
It’s been days, days, since there was any sound from the other side. Complete silence. So hearing something now, especially in the dead of night, made his blood run cold.
Someone’s trying to break in?
He freezes, mind racing. Slowly, he walks towards the door, arms out in front of him, keeping a little distance like it might somehow help. His breath is shallow as he inches closer to the small peephole in the door, just enough to get a glimpse.
Soobin made him promise not to go near the door, but he won’t know. He’s asleep, anyway.
There are people out there. No, not just people—soldiers? At least three men and a woman, he's not really sure, but they're standing and staring straight at their door. He can’t make out their words, sound too muffled, but he can tell they’re muttering something under their breath, heads tilted as if they’re listening too.
Woah. She’s… really pretty.
Kai immediately shakes his head. Focus. Now is not the time to be thinking about how pretty she is. She’s out there, trying to break the door down. Or… is she?
What if they’re the ones sent to rescue us?
He squints through the crack in the door again, taking in the soldiers’ uniforms. They’re military. That has to mean something—and waking the others would take too long. He swallows hard, asking the question.
"Who’re you?"
"Open the door," Captain Joon says, his voice firm and immediate. "We've come to help you." There’s no reply from the other side.
"Manager Jisoo. Hybe."
There’s a sound of the lock turning, and the door creaks open just a crack. It’s dim inside. The air inside hits you. Smells faintly of candles—probably because there’s no electricity to rely on anymore. One by one, everyone got ready to move inside. You turned your head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of the person who had opened it.
He looked young—his skin pale and features sharp, with a foreign look. His bangs messily hung over his eyes, longer than he probably intended. Your eyes met his, and just as quickly, he looked away. Great. You all must have really scared him—heavily armed, arriving at his dorm in the dead of night.
"We're all coming in, Son," Captain Joon said, gaze flicking to the boy’s face, silently asking for permission—though he did not really need it. You were here to rescue them, to bring everyone back. Whether they were ready or not, you were going in. "What's your name?"
He nodded and opened the door wider. "Heuningkai. Kai is fine."
"How many of you are still in here?"
"Five. Uh, I’ll need to wake everyone up first."
"Go on." You took in the space they had been holed up in. Everything screamed lived in. Floors wooden tiles. It was clean, considering men were living in this place. Some sweaters were carelessly tossed over the couch, an Uno card sat beside it, random orange peels and a few glass mugs were scattered across the table. But aside from that, everything seemed… orderly. Something about this space made you feel out of place.
"Could you please wait here?" Kai stopped after taking a few steps away from your team. The front door shut behind. You glanced at him as he spoke, and you saw it—his face.
It was almost like he was afraid that if he turned around, everyone would just... leave.
He didn’t give anyone a chance to respond. Without another word, he turned and headed for the nearest door. You took in the hallway—six doors in total. One of them was probably the bathroom, and the rest, you guessed, must be their rooms.
Kai walks in, still feeling the embarrassment creeping up his neck. He did not mean to pout or sound so desperate in front of everyone—it just kind of happened.
The whole outbreak had him on edge all the time. It wasn’t like him at all. But now, for the first time in a while, he's starting to see hope. And with that came a fear he hadn’t expected.
He shuts the door behind him, eyes flick to Soobin, who’s sprawled out on the bed in his usual weird sleeping position. One arm thrown over his face, legs tangled in the sheets like he’s trying to escape them.
If anything, it’s comforting to see Soobin still so… Soobin.
"Wake up," Kai says, giving Soobin’s arm a little shake. There’s no response. "Soobin,"
He just mumbles something unintelligible and stays still. With a sigh, Kai slaps the flesh of Soobin's thigh—a trick he’s learned always works when he's in deep sleep.
"Shi—Kai?" The latter groans, blinking his eyes open. He winces slightly, almost about to curse, but then he notices the younger one standing there, looking a little shaken, and his protective instinct kicks in. "What happened? Are you okay?"
"They’re here. They—the help. They’re outside. I let them in." The older man shot up, his mind struggling to shake off the remnants of sleep. For days, he'd been waiting for this moment, but now that it was here, he could hardly believe it.
Soobin looked at Kai’s face, searching for any sign of bluffness. None.
"Wake everyone up, Kai. I’ll, I'll talk to them. Good job," he said, his voice thick with a mix of urgency and something else—nervousness, maybe. He ran a hand through his messy hair, trying to steady his racing heart.
The younger gave a quick nod, already rising to carry out the task.
Soobin hesitated for a moment, then followed, his feet heavier than usual. When he stepped out of his room, the sight hit him. Soldiers.
All dressed in black, standing almost stiffly in the cramped living room, as if they did not know where to place themselves, presence filling every corner. They looked out of place—one man was sitting, looking collected. He was much older—maybe in his late 40s—and when he saw Soobin, he stood up too, moving with authority.
"Hello," Soobin said, bowing deeply. He wished his voice to be normal, but it cracked. His eyes stung, and he blinked, trying to hold back the tears likely to spill. These people—they look so capable.
How desperately he’d needed them.
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"I know it's late, but we need to move now. It’ll make things easier for us," Captain Joon started.
Everyone had gathered in the living room now—eleven people, all listening. A large map was spread out on the table in front of them, marked with lines and notes. "We’ve got a cargo truck on standby, and someone guarding it. Waiting for us,"
You leaned against the wall at the back, trying to stay out of the way. Your long gun resting to your right side. You crossed your arms, observing them all, taking in the scene. These five—when they first arrived, you’d seen it clearly: that fleeting, unguarded emotion that flashed across their faces. Relief? Fear?
Your thoughts drifted for a moment, the hum of voices fading, when suddenly you caught something. One of them was looking at you. You met his gaze, and for a second, neither of you moved. His eyes were a soft brown, almost warm, framed by dark hair that was swept back but still fell messily across his forehead. His jaw was sharp, yet there was something almost delicate about it. Something… soft.
You raised an eyebrow at him, just a slight challenge, and he blinked, startled. He bowed his head in your direction awkwardly—before you could return it, his eyes darted away quickly. Followed by a deep shade of red that crept into the tips of his ears.
He didn’t look back at you again—as though he couldn’t look at you a second longer.
Little did you know, when you weren’t paying attention, his eyes would steal a few more glances in your direction, each one shorter, but no less curious.
"We'll travel this way, and you all will be dropped off here at this camp, as requested. Understand?"
"And, we can just bring a backpack each?" Soobin asks, looking around the group. He’d introduced himself as the leader earlier.
"That doesn't mean you can just throw anything in there," you replied, finally speaking up, giving your first words tonight. "Keep it light. Only pack what you really need." Captain Joon gave a slight nod, acknowledging your point.
"Got it,"
"While we're at it," Captain Joon continued, “since we’ll be traveling together, it’s probably best you get to know the people you’ll be with. Just in case something goes wrong.” The mention of anything happening seemed to linger in the air. The five of them had never seen an infected before. You all know that can cause problems.
"As you probably already know, I'm the Captain of this team," Joon said, he shot a quick glance at you before going on.
"Park Y/N," he nodded in your direction, "our engineer sergeant. She’s the one who builds stuff, blows stuff up—whatever needs doing, really. She's my second-in-command."
Beomgyu has a valid reason to look at you now. And when he thought he never be more mesmerized, somehow, he was.
Earlier, when he first stumbled out of bed and woken by Kai, he wandered into the living room, still half-dazed. He was caught off guard on how… beautiful you were. He’d seen soldiers, sure, but you? You were different. You looked like you belonged on a magazine cover—not out here, in the middle of a hellscape.
How are you, not a celebrity? he wonders, half-wanting to slap himself. How are you so beautiful, standing here, in the middle of this nightmare? The strangest thing, though, was the pull in his chest—even though he’d only just learned your name. Even your name—sounds pretty.
"Do-hyun," Joon said, pointing to a man near you, "he's in charge of our comms—makes sure we stay connected. Keeps the radios running, that sort of thing." Do-hyun gave a lazy salute, a smirk playing on his lips.
"That’s Eun-woo and Ji-ho," Joon went on, pointing to two others standing with confidence. "They’re our weapons experts—know every damn thing about fixing, maintaining, and using all our weapons. They also take inventory, make sure we’re stocked up when we need to move out."
"And then there's Seo-jun," Joon said, nodding toward a tall, figure standing slightly apart from the rest like you. "Does the planning, the strategizing. And last but not least, Beom-seok. He’s the one left behind—our medic.”
"You can pack now. We'll wait here. We’ve got food rations on the truck, so you can eat there." Captain Joon finally ends the conversation.
The five of them stand up and start making their way to their rooms.
Beomgyu exhales a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. The air feels lighter as he steps into his room. They're finally getting out here.
He stands in front of his closet for a few seconds, unsure of what to grab first. He picks up his backpack and starts shuffling through his things—some clothes, and his hygiene kit that Taehyun had already packed for him. He opens his drawer and realizes he’ll need to change out of his pajamas. A plain shirt, some cargo pants, his jacket… and where the hell are his boots? Before he can finish, he hears the door creak open.
"Beomgyu," Yeonjun’s says. "That chick’s really cute."
Beomgyu freezes, his hand mid-reach for his shoes. He blinks and turns to face Yeonjun. "Have you packed your stuff, or do you think we’ve got all the time in the world?"
Yeonjun raises an eyebrow, looking slightly taken aback. "Geez, chill. Why are you being so mad?"
Beomgyu hesitates. He doesn’t really know. It could be the way Yeonjun had interrupted his packing, or maybe… maybe it’s because Yeonjun’s casually saying something like that. Beomgyu feels something twist in his stomach.
Yeonjun thinks you’re pretty. He doesn’t know how to deal with that.
"'M sorry,"
Yeonjun watches him closely. "Was it because of what I said—"
"No."
A knock sounds on the door. Both of them turn toward it. Eun-woo peeks his head inside, his expression casual. "We're just waiting for the two of you, and then we're off."
"Let's go,"
The only sound is the steady rhythm of feet against the ground. Your team is spread out, moving in a loose pattern. Captain Joon, Seo-jun, and Ji-ho take the lead, scanning the surroundings. Soobin and Kai walk close behind, hand in hand. Taehyun and Beomgyu follow next, then Yeonjun.
You, along with Do-hyun and Eun-woo, bring up the rear. It’s all going smoothly. You’re alert, watching the others, everything seems calm—until you notice Yeonjun. He’s suddenly still, his body frozen in place. You glance over and follow his line of sight.
In the open space ahead, a small group of infected wander aimlessly. Movements are jerky, unnatural, and the growls that escape their throats are low and guttural. One of them is lying on the ground, its torso half severed, intestine out, but its arms are still twitching, dragging itself forward in a grotesque imitation of life.
Yeonjun’s breathing stops entirely, his chest barely rising and falling. He’s staring at them, wide-eyed, body tense. You step up and place a hand on his shoulder. The touch makes him flinch.
"Shhh," you whisper, barely audible. The last thing you need right now is anyone making noise. One sound, one slip-up, and the infected will be on you. "Move. Eyes front—Don't… do not look at them."
He does not respond at first, you’re not even sure if he’s even hearing you. His eyes check the infected again, then back to the ground. He swallows. Finally, he nods, voice tight, "Yeah."
You give him a push on the back, enough to get him moving. It was a relief to see Yeonjun walking. You exhaled slowly, locking eyes with Do-hyun. He'd seen it all. That look between you two was enough to say it all: they weren’t ready for this. They hadn’t been told nearly enough.
Everyone kept walking, the building’s echoing silence wrapping around you as you neared the first level. It wasn’t far now—just out the main door, across the block, and then Beom-seok would be waiting for you on the road. The end was in sight.
"Shit!" Soobin’s voice is loud, his hands pressed against his chest in surprise. He hadn’t expected it. A woman, infected, eyes wide open, slumped lifelessly in a chair in the lobby. Her body was barely recognizable, rotting, the decay setting in.
No one moved. You spun around, doubt kicking in, scanning the lobby for any movement. Kai gripped Soobin’s hand tighter, his fingers digging in just enough. Soobin looked at him—a silent apology, a promise to do better.
It was only a minute, before Captain Joon finally moved. You stepped out of the building, the fresh air hitting you in a way that almost felt too good. The five newcomers, still adjusting to the chaos, kept their gazes fixed ahead, careful not to glance at the herd gathering in the open space nearby.
Then you saw him—Beom-seok. Leaning against the tires on the road, his eyes sweeping the distance, waiting. "Took you long enough," Beom-seok mutters, his eyes looking at you as he watches you approach.
One by one, everyone began climbing into the truck. Ji-ho caught your eye, giving you a quick signal to get in.
"Yeah? Are you bored or something?" Seo-jun shoots back, his tone teasing.
You gripped Ji-ho's hand, pulling yourself up the tall cargo bed. You paused, glancing down at Taehyun and offering your hand. He grasped it firmly, and with one smooth pull, you helped him up. He meets your gaze and gives a nod, a thank you.
Beomgyu was next, and Ji-ho was beside you, helping Yeonjun up. Kai and Soobin were already settled inside chatting quietly, and the truck was starting to feel a little more like a secure place.
You let your hand fall, but it only took a second for Beomgyu to extend his own.
Soft. Warm. It feels different somehow.
Beomgyu feels your hand—still shielded by your tactical gloves, but with the fingertips exposed. Even through the fabric, he can feel the warmth of your skin. It’s subtle, and for some reason, it’s enough to make his heart beat a little faster. You gripped his hand, pulling him up with the same ease as you did with Taehyun.
He’s finally out—the one they’d been stuck in, waiting, starving. Water was running low, food was practically gone and no electricity. It’s been days. Time blurred together in there. He’d tried his hardest not to let his emotions spill over, even when his mind kept replaying all the times he’d imagined getting out. All the moments he’d prayed for this. And now, it’s real.
He's here.
"Thank you," Beomgyu whispers, he hopes that somehow, those two words are enough for you to know.
"Sure,"
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Beomgyu smiles wider as the fresh scent of grass hits his face. It’s a smell he never thought he’d miss, now it feels like a luxury—something he never realized how much he took for granted until now.
He turns his head to look at you, he feels his heart settle. Your head slightly leaned back against the rail, eyes closed in peaceful sleep. He fights the urge to nudge the soldier sitting next to you and tell him to move so you can rest your head somewhere more comfortable. He notices a shift in your face. Your brows furrow—a small frown begins to start on your forehead. Beomgyu's smile fade. The sight of you looking troubled, unsettles him for some reason.
Then, with no warning, the vehicle comes to a sudden halt, throwing everyone forward. It awakes you, and your eyes snap open, hands reaching for your gun.
"What now?" Eun-woo asks, stepping toward the window that connects to the driver's area, his voice tight with concern. You follow his gaze and your stomach drops. A fire. A huge fire, raging up ahead. And it looks like it's right where your team was supposed to drop off.
Yeonjun holds his nose at the smell of burning, smoke.
"Didn’t you radio them, Do-hyun?"
"I did, before we started heading back, Captain," You start mentally counting the minutes—five people eating, the time it took to pack up, and the drive back. It couldn’t have been more than two hours.
Two hours, and the fire’s already this big. "What happens now?" You hear Kai ask himself.
You don't have to look for long to spot them. Infected. They’re coming toward your truck—more than you can count. A mass of tumbling bodies, moving fast.
"Captain!" you shout, your voice sharp. "They are coming. Too many of them." Your words startle everyone in the truck.
Beom-seok’s hands twitch on the steering wheel, nerves on edge as he maneuvers the truck. His mind races, unsure of the next move. Where the hell should we go?
"Head for the nearest camp," Captain Joon orders, "Do-hyun, can you get through to them?"
"I'm trying," Do-hyun responds, fingers moving over the radio—silence greets him in return. The truck moves, and all of you watch the infected, filling the road behind.
Beomgyu watches the infected, slow, stumbling figures moving toward the vehicle. He knows they wont catch up—he knows they cant outrun it—still, his stomach churns.
"Are you okay?" Soobin asks, voice soft. He saw Beomgyu’s face when he locked eyes with the dead. "Try not to look at them," he suggests. It’s what Soobin does—keep his eyes away.
Beomgyu gives a shrug. "Isn’t avoiding them just going to make it worse?" he says, eyes still glued to the decaying figures. "I mean, I would like to be able to look at them without feeling like I’m about to throw up."
Soobin sighs, "We are getting out of here. Hybe did not let these people get us just to leave us hanging. There’s gotta be a place somewhere. Maybe we’ll even be able to go home, see our families again."
Beomgyu’s throat tightens at the mention of family, he swallows the feeling down. "What if we don’t, though?" he murmurs, "You saw the fire at the camp we were supposed to be at. Do you really think we’d have made it out? If we got there earlier…. do your really think we would have survived?"
Soobin’s heart clench at the question, he can't bring himself to answer. He does not want to think about it, but he knows Beomgyu’s right. Everything had seemed okay—until that overrun camp. The silence stretches, loud with unspoken fears.
Beomgyu’s hand starts picking at his nails, his gaze unfocused. "What if there’s no safe place left?" His voice cracks,trying his hardest not to think about his family.
"Stop." It’s you. You had been close enough to hear their whispers. "I’ll let you know if there’s no place anymore. Until I do, don’t think about it."
Beomgyu looks up at you, meeting your eyes for a moment. And just like that, the heaviness inside him lifts—just a little.
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The vehicle comes to a halt by the side of the road, dust kicking up as the engine sputters off. Captain Joon looks ahead, eyes narrowing at the said camp he has in mind. It’s about a ten-minute walk from here.
"Still no response, Captain," Do-hyun reports, his fingers pressing anxiously on the radio. "Should I try reaching out to other units? They're farther out, but I can give it a shot."
Captain Joon does not look at him, eyes fixed ahead. "You can do that later. For now, we need to check this site first." He pauses, "It’s not wise for all of us to go. These five civilians stay here with a couple of you, the rest of us will move out."
Beomgyu catches the glint of your fingers as you reach for your gun, checking the magazine, clicking it back and then tightening your boot laces. There's no need for more words. The message is clear. You're going out, you're checking the place. You’re not going to sit around and wait.
"Y/N," Captain Joon calls out as you start climbing down from the cargo bed.
“I’m going with you,” you say, already strapping your gun across your shoulder. Without waiting for a response, you take a few long strides,, scanning the fields around you. The tall grass sways gently in the breeze. A few of the soldiers start following suit—Eun-woo, Ji-ho, and you catch the sound of their boots as they move behind you.
Captain Joon strides past, and you follow him, your boots crunching against the dry earth.
Beomgyu watches, his eyes never leaving your form as you move further into the distance. He can hear Yeonjun’s sigh beside him, but it did not make him look away. Instead, he counts under his breath, doing everything he can to keep you in sight until you’re too far to see.
The truck was quiet, the minutes stretching on as the remaining soldiers outside paced back and forth, keeping watch.
“I’m worried about Hiyyih,” Kai said suddenly, breaking the silence. His words drew the attention of the older guys around him, all seated close by.
“Do you think she got rescued too?” Kai asked, voice quieter now. “Or maybe…she made it out to Seoul when everything went like this?”
Taehyun reached over, giving the youngest's head a soft pat. “She is okay, Kai,” he said, “Once we get to the camp, we can ask the Captain,”
“Yeah,”
“Stop stressing about it, though,” Yeonjun chimed in, “We will figure it out soon enough.” Soobin stayed quiet, gaze fixed on some distant thought.
“They’re back,” Beomgyu said, his gaze darting between the road and the distant figures coming into view. He kept watching, squinting to make out their shapes as they got closer. Minutes passed, and the faces became clear: Captain Joon, two other soldiers… and you.
“They’re fewer than we expected,” Captain Joon announced as he reached the group, his voice steady but grim. “The camp’s still standing. We’ll spend the night there and wait for further instructions.” His words weighed heavy in the air. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay composed.
When you entered the place, the sight was sobering. Just over half a dozen soldiers were left. The others, you were told, had been sent out on missions—and none of their teams had returned. You shook the thoughts away, chalking it up to exhaustion. Fatigue was setting in, and all you wanted was a shower and some sleep. For now, this camp would have to do.
Adjusting the straps of your backpack, you glanced around and saw everyone gathering their belongings. You opened your gun case and checked the magazines, counting each one carefully. “We’ll need to do inventory soon,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.
Beomgyu caught your words and looked over, his eyes flicking from your face to the black case cradling the weapons.
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Arriving at the camp on foot felt like walking into a ghost town. The only sign of life was… the small group of soldiers waiting, their tired eyes, makes the place feel even emptier. Captain Joon started barking orders, assigning tents to everyone. Your mind was fixed on one thing: rest.
“I’m going to shower and sleep. Wake me if I’m needed,” you told the captain, walking past him as he gave you a quick nod.
You headed to your tent, overhearing the arrangements for the five civilians. They’d be taking turns in the showers, then each also having a small tent of their own. Your own shelter was small, just as you’d expected. You set your things down, pulling out what you needed for the shower.
The shower area was sectioned off with a heavy curtain, its edges swaying slightly in the breeze. You pushed it aside and stepped in, letting the cool water wash over you. The sensation of the water running down your back. After finishing your routine, you reached for a towel and your robe. Once you’d changed into a clean military shirt and loose pants, you stepped outside, your hair still damp.
The camp was quiet, save for the crackle of a small fire in the center. A few soldiers sat around it—Yeonjun was eating, with Beomgyu and Taehyun seated beside him. Soobin, walking toward them, caught your gaze and gave you a respectful bow. Kai was likely in the showers, taking his turn.
Back at your tent, you dried your hair—hitting the makeshift pillow, your eyes drifted shut. It was harder to sleep that night.
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Beomgyu jolted awake to the sharp crack of a gunshot. His chest tightened as he gasped, sitting up abruptly in the darkness.
BANG.
Another shot echoed through the camp, louder this time. He instinctively covered his ears, his heart pounding in his chest. The sound was close—too close. A flurry of gunfire followed, chaotic and all over the place. He froze as a shadow darted past the thin walls of his tent. His hands trembled as he forced himself to stand.
He fumbled for his pants, pulling them on as another scream tore through the night, quickly silenced by another gunshot. His mind raced. Should he go outside? Should he stay hidden?
Soobin. Yeonjun. Taehyun. Kai.
You.
The names rang in his head snapped him. He peeked through a small gap in the tent’s fabric, his breath hitching at the sight outside. Strangers—men he hadn’t seen earlier—moved through the camp. One of them hefted a sack of supplies over his shoulder, while others fired wildly at the soldiers.
Bandits?
The realization hit hard. These men were fighting the soldiers stationed at the camp, gunfire exchanged in rapid bursts. Beomgyu swallowed hard. His tent was further out than the others, which gave him a sliver of cover, but he knew he had to move. As he stepped out of his tent, a bullet zipped past him, close enough to feel the air shift against his cheek. He flinched, his heart hammering in his chest.
“What the—”
A scream drew his attention. A bandit, snarling and swinging his weapon, was overwhelmed by an infected lunging at him from the side. The sight froze Beomgyu in place, fear rooting him to the spot.
A hand clamped over his mouth, silencing the scream that threatened to escape. He turned sharply, eyes wide, only to see you staring back at him.
“We’re leaving. Or we’re dead,” you whispered, your voice urgent but low. Beomgyu hesitated, glancing toward the other tents. He wanted to go to the others, to check if they were okay, but you tightened your grip on his wrist, stopping him.
“They will see you,” you hissed. Behind you, the infected were starting to swarm the camp, drawn by the gunfire. Beomgyu felt a lump rise in his throat. Your hand dropped from his mouth, and you tugged on his wrist, shoving him back toward his tent. “Grab your things. Be fast.”
Beomgyu stumbled inside, adrenaline coursing through him as he grabbed his backpack. He hadn’t even unpacked yet, telling himself earlier he’d do it in the morning. Now, it didn’t matter. There wasn’t going to be a morning if he stayed.
When he stepped back out, you were watching the bandits, your jaw clenched. He noticed your backpack already slung over your shoulder. The white shirt you’d worn earlier was still visible beneath a hastily thrown-on jacket, paired with cargo pants and sturdy boots.
“Come on,” You started moving, weaving through the shadows with practiced steps. Beomgyu followed—heart heavy and torn as he glanced back toward the other tents.
His four brothers weren’t with him.
Beomgyu’s feet ached with every step. He had been trailing behind you for what felt like hours, though it couldn’t have been more than fifty minutes. Your strides were quick, far faster than he could have imagined for someone with shorter legs than his. He had no idea where you were leading him, and the darkness of the woods only made it worse.
Shadows stretched long between the trees, and every crackle of leaves underfoot made his heart jump. But then you turned back to look at him, your face briefly influenced by the moon's light—it was just a quick check to make sure he was still behind—and somehow that was enough to keep him moving.
Finally, you stopped in front of a towering tree. Its trunk was wide and strong, the kind that seemed to have stood for centuries. You tilted your head up to inspect it, then turned back to him. “This will do. We’ll climb up here,”
Beomgyu blinked, his gaze sweeping nervously between you and the tree. Climbing? He had never climbed a tree before—not even as a kid. But the alternative—staying on the ground, exposed to the infected, or people that might be lurking—was far worse.
“O-okay,” The two of you did not know where you were going—or how far you still had to go—but at least up here, you could catch your breath. He watched as you point toward the bark, signaling for him to go first.
“Here,” you said, tapping a sturdy-looking notch just above your reach. “Put your foot here.”
“You sure it’ll hold?”
“It will, trust me.”
Beomgyu swallowed hard and placed his foot on the notch. It felt solid, but the uneven texture of the bark made him wobble slightly. He grabbed the trunk for balance, his fingers scraping against the rough surface. “Here, grab this branch,” you guided him, pointing to a solid-looking limb.
The bark was rough, but he held on, his muscles trembling. The tree swayed just a little under his weight, the rustling leaves made him think that the whole thing might give way. But it didn’t. With a grunt, he hoisted himself, settling into a spot that felt stable enough to hold him. The height gave him an odd sense of relief—He looked down at you, his fear replaced by a grin.
“This is so cool,” The horrors of the night melted away. You smirked, shaking your head as you reached for the first branch, beginning your own ascent. Beomgyu’s gaze stayed on you, his hands hovering slightly as if wanting to help but unsure how.
When you were nearly at his level, reaching for a branch to pull yourself up, the wood suddenly gave way with a sharp crack. Making you slip. “Shit!” Beomgyu lunged toward you, his hands finding your elbow just in time. “I-I—What do I do?!”
“Can you not panic like you’re the one about to fall?” you snapped, though your voice lacked real bite.
“Right!” he stammered, his grip tightening. You grasped his other outstretched arm, and with one strong pull, he managed to haul you up. The force of it sent you toppling forward, landing squarely against him. For a second, everything went still. Beomgyu’s breath hitched as he looked up at you, your face inches from his.
You could feel the warmth of his body against your chest, see the subtle freckles and barely-there moles on his skin that you hadn’t noticed before. His gaze flickered to your lips.
In a swift motion, you pushed yourself off him—brushing the dust and bits of bark from your clothes, you avoided his eyes. “Are you okay?”
You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak just yet.
An hour had passed since the two of you settled. Your back leaned towards the tree and for a brief moment, you let your eyes close, though your mind raced.
Plans. Risks. Next steps.
“What’s the next plan?”
You opened your eyes, exhaling softly. “I’m planning to check back at the camp once the sun’s up,” you said after a moment. “From a distance. The infected were drawn to the gunfire, so I doubt they’ll stay there. But I need to see what’s left.”
Beomgyu nodded, “We should see if there’s anyone still there. Maybe stuck or hiding.”
You glanced at him and adjusted the rifle slung across your chest. The weight of the handgun in your pocket and the knives strapped to your thighs felt heavier.
“We’ll try to track them too,” you said, then added quietly, “Or you could stay here and wait for me.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“Okay.”
Silence fell between you again, interrupted only by the faint rustle of leaves. Beomgyu broke it with a sudden thought. “I can’t believe people can kill each other just like that,” he said, voice with disbelief.
The words made you pause. Your eyes, previously shut, opened fully, and you turned your head slightly toward him. But you said nothing. “Why did they do that?” Beomgyu asked, his tone softer now.
You didn’t respond. Instead, you looked away, avoiding his gaze. His eyes—they were too brown, too soft for a world like this. When the silence stretched too long, he shifted uncomfortably, his ears flushing red. “I… I wanna thank you. For bringing me with you,” he said, shyly. “Thank you, Y/N.”
“Sleep,” you said, brushing his gratitude aside. “I’ll keep watch.”
“I do think I can,” he admitted, rubbing his neck. "I swear I can still hear the gunshots in my ears.” You sighed. Sleep wasn’t an option for you either.
Beomgyu hesitated before speaking again. “Can I ask you something?”
“You already did,”
His face flushed deeper. “I mean… another question.”
When you didn’t respond, he continued, “Why are you the only woman in your team?”
Your eyes flicked to him, one brow raising slightly. “Are you implying there shouldn’t be one?”
“No! God, no,” he said quickly, his hands flailing slightly as he stumbled over his words. “I mean, it’s just—wow. It’s amazing.”
“That a woman can do a man’s job?”
“No—yes—no!” Beomgyu groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I just mean, like… it’s impressive. Especially since women aren’t even required to go through military service. But here you are, and you’re killing it—uh, not literally—well, maybe literally, but—”
You studied his flustered face for a moment before cutting him off, “I get it,” you said, watching as relief washed over him. “I think I was just… born for this. I can’t imagine myself doing anything else.”
“That’s… cool,” he murmured, nodding slowly. You hummed, leaning your head back against the tree.
“I don’t think I can imagine myself doing anything else either,” Beomgyu said, thoughtful. He stared at his hands, a small smile tugging at his lips. You watched him for a second longer than you meant to.
“That’s cool,” you echoed his words, earning a laugh from him. His smile widened, his laugh soft but real, and it lit up the darkness around you. Even his laugh—
It made you look away, your chest tightening. His smile—it was dangerous.
Beomgyu turned his gaze to you, studying your profile. The way your lashes caught the faint moonlight. Beautiful, he thought.
“How old were you when you joined the military?” he asked, randomly. Your expression froze, startled by the question.
“What?”
“I mean, if it’s okay to ask,” he said, tilting his head slightly, his tone careful. “You don’t have to—”
You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat. That question—it wasn’t one you wanted to answer again. Not now. Not ever.
“Close your eyes and rest,” you said flatly, “We’re done talking. The dead might hear us.”
The other one's face fell.
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The sunlight was warm against Beomgyu's face, pulling him from his sleep. He blinked a few times, squinting at the brightness, trying to shake off his muzzy state.
"Hey, sleeping beauty." You say, "If you want to come, we need to go. Now."
He turned to see you already packing up, tossing a protein bar his way without looking. He barely caught it, fumbling it in his hands before managing a weak, “Thanks.”
"Let's go." You unscrewed your water bottle and took a quick drink before slinging your gear over your shoulder. Without waiting for him to respond, you started climbing down from the tree. Beomgyu followed, the descent easier than the nerve-wracking climb up last night, his legs still felt stiff from the awkward position he’d slept in. His feet hit the forest floor, and he took a deep breath. The woods in daylight were almost beautiful painting everything in shades of green.
He yawned, unwrapping his protein bar as he fell into step behind you. The two of you walked in silence, his eyes wandering over the scenery. It was hard to reconcile how peaceful the forest looked with the gnawing fear in his gut. About twenty minutes in, you suddenly stopped, your hand shooting up in a signal. Beomgyu, distracted, nearly walked into you.
“Infected,”
He followed your line of sight and spotted it—a man-shaped figure stumbling through the trees, its feet dragging awkwardly. The distance between you and it was still considerable.
Beomgyu glanced at you, his eyes wide. “How did you even see that?” he whispered. “I wouldn’t have noticed it until it was right in front of us.”
You ignored the question, “You haven't done this yet, so now’s the time to learn.”
Now, the words struck him awake. He’d known this was coming—he wasn’t naive—but he hadn’t expected it to be now. “Are you sure? Shouldn’t we find, I don’t know, somewhere more open for this?” He couldn’t help the nervous edge in his voice. Just weeks ago, his biggest challenge was memorizing their group's choreography.
“This is the perfect place to practice,” you said, not bothering to look at him.
He hesitated, shifting on his feet. “I mean, I’m not scared or anything, but—”
“Scared?” you interrupted, finally turning to him with a raised eyebrow.
“No. Let’s just get it over with.”
You nodded, pulling a knife from your belt and handing it to him. The weight of it in his hand felt foreign. He stared at the blade, the black handle smooth, well maintained. His eyes caught the faint etching of your name on it.
“Grip it like this,” you said, adjusting his grip. Your hands were firm, guiding his fingers into place. “Keep your thumb here for control. When you strike, aim for the head and use enough force so you don’t have to do it twice.”
He nodded, his throat dry. "Go in when I say.”
The infected was closer now, its groans louder, its movements jerky and unnatural. You gestured for him to move to the left, opposite of where you were going. He obeyed, his steps hesitant.
You moved quickly, drawing its attention. Beomgyu couldn’t take his eyes off you as you circled it without second thoughts or any fear.With a sharp kick, you knocked its legs out from under it. The infected collapsed to its knees, and you pressed your boot into its back, holding it in place. “Come here,”
Beomgyu swallowed hard, the knife trembling in his hand as he approached.
“Kill it,” you instructed, tilting the infected’s head to expose its temple.
His heart pounded as he raised the knife. He brought it down, but his strike lacked strength, and blade only sank halfway in. The infected howled, its hands clawing weakly at the air. “Y/N, I—what do I—”
“Again,” you cut him off, grabbing his other hand and placing it on the knife. “Use both hands if you have to. Pull it out and try again. Harder this time.”
He did as you said, the knife coming free with a sickening squelch. Blood splattered onto his hands, warm and sticky, and he nearly gagged. Clenching his teeth, he raised the blade again and drove it down with all his strength. The groaning stopped, the infected falling silent.
You let the body slump to the ground, standing up as Beomgyu stumbled away, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. He made it to the nearest tree before doubling over, the contents of his stomach spilling onto the forest floor.
Tears pricked at his eyes as he wiped his mouth. That infected—it wasn’t just a monster. It had been a person once, a living, breathing human being. Maybe they had a family waiting for them, a home filled with memories, or a life they’d worked hard to build. Maybe they’d been on a vacation or rushing to work the day the world fell apart.
Beomgyu’s breath hitched—he was the one who ended them, the one who took what little remained of their existence. He never imagined his life would come to this—how could he? Just a month ago, his world had been with roaring crowds, and music that echoed through stadiums. He’d been smiling at cameras, shooting music videos, and waving to fans who looked at him like he was untouchable, someone larger than life.
You crouched next to him, holding out a piece of cloth. He stared at your hand for a moment before taking it —your hands looked smaller than his, fragile—he wipes the blood on his trembling fingers.
How? How could you—manage to do all of this?
“You ended its suffering,” you said quietly, hesitant. “That’s how I try to think of it.”
“Does it get easier?”
“Never.”
It was just a single word, but somehow, it felt like a glimpse—Beomgyu feels closer. It felt like he knew you just a little bit better.
The two of you continued toward the overrun camp, the knife you’d lent Beomgyu still in his hands. For all the danger the weapon symbolized, it seemed to bring him a strange kind of comfort, his grip on it much more familiar.
Another walker crossed your path, Beomgyu stepped forward, more sure of himself this time. With just a little guidance from you, he managed to take it down.
Familiarity.
When you reached the backside of the camp, low growls echoed from ahead. Slowly, you leaned out to peek, careful not to make a sound. About a dozen infected, just as you expected.
And just as you'd predicted, the bandits had left too, leaving nothing behind but destruction. You moved, glancing over your shoulder to check on Beomgyu. He was scanning the area, his movements mirroring yours. That small action made your chest swell with pride.
He's learning. He's trying. And most of all, he's here—for his friends.
Together, you began checking the tents, moving smoothly and silently. Nothing. No survivors. But you found a few supplies—military rations, protein bars, ammo and some guns. Grabbing a duffel bag, you started packing up. Beomgyu helped in without hesitation.
Halfway through the camp, Beomgyu froze. His eyes locked on something ahead. That’s when you saw it too.
BEOMGYU, KAI, WE GOT OUT. WITH THE OTHERS. WE’RE HEADING TO THE JEONJU CAMP. STAY SAFE. SB, YJ, AND TH.
“They got out,” Beomgyu said, his voice breaking the silence. Relief washed over him, lifting some of the weight he’d been carrying. Kai wasn’t with them yet, but this was hope. He would find Kai too. He’d see this message too. “I knew it!”
He spun around to face you, a grin breaking across his face. He pumped his fist in the air, silently cheering as if he’d just hit the jackpot. That boyish smile, dimples and all, made him look so much younger.
And then, he saw it—a faint, fleeting curve of your lips.
His laugh bubbled out, soft and genuine, as he ran toward you, nearly tripping over his own feet in excitement. You're perfect, he thinks, the thought hitting him as naturally as breathing. You try to step back, caught off guard, but it’s too late.
It’s already too late.
“I freaking knew it,” he said, his arms around you warm, his chin resting on the top of your head. You stood frozen, your hands awkwardly at your sides, nodding stiffly.
“I told you,” he whispered. When he finally steps back, his eyes search your face, the smile he’d seen just moments ago is already gone. You look away, avoiding his gaze, and the sudden absence of it—leaves an ache in his chest.
He wants to see it again.
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“Let’s wrap this up and circle outside the camp,” you say, pulling the zipper closed on the duffel bag you’d packed full. “We need to check if Kai’s lingering nearby. And we’ll need to secure a vehicle too. We’re in Daejeon—its a long way to Jeonju.”
“Thank you.” Beomgyu’s voice is quiet, and his cheeks flush red as he remembers his earlier outburst—the way he’d hugged you without thinking. Maybe it was the relief from the message, or maybe it was just seeing you smile at him for the first time.
“Why do you think they’re in Jeonju?”
“Probably got a radio response,”
He nods, falling in step behind you as you heft the duffel bag over your shoulder. Beomgyu quickens his pace, catching up to you. He tugs the bag from your hands. “Let me take this,”
The two of you stepped out of the tent, the silence heavy between you. You were nearing the camp’s edge when Beomgyu noticed you slowing down, your steps faltering.
Seo-jun.
His movements were slow, his hands trembling as he stumbled forward. He's looking at you. Seo-jun’s blood-soaked uniform and gaping bite on his neck entered your vision. Gunshot wounds riddled his chest—a soldier’s final stand. He had fought. Hard. For his team. For everyone.
"Y/N?" Beomgyu’s voice broke through the haze, soft but urgent. He noticed that you had stopped, your gaze fixed on the infected figure ahead. He squinted, and his heart sank when he realized it was someone from your team.
Seven years. You had known Seo-jun for seven years. You had planned to make things right with him, to talk, to reconcile. But how could you now? How could you fix things when he was already lost? You tried to blink away the moisture from your eyes.
“Am I ever getting a break?” you muttered to yourself, the words bitter. "Even here, you find a way to mock me, Seo-jun."
Beomgyu could hear the shakiness in your voice, the rawness in the way you spoke. He listens.
You couldn’t leave him like this. Alone in his lifeless form, wandering endlessly. He deserved more than that. “Come on, you shit,” you muttered, your throat tightening as you stepped forward, reaching for your knife. But you froze.
Around his neck, alongside his dog tags, hung another set. Min Ju-won’s. Even at the end, Seo-jun had carried that burden, blaming himself for something you both knew wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t let it go, not even in death.
Beomgyu moved before he could think. He didn't know if it was the look in your eyes or the way your hand trembled, but he knew one thing: he couldn’t let you do this. While Seo-jun was distracted by your figure, Beomgyu raised his weapon. Just as you had taught him hours ago, he aimed for the head.
Seo-jun’s body crumpled to the ground. Beomgyu guided him down gently, almost reverently. From his backpack, Beomgyu pulled an extra jacket. Without a word, he draped it over Seo-jun’s face. It wasn’t much, but it was the only dignity he could offer.
When he stood, his eyes met yours, raw and glistening with emotion.
“Why—” Your voice cracked, unable to finish the question.
“He was your friend,” he said quietly. “I'm not going to let you do that. Not while I’m here.”
Friend.
That single word shattered whatever fragile wall you’d been holding up. A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it, and you quickly wiped it away with your hand.
“He’s not suffering anymore,” Beomgyu added softly, his hand gently brushing the top of your head—you avoided his eyes, yet again. “He’s not suffering,”
He bent down to grab the duffel bag he’d dropped earlier, slinging it over one shoulder. Then, he reached out, his hand wrapping around your wrist.
“Let's get out of here.” He pulled you forward.
Beomgyu's hand didn’t leave yours until the two of you were far beyond the camp.
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"Hey," you called out to Beomgyu, who was busy checking a nearby car. "This looks fresh—like it hasn’t been here long." He made his way over, and you held out—a baseball, cap.
"Wait," Beomgyu said, eyes widening as he took it. Turning it over in his hands, he inspected it closely. "This… this is Kai’s,"
When you looked at him, a small smile was already spreading across his face, lighting up his features like it always did.
Beomgyu… he was so easily moved by the smallest things. It didn’t take much to make him smile. Or maybe it wasn’t that simple. Maybe it was because he loved his brothers, that even the smallest sign of them was enough to give him something to hold onto.
You dropped your gaze when his eyes met yours and moved toward the next car, pretending. But your thoughts refused to stay put. Here you were again, thinking about him—about his silly antics.
In the past twelve hours, it felt like he’d done nothing but occupy your mind. Every small moment with him clung to you. The way his voice softened when he spoke—The way he’d quietly ask, “You okay?” as if you were the one who needed saving.
After Seo-jun—he hadn’t said a word about it. No awkward condolences, no probing questions. Just silence—the kind you needed. Like he just… knew. No one had ever been like this—this careful, this kind. No one had ever looked at you the way he did, with eyes that were too brown and too full of something you didn’t want to name.
You didn’t like it.
You didn’t like it at all.
“I think Kai’s already ahead of us,” you bit into the bland military ration that was handed to you. “Heading towards Jeonju, if those tracks are anything to go by. He’s smart.”
“He is,” Beomgyu agreed, a small smile at his lips as he stirred the contents of his disposable pack. “He’s the calmest one too.”
“Then I guess we will see him there,” you said with a shrug. “Now all we need to do is find a working car.”
“A manual,”
“Hm.”
“That has gas in it.”
“Figures,” you muttered. “But that’ll be the easier part.”
Silence settled over the two of you again, it had become strangely common. You both ate, focused on the food. Every so often, you’d catch Beomgyu glancing your way, and flashes you his small, boyish grin on his face.
You tossed the empty pack toward a nearby car and wiped your hands on your pants. “It’s getting dark soon,” you said. “We should camp nearby and head out at first light.” Moving at night was usually the smarter option, especially with a vehicle and a full team. But here, now? Just the two of you, on foot, with no guarantee of shelter or backup—it wasn’t worth the risk.
Sticking to the woods was safer. The fewer infected—or people—you encountered, the better. You only ventured onto the road when there was a car worth checking.
In the fading light, a barn came into view. Its doors were wide open, silhouetted against the trees. You signaled Beomgyu to wait outside while you moved to secure the area. Inside, it was clear the owner had left in a hurry, taking most of what mattered. It was empty, save for a few odds and ends no one had cared to take—its enough for a temporary shelter.
“Looks good enough,” you murmured as you stepped back outside. Beomgyu nodded, already starting to unload your supplies. The discovery of a small lake nearby was an unexpected bonus.
“I’m going to wash up,” you said, gathering what you needed and slinging your gun over your shoulder. Beomgyu gave a slight nod, his eyes lingering on you as you walked away.
The water was cold, scouring away the dirt and sweat. You were quick, not wanting to leave Beomgyu alone for long. When you returned, your damp hair clung to your neck, and your skin was clean and slightly chilled.
“Your turn,” He glanced up, eyes flitting over your freshly washed face. His heart thudded hard in his chest. Cute, he thought, forcing himself to look away. Beomgyu nodded, grabbing his things and heading out to the lake. He came back just as fast, hair dripping but visibly refreshed.
You sat side by side on the makeshift bedding, neither of you saying much. Beomgyu’s soft breathing enters your ears—hand rested close enough that you could almost feel its warmth against your skin.
You found your eyes beginning to close with peace you hadn’t realized you were still capable of feeling.
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Beomgyu woke up, immediately turning to his left. There you were, curled up on your side, the rise and fall of your chest visible in the dim space. He stared, mesmerized—it was the first time he’d ever seen you asleep. You looked… soft. A side of you he never thought he’d witness.
He shifted. The urge to pee was becoming unbearable. Careful not to wake you, Beomgyu slipped off and crept toward the barn door. The cold air hit him as he stepped outside, wrapping his arms tightly around himself for warmth. He scanned the area just like you’d taught him—ears tuned to every sound. Nothing.
He let out a breath of relief and headed to a nearby tree. Unzipping his pants, he took care of business quickly, the chill urging him to hurry. After he finished and zipped back up, a faint rustling behind him made him stop. Before he could turn, a large, rough hand clamped over his mouth, oppressing his scream. Another arm locked around his neck, pulling him back against a solid chest.
“Shut up if you value your life,” a low, gravelly voice growled against his ear. The man holding him inhaled deeply near his hair, a disgusting, exaggerated sniff. “Freshly washed. You’ve got a place nearby, don’t you?”
Beomgyu’s eyes darted ahead, and his stomach dropped when three more men stepped into view. Each held a weapon—a bat, a knife, and worst, a pistol. The man restraining him gives a rough shake, his breath hot and foul. “Don’t make me ask again. Where’s your camp?”
Beomgyu shook his head violently, panic blooming in his chest. He couldn't—he wouldn't—lead them back to you. The thought of them finding you, sleeping and unaware—this was his fault. He should have been more careful.
The man growled in frustration. “Y' think this is a joke?” he spat, hardening his chokehold. Beomgyu’s throat made a strangled sound as he gasped for air. The man with the knife stepped forward, expression predatory. “Maybe this will help him remember,” he said, pressing the blade against Beomgyu’s cheek. The sharp metal bit into his skin, not enough to draw blood, but enough to make him wince.
“There’s a barn ahead,” the one with the baseball bat said,“Think that’s it?” Beomgyu’s reaction betrayed him—his wide eyes and the flash of fear gave them all the confirmation they needed.
“Yeah,” the man holding him laughed darkly, “that’s it.”
Before Beomgyu could resist, they forced his hands behind his back and bound them tightly, shoving a cloth into his mouth to stifle any protest. He struggled, but it was no use—they yanked him forward, dragging him roughly toward the barn. And he knew exactly where they were taking him. To you.
“Fucking hell,” the man holding Beomgyu growled, his gaze shifting to your sleeping figure inside the barn. A dark grin tugged at his lips. “Is this what you’re so scared of? Afraid we’ll take her away from you?”
Beomgyu thrashed, desperate to scream, to warn you, but the cloth bound tight in his mouth smothered any sound. The group moved closer, one of them stepping forward to push the barn door open. The large, old door creaked. It wasn’t loud, but it was enough to wake you.
Your eyes snapped open, adjusting to the figures looming at the entrance, shadows that didn’t belong. Your hand reached for the gun nearby. The glint of their weapons caught your eye as they aimed at you in return.
“Sweetheart,” the tallest man drawled, stepping forward. His tone was mocking, dangerous. He shoved someone in front of him—Beomgyu. Your breath hitched as your eyes locked onto his. His face was pale, streaked with dirt and tears, and a raw red mark marred his cheek. His wide, terrified eyes pleaded with you.
Red.
“What the fuck do you want, asshole?” You cocked your gun, the sharp metallic click echoing. One of them flinched. Good.
The leader sneered, shoving Beomgyu roughly to the side. He tied him to a post like he was nothing more than an animal. Your jaw tightened as you watched the way they manhandled him, your fists clenching around the gun. When he was done, the leader turned back to you, whistling low at the deadly glare you levelled at him. His cocky smirk only deepened.
“You look loaded,” he said, his eyes flicking to the bags by the wall. “And since you asked so nicely, we’d also like to take turns with you, sweetheart.”
Beomgyu shook his head violently from where he was tied, his muffled cries useless against their laughter. His chest heaved, panic consuming him as the men began to advance on you.
“We’re lucky you’re here,” the leader continued, leering. “If we didn’t have a choice, we’d take the boy instead. He’s got such a pretty face, after all.”
Red.
All you saw was red.
Your vision blurred as rage consumed you. You let one of them grab your gun without resistance. It didn’t matter.
You'll kill them all.
The leader was close now, grabbing a fistful of your hair to tilt your head back. His face was inches from yours, his smirk as disgusting as the words spilling from his mouth. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? No fight left in you?”
You smirked—just a little. It was enough to confuse him, before he could react, your teeth sank into his throat. Hard.
It was a spot right where you knew it would hurt most. A pressure point. His scream ripped through while he stumbled back, clutching at the gaping wound with blood pouring through his fingers. The bitter, metallic taste flooded your mouth, but you didn't stop. You grabbed the gun he dropped as he fell and turned, firing without hesitation.
BANG.
The man who had taken your gun didn’t even have time to aim before he hit the ground.
“Fuck—” one of them snarled, charging at you. Before he could get too close, your foot sweeped his legs out from under him. He hit the ground with a grunt.
BANG.
You aim your gun and pulled the trigger on his face. The man with the bat.
Pain exploded in your shoulder, a gunshot tearing through your flesh, but you didn’t flinch. His mistake wasn’t pulling the trigger; it was not aiming for your head like you aimed for his.
BANG.
The leader gurgled, blood bubbling up from his lips as he stared at you in disbelief. “Monster—” he chokes on the floor, his hands futilely gripping his shredded throat. His blood pooled beneath him as he sputtered his last, trying and failing to form a single word. “You—”
BANG.
You stared at the four lifeless bodies beneath you, the gun in your hand began to feel impossibly heavy. Blood clung to your shirt like a second skin, still warm, sticky. Your mouth tasted metallic, your hair a disheveled mess from the earlier struggle.
Behind you, Beomgyu sat slumped against the post, trembling. He’d watched everything—every deafening shot, every life you’d taken to protect. His body flinched with each pull of the trigger. Now, his tears streamed freely, but not out of fear. No, this wasn’t fear.
He was crying because you had to do this.
Sobbing around the cloth still gagging him, his muffled cries echoing in the now-silent barn. You moved, steps distant, as if someone else controlled them. You crouched down and began untying the ropes binding Beomgyu to the post. His breath hitched as your fingers worked the knots, your hands stained with blood that was not yours. The ropes fell loose. Beomgyu searched your face, desperate for some sign of emotion—but your eyes were blank, lost.
Before he could speak, you stood, bolting toward the barn door. Beomgyu panicked. He hiccuped, scrambling to his feet, his legs weak from being tied up for so long. “Y/N!” he tried to call, but his voice cracked. His head spinning.
You were gone. Were you leaving him? He looked around frantically, his feet faltering as the barn opened into the cool night. He couldn’t lose you. Not now.
Beomgyu finds you at the small lake nearby, kneeling in the water. The cold ripples lapped at your clothes, soaking them, but you didnt seem to notice. Your hands scrubbed furiously at your arms, over and over, like you were trying to erase your own skin. “Y/N,”
“Y-You were shot,” he said, voice cracking. His eyes darted to your shoulder, blood had begun to seep through your shirt.
You gasped for air, your chest squeezing with every shallow breath. No matter how hard you tried, it felt like the air couldn't reach your lungs. Your hands clutched your face as if you could physically hold yourself together—thoughts raced through your mind, loud and suffocating. The world around you blurred and warped, slipping further and further from your grasp.
You killed them.
“Y/N—” Beomgyu’s voice broke through. “Breathe—”
You barely registered him.
“Can you—”
“Look at me!” he shouted, louder this time. Hands cupping your face, trembling as much as yours. “Baby, look at me.” Your eyes darted up, locking onto his. Your tears spilled down your face.
“That’s it,” he said, his voice softening, “Just keep looking at me, brave girl.” You leaned into him, your weight heavy against his chest. His soft voice leads you.
“Okay,” he said, his forehead brushing yours gently. “I need you to help me out. Can you do that?” You nodded weakly in his arms.
“Good. Start with five things you can see. Anything, okay? Just tell me five things.” Your gaze darted, focusing on anything you could name. “The tree,” you whispered shakily. “The grass. The water. Your tears. And…you.”
“That’s it,” he said, “Now, four things you can touch. What are they?”
“Your hands,” you murmured, your fingers twitching against his. “The water. My hair. And…stones.”
“Perfect,” he said, his thumbs now against your cheeks. “What about three things you can hear?” You breathed deeply this time, the cloud in your head beginning to lift. “The wind. The water. And you.” His lips curved into the smallest, most fragile smile. “Two things you can smell?”
You hesitated. “The blood,” you admitted, voice cracking. “And…the trees.”
“One thing you can taste.”
You swallowed hard, finally meeting his eyes fully. “Metal,” you whispered, voice barely audible.
"You did it." Beomgyu’s voice trembled, his hands cradling your face with a gentleness that only made the tears come faster. He does his best to brush them away. "Thank fuck."
“Beomgyu,” his name on your lips slips out barely more than a whisper. Forehead pressed against his shoulder, your arms wrapping around him slowly, shakily, until they found their place on his back.
There's a soft press of lips against your temple, warm and fleeting.
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He helped you wash the blood off your body, his hands careful, never lingering longer than necessary. His gaze flicked to yours every few seconds, searching for some sign of permission—or maybe for you to tell him to stop. But you didn't. You can't, not when his eyes held that pleading look, soft and desperate, as if this was the only way he could help you carry the weight of what had happened.
When it came time to clean your face, you stopped him with a slight shake of your head. He didn’t argue.
Later, he examined the gunshot wound on your shoulder, gently turning you to check for an exit wound. Relief flickered across his face when he found one. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, had this more than I can keep track of.” you replied. His head snapped up, disbelief written all over his features.
The two of you walked back to the barn in silence, clothes damp from the lake. Your hands swung loosely at your sides, brushing his once, then twice, until Beomgyu hesitantly reached out and took your hand in his. You didn’t pull away.
“You can wait here,” he said softly when the barn came into view. “I’ll grab our things. We need to leave—someone might’ve heard.” You nodded, understanding without him saying it: he didn’t want you to see the bodies again.
Within minutes, he returned with your bags. You rummaged through yours, finding fresh pants and underwear but no shirt. “Do you have a shirt?”
“I do,” He's already handing it to you.
“Thanks.”
Slipping it over your head, you caught the faint scent of him—musky, with a subtle sweetness. It suited him.
The two of you moved to a nearby tree, settling under its shadow. The world was still dark, the night stretching on endlessly. You sat beside him, his shoulders side by side with yours.“Can you say it again?”
“What?”
“My name,” he said, clearing his throat awkwardly. You noticed the tips of his ears reddening. “Like you did earlier.”
“No,”
He chuckled, his gaze falling to where your hands rested in your lap. “As I expected.” When you did not respond, he ventured another question. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“What about it?”
“Was that your first t—”
“It wasn’t,” you cut him off, your eyes fixed ahead. You didn’t know why, but the words kept coming. “I’ve killed before. Being a soldier in the war… it wasn’t a choice. Sometimes I even had to kill my own teammates.” You paused,“But this… it’s different. They were civilians.”
“You had to kill your teammates too?”
You turned to him, studying the calm expression on his face. His eyes—the same ones that had anchored you earlier—held no trace of distrust, even after your confession. “Why aren’t you freaked out by this?”
“Because I want to know you,” he said with a small shrug. “Believe it or not, I’ve always been a good judge of character—or at least, that’s what my mom used to say. Soobin, too.” He paused, his lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks. “Ever since I met you, there hasn’t been a single thing you’ve done that I couldn’t understand.” The answer caught you off guard, made something in you falter.
"I had to kill them because they asked me to,"
“Then you're the strongest person I’ve ever met.” You didn’t know how to respond—you dont trust your voice not to break. How could he look at you like that after everything he’d seen? After all you’d done?
Minutes passed, when you felt him shift beside you, his arm lifting as he gently guided your head to rest on his shoulder. The warmth of him made it easier to close your eyes.
"You can rest now,"
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“This one doesn’t work either,” Beomgyu called out from up ahead. You were still busy checking the car you’d been inspecting—never mind. It didn’t work, either.
“Should we just go on foot?” he asked, exasperation into his voice. It had been over a day of wandering and hoping to find a working vehicle. There’d been a few infected here and there, but sticking to the backroads had kept you from running into anything worse than a small group.
“It’s dangerous,” you replied without looking up.
Silence.
Beomgyu never let a comment slide without a retort, you know that by now. Heart thumping, you stepped out of the car and scanned the area, instincts on high alert.
“BAH!” He jumped out in front of you, doubling over with laughter so intense it sounded like he might choke. “You should’ve seen your face!” he managed between gasps. “It was so cute.”
“Are you done?”
Clearing his throat, Beomgyu grinned. It was just another one of his attempts to get on your nerves. He pulled something from his pocket—a dusty Polaroid camera he had found in one of the trucks. He flipped it open and checked the film. Two shots left. Without missing a beat, he raised it to his face and clicked the button.
You blinked, unimpressed. “Are you even checking the cars, or are you just running around pretending to be Dora the Explorer?”
Beomgyu smirked as the film began developing. “You watch Dora?”
“No.”
“You just mentioned her.”
“She’s famous.”
“So am I,” he shot back. “But you didn’t know me before this.”
“Are you seriously going to bring that up again?”
“Heh.” Beomgyu’s grin only widened. He could almost see it—the tiniest twitch at the corner of your lips before you turned away. Almost. It made his heart flutter in that stupid, uncontrollable way he hated admitting to himself.
As the photo developed, he glanced down at it. The image of you slowly came into view—you, standing in the middle of the road, hair pulled into a loose ponytail, staring at something out of frame with a faintly confused look on your face. “Beautiful,” he exhales.
If you looked this good now, how stunning would you be on a normal day?
If this were a normal day, Beomgyu would be all over you.He’d give you flowers every single day, just to make you smile. He’d buy you anything you wanted—or even things you didn’t know you needed. Love is effort. It's what his parents taught him. — And he’d give it, all of it. He’d take photos of you, even beg if he had to, make playlists for you, play games with you, anything.
He wondered if you’d be any good at FPS games. You were already a menace with a gun in real life, so you’d probably be terrifying in a match.
Maybe, if the world ever allowed it, he’d convince you to visit Daegu, his hometown with him. His parents would love you. His brother, too, though Beomgyu would definitely have to bribe him to keep his mouth shut about the massive crush he’d been harboring on you. Would you like… Toto?
Beomgyu stared at the camera in his hands. Who knows if he’ll ever get another moment like this—another chance—in a world as unpredictable as this one? The idea settles in his mind, and he doesn’t let himself hesitate. “Let’s take a picture together.”
You stopped in your tracks, turning to give him that deadpan, unamused stare—the one that always made Beomgyu bite back a grin. Another idea sparked his mind, “Okay, listen. After this, I promise not to mess around anymore,” He jutted his lower lip out just slightly, eyes pleading like a puppy who’d been caught chewing on a shoe.
“You promise.”
“Cross my heart,” he said quickly, nodding like his life depended on it. When you didn’t immediately reply, he skipped towards you. He knew this silence, too—your subtle little “yes” that didn’t require any words. He’d been observing you to pick up on your signals, even the smallest ones.
Without giving you time to change your mind, Beomgyu lifted the camera, stepped close, and pressed his cheek against yours. The faint warmth of your skin against his made his stomach flip, but he ignored it, snapping the picture before you could pull away.
You jerked back, shaking your head.
As the photo developed, Beomgyu stared at it, the edges curling faintly as the image sharpened. There it was—your face, with that same unamused look, your lips slightly pressed together like a daughter forced into posing for an overly enthusiastic mom. Beside you was him, the complete opposite—grinning like an idiot, dimples on full display, both your faces so close, touching.
Something about the contrast, about the way your expressions came together on that tiny square, made his heart do that stupid fluttering thing again. He tucked the photo into his pocket, alongside the other one.
He kept his promise and moved to the next car with you.
After three more hours of searching, you finally found a working car. Beomgyu let out an excited cheer, breaking into his little happy dance again. You tried not to smile, tried not to let his enthusiasm rub off on you—but, honestly, it was getting harder and harder to resist.
"Catch," you called, tossing the last bag to him. He caught it easily, stashing it in the backseat. Sliding into the driver’s seat, you glanced over as he settled into the passenger side. He looked so at ease there, sprawling out and fiddling with something on the dash. A passenger princess. Or was it prince? Either way, you could get used to him being there, looking peaceful for once.
You started the engine and pulled out onto the road, the car’s windows down to let in the cool breeze. As you drove, Beomgyu’s gaze drifted to your hair, your loose ponytail starting to come undone from the wind.
“Let me fix this for you,” he said, leaning over.
You felt his hands gently brush against your hair as he worked, careful not to distract you too much while you focused on the road. In the rearview mirror, you caught sight of his face—his brow furrowed in concentration, lips slightly parted. His fingers brushed against your neck as he gathered your hair, the touch light and deliberate. You could feel the care in the way he worked, securing the ponytail more tightly this time. "There."
When he finished, he leaned back, his hands falling to his lap as he took a moment to admire his work—admiring you. His gaze lingered, drinking in the curve of your face, the way your hands gripped the steering wheel just tight enough. He never felt safer than he did here, by your side. Somehow, in the middle of all this, he’d found his safe place.
His safe place.
“Try to get some sleep while I drive,” Beomgyu's unable to look away—you were right there in front of him, so effortlessly beautiful it made his heart ache. The soft curve of your cheeks, the faint flush that he couldn’t stop staring at—he wanted to reach out, to brush his lips against them, to trace the tip of your nose with his own.
In the short time he’d been alone with you—just forty-eight hours—it felt like he’d known you a lifetime. Like you’d been waiting there all along, someone he was meant to find. He wants to know more.
“Yeah, sleep. Sure.” He replies, words catching in his throat.
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You’ve been driving for a while now. Beside you, Beomgyu was fast asleep, his soft snores fill your ears. A faint smile tugged at your lips as you glanced over, his head resting against the window, one hand tucked beneath it like a pillow.
The camp was close, maybe 15 minutes away. Just 15 more minutes before you’d be separated from him. The thought twisted something deep in your chest. Selfish. You knew it was selfish to feel this way. You barely knew him, and yet…
You glanced at him again, his face soft and unguarded in sleep. Everything else seemed to fade—the road ahead, the weight of your responsibilities, even the constant buzz of survival.
Survival.
Being with him didn’t feel like you were just trying to survive.
Him—who had no choice but to end up with you. You were about to leave that camp. You're already far. But when you saw him at that overrun camp, darting between tents with nothing but desperation and bad luck to shield him from the bandits, something inside you shifted. You just moved. Your feet carried you forward before your mind could catch up, before the voice of reason could stop you.
You didn’t know then that the next two days with him would chip away at the walls you’d built.
It was the little things, mostly. The way he insisted you eat first, even when food was scarce. The way he handed you the best parts of the military rations. How he seemed to know when the weight of the barn still lingered in your mind, distracting you with his terrible jokes or a question just long enough to pull you out of it. Or how he’d ask if you’d slept okay, like it mattered in a world where nothing really did.
And that smile he gives you—so easy, so genuine, even when there was no reason for it. Like he just couldn’t help himself. But now, it was ending. It had to end. You have to end it.
You tightened your grip on the wheel, staring hard at the road ahead. This was the right thing to do, the smart thing. You’d get him to safety, to people who could take care of him better than you ever could.
He didn’t belong out here with you, and you didn’t belong anywhere.
Survival.
There's nothing more that terrified you.
You spot the camp—Jeonju. It’s much bigger, with sturdy railings circling the perimeter to keep the infected out. The car rolls closer, the guards stationed on top of the walls notice you. A blinding floodlight clicks on. You know what that means: get out and identify yourselves.
“Beomgyu,” you say, shaking him awake. “We’re here. Wake up, dumbass.”
“Huh? Oh,” he mutters, the light strike his face. “Got it.”
“We’ll leave our stuff in the car for now. We just need to head up there and check in.” He nods, following your lead as you climb out. You raise both hands in the air, palms open. Beomgyu mimics you.
“State your business!” one of the guards calls down from the wall.
Before you can answer, you notice movement out of the corner of your eye. An infected, shambling closer—too close to Beomgyu. You’re already moving, boots hitting the dirt as you drive your foot into its chest and plunge your knife into its skull.
You step back into position, brushing some blood off your sleeve. “Park Y/N!” you shout up at the guard. “I report directly to Captain Joon. I’ve got Choi Beomgyu with me—a rescued civilian.”
You waited for ten minutes, at most.
The gates creak open, the panels sliding apart to reveal three soldiers stepping out, their rifles at the ready. One of them freezes, his eyes going wide. “That’s really Y/N from the Black Berets. Idiot.”
You ignore his outburst, your gaze cool as it shifts to his badge. “Can we go in now, Ji-min?”
The soldiers straighten instantly, snapping salutes in your direction. Two of them move toward the car, offering to grab your supplies. You give them a curt nod before turning to Beomgyu, only to find him already looking at you—his eyes, questioning.
“Is my team here?” you ask the soldier who stayed behind.
“Yes,” You glance back at Beomgyu. His stare now answered. Without another word, you both start to walk toward the gate.
Beomgyu’s eyes widened, his breath unstable after he spotted the four figures waiting inside. They were here. They were really here.
Before he could fully process it, Soobin’s tall frame sprinted toward him, Yeonjun and Taehyun close behind. He barely noticed you stepping aside to give them space, his entire focus locked on his brothers. The first embrace hit him like a floodgate bursting. Strong arms pulled him in, and the dam he’d tried so hard to hold together crumbled. He buried his face into the familiar comfort of Soobin’s shoulder, trying desperately not to sob. He had missed them. They had never left his mind—not once.
“Choi Beomgyu,” Soobin said, pulling back just enough to look at him. “Are you okay?”
Yeonjun’s hand came up to gently ruffle his hair, a comforting gesture that made the lump in Beomgyu’s throat harder to swallow. “You’re not hurt, right?”
Beomgyu shook his head, sniffling as he wiped at his face.
“You took your time,” Taehyun teased with a small smile. “Sorry we couldn't wait for you back there. It's impossible to get to you, but we really tried.”
“It does not matter,” Beomgyu replied quickly, “Wait—where’s Kai?”
“He’s not here yet,” Soobin admitted, voice pained. “But one of the soldiers saw him escaping with someone else—a soldier. They said he made it out.”
“That ambush was insane,” Beomgyu nodded, even his heart ached. He had to hold onto hope. Kai was strong—he’d make it. Maybe tomorrow, or the day after, Kai would walk through those gates too.
A sudden panic shot through him, his head snapping to the side. “What’s wrong?”
Beomgyu eyes scanned the cluster of soldiers nearby. Where are you? He finally spotted you, standing with Captain Joon. The older man looked serious, but there was a warmth in his demeanor as he clapped a hand on your shoulder. You said something to him, your expression calm. Captain Joon’s face softened, and for a moment, it looked like he wanted to pull you into an embrace.
“She’s been with you this whole time?” Yeonjun asked, surprised.
“Since the start,”
Soobin doesn’t wait. He steps forward, taking Beomgyu by the arm as Yeonjun and Taehyun fall in beside them. Together, the four approach you. You don't have time to register what’s happening before Soobin wraps his arms around you in a unexpected hug.
“Thank you,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for bringing him back to us.”
You glance over Soobin’s shoulder, catching Beomgyu’s gaze. He’s watching you, his eyes soft and full of something unspoken—a warmth that makes your chest tighten. You manage a small smile in return, the corners of your lips curving just enough to acknowledge him. He gives back a grin, that makes his dimple appear.
Gently patting Soobin on the back, you step away. “How are you holding up?” you ask,“I heard Kai’s not here yet. But with Ji-ho looking out for him, I know he’ll make it. He’s capable.”
Your words seem to ease the tension in the group. Soobin nods, his shoulders relaxing slightly. Yeonjun offers a faint smile, and even Taehyun pats your shoulder.
“We’re managing,” Soobin says. “Just waiting to hear what Hybe’s next steps are.”
Captain Joon appeared beside you, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “You’ve done enough for today,” he says. “Go wash up. Dinner will be ready soon.”
Beomgyu trails behind the other three, footsteps slower, reluctant. He looks back over his shoulder, at the direction you went—away from him, toward your own assigned space. This camp is massive, lined with rows of tents in all shapes and sizes, yet somehow, even with so many people around, Beomgyu feels unmoored without you nearby.
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. You’ll need to change the bandage on your shoulder soon. He knows that, just like he knows you probably won’t bother unless someone reminds you. It’s always him who keeps track, who insists on helping you replace the worn-out wraps.
“Here’s your room,” Taehyun points to the tent ahead. Beomgyu steps inside, placing his things near the bed. It’s small but better—an actual mattress and even a tiny bathroom. He crouches by his bag, pulling out a fresh set of clothes for after his shower.
He tugs off his shirt, fingers brushed against the knife strapped to his belt. Slowly, he unhooks it, focuses on the small engraving on the handle—your name, etched deep into the worn metal. Would you want it back? Probably. The thought makes his pout, because he doesn’t want to let it go. Not yet.
He crosses the room and sets the knife carefully on the small table, almost tenderly, like it's an object meant for something more delicate than killing.
He showers with his heart feeling impossibly heavy.
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Your hair was still damp from the shower, clinging to your neck as you ran a towel through it. Tugging a fresh pair of cargo pants up your hips, you reached for your shirt.
“You should always keep it wrapped as long as it’s not healed yet.” His voice echoed in your mind, unbidden.
“Fucking Choi Beomgyu,” you muttered, shaking your head as you grabbed the roll of bandages from the small supply pile nearby. “Always so annoying.”
Your fingers worked quickly, wrapping the fresh bandage around your shoulder. The wound looked much better now. Once you were satisfied it was comfortable, you pulled your shirt over your head and stepped out of your tent.
Your stomach growled in response with the smeel of cooking. A warm meal—finally. “Y/N!”
You turned at the sound of Yeonjun’s voice. He waved you over, seated with their small group near one of the campfires. Several other campfires are on the open space with large pots of food simmered over flames. “Sit down here,” Yeonjun offered, patting the spot on the log beside him.
You took the seat, extending your hands toward the warmth of the fire. Across, your eyes met Beomgyu’s. He was seated opposite you, quiet for once, his gaze flickering away as soon as it met yours.
Yeonjun handed you a steaming bowl of soup, carefully scooped from the pot. “Fill up. It’s good,” he said with a grin.
“Thanks,” you murmured, taking the bowl into your hands. You reached for a spoon, Soobin beat you to it, holding one out.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Let me know if you need seconds.”
You cleared your throat, a little thrown off by the casual care they offered. It wasn’t something you were used to.
The conversation around the fire swirled, voices rising and falling as they swapped stories. You ate in silence, letting the warmth of the meal soothe you. It had been so long since you’d had something like this. But one person wasn’t talking much. Beomgyu.
You coughed—ate a little too fast, the food catching in your throat. It has only been a second when a water bottle was offered.
“Drink up,” Beomgyu said, already twisting the cap off for you. He reached for your bowl, holding it steady so you could take the bottle from his hand. You took a sip, the cool water easing the discomfort. “Thanks,” you muttered.
“That’s right, Beomgyu,” Taehyun teased, smirking. “Take care of her. I’m sure she had to drag your sorry ass out there.”
“She did not!” Beomgyu blurted, his ears turning red.
“Oh, I bet she carried you on her back,” Yeonjun chimed in, clearly enjoying himself. “What? No way!”
“You probably teased her the whole time,” Taehyun added, grinning.
“I didn’t—”
“What a baby,” Soobin finished with a dramatic shake of his head.
Their teasing bounced around the fire, growing louder. Mixed with exaggerated groans as playful shoves sent shoulders bumping on the log seats. Beomgyu, red-faced and clearly at his limit, stomped his foot on the ground in mock frustration.
You couldn’t help it; a laugh escaped you, small at first but growing. You quickly covered your mouth with the back of your hand, your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle it.
Beomgyu's wide eyes locked on you. You laughed. You finally fucking laughed. He feels his heart about to burst at the sweet sound.
“Oh-ho, look at her!” Soobin exclaimed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “The stress must’ve caught up with her. This is your fault, Choi Beomgyu!”
"Choi Soobin, you shi—," Beomgyu sputtered in protest, and more laughter joined with you.
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It had been a week since that night by the fire. A week since Beomgyu arrived at the camp with you—and a week since he last saw you laugh like that. He could still picture it—your face by the warm glow of the fire, the soft orange light making you look almost ethereal. Did you know how exquisite you look when your eyes crinkle with joy? “Did you cut the vegetables, Beomgyu?” Yeonjun asked him as he pointed at the makeshift kitchen in the camp. “Yeah, I did,” he replied, tossing the emptied cans into the trash. He’d offered to handle it, trying to distract himself. Hybe still hadn’t contacted the military about their group, so they’d started helping around. The soldiers were reluctant at first, but Soobin had talked them into it. Now, they pitched in with small domestic tasks—delivering freshly laundered clothes from the women who washed them, cutting vegetables for the large communal meals, anything to stay useful. Beomgyu learned there were about forty-five people at the camp: nine civilians like them, eleven workers, and twenty-five soldiers. It had been a week since you’d spoken to him. A week since you’d even looked at him. Beomgyu tried. He really did. He’d tried to reach out. He started waking up early—a feat for him, someone who once detested mornings—he’d wait by the path, knowing it was your routine to jog at first light. But the moment he saw you, stretching with Do-hyun under the rising sun, his courage crumbled. Feet rooted to the spot, unable to move closer. He tried during meals too, sweeping his eyes on the tables, hoping to sit with you—but every time their group arrived, you were already standing, tray in hand, heading somewhere he could not follow. He even lingered around the grounds, pretending to have something to do. Sometimes, he felt a pair of eyes on him—heart leaping at the possibility it was you—but when he looked up, the space was empty. Eventually, he’d retreat to his tent, his shoulders heavy with defeat. It felt like you were avoiding him. Ignoring him. Do you hate him? Did he do something wrong? He lay awake most nights, staring at the canvas ceiling of his tent, replaying your moments together over and over. He could still feel the warmth of your hands. The memory of you in his arms—how perfectly you fit in it. Were you okay? Was your shoulder healing as it should? Were you eating enough? Sleeping well? Had he already become invisible to you? What is he to you anyway? A friend? Do you even consider him as one?
“You’ve been out of it these past days, Beomgyu.” Yeonjun’s voice broke into his thoughts, accompanied by a firm hand on his shoulder. His eyes searched Beomgyu’s face, concern evident. “What’s troubling you?”
“Nothing, I…” Beomgyu’s voice cracked as he tried to answer. He swallowed hard, looking away. “I guess I’m just… more tired than usual.”
“If you need to talk, let me know, okay?”
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"When are you going to talk to him?" Do-hyun asked, breathless, as you pulled him to his feet after knocking him down for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. The moon guides your makeshift sparring circle. You hadn’t planned to spar with him; it just happened. Restless, you’d found yourself outside his tent, knocking like a ghost haunting its own grave.
You released his hand abruptly, stepping back at his words. “Let’s go again,” you said, more to yourself than to him.
Without waiting for a reply, you charged, throwing a closed fist at his right side. He dodged it easily, his laughter breaking the tense silence.
“You know, you’re way less terrifying when you’re distracted,” he teased, grinning at the glare you shot him. “Seriously, Y/N? How long are you gonna keep ignoring the boy? The guy’s trying so hard it’s starting to make me feel bad. If it were me, I’d have fumbled already—”
Before he could finish, you grabbed him by the neck, locking him in a chokehold. “I t-tap out! Fuck! You're going to kill me.” he wheezed, coughing as you let him go. He stumbled back, rubbing his neck. “Shit, I forgot how strong your grip is. For real, how are you not a man?” You didn’t respond. Instead, you wiped the sweat from your forehead, glancing at the clock. It was nearing 11 p.m.
“Reject the kid already, will you? Do him a favor so he can move on.” Do-hyun muttered, reaching for his water bottle. “You cold-ass woman.”
“He’s not a kid,” you said finally, your voice low but firm. Grabbing a towel, you wiped the sweat from your face. “He’s almost my age.”
“Sure,” Do-hyun replied, watching you closely as you drank from your water bottle, to the bags under your eyes. “Not sleeping again?”
You shook your head, capping the bottle and tossing it aside. “It’s harder these days.”
“I know,” he said, softer now. “But you’ve gotta try. I need to head out anyway—errands tomorrow. And honestly, I can’t take more knockouts from you. Have mercy.”
“Idiot,” you muttered, smirking despite yourself.
“You’re the idiot for ignoring—” You didn’t let him finish, rolling your eyes as you turned and headed for your tent. A quick shower later, you were lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The camp quiet, your mind was anything but. Frowning, you closed your eyes, waiting for sleep to come.
It never did.
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Beomgyu tossed onto his right side again, the thin mattress beneath him groaning in protest. He lost count of how many times he'd shifted since lying down, each movement more restless than the last.
His chest felt tight, like his heart was pounding against some invisible weight. He sat up, running a hand through his messy hair in frustration. His gaze wandered aimlessly, landing on the small table by his bedside. He froze.
Polaroids.
The universe must be mocking him for missing you this much. Did he really need more reminders?
He inhaled deeply, the sound sharp in the quiet of his tent. Standing abruptly, he began pacing, his feet brushing against the worn canvas floor as a single question churned in his mind: Should I see her? His eyes flicked to the clock—11:28 p.m. Were you even awake?
But then, what difference did it make? Another night of lying there, drowning in this ache, wasn’t an option. He just needed something—your face, your voice, anything.
That’s what he told himself as he stopped pacing, turning toward the small mirror propped against the tent’s corner. His reflection stared back, dishevelled and vulnerable in a way he hadn’t let himself feel in years. He raked his hands through his hair, trying to smooth it out, What the hell are you doing? he thought bitterly. You’re an idol for god’s sake.
But then again, you were… a goddess. And right now, none of the titles, pressure, his previous job or self-doubt mattered. It doesn't matter if you'll kick him out as soon as you see him.
What mattered was seeing you.
He stopped just short of your tent, staring at the outline of it. His breath hitched, and his body betrayed him as he turned away, a cowardly retreat already forming in his mind. But he only made it three steps before he falter, his fists clenching at his sides. No. Not tonight.
He turned back, counting the seconds in his head. He rehearsed the words he’d been forming for days now, words that felt too small for what he really wanted to say but would have to do. This had to count. It had to—
“I can see you out there, you know. What do you want?” The sound of your voice sent a panic through him. You sounded tired, a little annoyed. The shadows must have given him away—his pacing back and forth casting restless shapes against the thin fabric of your tent. “Do-hyun?”
“It’s… Beomgyu,” He countered quickly, the way you said another man’s name at this hour unsettling him more than it should. Silence. He braced himself for rejection, for the possibility that you’d tell him to go, that he's insane to be here at this hour, or that you didn’t want to see him.
But the truth is, your eyes are wide inside. He’s insane. What is he doing here? Why now? You stand up slowly, your fingers brushing the edge of your blanket. You can’t turn him away now. It’s too obvious. “Come in.”
Beomgyu that stood outside your tent, hand unstable when he finally pushed the flap aside. The sudden rush of light revealed you, standing there, your eyes locking onto his. For a minute, he forgot how to breathe. His eyes on your face like he was trying to memorize every line, every shadow. “Hi,” he said, it wasn’t how he had planned to start, but it was all he could manage.
You instinctively stepped behind, folding your arms across your chest as a barrier. “What is it?” You looked away, unable to meet his eyes. They were too much—too deep, too brown.
"Are you mad at me?" Beomgyu's voice wavers, cracking slightly as the words spill out. All those rehearsed lines, the ones he'd turned over in his head a thousand times, crumble into this raw, unpolished question.
"I-I— you’ve been ignoring me, Y/N. Don’t even try to deny it." His voice rises, “I called— I even called you out there twice, and I know you heard me.” He pauses, the lump in his throat refuses to go away. "Did I… do something? Something that made you mad at me?" The words are choked, his voice barely above a whisper now.
His eyes—glassy, rimmed red—look at you—he’s holding back tears; you can tell by the way his lips tremble slightly, the way he bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. But despite it all, he doesn’t look away. He can’t.
Not when he’s missed you this much.
"Beomgyu, whatever you think is between us," you let your arms fall limply to your sides, "it's nothing. This… this is just a mission. Soon, everything will go back to where it belongs." You pause, your words deliberate, heavy. "And we’ll never see each other again."
His eyebrows knit, disbelief etched his face. "Who decides that? Who says that?"
You exhale sharply, the weight of your own words pressing down on your chest. "It’s just how it is. That’s how it’s always been. You should surround yourself with people like you."
"I—" he starts, but you cut him off before he can unravel any further.
"Stop this." Your tone hardens, more defensive than you intend, but it’s the only way to protect yourself. "Don’t talk to me again, Beomgyu. Don’t seek me out. If you’re just… grateful for what happened, fine. I’ll accept that. And if you feel guilty about it?" Your voice cracks slightly, but you push through, "Then maybe… maybe you can pay me back someday. In the future."
Beomgyu’s lips trembled as he fought for his next words, his hands shaking. “Then tell me. Tell me, straight to my face, looking in my eyes, that you didn’t feel anything. That you don’t feel anything for me. That you’ll never like me, no matter what I do. Even if I…” His voice broke, a tear slipping down his cheek. “Even if I die trying.”
Everything you’ve held back finally spill over, and your voice comes out in a shaky whisper. "Dumbass."
“You can’t,” he said softly, eyes tracing the fall of your tears.
“What are—”
"I think I'm in love with you," he says, voice breaking on his confession. "I'm in love with you that I wonder how the hell I lived without you all these years. I’m so glad I met you, did you know that? If I’d known, I’d have counted down the days—even marked my calendar stupidly—just to know you were waiting for me at the end of it. And if I had a choice to go back in time, to stop this apocalypse before it happened, I wouldn’t do a damn thing. Because I’d lose the chance to meet you. Here. As insane as it sounds," His voice shakes, but he pushes on, "I won’t—I won’t force you…. to like me. That’s not what I want. But would it be selfish of me to ask you to stop acting like I'm not here? Like you don’t know me? I can’t…" He hiccups, shoulders shaking. "I just want to be part of your life, Y/N."
His words made you take a step forward, your hands trembling as you cup his tear-streaked face. He flinches at first, but then he melts into your touch, his breathing uneven. “I’m afraid,” you admitted, your voice breaking, freckles on his face evident with his face bare. “I’ll ruin you. I’ll ruin your life. I'm a fucking ruined person. Can’t you see that?”
"I see you more than you see yourself," His hands come up to cover yours, gripping them tightly as though letting go would mean losing you. "You're a fucking angel."
You sobbed at his words. Angel. The word echoed in your head, a word so unfamiliar. How could someone as shattered as you ever be called that? How could Beomgyu see anything but the cracks, the mess? How could someone this real—this kind—exist? Is he even real? A dream? Or is he just a figment of your imagination, conjured up in your darkest moments to give you false hope?
Your tears fall faster, and Beomgyu panics, own heart breaking at the sight of you crying. Gently, he lets go of your hands and slides his up your arms, his touch featherlight—moves slowly, as though afraid he might hurt you, tracing his way to your shoulders, then your neck, until his fingers cradle your face.
“Who would’ve guessed that you’re a crybaby too?” he whispered, his voice uneven but with affection. He steps closer, wrapping you in his arms, pulling your unstable form against his chest. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, your sobs muffled against his warmth.
You feel it—all the longing, all the sleepless nights spent thinking about him. The ache of holding yourself back every time you see him from afar—waiting for you, searching for you. He holds you.
He holds you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. One hand caresses the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, while the other keeps you pressed against him. He presses soft, baby kisses to the side of your head, whispering. "Y/N,"
You stepped back slightly from his embrace, but Beomgyu’s hands stayed on your face, his thumbs softly brushing against your skin. He smiled—how could a single expression hold so much, and somehow, make everything hurt a little less? You swallowed the lump in your throat. Maybe, just maybe, you could have this. Even if it was only for tonight.
You rose onto your tiptoes, and leaned in. Closing your eyes, you pressed your lips to his—a fleeting, tentative kiss that barely lasted a second. It was quick, and when you pulled back, you were met with his wide eyes staring down at you, stunned. He hadn’t even had time to close them.
For a moment, neither of you moved. His eyes half-closed, his hands tightened slightly on your face, and before you could say anything, he leaned down, pulling you back in.
This time, he kissed you. He tilted his head just enough to fit against you perfectly, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that made your knees weak. His grip on your face was firm, his tounge grazing your lips—a soft plea—asking for entrance. You let him in, letting him taste you as you tasted him.
Both of you pull back, breaths heavy. A delicate string of saliva still connects your lips, breaking as Beomgyu takes a step forward more, his eyes locked on yours, "I want you."
You nod, reaching for him, your fingers curling around his arm to pull him back into you. "We have to be quiet."
His hands find your waist, fingers dip beneath the hem of your shirt. He lifts it, the fabric brushing over your skin, exposing the softness and heat of your bare waist to his touch. His palms glide over your skin.
You found yourself on your back, on the softness of your mattress, his weight settled on top of you. Delicate and warm. His hand grasps your thigh and he hoist it up his waist. “Please kiss me.” He murmurs into your mouth.
Your tongue brushes his, and he squeezes your thigh. He returns it, seeking your bottom lip to lightly suck on it. Your hands are up his shirt and he starts tugging down your loose pants. He shakily runs a finger between your legs and you inhale sharply. He rubs you, the feel of you soft, so good. He spreads you apart and gently caresses your clit. And you’re so fucking wet. He can't help but give a light sensual pinch. "Beomgyu," you moan on his lips. Made his heart flutter.
Your breathing is harsher and he looks at your pretty face as he shoves his middle finger in you—touching you is enough for him. He looks at you—wanting to see every expression you make. He’s going to fuck you until you cum all over his dick and then he’ll do it again. Until you don't doubt whatever this is. Until you won't be able to think about leaving him anymore.
He fumbles with your remaining clothes, taking his time as if savouring every second. It’s slower than you expected—partly because he keeps grabbing your face, pulling you into deep, heated kisses that leave you breathless.
Your hands help him get out of his shirt, pulls it over his head—hair falling over his forehead prettily. He leans down and kisses you—hands grab your hair and roam your body, his mouth does the same. Your face, your neck, your shoulder blades. "You're beautiful,"
He kisses down your chest and you run your fingers through his now much longer hair. He licks your nipple and your breath hitched. He bites gently, then bites harder and your back arches—he suckles, then lick. He does it again and again, to your left and right, giving them enough attention. He hears you moan—smirks at your skin—and he keeps wanting to hear it.
He goes down further—kisses down and the smell of you is divine. His face hovers and with his fingers he spreads you apart. He swallows—salivating. He sticks his tongue out, lightly licking your clit. He buries his face in, tongue inside, hands on your hips. "Shit, you taste so sweet, could eat this all day," He groans, lapping up, sucks the arousal out of you. He moves up, nose bumping on your clit then he suckles. His dick is throbbing at the way you taste. Your hands pull his hair, and he feels you down on his chin. He was leaving no parts untouched by his warm mouth.
Going back to you, looking at your face, he bows his head. “Kiss me.”
You pull his head down and kiss him, he slides right in and you cry out. "Fuck, you're so tight," He kisses you while he trusts in and out, your moans muffled on his mouth. "You feel so good," Your nails on his back scrape and he thrusts, hard, and keeps himself all the way in and you squirm under him, feeling you coming close.
"More, gyu." You whine out, legs gripping his warm waist as you pull him closer. He did, trust becoming faster, hitting the spot that made you moan out his name. He repositions himself deeper inside you, pressing you into the mattress, his free hand reaching for your clit, rubs lightly. "M'close," Then you felt it, the warm fuzzy feeling—the rush, almost blinding—the warmth of his arms and the softness of his whispered name on your lips that brought tears to your eyes. His own cum mixing with yours.
He smiled down at you, his lips quirking in a soft, almost shy grin as he took in your fucked-out expression. “I love you,” he whispered. He can't help himself.
The faint sound of running water filled the room as he disappeared for a second, and you assumed he was cleaning himself up. When he returned, his pants sit low on his hips, his chest still bare, and in his hand, he holds a warm, damp cloth.
Your eyes follow him as he approaches, his eyes filled with so much love it made your chest ache. He kneels beside you, his touch was careful as he ran the cloth over your skin, wiping away, cleaning you up. He worked slowly, keeping one of his hand holding your own, focus entirely on you.
When he was done, he looked up at you with that same soft smile, his eyes searching yours. You feel your own lips curve in response, reaching out to touch his flushed cheeks, your fingers brushing against his warm skin. The simple touch makes his smile widen into a boyish grin. His grin burned into the back of your mind. He holds you. He holds your heart too.
I love you too.
The warm rays of the morning sun seeped through the thin walls of the tent, casting a golden glow over the room. Dust motes floated in the light, drifting toward the tangled mess of blankets wrapped around your body.
It was the best sleep you’d had in a long time. You didn’t even remember falling asleep. A yawn slipped past your lips as you stretched your arms, rolling over to the other side.
You weren't alone.
Beomgyu.
He looked so peaceful when he slept, his features soft and unguarded. The sunlight kissed his skin, giving it a honeyed glow, and his hair fell messily over his forehead, looking impossibly touchable. The blanket on his side was pushed low, revealing that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. His pale chest and neck were scattered with faint love bites—marks you had left there. His lips were slightly parted, and he looked so utterly…. serene, it made your chest swell.
You reached out, your fingers gently comb his hair. “Beomgyu,” you murmured softly.
"Hm?" He hummed.
You smiled, and he returned it—his smile lazy, but somehow brighter than the sunlight spilling into the room. “Hi, baby,” he greeted,
"It's morning,"
He groaned lightly, shifting closer to you. “I think… we should stay here,” he mumbled, his voice raspy and slow, as though speaking was too much effort. He moved until he was pressed against you, his head resting on your bare chest as he planted soft, sleepy kisses against your skin.
“I have things to do, you know,” you protested lightly, though you made no move to stop him. Instead, you let your arms encircle him, cradling his head. His hand slid beneath the blanket, settling on the small of your back, familiar against your bare skin.
“Wake up,” you poked his cheek with your finger.
He parted his lips and let out an exaggerated, snore that startled a laugh out of you. “Idiot,” you said, shaking your head, though the fondness in your tone betrayed you. “I’ll give you an hour. After that, Captain Joon is going to start looking for me.”
"Let him look," Beomgyu groaned, burying his face deeper into your chest like a stubborn child. “But why is he always looking for you?”
“Because he’s my captain, you twat,” you replied, pinching his cheeks. “And, oh yeah, he’s my father.”
“What!?” Beomgyu shot up, his eyes now wide open and his sleepiness completely forgotten.
“Well, my adoptive father," Beomgyu’s eyes softened instantly at the word adoptive. He didn’t press, but his silence, the slight tilt of his head, was an invitation to continue if you were ready.
“Yeah, so, uh…” You swallowed hard, your fingers fidgeting slightly. “My parents were both special forces soldiers. When they were on a mission—a spy operation—they… they didn’t make it back. I was five.”Hi hand found yours, his fingers squeezing gently.
“I was sent to an orphanage after that,” you continued, your voice steadier now. "I was there for a few years. Then, when I was ten, Captain Joon showed up out of nowhere. Turns out, he was my dad’s best friend. He adopted me. Took me in like I was his own.”
Beomgyu nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “How did you end up being a soldier?” he asked softly.
A bittersweet smile tugged at your lips. “I guess it was always in me,” you admitted. “Even as a kid. Captain Joon saw that too. I was… kind of wild. Always getting into trouble at school—detentions, fights. I couldn’t stand bullies, even when they weren’t targeting me. I’d step in, no matter the cost.” You paused, letting out a quiet laugh. “It got worse when I got older. One time, I was walking home, and this group of older boys jumped me. They were bigger, stronger… I didn’t stand a chance. Captain Joon saw what happened, and after that, he decided to put me somewhere I couldn’t get hurt like that anymore. He took me with him—in a military camp.”
Your fingers brushed the hem of the blanket, your voice growing quieter. “I officially became a soldier when I was seventeen. Got into the Black Berets a year later.”
Beomgyu traced the line of your jaw with his fingers, his gentle touch made the words come easier.
“The time you asked me how old I was when I started…” You hesitated, but his intertwined hands with yours encouraged you to continue. “I got rude because… that question was asked of me once before. By someone. He was bitten by the infected, and I—” Your voice cracked, “I ended up killing him.”
You couldn’t meet his eyes, couldn’t bear the thought of seeing judgment—or worse, pity—staring back at you, but Beomgyu didn’t let you hide. His hands cupped your face, tilting it up until your eyes met his.
“Thank you for telling me,” he said, “He’s not suffering anymore.”
Your eyes shimmered with unshed tears as you nodded. He wrapped his arms around you, guiding your head to rest against his chest. No words were spoken. For minutes, you stayed like that, listening to the thump of his heart against yours, a language of its own.
"I should probably be more careful around Captain Joon,” Beomgyu said out of nowhere, trying to lighten the mood.
You laughed, arms around you holding you closer. When he noticed you staring at him, he tilted his head slightly, his expression playful. “What? Too handsome?”
“Pfft,” you snorted. “Androgynous.” He whined dramatically, leaning in to pepper your face with kisses. You tried to push him away, laughing as he chased your retreating lips.
“Who would’ve thought,” he murmured, “that I’d fall in love with the prettiest girl at the end of the world?”
The words brought heat to your cheeks, and you turned your face away to hide the blush. “Okay, that’s enough,” you said, slipping out of his hold and reaching for the first shirt you could find—it was his.
He sat up too, watching you pull his shirt over your body. The hem brushed your thighs, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He gathers your hair that had gotten caught under the shirt, his fingers brushing against your neck. "I need to shower, Beomgyu."
"Can I join you? You know, to save water," He immediately quips. You smirk, your eyes meeting his before you give him a subtle nod. That tiny gesture is all it takes for his heart to race, he’s sure you can hear it.
In fact, there was barely any washing done.
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Beomgyu finally steps out of your tent, though it took more convincing from you than it probably should have.
You’re still inside, safe from the prying eyes. The sun is higher now, casting everything in a harsh light. He squints, adjusting to the brightness, and immediately spots a few soldiers milling about nearby.
His stomach drops. If any of them so much as glance his way, they’ll know exactly where he just came from. Your tent. The only woman’s tent in a unit of 25 soldiers.
He keeps his head down, heat creeping up his neck and to his ears as he feels the unseen stares. The scenario playing out like an idol dating scandal—and dispatch is about to break the story of his life.
Choi Beomgyu, caught sneaking out of her tent at sunrise, he imagines the headline, biting back a groan. He quickens his pace, muttering to himself, "I’m so dead."
"Hold up."
A firm hand clamped down on Beomgyu's shoulder, halting his little walk of shame. His eyes widened as he turned, meeting the sharp gaze of Do-hyun. The older soldier’s eyes flicked back toward your tent—just six steps behind him—then back to Beomgyu’s freshly washed hair.
"And here I was, starting to feel sorry for you," Do-hyun said with a smirk. Beomgyu barely had time to stammer out a response before the tent flap rustled, and you stepped out.
"Do-hyun," Beomgyu glanced at you briefly, but you didn't meet his eyes, locked on Do-hyun instead. "Let’s go, yeah?" you asked, a pointed glare following the words.
Do-hyun chuckled, lifting his hands in mock surrender as he stepped back, releasing Beomgyu. "Sure, sure," he said, his smirk softening into something less smug.
The two of you walked off, leaving Beomgyu standing there, you glance back at him, catching a glimpse of his warm, flustered expression. Do-hyun caught it, muttering, "You’ve got him wrapped around your… finger,"
You didn’t even break stride, your foot shot out, connecting with his shin. Do-hyun yelped, doubling over, he clutched his leg. "Ow! Damn it, I was kidding!"
Beomgyu finally exhales when his tent comes into view, relief flooding his chest. He thought he was in the clear—until he steps inside and sees his three brothers waiting for him.
"Where the fuck were you?" Beomgyu knows he’s not getting out of this easily. This is going to be a long talk.
Beomgyu tells them. Everything. He leaves out the more private details—of course, he does. Some things are just for him to know. He starts from the beginning, telling them, that he just… fell in love with you.
The room goes quiet for a beat before Soobin steps forward, wrapping him in a hug, his voice soft. "Our little Beomgyu’s growing up," he says, sniffing dramatically.
Taehyun follows with a few firms pats on Beomgyu’s back, his smile warm. Yeonjun, leaning casually against the tent post, grins and shakes his head. "You lucky bastard," he teases, but there’s nothing but happiness in his voice.
The four of them embrace, there's a gap in their circle—a place reserved for someone who isn’t there yet but will be soon.
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The day passed with a warmth in your chest, fueled by stealing stares and fleeting touches from Beomgyu.
Lunch was a lively affair, shared with Do-hyun, Eun-woo, Beom-seok, Yeonjun, Soobin, and Taehyun. The meal was filled with teasing banter, laughter cutting through the usual hum of camp life. Eun-woo’s soft pats on Beomgyu’s back and Beom-seok’s subtle nods didn’t go unnoticed—they were quiet acknowledgments.
Now, you walk toward the largest tent with your three teammates by your side. Beomgyu’s heated kiss still burns on your lips, the warmth of it fresh, even though it happened only an hour ago. — Captain Joon has called an unexpected night meeting, one that made Beomgyu pout as he agrees to wait at your tent.
The four of you step inside and salute, standing at attention until the captain’s familiar command: "Sit down."
The scene is one you’ve known many times before. Yet, there are absences that can't be ignored. Ji-ho, reporting in via radio, assures that he’ll be here soon with Huening Kai. — And Seo-jun.
“A brand-new mission for us,” Captain Joon announces, his eyes with a glimmer of hope rarely seen these days. “Word is there’s a doctor working on the possibility of a cure. And since Jeonju camp is the most stable for now, he’ll need assistance. This is the most critical priority, and we’ll be the ones handling it.”
Murmurs ripple through the group, surprised with cautious optimism. A cure—it sounds almost too good to be true. You let out a slow breath of relief, the faintest ember of hope flickering in your chest. Maybe, just maybe, humanity has a chance this time.
“We’re leaving in a few,” Captain Joon continues, his voice firm. “No time to waste.”
When you reach your tent, Beomgyu is already seated, and waiting. The moment he sees you, he stands, and you stride toward him without wasting any second, pressing your lips to his in a kiss he immediately melts into, “Are you okay?” he asks softly when you pull away, hands finding your waist.
“Hmm.” You nod, leaning into his embrace, arms wrapping around him. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “We’re leaving now. Mission came in.”
Beomgyu stiffens. “Right now?"
“Yes.”
“O-okay.” His voice falters, and he swallows hard.
“It might take a while,” you admit, your hands sliding up to cup his face as you look into his wide, searching eyes. “It’s pretty far out, and I—”
“Come back to me safely,” he interrupts, his hands cradle your face. His thumbs gently brush your cheeks. “You don’t have a choice.”
A small smile tugs at your lips. You nod, "I promise.” Reaching up, you unclasp your dog tag, holding it carefully in your hands before slipping it around his neck. His eyes never leave yours, he watches you secure the chain.
“I’ll see you soon,”
He holds you.
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It’s been two days since you left, and Beomgyu sits at the table, pushing his food around more than eating it. His mind keeps drifting back to you. The weight of your necklace around his neck is comforting—but it reminds him you’re not here. He sighs.
“There's a car coming!” someone shouts from the outer courtyard. Beomgyu’s head snaps up, his heart skipping a beat. He’s out of his chair in an instant, sprinting toward the commotion, the rest of his members right on his heels. His breath comes fast, uneven, as he skids to a stop outside. His eyes widen, and for the first time in days, relief crashes over him.
“KAI!”
The four of them swarm the youngest member, nearly knocking him off his feet in their excitement. Kai’s laughter echoes through the courtyard as Soobin immediately bursts into tears, clinging to him like a lifeline. Beomgyu hugs him tightly, burying his face in his shoulder, while Yeonjun ruffles his hair affectionately. Taehyun, ever practical, starts inspecting Kai’s arms and legs for injuries.
Everything feels right. They’re together, whole. Now, he just needs you to get back here.
They fussed over Kai like he was the most fragile thing in the world, each of them trying to make up for lost time. Kai explained what happened—they had been trapped, which was why it took weeks to get here. But Ji-ho, just as you’d assured them before, had been capable. He’d taken care of Kai and somehow managed to get him back to them safely.
Later that night, Beomgyu was shuffling on his bed while Kai lounged comfortably nearby. It wasn’t long before the others would join them; Kai had pleaded for a sleepover with his brothers, saying he missed them too much to sleep alone. Of course, none of them could resist.
“Woah.” Kai says, and Beomgyu turned, pillow in hand, to see what had caught his attention. The younger was staring at the two Polaroids on Beomgyu’s bedside table, face lit with curiosity. “Is this real?”
“What, you think I Photoshopped them or something?” Beomgyu laughed, a little sheepishly. He paused, before adding, “I took those with her… on the way here.”
Kai’s eyes flicked back to him, curious. “You’re together?”
“Yeah.” Beomgyu’s lips tugged into a shy smile. “She’s my girlfriend now.”
Kai’s grin was blinding, his low ponytail framed his face as he leaned closer to get another look at the photos. “She’s pretty. I’m really happy for you, Beomgyu.”
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You step through the gates of Jeonju camp, your body aching. It’s been a month since you last saw this place—since you last saw him.
Your clothes are filthy, smeared with dirt and the blood of infected, but none of that matters now. The Doctor is alive, the cure is nearly complete, and your mission is done. You made it.
And then you see him.
Beomgyu is already running toward you, his eyes wide and filled with something that looks like disbelief, like awe, love. You can’t stop the smile that breaks across your face, even as your legs wobble beneath you. You start running too, stumbling at first, but your body pushes through the pain, the rest of the world blurring into nothing.
When you reach him, he doesn’t hesitate. His arms wrap around you tightly, lifting you off the ground. He holds you close. You cling to him, shaking from exhaustion and adrenaline and the overwhelming relief of being home—of being with him.
Everyone stops to watch. In a world so cruel, so damned, there’s something warm in the way two lovers find each other again.
A reminder to believe there’s still something worth fighting for.
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"See you soon, and take care of yourself," Soobin leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. You nod, offering a small smile. "You too."
His lips curve into that familiar, reassuring smile as he hoists his backpack over his shoulder. "Y/N, stay safe," Taehyun says, stepping in to wrap you in a firm hug. You nod on his shoulders.
"Let’s have ramyeon soon, yeah?" Yeonjun chimes in, his usual playful grin lighting up his face. Without waiting for a reply, he grabs your face in his hands and plants a kiss on your forehead, mirroring Soobin. "I’ll cook for you," he adds confidently, pulling back but keeping his hands on your cheeks.
You can’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes. "Okay, Mr. Married to Ramyeon." He laughs too, giving your cheeks a playful pat before turning to follow Soobin and Taehyun onto the bus.
For a moment, you just stand there, watching the three of them board.
You turn to see Kai looking down at you, his expression shy. He pulls you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you with surprising strength. "I’ll miss you," he sings softly.
It’s been three months since the doctor arrived at Jeonju camp with you. A month later he was in, and the cure was complete. Those who received the shot stopped being targeted by the infected—it was as if the vaccine turned them invisible. No more running, no more hiding.
After countless tests and trial runs, the results were undeniable: 100% effective. The world is still far from healed. There’s so much to rebuild, so much left to do. But this vaccine—it’s a start.
And now, Hybe is taking them back. Back to the world they belong to. Back to the life they’d almost forgotten was possible.
A warm hand slips into yours, and you glance up to meet Beomgyu’s glassy stare. Your eyes flicker to his neck—your dog tags still hang there, glinting in the light. He holds your hands and lifts them to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to your palms without breaking eye contact.
“I promise to come back to you as soon as I can, okay?” he whispers, "I promise."
You know the truth. You’ll never see him again. This is it.
You already have your orders—a mission overseas to distribute the cure, to spread it where it’s needed most. You don’t know when you’ll be back. Or if you’ll be back. The world finally has a chance, but your worlds were never meant to stay intertwined.
“Okay,” you say softly, forcing a small smile onto your lips. You’ll never wake up to the sound of his soft breaths against your skin again. You’ll never walk through the Daegu home he often described with so much warmth, never see the place where his happiest memories were made. A place he wants to go with you.
He’s an idol—a star shining too brightly for someone like you. A celebrity adored by millions. And you’re a soldier, bound by duty to serve your country. He deserves someone gentle, maybe an idol like him, or someone who fits seamlessly into his world. Someone who isn’t constantly called away to fight battles in far-off places.
It made you happy while it lasted.
This dream—this borrowed time you had.
“I love you,” he says suddenly,, and then he’s kissing you. Once, twice—then a third time, slower. He kisses the tip of your nose, and you smile through the tears that blur your vision. You stare at him, taking in everything—the curve of his lips, the softness in his eyes, the way his hair falls... across his forehead. You try to commit it all to memory. “I love you so much,” he says, voice trembling as he cups your face.
“I love you too,”
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YEAR 2030
You find yourself in the kitchen, humming softly as the news plays in the background. The aroma of spices and fresh herbs fills the space. You chop vegetables for tonight’s dinner, the rhythm of the task bringing you peace. You always find yourself great with knives, you suppose.
A smile spreads across your face as you feel it—a pair of hands, warm, gently caressing your stomach. A body presses against your back, and a soft breath grazes the curve of your neck. The scent of him surrounds you, and you don’t need to turn around to know who it is.
When you do turn, you’re met with his smile—the one that lights up his entire face, even as exhaustion lingers in his eyes. He looks like he just got home, probably rushing straight from practice, his hair still slightly damp from the shower. Without a word, he drops to one knee, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his cheek against your growing belly.
“I missed the both of you,” he whispers, voice soft and full of love.
You laugh, your hand moving to his hair, your fingers combing through the soft freshly bleached blonde strands. “I don’t think they can hear you yet, Gyu,” you tease gently, your smile tender. “I’m only five months along.”
He tilts his head up to look at you, his lips forming a playful pout that makes you giggle like you’re both still teenagers. Standing, he cups your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks, wedding band catches the light, whispering of the life you’ve built together. The life you thought was impossible. But he made it—he made it possible.
If he wanted to—he would.
“I don’t care,” he says softly, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. Then your nose. And finally, your lips. His scent, his warmth, the way his heart beats against yours—he's home.
He holds you.
The only sound is the exchanged kisses and the faint murmur of the news on the television.
Following the record-breaking success of TOMORROW X TOGETHER’s latest comeback, member Beomgyu has surprised fans worldwide by releasing his first solo album, The Last Safe Place. The album, deeply supported by MOAs, has already sparked widespread buzz—not only for its musical brilliance but also for the heartfelt inspiration behind it: Beomgyu’s recent marriage.
“This album is a love letter, a reflection of the most meaningful chapter in my life,” Beomgyu shared. “It’s inspired by the warmth, comfort, and love I’ve found in my marriage. I wanted to capture the feeling of having someone to come home to—a place where your heart feels at peace, no matter what chaos the world throws at you.”
THE END.
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daechwitatamicrecs · 1 day ago
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okay let me tell you (collective) all the things i love about this fic: (read more for spoilers)
the world / the cyberpunk of it all / the background of the Syndicate and the many ways the setting affects the story and the characters - it all spiderwebs out and touches everything and it is done SO masterfully. your characters are who they are because of the world that shaped them and you see the potential for them to be somebody else, somebody softer, but that's not the hand they were dealt. also the little futuristic touches were so subtle but made this SO visceral and immersive, reading this fic is like a whole experience that i can picture and feel like i'm walking through
the way you use bracketing and call-backs, the way everything is cyclical and comes back later, but when it comes back it's turned sideways........ insane work. INSANE work inside that brain. i think the most obvious example of this is the jump / how high refrain but there are SEVERAL MORE through here that i yelled about in the doc and they are all!!! so!!!!
This big brother Seungcheol makes me INSANE he's such a minor character throughout this but every time he shows up it's like !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THERE HE IS and you can see the beginnings of a very Zaddy character and i am readyyyyyyyyyyy for his installment!!!!
the bracketing of funerals (his to hers) and the difference in those scenes but also they way they are a pillar for each other and how even though he "hates" her (we know the truth kwon soonyoung) he's still gonna hold her up
WORD CHOICE, BITCH. specifically the "not to ME" and "i NEED you to fight back" BOTH SO SO SO SO DELIBERATE AND THEY DO SOOOOOOOOOOO MUCH WITH ONE LITTLE WORD IT CHANGES THE WHOOOOOOLE MESSAGE IF YOU'RE PAYING ATTENTION like?????????
"Do it even if you can’t tell me where you are. I’ll find you." - i can't believe you did this to me. to me, personally.
the recurring themes of the two sides of her family are masterclass. that's all.
the way you write people experiencing and moving through emotions is so well done. like. rereading the breakup scene, they both go through the rise and ebb of explosion to honest emotion to resolve but they do it in different ways and you feel both and RAHH. it is SO well done.
the scene of her panic attack? miss hali he is BONKERS???? WHO DOES THAT???? idc if it worked he could have done a million things and THAT was his choice???? lmfaoooo WILD. ABSOLUTELY WILD.
EVERY SINGLE THING that happens from when she wakes up and her shit is gone. EVERY single thing. the way hoshi responds. you know he fucking flew there, didn't even change out of his pajamas lol. the fight scene was everything. the bracketing again and how her thoughts spiral the same way as to when it was "i love him" and later when she's in the shower thinking of how she hurt him for nothing.
ANGEL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! get you a friend who will break a strangers ribs for flirting with your man and get in a shower with their shoes on just because SOMEONE needs to hold you!!!!
THE SOFTNESS OF THE ENDDDDD :( :( :( :( i love them so much :( :( :(
i genuinely cant wait for the rest of these and i will harass you until have them OKAY BYE
Baby | ksy (m)
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Pairing: Soongyoung x f. reader
Summary: Soonyoung had been in your life for as long as you can remember. You haven’t spoken since your wedding to someone who isn’t him, but when you uncover your husband’s plans to turn against your family, you don’t know who else to call.  
Word Count: 29,988
Genre: Mafiaverse, Cyberpunk, Childhood Friends/Exes to Lovers
Type: Smut, Heavy Angst
Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
Warnings: Full warnings available under the cut.
❀ A/N: This fic is a part of my newly announced Syndicates Collection. I want to emphasize that in this fic, everyone is associated with criminal behavior and deeply ingrained in a Syndicate culture in which illegal activity, violence and drug use is the norm. If you cannot handle that - especially because I make no attempt to moralize their behavior - this isn’t the fic for you. Additionally, there are violent scenes. It is a violent story. That’s okay if this isn’t for you, just skip this one. 
❀ A/N 2:  i love jo and jade the end <- left by @daechwitatamic while beta reading but also thank you @eoieopda for beta reading - also dropping this a day early because it’s @eoieopda’s birthday and I love them very big. HBD shrimpie.  
❀ Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.
Main Masterlist | The Syndicates Collection | Tag List Request Form | Ask | Playlist
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Warnings: Graphic violence generally associated with mafia behavior, mentions of murder and blood, morally grey characters, themes of codependency (a little bit), a bit of a toxic relationship with Soonyoung and reader at times (they like to make each other jealous), bar fights, women being very petty, recreational drinking and drug use, heavy angst, depictions of death (funerals for parents), fight scene that ends in death in a domestic situation, difficult relationships with parents, reader and her husband have a terrible relationship and hate each other, depictions of blood and stabbing in one scene (it is the most graphic scene in the whole fic but kept short), reader agonizes over decisions she's made and struggles mentally with a lot of it, depiction of a full blown anxiety attack, sexually explicit content including fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, crying during sex, a lot of making out and biting, multiple orgasms... sorry this is so long, I want to over-warn for everything happening here so if I have missed something you think needs to be warned, please tell me!
-
Kwon Soonyoung is crying the first time you meet him. It’s a loud, warbling cry that you’re not used to, and you flinch at the pitch as you hide behind your mother. Soonyoung and his mother are standing in the grand foyer of your home, his fists twisted in her tweed skirt as he begs her not to leave him. 
His mother sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. You’ve seen her around before on the arm of her husband at your family dinner parties and for afternoon tea with your mom. This is the first time you’ve seen Soonyoung, though, and you’re unimpressed as his shrieking only gets louder when she crouches down to look him in the eye fondly, brushing the tears from his face. 
You don’t know a lot of other kids, but the noisiness of him startles you. Unsettles you. Sensing your unease, your mother reaches to pull you from behind her, giving you a single look that you know means please behave. You straighten immediately, turning to watch the sniffling boy as he calms down. 
Soonyoung is round-cheeked, his dark eyes swollen and face reddened from working himself up. His mother murmurs something to him and he nods, wiping the snot from his face with the back of his hand.
Seungcheol must notice the crying has stopped. He appears from the kitchen, giving Soonyoung an unimpressed once over as he strides toward you and your mother. She clucks her tongue at the cheek of her eleven year old, giving him a hard look. 
“Seungcheol, don’t be rude,” she admonishes. “Greet our guests properly.” 
Your older brother glances at you and you lift a shoulder. He’s going to lead the family one day, it’s important for him to show manners. You know this even at a young age - have always known what his place is among your family, what your place is. 
Cheol is in line to become the Tower of the Choi Syndicate, an empire that you cannot fathom at your age but you know is important. You are its insurance, a second heir if something happens to the first and a bargaining chip for future partnerships. A potential logician, if you’re good enough. 
Turning to Soonyoung and his mother, Seungcheol bows politely. “It’s nice to meet you, Soonyoung. Are you here to play video games?” 
Soonyoung perks up at that, looking at his mom, eyes going round. She grins and nods her head, pulling her hands from where they rest on his shoulders. “He is,” she agrees. “We thought it might be good for you to become friends.” Her gaze drifts to you. “All three of you.” 
That makes you frown. You don’t really like playing video games. Seungcheol never lets you win and forces you to play for hours in exchange for him letting you borrow his AetherLink at night to scroll the internet. You’re not allowed to have one yet, even though you’re only four years younger and all of your other friends have them to enter virtual chat rooms and play online games.  
“Do I have to?” you ask your mom, looking up at her. 
“Yes,” she says firmly, gently nudging you by the shoulder toward where your brother is not so patiently waiting to escort you to the gaming room. “Go.” 
“Why don’t you want to play?” Soonyoung asks, pouting a little.
“I’m not any good.”
“That’s okay. I’ll let you beat me.” 
Seungcheol moans. “Ugh, don’t let her win. Come on. I got the new Grid Fighters game on the Reality Rift console!” 
“No way!” 
Seungcheol grins and shoots off toward the gaming room, Soonyoung hot on his heels. You hesitate for a moment, staring after them with indignation. Soonyoung stops at the doorway, turning to you. His face is still ruddy from crying, but he’s suddenly smiling, cheeks round and smooth.
“Come on,” he whispers. “I’ll let you win, I promise.” 
-
“Holy fuck, can you let me win for once?” Soonyoung groans, rolling over on the mat. He’s dripping in sweat, wiping it away from his brow as he stands with effort. 
Grinning, you skip away from him, reaching for your water bottle. Music pounds through the speakers of the training room. Overhead, the blue neon casts an eerie glow over the two of you. Seungcheol ignores you both in favor of using the weight machines in the far corner of the room. 
On the far wall, your health and fitness data is displayed, each one of your bodies outlined and flashing as new data comes in. Right now, you’re in the red zone, heart pounding hard from your bout with Soonyoung, who is in the orange zone. 
Which confirms your suspicion that he’s not trying as hard as he could be. 
“Maybe if you weren’t afraid to actually hit me,” you offer. The water helps cool you down as you eye Soonyoung. Even at fourteen, he’s started to fill out his form more, arms corded as he hones himself into a weapon. “You’re not going to hurt me.”
Seungcheol scoffs from across the room. Maybe he wasn’t totally ignoring the two of you. He drops his cool-older-kid act to turn and grumble, “He’d put you on your ass, Baby. Lucky for you, he always lets you win.” 
The nickname makes you bristle. You hate when people point out that you’re the baby of the family, like you’re something less than or incapable of keeping pace. You especially hate it when Seungcheol uses it to put you in your place, reminding you that one day your shithead older brother is going to be leading the family business. 
The family business is the reason you spar with them at all. Occasionally Vernon joins, though those days are as unpredictable as his appearances. Usually when he’s over at your house, it’s never a good thing. His arrivals are always bracketed with the sound of his father’s manic yelling and his mother’s frantic begging, followed closely by slammed doors and your father’s calming voice. 
Today it’s just the three of you, though. Soonyoung comes over and sits on the mat by your feet, holding a hand up to you. You pass him your water bottle, rolling your eyes at him even though it doesn’t really bother you. 
Nothing Soonyoung does really bothers you. Since that first day he showed up at your house sobbing because his mother was leaving him for the day, he’s grown on you. More than grown on you, in fact. You’re pretty sure he hasn’t noticed your lingering gazes and the way he flusters you when he gets too close, and you hope to keep it that way. 
“I don’t want to hit you,” Soonyoung offers gently, voice low over the metal clang of Seuncheol’s weights. “And it’s not ‘cause I don’t think you can’t take it,” he adds with a grin, bumping his shoulder against your leg. “I just don’t like the idea of you getting hurt.” 
“Everyone treats me like a baby.” 
“You are. But it’s not a bad thing. For example, you say jump and everyone says how high. Even my dad.” 
That makes you smirk a little. You look at the floor, letting his words wash over you. They do ring true - there’s no one in the Syndicate who would deny you anything, and though you’re utterly terrified of Soonyoung’s dad, he would do anything for you. In a way, it was the Kwon family’s divine purpose to be by the side of the Chois. 
“What about you?” you ask. 
“What about me?” 
“Jump.”
Soonyoung grins and sets the water bottle down, getting up to his feet at your command. “How high, Baby?” 
-
Soonyoung doesn’t shed a tear on the day of his parents’ funeral. He’s a far cry from the little boy who showed up at your house to play video games and become friends. 
Instead, he sits in silence, eyes raging - always raging, now. You don’t think the fury stops, his gaze burning the entire ceremony. His grip on your hand is like iron, and after a while, your arm tingles with pins and needles. You say nothing, willing to endure. Eventually, your arm goes numb entirely, and he keeps holding your hand. 
Afterward, Soonyoung says nothing. You do the talking for him, accepting the hand shakes and bows on his behalf when he doesn’t reach out to accept them, thanking those who have come to offer him condolences and respect when he doesn’t speak.
His grip on you is steadfast. Iron and fire. Even when your father drops his gaze down with a look of disapproval, Soonyoung doesn’t let go and you don’t ask him to. If there’s any day that you can break decorum and tradition, it’s certainly now in the wake of Soonyoung’s loss. 
They don’t need to know you’d let him hold you anyway.  
The boy who existed before the murder of his parents is dead. You knew it before the funeral. But when the last guest finally leaves the Choi Estate and Soonyoung doesn’t shed a tear, you realize it isn’t just his parents that you’ve buried. 
The sweet, gentle boy who had cried those tears for fear of his mother leaving him has died too. And you don’t think you’ll ever see him again. 
-
“You want me to do what?” Soonyoung asks, pulling you into his room and looking out the cracked door to make sure no one else is around. “Where is your brother?” 
“I have no idea.” 
“You can’t just- ” Soonyoung fumbles for words as he shuts the door and takes a few steps past you into his room proper. It’s dark, safe for the glow of his AetherLink glowing with a paused video game. “Did he see you follow me up here?” 
“Why are you being weird? I’m in here all the time. You live here.” 
“I’m being weird? You just asked me to kiss you. Neither your brother nor your dad want you in my room in the middle of the night.” 
You frown. “Since when? Look, I’m sixteen and I’ve never been kissed, and Lin just lost her virginity to Jeonghan. What happened to when I say jump you say how high?”
“Oh don’t start with me. Who cares if Lin is giving it up to Jeonghan. She blew Wonwoo like two weeks ago. It’s not a competition.” 
You cross your arms over your chest, caving in on yourself a little. Maybe it was a stupid idea to ask Soonyoung after all. But you can’t get over the way all of the other girls were clinging to Lin’s every word as she spilled the details of sleeping with Jeonghan. Everyone else in your friends group had at least made out with boys - you had nothing. 
Being the daughter of the leader of the Choi Syndicate has its benefits. Being accessible to do things like kissing boys and going out with your friends to new cool clubs like Echo Space and Hyper Vibe were not one of them. Getting any of the boys your age to even look you in the eye was impossible, the fear of catching the wrath of Seungcheol and your father looming over them like the Sword of Damocles. 
Soonyoung is Soonyoung, though. Your father has brought him into the fold like one of his own, keeping his oath to Soonyoung’s parents to always watch over him and protect him. You’re old enough now to understand that the bonds between higher members of the Syndicate are bonds of faith and blood, of family and something more. 
If anyone shouldn’t be afraid to kiss you, it’s Soonyoung. He lives down the hall from you, and he’s best friends with your brother. It wouldn’t be that weird. At least, that’s what you told yourself as you lay awake in your bed at night while you stared at the ceiling, fingers trailing your lips. 
Now, you’re not so sure. The way Soonyoung recoils makes you realize you hadn’t thought of the single most important thing before marching in here and asking him to be your first kiss: maybe Soonyoung didn’t want to kiss you. 
It hadn’t even crossed your mind - one of the many downsides to getting mostly everything you wanted. You’re so infrequently told no that in the light of rejection, you don’t know what to do, recoiling like you’ve been mortally wounded. 
Nodding your head, you turn away from Soonyoung, throat tightening as the new wave of emotions threatens to spill over. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” 
“Baby,” he sighs. You ignore him, bolting for the door. Soonyoung is fast, though. He snatches your arm and drags you back toward him, though you turn your face away from him to hide the evidence of oncoming tears. “Don’t be like that.” 
“I’m not being like anything. It was a stupid favor to ask.” 
“Would you look at me?”
“No.”
He sighs heavily. “Why are you being so difficult?”
Trying to wrench your arm from his hold is useless. He’s not hurting you, but the grip on your bicep is firm. “Well if I’m so difficult then let me go.”
“Baby.” The frustration in his voice is evident. You ignore the way your nickname rolls off his tongue, the way he’s the only person you don’t absolutely hate the name from. 
“Just let me go!” 
“No. Why do you want me to kiss you?”
The question is like nails against chalkboard now, your embarrassment peaking. “Forget I even asked, just let me go!” 
“Fuck - are you crying?”
“No.”
“Baby, look at me.”
Too afraid that the wavering in your voice will give you away, you shake your head, refusing to turn and face him. With a growl, he gives a sharp tug on your arm, spinning you toward him. You let out a noise of protest, ready to lash out at him again when you feel his mouth on yours. 
Startled, you don’t do anything at first. Soonyoung’s grip is still on your bicep, firm and steadfast. Your eyes blink for a second before they flutter closed, unsure exactly what to do beyond lean into him a little, pressing your lips firmer to his. 
It’s somehow exactly what you expected and totally unexpected at the same time. Soonyoung’s mouth is softer than you were ready for, slotted gently against yours. He’s warm and smells like vanilla and sandalwood, a scent you’ve grown familiar with. Your thoughts peter out, enjoying the way he holds you to him, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. 
When Soonyoung pulls away, you look up at him through half-lidded eyes, your breath shaky. He doesn’t pull back very far, looking down at you with a dark gaze. This close, you can see the real Soonyoung. His expression is soft, eyes sparkling in the blue light of his room. He looks so young suddenly, all of the rage and wrath that lurks under the surface of the calm mask he wears gone for just a moment. 
“You have pretty eyes,” you whisper. His mouth twitches at the corner, an almost smile. “I’ve always thought you had beautiful eyes.” 
He opens and closes his mouth again, trying to find words. You wait him out, heart thudding. He’s still holding you close to him, fingers digging desperately into your arm. 
Footsteps thundering up the stairs wake him from his daze, Seungcheol calling your name. Soonyoung drops his hand and steps away from you, a cool mask of calm sliding into place, the vulnerability gone in an instant. “There’s your kiss,” he murmurs. “Is there anything else you need from me or do I need to jump too?” 
-
Synth pulses through you, vibrating your very bones as you lounge on the velvet couch in a private section of the club. The lights above you are hazy, but you can make out the shapes of holographic dancers, their graphics so high definition that you can see the sweat beading down their bare backs. 
From the VIP section, you have the perfect view of the DJ platform. Screens flash behind it, holographic wonders of creatures and places and visuals flashing brightly. Writhing bodies twist on the dancefloor around the DJ like a pit of snakes. Among them, you know your father’s Taps slither among the crowd, pushing drugs and psychedelics into the hands of those who can afford it. 
A trained eye can spot a Tap well enough. Though they blend in with the nylon and leather of the partiers, they tend to be sharp eyed and lucid, chewing on stim pops or some other substance to keep them awake and alert. 
It’s not the drug dealers in the crowd who keep drawing your attention, though. You shouldn’t be able to spot Soonyoung in the mass of bodies so easily, but you do. His hair is bleached, reflecting the flashing lights around him as he presses in close to the girl attached to him, hips swaying.
Your mouth sours. Leaning forward you snatch one of the bottles from the ice bucket and pour a shot into a crystal glass. Angel raises her brows as you slide the glass over to her and pour another for yourself. She’s not much of a drinker, but she takes the glass wordlessly, sensing your need to have a partner in crime.
Knocking it back, you hiss as the liquor burns all the way back. Even the high grade alcohol is like fire, washing away your irritation for a dizzy moment, veins buzzing. Leaning back, your eyes scan the crowd and settle on Soonyoung again. This time, he’s leading his partner through the crowd and toward the stairs. The stairs that lead to you. 
Seungcheol and Wonwoo crashing onto the seat next to you breaks your concentration. Seungcheol’s pupils are wide as saucers, eyes trailing upward to dance at the visual of a woman with pink skin sliding out of her top. 
Next to him, Wonwoo pulls a small bag with glittering dust from his pocket, shaking it to settle all of the contents at the bottom before unsealing the top. The way the powder glows against the lights tells you its high quality frostbyte, a powerful stimulant named for the biting feeling when inhaled. 
Instead of yelling over the music, you gesture toward the bag, catching Wonwoo’s attention. He gives you a surprised look followed by a wolfish grin. Wonwoo loves when you partake in partying harder, a side everyone so rarely sees from you. 
Sliding a knife from his pocket, you watch with rapt attention as Wonwoo dips it into the baggie, scooping delicately. You’d rather he cut lines on the table, but you’ll take what you can get, watching as he expertly fishes out a decent sized amount for you to take. 
You’re mutely aware that a group of bodies enters your section. Vernon throws himself down next to Angel, jostling you both as you lean over Seungcheol’s half-asleep form toward where Wonwoo extends the knife toward you carefully. You ignore the weight of Soonyoung’s eyes on you as he, Mingyu and a group of girls sit down and reach to fill their glasses with liquor. 
Wonwoo’s hands are steady as he holds the tip of his blade out to you, a hand held underneath to catch any powder that slips off the blade. Careful not to lose your balance and stab yourself, you level your face with the knife, inhaling sharply. 
Immediately the drug bites the back of your throat, eyes watering as you tilt your head upwards and blink for a second, letting it settle. Sniffing harshly a few times, you clear your nasal passage and blow out a breath, feeling the softest beginning of a tingle as you look at Wonwoo, who is still holding his hands out to you. 
“Thanks,” you nod. He grins and pulls back, rubbing the excess powder along his gums as you fall heavily against the back of the booth. 
Turning to look at your brother, you elbow him. “Are you alive?”
“Mhmm,” he grunts, eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest. Lights dance across his face, all pinks and blues and purples as he breathes in heavily. “I am fucked right now. Can you get me a stim pop from Hoshi? If I do anymore frostbyte I’m gonna get a nosebleed. Again.” 
Actually, asking Soonyoung for anything is the last thing you want to do. However, your brother does look like he needs to wake up, the mess of drugs and alcohol in his system working overtime to put him on his ass. Stim pops are a quick fix, a careful mix of sweet candy and methylphenidate to wake up the nervous system. Soongyoung always has them on his person, especially for when he works late night shifts. 
Turning in the booth, you’re smacked with a wave of color. For a moment, you drink it in, tilting your head upward as the figures dancing above explode into a world of lavender butterflies. They’re utterly captivating, your eyes watching them twist and dance in the air as they flutter. 
A laugh bubbles from your lips, entirely childlike. Grinning, you watch them for a few moments more before they disintegrate into stars, entire solar systems hovering and floating through the space above your head.
Seungcheol elbowing you breaks you from your concentration. Right. Stim pop. From Soonyoung. Glancing at the man in question makes your stomach plummet. Soonyoung’s head is resting against the back of the booth, the girl next to him draped over him with her mouth pressed hot to his throat, her teeth overly white in the blacklight of the club. 
A surge of rage shivers through you, your nails scratching across the green velvet, leaving marks in their wake. Leaning forward, you reach out a hand and smack Vernon’s knee to get his attention. He turns his lazy gaze on you, brows raised. When you point at Soonyoung, he nods and yells over his shoulder to get your target’s attention.
Soonyoung’s eyes flutter open and flick to where you’re sitting. He drinks in your expression before muttering something to the woman mouthing at his neck and peels her off, standing up and shuffling over to you. Angel makes room for him, all but sliding into Vernon’s lap as Soonyoung crashes down on the couch next to you. 
“Hi, Baby. What’s up?” 
“Cheol needs a stim pop,” you answer curtly, leaning away from him. He smells like vanilla and sandalwood laced with alcohol. Soonyoung is so close you can feel his body heat, his breath fanning across your bare shoulder as he moves to look at Seungcheol half asleep on your other side. “Then you can go back to your little public sex session.” 
Soonyoung makes an angry cat noise, narrowing his eyes at you as he smirks. He leans toward you further to reach into his pocket, shoulder pressed against you. His scent fills your nose, heady and familiar. You’re dizzy with it, the touch of his warmth against your skin making you flush.
Suddenly, his nearness is overwhelming. Every hair on the back of your neck stands on end, your skin hypersensitive to the way he leans against you. The glow of the lights is sharper than you remember, and you swear you feel the blood rushing through your body.
A response that could be either because of the drugs you inhaled a moment ago or because Soonyoung is pressed against you and you have the sudden urge to lean into him, to feel his warmth, to press your lips against his and feel their softness. 
In an attempt to save yourself from the trap, you shove back at him. He huffs, glaring at you as he fishes a stim pop out of his pocket and hands it over to you. You’re careful to avoid his touch when you snatch it from his nimble fingers, turning your back on him in the booth to look at Seungcheol.
“Why are you being a brat?” His voice is loud over the music, shouted into your ear as he tilts back into your space again. You can feel the warmth of him on your back. 
“Go away.”
“Baby, please don’t start with me.”
“I’m not starting fuck with you.” 
Seungcheol cracks an eye open to observe your argument with a look of interest. Seungcheol’s pupils are dilated like moons, totally empty of any coherent thought. You peel the wrapper off the stim pop, careful to hold it by the cardboard stick as you pop it into your brother’s mouth. 
For a few moments, your brother lolls the candy around his mouth, sucking greedily. Then, he blinks his eyes open, pupils narrowing as he drinks in the lights and the clubs. He sighs in relief, patting your thigh gratefully as the stimulant chases away whatever else is washing him out.
When you turn around, Soonyoung is still lingering, his dark eyes fierce and focused only on you. He looks good tonight. He looks good every night. He has become your picture perfect torture since that night you asked him to be your first kiss, kickstarting something you were incapable of foreseeing. 
The bleached hair is new and you hate how much you like it. The silvery strands look just as soft as his natural black, and it’s a nice contrast to his dark eyes and sharp cheekbones. Those stormy eyes are staring at you now, something playful that you don’t like glittering under the surface. 
He pouts at you. “Why are you mad at me?”
“I’m not mad at you. Go away!”
“You definitely are. What did I do, hmm? Tell me.” 
“Please fuck off.” 
He rolls his eyes, peeling himself off the couch and muttering something under his breath. You’re sure he has nothing nice to say, so you sink further into the couch, crossing your hands over your chest as you sulk. 
Sticky air clings to your skin. You can feel your heart racing in your chest, the music vibrating your ribcage. Your anger is like a monster given life, fueled by the frostbyte and the feverish anger taking root in your stomach as Soonyoung settles back in his spot, pressing his mouth sloppily to the woman next to him. 
And that’s the problem, really. It’s not you that is pressing your mouth to his jaw while he leans against the back of the seat. It isn’t you running manicured nails down the front of his shirts, pulling at buttons despite the audience. 
It isn’t you and it should be. You want it to be.
It’s been two years since Soonyoung kissed you for the first time in his room. You’ve had more experience with other people since then, but it dulls in comparison to his simple kiss. You hate it. What you hate even more is how childish it makes you feel, embarrassment heating your cheeks and throat when he catches your gaze across the booth and you divert your attention. 
For the second time, Soonyoung peels the girl off of him, making like he’s going to get up and come sit next to you again. This time, his companion keeps him rooted to the spot, her nails digging into his forearm as she hisses something at him. He groans, head tilted back like he’s once again the most inconvenienced man in the room. 
Wanting nothing more than to blot him out, you call Wonwoo’s name again, leaning forward heavily for more frostbyte. Soonyoung whistles and snaps his finger in your direction as though to tell you no. You bristle, your anger turning to an inferno, burning up inside of you. 
Vernon and Angel both cringe, leaning out of your line of fire as you swivel to angle yourself toward Soonyoung, hands shaking. “Don’t fucking whistle and snap at me! I’m not a dog.”
“Baby, you don’t need more. Your pupils are the size of Mingyu’s big ass head.”
Mingyu, though right next to Soonyoung, doesn’t hear the insult, his tongue being sucked down the throat of the girl sitting in his lap, hips grinding on him. Another girl is pressed to his side, teeth nipping at his jaw. At least someone is having fun, you think, the three of them totally aware of the crackling tension in their booth. 
The girl attached to Soonyoung’s neck a moment ago bristles when she hears your nickname. “Baby?” she asks, face scrunching. “Are you serious?”
“Chill out, Victra. It’s her nickname.”
“Yeah,” you agree, shooting her a venomous look, despite her doing nothing to earn your ire. “Chill, Victra.”
Once again, you turn your back on Soonyoung, standing and scooting Seungcheol over to swap places with him. He does so with a keen eye, watching the scene unfold as he sucks his lollipop happily, content to watch the drama. 
Wonwoo dips his knife into the bag as you settle in next to him, bouncing with excitement. “I love when you do drugs, you’re so much fun.” 
“I don’t feel very fun right now.”
“Drugs will fix it!” 
“Wonwoo, don’t you dare give her that,” Soonyoung warns. He pries Victra’s hands off of him, leaning forward as though to reach across the table. 
“Ignore him,” you insist. 
Wonwoo hesitates, stuck between a rock and a hard place. The last thing he wants to do is tell you no. No one but your father and older brother get to tell you no. Wonwoo knows this better than most people. But he also doesn’t want to cross Soonyoung, a venture nearly as dangerous as pissing off Seungcheol. 
Soonyoung hisses at the girl next to him,  “Stop clawing at me! Baby, please stop being stubborn for one moment. Just one. ”
“Why the fuck did you even bring me up here?” Victra interrupts, ignoring Soonyoung’s plea. “You’ve done nothing but fawn over her since we got here. This isn’t fun.” 
Soonyoung ignores her. “If you’re mad at me, be mad at me. Stop blowing shit up your nose to prove a point and be a bitch, though.”
“I’m not proving fuck, Soonyoung. And Victra’s right, go fuck her in the bathroom or something and stop telling me what to do.”
“So it is about her?” 
“I have a name!” The her in question snaps. You turn around, temper flaring as you level your glare at her. She turns her nose up at you as she says, “It’s obvious you’re bothered he brought me here. Your jealousy is insufferable.” 
“Ding, ding ding,” Seungcheol imitates a bell. You turn around to look at Victra. “Round one! Fight!”
It takes a second for Victra’s words to land. It’s like each one hits you a second apart, packing their own punch as you register them. The pulsing music around you fades to a dull roar as you stare at her, seeing the way her lips twitch upward as she realizes she’s right. You are jealous that Soonyoung brought her up here. 
Victra’s grin is all it takes for you to spill over. Before you can register what you’re doing, you’re out of your seat and leaping over the table at her, knocking over glasses and bottles. Wonwoo cheers in delight behind you as your brother catches you by the waist, trying to keep you on your side of the booth as you tear at his hands to get across the booth. 
Seeing the attack of opportunity while you’re subdued, Victra shoots to her feet. Angel is fast as an adder, one moment sitting in Vernon’s lap and the next striking Victra down into the booth, knee planted in her stomach. Vernon does nothing to stop his girlfriend, opting instead to reach for a water bottle, unscrewing it to take a sip as his girlfriend pins Victra down to the seat with little effort. 
Noticing for the first time that their friend is in distress, the two women with Mingyu lift their heads. As soon as one starts to slide from his lap to reach for Angel, you kick a foot out, striking the bucket of alcohol and ice. The bucket goes flying at her, hitting her hard in the face. She screams, crumbling in Mingyu’s lap, cradling her face. 
Mingyu and Soonyoung are on their feet in seconds, soaked from the waist down and trying to gain control of the situation as it spirals. Mingyu becomes a blockade between Victra’s two friends, trying to keep them on their side of the booth. Soonyoung is prying a bottle from a hand before it can make its way toward you, yelling something indecipherable. 
Angel is still pressing her knee deep into Victra’s gut. Victra’s attention has diverted from you entirely as she screams like a wounded animal, pushing and scratching at Angel’s knee to try and get her off. You’re sure it hurts, but Angel doesn’t budge, sinking her weight into it. 
Leaning down, you grab something to lob at them - someone’s shoe - but Seungcheol manages to haul you off your feet and spin you, planting you into the booth behind him. You growl, shoving at his legs to move him out of the way, trying to re-engage. 
“Fucking hell,” he grunts. “Are you fucking juicing? Why are you so strong?”
“It’s the drugs,” Wonwoo offers unhelpfully. “Really top of the line drugs.”
“Shut up, Wonwoo!” Both you and Seungcheol bark at the same time. 
Wonwoo holds up his hands, leaning back into the seat as he watches the mess unfold with a delighted grin. You strike out with your foot, slamming against the booth’s table, shoving it in Soonyoung’s direction. You hear glass shatter as more things fall off the table, clattering to the ground. There are shrieks and curses that you can’t see with Seungcheol blocking the way. 
“He’s a fucking asshole!” You seethe to your brother, panting with rage. 
“He is, and you did exactly what he wanted you to do.” You try to kick the table again but he stops you, grabbing your knee. You feel like you can’t get enough air, sweat slicking your skin and the velvet of the couch too sharp against your flesh. “Soonyoung loves a fight when he’s fucked up. You know that.” 
“Well fuck him!”
He pulls the stick from his mouth, candied stim gone. He tosses it onto the floor and looks over his shoulder where Mingyu and Soonyoung are corralling the three women out of the booth. “God, Angel  broke that girl's rib I think. Hahahha!” 
“I want to break her fucking face!” 
“I think you broke her friend's face. She is fucked up. That bucket hit her right in the eye. What a shot.” 
“If you’re so entertained, why’d you get in my way?”
“There’s a lot of eyes here.” You glance around, noticing other booths looking at you, people ducking toward one another to whisper. “You have an image to maintain.” 
Adjusting your shirt, you settle back into the booth. “Alright. Alright I’m good.”
When Seungcheol moves out of the way to take a seat, Soonyoung replaces him. You glare up at him, feeling your anger curl up in you again. His lips twitch, a hint of a smirk as he sits down next to you, sighing heavily and tilting his head to look up at the flashing lights.
The girls are nowhere to be found. Angel is sitting back down next to Vernon who hasn’t moved, and there are servers picking up the mess you made. Mingyu is notably absent, though you can guess where he’s gone for the night. He’s good at making scorned lovers feel better about their bad luck. 
“Jealousy is crazy on you,” Soonyoung notes, tonguing the inside of his cheek as he glances at you sidelong. “I kind of like it.” 
“Don’t ever do that to me again,” you warn. He laughs, the fight totally leaving him. “I’m serious. Don’t ever do that to me again, Soonyoung. Not to me.” 
“Alright, alright. When you say jump, right?” 
Soonyoung’s fingers brush against yours. Just the rough feeling of his calluses against the tips of your fingers has you shivering, anger replaced with want. He doesn’t take your hand, doesn’t move to do anything else but lean back in silence with your fingers touching. 
Resigned, you say nothing else to him. You’d got what you wanted - sort of - even if you know you made an ass out of yourself doing it. It isn’t the first time he’s made you jealous, but it is the first time it’s boiled over so violently. 
You remind yourself not to do frostbyte when you’re mad anymore.
You turn your attention to where Angel is snorting frostbyte up her nose off of her boyfriend’s phone, accidentally turning on the hologram as she does, her face suddenly caged by green screen data. You call her name gently. She looks up at you, pupils blown, reflecting the lights dancing above like dark glass. “Thanks,” you offer. 
Her grin is too wide, teeth too white. She reminds you of a demon more than she does an angel. “Anytime.” 
When you settle back in, you glance at Soonyoung once. He looks down at you, smirking a single time before he leans into you and rests his head on your shoulder. You feel him melt into you, sighing as his eyes close and he nuzzles a little closer. You put your hand on his thigh, squeezing once before you leave it there, feeling the heat of his skin through his pants.
It isn’t until he’s almost asleep, pressed as close as possible to you that you realize maybe he got what he wanted too. 
-
Rain washes over the black city, the mist turning the thousands of digital and holographic advertisements into a watercolor smear of neon. It smells wet and like rot, the drains overworked and belching water and trash back out into the street as you walk, feet splashing. 
You quickly duck out of the way of a group of rowdy men spilling from a bar. You can smell the drink on them, their feet sloshing in the rising water of the street as they dredge toward the next bar. They whistle at the pretty girls dressed in light up raincoats and flickering green contacts, stumbling toward a brothel instead of the bar. 
Gripping your umbrella tighter, you quicken your steps. Grease smoke drifts toward you from various hawker carts, the sizzle of meat making your stomach growl. You ignore them, knowing you have dinner with your family later as you take a corner and plunge into the darkness of an underground stairwell. 
The LEDs on your umbrella cast a pink light as you descend the stairs, careful not to slip on the caked grime. Two guards stand outside metal double doors, music pulsing faintly behind it. They look you up and down, ready to deny entry until you state your name at the bottom of the steps. 
“ID?” the one on the right asks, giving you a critical eye. 
Of course he doesn't believe you. The daughter of the Tower would never walk anywhere without a body guard, especially in this part of the city. You spin the umbrella, the pink coalescing as he takes the phone from your hand and taps it, blue lighting up his face when your ID and profile appear in holographic data above the screen. 
He clears his throat and bows at the waist. When his counterpart doesn’t, he smacks him hard on the back, making the man lean over. “Apologies, Miss Choi. Right this way.” 
Music hits you full on when the doors open, the base creating static in the air. You cringe as it vibrates through your ribcage and teeth, wondering how anyone could stand to be in a club this loud. Popping the umbrella shut, you let your eyes adjust while one security guard remains at the door, shutting it behind you, and the other hands you your ID.
“Should I escort you to the office, Miss?” 
Writhing bodies dance together, scintillating like snakes in a pit. Above them, lasers and holograms light up the world with flashes of colors you didn’t even know existed. A wide bar stretches to the left of the floor, lit up by soft cyan lights. Behind it, the bartenders move in a blur, the glow on their clothes turning them ethereal. 
You glance at the security guard, who waits patiently before shaking your head. You point to the space above the bar where there are two large, mirrored windows looking out into the club. “Up there?”
“Yes,” he answers, hesitating. “Let me escort you.” 
With a roll of your eyes you nod, gesturing to him to lead the way. He clears a path, clubbers and workers alike moving out of his way when he shoves them. You walk behind him, swinging your head from side-to-side as you look at the people, fascinated. 
People with spikes pierced in their skin and whorling tattoos with glow ink stare back at you, glowing contact lenses and gemmed teeth all taking you in. You rarely get to mix in with the crowd that partakes in more unique cosmetic alterations and fashion, fascinated by someone who walks by with red glowing face tattoos like a demon mask. 
At the foot of the stairs, the guard lets you walk up first. It’s clear of people, so he remains standing at the bottom, taking up an imposing position with his hands linked in front of him, blocking the stairway entirely. 
The thud of music vibrates through your boots as you climb the stairs, greeting another security guard. You can tell he’s already been warned you’re here - he bows immediately and keys in the pad at the door, opening the office for you. 
You pass by him airily, stepping into the dry and much cooler office. The door closes behind you, immediately cutting off the sound with high–tech sound proofing. Soonyoung is leaning against the bar, his back to the door as he watches out the windows, a glass in his hand. 
“What in the fuck are you doing?” he asks, tossing you a look over his shoulder. You grin, skipping over to him. He doesn’t grin back, looking you up and down as you join him. You reach for the decanter he’s drinking from but he smacks your hand, viper fast. “Not a chance.”
“What? Why not?”
“You shouldn’t be here, much less without a security team. The Tower will be livid.” 
“The Tower doesn’t have to know.”
Soonyoung’s jaw flexes. “The security team will tell him you were here.”
“Not if you tell them not to.”
“Baby,” he sighs, tilting his head up and closing his eyes. You lean against the bar, watching him. The lights from the club are dimmer in here, but they flash against his face, painting him in golden light. He’s beautiful. “What are you doing here?”
“Angel said you had a bad day.”
“I always have a bad day. And tell Angel to shut her mouth.”
You snort. “You tell her that.”
That gets a grin out of him. He lowers his head, dark gaze finding yours. “You can’t just walk around the Lower City without a personal guard, Baby.”
“I’m not helpless.”
“I know you’re not. I’m not either but people try to rob me all the time. You, on the other hand, are a lot prettier of a prize than I am.” 
“So you think I’m pretty?”
This time when Soonyoung sighs, it’s affectionate. He sips his glass of amber liquid, turning to watch the crowd outside the office. He holds out his glass to you, a concession. You grin further, accepting it from him and bring it up to your nose to smell. You don’t know anything about liquor, but from the spiced scent you can tell it’s good quality.
You take a tiny sip. It goes down smooth - strong, but good and warm. Instead of giving him the glass back, you cradle it to your chest, leaning against the bar next to him close enough that your arms are almost touching. He continues looking out at the crowd, keen eyes serious and back to work while you look at him. 
Soonyoung is beautiful. His side profile is lethal, the slope of his neck elegant, the curve of his jaw sharp but delicate, his high cheekbones catching the light. His eyes are dark pools, reflecting the snatches of light that come through the dark windows. 
“Did you come here to stare at me?” he asks, never taking his eyes off the crowd. 
“What if I said I did?” 
His mouth twitches at the corner. “Unfortunately I would believe you.”
Watching over clubs isn’t usually Soonyoung’s job. But this club is in a terrible part of the city and isn’t worth much to the Choi Syndicate, so sometimes he’s awarded the opportunity to prove himself to your father and to the elders of the Syndicate that he’s competent and capable of leadership, despite the fact you’ve always known him to be. 
Soonyoung isn’t meant for leading like Seungcheol. But there is a certain level of loyalty and understanding he has to cultivate with the heavies of the family, the Swords who carry out the bloody tasks of removing people from the way and keeping assets safe. His father had been the Sentinel of your family for years until his death, and Soonyoung is expected to pick up that mantle.
This is all a part of that. Soonyoung already has the loyalty of the security team running this hole in the wall, alerting him the second you arrived and refusing to let you go up the stairs alone. Had they failed to do that, you might think a little less of them. 
Soonyoung also probably would have had them beaten. 
Finally, Soonyoung turns to look at you. He sighs and raises his brows expectantly. 
“What?” you ask. 
“What did you come here for? Real answer, this time.” 
“I told you. Angel said you had a bad day. That is my real answer.”
“And?”
You shrug, sipping from the glass and turning toward the windows. “I wanted to make it a better one.” 
That makes him go silent. You can see him turn to look at you, his stormy gaze pinning you to the spot. You don’t look at him, letting him stare as you nurse the drink and watch the dancing crowd down below. They’re beautiful, in a way, an ocean of bodies saying as colors turn them blue and then green and then bright red and then lavender. 
Soonyoung leans toward you, bumping his head on yours lightly. That gets a laugh out of you, stomach fluttering and wishing he would stay leaned against you. He pulls away though, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his eyes back to his job. 
“Thank you,” he finally says, voice quiet. “It is already a better day.” 
The silence is comfortable. You eventually give him the drink back and he takes it, tongue darting out to lick the lip gloss you left. He hums. “Cherries.” 
“You’re gross.” 
He smiles into the glass, taking a sip. “I actually have something for you.” 
“A present?”
He snorts. “Not exactly. Go to the desk - top drawer on the right.” 
Eagerly, you do as he says. The heavy wooden desk sits in the back of the room, imposing even without the metal lockers behind it with weapons. You ignore the heavy guns under padlocks and go for the drawer in question. 
A rectangular box is in the drawer Soonyoung specified, unmarked. You turn it over in your hands, curious. It’s not very heavy and fits mostly in your palm. 
“Bring it over here.” 
You do, trailing back to Soonyoung. He extends his hand and you pass it over to him, watching with interest as he cracks the box open with the sheer strength of his fingers. He pulls out a small device, a wire and what looks to be a plug, tossing the box to the bar. 
“Do you know what this is?” he asks, holding up the device. 
It’s a small rectangle with a keypad and a screen. You raise your brows in surprise. “It is a very old phone.” 
“It is.” He smiles, pleased with your answer. He passes the materials over to you and you hold them against your chest. “That’s the charger and the charging cord. It’s one of the old kinds of phones that requires a phone tower. There are barely any in the city.” 
“And what is this gift for?” 
“I own the phone towers that support it.” You raise your brows. Soonyoung rarely spends the inheritance his parents left behind, so you’re surprised. “It only has a single phone number programmed into it that will call the one I have.”
At this, he reaches into his pocket and produces the phone’s twin. He shakes it for emphasis, pressing a button and lighting up the screen. “You have to make sure to keep it charged. I want you to have it for emergencies only. And I mean emergencies, Baby. This is a last resort kind of device, alright?” 
You chew your bottom lip, dragging your eyes to look up at him. “Why?” 
“Because I need to know that you always have a last resort.” His gaze darkens. “Clearly your assigned security team lets you give them the slip. I need to know that you can hit the dial on this faster than you can on our phones. They’re overly complicated and not quick. With this?” 
He reaches over and turns on the phone in your hand. Once booted, he presses the one button. The device in his hand starts ringing. “Direct and fast access to me at all times. Do it even if you can’t tell me where you are. I’ll find you.” 
Emotion twists your throat. You grip the phone with a vice grip, looking up at him with wide eyes. His face is serious. He slips his phone in his pocket, turning back to do his job. “I will answer,” he promises. “It doesn’t matter when and where. I will answer that phone even if I’m dying. Do you understand?” 
“Yes.”
He nods. “Good.”
-
A knock on your door wakes you up from a dreamless sleep. Darkness spills across your room like ink as you slip from your bed, cursing when you kick the corner of your nightstand. With a raspy voice, you ask the automated room assistant to turn on the nightlights, a hazy purple immediately lighting the circumference of your room.
Squinting against the lavender glow, you pad over your room to open the door. Soonyoung is leaning heavily against the wall just beyond the threshold, his chin tucked to his chest and his hair sweaty and clinging to his temples. 
He doesn’t move when you open the door, the lilac light casting an eerie radiance on the side of his face. It’s hard to make out his expression in the lurking shadow of the hallway, and he offers no explanation for why he’s knocking on your door at three in the morning. 
“Soonyoung?” you whisper, eyes darting down the hall. No one else is around. “Where are Cheol and Vernon?”
“S’cheol is still working. Vernon went to stay at Angel’s.”
“Are you - Soonyoung are you drunk? Or high?”
“Yeah.” 
Both you realize. You can deal with both. 
Grabbing him by the hand, you tug him gently. He pushes off the wall with heavy steps, stumbling through your open door and into the room. You grip him tighter, shutting your door with a gentle click before turning around to face him. 
Soonyoung won’t look at you, turning his face away as he sways a little where he stands. Now that you can see him fully, you realize that there is blood on the collar of his shirt. Heart thudding, your hands reach for it, peeling it back to look at his neck. Specs of dry crimson flake from sweaty skin, making your terror reach new heights. 
He shrugs you off. “Not mine.” 
“I - what’s going on?” 
Instead of answering you, he walks a few crooked steps toward your bed and sits down on the edge. Licking your lips, you approach him slowly. He’s slouched over, elbows pressed to his knees as his head hangs heavily. He still hasn’t looked at you properly and you’re aching to see his eyes. You can always understand him better when you see his eyes, able to read the depth of emotions hiding beneath his mask.
When you reach him, you crouch down. Instead of grabbing for him again and risking him pulling away, you rest your hands on top of your knees. When afraid or upset, Soonyoung is like a cornered animal. You don’t know whether he’s in fight or flight, both just as dangerous as the next. 
“Soonyoung,” you say again gently. You watch his every move. “You’re scaring me. Do you need me to call Cheol or Vernon?”
If Seungcheol is working the circuit, he isn’t the best to call. Late night circuits include going from club to club under the Choi banner to monitor the drug trafficking and attend small business meetings as appropriate. Seungcheol will drop whatever he’s doing for you in a heartbeat, but it’s more complicated than that. 
In theory, Vernon is easier to get a hold of. He’s already off work and though he might not answer his phone if you call, you know his girlfriend will. Plus, the blood on Soonyoung’s shirt and skin can give you a guess at what’s happened, and Vernon is more equipped for that type of thing than you are. 
“Let me call Vernon-”
“No,” he finally says. “No. Sorry. I just.” 
Your chest squeezes in pain. It’s like you can feel the torture radiating through him, feel the weight of whatever it is that’s dragging him down yourself. Desperation drives you to reach out toward him slowly, watching for any sign of startling him. When he doesn’t move to pull away, you touch him gently, squeezing his knee gently. “What do you need?” 
“My dad always said I should feel something.” His words are halting, coming out slurred. You wait, holding your breath as he works through them. “Always said that you should feel something when you kill someone. If you don’t, it means you’re nothing more than a beast with base instincts. Not intelligent or refined.”
It takes everything in you not to let your grip turn to steel at his words. Instead, you rub your hand up and down his thigh soothingly, saying nothing. Soonyoung has never killed someone before. You would know if he had. He’s the last in your immediate circle of friends beside yourself to take on the weight of stealing life, and you’ve dreaded this day for a long time. 
Murder is an inevitability in your family. Keeping the Choi Syndicate on top requires sacrifice, cruelty and cunning. Soonyoung had started serving as an officially ranked member of the Syndicate over a year ago, and though he had fucked up a lot of people and brought them to the brink of death, he hadn’t actually done it yet. 
“I felt nothing,” he whispers, voice thick. “Fucking nothing.” 
“What do you mean?”
“There was no guilt. I didn’t even flinch. It was so easy, like fucking breathing. That’s not what my dad wanted me to be. He always said that those who felt nothing were just… baser creatures. That we were better because we were… made better.” 
“I think your dad wanted a lot of things. You being alive was the most important of those things, Soonyoung.” 
“I’m just tired of feeling fucking empty. I don’t give a shit that I killed someone, Baby. Honestly? I was fucking looking forward to it. I thought maybe - just maybe - I would feel something, even if it was guilt or horror or satisfaction. There was nothing.” 
You have no idea what to say. Instead of words, you surge forward, letting go of Soonyoung’s knee to push yourself between his thighs, wrapping your arms around his middle. He flinches for a moment, arms hanging dead at his side as you press your cheek to his chest, squeezing. 
Inside, you feel your heart crack open. You shove down the overwhelming sense of despair on his behalf, instead focused on him. There’s nothing to say with words, and you hope he can feel what you’re trying to tell him through touch, that he can feel everything you don’t know how to say as you hold him tight, clinging to him. 
Slowly, his arms encircle you. It takes him a moment, but he applies a little pressure back. It makes you scoot in more, pressed as close as you can get to him. He buries his face in your neck, his breaths warm and smelling like tequila. He smells like him too, vanilla and sandalwood. 
“I don’t feel like a person sometimes,” he whispers. “It’s like the ability for me to feel anything died forever ago. Like I killed it so that I didn’t ever have to hurt again. Now I only ever feel when-”
He cuts himself off and sinks into you a little more. You bear his weight, willing to carry any burden for him. You don’t think he realizes that he could ask you to jump and you’d say how high. You’ve always been willing to jump for him, always willing to do whatever he wants, whatever he needs. 
Gently, you ask, “You only ever feel when what? You can tell me if you want. Whatever you need.” 
“I feel when I’m with you.” Soonyoung whispers it like it’s a secret he doesn’t want you to hear. You feel the words hit your skin where he speaks them, a shiver slithering through you. His grip on you tightens a little with the admission, like now that he’s said it, he can’t let go. Won’t. “I feel most like a person when I’m with you.”
Pressing the flat of your hand to his back, you begin to stroke up and down slowly, touch following the careful ridges of his spine. He sighs, shivering in your hold. You want nothing more than to take the pain or whatever he’s feeling away, to rip it from him and to destroy it. 
The fierceness of your love for him is hard to tamp down. A fiery admission of your feelings for him isn’t what he needs right now. You know Soonyoung like the inside of your own soul, everything that makes him tick, every habit he’s picked up over the years. You can sense him standing lost at sea, needing an anchor. Needing you. 
“Okay,” you say softly. “So stay with me. Be a person with me.”
“I’m not made for you.”
“Yes you are.” Your nails dig into his back through his shirt, pressing sharply. The desire to covet him is so intense it overtakes you. “If I make you a person, then how could we be made for anyone but one another?” 
Silence greets your logic. You stay holding him like that, desperate to keep him there, terrified he’ll shrug you off and get up. He’s done it before, shucking off your affection like something to be disposed of. And still you give it to him freely, begging him to take it. 
He doesn’t shy away from you. Instead you feel him nod, mouth brushing tenderly across your throat in the ghost of a kiss. “If I stay right now, you will never get me to leave. Do you understand? I won’t… I will be incapable of ever letting you go. Ever. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
You hug him tighter. “Try to leave me at your own peril, Kwon Soonyoung.” 
-
“Where’s your other half?” the voice causes you to turn from where you lean against the bar. Angel slides up next to you, cocking her head as she does. She looks like a wraith, dressed in a rain slicker over black long-sleeved shirt that’s tucked into black pants. Her jacket and combat boots are wet, suggesting it’s still raining outside. “You’re usually attached at the hip. My therapist calls that codependency. Says Hansol and I have it too.” 
“Does your therapist also know you’re a murderer?” you mutter. The bartender slides drinks over to you and you nod in thanks. “Or that you’re only seeing her because Jeonghan made a bet with you? Or that your job often involves extortion? What does she think about that?” 
As a Rook of the Choi Syndicate, Angel’s job is a far cry from the holy nickname she’s sported since she was a child. Like Vernon, her role within your father’s empire is to collect debts owed to the Choi family and to remind them never to fall behind on payments. Other times, she’s simply used as a good tool to put the fear of god into enemies of the Choi family, and she’s good at it.
Raised under the careful tutelage of the Yoon family, there’s no weakness Angel can’t find and use. The only one better at it than her is her step brother, who is probably sitting next to your brother behind closed doors somewhere in the Choi Estate holding a meeting.
As Seungcheol’s future second in command, it’s Jeonghan’s responsibility to learn the ropes just like your brother. One day, it’ll be the two of them leading your family, a thought that makes you cringe with worry. 
Angel answers your question with a shrug. “I’m sure she knows I’m into some shit. I’m learning all kinds of new things about myself.” 
“Oh yeah? Like what?” 
“I don’t like therapy. And I kind of want to ask my therapist why she thinks she’s qualified for therapy when she’s fucking three of her clients.”
A snort escapes you as you shake your head. Of course Angel knows that about her own therapist. Lifting the two drinks on the bar, you drift away from her, eyes flicking over the Rook. “Stay out of trouble, Angel. And give Vernon my love.” 
She grins, wicked sharp and deadly. “No bar fights, hmm? Enjoy the party.” 
The party in question is exhausting. You’ve been playing pretty princess all night, saying hello to all of the right people, shaking all of the jeweled hands, kissing all of the right asses. You’re exhausted and the tension in your shoulder has been knotting further and further. 
Once upon a time you would have been thankful to at least not be Seungcheol. He shouldered a lot more responsibility. Now you’ve realized that you don’t shoulder less than him - it’s just different. If Seungcheol is the sword and shield of the Syndicate, you’re the face and smile. Galas, charities, celebrity events - it’s a never ending stream of smile, pose, shake hands. 
It doesn’t hide the fact that you sit on a throne that belongs to a criminal empire, of course. But it’s also no secret that the Three Syndicates run the city. Your family has long been one of the stalwart backbones of the government and city infrastructure. Only the Kim family and the Yong family come close. 
Still, appearances are everything. Especially when the Yong family owns most of the media outlets, weaponizing it against the Choi Syndicate every chance they get. You make it harder for them, using your appearances and platforms like a carefully wielded sword. 
Spotting Soonyoung among those dressed in dark security uniforms is easy. He nearly blends in with the dark pipe and drape that has been set up all over the ballroom of your home, but you could find him anywhere, your internal compass pointing to him even in the dark.
Soonyoung’s eyes alight on you, sharp and intense. His face is a cool mask of indifference, but you can see the way interest sparks in his eyes as he drinks you in. He’s already seen you in your dress tonight, but it doesn’t stop him from refamiliarizing himself, eyes tracing every dip and curve.
God you wish you were somewhere else with him. Specifically wrapped in the gray sheets of his bed, sweat-slicked and out of breath. 
“Stop looking at me like that,” you say shyly, handing him a drink.
He takes it and looks up at you, arching a brow. “I can’t drink this, I’m working.” 
“It’s just soda with lime, the way you like it.” 
His lips twitch in a smile as he takes a sip, nodding in confirmation. He doesn’t reach out to you and hold you close like you know he wants to, respecting the propriety of his position and the fact that he is on the clock right now. 
“You look tired,” he murmurs, eyes studying your face. 
So does he. As an official Sword of the Choi family, his job keeps him out late, bloodied, and tired. He’s completely changed from the man who sank into your arms that first night he killed someone, hardened into someone that your father sends to do just that often. 
A weapon. A Sword. A trusted knife in the dark for the Choi family.
You think Soonyoung is more capable than being a heavy for your dad and his associates. Soonyoung is intelligent and sharp, having gained perspective and a wealth of knowledge from living with your family. Still, his dad had been the leader of the hired guns for the Choi Syndicate. Soonyoung is an efficient killer, his fate bound by his father long ago.
“When are you off tonight?” you ask instead of telling him how tired he looks.
“I’m not.” You frown. He sips his drink again and gives you a soft smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s been busy. The Yong family are getting in our way at the docks. I gotta head down there with Vernon and Jeonghan after the party.” 
“The Yongs are doing it outright?” 
“No. We’re pretty confident it’s them though. Jeonghan is working on it. If we can bring the Xu family under our wing, it would be a lot easier to push them out.” 
“They have a son,” you note, thinking about the last event you attended where the Xu heir was in attendance. “Maybe marriage to one of our big hitters? Nexus Capital has an heiress.”
“I’ll mention it to Jeonghan. Who the fuck would want an arranged marriage, though?”
“Not me,” you laugh, wiping the eyelash you spot on his cheek gently. He gives you a tired, albeit affectionate smile. “You’ve been working nonstop. Tell Seungcheol you need a night off.”
“We both know it’s not Seungcheol working me to the bone, Baby.” 
Swallowing thickly, you turn away from him under the guise of scanning the crowd. You know you don’t fool him. Both you and Soongyoung know your father does not approve of your relationship, taking it out on Soonyoung to keep him busy and away from you. 
Your father would never hurt Soonyoung directly. You know that. He loves him like a son - sees his late best friend in the features of the man that Soonyoung has been shaped into under his care and tutelage. When you started dating Soonyoung seriously, you thought your parents might be happy. They adore him and they loved his parents just as much. 
Soonyoung is below your station, though. 
Your father will never say it outright. He wouldn’t insult his late friend’s son that way. But the way your father works Soonyoung harder than anyone else, holding him to a standard he doesn’t even keep for his highest level of men, you realize how deep the dissatisfaction goes. Even your mother’s adoration of Soonyoung does little to shield him from the petty assignments, try as she might. 
Still, you don’t care. And at the end of the day, neither does Soonyoung. As long as he gets to have you, he’s willing to put up with the petty assignments and the working late. 
“Hey,” Soonyoung says gently, bringing your attention back to him. He finishes his drink and sets it on a banquet table nearby. His eyes are averted, looking somewhere across the room as his hand slips around your waist to squeeze you quickly and press a kiss to your temple. “I’ve got to go - I’ve got a meeting with Vernon before we head out tonight. I’ll see you when I’m done. Probably won’t be until late morning.” 
“Alright,” You sigh. His hand slips from your waist and you wish you could pull him back to you. “Love you.” 
He grins brightly, giving you a wink before he melts into the crowd, weaving around party goers. Your heart squeezes when you lose sight of him. 
Someone clearing their throat catches your attention. You spin around to see Lan, one of your father’s personal Swords nodding politely at you. “Your father wishes to see you in the West Parlor. I’m to escort you.”
“Oh. Sure.” You set your drink down on the banquet table, wiping your damp hands on your dress. “Lead the way.” 
People bow their heads in respect as you go. You keep an even pace with Lan, which is hard to do with his long strides and your strappy heels digging into your ankles. He slows for your benefit and you give him a grateful smile, the swelling noise from the party leaving you behind as you step out of the ballroom and walk toward the west wing of the house. 
Some people mill about the halls of the estate. You can spot the members of the Syndicate who are on duty, mostly Swords that belong to the security force employed under the Choi family. You spot Chan leaning against a wall while gesturing broadly with his hands as he speaks to the owner of a new club on the edge of the Pearl District. When he catches your stare, Chan winks before focusing his attention back on the owner. Probably trying to work out some sort of deal or partnership, as is his job. 
The west wing of the house is quiet and off limits to the rest of the party. Your bedroom is just up two flights of stairs, your bed calling your name as you pass under the stairwell into the hallway that belongs to the West Parlor, the library, the study and your father’s billiards room. 
Old Man Vero is standing outside your fathers study, his hands linked in front of him and his head straight forward. He glances your way as Lan leans you toward the door, cracking a bit of a smile on his leathery face and giving you a wink. You grin, lightly reaching out and touching his elbow as Lan opens the door for you. Your father’s Swords have been in your life since you were a child, permanent figures of fixed loyalty and familiarity. 
They love you like they love your father, like they love your brother. It isn’t pure fear and power that keeps the Choi Syndicate together. Your father has plenty of that among the ranks, but the loyalty and love between him and his higher ranking members is real. Critical. It was a skill he taught you and Seungcheol, both of you arming yourself with your own shield of friends and confidants. 
Your father sits in a leather armchair, leaned back with his eyes closed. Next to him, a cigar smokes in the ashtray, threatening to go out as the thin wisps of smoke vanish into the air. An old fashioned record player echoes in the far corner of the room, smoothe notes vibrating through the air. 
“Tower,” you greet him formally, bowing at the waist. “How can I be of service to the family?” 
His eyes flutter open and he looks at you tiredly. He looks so much like your brother that it’s uncanny, sometimes. But his youth has worn off, his age more and more evident these days as he spreads himself thin expanding the Choi empire. Your mother has asked him - begged him - to give more responsibility to Seungcheol, but he refuses.
At least you know where your stubborn streak comes from. 
“So formal,” he notes, his lips twitching upward. He gestured for you to sit in one of the arm chairs. You do, smoothing your dress carefully as you sit. Behind you, Lan exits the room, the soft click of the door behind you. “You were always a better student than your brother.”
“That’s because he’s a man.”
A hearty laugh makes you grin, feeling a flutter of fondness. He was never an overly affectionate father, but he’s always been kind, though firm. You respect him, which is saying something in your world.
“Spoken like an intelligent woman,” he sighs. You wait patiently, watching as he seems to gather his words. Your stomach knots, sensing a trepidation about him that you’re not used to. “Your intelligence has always been your best asset, though you’re a little hot-headed like your brother.” 
“Steadfast is the mountain,” you say, quoting the Choi family motto.
He grins and adds your mother’s family moniker, “But the fire does burn. I knew marrying your mother was a good choice. Marrying the right person is paramount in this life. Family unions can make or break an empire, and they forge old alliances anew or secure new alliances.” 
A prickle down your spine makes you sit straighter. You had implied as much earlier to Soonyoung about the Xu family, knowing marriage was a viable option to bring the shipping mogul into the Choi empire. Now, though, the notion has you on edge, watching him like a frightened cat.
“I didn’t pick your mother, you know,” he muses, his eyes unfocusing somewhere far away. “But when my father recommended her, I knew he was right. I was familiar with her, of course. We went to school together. Fought like cats, but she was so intelligent and fierce.” 
You’ve heard this story before. Your father hadn’t loved her to start, but your mother had loved him right away. Had always known that she loved him. She’d shown up at one of his billiard nights and told him exactly how she felt, asserting that they would be married and that he would be loyal to her. 
He’d fallen in love with her that night. 
He sighs heavily. “I see a lot of your mother in you.”
“Don’t let her hear you sound so disappointed. She might be offended.”
“She’s better than me,” he says. His eyes focus on you, flicking back to appraise you. Sweat slicks on your back and only years of training keep you from not fidgeting under his weighty gaze. “But it would be easier sometimes if you were more like me. Less fire, more mountain. Still, you are rational, so let us speak plainly: you are going to marry the Kim family heir.” 
Silence hangs in the air. You stare at him, your brain taking a moment to catch up with his words. It’s like you’re moving in slow motion, processing the firmness in his voice, the way he looks at you with heavy countenance. 
You are going to marry the Kim family heir.
A high-pitched ringing starts in your ears and you feel the buzz of panic start to tingle at the base of your spine. Your fingers dig into the arms of your chair a little, trying to fight the staccato rhythm of your heart from getting out of control. 
“What?” you ask. It feels dumb, compared to the eloquence you’re capable of. 
“Kim Yijun is a perfect match,” he says simply. “He’s in line to inherit the Kim Syndicate. There is tension with the Yong family, and I will not lie to you: they have a far larger reach than we would like. They don’t do things the old way like the Choi and Kim families. They have started to ally themselves with the Arash family in Veridian, giving them cuts and room in our city to spread their reach outside the bounds of their own city.” 
“I don’t understand.”
“The Kim and Choi families have been united before. They’ve always been our first ally in times of city upheaval and Syndicate war, and they, like us, don’t believe in letting outsiders have a seat at the table. The Yong family don’t understand that, and are willing to let vermin have scraps if it means scooting us out.”
“I’m-” you shake your head. “You can’t ask that of me.”
“I’m not asking.” He reaches for a lighter and picks up the cigar. He takes a moment to relight it, taking his focus off of you. You feel your pulse spiking, your grip on the chair like iron. “I am telling you that this is what your future will be. I understand you like the Kwon boy, but-”
You sneer, baring your teeth. “The Kwon boy? Don’t reduce him to some stranger. Soonyoung grew up in this house, he is family. And I don’t just like him, I love him. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you bullying him because you’re frustrated that I love him. You love him too.” 
“I do. I love him like my own. But he is not for you.”
“He is. I will not marry Yijun. I am asking you not as a member of this Syndicate, but as your daughter to drop this machination from your plans. I am your blood, you cannot ask this of me.”
“I told you, I am not asking. I am telling you.” 
A tremor starts in your hands. Your heart races so fast that you feel sick, sweat slicking your skin as you begin to pant sharply. The ringing in your ears grows until you feel disconnected to it, like suddenly you’re living in third person. You’re aware that you’re hyperventilating and yet, suddenly it’s separate from you.
Standing abruptly, you feel the world tilt. You take a second to steady yourself, feeling the numb tingle spread throughout you like a flood. 
“Sit down,” your father demands. You hear the warning. Recognize the firmness in it. This is the Tower of the Choi Syndicate speaking, not your father. 
“Take this as my resignation from the family,” you tell him. Your voice doesn’t feel like your own, steady and without inflection. “I’ll renounce my inheritance and will not use the Choi family for any connection or advantages-”
“You will not!” 
His voice startles you. Lures you away from the safety of your detachment. You look at him, eyes wide and shaking. His hand is fisted on the armchair, his rage crackling around him like a thunderstorm. “I will not have my only daughter sabotage everything this family has built for the affection of someone unfit for her station. Kwon Soonyoung is a weapon meant to serve you. You will marry Kim Yijun or I will remove the obstacle altogether.” 
Your entire life there have been two versions of your father. The stoic leader of one of the oldest criminal empires in Hyperion, the vicious man who could be cold and calculating, and who was reverently feared by his enemies. The kind father who watched you and Seungcheol study math together, carefully explaining to you how to carry numbers over in the equation. 
It is the former who sits before you now. Someone entirely unfamiliar to you, though you’ve always known he existed. And why would you? Your father has never had to be ruthless with you before, hiding the way he could cut from you until it was necessary. 
Soonyoung knew. You know it with absolute clarity. You remember the fear in his eyes when you had slipped into his room that night asking for a kiss, the way that he is always so careful about when and where he touches you, the way he takes the assignments and the mistreatment without so much as a protest because it means he gets to have you.
“You would kill him?” you whisper, looking your father in the eye. “You promised to take him in when his family was murdered. He had no one, and you promised his father you’d raise him as your own. You would go back on that?” 
He scowls. “If his father knew what he was, he’d kill Soonyoung himself. That boy is a dog to be set upon whoever his owner wishes, who kills with impunity.” You say nothing. I don’t feel like a person. Soonyoung’s words echo in your mind, haunting. “I hold the collar and I will put him down, if need be.” 
“So you raised a pet to be disposed of at your convenience?”
“I raised a boy who should be grateful I haven’t put him in the fucking ground for sullying my only daughter. I let you two have time, and you should be grateful. It is my love for him that has stayed my hand this long. No more. You will marry Kim Yijun, or you will bury that boy. This is the command of your Tower.”
“Mother will not let you-”
“Your mother doesn’t let me do anything. I am the Tower of this family, and it does what I command. You will fall in line.” 
Tears spill from your eyes. You suddenly feel like you’re standing on a cliff, the vertigo of nothingness at the bottom making you sick with fear. Desperation grips at you as you stare at your father, willing him to change his mind. Begging him. 
His pity doesn’t come. There is only resolute silence, watching as you crumple in front of him, knees going weak as you abruptly sit - fall - on the floor. You bury your face in your hands, grief for something lost stealing your ability to maintain control before you’ve even given an answer. 
I’m not made for you. 
Soonyoung had tried to tell you a long time ago and you’d brushed him off. Of course he was made for you. He was all you’ve ever wanted, and you’ve always been given what you wanted. You made him whole, and he you. How could you not be made for one another. 
“Please don’t do this to me. Daddy,” you whisper, trying to appeal to him with the little girl he loves. “Please, I love him.” 
“Lan will escort you to your room.” You ignore his words, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes, willing the tears to stop. You know later you’ll feel pathetic for the display of emotion, for the meltdown in the face of adversity. “You will announce your engagement at the end of the week.”
“Yes, Tower.”
“If you so much as remotely try to sneak around with him, I will put him in the ground and bear the weight of that grief for eternity.” 
“Yes, Tower.”
“Know that I love you. We must make sacrifices for this family we wish not to. But you will make the sacrifice like I have so many times before. So will Soonyoung.” 
You stand, limbs shaky as you look at your father, the heat of your mother’s rage fueling your gaze. “Yes, Tower.”
-
Sleep claws at you with greedy fingers, unwilling to give you up to the waking light of day. You groan, suspended in that moment of almost awake but achingly unaware. A brush of warm skin on your arm pulls you the rest of the way from heavy sleep, your thoughts sticky as they formulate and you open your eyes, squinting in the gray light of your room. 
Squinting at the clock displayed on your nightstand, you realize it’s late morning. The tinted windows of your room keep out the sunlight, but a single panel has been adjusted to let some of the cloudy day in, a single shaft of gray spilling into your room like muddy water. 
Warmth presses behind your back, the steady touch on your arm trailing up and down. For a second, you lean back into it, feeling your head thud against Soonyoung’s chest, his mouth pressing against the crown of your head. He drags his fingers up and down your arm absently, light as a feather. He smells like soap, a hint of his familiar vanilla and sandalwood. 
“Have trouble sleeping?” the words are mumbled against you. 
“Hmm?”
“There’s lines of crushed knockout on your nightstand, Baby.” 
You look at the nightstand. Sure enough, the white pills you crushed are dusted across the surface. The reality of why you used them slams into you so suddenly that you stiffen, muscles locking.
Soonyoung notices immediately, his touch stilling. “What?”
Finding the words is impossible. You don’t know where to start, your father’s words make you dizzy. The sheets stick to your skin, Soonyoung’s warmth too hot to stand. You scramble from bed, kicking at the sheets and putting distance between you as you bolt toward the bathroom. 
“Hey,” he calls after you. You don’t turn to look at him, the cool tile giving you goosebump as the lights flicker on. You close the door behind you firmly, pressing your back against it. Soonyoung’s knocks are immediate, his voice calling your name on the other side. “What’s wrong?” 
The use of your name sours your stomach. You lurch forward, diving for the toilet as the contents of your stomach empty. The bile burns, your eyes watering as you press against the cold porcelain, clinging to it for life. 
Soonyoung opens the door, letting himself in as you heave again. He’s quick to react, opening the medicine cabinet to remove an anti-nausea inhalent. He wordlessly pads over to you, crouching down to extend it toward you. 
You avoid looking at him directly in the eye as you snatch it from him. His brows are pinched in concern, face swollen with what little sleep he got and mouth turned downward. Your stomach roils again but holds as you crack the inhalent and wave it under your nose, breathing in gently. 
The stimulant makes your eyes water, but immediately the churning in your stomach subsides. You close your eyes for a moment, breathing in and out slowly, trying to regulate yourself. Soonyoung watches in silence, his hands opening and closing at his sides like he wants to reach out and touch you but doesn’t. 
When you open your eyes, there is so much love and concern on his face that you almost break right then and there. Instead, you clear your throat and straighten, tossing the medication in the trash.
“Thanks, just hungover. I need to shower.”
He looks doubtful. “Alright.”
Soonyoung stands, heading to the shower. You clear your throat and he pauses, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Alone, please.” 
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I just want to shower.” 
He says your name again. Not Baby. Not any other derivative. Your name. “You can talk to me.”
Your heart cracks. You panic. Your brain races for the only viable option. “I just want to take a fucking shower, Soonyoung.” You push yourself off the ground, scowling at him. He moves out of your way as you pass him, stunned to silence. “I don’t need you crowding my space every five seconds.” 
Refusing to look at him as you hit the panel in the wall, you instead focus on the water that falls from the ceiling, a storm of heat and the smell of peppermint. You keep your back turned toward him, staring at the water as it heats, steam curling in tendrils where it hits the stone tiles. 
“You can go,” you say sharply. 
“Alright.” 
The gentle click of the door when he leaves is barely audible over the hum of the shower. You let the rushing water lull you into a state of numbness, peeling your clothes off with unsteady, mechanical movements. 
Hot water slicks off your shoulders. You close your eyes and hang your head, letting the feel of the peppering water sluice over your ears, eyes, nose, mouth. You let it blind your senses to nothing but the roar of water, blotting out everything else. 
If I stay right now, you will never get me to leave. 
You remember when Soonyoung whispered it against your skin just a few years ago, spoken carefully and clearly, a promise and a warning. He would never let you go. You had to let him go. Telling him what your father has asked of you - has threatened to take away from you - will only make Soonyoung’s feet dig in further.
For as long as you’ve known him, Soonyoung has been a covetous creature. You remember the night at the club he antagonized you just to see that spark of want, just to prove to himself it was him you wanted. You remember the way he clung to you in the dark of your bedroom, the only person who could ever make him whole. Who could make him feel. 
Your father sees Soonyoung as a loyal attack dog - but it isn’t the Tower of the Choi Syndicate who holds Soonyoung’s collar. It never has been. Soonyoung has never asked your father how high. 
Pressing your palms to your eyes, you start deep breathing exercises. In through your nose, out through your mouth. The shaking in your fingers begins to subside, the logic part of your brain turning on. 
The threat on Soonyoung’s life is real. You saw the resolve in your father’s eye, the painful glint. He would hate to do it, but he would do it. You’re entwined too deep into your family’s affairs and business to vanish. There is nothing in the world you have that’s your own, no assets that are not connected to them in some way.
And if you tell Soonyoung, he’ll face the problem like he does everything that stands in his way: try to kill it. 
For a split moment, your brain chases the thought like a mouse after cheese. Like a long math problem, you work out if it’s possible to commit patricide and get away with it. Your mother will never forgive you, but Seungcheol might. Your friends would - they’re loyal to you, especially Jeonghan and Angel. 
The older generation, though- 
You toss aside the thought almost as quickly as you thought of it - not because you don’t want to kill your father, but because it isn’t possible. Not just like that. There are too many pieces on the chessboard, too many domino effects spreading out in every direction if you take that route.
No. There is only a single path for you, set in motion by a hand with more power than you. 
And there’s only one way you can move forward with Soonyoung. 
There’s so much of your mother’s side of the family you’ve inherited. Her side has always been associated with the phoenix, the burning immortality of their name and their strength, a blazing glory. Your maternal relatives have always been the rage and the fire that was needed for a Syndicate to advance, a good partnership for the Choi’s who were cold and steadfast. 
What you need now is the winter of the mountain, not the rage of the phoenix. You need to be a Choi. 
Steadfast is the mountain. 
You love Soonyoung. You love him you love him you love him youlovehimyoulovehimyoulovehimYOULOVEHIMYOULOVEHIM- 
Pressing your fist to your mouth, you bite down for one, blinding moment of untapped rage. You feel your skin break, taste iron and salt, feel pain bloom. 
Steadfast is the mountain. 
Then it’s gone. You drop your hand from your mouth. Open your eyes. Turn off the shower. The rage is gone, buried beneath a layer of newly formed ice. If there is anyone you can do this for, it’s Soonyoung. You love him. You will destroy him. But he’ll be alive. 
Soonyoung is sitting on your bed when you open the door. He’s got a tablet in his hand, the holographic images displaying above the screen, haloing his face in blue light. There are circles under his eyes and his teeth worry at his bottom lip, which is chapped. He’s shirtless, the compact planes of his body half shadowed by the single shaft of light filtering through a window. 
He looks up at you but you ignore him, heading to your closet. The silence is brutal. You push through it, opening the closet doors to reveal a massive space nearly the same size of your bathroom. Track lights kick on, rows and rows of clothes by color greeting you. In the middle, there is an island counter, filled with drawers and biolocked jewelry safes. 
Soft steps tell you Soonyoung is standing at the entrance of the closet. You still don’t face him, walking over to your section of black clothes. You flick through them, eyes scanning. Black seems appropriate. It feels like death, afterall. 
Soonyoung’s voice is soft as his late night kisses. “What’s going on?” 
“I’m marrying Kim Yijun.” 
A beat passes. Then another. 
“Is that supposed to be a joke? I’m not interested in pranks this morning.”
“It’s not a prank.” You pull out a black, silk dress. “The Tower has asked this of me, and I’ll be doing it.” 
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
You continue, undeterred as you put the dress back and keep looking. “The Kim family has agreed to the match ahead of the rising tensions with the Yong Syndicate and their new take on foreign allies. A united front of the old families will benefit our family-”
“You’re not fucking marrying Kim Yijun.” 
“All of the metrics we’ve run for public opinion and potential city-wide reaction are favorable. The Tower needs his children to fall in line, and I intend to do so.”
Soonyoung storms toward you. You turn on your heel, holding a finger out to him, voice severe, “Don’t come near me.” 
“Why? Because you know you’ll lose your resolve? Because the second I touch you, you’ll drop whatever bravado this is and let me help you?”
Exactly that. He knows you inside and out. Sees through the front. It doesn’t matter. You don’t need him to believe you, you need him to obey. 
He takes another step and you back up. “I will scream,” you threaten, venom in your voice. “I will scream and Seungcheol and Vernon are right down the hall. Whose side do you think they’ll take, with your reputation for violence?” 
“Fuck you, they know I’d never hurt you.”
You hear the waver in his voice. That tiny sliver of doubt, so small and tiny but there. They do know he would never hurt you, but Soonyoung isn’t convinced they’d believe him. It makes you sick, but you latch onto it, unspooling that tiny bit of hurt. “Do they, Soonyoung? I hear some of them call you a mad dog because you attack with no regard for anything. Do you really think they trust you entirely with me?”
Soonyoung is raging. His chest rising and falling, shaking his head back and forth as he tries to understand. You’re rooted to the spot, muscles coiled, pulse thudding in your throat. “You are not,” he growls. “Marrying Kim Yijun. You don’t even want to, don’t try to lie to me about your feelings or insult me thinking you can bait me. You love me. You are mine.” 
“I belong to the Choi family and it’s what my family needs from me. I will do my duty.”
“Fuck your family!” His roar makes you flinch, briefly closing your eyes. His palm slams on the top of the countertop in front of him, sharp in the silence. “You have a duty to me. I told you I would not fucking let you go. You’re not doing it. I’ll fucking kill him, you think I won’t? I’ll murder every last one of them-” 
“You don’t tell me what to do, Kwon Soonyoung. I will do this, and you will obey.” He bristles, going rigid as your words land like a slap. “When I say jump, you say how high. You’ve always known that.” 
For a second, he cracks. The Soonyoung you first saw on your doorstep, crying and round-cheeked and ruddy returns. His lip trembles and the way he looks at you nearly melts your iron will. You’re so close to collapsing, to laying it out before him, to risking it all. 
“Don’t do this to me.” His whisper is made of glass. Delicate. He presses his palm to his chest, right over his heart. Earnest. “I can’t - you know I can’t. I- please. I can’t do this.” 
Licking your lips, you look him in the eyes. His eyes are your favorite. Dark. Stormy. Endless. They are lined with silver, panic rippling across the surface. 
You lift your chin and push back your shoulders. “You can and you will, because I told you to jump, Soonyoung. Now ask how high.” 
-
Sunlight warms the back of your neck, humidity clinging to your skin like a second layer. You take a deep breath, though the steamy air offers no relief. You snap open a silk fan, waving it in front of your face in hopes of chasing away some of the sweat, feeling the separation between skin and makeup the longer you sit in the wretched heat of the garden. 
It’s not even real sunlight or heat. You can’t tell beyond the projection in the room, but you know that there are vents heating up the room and controls that make the air humid and sticky, making it feel like you’re sitting in a real garden outside somewhere lush. 
Lin drones on and on about something. You tuned her out long ago, eyes flickering back and forth to your watch and the women’s faces around you. None of them here are really your friend - not in the way Angel is, the way Wonwoo or Jeonghan are. 
Yet you’re expected to be here, entertaining the upper echelon wives of the Choi and Kim Syndicates, boiling away in an imaginary garden while you sweat to death, dress clinging to your skin and thighs slippery in the seat as you adjust yourself, uncomfortable. 
“It’s hot as a motherfucker,” a whispered voice comes from next to you. You look up to see the newly engaged heiress of Nexus Capital next to you, glaring behind the dark shade of her sunglasses as Lin continues rambling about something. “Couldn’t she have made it less real?”
A smirk twitches on your lips. You haven’t spoken to her much, but her recent engagement to Xu Minghao had secured the position the Choi Syndicate had been fighting for in the shipping yards and docks with the Yong family, elevating her family into the favored circle of your father.
Suddenly, you remember who had recommended that marriage in the first place. You remember the party, the pretty dress you wore, Soonyoung’s hand briefly on your waist as he kissed you goodbye for a meeting. You had no idea then that your throwaway comment about an arranged marriage to benefit your family would become your own nightmare under an hour later.
Grief is a funny thing. You never knew that you could feel grief for someone who isn’t dead, yet sometimes you feel such an overwhelming amount of grief at the hole that Soonyoung has left behind that you can’t breathe. 
Throat dry, you reach for water, drinking eagerly. You feel a bead of water run down your face, but you ignore it in favor of trying to focus on not panicking. 
Anxiety attacks are new for you. Though your entire life has been colored with stressful situations unique to growing up in a criminal Syndicate, you could never say that you were anxious before. At least not in the way that made the back of your neck too hot and the tips of your fingers buzz with the threat of a looming meltdown. 
You ignore it. It’s all you know how to do. The anxiety medication your therapist gave you doesn't work, and you can’t crush a bunch of pills and inhale them anytime you feel like you’re about to get tunnel vision and spiral. 
Well, you suppose you can, but you’re trying not to get into the habit. 
Instead of acknowledging the way the panic lurks around your edges like a predator waiting to pounce, you listen to the dull conversation around you. Focus on the gossip that you don’t care about, exactly, but know it’s good to have. 
Since marrying into the Kim family, you’re not sure what your job is. With your family, your role as the face, the legacy and the representation of the Choi Syndicate had always been clear and obvious. Now, your husband sends you to stupid things like this with preening people that you don’t like and makes you leave events early when he’s irritable. 
Gossip is a weapon, though. So you gather it when you can, taking in bits of information and storing it for yourself. Rarely do you offer it to Yijun - not that he would take it - but Jeonghan finds the information you share useful. So does Angel, but there’s rarely anything you know that she doesn’t. 
Just as your anxiety begins to fade, the source of it materializes. 
At first, you think you’re seeing things when a door appears in the wall depicting an apple orchard and Soonyoung strolls out into the fake-sun. You blink dumbly, spine tingling as you realize that your mind is not playing tricks on you and it is him. 
He sees you immediately. His dark eyes burn like embers, pinning you to the spot. His face remains motionless but you see his jaw tick, the only sign that he is immediately on edge when he sees you. He’s dressed for work in an all black suit, required for the Swords of the Choi family. 
Giggles breakout around the table as he approaches, the ladies around you all flushed cheeks and demure smiles. You feel the buzzing start in your hands again, this time worse. It goes up your arms, working its way to your chest as the anxiety increases tenfold, heart pounding.
Soonyoung bows. “I beg your pardon, ladies.” 
“My goodness, Soonyoung,” Lin preens. “You must be horribly hot in that suit, but you do look handsome.”
You fight the urge to snarl at her that the imitation of the garden isn’t real and no amount of pretending will make it real. You even imagine reaching across the table and plunging her fish knife into her hand. Instead, you watch Soonyoung, your hummingbird heart fluttering. 
He gives her a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be alright. I apologize for interrupting, but the Tower of the Choi family has sent me to escort his daughter home.” 
“Home?” 
“The Choi Estate.” 
He doesn’t say what he means: the Kim Estate is not your home. 
“Alright,” you say, voice reedy. Your hands are trembling as you slide your chair from the table, the metal legs grinding loudly against concrete. You flinch at the sound, hyper aware of every bead of sweat crawling down your spine, every beat of your heart that is too fast, too hard.
Static fills you as you mumble parting words to the women who watch you in confusion. At least, you think you mumble your goodbyes. Blood rushes in your ears as you take uneven steps toward Soonyoung, who turns on his heel and starts marching toward the apple orchard. 
It feels like you’re in an echo chamber. Everything suddenly feels hollow and everything sounds as though you’re hearing it through a thin wall. Muted. Dull. He opens the door that you can’t quite spot even this close, ushering you inside as your vision starts tunneling to a narrow point, everything else blurry and distorted. 
No. No no no no no. 
Lifting your hands, you glance down at them to see them trembling, opening and closing your fists in an attempt to stop the buzzing feeling, as though you could will it away. You think Soonyoung says something but you can’t hear him over the roar of panic that grips you and tears you sideways.
Instead of following him down the hall, you lurch toward a different hall, rushing toward the powder room. It feels like the walls are narrowing as you throw open the door, breath coming out in pants. Everything feels tight and compact, crushing smaller still. 
Stumbling to the sink you try to turn the faucet on. Once. Twice. Cold water spits from the faucet and you gasp, leaning down over the sink to splash freezing water into your face. It doesn’t have the desired effect, the water is not cool enough to shock you out of your panic. 
Soonyoung speaks behind you. You can’t hear him, the grip of your anxiety so strong that you grab the edges of the sink to keep you up right. You’re heaving now, heart rattling so hard you think that maybe you’re having a heart attack instead. 
A firm grip wretches your attention from the porcelain sink to the mirror, where you see your dripping reflection, eyes blown like saucers. Soonyoung is standing behind you, a hand on your bicep, squeezing. His face is no longer a mask of indifference, but one of confusion. 
His mouth moves and you shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut. “I can’t,” you gasp, ragged. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” 
Then, he does something that catches you entirely off guard. You watch in slow motion as he steps back and removes the gun from the holster underneath his suit jacket. You hear the safety on the gun click and the hum as the weapon charges, ready to fire rounds of plasma if he squeezes the trigger. 
And then he points the gun at your head, the lights on it flipping from blue to red, signaling it’s ready to kill. 
The world stops. The panic vanishes for a split second, replaced with utter shock as you stare at him in the mirror. 
“What the fuck are you doing?” you demand, voice stronger than you expect. 
Soonyoung is ten levels of crazy, but he’s never pointed a gun at you before. You stare at him, open-mouthed and wondering if he’ll do it. If he could pull the trigger. He’d told you a hundred times when you were together that he would never let you go and it was always with clarity that you understood what he meant: it’s me or no one. 
With stark clarity, you realize there’s no reason for Soonyoung not to pull the trigger. He doesn’t care much about the value of his own life from what you can glean over the last two years, and he doesn’t really seem to care about yours. 
Not that he should. You promised to make him feel human and you did. Then you took it away from him, leaving him adrift in a vast ocean of nothing alone and untethered. 
No, you don’t think you inspire Soonyoung to feel human anymore. If anything, you probably make him want to be the worst version of himself. 
Soonyoung’s voice holds no emotion when he asks, “Are you with me?”
“Why are you pointing a gun at me?” 
“Breathe,” he says instead. He doesn’t lower the weapon, stormy eyes focused on yours. “Breathe,” he repeats. “Slowly, maybe.” 
“Soonyoung, you are holding a gun at me, what do you mean breathe?” 
“What do you mean what do I mean? I mean what I fucking said. Breathe normally.”
“Lower the gun!” He does. “What the fuck?”
He breaks eye contact, sliding the weapon back into his suit jacket. He turns away from you as though he didn’t have you at gunpoint a second ago. “You were having a panic attack. Sometimes a shock to the system stalls it. Your breathing has slowed down now. And you’re not panicking.” 
A beat of silence passes. Then, “So you leveled a gun at my head?” 
“It worked. Let’s go.”
“Are you fucking crazy?”
“Yes. Now let’s go. You’re needed at the Choi Estate.”
“Why?” 
“Do I look like I have all the answers? I just do what I’m told. When a Choi says jump, remember?”
You visibly flinch as his words land. Soonyoung doesn’t wait for you to gather yourself, spinning on his heel and exiting the powder room to stride through the halls. Tightness gathers in your chest, left over from your anxiety attack. 
Pressing your hands against your dress to wipe the sweat from them, you chase after Soonyoung. He’s already by the apartment’s elevator, jamming his finger into the button. He doesn’t look at you as he waits, content to stare at the metal door. 
You don’t know where else to look - you want to look anywhere but him. Turning around, you fixate on the floor to ceiling windows. It’s still morning outside, but it’s hard to tell with the way the clouds block out the view, turning everything to mist. 
This high up in the city is reserved for the elite. You can’t imagine why - there’s nothing to look at but clouds, clouds, and more clouds. It’s what makes them have virtual reality rooms in the first place, trying to recreate the experience that they might have if they were wealthy enough to own land. 
The sound of the elevator arriving makes you flinch. Soonyoung ignores you, getting in and leaning against the wall as he hits a button to go to the parking garage. You scramble in after him, a little breathless as the doors close just behind you. 
Immediately you start shooting down several floors. He glares at the wall, unseeing and unfeeling. You swallow thickly, watching the numbers decrease until you’re at Lin’s private parking garage. Soonyoung is out of the elevator before it finishes opening all the way, storming toward the car he’s left running idle. 
Normally someone would open a car door for you. Instead, Soonyoung gets in the driver’s seat and slams the door shut. You reach for the handle of the passenger seat and pause. Normally you sit in the back when being driven somewhere, it’s always been like that. But this is Soonyoung and you’ve always been beside him in the car, his equal. 
A muffled get in the fucking car reaches you. Deciding that sitting next to him is too personal, you open the back seat and slide in. You’ve barely shut the door when he punches the gas, slamming you into the back of the seat as he goes. 
“Would you stop being an asshole?” you seethe, ripping the seatbelt from next to you to buckle in. Your hands are still shaking and it takes a moment for the clasp to click.
Instead of answering, you hear the way the car accelerates under his foot. Scowling, you look out the window. He speeds into the lift that brings the car down to the ground floor. Lights blur by as the lift drops at lurching speed, your stomach in your throat. You hate coming to apartments for this reason, the feeling of having to freefall to leave never growing on you. 
It’s raining when the lift opens to the wet street. Soonyoung peels out on the pavement, tires spinning until they gain traction and the car slides onto the road, narrowly missing someone. You slam against the seatbelt, cursing and clinging onto the door as he pushes the gas down, engine roaring.
“Are you trying to kill us?”
Soonyoung doesn’t answer you. You think it might be because he’s not explicitly trying to kill the two of you, but he doesn’t care if he does. You try not to think about it so much as he powers through the streets of the Upper City, driving past towering businesses, luxury districts with entertainment and bars and apartment buildings. 
The road starts to incline and you hit a line of trees. The city vanishes behind you as Soonyoung drives the car up the winding road, leaving a world of metal and lights for greenery and earth. The contrast between the cities below and the Estates above is stark, especially as he drive’s higher up the mountain, snatches of the city below visible. 
“Why did you come to get me?” you ask, flicking your gaze to the rearview mirror to watch him. Soonyoung keeps his eyes on the road, but you see his mouth tighten. “Last I checked you’re not an errand boy.”
“So what, you check on me?”
“It’s a figure of speech, you know what I mean.”
“The Tower personally requested I come get you.” 
That gives you pause. Soonyoung’s face reveals nothing as he turns on the street that will inevitably lead to the massive metal wall that blocks off the world from the Choi Estate. There can only be a single reason why Soonyoung was sent to fetch you when usually your husband’s staff would do so.
“What’s happened?” 
Soonyoung doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he rolls the window down at the guard house to show his face. The security team recognizes him immediately, waving him through as the gate begins to slide open to reveal lush, green jungle. 
Gravel crunches underneath the car tires as he drives through the winding foliage on Choi grounds. Your great-great-grandfather had built the Choi compound, the first of the few elite houses on the mountain. He thought it was important to keep the plant life and sprawling greenery to conserve, but you knew it was really about power. Symbolism. Greenery didn’t really exist in the city, and this much space and plantlife meant wealth. 
The sprawling estate you grew up in reveals itself. Multiple buildings dot the property, making it more a family compound than an estate. Now that Seungcheol is old enough, he’s moved out of the main house and into one of the smaller homes, occupying the space with his own men and staff. Still, he’s just a brief stroll away from your childhood home.
Home. Even two years under a Kim family banner hasn’t erased the feeling of home for you. There is nothing in the house you share with Yijun that makes it feel like you. It is as devoid of love as your marriage, merely a placeholder for you to sleep, eat, and occasionally, try to produce an heir. 
Soonyoung pulls up to the long building that serves as a garage, hitting a button on the car’s screen to open one of the bays. He pulls in slowly, the outside world fading as the garage door shuts behind the car, dousing it in darkness until the neon lights above flicker on. 
Without a word, he powers off the vehicle and gets out. Taking a deep breath, you square your shoulders and get out of the car. He doesn’t wait for you - even shuts the door as he enters the main house so you’re forced to lug it open. 
He’s already opening the door to the main house a few yards away, forcing you again to haphazardly navigate gravel in your heels as you give chase. You’re sweating and irritated by the time you’re up the steps and pushing through the front door, a nasty quip on your lips ready until you see your aunt coming down the stairs. 
“Oh thank goodness,” she says, seeing you. She looks older than you remember, the lines of her face deep and the hair at her temples gray. “Come along.”
“What’s going on?” you ask, uncertain as you step into the foyer and let her take your arm. 
She scowls. “Did that useless boy not tell you? Your mother suffered a heart attack this morning. She’s with Dr. Ymir in the medical wing.”
Your heart thuds to a stop as you wheel around to look over your shoulder at Soonyoung. His gaze is stormy but his face gives away nothing as he turns to leave the way he came, slamming the front door and vanishing down the steps to leave you alone. 
“No,” you mumble as your aunt pulls you down the hall. “He didn’t tell me.” 
Because that’s how much Soonyoung hates you. Hate isn’t even the right word, you think. It is something far deeper and far more sinister, fueled only by taking away something that he valued more than anything else in the world and forcing him to live with it. 
I deserve this, you think as the door to one of the private medical rooms opens, a clinical smell hitting you in the face. I deserve everything that happens to me. 
-
I deserve this. It’s all you can think of as you watch the black casket lower into the ground. Seungcheol stands beside you, his hands linked in front of him. You want to reach out and take his hand in yours, but you don’t want him to look weak. Don’t want others to see him crack like you know he will if you comfort him. 
Instead, you comfort yourself as best you can, which isn’t saying much. You’ve never been good at dealing with your feelings, too much of your mother’s blood running through you. It was your father’s least favorite trait of yours and perhaps Soonyoung’s favorite.
Soonyoung, who has always been your emotional tether and outlet. You’re not accustomed to dealing with grief alone, and the pull of it feels like an undertow threatening to drag you under and drown you. 
Someone shifts behind you, close enough that you feel Yijun next to you stiffen. You turn to look over your shoulder, blinking in surprise as you tilt your head up to see Soonyoung. He doesn’t look at you, dark eyes fixed forward and jaw flexing tightly. He’s standing closer than is necessary, as shown by your husband’s scoff. 
Soonyoung doesn’t move, though. He remains nearly pressed against your back, so close that you can smell vanilla and sandalwood. Turning away from him, you feel your shoulders relax. He ignores you, but he’s there, a stoic guardian that’s just out of reach.
The Tower of the Choi Syndicate is too lost in his grief to notice or care about Soonyoung’s proximity to you. Your brother couldn’t care less, barely realizing that his brother by choice is an inch away from him. But you know Soonyoung is there and that’s all that matters. 
The grief lessens, turning back from churning waters to gentle, lapping waves.
-
“Your brother doesn’t respect me,” Yijun asserts. You look at him in the bathroom mirror. He’s standing behind you in the closet, taking out glinting cufflinks to replace them in the countertop in the middle of the aisles of clothes. “You should work on that.”
“Seungcheol hardly takes what I say to heart.”
Yijun snorts, detecting the lie before you can even get it out. Seungcheol very much values your insight and opinion far more than he’s interested in Yijun’s. He’s made it clear at multiple parties and events now, often asking you how business is and how the shared Kim-Choi accounts are doing, despite not having anything to do with them. 
Seungcheol hates your role within the Kim family. On more than one occasion he’s recommended Yijun make use of you somewhere in the family business, to make you the head of operation somewhere so that your schooling and experience weren’t going to waste. Yijun asserted that your social skills were being put to perfect use, entertaining the wives of his associates and serving as the perfect host when his business colleagues and friends were over. 
“He’s going to be leading the family soon,” Yijun sighs. “It would be better for us if he saw me as a real ally.”
“He does see you as an ally. You’re married to his sister.”
“Exactly, so you should remind him that I’m family.” It doesn’t sound like a threat, but it also doesn’t sound like a request. Sighing, you shut the drawer in the counter forcefully. It draws his attention, gaze darkening. “Don’t you want your brother to respect your husband?”
No, you think. You don’t respect your husband, so why should Seungcheol?
Instead, you sigh. “Of course, Yi.” He doesn’t soften at the nickname. “I’ll talk to him, alright? He’s got a lot going on. And don’t talk about my father’s health that way.”
“I didn’t say anything about his health.”
“Please,” you snort. “I know what you meant about Cheol taking over soon.” 
Yijun had been talking about Seungcheol more and more. You’ve watched with a sour taste in your mouth as your husband tries to earn your brother’s attention and trust, flashing what he thinks Seungcheol cares about in his face, telling him about the new car he acquired, or the historical art piece you purchased at an auction, and the new apartment building he’s constructing. 
Seungcheol doesn’t give a fuck about any of that. The Choi family never has. Your ancestors didn’t make a name for themselves and carve it on the mountain they built their home on by showing off their wealth and what it could do for them. They did it by earning it, and by remaining steadfast and intelligent. Political. 
Yijun understands none of that. As the eldest son of his family, it’s a shame. The real world of the Syndicates is lost on him. He has enough business acumen to run companies under his father’s careful tutelage and instruction, but he doesn’t have the social savvy for it, the right drive. 
His brother does. You think of Kim Minchan and nearly shiver. The middle child of the Kim family has more than enough understanding of the way that things work, but the ocean of blood behind him is enough for you to prefer Yijun leading the Kim Syndicate any day. 
“I’m just saying,” Yijun grunts, flicking off the lights in the closet. “Your brother has all the reason in the world to respect me and he doesn’t.” He looks at you, face hardening. “Do you tell him not to? Is that what it is? His baby sister tells him how useless her husband is?” 
Danger is in the air. Yijun won’t lay a hand on you, but it doesn’t make this dance any less stressful. You turn away from the mirror, looking at him fully. He’s not terrible to look at - he has a sharp jaw and a broad nose and a pleasant shaped mouth. He’s handsome, even. 
He’s not Kwon Soonyoung. 
Swallowing away the thought, you reach up to put your hands on his chest, placating. “I wouldn’t do that,” you assure him, softening your voice. You hate the sound of your voice, hate the way you pitch it low and gentle. “You’re a reflection of me too. I would never let my brother think any of those things about my husband.” 
Yijun swats your hands away, making you grit your teeth. “Don’t act like a whore. Just - tell your brother. I should be in his inner circle by now. Make it happen.” 
As Yijun leaves the bathroom, the urge to grab him by his collar and yank him back in to smash his head on the counter almost wins. You stare at him until he vanishes in the bedroom, your rage a live, sentient thing. You feel it crawl beneath your skin, slithering and clawing and biting and begging to be let out. 
Steady is the mountain. You take that fire and shove it down. Years of instinct of reacting with your mother’s temper peter out slowly. It’s a shame - you’re the last woman left from her side of the family, the only one who can carry the fire of the phoenix. 
You glare at the bedroom. Somewhere, Yijun lurks, getting into bed. Oh how the shadows of the weak choke out the fire of the strong. 
If killing Yijun wouldn’t risk everything, you’d have done it already. That first month spent with him where you realized this would not only be a loveless marriage, but a hateful one had almost driven you to it. The Choi Syndicate could surely survive a war with the Kim Syndicate - you had better assets, stronger loyalties, and more money. 
But if the Kim family turned to the Yong family… 
Avoiding unification of the Kim and Yong families is why you were married to Kim Yijun in the first place. To murder him now would mean Syndicate war, and despite the fact that every moment with him is hateful and poisonous, you’re too nervous to put your family at risk. 
Especially with your father’s failing health, as Yijun had pointed out. 
Syndicate war isn’t the only thing keeping you from stabbing Kim Yijun until you can’t feel anything anymore. Minchan’s shadow of a presence lingers over your thoughts, one of the few threats you truly fear. Any harm to his brother would elevate Minchan to a position where he could only wield his power more. 
And he’d hunt you like a bloodhound. You’re unsure if there is any corner of the world he would leave unturned if you killed his brother, no matter how much it would benefit him if Yijun keeled over tomorrow. 
Inside your bedroom is dark. It doesn’t feel like your bedroom at all. There’s nothing homey about it, no possession or unique decor, no pictures. You wouldn’t sleep in here at all if Yijun didn’t make you, insisting that he couldn’t trust any of the house staff not to tell your father you weren’t sleeping in the same room. 
Your father doesn’t care. He stopped caring about anything the day you put your mother into the dirt. Even if he hadn’t, as long as your relationship looked functional to whom it mattered, it mattered little to him if you slept in the same room or if you even liked Kim Yijun.
He’d made that very clear the day he tore away your future with Soonyoung. 
Yijun is already snoring when you climb into bed. You grind your teeth, reaching to pull open the nightstand for noise cancelling earbuds and sleep medication. The medication isn’t as strong as the crushed up knockout you might have used previously, but it helps take the edge off without making you vulnerable to attack. 
Which is something you still worry about. 
Setting your phone on silent, you settle in for sleep. It takes a long time, but you finally drift away to thinking about smothering the man next to you in his sleep. 
-
Something wakes you. Blinking sleep from your eyes, you sit up in bed and look around the room. It’s dark, but you can see the barely-there outlines of the furniture in your bedroom. Next to you, Yijun is gone. You can feel the lack of presence there more than you can see it, reaching your hand over to confirm the bed is cold and that he’s not been there for a while. 
You reach for the phone on your nightstand but can’t find it. Frowning, you press your hand on the cool marble, sweeping back and forth to no avail. You lean further, finger finding the button to the light function on the stand and press down. 
Dim, lavender light halos the top of the nightstand. Your phone is nowhere in sight. It’s just your jewelry dish, a decanter for water, and your sleep medication. You’re pretty sure that you put your phone face down before you went to bed, but you can’t be sure. 
Pulling open the nightstand drawer only makes the back of your neck sweat. Your phone isn’t there, but neither is the gun you keep in the top drawer. Both you and Yijun sleep armed, despite having armed guards on the premises at all times. 
Snapping the drawer shut, you roll to the other side of the bed and pull his open. A book, a watch, some pill bottles and a pack of cigarettes fill the drawer. No gun. 
The back of your neck tingles. You rip the sheets off of you, heading to the bedroom door. The house is mostly dark when you open it, the entire second floor dim. Leaning over the banister, you can see a shaft of light falling across the room, perhaps coming from the kitchen. 
Quietly, you stalk toward the top of the stairwell, trying to reduce noise as you creep down. A high pitched whine rings in your ears, heart thundering. You have no idea why you’re so afraid all of the sudden, especially in your own house, but your instincts tell you to be alert and quiet. 
At the foot of the stairs, you confirm the light is coming from the kitchen. It’s not uncommon for people to be in the house in the middle of the night. Official Syndicate business happens at any time, and often goes into the early hours of morning. 
Tonight, it’s not busy. Before you’d gone upstairs to bed, you’d noted that it was a skeleton crew security team for the night, just a few of them at the gate house and walking the premises while you and Yijun returned upstairs for the evening alone. 
Creeping toward the hallway, you pause when you hear voices. You identify Yijun’s voice right away, holding your breath and straining your hearing as he says, “What do you want me to do here?” 
“Keep her contained. Make sure no one from her family can reach her.”
“I already took her phone and her gun.”
Your stomach drops. “Good.” That’s Minchan’s voice, you realize, dread growing tenfold. “The second she finds out the Tower has fallen, she’ll try to run or her brother will try to get her.”
“Or that psycho fuck,” Yijun mutters. 
“You’d be lucky if it was Seungcheol who came to get her. If Kwon Soonyoung comes looking, call me immediately. We’ll make our move in two hours. We’ve got the biggest team outside the Choi estate ready to go in and we’ve got men and women stationed at all the key points.”
“So I’m just supposed to sit here and babysit my wife?”
“Yes.” Minchan’s tone is nonnegotiable. “We’ll leave the guards at the gatehouse but we can’t spare anyone else. This kind of assault requires everyone. The Yong family will take care of the Pearl District and the Salt.” 
Yijun hesitates. “What about the Yoon family? Are they all accounted for?” 
“Yes. I have a team on the crazy one - what do they call her?”
“Angel, I think.”
Minchan laughs. “Demon is more fitting. Stay here. Stay by your phone. We’ll call thirty minutes before we give the signal to link everyone on comms. We do this right, and the Choi Syndicate is gone.” 
Panic presses in for a moment. Your heart hammers. Your hands shake. Bile churns your stomach. It feels like you can’t get enough air, the pieces of what they're talking about falling into place.
The Tower has fallen.
Your father is dead, and in the wake of the crushing blow, the Kim family intends to strike at yours alongside the Yong family. The realization lands like a blow, immediately slapping you out of your panic. 
Fear turns to rage. Rage turns to ice. You are fire, you are the mountain. 
Steadfast is the mountain, but the fire does burn. 
As quietly as you can, you creep up the stairs. You keep turning over your shoulder to ensure Minchan doesn’t leave the kitchen and catch you creeping back toward your bedroom. When you hit the second floor landing, you all but sprint to your room, gears turning. 
Yijun took your phone and intends to keep you locked in the house until they finish their plan. From their discussion, you know they intend to mobilize within two hours, targeting important members of the Choi Syndicate across the city with the help of the Yong family. 
It means you have only a few minutes to warn your family to respond, to prepare and to fight back or strike first. Which is hard to do without a phone, but your husband doesn’t know you nearly as well as he thinks.
Door closed behind you, you flip the lock on the bedroom door and dash for the closet. The lights above come to life, bathing you in ghoulish, grey light. You dive to the floor toward your shelf holding all of your shoes, the carpet burns nothing compared to the pain starting to bloom behind your sternum where your grief builds slowly under your anger. 
Your father is dead. The Kims are going to turn on you anyway. Your marriage to Kim Yijun to secure alliances against the Yong family was for nothing.
You’ve endured for nothing. 
Snatching a pair of boots, you swallow down the bile again. You will not break now, not when there are more important things than the time you’ve wasted withering away in this cold home. Shoving your hand inside the boot, you come into contact with what you were looking for. Your hand closes around the device, yanking it out and powering it on. 
The screen flashes to life. You press one and hold, hearing the buzz on the phone as it begins to ring. You cradle the phone against your shoulder and ear, nearly sick with the adrenaline that is pounding through you, your vision blurring, hands shaking. 
You grab another shoe, this time reaching inside carefully instead of shoving your hand in. The smooth, bone handle of a knife meets your hand and you wrap your fingers around it firmly, pulling it out. 
Soonyoung answers on the fourth ring. “Where are you?” 
“The Kim family has turned on the Chois. They’re mobilizing for a full scale attack in roughly two hours. The Yong family is helping them. They’re at the estate and all over the city - anyone who is important to us regardless of position will need to be warned. The Yong family is handling the Pearl District and the Salt.” 
“How many men are at Yijun’s estate?” You can hear him moving on the other side of the line, something rustling. Perhaps clothes as he gets dressed. “Are you armed?” 
“There are men at the guard house and one walking the perimeter. It’s just me and Yijun inside, I think Minchan is leaving. I’ve got a knife.” 
“Where are you in the house?” 
“Bedroom, second landing to the right and all the way at the end of the hall. There are windows but they don’t open.” 
“Listen to me,” Soonyoung says, voice like ice. “The second we start moving into position to accept the assault, they’ll know something is off. When that happens, Yijun is going to try to kill you, do you understand?” When you say nothing, he asks again, voice louder. “Do you understand?” 
“Yes.”
“I need you to fight back. Either kill him or hold him off until I’m there.” 
“You need to warn-”
“Don’t worry about the fucking Syndicate! We’ll be fine. You’ve given us more than enough time. I need you to be entirely focused on yourself.”
You take a deep breath, letting it out shakily. “Okay.”
“Do you have frostbyte?”
“Maybe? Yijun might have it in the nightstand.”
“Take some. Not enough to fuck you up, but enough to pump that adrenaline and make your head clear. I will be there in thirty minutes.” 
“Okay.” 
You squeeze the phone, unwilling to hang up. It doesn’t matter that you haven’t heard his voice in months. It doesn’t matter that he hates you, it doesn’t matter that you know whatever used to be between you is broken and it’s entirely your fault. You just… don’t want to hang up. 
“Hey.” Soonyoung’s voice is soft, drawing you from your trembling spiral. “Do what I said. Do the frostbyte and kill him if you have to. I have to go.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you in thirty minutes.” Soonyoung pauses, the silence heavy on the line. “I love you.” 
Nothing breaks you like those words, whispered but firm, whispered in case you die before he gets there. He doesn’t have to say that’s why he’s saying it - you know. You know the chance of him not getting there fast enough is likely and real. He does too, but instead of telling you, he gives you this. 
You whisper back, “I love you.” 
Soonyoung hangs up the phone and you fight a sob. You bring the knife up to your hand, pressing your pointer finger down on the tip. The sting is immediate, making you his in pain as blood beads on the tip of your finger, red and garish in the closet lighting. 
The sting grounds you enough to push yourself from the floor, following Soonyoung’s directions to Yijun’s nightstand. You yank it open, rattling around the contents until you find the bag of frostbyte you were hoping was there. Yijun uses it the nights he attempts to put an heir in you, numbing himself the way you never did, taking your punishment for what you’d done to Soonyoung raw.
Not enough to fuck me up, you think, untwisting the bag and shaking. Just enough to make it easier. 
Dipping the tip of your knife into the bag, you pull out a small lump of the glittering drug. You try not to think about that night at the club all those years ago, when you and Soonyoung were still dancing around one another’s feelings, doing anything you could to get a reaction out of one another. 
You take a sharp breath in. The drug hits your nasal passage and it burns, your eyes smarting as you tilt your head up, cursing and blinking away the tears. It hits the back of your throat, bitter and awful as you cough a little, trying to wait for it to clear your nasal passage.
When the burning subsides a little, you do it again. It’s less harsh than the first bump but still just as awful, making you wonder how the fuck you did this on the weekend with your friends as a teenager. Tossing the back on the nightstand, you stand waiting, closing your eyes and trying to do deep breathing exercises your therapist taught you to calm down. 
Frostbyte works fast. It hits your bloodstream and an electric calm comes over you. Everything comes into sharper focus, the adrenaline pumping as your simmering rage turns to a boil, ready to kick the fucking door down and hunt down Yijun yourself.
Nerves fade away to the background of your mind. You walk toward the door, waiting to the side so when Yijun ultimately kicks it down, you’re ready. 
Ten minutes pass. The entire time your ears are ringing, heart thundering in your chest. You think the frostbyte was a good idea - if you had to wait in silence like this without it, you would have gone crazy by now. Even with the drug, fear nips at your ankles, a hound ever on your tail. 
Yijun’s footsteps thunder up the stairs. Your heart lurches and you inch away from the door, readying yourself. He storms down the hall, fury in each step until he gets to the door and turns the handle. It doesn’t move. He tries a few more times, shaking the door. 
His roar on the other side of the door is loud and feral, making you grin as he thrashes against the door, cursing and screaming at you. The door holds, rattling in place as he slams what you think is his shoulder into it multiple times. 
The bombardment pauses for a second and then restarts ten times stronger. This time, you recognize that it’s his foot slamming into the side of the door. You realize he’s kicking where the door is latched, trying to break it open instead of kicking through it. 
A small crack sounds. You take a breath, readying yourself as you hear another snap go through the door, now rattling loose in its frame. He kicks hard again and the door blows open, nearly smacking you as it does. You roll away from it on the wall, keeping close as Yijun barrels past you, swinging his head from left to right as he looks for you.
It’s your only chance to get the jump on him. You slide from the dark, heart hammering. You’ve never stabbed anyone before, but you’ve practiced. You drive the knife upward, intending to puncture his kidneys. Yijun twists a little to the side, sensing your presence as the knife plunges into his side. 
Yijun screams. Your satisfaction only lasts a second before he throws his elbow backward, catching you in the nose. Pain explodes in your face, blinding you as your eyes water and you stumble backward hands shooting to your face. 
Removing the knife from his side, Yijun screams at you, spit flying as he comes at you. Through tears and warm blood rushing from your nose, you reach for anything to use as a weapon. Your hand closes on the ceramic artwork on the dresser and you launch it at him, hitting him hard in the face. 
The ceramic shatters and he drops the knife. You dive for it but he grabs you by the hair, ripping you upward and backward like a ragdoll. You lose your footing, screaming as he tightens his fist in your hair and drags you toward the bed, tossing you there. 
With a feral shout, you kick your foot forward, catching him in the lower gut. He grunts but wraps his hand around your ankle, yanking you back off the bed onto the floor, where the knife lays. You reach for it, seething, your hands managing to close around it just as he pivots, foot landing against your ribcage. 
Again, pain explodes inside of you. With the frostbyte, you barely recognize it, grabbing the knife and stabbing him in the calf. He shrieks and collapses to a knee, reaching for the knife. This time you rip it back out, nearly losing your grip on the bone handle, fingers slippery with blood. 
You stab him again, this time in the thigh. His knee presses into your stomach, crushing you and forcing air from your lungs. You ignore the pain, stabbing him again and again in the thigh until he falls backward off of you, muscles malfunctioning, tendons give away. 
Yijun kicks out at you with his good leg but you’re already moving, ignoring the way your body is screaming in utter agony, every part of you throbbing and begging you to give up. 
You don’t. You scramble on top of him. His hands shoot up to your throat but you spit at him, a spray of blood blinding him and making his grip loosen momentarily. It’s enough to bring the knife down home again, this time directly in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. 
For a second, he fights back. You hear the wet gasp and he thrashes, but you stab him again. And again and again and again and again -
You think about all of the times that you were forced to submit to him. 
And again and again and again - 
The way he heaved himself on top of you, trying to force a child into you so he could be done with you, the way you’d wish it had been Soonyoung instead. 
And again and again and again - 
The way Soonyoung’s face broke that morning, begging you not to do this to him. 
And again and again and again -
All for the Kim family to turn on the Choi’s anyway, wasting the entire time you’ve spent under lock and key, doing Yijun’s bidding while Soonyoung hated you. Loathed you. Wish you never happened to him. 
Again and AGAINANDAGAINANDAGAINAND- 
Yijun isn’t moving under you. Your hand is warm and wet, the knife becoming slippery as you let it go. It clatters to the floor and you sit backward on his knees. He’s unmoving as you heave, sucking down air that tastes like iron and salt. 
Sweat slicks the back of your neck and down your spine. Somewhere in the house, there’s a crashing noise. You leap for the knife, rolling off of Yijun’s mutilated body toward the door, positioning yourself in a defensive position as feet thunder up the stairs. 
You bare your teeth, knowing this is it. Knowing Soonyoung hasn’t come quickly enough but it doesn’t matter, because you warned them and they are safe. Your penance for destroying him has been paid in half, though never full, and -
Soonyoung appears in the doorway. He looks like an angel from hell, wreathed in shallow light that comes from the first floor, his silver hair stained with blood. He’s in black trousers and a short-sleeve shirt with his favorite band on it - one of his sleep shirts. 
For less than a second, he stares at you. Then, Soonyoung dives at you, dropping the gun in his head and grabbing you. You hadn’t realized that you’d sunk to your knees, looking up at him as he grabs your face, turning you this way and that. He’s asking you a question but you can’t understand him, dizzy and confused and in so much pain that the edge of your vision wavers. 
“Baby,” Soonyoung begs, his voice warped and echoey. “Hey, I need you to answer me. Where are you bleeding?” 
“S’mostly his,” you answer, feeling how heavy your tongue is. Your thoughts are sticky and slow. Concussed, you think. “Maybe broke my nose.” 
Soonyoung’s thumb brushes gently across your cheek, smearing blood. “Can you walk if I help you?”  You think about it. Shake your head. “Okay. I’m going to lift you up, alright? Tell me where it hurts so I don’t hurt you, Baby.” 
“Ribs.” 
“Left or right?” 
You pause, breathing in and feeling the pain bloom. “Right.” 
“Okay, tell me if I hurt you, okay? We’re going to take you home.”
“Thank you.” Soonyoung hesitates at your tone, looking at you. His eyes are vulnerable and open, more raw than you have seen them since you were kids. “You didn’t have to come get me.” 
He stares and stares at you. The world fades a little and Soonyoung lifts you toward him. “Of course I did,” he murmurs, so soft you barely hear what he’s saying. “When you say jump, remember?”
-
“Where's this?” You mumble, looking out the window at a small home behind high gates.
Soonyoung has been driving for an hour and a half, his silence nearly unbearable as you both left the city. You don’t ask about where you’re going or if everyone is okay - you don’t think you can stomach the answers right now. Not while in the car. 
Rain mists through the window as Soonyoung rolls it down to punch in a code in front of the gate. It flashes green and the metal starts to roll open, revealing a large but modest house - at least by Syndicate standards. He drives through, gravel crunching beneath the tires. 
“Safe House. Very few people know it exists.” 
“Are we in Levin?” He nods his head. You’ve never been to the small town, but you know it’s mostly a vacation village on the coast. “Who does this place belong to?” 
“Me.” You look at him, surprised. “I bought it when you… got engaged.” 
It’s like a stone sinking to the bottom of your stomach. You don’t have to ask why. It was his failsafe for you, a way to get you away from Yijun if you had just asked. 
You should have asked. Should have just thrown it away and called him, should have begged him from your knees- 
Soonyoung turns the car off and opens the door. You open yours, rain pattering against your red skin. He rushes to help you out of the car, hands hovering around you, unsure where to touch. It makes you want to sob. You want him to touch you anywhere - everywhere. 
Instead, he leads you to the house, a hand wrapped firmly around your forearm to keep you upright and steady as you walk up the steps. 
A porch light flickers on. You cringe away from the brightness, squinting through your fingers as the door opens to reveal Vernon standing on the other side. His eyes flicker between the two of you and he nods, stepping to the side to let you in. 
Warmth blankets you as Soonyoung shuts the door. You’re standing in a small entryway with a staircase to the right leading to the second floor. Straight on, the lights are on, revealing a sliver of the living room. You can hear voices pause as they hear the door shut. 
Angel materializes in the doorway, her hair damp. She’s dressed down like she recently showered, her eyes on you as she heaves a sigh of relief. “It’s Hoshi and Baby,” she calls over her shoulder, coming forward. 
Soonyoung nudges you toward Angel gently. “Take her to shower.” 
“Yeah of course.” 
“Where’s Seungcheol?” You ask, turning to look at Soonyoung, who is already looking at his phone, holoscreen lighting up his face. 
“On his way. The main crew is safe.” He hesitates. “We lost Lan, Old Man Vero and Yoon Minji.” 
Your heart seizes, eyes darting to Angel. “Angel, I’m-”
“Jeonghan is taking care of it.” For the first time in years, you hear a note of pain in her voice, raw and real. Angel has - had - a complicated relationship with her step-mother, the matriarch of the Yoong family. “I’ve already satiated my vengeance. This is his. Come on.” 
You hesitate. Soonyoung nudges you toward the stairs gently by the hip, suddenly looking tired. “Go. I’m going to find a doctor for that nose.” 
“Is it terrible?” 
He huffs, trying not to laugh. “No, but it needs to be fixed. Go. Shower.” 
I love you. It’s on the tip of your tongue, right there. I love you. It’s all you can think about, thundering in your ribcage. I love you. It consumes you, makes you freeze up, staring at him. I love you. 
Angel tugs your wrist delicately and breaks the spell. You follow her up the stairs. She’s careful with you, making you take one step at a time. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her so gentle, her eyes softened with worry and her touch on you delicate as butterfly wings. 
Upstairs, she leads you into a room that smells like vanilla and sandalwood. Soonyoung. This room belongs to Soonyoung. You spot his subtle touches, a gaming computer shoved in the corner and powered off. A closet with a metal door that is under lock and key. A single gun sitting on top of the nightstand. 
But what makes the room spin is the touches of you. A teakwood candle sitting on the dresser. Weighted blankets folded at the end of the bed. A bookshelf with all your favorite titles. A jar of saltwater taffy in multiple flavors. 
Angel hesitates by the bathroom door, watching you drink in the room. You turn to her, shaking your head, confused and mouth open. She nods. “I know. I didn’t know either.” 
“I could live and die a thousand times and never deserve him.” 
“I’m not the best judge of character, but I don’t think I believe that to be true.” 
Angel isn’t the best judge of character. But she also doesn’t say things she does not mean. She’s the last person in the world to offer words of comfort, and yet she’s standing in the bathroom staring at you like she can see through you, right down to the very core. 
Maybe she can. Seeing what is rotting people on the inside and sniffing out their weaknesses is what she does best. 
Instead of pointing out where you hurt, she manages to get you into the bathroom. It’s spacious but not grand like what you’re used to - it’s small. Safe. She starts the shower and backs away, helping you get out of your bloody clothing. 
Everything hurts so bad. Your ribs ache, the bruising on them blotchy and horrendous as Angel peels back your shirt. She thankfully doesn’t react - she’s seen worse and done worse. Suddenly, you realize why Soonyoung picked her to help you. She’s steady, her fingers sure as she holds your arm while you pull your pants down.
You don’t dare look in the mirror. From what you can see without it, it’s already bad enough. Yijun hadn’t dealt fatal damage, but you know you’re bruised and covered in dry, flaking blood. 
Angel leaves you in the shower, shutting the door to go sit on the sink, a guardian willing to give you space but ready to help when you need it. Shaking, you shuffle into the stream of hot water, hissing when it hits your skin. 
It’s both heaven and hell. The hot water feels so good on your aching muscles and throbbing pain, but it also hurts when the water taps against your nose, reminding you that it is indeed broken. You suck in sharp air as you slowly begin to work your fingers into your skin, turning the water pink as you wash off the blood. 
Blood that belongs to you. Blood that belongs to Yijun.
Yijun. 
You’re not sorry you killed him. It was satisfying and necessary. But… the weight of your grief comes crashing into you. You could have killed him years ago and ran. Could have gone crawling back to Soonyoung and asked for his help. Could have told him that the only reason you ever agreed to marry him in the first place was to protect him. 
None of it mattered. You bought him a paltry couple years worth of protection and for what? To shackle yourself to a man who thought little of you, who wanted to fuck you until you gave him another version of himself, who wanted to kill you at every moment because he knew you didn’t respect him and because he was afraid of you and the way you command respect from your family, but he never did.
All that time you’d made yourself smaller for him. Held back your bite. Hid your teeth. Mourned Soonyoung everyday, knowing that you’d never touch him again, that he would never kiss you again, that you’d never wake up in the morning when he got home from work and crawled into bed with you.
A potential lifetime of happiness, one of your own making, wasted on a promise that they broke anyway. 
For nothing. It had been for nothing, you’d hurt Soonyoung for nothing, shut him out, promised you would never leave him and threw him away, forced him to jump for you, forced him to leave you when he said he wouldn’t all for nothing nothing nothing nothing notHING NOTHINGNOTHINGNOTHINGNOTHING-
Angel’s arms are around you. You startle, looking up to see that she is in the shower fully clothed, holding you to her. You hadn’t realized you’d been crying - screaming - in the shower. She presses you closer to her, the only way she knows how to tell you that she’s got you. She’s there. She understands. 
You crumble, leaning heavily on her as you let it out, sobbing. Your throat is raw, your face throbbing each time you squeeze your eyes shut. Angel says nothing, content to hold you while her clothes soak up the water, weighing her down as you let out your grief in full, ugly waves. 
Eventually, the water starts to get cold and your tears start to dry up. You sniff and groan, the pain in your face so poignant that it can’t be ignored. Lifting your head from her shoulder, you glance at her boots, soaked and murky red around the edges.
“Can I tell you something?” Angel asks, voice low. You nod. She hesitates, putting the words together before she says, “He’s going to accept you back. He’s going to do it with no conditions, and ask nothing of you. You’re going to want to torture yourself and beg for his forgiveness and deny yourself of him because you think you should be punished, that there is not a god powerful enough to hurt you the way you deserve.”
You blink in surprise. Angel isn’t religious, despite the nickname. She also isn’t overly emotional or wordy. But you see the severity in which she tells you this, see the pain in her eyes. You remember that she has demons far older than yours, ones that have followed her since childhood. 
And she’s right. She reads you like a book, seeing the fucking pain radiating inside of you, the desire to be punished and hated and whipped- 
“Let him take you back.” Her words are firm. “Don’t make him punish you. Don’t believe for a second that Soonyoung wants to make you pay. He doesn’t. He doesn’t care what you did or why. Just… let him have you. You’ve endured enough.” 
You nod. “Alright. I’ll try.”
“Good. Um - can we get out of the shower though? It’s very cold in here.” 
You laugh, immediately followed by a groan. “Please don’t make me laugh. I am in so much pain.” 
“Yeah, let’s go get you some drugs, dude.” 
-
The three Syndicates of the city are officially at war. Of all the news that has poured in over the last few days, this is the least surprising. When you’d seen Seungcheol that first night after everything went to hell, he’d held you close and promised that he would kill every last Kim in the city.
He had also told you he was proud of you. Not just for surviving Yijun long enough for Soonyoung to come get you, but for being able to warn the family what was coming. Your single warning alone had saved them a great deal and wounded the Kim Syndicate more than you could understand. 
The days following your father’s death are strange. It doesn’t feel like he’s dead - at least, you haven’t truly processed it yet. There are things that demand your attention like being seen by Dr. Ymir for your fractured nose and bruised ribs, and the accounts and logistics of what being at war with the Kim and Yong family truly means. 
On the fifth day at the safe house, you go back home. Seungcheol makes you ride with him, unwilling to let you out of his sight these days. You’re the only two members of the Choi family left, and it’s up to the two of you to rally the troops and remind everyone what the mountain can do. 
Seungcheol replaces your father as the Tower of the Choi Syndicate. Typically there’s a small ceremony to pass the torch so to speak, but there’s no time for that. Seungcheol is buried in problems and trying to maneuver the family into a favorable position, but it’s hard - the Yongs and Kims have been preparing this for a while. 
You’re suddenly given a job again. Fresh in his position leading the family, Seungcheol needs those he trusts by his side, immediately appointing you as the Architect of the Syndicate. There’s no one he trusts more with the finances and the logistics of the businesses under the Choi banner and who have pledged to his family. 
With Yoon Minji’s death, Jeonghan’s takes his rightful side as the Wisdom and second in command to Seungcheol. It’s like you’d always known it would be as a kid, but it brings you no joy to see the two of them together in an office until the early hours of the morning, worn at the edges and sick with the grief they’re ignoring to push forward. 
With no surprise, Seungcheol immediately promotes Soonyoung to the lead military position, rising from Sword to Sentinel in a single night. It’s the same position his father held under your father, and Soonyoung takes it with steely resolve. 
It also means you don’t see him. You move back into your old room at home. At first, it doesn’t feel like your room at all because Soonyoung isn't in it. He had moved into your room when you first started dating, spending two years in that bed with you. Now, he’s taken up residence in his room down the hall, so close and yet the distance feels larger than ever. 
Of all the problems mounting for you to solve, Soonyoung is the most important. You know he shouldn’t be. There are a thousand other things that you need to figure out, like how to assure that the businesses you own in and near the Kim and Yong family territories won’t go under or be attacked, or how to assure that payment to the family won’t increase now that there’s a fight. 
Your days are filled with countless meetings, assuring loyal patrons that the Choi Syndicate will not fall and will not fail them, and that the Choi’s protect their own. You can see the fear in people’s eyes - the city hasn’t had the big three at war in a long time. Already the city officials are cracking down on Syndicate activity to try and establish order. 
It’s farcical at best. 
Squeezing your temples between your fingers, you lean back from the desk in your newly appointed office - which is really just your father’s. It feels weird to be in here. It still smells like leather and sweet tobacco, a little bit of smoke hanging in the air. 
The last time you’d been in this office, you’d fallen to your knees and begged him not to make you marry Kim Yijun. Now you sit at the desk, hanging up the phone as another call ends - not as bad as the first, but not as good as you’d hoped. 
Quickly, you scribble down a summary of the call to give to Seungcheol. You know he’ll read every word you write, determined to hear each concern of those under Choi patronage, whether they’re valid or not. 
At the sound of the door opening, you glance up. Soonyoung sticks his head in, surprising you. You straighten in your seat, heart racing when you take him in. His silver hair has grown longer, tapered a bit at the neck. He’s dressed in all black but he’s clean, indicating that he showered not that long ago. You thought he would be out all day like usual, looking at your watch to see he’s back far earlier than normal.
“Is everything alright?” You start to get up and he rushes to you, hands lifting to help you. “I’m alright. I am well on the mend.”
He chews his lip, nodding before dropping his hands hesitantly. “Everything’s fine I just.” He hesitates. “Do you want to eat lunch?” 
“Oh. Sure.”
Soonyoung’s smile is tentative. Shy. You give him one back, following him out of the office while sending a quick note to Jihoon that you’ll meet with him later. He sends a thumbs down back, less than pleased that you’ve not made time to talk to him about your potential murder charges for Yijun. 
“Are you busy? We don’t have to-”
“It’s just Jihoon.” 
“Ah. He’s persistent, are you sure-”
“I want to have lunch with you, Soonyoung.” 
He blushes and you grin. “Alright,” he murmurs. “When you say jump and all that.” 
That makes you pause. “You don’t have to do anything I tell you.” 
“What?” He stops walking, confused. 
“You don’t have to ask how high if I tell you to jump... I’m wrong a lot of the time. I don’t… want to be that.” 
I don’t want to repeat my mistakes. You don’t say it, but you think Soonyoung senses it when he says, “I’ve always wanted to jump for you. That hasn’t changed.” 
Let him take you back. Don’t make him punish you. 
Angel’s words come back to you so you swallow down your guilt and you nod, giving him a tentative smile that he returns. This time, he holds out his hand to take you in the kitchen. You take it, the feeling of his fingers wrapping around yours both foreign and familiar. 
The way he holds your hand in his makes you tremble. It’s something so simple and benign and yet you’re screaming on the inside, looking at where your fingers twine together like it’s everything, like it’s the only thing. 
Lunch consists of very badly burned grilled cheese. You don’t care because Soonyoung makes it, insistent that he wants to and that he can. He’s good at a lot of things, particularly on the spectrum of murder and weapons, but he is terrible at putting bread, cheese and butter in a pan. 
You eat it anyway, burnt bread and all. He sits next to you, his stool pulled so close that your thighs touch. You want to reach out and brush your fingers across his face, down his neck, through his hair. You want to touch until you’re grabbing, grab until you’re pulling. 
Instead, you let him lead this dance, too afraid to initiate. 
Let him take you back. Don’t make him punish you. 
You don’t, but you can’t let go of the fear of rejection. Can’t bring yourself to toe the line beyond what he’s giving you, which is more than you ever dreamed of. So you accept when he offers to take your plate, fingers brushing over the top of your hand either by design or by accident you don’t know. His touch makes you shiver and he notices, pausing. 
Slowly, you look up at Soonyoung. His eyes are dark and misty as ever, churning with emotion that you’re a little too afraid to read. Instead of taking the plates to the sink, he sets them down and reaches for you, cradling your face in his hands. 
A sob works its way up your throat but you force it down. You will not cry over this. You will not make him comfort you. 
“Are you afraid to touch me?” His question is gentle. You nod, eyes fluttering shut as his thumb brushes back and forth across your cheekbone. “Why?” 
“I… want to so badly. I just want it to be your choice.” 
“I want you to.” You open your eyes. His earnestness is right on the surface of him, rippling for you to see. “I’m dying for it. Please.” 
Soonyoung’s please sounds like that morning he’d begged you all that time ago. It freezes you in place, heart beating like a prey animal in fight or flight. He steps closer, his breath on your forehead when he whispers, “Please.” 
Slowly, you bring your hands up to his wrists. Licking your lips, you place your hands on him. His eyes close. His skin is warm to the touch and you feel him tremble as you brush your hands upward, tracing his forearms, his corded biceps. You brush your fingertips over the sleeves of his shirt and toward his neck until you’re cupping his throat, your thumbs resting against his hammering pulse. 
You close your eyes, remaining still. Both of you remain that way, his hands on your face, yours on his neck. You’re shaking under his touch, feel his breath against your forehead. His fingers add a little pressure to your face, careful not to hurt you where your bruise is finally fading on your nose as he turns you to look up at him. 
Soonyoung licks his lips, eyes open. “There is not a second I didn’t love you.”
And there it is. The admission that he never hated you. You bet he tried - you know he tried. You know the inside of Soonyoung’s soul better than you know your own, no part of him hidden to you even with time. 
“I don’t care why you did it,” he continues. “Not anymore. Not after everything. I don’t care about any of it. I just… want you.”
“Soonyoung-”
“I know you’re sorry. I know you hate yourself. I know there is guilt eating away at you. Get over it, because none of it changes how I feel. I love you. You’re mine. I don’t want to leave you again. You cannot make me.” 
“I know. I won’t make you.” 
“Good.” Soonyoung presses his forehead to yours gently. He’s careful not to knock noses with you too hard, aware of the pain it’ll cause. “I cannot do any of this without you.” 
“I know.”
Soonyoung’s mouth is tentative when it presses against yours. Your grip on him tightens, leaning forward into the kiss. It is everything - the only thing. You feel something wet on your face, thinking that you’ve got another nosebleed, but when you pull away, you realize it’s because Soonyoung is crying.
Crying for the first time since his parents died. 
You stand up from the stool, gripping the back of his neck to pull him toward you. He melts under your touch, letting you meld your mouths together. He tastes like his burnt sandwich and like him, his mouth warm and wet against yours. Vanilla and sandalwood invade your senses, overwhelming as you grip him for dear life, never wanting to let him go.
He doesn’t want to let you go either. His grip on your hips is crushing, fingers digging into flesh and bone as though he can force you to become one. The thought makes you dizzy. You slide your fingers in his silk-soft hair, wrapping the strands around them to pull lightly, pull him closer, pull him to you, pull him back. 
Soonyoung whines against your mouth and you break the kiss, panting. “Take me upstairs,” you whisper between peppering kissing against his mouth, his bottom lip, the corner of his lips. “Please take me upstairs.” 
He does. Soonyoung grabs you by the hands, tugging you toward the stairs that lead to your room - the room you used to share. The room that still smells like him, even if faintly. He takes you to your bed, where you’ve spent hundreds of nights with him, and lays you down gently like he has a million times before. 
Soonyoung touches you like you’re holy. His hands skim over you in worship, they scratch you in penance, they hold you in reverence. He slots himself between your knees, stealing a kiss from you like it’ll breathe new life into him, bare him anew, purge him of sin. 
You love him. You love him you love him you love him you love him you love him -
A moan leaves his mouth when your nails drag down his back. He is quaking under your touch, his mouth hungry but careful against yours, wanting to swallow you whole but knowing you’re hurt. You know he won’t break you but you wish he would.
There’s time for that later. Now isn’t the time for rough and biting. Now, Soonyoung peels the shirt from your skin, immediately covering your arms, chest, collarbones, shoulders in kisses. You vibrate under his touch, lashes fluttering as he sucks at the sensitive skin of your neck, tongue pressed flat to your pulse as he tastes you. 
You tug at his shirt and he complies, leaning upward to toss it. He’s back on you in a second, pressing you close, hip to hip as he tangles his tongue with yours, drinking you in. His touch ignites a fire and you’re burning, a complete inferno as you drag your fingers up the hard contour of his stomach to the firmness of his chest and around to his shoulders. 
“I love you,” he mutters against your mouth, rolling his hips into you. You let out a breathy sound and he groans. “Fuck I love you. I missed you. I love you.” 
“Please,” you beg. He understands, burying his face in your neck and biting down lightly. You feel like you’re going to burn up under him, an out of control blaze while his fingers work the buttons on your pants. “Never let me go.”
“Never.” 
Jeans scrape down your legs, his hands following. He drags his blunt nails down your thighs. Your hips twitch upward, loving the scratch, loving the way he touches you, loving him. He returns his mouth to yours, unable to get enough of your kissing. 
Soonyoung’s hand slips between your thighs, the pads of his fingers pressing against your clit through your underwear. You keen for him, pulling at the long strands of hair at the back of his neck. He moans in tandem, his pleasure driven by yours, loving the way you sound as you start to come apart under the gentle circle of his fingers. 
He only teases you a little, knowing the friction with the fabric between his fingers and your aching cunt isn’t enough. He finally decides that you’ve had enough, hooking a finger to pull them aside, the cool air hitting your sticky folds. 
Before you can complain, Soonyoung’s touch is there. He drags his fingers slow-soft from top to bottom, circling your clit slowly. He’s not in a hurry, dragging it out as he sucks your tongue into his mouth, sliding his fingers back down to press against your entrance but not breach it. 
You whine and he grins, pulling your bottom lip with his teeth until he lets go with a pop. “I love those sounds you make.” 
“Feels good,” you admit, head falling to the side as you close your eyes, enjoying the pressure he puts on your clit, wiggling his fingers back and forth. Your thighs close around his hand but he’s unbothered, drawing more arousal from you as he plays. “Fuck, your fingers.” 
His laugh is throaty and he shakes his head, attaching his mouth to your jaw where he sucks at the skin. He makes himself comfortable with nibbling toward your neck, both of his hands reaching for the sides of your underwear to pull them down. You let him, folding your knees toward your for a moment to help. 
Soonyoung’s hand returns to the wetness between your legs except this time, he’s not teasing. He presses a finger in deep and you whine, hips wiggling. You squeeze down on his finger, pussy spasming as he begins to pump leisurely, like he has all the time in the world.
And he does, doesn’t he? The work is far from done and the world is falling apart, but it doesn’t matter because he’s here with you. Because Soonyoung is yours again - always has been - and because he’s drawing your mouth toward his to kiss you messily, swallowing down your moans as he presses in another finger. 
Now you crumble beneath him. You can’t stop your hips from coming off the bed. You loop your arms around his neck, keeping him close, breathing the same air. He presses his forehead to yours, eyes impossible dark and half-lidded as he hooks his fingers, dragging them against that sensitive spot. 
You cry out his name and he grins. Now he knows where it is, pressing repeatedly as he fucks you on his fingers, driving you directly toward an orgasm. Your breathing becomes labored, your legs squeezing his hips, your fingers digging into his shoulders. It is so good that you think you might die, letting him yank you toward release. 
Soonyoung kisses you again and you come crashing down, cumming around his fingers, body squeezing, ignoring the ache in your ribs and the millions of other places that you’re sore. He doesn’t slow down, scissoring his fingers to pry you open, to stretch you more.
“Soonyoung,” you gasp, voice wrecked. “Soonyoung Soonyoung Soonyoung.” 
“Just like that,” he agrees. You can tell he loves the way you say his name, knows that on your tongue it means something different. “Come on, one more.” 
You’ll give him anything he wants. Never again will you deny him. You let him work you up again, feeling the way your breath gets stuck in your lungs and you shiver, another wave washing through you as you shudder around his fingers. 
When you start to pant, he pulls his fingers out. You feel the wet schlick as he does, immediately hating the way you feel empty, hating the way he leans away from you. Whining, you reach out toward him, needy. He hushes you with a brief kiss, only standing to rid himself of his jeans and briefs. 
Using the fingers covered in your arousal, Soonyoung pumps his cock, smearing a mixture of your slick and his precum down his shaft as he kneels on the bed again, taking his place between your thighs again. You watch with hooded eyes as he rubs the head of his cock through your messy folds, a moan dripping from your lips. 
Soonyoung is beautiful, skin flushed and a sheen of sweat on his arms. His stomach flexes and clenches as he presses the tip of his cock into your entrance, both of you taking a shaky breath together. He slowly slides home, the stretch of him driving you wild, pussy fluttering around him until he’s slotted to the hilt. 
He hangs his head, panting as he plants his hands on either side of your head. He takes a moment to collect himself, shaking. You turn your head to the side, kissing his wrist, peppering any skin you can reach with your love while your hands drift up his back, feeling the muscles flex. 
When he begins to move, you nearly die. It feels so good, your breath lodged in your throat. He lowers his face to yours, kissing you as gently as he fucks you. His thrusts are deep and timed, not hard or fast but slow and measured, pressing all the way in as he uses his weight to his advantage. 
Your fingers turn to talons on his back, nails biting his shoulder blades. He’s precise, the tip of his cock finding the right angle to make you nearly sob in a matter of a few thrusts. It’s familiar. Home. 
Soonyoung lowers himself to his forearms, pressing your chests together. The friction of his skin against your pert nipples makes you squeeze around him, his name a whisper on swollen, kiss-bitten lips. He presses his forehead to yours, breathing shakily as he continues to fuck you.
You feel him everywhere, feel everything that he wants to say. Soonyoung has never needed words to communicate to you and he doesn’t now, the way he shakes as he lets out a wispy moan enough, the way he slides one of his arms under your back to cradle you to his chest, closer closer closer.
He wants to be closer and so do you, arms around his neck, drawing him to you. You never want to let him go, never will let him go. You’ve learned your lesson and this, right here with him is the only thing that matters. 
“Shh,” he hushes. You realize you’re crying, tasting salt on your lips when he brushes his mouth against yours. “I know.” 
“I love you.”
“I know.” 
Soonyoung’s pace picks up only a little bit. It’s enough, sending you careening toward your third orgasm. He can feel it - needs it. He chases after your high, catching your mouth to brush his tongue against yours, rolling his hips until you’re clenching around him, whining into his mouth, lips buzzing against his.
He hums against you, waiting until your pussy lets go of its vice grip to speed up a little bit, the wet smack of his hips against yours loud and lewd, driving him forward until he comes, your name on his lips, his face buried in your neck. His thrusts slow, both of you trembling like leaves until he finally stops, remaining seated inside of you. 
“I will love you for a thousand lifetimes,” he mutters against your mouth, with no intention of moving. “You know that, right Baby?” 
You nod, fingers digging into his shoulder blades. “Leave me at your own peril, Kwon Soonyoung,” you rasp, quoting yourself that first night he finally caved, where he finally told you that he couldn’t exist without you. “I will never go anywhere ever again.” 
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SYNDICATE ROLES
Tower - title for a Syndicate boss Wisdom - title for the second-in-command to a Sydicate boss Sentinel - title for the main military leader of a Syndicate Riots - title for a member of the Syndicate responsible for sowing discord Swords - title for a member of the Syndicate who is a fighter/military role Chariots - members of the Syndicate who make deals/act as business brokers Rooks - members of the Syndicate who collect debts/lead the extortion practices Justices - members of the Syndicate on the legal counsel Hanged Men - members of the Syndicate who betrayed their Syndicate Watchers - members of a Syndicate who are spies/informants Patrons - citizens who pay homage/have an alliance/are under the protection of a Syndicate Vanguard - official members of the Syndicate who don't have specific roles but do work for the Syndicate
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aventurineswife · 3 days ago
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Aww, no more Yor!Reader? Well, I guess it would have been overdone eventually. 😅
How about I share an idea instead about Reader acting as a lawyer/legal consult for Aventurine? (Bouncing off of my friend’s recent obsession with lawyer characters lol.)
So, Reader is a lawyer studying the laws of various worlds. Their work laptop is full of legal texts and documents, which they use to keep track of information gained and help make sure Aventurine doesn’t step too hard on someone’s toes. coughsunliketopazonbelobogcoughs
Reader is also partially the reason why Aventurine was able to get away with attacking the Astral Express — by taking his and Ratio’s witness accounts of their “meeting” with Sunday and the power of the Order being forced on Aventurine to brainwash him on threat of death within 17 hours. (I know I saw a post pointing out how Sunday basically broke diplomatic immunity by doing this, tho I can’t remember who. 🫠) Who can say for sure that Aventurine threatening to detonate a Stellaron wasn’t the result of (him struggling against) the Order influencing him? Reader can even point out that if the Family tried to go after Aventurine, Sunday’s actions coupled with the Family’s lying about death being impossible in the Dreamscape would be grounds for a counter lawsuit.
Emphasis on Reader partially being why Aventurine got away with his gamble. Even without Reader being Aventurine’s lawyer, the IPC’s got a fuck ton of money. 😅 Reader being there just makes things a lot faster and more convenient.
Reader’s pissed about Aventurine gambling his life like that, tho. 💀
“I TOLD YOU TO BE CAREFUL WHEN DEALING WITH [ACHERON] AND WHATAYA DO?! YOU GET FUCKING HAM-SLICED AND YEETED INTO A BLACK HOLE!!!!! 💢💢💢”
“Objection! Gambling with Your Life is Not a Legal Strategy!”
Summary: You find yourself grappling with the aftermath of Aventurine’s latest reckless escapade—one involving ham-slicing, black holes, and intergalactic legal battles. As his ever-resourceful and exasperated legal advisor, you’re left to clean up the mess while Aventurine, the ever-smug gambler and IPC executive, teases you with his charm. Beneath the banter, a glimpse of sincerity from Aventurine leaves you questioning whether there’s more to him than his reckless bravado.
Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Crackfic, Lawyer!Reader, Dubious Morality, Fluff and Angst, Overworked (and probably underpaid or not) Reader, Banter and Wit, Slow-Burn Romance (implied), Reader Yelling at Aventurine (deserved tbh).
Warnings: Mild language (Reader vents a lot), Legal jargon overload, Brief mentions of violence and manipulation, Reader and Aventurine arguing, Crack-level absurdity in legal scenarios, Aventurine's traumatic backstory hinted at but not deeply explored.
A/N: Thank you for your understanding 🙏💖 and I hope you like this! This may be a bit ooc and I mostly have forgotten a lot of things so yeah🧍‍♀️
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You glared at Aventurine from behind your laptop, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you typed out yet another damage control memo. The smug blond executive lounged across from you in his plush office chair, one leg draped lazily over the armrest. His perpetual grin was as infuriating as ever, even with fresh bandages peeking out from the collar of his shirt.
"Really, darling," he drawled, twirling his peacock-feather earring, "I think you're overreacting. Things turned out splendidly, didn’t they? I'm still here, the Stellaron didn’t detonate, and Sunday's little 'dream empire' has a massive PR disaster on their hands. All thanks to your impeccable legal wizardry, might I add."
You slammed your laptop shut with enough force to make him flinch. "Splendidly?! You were HAM-SLICED, Aventurine. HAM. SLICED. And then YEETED INTO A BLACK HOLE! Do you even comprehend how many laws of physics, ethics, and basic sanity you violated in a single day?"
He chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "But you saved me, didn’t you? My charming legal champion, swooping in with airtight arguments and enough loopholes to make the Family’s lawyers cry."
"Don’t you dare flatter me right now." You jabbed a finger at him, your other hand pointing to the stack of legal briefs on your desk. "Do you know how hard it is to defend you when you keep pulling stunts like that? I had to argue in front of three intergalactic tribunals that Sunday's Dreamscape Order literally brainwashed you into threatening a Stellaron detonation!"
Aventurine leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "And you did it flawlessly. Honestly, I should hire you full-time. Leave that dusty legal research behind and become my personal strategist. Think of the fun we’d have!"
"Fun?" you repeated, incredulous. "FUN?! Watching you gamble your life away every other Tuesday isn’t my idea of fun, Kakavasha."
His grin faltered for the briefest moment at the mention of his real name, but he recovered quickly, standing and striding over to your desk. "You know I can’t resist a good gamble," he said softly, his voice unusually earnest. "It’s who I am. But having you there… knowing you’ve got my back? That’s the only reason I can keep playing the game."
You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity. "That’s… disturbingly sweet," you muttered. "But it doesn’t excuse the fact that you’re reckless, irresponsible, and—"
"Charming?" he offered with a wink.
"Infuriating," you finished, swatting his hand away as he tried to steal one of your pens. "Now sit down and let me finish drafting this counter-lawsuit. If Sunday or the Family tries to come after you again, I want them buried so deep in legal hell they’ll be begging for the black hole treatment."
Aventurine laughed, a genuine, unguarded sound that made your chest tighten in a way you refused to examine. "You’re one of a kind, [Name]. I don’t deserve you, but I’m keeping you anyway."
"You don’t have me," you shot back, ignoring the warmth creeping up your neck. "I’m just here to make sure you don’t get sued—or sliced—again."
"Of course," he said smoothly, settling back into his chair with a self-satisfied smirk. "But I’ll win you over eventually. It’s only a matter of time."
You rolled your eyes and reopened your laptop, trying to focus on your work. But as you typed out another legal argument to shield Aventurine from his latest bout of insanity, you couldn’t quite suppress the smile tugging at your lips.
Maybe he wasn’t entirely unbearable.
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starboy2461 · 3 days ago
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-ALSNT AU-
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the idea of this au is centered around mythology and mythological tales from multiple cultures, Mizi based of Fae and Ivan a nymph. Which makes them our two nonhuman characters. Till and Sua are the average human. Till finding a bond with Ivan via being lost and attacked in the woods and Sua finding mizi by discovering her by water. These takes on the characters is mildly inspired by DND and I wouldn’t mind people using these interpretations of that characters and forming them into a character for your own campaigns, with credit if you can.
in this take on the story mizi and Ivan could be Bards for the fact that both sing more to their respective human than till and Sua.
Luka and Hyuna could be added but they likely will have a tethered bond.
the name Celestial for the name of the au comes from the fact mizi is based around the sun and light and Sua the moon. That also relating to Till and Ivan with eclipses and blood moons as well as in more dnd settings magic and celestial themes go hand and hand for my own character writing so it felt right.
here’s the concepts on all designs
-Mizi: mizi is based around the sun and all the warmth from it
-Sua: she’s based off the moon and stars to show her observing way
-Till: The emotions of isolation and restriction via the chaining visuals (leg wraps and tied bows)
Ivan: death and eternal passion
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dollsanddandy · 2 days ago
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Sorry I just need to type this out because it feels so perfect if this was the intention. Baseball represents conformity… but what about our most iconic Stranger Things baseball bat?
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Let’s talk about this particular bat’s journey, shall we?
Our first scene with the bat is when Nancy is practicing to attack the Demogorgon in her garage. At this point in the story, the bat is still a regular baseball bat. Steve comes over and Nancy is still emotionally invested in him. She has not quite realized she is on the path of conformity. She pushes him away here, though. She has plans with Jonathan to find the monster, so she takes a rain check at the invitation to go to the movies under the guise of Will’s funeral and Mike. I would argue this is at the beginning of the bat’s transformation.
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The bat was originally meant to be wielded by Nancy. The revolver was also supposed to be Jonathan’s weapon. However, upon learning that Nancy’s a sharpshooter, Nancy takes the revolver and Jonathan takes the bat. They have swapped roles. This is when she’s finally begun not to conform. Nancy has taken the more “masculine,” powerful role in this relationship. She wields the stronger weapon and thus takes the lead in their relationship. During this scene we learn that Nancy believes her parents to be the image of conformity, detesting the idea of ever becoming them.
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While wandering through the woods, the two have an argument in which Nancy finally has to confront that she is conforming just as much as her parents did at her age. She’s no different and she needs to realize that she and Steve are the image of Ted and Karen. The bat remains in Jonathan’s hands.
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The two once more swap roles upon finding the dying deer. The two decide to put the animal out of its misery, but it’s too much for Nancy to handle and thus Jonathan offers to do it himself. They swap weapons once more. You could interpret it two ways:
Their willingness to swap their roles fluidly offers more to the idea of nonconformity. They are not concrete in the roles they choose, unlike the societally acceptable dynamics of the time. Men and women had concrete gender roles and were expected to follow them, whereas Jonathan and Nancy are able to go against that norm and be what role is needed depending on the situation.
Jancy are willing to do what the other needs from them and are already complementing each other from Season 1. Jancy endgame.
After this scene Nancy and Jonathan split up, with Nancy discovering a small gate to the Upside Down. She leaves the bat and her belongings outside the gate. I would like to say that her going to the Upside Down is quite literal for her character and for the baseball bat. Their identities are changed after this. Nancy from this point forward becomes incredibly tactical and combative. She goes shopping for weapons with Jonathan, definitely going against the norm. Her form does not change, she remains herself, preppy and kind, but now she has spikes. In her next scene with Steve she’s angry, she’s pushing him away and recognizing him for what he is. She could have been submissive to Steve’s actions, but the first thing she does is slap him and assert herself. She is no longer conforming.
While we do not see the baseball bat for the rest of the episode or in the following episode, we do see it again in the finale.
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Here we see the baseball bat change into our easily recognizable icon. Together, Jancy decides to kill the Demogorgon and hatches a plan to do so. They set everything up in the Byers’ home and during these preparations we see Jonathan modify the baseball bat. He hammers nails into the head of the bat and it transforms almost to match Nancy. Baseball bats are a blunt object, but by adding the nails, Jonathan has flipped the baseball bat’s identity Upside Down, transforming it into a sharp object. It can be argued it’s both blunt and sharp, and maybe it proves the point I am trying to make further by viewing it that way. Jonathan is meant to wield this weapon once more, but Steve enters the ring and wields it instead (more on that later).
By the finale you’re almost certain that Jancy will happen (if not now then later). Jancy is a heterosexual relationship, but it is not heteronormative. To me, that’s what the bat represents. The bat is conformity, the norm and heterosexuality, but the spikes represent non-comforming and non-heteronormative behavior. In Jancy’s relationship, Nancy typically takes the lead and continues to be the one who wields a gun. Jonathan remains the more sensitive of the two and the one who wields no weapons (you could argue the axe in Season 3, but even then Lucas takes control of that). The behavior of Jonathan and Nancy in their relationship as stated prior, is not conforming to the norms of the time despite being a heterosexual relationship.
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Now, what happens to the bat after the events of Season 1? Steve continues to be the one who wields it, which is very important to his character development. He’s becoming nonconformist as well, especially with his blossoming friendship with the kids and his new role as “babysitter,” a job that is considered feminine. During his time holding the bat, I would also like to mention he most certainly became more accepting of people different from him and even befriends them. He went from calling Jonathan Byers a queer derogatorily in Season 1 to being supportive and accepting of Robin’s sexuality in Season 3. He learns that popularity is not important despite what societal pressures and expectations exist. It’s almost like the bat being in his possession helped to facilitate his growth.
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After Season 2 we have yet to see the bat again, but an honorable mention would also be Max, a nonconformist tomboy, wielding the bat. She does this to defend her nerdy, outcast friends and her love interest: Lucas. Max and Lucas are another heterosexual relationship, except they also defy norms for being an interracial relationship in a time period where it was still not as acceptable.
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TL;DR: the spiked baseball bat is a symbol of nonconformity/norms of the time being flipped Upside Down/on their heads as opposed to baseball in general representing conformity. It transformed in Season 1 with Jancy to become this symbol and in Season 2 facilitated growth/was wielded by characters who didn’t conform.
Hope you guys enjoyed this post please don’t let it flop 😭
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loredrinker · 2 days ago
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Solas, Checkmate, and the Pieces in Play
After reading @nadas-dirthalen's insightful post on Rook and the Inquisitor’s collaboration and the Inquisitor's significance in Veilguard, a chess theme arose and I started thinking about the redeem ending through the lens of chess. 
Excited by the idea, I reached out to my brother, an avid chess player. What began as a simple idea grew into the detailed breakdown you’ll find below. 
This post explores how Rook, Inquisitor Lavellan, Morrigan, and Mythal align with certain chess pieces, followed by a move-by-move analysis of the redeem ending.
Let’s start with a breakdown of the pieces and who they align with.
The Rook 
Movement: The rook moves any number of squares in a straight line, either horizontally (along ranks) or vertically (along files), but cannot jump over other pieces. 
Role in Chess: 
Dependable and straightforward, the rook commands control over open lines, dominating ranks and files. 
It creates openings and fortifies other pieces, making it essential for both attacking and endgame strategies. 
It can play a sacrificial role, achieving a greater strategic goal. 
Rooks work best when paired with other pieces, representing strength, support, and reliability. 
Rook as...well, obviously the Rook 
The rook often doesn’t come into play until the board is developed. In this case, Inquisition and Trespasser set the stage (board), and Veilguard introduces Rook, continuing the play.  
Just as a rook defends key positions, Rook’s role is also about protecting Northern Thedas.
A rook’s ability to shift the board’s dynamics (disrupt the board) mirrors Rook’s impact on the narrative. Rook’s improvisational nature gives them an edge in the "endgame" of Solas’s failed ritual, where their unpredictable choices lead to outcomes that even Solas cannot fully anticipate. 
Rook’s role often involves finding clear paths forward, whether through solving problems, bridging gaps between characters, or making decisive moves. 
By giving the dagger back to Solas, Rook takes a calculated risk, akin to a rook sacrificing its position for the greater strategy, relying on others (Lavellan and Mythal) to achieve the ultimate checkmate. 
The Queen 
Movement: The queen is the most versatile and powerful piece, moving any number of squares in any direction - horizontally, vertically, or diagonally. 
Role in Chess: 
Often described as combining the powers of the rook and the bishop. We know the power of a rook, the bishop adds foresight and planning. 
As the most powerful and valuable piece, the queen is both an ideal attacker and a prime target for the opponent.  
The queen symbolizes power, flexibility, and dominance, capable of commanding the board and turning the tide of the game. 
It works best in coordination with other pieces, setting them up for decisive moves or amplifying their impact. 
Lavellan as the Queen 
Inquisitor Lavellan embodies the queen’s leadership and transformative power throughout Dragon Age: Inquisition, Trespasser, and Veilguard. 
The Inquisitor is the reason Varric and Rook are even searching for Solas - fulfilling the bishop-like, foresight aspect of the queen by setting events in motion. 
Her ability to adapt to challenges and situations mirrors the queen’s versatility and range on the board, switching between political negotiation (mediates conflicts between Ferelden and Orlais) battlefield commands (makes decisions that impact the Mage-Templar divide, and the remnants of the Grey Wardens), and personal connection. 
In Veilguard, Lavellan’s entrance during the climax is akin to a queen stepping onto the board at a critical moment. Her plea, “I forgive you” forces Solas to confront his guilt, destabilizing his resolve and altering the dynamic of the confrontation. 
Like the queen’s ability to dominate the board, Lavellan commands respect across Thedas. While Rook handles the immediate aftermath of Solas’s failed ritual, Lavellan works to unify Southern Thedas, reinforcing her strategic importance. 
Lavellan doesn’t act in isolation. Her actions amplify the contributions of others, much like a queen coordinating with rooks, knights, and pawns to ensure victory.
*still works for a high approval friend Inquisitor, I operate in a Solas/Lavellan love world state. Higher emotional stakes.
The Knight 
Movement: The knight is unique in its L-shaped movement: two squares in one direction (horizontal or vertical) and then one square perpendicular, or vice versa. It can leap over other pieces, making it uniquely versatile. 
Role in Chess: 
The knight’s unusual movement pattern and ability to bypass obstacles make it a disruptive force on the board - agile and daring. 
The knight is highly valued for creating tactical threats, such as forks, where it simultaneously attacks multiple pieces. 
Knights excel in closed positions, navigating through crowded boards and exploiting opportunities others cannot. 
The knight thrives on creating unexpected moves, catching opponents off-guard and changing the dynamics of the game.  
Morrigan as the Knight 
Has Morrigan ever been predictable? She operates outside conventional expectations, appearing at opportune moments to disrupt plans and influence events.
Morrigan isn’t the most direct force in the narrative, but her interventions are pivotal. She influences the outcome of the “game” not through brute force but through careful planning, cunning, and her unique connection to Mythal. 
Just as knights excel in crowded, complex positions, Morrigan thrives in morally and politically intricate situations.  
Morrigan’s role across the series is marked by surprise and cunning. Whether it’s her sudden involvement in the Orlesian court, or her reappearance in Veilguard as Mythal’s vessel, Morrigan strikes from unexpected angles. 
Her ability to affect events from the shadows mirrors the knight’s tendency to influence the board indirectly. 
Morrigan’s entrance during the climax, arriving as a raven carrying Mythal’s essence, is a perfect example of the knight’s ability to deliver unexpected, game-changing moves.  
The King 
Movement: The king moves one square in any direction - horizontally, vertically, or diagonally - making it the least mobile major piece on the board. 
Role in Chess: 
The king is the most important piece, representing authority, strategy, and survival. The game revolves around its safety. 
Its presence shapes the actions of every other piece on the board, influencing both offensive and defensive strategies. 
Though its movements are limited, the king’s survival is paramount. 
Mythal as the King 
Like the king in chess, she remains pivotal even with limited direct action, ensuring the balance and survival of the "game." 
She was one of the ruling elite - Mythal was the stabilizing force that maintained balance within the pantheon, much like the king anchors the chessboard. 
Her actions and decisions shaped the Evanuris’ dynamics, the fall of Elvhenan, and Solas’s rebellion. Even after her death, her legacy dictated the course of events, paralleling the king’s ability to influence the board. 
Even in her absence, Mythal’s memory and influence continued to shape the dynamics of the board, much like how the king’s position shapes the strategy of all other pieces. 
Mythal’s intervention through Morrigan reflects the king’s transformation in the endgame. She takes an active role by addressing Solas, acknowledging their shared responsibility, and releasing him from her service.  
Now to the game: 
Rook moves 
The dependable and improvisational Rook makes their move, stepping in to block Solas's plan. By grabbing the dagger, Rook halts Solas's immediate action, much like a rook defending against a check. 
Rook returns the dagger to Solas. Rook is willing to sacrifice themself for a greater strategy. This sets the stage. it doesn’t deliver the final blow but holds the position, allowing other pieces to make their moves.  
Queen moves
Emerging from the shadows, Lavellan moves decisively into play, changing the board. Her sudden appearance is akin to a queen making a powerful move that forces the opponent to rethink their strategy. 
Lavellan’s words, her appearance, is an emotional strike to Solas (his heart has reappeared). The queen tries cutting through his defense. 
Lavellan’s offer of forgiveness is a bold and risky move, she is positioning herself and the board. She appeals to Solas’s emotions, destabilizing his certainty and forcing him to confront his guilt. 
Knight moves 
Morrigan, carrying Mythal’s essence, enters dramatically, much like the knight leaping into action. She literally flies in (jumps over) the other pieces to introduce a new unpredictable move. 
Morrigan’s revelation that she carries Mythal’s essence shocks Solas, continuing to disrupt his focus.
Morrigan’s role as a vessel bridges the mortal and divine, much like the knight’s ability to navigate both offense and defense. 
King moves 
Mythal’s essence, channeled through Morrigan, becomes a pivotal piece on the board. Her presence forces Solas to confront his deepest regrets and failures. 
Mythal’s words, “I release you from my service,” remove the foundation of Solas’s guilt, representing the king’s passive yet decisive role in resolving the game. 
Mythal’s acknowledgment of their shared actions is akin to a king in the endgame supporting pawns or pieces, ensuring the board is balanced. 
Checkmate
Solas bends under the weight, crying and ultimately choosing to bind himself to the Veil instead of destroying it. This act is his capitulation, the equivalent of being unable to move and conceding the game.  
What Makes This Checkmate? 
Every option is countered.  Solas’s logical (Rook), emotional (Lavellan), and spiritual (Mythal) defenses are attacked simultaneously, there is no move forward.  
No Justification Left:
Rook forces Solas to consider whether his mission is for the greater good or a personal crusade. At the same time, Lavellan forces him to confront the people he has hurt, including herself. By offering forgiveness and saying, “You think you’ve gone too far to come back, but you’re wrong,” Lavellan removes one of Solas’s psychological defenses: the idea that he is irredeemable.
Finally, Solas’s primary justification for tearing down the Veil - honoring Mythal and correcting his perceived wrongs - collapses when Mythal accepts responsibility for their shared actions. (I still dislike her.) Mythal’s absolution leaves him nothing to cling to, with Rook and Lavellan having already disarmed his other justifications.
Solas’s decision to bind himself to the Veil signifies his surrender. His mission, his plan, and his agency to enact his original goal are all neutralized. The checkmate in this scenario isn’t about defeating Solas but stopping him from tearing down the Veil. It’s a victory of reason, emotion, and forgiveness over self-destruction. Just as in chess, where the king cannot escape the final threat, Solas cannot escape the truth of his actions or the intervention of those who care for him. This shifts him into a new, redemptive path, concluding the game. 
It also reinforces my belief that it takes a village to change Solas's path. Not one person can do it.
How This Post Came Together 
I don’t play chess - but my brother does. He’s loved chess since he was a kid, and as a fellow gamer, he was more than happy to help when I asked him to combine his love of chess with Dragon Age. It was the perfect mix of his two favorite things. He’s also played Veilguard (his Inquisitor was friends with Solas in Inquisition), so he was already familiar with the story and characters. 
I peppered him with questions: “What does each piece do? What does each piece represent?” "How would you analyze this frame in this scene through chess?" We watched the Veilguard ending multiple times, analyzing each character’s role and how it could align with chess.  
After countless back-and-forths, drafting, revising, and refining, this post finally came together.  
Thank you Teddy! 
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qwimblenorrisstan · 2 days ago
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(new chapters might come later than usual bc my friend went missing and I’m trying to find them, but I hope you guys enjoy this own! i tried switching it up and giving a few different perspectives, and there’s also a lot of seemingly hypocritical and paradoxical emotions, but this isn’t just me forgetting what I made my characters feel earlier, I just think they’d have a large mix and range of feelings)
(edit: my missing friend was found, don’t have any more details but I know they’re safe at least)
tw: panic attack?, zoning out, jealousy, almost distressing, mentions of abuse, tomato soup (ew), more abuse, just a bit of comfort (not rlly tho)
“Where’s—“
“Hush.”
Ghost’s words were quickly cut off with Price’s finger to his lips as he stood outside the door, your door, looking through the thin mesh wired window that proceed the tiniest glance in.
Simon had been looking for Johnny since morning. Soap wasn’t bound to his bed anymore, but that didn’t mean he needed to be all up and about. He was still technically at risk for PTSD episodes, panic attacks, confusion, hell, even the thought of him having to go through that alone was enough to make Ghost nervous.
But curiosity struck him like a train when he saw Price staring so intently through that window. All he expected was you laying there, hiding, still affected by the strange mental state you were in.
However, as he moved closer, he caught the tiniest whiff of it through the door. Underneath Price’s scent, a bittersweet mix of jealousy and guilt, was Johnny’s. In that room.
And Simon should’ve felt happy for the way Johnny’s scent had lost that bitter edge that seemed to have been there since the beginning of his recovery, but all he felt was something building up in his chest, something he thought had left a long, long time ago. Price moved out of the way, a glint of emotion in his eyes as he went to walk down the hallway, his posture stiff and tense.
He looked through the window, the dimly lit room showing Johnny and their alpha curled up on the floor. Simon’s first thought was that Johnny shouldn’t have been on the floor like that, that he might rip a stitch, that he could get cold and that protective urge to provide and keep him safe and warm. An urge, an instinct he’d smothered years ago, had tortured out of him in an abandoned warehouse somewhere in Ukraine years ago.
You were nearly shivering, just barely not because of Johnny, the weakness that was his strong instincts taking over and making him curl up around you in disregard for his own health.
Soap had always had the strongest instincts, never tried to smother them, never been ashamed of his urge to keep his team safe and care for them, make food for them, nest with them. Ghost had never understood it.
His father had been an insecure beta, always angry, always drinking to distract himself from how he felt displaced in society, with no instincts, heats, or ruts for himself. He’d resented his own nature, breaking apart the pack of the family, cruel punishment for any showing of instincts, spewing about how it was weakness.
Price had spent years undoing that ideology, countless gifts, courting for years, and it still lingered.
Feeling an anger terrifyingly similar to what he’d always imagined his father must’ve felt build in his chest, he went to walk off. Johnny would be fine. You would be fine. It wasn’t like he cared. He didn’t want to court you, didn’t want you in their nest. Sure, he felt a bit bad, you’d gotten into this whole state because of him, but the others would handle all the emotional instinctual bullshit.
They always did.
~
John’s eyes skimmed over the paperwork on his desk, trying not to notice the voice in the back of his mind, his omega whispering to him.
“It’s going to fall apart.”
No, it wouldn’t. Their pack had been established for years now, long before you’d ever arrived. One single incident surely wasn’t enough to make it fall apart, even if he felt the bonds fraying more every day, with every cold night spent in his office while the others were in the nest.
Except Johnny.
Poisonous, intoxicating words slipped from the back of his mind and slowly moved to the forefront as he got more distracted from his paperwork, from reality. Words blurred as he closed his eyes, sighing while he rubbed them.
“Your fault.”
It whispered.
It wasn’t his fault, was it? He’d let the alpha into their pack, tried telling his men everything would be fine, despite his own doubts. Maybe they’d noticed the cracks in his usual confidence on decisions and slipped into them. Maybe he had failed them.
God knows he’d definitely failed you.
“Shut it,”
He muttered under his breath, hand coming to rest on his forehead, his arm braced against his desk.
They didn’t shut it. His omega refused to shut it, bullying its way to the forefront of his mind, sowing insecurities everywhere it could.
He could’ve done better. Done more to keep you comfortable, keep you satisfied and content, invited you to the nest, welcomed you to the pack. But he’d chosen to be bitter and think more about Soap’s absence than your presence, living in the past, and the version of the future he’d wanted.
He had failed you as an omega. He had been the leader of the pack; leading everyone else to reject you as well, influencing their decisions and feelings, even if indirectly.
Your condition was his fault.
Now his entire team had to bear the consequences of his actions.
He wasn’t cut out to be a leader.
Maybe he should just—
“John?”
His eyes jolted back open, back to his office as his omega reluctantly retreated with a hiss, leaving him reeling as he tried to pull himself together.
Laswell opened the door up, giving him a questioning look and holding files in her hand, her MacBook in the other.
“Ah, Laswell. What is it?”
He asked, rubbing his hand over his face, knowing there was probably a red mark on his forehead from the pressure his hand had had on it for so long. His arm was a bit red from being pressed against the desk for long.
He glanced to the clock.
Twenty minutes had passed.
“I knocked about 3 times,”
She said with a raised eyebrow, moving to sit on the chair in front of his desk. He sighed, trying to think of some excuse as he blinked away the welling of emotion in his eyes.
“Just…distracted, is all.”
She let out a hum, not seeming surprised. She set the folders down, sliding them across the desk to him.
“There’s the background info you asked for. Their files were hard to pull, but we got them.”
He gleaned over most of it, name, age, weight, gender, scores and health test results, until he got to the section of conditions.
Most of it was blacked out with what he could smell being a sharpie, probably recently considering how strong it was. Whoever had given these to Laswell hadn’t wanted them to know a few things, probably assuming Price would discharge them if he saw anything wrong.
History of Abuse — caution around domineering omegas*
Was written in a sloppy handwriting Price could hardly read. The history of abuse didn’t surprise Price, it probably wouldn’t with anyone else in the pack. But why send you to them, then? A pack of 4 very dominant omegas. It was a paradox in and of itself.
Shock Therapy? — ask Kames*
That was more of a surprise. Shock therapy was outdated, and he wasn’t sure whether it was implying that you’d gone through it in the past, or that it was a potential treatment plan. Who was Kames?
Scent gland — looks scarred, ask Kames about that too (no scent=good?)
He’d noticed it in the beginning. Your fucked up scent gland. Simon had a similar one, making his scent hardly even noticeable. Probably the reason why when you’d asked how he covered the gunpowder in his scent, he’d yanked you down, either offended or annoyed, trying to make you realize he didn’t have a scent.
Originally, Price had assumed it was the gunpowder or Simon’s faint omega scent that had set you off, but with a bit more information, he realized it might’ve been the motion of the action.
A forceful scenting.
And if you’d been a victim of abuse, then it could have been quite the reminder.
He let out a hefty sigh, glancing up at Laswell, knowing he’d have to tell his boys about this and that they wouldn’t be happy.
~
“They fuckin’ what?”
As expected, they weren’t happy. Ghost was sitting silently, brooding per usual. Soap was cursing everything to ever exist. And Gaz had this feral look in his eye. Of course they all hated the thought of an alpha being abused, but it was personal for Gaz, given he had Alpha sisters. He had an almost direct view into how messed up the system was. How cruel it was towards alpha’s.
“Give me a name an’ I’ll focken—“
“This is all we know right now. All we can do is focus on rehabilitating them.”
Gaz had remained silent, anger brewing in his gut into a nasty, bitter stew that would consume him if he continued letting his emotions add more ingredients to the pot.
He took a deep breath.
And he didn’t let it go, no, he would find the bastard that did this to you, but he would keep calm for now. Being angry wouldn’t make anything better.
“I’ll go get them some food.”
He said quietly, getting up from his chair, pushing it in, trying to relax his tense muscles as he walked to the canteen, passing fellow soldiers, giving the proper hello’s, nods, and salutes if he had to.
It seemed like a blur as he entered the large lunchroom, walking to the chef and asking for a bowl of soup, whatever they had on hand. He wasn’t exactly sure what you liked; but since you didn’t seem to be in a talking mood he’d figure it out through trial and error.
It was only his second day of doing this, but it was the thought that counted.
The chef passed him a bowl of what looked to be some sort of creamy tomato soup, and after sticking his finger in, he decided it was warm enough and nodded his thanks before walking to your room.
He knocked quietly first, not wanting to startle you, before opening the door up just barely enough for him to squeeze in.
Ever since Soap had spent a night cuddling with you, you’d at least moved from under the bed to the floor on top of a mattress and some blankets. Better than nothing, in his eyes.
Your eyes were on him as soon as he entered the room, he could tell despite his eyes not having adjusted to the darkness yet.
“I brought you food, thought you might be hungry.”
He tried speaking in a soothing tone, or at least one that hookups in the past had said was soothing. Kyle approached you cautiously like one might a wild animal, sitting on the outside of your ‘nest’ which you’d made to mimic an omega’s.
His heart ached.
Truly, he wanted to ditch any personal space and grab you, hold you and coo to you for hours, keep you from being distressed, but he knew that would throw away any progress he’d made.
Setting the tomato soup bowl on the edge of the mattress, he watched as you glanced at it, then didn’t seem interested, only sitting up the tiniest bit with your back against the now mattress-less frame of your bed.
“You need to eat, look, it’s good.”
He said, taking his own spoonful and eating a bit, trying not to cringe. Kyle had always hated tomato soup, even his own mother’s recipe hadn’t tasted like anything more than mushy baby food to him, but you had to eat. Being as tall and muscular as you were, if you didn’t get at least one meal a day could very well starve.
Your narrowed eyes pinned him down as he took another spoonful of the soup and offered it to you, holding the spoon to your mouth.
For a moment, Kyle thought you might slap it away or just throw the bowl at him. He wouldn’t protest if you did.
But instead, you opened your mouth, taking a bite of the soup. He saw the cringe in your eyes, as well, when you tasted it, but you swallowed despite it. He’d fall out of a helicopter ten times over just to see you eating after so much protest and refusal yesterday.
As he lifted the spoon again, and you took another bite, he got the feeling that you weren’t doing this because you wanted to, simply for the fact that every instinct in your body told you to keep your omega happy, even in spite of your own feelings.
And Gaz didn’t know if that was good or bad.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
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grandline-fics · 1 day ago
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Hi, I‘m new to all of this and not entirely sure about whom all you write, but may I ask for the „reunion kiss“ with X Drake and whoever else you want?
DESCRIPTION: Prompt: Reunion Kiss
WARNINGS: none
CHARACTERS: X Drake, Benn Beckman
WORDS: 1,332
A/N: Thank you for the request! This is my first time writing for X Drake and Benn Beckman so I hope this is to everyone's writing. I decided to add Benn to this prompt since he's been someone a lot of people have mentioned in the past of wanting to see.
*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*
DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST
———————
X DRAKE
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It wasn't often that Drake could venture to familiar waters for anything outside of maintaining his pirate facade while also conducting his actual missions as SWORD’s Captain. Between the double life filled with his life being threatened on both sides, rival pirates and motivated Marines, chasing his bounty Drake sometimes felt like he was never at peace and was constantly waiting for the next attack to come. There was one place he could truly breathe easy, and as the island slowly came into view Drake could already feel some of the tension in his body release. It wouldn’t be long now. 
He was strict in his duties and had no hesitations in the life he led, knowing that he was doing the right thing in the long run. Drake wouldn’t lie, it was hard at times by being so far away from you and for so long. He called you when he could and only when he knew no-one was listening but he refused to call you as often as he would have liked. Even with the assurances that the channel was secure he still couldn’t justify it. He didn’t want to risk it, not when all it would take would be one slip up. No, to keep you as safe as possible he had to be strong and only called you in emergencies or once every few weeks in-between getting to see you in person. 
From leaving the ship to walking through the quiet, sleeping village as the sun was slowly beginning to rise behind him Drake’s steps were purposeful and only increased the more your home came into view. A small smile tugged at his lips and he pulled out his own copy of of the key and unlocked the front door, taking a step inside. Drake’s plan had been to be quiet so he didn’t wake you but he froze in place when the door shut behind him and the cold edge of steel was laid against his throat in a clear warning to make no further movements. “You made a mistake coming here pirate…”
“Hello to you too.” Drake greeted smoothly, following the length of the blade until his gaze settled on your face. A small but warm smile began to grow when he took in your playful stare and soft smile. Had you really wanted to attack he wouldn't have made it within a foot of your house. To have let him enter first before surprising him meant you knew for certain he’d be arriving. Lightly he raised his hand to casually push the sword away from his neck so he could turn towards you. “So who blabbed that I was coming?”
“Who do you think?” You asked, lowering your sword to return it to his sheath and let it settle against the wall. Drake could only slowly shake his head in amusement, knowing it was without a doubt Koby that gave you some sort of heads up he’d be coming home. Now no longer distracted by your less than conventional greeting it finally dawned on him that he was home and you were so close but no close enough for his liking. Reaching out Drake’s arms encircled you and pulled you close. Wasting no more time, Drake pressed his lips against yours relishing in the soft and slow response that came instantly. 
Your arms wrapped around the back of Drake’s neck and you deepened the kiss, both of you using this moment to pour out your love for the other in a way that words wouldn’t be able fully convey. You pulled back and lightly cupped Drake’s face, unable to stop the smile now permanently on your face. Until he had to go again you were both going to savour every moment until you had to say goodbye again. 
BECKMAN
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If Beckman was excited to be docking at the familiar island in Shanks’ territory, he wasn’t outwardly showing it. Shanks only watched his second-in-command with a knowing smirk as Beck sat at the table on the deck of the Red Force, completely relaxed and doing routine maintenance on his rifle. As always the first mate just went with the flow of Shanks’ whims and decisions whether they were completely planned out or just thought of in a spur of the moment strike of inspiration. His current decision though he would have at least thought Benn would have made some sort of comment about or cast a glance at the waters to check how far away they were. Shanks smirked and sat back in his own seat, knowing he couldn't be laidback or cool, calm, and collected forever. 
“So who’s staying on board tonight?” Hongo asked casually as the island drew closer. The ship’s doctor cast a suspicious glance at Benn who still remained relaxed, leaning by the railing and smoking idly. Everyone on board was all but itching to tease the first mate but he infuriatingly wasn’t giving them anything to go on yet. Benn however failed to see why they were acting like this, every single time they did this and every single time he didn’t change. He shifted his stance and held back his smirk when everyone on board sharpened their gaze on him, only to deflate when he simply blew out a small stream of smoke. Finally Shanks spoke up, knowing no one on board wanted to miss the fun. “We’ll be fine. So let’s all enjoy tonight, yeah?”
The welcome to the island town was as loud and warm as expected being one of Shanks’ oldest islands under his protection. Benn smiled politely to the civilians calling out greetings and walked with Shanks to the crew’s favourite bar in need of a place to unwind and recuperate from the long journey. Benn felt Shanks clap his shoulder, his excitement palpable and he glanced to see the red haired man grinning at him. “Looking forward to it?”
“Looking forward to getting a drink.” Benn answered, his lips twitching in an amused smile when Shanks scowled at him.
“We had drinks on the ship. If that’s all you wanted then you could have stayed there or not bothered stopping on the island in the first place.”
“Well we can go back if you want Captain, you’re in charge.”
“What? No way!” Shanks dismissed dramatically. “Honestly, you’re so ungrateful. Anyone else would be racing to the bar if they knew someone like that was going to be there.”
The doors to the bar swung open and the patrons shouted out a chorus of greetings and cheers at the arrival of the Red Haired Pirates, their drinks raised in the air in a toast to their protectors. Benn’s eyes went straight to the bar and a lazy smirk appeared when you came into view. There you were sitting on a barstool, arm lazily draped behind you to rest on the bar and a drink in hand while meeting his stare evenly. You bit back the urge to laugh as Shanks managed to get to you first, his arm falling over your shoulder as he leant in to kiss your cheek in greeting just to mess with Beckman. 
Swiftly you intercepted his playful advance by letting his lips connect with your mug of beer that he took with no further prompting. At the same time Benn’s arms were on you, pulling you from Shanks’ touch and into his own. One arm wrapped around your waist and the other supported your back as he twisted you into a slight dip. Grinning you accepted his kiss with equal eager intensity, both of you ignoring the whooping and whistles of his crew. Breaking apart you playfully smiled while Benn rolled his eyes at the crew’s antics. “You love them really.”
“No, I tolerate them.” Benn corrected lightly, pressing another kiss against your cheek as he straightened you but kept you securely in his arms. “But I love you a whole lot more to endure their teasing.”
——————————————-
TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa, @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya ,  @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @its-a-dam-blue-brick , @thulhu , @appalost
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elsilverwind · 1 day ago
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I gauren-fucking-tee you that the characters in the story know which among them have the lowest HP and the highest Lockpick skill. It's the Elf. The characters probably wouldn't phrase it that way unless they're fucking nerds, but they'll see the scrawny treesinger with the shifty eyes and have a couple racist thoughts.
Also I think the players deserve to have knowledge of probability and how to manipulate it. At the end of the day it is a game and there is joyous skill expression to be had in making your success as likely as possible. Also unless the DM rolls all attack rolls in secret, the players will eventually connect that rolling a 7 result in no damage but an 8 prompts the DM to ask you to roll damage means you probably need at least an 8 to hit the enemy.
Besides the fact that it's really stupid, the issue with the conflation of system mastery and metagaming in [modern D&D centric] RPG discussions is that it effectively generates a mode of play that's. Not fun to engage with as a game.
GM starts a new campaign with the other players creating a fresh batch of characters. The players have been taught that expressing too much knowledge about the game as a system is metagaming and bad and they should avoid it, but because it's impossible to know what is reasonable for a bunch of starting characters to know it's easy to overcorrect. The GM also knows they shouldn't expect the players to express too much system mastery so there is effectively a gentleman's agreement that wherever the player characters stumble into blindly (because they can't be expected to make informed decisions about which challenges to pursue because thinking about what the situation presented to them via the logic of the system would be metagaming) they will be challenged but not too challenged.
This leaves very little room for player characters accidentally stumbling into a situation where they misjudged the danger present or meaningfully learning from their mistakes. Because a lethal mistake means that a player loses a character. Is the player allowed to utilize the knowledge they gained from the loss of that character with their next character? Apparently not.
Anyway so that sucks.
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shewolfofvilnius · 3 days ago
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Making Ser Jory's kid Rook is the best OC I've ever made
(If you've seen me post relentlessly about her on bluesky or reddit no you haven't)
If you've EVER played Dragon Age: Origins, one of the most memorable moments takes place early in the game. Your character has just traveled to Ostagar, where you'll formally join the Grey Wardens. You meet two recruits, one is the rogueish cutpurse Daveth, while the other is the former knight Ser Jory, formerly of Redcliffe and now of Highever (remember that bit.)
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Jory is responsible for the first major tone shift of the entire franchise, when the previously affable Duncan, billed in all six origins as an at least moderately heroic type, pulls out his blade and kills Ser Jory when the knight refuses to drink Darkspawn blood (seems sensible), having either been misinformed or otherwise woefully naive about what being a Warden means.
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The entire thing is grim - and your player character can even tell Alistair and Duncan how fucked up that was after the fact. Most importantly for THIS story, however, is something that Jory mentions twice including right before he dies: He has a wife back in Highever, who is due to have a baby.
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Highever. The same Highever that gets raided and sacked during the Human Noble origin by Arl Howe's forces. The same Highever that sees every family member of literally anyone even vaguely connected to Teyrn Cousland either killed or worse.
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But presumably, there were at least some survivors, folks who were able to flee. Even in canon world states where they don't join the Wardens, both the younger Cousland sibling and their mother Eleanor cut a pretty wide swathe of damage through the castle before being overwhelmed. The carnage almost assuredly let people flee, we see it in the human noble origin!
Maybe, just maybe, one of those people...was Jory's wife Helena. Who winds up fleeing Highever aboard a cargo ship headed for Tevinter. A cargo ship that winds up getting run aground and attacked near the battlefields Ventus by the Qunari, right as Helena is due to give birth. Worth noting: Thie last part of that is not even fanciful headcanon, it's Shadow Dragon Rook's canonical biography. They mention it to Tarquin before the Act 1 Choice.
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and by the time of game events, a certain Legatus Mercar is ready to talk with Maevaris, Dorian, and the Shadow Dragons and has begun expressing equalist sentiments, at least privately? How would they know what Legatus Mercar thinks privately? Well, in a Shadow Dragon run, for one thing because his child is standing right next to them.
Having Rook be Rory and Helena's kid, though, opens up so much storytelling potential. Like the time Rook refuses to go along with the commanding First Warden (also from Rivain like Duncan)'s orders and nearly draws her own weapon on him:
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Seem familiar?
Now imagine a bit later, when Morrigan meets her and immediately realizes there's something haunting familiar about this woman leading the attack against the gods. She even reflexively questions Rook's intelligence for a moment.
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Later still, at Weisshaupt, when Rook - in this case now already armed with the knowledge that there was a Warden at Ostagar who she looks uncannily like - finds the chalice, finds records from the Fifth Blight while they're escaping to the dragon trap through the library.
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drama.
It's been such a fantastic story so far and I'm only at Act 2. There's even an inversion of Flemeth's "sadly irrelevant in the larger scheme of things" line with Morrigan as she reveals the Mythal fragment in the Crossroads. Framed with a shot of a building that has a vague resemblence to the Tower of Ishal in the background with more swamp-like elements in the Crossroads.
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At the same time, growing up as a girl in Tevinter has meant multiple stark differences between her and her father. She's a Shadow Dragon, so clearly she's invested in the liberation of slaves and servants. She's interested in equality, and although human, has likely experienced at least two forms of prejudice herself (being a non-Mage in Tevinter, and yes, being a she from a Tevinter military family when we know the Tevinter military has a long history of excluding or diminishing women). While her biological father is noted for having rather...sheltered and inhibited beliefs on the capabilities and stations of elves, dwarves, and yes, women - there's none of that with her.
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...to the point that in her world state, she's CLEARLY in love with an elf. And while Jory ran off to chase glory and danger with the Wardens leaving Helena behind, when trouble comes for Bellara, she squares up and stands to protect her - even when that trouble is Bellara's own brother (and the ancient elven wannabe-god manipulating him)
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but ultimately, the apple didn't fall entirely away from the tree.
Listen to the thing about Helena that Jory says hooked him in:
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and who is Rook smitten with?
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You know good and damn well Rook melts into a puddle every single time Bellara looks at her. Her vallaslin is literally designed to accentuate her eyes. Rook might be Mercar's daughter, but in at least one specific way, she is definitely Jory's kid.
Anyway, I just think my OC's neat and felt like yapping about her on here.
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sombrathedragon · 2 days ago
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Soooooo I wanted to do a DTIYS for my birthday (which is in 3 days btw !! :D) but I’m too impatient to wait so you guys are getting it now !!! :D and I’m at THREE HUNDRED FOLLOWERS ?? Tysm guys !!! :D
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Wrath. Sing, O Animus of the wrath of Kestrel’s daughter Peril. Murderous, doomed who cost the Skywings countless lives, hurdling up to be reborn, so many sturdy souls.
[plain text: Wrath. Sing, O Animus of the wrath of Kestrel’s daughter Peril. Murderous, doomed who cost the Skywings countless lives, hurling up to be reborn, so many sturdy souls.]
more info about dtiys under cut !!
Sooo I was trying to think of what to do for my dtiys, as I wanted to combine my 2 top interests (Wof and Greek mythology), and technically I have to thank @mythos321 for speaking about the idea of a Wof x Iliad AU in the first place lol (I have not stopped thinking about it) Sooo tada !! You guys get Peril as Achilles and Clay as Patroclus :3 (technically cause that’s the vibe I was going for here)
RULES:
I would like for you to use my Peril design :] but for Clay I don’t mind what design to use for him :D
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You can relatively change perils pose! But I would like it if you kept it at a side angle like I have it :] but she can be like attacking someone, flying down, or just like I have her, just make her distraught! >:D also keep Clay grabbing onto her :3
The due date will be June 1st, but if you need an extension feel free to ask me for one !! :3
If you have questions, I don’t bite :3 (but feel free to ask me any !!)
use the tag #sombradtiys2025
NO AI OR TRACING ALOUD.
any level of artist welcome !!
PRIZES:
1st place: Fully shaded and colored drawing of oc/Wof character
2nd place: Fully colored drawing of oc/Wof character
3rd place: Sketch/doodles of any oc/Wof character
Have fun !!! :3
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flutterbyoz · 1 day ago
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It always surprises me, or maybe it doesn't given what the general TWD fandom can be like, that people are using the fact that The Ones Who Live is a love story as a reason to criticise the show.
The fact it is a love story was never hidden, it was never a secret or kept as a surprise, it's what the show was repeatedly promoted and advertised as. Andy, Danai and Scott never misled anyone into thinking it was going to be anything else, they were quite clear and pointed out that TOWL would be a love story every chance they got. So if someone saw any of the promo, interviews etc whether online or on TV and were going into this show expecting something else then I don't really know what to say other than they probably should have paid more attention.
The show was not aimed at or made for people who hate Richonne. I get that not everyone is a Richonne fan, to each their own for the most part, but when you watch their spin off, what else are you expecting other than a love story? Especially with Andy and Danai at the helm, it seems some people really don't understand the characters at all.
I know some people tuned in just to see what happened to Rick and that's great, the show isn't solely for Richonners but if the love story with his wife and love of his life annoys you so much that you can't continue watching your fave in their spin off and the feel the need to announce that you quit half way through then not only do I have to wonder why you hate their relationship so much but also say that you're purposefully ignoring a huge part of who Rick is and why he does what he does. I don't think you can fully understand and know Rick without his relationship with Michonne and how his love for her and hers for him shapes him into the man he is today. Without Michonne, Rick is a shell of himself, she is his entire world, she and their kids are his reason for everything so you're not going to get a Rick story without Michonne, because without Michonne there isn't really a Rick.
Had this been Rick and Daryl instead of Rick and Michonne, had they been the ones with the emotional scenes I can pretty much guarantee a large majority of the people who complained about Rick and Michonne would have no problem with Rick and Daryl. It's what a lot of them have been calling for since Rick was taken not to mention the people who are bitter that Richonne gets everything they have wanted for their ship for years.
Attacking a show because it is what it was promoted as and did exactly what it set out to do is more than a little bizarre to me but I suppose it's just another way to criticise and disregard Rick and Michonne's relationship and diminish Michonne's importance.
I know, if we see Richonne again, it's going to be another love story and those who complained before will most likely complain again but only one spin off has been the most successful, a hit for the franchise and for AMC, included on numerous best of lists, gained Emmy buzz, received overwhelmingly positive reviews from critics and fans alike, has multiple Saturn award nominations and given this franchise a new lease of life. I find it strange to watch a show knowing full well you're only doing so to find something to complain about and though those viewers are just a small percentage of TOWLs overall viewers they did the exact opposite of what they wanted to do. Instead of bringing the show down they're just raising it up even higher!
Nothing will stop this ship, everyone wants a piece of them, they draw everyone in even those who say they don't care or even like them together and that's the power or Richonne!
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silvashapeshifter · 3 days ago
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what the fuck, @anticringeassociation. just what, the, fuck. i scrolled a bit on your blog, and all you reblog are just people minding their business, do art because they enjoy it, roleplaying, etc.... and you're offended by that ? so what, you feel like you're worth something by destroying the self-confidence of people who didn't ask for anything. you need to bring other down to feel good ? that's called being an asshole, by the way, and shows how much you're insecure to feel the need to shit on others to validate yourself.
i was already annoyed by this. your name sounds like a far-right pro-Trump pile of shit and according to your childish and hateful behaviour that's probably the case, but anyway that's not the subject.
but i got even more annoyed when i saw that you also attacked people i admire ? who does nothing wrong, just headcanoning about one of their favourite characters ?? (cool headcanons btw @howlsofbloodhounds.)
you don't deserve to have a voice here.
and i know well you won't even bother to read this all, or if you do, to even question your own behaviour. you will just call me names, even harass me in return, but please, don't bother, because i'll block you right now.
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Okay..so first off art by superyoumna.
I also saw someone once hc Color with chromesthesia, but I could not for the life of me find a flag for that on Google. (All the flags mostly found on Google. May or may not actually be the meaning for the flags.)
Okay so starting from the very top left:
1. Genderfluid.
2. ‘He/they’ pronouns.
3. Gay.
4. Asexual.
Down below the MLM flag, the yellow dots, is:
5. Visually impaired/blind. (Cause of his one eye.)
6. BPD/Borderline Personality Disorder.
The one right besides the BPD flag is:
7. Disability Pride flag. It’s for all disabilities i think, but in this case i put here for that and also for being physically disabled. (Scar, cracked skull, cracked arm, fragile body, chronic pain and fatigue, one eye.)
Right below that and BPD is:
8. PTSD/C-PTSD. Self explanatory.
Right beside those three is:
9. Dragonkin.
10. Autism Spectrum Disorder, right above it.
Right beside the Dragonkin flag is:
11. Maladaptive Daydreaming.
12. Narcolepsy. (The one with the circle.)
Right above the one with the circle is:
13. Chronic migraines.
In the far right corner, from bottom to top, is:
14. General plural pride flag.
15. P-DID system pride flag.
And finally,
16. Psychegenic System Pride Flag.
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