#dancing detective mysteries | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sanakiras · 5 months ago

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LIAR, LIAR!

PAIRING — kim mingyu x fem!reader

❝ AND THE DANCE FLOOR IS FILLING UP WITH BLOOD, BUT OH LORD, YOU’VE NEVER BEEN SO IN LOVE! ❞

WORD COUNT — 17k

SYNOPSIS — in a dramatic turn of events, a rich businessman is found dead in his lavish estate, and the authorities believe it was no accident. as the detectives dig deeper, they ultimately end up with two key suspects: you, the businessman’s very own daughter, and your sworn enemy, kim mingyu. as the time progresses, tensions rise and secrets spill — and the truth has the power to either bring you closer together or tear you apart.

TAGS — murder mystery, rich rivals to partners in crime to lovers, whole lotta plot, explicit sexual content, somewhat graphic depictions of death, everyone and everything is dysfunctional™, mentions of suicide, unrealistic circumstances, moral compass is nowhere to be found, angst, medium long hair!gyu bc self-indulgence, tsundere-ish reader again guys sorry i love her so bad, mentions of parental neglect, this ended up so long help

♪ verydeadly - wolves (kanye west cover),, low - dancing and blood,, vessel - red sex,, florence + the machine - mermaids,, zayn - bordersz,, mikky ekko - who are you, really?,, q - alone,, danna paola - tenemos que hablar,, blue foundation - eyes on fire (4 ave version),, summer camp - i want you

NOTE — one of my favorite episodes of going seventeen remains bad clue 2020, i loved mingyu’s role in it and i could totally see him portraying darker/morally grey characters and rock tf out of it so. i wrote this solely based on that idea. the music recs above are also really nice to get into the vibe! enjoyyyy :D

[ ONE ] ✧˚ · .⋆ ★ [ JUMP TO PART TWO ]

i. ASK ME THE TRUTH AND I’LL TELL YOU A LIE

the interrogation room is unnecessarily bright, the noise of the water dispenser in the corner and the flickering led light above you running through your ears. the chair you’re seated on is uncomfortable, though it’s nothing compared to the tension you feel as the man in front of you treats you like you’re guilty of something.

“on september 2nd, around six o’clock, your father reportedly got unwell, so he left his office early, choosing to do the rest of his paperwork at home. according to the information we got from the gps tracker in his car, he went straight home, took no detours. he arrived at your family estate thirty minutes later. then at eight o’clock, the police receives a call from you, saying your father hung himself.”

you stare at the the inspector — whose name you did not bother remembering — before waving with your hand. “i’m aware. i’ve heard the recap of events many times at this point. this isn’t the first time i’m being interrogated, surprisingly enough.”

with a puzzled look, he raises his brow at you. “you don’t think you should be a suspect?”

“no, i don’t.”

“at the time of the incident, you were home, as well as two members of the staff. since the staff were on their dinner break and you were apparently in your room, it’s hard to say what exactly happened, since there were no witnesses.”

“do you mind me asking why you think it’s murder and not just a suicide?”

he’s intrigued by the way you discuss the topic so casually. “your father was an important man. wouldn’t you want to know who killed him if that were the case?”

“sure. i’d thank them.” you smile at him, the hatred for your father shining through. “believe me, inspector — my father was a miserable man who surrounded himself with miserable people. i wasn’t there by choice.”

“did he treat you badly, then?” he continues, trying to pry any information out of you.

all you can do is sigh. “i was his daughter in blood and name only. nothing more.”

with your demeanor softening into something sadder, the inspector’s tone changes into something different. “aside from you, and the staff, of course, we do have another suspect who we think could have something to do with your father’s death.”

that sparks your interest. “who?”

the inspector grabs his small pile of documents to pull a printed photo out of it, putting it before you. you visibly frown, because the person on the photo is someone you’re unfortunately awfully familiar with.

“kim mingyu is a suspect? seriously?” you ask, completely in shock. ironically, he’s the last person you’d suspect in a scenario like the one you currently find yourself in.

“what can you tell me about him?”

leaning back in your chair, you list a few things. “he’s a year younger than me. we went to the same high school, same university, have some of the same friends. though all of that is relatively common in our social circle.”

“anything else?”

keeping the insults to yourself for now, you press your lips together. “our parents are good friends. well, were, now that my father’s gone. mingyu and i hate eachother to the bone, though.”

“any particular reason why?”

“i’m not sure where it started… there’s just something off about him. it’s always been there. he’s—beyond arrogant. always showing off his looks, his wealth, his charm, his intelligence. everything. he insults me, i insult him. we simply don’t get along, never have. nothing you haven’t seen before, i’m sure.”

the inspector raises his brow. “i think you may have left something out.”

“such as?”

his hand moves into the blue folder sitting on the table, taking another photo out of it, holding it up before you. “your father was often spotted with him. at events, business meetings — you name it. matter of fact, your father seemed to be accompanied by kim mingyu more than anyone else. which is interesting, considering you are his only child.”

your gaze turns sour, voice softer yet more hateful than before. “don’t tell me this is the reason i’m a suspect.”

“let’s just say it doesn’t make you look good.”

“you really believe i murdered my own father in cold blood because he cared more about kim mingyu than he ever did about me? that’s pathetic and ridiculous.”

“you wouldn’t be the first. it’s a plausible story.”

scoffing at the accusation, you shake your head. “we’re done here. the moment you have an actual lead, i’ll talk, but not like this. i’m still here grieving and you’re accusing me of being the culprit.” you get up in anger, taking your bag with you before slamming the door shut, not bothering to listen to what the man is trying to tell you to make you stay.

this whole shit-train started two weeks ago. your father was found dead in your childhood home, hung by a rope around his neck. instead of calling it a death by suicide, the police apparently have enough reason to suspect it was a homicide.

you’ve been questioned several times in the past few weeks, but there’s been a gradual shift in the behavior of the inspector and his handimen — they’re treating you like a suspect now.

which you are, for whatever reason. they have yet to come up with any actual evidence.

your contact in the police force mentioned to you that you’re not just any suspect — you’re one of the two main suspects.

and that is unsettling, especially when you discovered who else is.

as you go down the hall, you suddenly lock eyes with kim mingyu himself, who’s leaning against the wall with his hands in the pockets of his trousers. a few strands of hair hover by his cheeks, framing his strong features.

“what the fuck are you doing here?” you ask in a rather hostile manner, the scowl on your face deepening.

his lips part before he starts explaining. “they wanted to talk to me. again.”

“haven’t you heard the rumors, gyu?” you mockingly use the nickname, taking a step closer to him, “they’re saying there’s a possibility you killed him.”

your arch-nemesis looks back at you with a furrowed brow. “that’s ridiculous.”

“is it? you were always with him… it’s perhaps the only thing that makes sense in all of this.”

he seems offended you’d even insinuate something like that. “it’s really the other way around, though. you’re the one who hated him. i had nothing against the man.”

it’s true that you and your father didn’t exactly get along, especially the past few years, to put it lightly. you always considered him to be greedy, cold and unforgiving, and you certainly didn’t cry the moment they told you he had passed away.

“no, we all know how much you liked him,” you hardly make an effort to hide your disdain, “but they must not believe that, considering you’re just as much of a suspect as i am.”

he clenches his jaw. “i’m not guilty.”

“neither am i.” you state. like always, there’s a tangible coldness to your voice, which he finds soothing, for whatever reason.

it’s quiet for a moment as you’re both unsure of what to say next, a rarity between you.

a few years ago, your father mentioned you and mingyu could make a good pair.

you proceeded to laugh in his face.

mingyu is a constant reminder of what you could be, and that’s the last thing you need in your life.

“if i find out you’re somehow involved in this—”

instead of immediately refuting the statement, he narrows his eyes at you. “then what?”

you realize you need to be careful with your words here — you can’t throw around threats to kill people as the top suspect in a murder investigation. “i’ll make sure you pay for it. they might buy your little golden-boy act, but i sure as shit don’t. i never have.”

a smirk subtly tugs at his lips as he leans more down, eyes flicking lower before they meet yours again. “i’d be careful with my words if i were you,” he firmly tells you, his lashes fluttering, “there’s always someone watching.”

only now do you take notice of how close you’re standing to him, and you look behind you, seeing the inspector that just interrogated you observing you and mingyu from a distance.

so you push yourself away from him, giving him a last glare before walking away.

mingyu only moves from his spot once you’re gone from his field of view, greeting the inspector with a kind smile.

ii. THE HATRED WE BEAR

you find yourself staring at your father’s tombstone with a numb face and the wind breezing through your hair. your makeup is slightly smudged under your eyes from the tears you shed just an hour before, while you were giving the public a final speech regarding his passing.

the funeral was long — too long.

at a certain point, once the whole thing was done and everyone left, you decided to take a quiet moment for yourself in the graveyard to let everything sink in.

you made the mistake of thinking you’d left alone.

a voice you’re too familiar with speaks up behind you. “i’m sorry for your loss.”

of course it’s kim mingyu out of all people who’s still here, sneaking up on you.

you don’t have the energy to make a snarky comment this time. “i’d ask why you’re still here, but it’s a question i already know the answer to.”

he still offers you his answer. “i’m here to check up on you.”

well, that takes you by surprise. “why?”

“you lost the one parent you had left. i don’t want you to be alone.”

something about that sentence fuels a sudden anger in you. he’s got some fucking nerve, saying that to you. “maybe you should’ve considered that a couple years ago. you know, before you decided to become my dad’s little protege.”

even as a little girl, your bond with your father was a shitty one. your mother passed when you were young, so you barely have any memories left of her.

in an attempt to win his love and affection, you always did everything your father asked of you, yet your efforts were hardly acknowledged. you found him to be a harsh and cruel man, but surely with you being his daughter, his only child, he must’ve cared for you. or so you always told yourself.

something about your yearning for his approval and support changed for the worse when mingyu’s mother became a prominent business partner to your father, about nine years ago. it made him spend more time with the kim family, and you have no idea how or why it happened, but mingyu became like a son for him.

you saw how well your dad treated him, and you cried for a long, long time as you compared it to his neglect towards you. for every pat on mingyu’s back, you got scolded for not being good enough. whenever he got praised, you got discarded. it’s no miracle that you came to be the way that you are. detached, perceptive, appearing to be just as unfeeling as the man who raised you.

you hated your father. with all your heart.

but you grew to hate kim mingyu more.

so to hear him say that he doesn’t want you to be alone — that takes the goddamn cake.

he lowers his head at your words. “it wasn’t like that.”

“right. of course it wasn’t.” your voice is painfully spiteful.

“i wouldn’t have done it if i knew it was at your expense. i’m sorry.”

he’s trying to be nice to you, not understanding yet that it’s actually doing more damage, making you angrier. “the last thing i want is your fucking pity.”

“then what do you want?”

“nothing you can give me.” it’s a subtle final warning coming from you, because you’re actually about to explode at him. “just leave me be.”

“please, just... i wanna help you.”

like a ticking time bomb, you suddenly hit your limit. finally, you turn around, facing him, and it’s only then that he truly sees how upset you are, like a storm suddenly changing its direction, and he’s in the way.

“help me? you’d help me by getting the fuck out of my face. you wanna know what i want, mingyu? i want to know what in god’s name everyone loves so much about you, what it is that made my father shut me out completely and replace me with you. he gave you more love than he ever gave me. just looking at you makes me sick. what the fuck did he see in you that he didn’t see in me?” you ask, unable to stop yourself from pouring your emotions out to the guy in front of you. “why did he hate me so much? even in death, he favors you over me. he left you... everything. a final ‘fuck you’ to his own child. and for what? for you?”

the fact that you got word from your father’s lawyer that your father chose to leave everything he had to mingyu instead of you was like the straw that broke the camel’s back.

throughout your life, you always did what was expected of you. you were the perfect daughter.

and for what?

the fact that your father grew to hate you and love this asshole so much that he left you not a single penny to your name — that is your tipping point.

and mingyu just wordlessly allows you to continue ranting, almost as if he deserves it.

“what the fuck is so special about you, huh? because i don’t get it. sure, you’ve got a nice face and you’re a smart guy, but i don’t believe you actually give a shit about others. i bet you came here today to rub my dad’s inheritance in my face — you fucking pretentious douchebag.”

“i’m sorry. i never meant—” he stumbles, nearly falling over as he backs away while you keep stepping forward, feeling surprisingly small in front of you, in spite of his tall frame.

“i don’t give a shit if this is what you intended to happen or not! i’m all alone.” you show your sadness right between the anger and hostility, vulnerable in front of him. “no family like everyone else, no money, no house, nothing. abandoned by the one person i had left.”

he looks at you as if you’ve just slapped him across the face. he’s never even shown you a hint of vulnerability — nor have you for that matter — so why is he showing it now?

you’re too deep into your breakdown to think rationally about it. “you took literally everything that i had. and i’ll never forgive you for that.”

“please, let me—let me fix it.” he chokes out, as overwhelmed by your strong emotions as you are yourself.

the harshness of your words makes him feel like he’s crumbling in your presence. “talk to me like you care about me one more goddamn time, and i’ll make you regret ever meeting me in the first place.”

in all the years that you’ve known him, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him flinch — you doubt any of your words have ever hurt him.

until this moment, it seems. but why is he even hurt? you don’t care about him and he doesn’t care about you. it’s always been that way, and you have a hard time believing it’ll ever change.

the moment you walk away from him with a sharp pain in your chest, pushing him to the side by his shoulder, he’s left behind in a shocked and bewildered state, neither of you aware that a pair of curious eyes witnessed the whole exchange.

iii. ULTERIOR MOTIVES

“the full inheritance of your father has been transferred over to you.”

the cup of tea you were raising stills with your hand. your eyes narrow at your lawyer as you’re seated in the garden of your father’s estate. “what—how? why? it wasn’t passed down to me.”

“no, but the person it was passed down to can always make the decision to pass it on. and he did — surprisingly with no strings attached,” he tells you, putting the document from the notary in front of you, “i had it all double-checked. everything’s there, the documents signed by kim mingyu himself.”

just hearing the name makes you grimace, putting you off your tea. “and there’s absolutely nothing he wants from me?”

“nothing was mentioned, no. he did, however, leave you a note.”

“what does it say?”

your lawyer raises his brow as he reads it, handing it to you instead of reading it out loud, which makes you give him a puzzled look before casting your eyes downwards to the piece of paper.

tomorrow, 4:30, my apartment. all you have to do is sign the papers. i look forward to the day you’ll make me regret meeting you.

“that asshole.” you mutter to yourself, not loud enough for your lawyer to hear it, but he’s certainly got an idea of how you feel about the whole situation.

“you do, of course, always have the option to reject the inheritance, but i would highly recommend not to. frankly, in all of my years of experience in this field, i’ve never felt a bigger need to encourage a client to take a deal.”

once you’ve picked up the documents and skimmed over the words, you look back at him. “and if i did accept it, it wouldn’t contain any possible implications for me in the long term?”

“none. it is... fairly remarkable he’s willing to give you the full inheritance for nothing in return, even if he and his family are known for their wealth. but it wouldn’t be a significant loss for him, considering the capital he already has to his name.” the man explains, not needing to spell it out for you.

you put down your cup. “knowing him, i’m not so sure he doesn’t want anything. i suppose i’ll have to talk to him about it myself, tomorrow.”

your lawyer highly encourages you to do so, leaving you to spend the rest of the day wondering what he could possibly want from you.

and so the following day, at 4:30 sharp, you step into his apartment — penthouse is the more fitting term. you’ll admit, though, that he’s got style.

it’s dead silent in his place, save for the metronome in the background and the slow brew of his coffee machine. he’s wearing a white long-sleeved shirt with black trousers as he approaches you. “glad you could make it. coffee?”

“why are you willing to give me the inheritance?” you ask directly, not feeling up for the unnecessary chitchat. you’ve always hated small talk. “if it was just a set-up, i’m leaving.”

he doesn’t seem to be even the slightest bit surprised by your forwardness. “i’m willing to give it to you because a) i don’t need it, and b) i don’t want it. i think it’s ridiculous your dad set up his will like this.”

“well, that makes two of us.” you fake a polite smile, clearly very sarcastically, putting your hand on your hip. “you asked me to come sign the papers, but i have yet to see them.”

mingyu smiles a little at you. of course you’d skip straight to business — you never were a girl of many words. he walks over to a cupboard and takes a sealed folder with the documents out of a drawer, handing it to you.

when you attempt to take the folder from him, he swiftly retracts his hand like the asshole he is. “it’s not completely free, though.”

you pinch the bridge of your nose. “of course. i should’ve known better than to believe you were willing to do something out of the kindness of your own heart.”

he just keeps going as if he didn’t hear you, very much used to the little quips you throw at him by now. “don’t worry, i think you can manage this very small task for me.”

“just tell me what you want already—”

“my family’s hosting a gala next week, on friday. i’d like you to be my date.”

you’re baffled. this is what he wants in return for the inheritance worth millions of dollars? to have you on his arm for a single night?

oh, hell no. you’re not falling for it.

“why? you wanna publicly humiliate me or something?” you question, a deep frown settled in your forehead.

he huffs, annoyed that you’d think that low of him. “i know we’ve always hated eachother, but, maybe, during a hard time… it would be nice to have one relaxed night. and yeah, i wouldn’t mind doing that with a pretty girl to keep me company. what do you say? deal?”

not once in all the years you’ve known him has he ever called you pretty.

“fine. but don’t think about pulling any stunts.”

“wouldn’t dare.” his smile sits somewhere beween teasing and serious when he finally hands you the papers.

you sit down and briefly scan the documents, not signing them right away to have them checked by your lawyer first. “if everything in this is according to the plan, you’ll have them signed by tomorrow morning.”

“okay. see you friday.” he winks at you, escorting you to his front door, a subtle grin on his face that gives off the impression he’s planning something, and you can only imagine what it might be.

there is one good thing about having to spend time in his family home, though — and that’s to search his rooms to find anything that might implicate him having something to do with your father’s murder.

since there’s still a culprit to be named.

with your own agenda in mind, you walk out of his apartment, searching for the name of your stylist in your contacts.

you’re going to need a dress, after all.

iv. A PROPOSAL

with a stern look on your face, you look at the entrance of the gala from the tinted window of your car. it’s all bright lights and colorful decorations, candles, flowers — the kim family is well known for their luxurious and memorable parties. you’ve attended plenty of them. while you and mingyu may not get along, his sister and mother are genuine sweethearts, some of the kindest and most welcoming people you know.

if only you could say the same for the asshole you’re about to spend the evening with.

after checking your makeup in the pocket-sized mirror for a final time, your driver opens your door so you can step out of the car, which leaves you on your own in front of the stairs.

mingyu originally mentioned he wanted to pick you up at your home like the gentleman he very much claims to be, but you very quickly shut the idea down and told him you’d just meet him at his family’s mansion.

so here you are.

attending a gala only a month after your father’s funeral must seem like an… interesting choice, to say the least. the people you come across express their condolences and ask if you’re doing well — you wonder if the sentiment is real or not — and you tell them you’re here because it serves well as a distraction.

you’ve become an excellent liar over the years.

as you’re standing at the top of the stairs, leaning on the railing, you observe the people on the dance floor below. those who aren’t dancing are chattering, the noises of clinking glasses and laughter filling your ears.

most of the time, you’re able to somewhat enjoy this life. but the truth is that it can be as exhausting as it is glamorous.

but with your last living parent gone, you do feel a sense of freedom, even if it is lonely at times.

not like you didn’t feel lonely when he was still alive.

you didn’t love him or care for your father. you cared for the hope that someday he would change. that he would show you he did care for you, even a little bit.

but that day never came.

he was primarily an investor, so at least you haven’t been burdened with having to take over a business or anything like it. having no siblings either, you feel like you should take this opportunity to start fresh; focus on building your own career and use your father’s money for things he’d never approve of.

suddenly, you spot your date in the midst of the crowd, breaking you out of your train of thoughts. his half-long hair looks pretty on him, you have to admit, the few strands in front of his face paired with the tailored, navy suit giving him the appearance of a model.

he’s currently talking to an older woman who clearly seems to adore him, the smile he puts up making her give him a gentle, loving squeeze on his upper arms. like always, no one is able to read the bitterness you feel as your face remains neutral.

growing up in your restricted social circle of the country’s wealthiest families, your group of peers wasn’t extremely big. you all went to the same primary school, same private high school. mingyu was always one of if not the most popular kid at school. an effortless ace at every fucking thing. everyone loved him, be it your peers or their parents.

you wouldn’t say you weren’t popular. quite the opposite, actually. your best friend was the queen bee of the school, as she was always striving to be the best in everything. top of the class, highest achievements, a true perfectionist at heart. bold, definitely a bit judgemental and classist too, but once she’s your friend, she’s the sweetest girl in the world. she did like to dabble in some drama with others if it came onto her path.

and you were the opposite. you preferred to steer clear of any drama, much preferring to watch it unfold from the sidelines — as you usually just didn’t care enough to interfere with it — and you were never quite as talkative as your best friend.

the sentences leaving your mouth are always quick, direct, sharp and without stutter. you’re masterful at small talk, even though you hate it. you know how to play people like a fiddle. your father made you use your manipulation skills to good use rather frequently.

many consider you cold and calculated.

which is true, of course. but you still have a heart, even if it barely beats.

the outburst you gave mingyu after your father’s funeral must’ve come as a shock to him. no one has ever seen you in such a vulnerable and weak state, and out of all the people who could’ve seen it, it naturally had to be him — and that makes you uncomfortable.

once he’s finished his conversation, he looks in front of him, then up at the balcony — and he locks eyes with you.

you give him a look of acknowledgment, but that’s it. he doesn’t seem to mind, though, still shining as brightly as ever, making his way up the stairs as fast as he can. “i’m sorry i wasn’t at the entrance to greet you, i didn’t think you’d be here so soon.”

“it’s fine.”

he glances up and down, admiring the dress you chose. “you look gorgeous.”

the deeply dark green dress with its boat neckline, long and fitted sleeves and intricate gold embroidery makes you look elegant. with the dress itself already being quite the statement piece, you chose to pair it with dainty earrings, your hair half-up and curled.

“thank you.” you don’t bother saying anything about his appearance. he must be used to it at this point.

“can i get you something to drink?”

you test the waters by throwing in a joke. “what, planning on poisoning me?”

his eyes flicker for a moment, stricken by something you can’t quite place, which makes you blink at him. his flirtatious and charming self returns within a mere second, and he proceeds to snicker at your joke. “i could, but where’d be the fun in that?”

rolling your eyes at him, you take his arm once he’s offered it, keeping in mind you’re doing this for the inheritance.

the time goes by quicker than expected. he introduces you to some of the people he’s close with, tells you stories you’ve never heard before, even asks you about yours.

a few of his friends come by as well, surprised to see you by mingyu’s side. most people your age here know that you and him have never quite gotten along, to put it lightly.

when they subtly ask about it, mingyu tells them he insisted you came to distract yourself from the death of your father, and that you could probably use a party.

it raises more question marks as to what his motive is for asking you to be here tonight. what is he gaining from this? he hasn’t humiliated you yet. if anything, he’s only spoken of you highly, save for the little snark he keeps between the two of you.

it’s strange. really strange.

after a while, once all the guests have been drinking a bit, you decide to set your own plan in motion. this might be your only chance to snoop around here, as you doubt you’ll find yourself in here again anytime soon.

you’re literally invited in his home — you’d be a fool not to check his room.

unfortunately, just as you try to disappear from the crowd, mingyu extends his hand to you. “dance with me?”

just as you’re about to refuse him, you remember that this is the one night you have to be nice to him, all so he can give you the inheritance that was meant to be yours in the first place.

with a small sigh, you slide your hand in his, at which he grins triumphantly.

before you know it, you’re in the middle of the room together, and he has his one hand on your lower back, the other hand intertwined with yours. he’s smooth with his moves, you have to admit.

the question has already left your mouth when you process it. “why am i here? i’m sure there’s a reason i needed to be your date tonight.”

mingyu cocks his head at you. “i think you’ve had to endure a lot the past couple weeks. the incident, the interrogations, the press, the shit with the inheritance — i’m impressed you haven’t lost your mind yet.”

“how do you know i haven’t?” you ask, and he twirls you around, his hands feeling like they’re burning on your skin. “wasn’t my breakdown after the funeral enough to prove you otherwise?”

“well, looking back, i should’ve probably left you alone in that moment. but i did think about what you said, and you can correct me if i’m wrong, but i feel like your father and our ties to him were what made us hate eachother so much. now that he’s gone, maybe we can… i don’t know. tolerate one another.”

you make sure to hide your confusion from him. does he really not see it? sure, the main reason you’ve always despised mingyu was because of his relationship with your father, but you weren’t exactly best friends before that either.

even putting it like that would still make it the understatement of the year.

if he actually pictures the two of you becoming friends, though, he’s lost it.

unsure of what to tell him, you give him a shitty excuse to escape the conversation. “i’m just gonna use the ladies’ room, if you don’t mind.” you let mingyu know, and he nods at you in acknowledgement, caught off guard by you leaving so suddenly.

so you walk off, the voices of the people and the music in the hall fading into the background as you trail off.

now that you’re alone, you can finally go check his room.

it’s harder to navigate the mansion than you thought. hallways that all look similar, god knows how many rooms — you hope you won’t get lost here.

one of your best friends is good friends with mingyu’s sister, and so she knows the place like the back of her hand. when you asked her for the layout of the place, she did think it strange, but you told her she had nothing to worry about.

mingyu’s bedroom and study are supposedly on the third floor of the east wing, and the party takes place in the west wing.

so that’s just fucking great.

your best friend did warn you that he most often keeps his doors locked whenever visitors are present, so to ensure you could get in, you snatched the key from his pocket when he was dancing with you earlier.

it almost makes you chuckle when you think about how easy it was.

when you’ve finally arrived at what seems to be the door to mingyu’s room, you double-check the environment around you to see whether anyone’s following you, and when it appears to be safe, you shove the key into the lock, twisting it.

you exhale when realizing it’s the right key.

entering the room, you quickly shut it behind you, taking in the sight.

it’s raining outside, which you take notice of through the large windows. several paintings adorn the walls — you didn’t know he was a lover of art — as well as some photos of him with his family.

the room is surprisingly tidy, his clothes all neatly folded on the wooden planks in his closet and the drawers underneath. the few books he has sitting on top of the cupboard are gathering dust — you suppose he doesn’t like to read all that much.

of course he doesn’t.

his king-sized bed seems soft and comfortable, and the room smells of the cologne and perfume he always wears.

you blink a few times, realizing you’re dwelling too much on details that are not a priority right now.

which is enough to snap you awake, a rush of adrenaline moving through your veins as you look for anything interesting. files, documents, notebooks — anything.

you find his agenda in a drawer of his desk. with slightly trembling fingers, you move the pages back to the date of your father’s death, as well as the days before that.

as you’re caught up with doing so, you momentarily forget the first rule of breaking into a forbidden space: never turn your back to a door when you should be watching it.

“you know, i’m starting to think you agreeing to be my date came with ulterior motives on your side.” you suddenly hear mingyu’s voice behind you, at which you turn around, looking a bit too guilty for comfort.

your voice almost gets caught up in your throat, but you keep your composure. “if it makes you feel any better, i didn’t plan this.”

“it’s alright.” he responds, closing the door behind him smoothly, as if he doesn’t want you to see it. “you still think i had something to do with your father’s death, don’t you?”

“i’m not sure. i don’t see why you would, now that you’ve given me the inheritance. what other motive could you have?”

all mingyu does is clench his jaw at the rhetorical question. then he snaps out of it, his eyes trailing to the desk you’re currently leaning on. he takes a few steps closer to you, and you raise a brow, waiting in anticipation what he’ll do.

his face is suddenly very close to yours, and you’re almost convinced he’s leaning in to touch you when he reaches for the drawer behind you instead. “well, as a matter of fact, i did have something to show you.”

that surprises you.

“your father always carried a little red notebook with him. it’s the only part of the inheritance i didn’t give you, solely because i wanted to show you myself. there’s a few strange scribblings in it, with locations and numbers, and look at this—” he opens it up in front of you, pointing at the paper with his index finger, “apparently he felt like he was being followed just days before he died. maybe the police is right and he did get murdered.”

“yeah, i already figured he probably pissed off the wrong guy.” when he looks at you hopefully, you shrug. “what?”

“we should check it out, right? find out who killed him.”

you immediately shake your head at his suggestion. “no.”

mingyu’s whole body language changes, genuine confusion overtaking his features. “what do you mean, no?”

“he was caught up in all kinds of shit, things i never wanted to be a part of. that’s no different now that he’s six feet under.”

“are you not the slightest bit curious who killed him?”

“frankly, no, i’m not. i’d say whoever is guilty did me a favor.”

despite your valid point, he persists. “okay, then how about this — what if this person would come after you for whatever reason? don’t you want to know who you’re dealing with?”

you narrow your eyes at him. “why do you care so much, mingyu? i’m sure this is something you could manage on your own.”

the sudden question surprises him, so he shrugs. “maybe i’m not sure why. but i do. and you know i did care for him.”

“why don’t you just let the police handle it?”

“because they don’t know this world — and we have access to places, people they wouldn’t even know where to find or how to deal with. have you talked to the detectives? they’re amateurs.” he answers, pausing before taking a step closer to you. “he’s dead either way, doing a small bit of research might be interesting. who knows what you might find.”

“and you wanna do this with me of all people because...?”

he rolls his eyes at the question. “you were the only other person directly affected by it. c’mon, am i really so bad that you can’t even deal with me for a little while?”

the fact that you just give him a deadpan stare tells him all he needs to know.

it makes you bite your lip. you don’t feel like doing this at all, certainly not with mingyu of all people, but he appears to be ready to do this with or without you.

besides, you do feel up for a little adventure.

“fine, i’ll bite. hypothetically, what if i were interested in finding out who killed him?”

the young man in front of you tilts his head. “then i’d suggest we work together and do some digging.”

pursing your lips, you watch his pleased expression when he notices you’re actually considering it. “why do i feel like i’m gonna regret this?”

“maybe you will. maybe you won’t. we can go right back to hating eachother after this, but for now, we’ll be partners. deal?”

your eyes linger on the hand he’s stretched out to you, and even as you’re hesitant to take it, he doesn’t take his eyes off you.

with a sigh, you shake his hand. “okay. deal.”

v. PARTNERS IN CRIME

“for someone so organized, he sure as hell has a lot of unnecessary shit lying around here.” mingyu mutters, searching through the drawers of the cupboard.

you scoff in agreement. “tell me about it.”

the two of you are rummaging through your father’s study in your home in an attempt to find anything interesting as to what he might’ve been up to the past few years.

so far, you’ve had zero luck with it.

you already figured there’d probably be nothing of interest here, but mingyu insisted, said it would be stupid not to. so here you are.

“you know, i’m pretty sure my dad wouldn’t be as stupid as to just leave traces of his criminal affiliations lying around in his study.”

mingyu shrugs while simultaneously looking into a drawer. “you never know.”

“he was an asshole, but he was a smart one.” you mumble to yourself as you go through the little notebook mingyu just handed you a few minutes ago.

he watches you with curiosity. “can i ask you something?”

without looking up at him, you give him a rather direct response. “i’m sure you’ll ask me regardless of my answer to that question.”

ever so indifferent, he thinks. if anything, one thing about you he is actually fond of is your unfiltered attitude. more people should be like that. “you said you’d never forgive me for what i did to you."

hearing those words makes you look up at him. you’re surprised he’s taking an approach this straightforward with you. “i know what i said.”

“is there nothing i can do to at least make things more civil between us?”

god, you’re sick of him already.

instead of outright telling him you hate him more than anyone else you know, you cross your arms over your chest and fire a question right back at him. “why do you want things to be different between us? don’t tell me you’re losing sleep over it, now.”

mingyu pauses a moment before he answers you. “i thought about the things you said, when you were upset with me, and i realized i’ve made your life harder without having intended to do so. and yeah, i am losing sleep over it.”

while he does appear earnest, you don’t exactly trust him, so all you do is shrug your shoulders.

he wants to say something right when his phone rings. once he picks up, you figure it must be something business-related, judging by the tone of his voice and formal language.

an apology directed at you leaves his mouth as soon as he’s hit the red button on his screen. “i’m sorry. an important business meeting was moved and i promised my mom i’d be there.”

you’ve met mingyu’s mother a few times, at events. she’s the ceo of a very prominent hotel business. many of the highest ranked hotels around the world are under her care, and she clearly knows what she’s doing, since her business has been thriving for many years at this point. you remember it was her who took over as ceo after mingyu’s father passed in a car accident when he was younger.

“then you better get going.” you tell him, your face not pulling a single muscle. you hope he didn’t think you were going to ask him to stay.

he nods at your words, taking the jacket with his initials embroidered in the tag and slinging it over his arm. “yeah. i’ll call you.” he says, going out the doorway, yet your voice makes him halt in his tracks.

“mingyu.” you say his name to him, an unfamiliar feeling on your tongue, and he turns to look back at you.

he awaits your words, catching the subtle warning in your eyes as you refer back to the question of his you had yet to answer.

“we may be working together now — call us associates, or even partners in crime — but once this is over, we’ll go right back to strangers. let’s just keep this… somewhat professional.”

you find he can be surprisingly hard to read from time to time, for a guy who wears his heart on his sleeve. after blankly staring at you for a few seconds, processing the words, he just offers you a little smile and a gentle response. “okay.”

and he walks off, only leaving you more intrigued than before.

for two days, it’s complete radio silence from mingyu. all he asked you over text was if you’d been able to find anything in the study, to which you replied with a simple no. he didn’t say anything else.

you sincerely thought this whole investigation of yours wasn’t actually gonna lead to anything, that it was useless — until now.

it’s eleven o’clock, dark outside, the metronome ticking in the background of your living room as your eyes are glued to the screen of your laptop.

you just got a notification from the bank that someone made a significant withdrawal from one of your father’s bank accounts, one that still needs to be signed over to your name.

question is, who the fuck has access to your father’s bank account besides you?

no one. supposedly.

staring at mingyu’s contact in your phone, you twist your lips, unsure of whether to call him about this or not.

going against your gut, you press on his phone number and wait for him to answer the call.

nothing.

for good measure, you call him a second time. same result.

then it hits you. you spoke to wonwoo last night — he mentioned something about him and mingyu going out together this evening.

wonwoo, thankfully, does pick up his phone. “hey. what’s up?”

“hey. are you with mingyu right now?”

“yeah, why?”

“where are you?”

“uh—” he stutters out an address in the middle of the city, clearly confused by the urgency in your voice. “what’s going on? what do you need mingyu for?”

“well, it’s hard to explain. anyway, i’m coming over.”

“he’s kind of—”

you quickly interrupt him by hanging up. taking your wallet and car keys, you head out. the address wonwoo’s given you is located in the club scene downtown, and you make it there in no-time with the navigation on your phone.

parking your car across the block, you get out and check your phone, heading to wherever wonwoo and mingyu currently are. you usually tend to go for the clubs at the other side of the city, as the vibe feels a little different here, but you’ve been around the neighborhood a couple times, so it’s not entirely unfamiliar to you.

when you arrive at the club, you catch the sight of your friend leaning against the stone wall outside.

jeon wonwoo, all handsome in his expensive jacket and sleek shoes, looks surprised when he notices you of all people coming up to him, even though you told him you were coming. his voice is soft when he greets you. “hey. you gonna tell me what exactly you’re doing here?”

shrugging your shoulders, you put your hands in the pockets of your black coat. “you said you were here with mingyu. i gotta talk to him.”

“right now?”

taking note of his baffled reaction, you tilt your head to the side. “yes, right now. i don’t care if he’s occupied.”

wonwoo brings a cigarette to his lips, pushing the pair of dark-rimmed glasses higher up his nose. “what’s going on with you and him, anyway? i thought you hated each other.”

“we still do.”

“well, something’s changed.”

“believe me, wonwoo, i don’t like him any more than he likes me.”

all he does is narrow his dark eyes at you.

just when you want to open the backdoor to the club, wonwoo stops you. “you do know what kind of establishment this place is, right?”

frowning at him, you open the door just the slightest bit to check whatever he’s getting at, and once you catch sight of the pink and red lights, sensual music and metal poles attached to the ceiling, you momentarily close the door again.

right. this must be one of those clubs that are hidden from the prying eyes of non-customers, to give the illusion there’s nothing going on behind these walls, giving the rich clients some privacy in their activities.

you roll your eyes. “when you said you were going to the club, i didn’t think you meant a strip club.”

“i was about to tell you when you hung up on me.”

“so why are you out here and not in there with him?”

“because i wanted to smoke and he felt like heading into a more secluded space. with company, no doubt.”

oh, this is gonna be fun. since kim mingyu pretty much ruined your life, the very least you can do in return is ruin his night. you briefly chuckle to yourself. “alright. well, have fun smoking.”

“you’re still going in?” he calls after you, and all you can do is scoff.

“you think i care whether kim mingyu’s gonna have a good time or not?”

“forget i asked.” he responds, the hint of a smile tugging at his facial features. “i’ll wait here ‘til you get back.”

you shoot him a knowing smirk before stepping into the club. remaining in the background, you scan the area to see if there’s a glimpse of him somewhere.

at the other side of the bar, a man seems to be on watch in front of a separate hallway, so you figure that’s where the jackpot is.

not bothering to look back at the bartender, whose gaze trails after you, you head over to where you need to be, which is where you’re stopped in your path, as expected.

“these are occupied private rooms, ma’am.” a bouncer tells you.

“look, sir, i…” you begin, coming up with some bullshit excuse to get past him, “i’m pretty sure i saw my boyfriend just go in here with a dancer. all i want is a confirmation, i’m not looking to start drama.”

before the man can respond, you wordlessly hold up a small stack of hundred dollar bills between your index and middle finger, waiting for him to take the bribe.

works like a charm wherever you go.

his demeanor changes once he sees the money. “what’s he look like?”

“tall, dark medium-long hair, brown eyes, pretty handsome — though that’s probably subjective.” you shrug, adding a little fake smile to it. you can get far in life with a little charm and money.

the few generic features seem to be enough for the bouncer to know who you’re talking about. he takes the money from your hand, pointing his finger at one of the more secluded rooms in the back.

“go for room number six.” he says, stepping to the side so you can pass him.

thanking him, you head into the back, the heels of your ankle boots clicking against the floor.

the rooms have their matching numbers on neon signs above them. your eyes curiously take in everything they see, but all rooms grant the people in them privacy with the use of frosted glass.

once you’ve made it to the room with the number six on the sign, you take a breath while your hand rests on the handle.

you enter the room soundlessly. the broad space is dimly lit with its soft lights, a mixture of yellow, pink and red almost convincing you that this place is a mere fever dream.

mingyu is seated on the velvet red couch, his legs spread with a girl in skimpy lingerie dancing between them.

yet his eyes are on you.

with his head tilted down, he looks up at you from beneath his lowered brows, peering right past the bare hips of the girl as if she’s not dancing in front of him at all.

you catch a hint of intrigue in his features. he reaches inside his pocket to hand a small stack of money to the dancer in the exact same way you did with the bouncer only a minute before, and the girl leaves you to your privacy.

“hello to you, too.” he says, not bothering to move a single muscle as he remains on the soft couch.

“next time, answer your damn phone.” you scold him, staring him down with the coldest glare you can muster, and mingyu’s not sure why, but he relishes in it. it doesn’t happen often that someone treats him like this.

“i was occupied.” he casually answers, his hand running through his dark locks.

“well, not anymore.” you grin, handing him your phone to show the photo of the bank transcripts. “apparently, my dead father just took fifty grand out of his account.”

mingyu furrows his brows at the screen. “where?”

“all the way at the other side of the city. question is, who else has access to his account, aside from me?”

“we should go and check the footage.” he says, shrugging his shoulders, and he finally gets up, towering over you again. “i know someone who’s with the municipal authorities, i’ll make the call.”

“right now?” you ask, referring to how deep into the night it is, at which he raises his brow.

“yes, right now. this is the best clue we’ve come across so far. don’t you agree?”

“i do. i just thought you cared more about, y’know, being occupied.” you emphasise the last words with a waving hand, gesturing to the girl that was previously dancing on him, and his flirtatious nature comes right back to him as if it never left.

“why? wanna give me a show before we leave?” he smirks, getting closer, hoping to get some kind of reaction out of you, to see what’s lurking underneath your closed-off persona.

fine. both of you can play this game, you think to yourself. “what, are the girls here not enough to get you off?”

“is that a yes?”

“why would you want a lap dance from a girl you can’t stand? i may not like you, mingyu, but i didn’t think you’d stoop so low to go after any woman with a pulse.”

“i feel flattered,” he smiles, eyes trailing down to your exposed collarbones, finding it ridiculously hot in here, “and i don’t particularly like you, either, but we both know you’re gorgeous. besides, i’ve seen you dance at chan’s club. you looked good.”

his honesty almost stuns you in your place. you didn’t think he held that kind of physical attraction towards you, yet it makes you feel good — because you think he’s fucking hot, too.

such a shame that he’s an asshole.

but still, there’s no time to dwell on his words. you have a reputation to uphold and a murder to solve, after all.

so you lean in, whispering your decision. “in your dreams.”

jesus, mingyu thinks, do you even remotely know how much sex appeal you have? it makes him beyond impulsive. “did you know studies have shown that sleeping with someone you can’t stand is arguably the best thing ever?”

you sarcastically reply to him with the exact same tone. “did you know you’d be so much more bearable if you just kept your mouth shut?”

“what? it’s part of my charm.” is all he says in return, snickering a little over your response, and you merely roll your eyes.

“we’ve got a different idea of charm, then.”

“okay, fair enough.” he shrugs, still maintaining the minimal distance between your bodies. “so what do you find charming? i’m dying to know, really.”

“i like men who don’t feel the need to pay for a woman’s touch.” the reply comes fast and sharp as a blade. “i hope you pay them generously, since they have to put up with you out of all people.”

“she didn’t touch me, though. it’s a strip club, not a brothel.”

“how noble of you.” you humorlessly chuckle at him, attitude turning more playful.

“mhm.” mingyu nods his head, the rest of his words sounding lower and suave. “tell me more. c’mon, i’m curious. i gotta know my partner’s preferences, right?”

the look you give your current partner is something. you decide to indulge him this once, face inching closer to his, just to keep things interesting. “i want someone who won’t hold me back. someone who will accept me for who i am — uninhibited.”

there’s something you can’t quite place flashing behind his eyes. it’s close to intrigue, but more intense, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen it in anyone else’s eyes before.

“good to know.” he breathes out, as if your words stole his breath, and you come to the realization that maybe, there’s more to kim mingyu than you thought.

now that he seems to be pretty much speechless, you raise your shoulders. “so, are we heading out or should i tell the dancer to come back in?”

he stutters out a reply, and you find it funny how his attitude is constantly going back and forth between a flustered mess and the most confident guy in the room.

once you’ve returned to the backdoor where you got in, you see wonwoo is still outside, his cigarette put out on the ashtray beside him.

“you leaving?” wonwoo asks, waiting for either of you to answer.

“yeah. duty calls.” mingyu replies while putting his jacket on.

for what it’s worth, wonwoo is actually a dear friend of yours, and one of the few people you show physical affection to, so you give him a kiss on the cheek before walking off. “catch you later, okay?”

he nods, catching mingyu curiously watching the exchange, and when you walk off with him, wonwoo notices him put his hand on your lower back, which you proceed to swat away.

a mere twenty minutes later, you and mingyu are seated in your car in an empty parking lot, looking at a screen displaying street security footage of the bank where the withdrawal was made earlier tonight.

mingyu’s friend seungkwan, who works for the authorities, sent you the footage, and as you’re looking it over, he’s on the phone explaining his observations. “he was wearing a mask and a cap, so we couldn’t recognize him. the car he drove has a license plate that doesn’t match, so likely stolen. he drove from a nearby parking garage to the bank, withdrew the cash, got back in the car and then parked it right here, about six blocks further, in the business district.”

the building the car is parked across is one you’d recognize any time of day. it’s where your father’s main office is — or was — one of the places he never allowed you to get into, or anyone for that matter. it was the only place where he got the peace and quiet he wanted.

you turn your head to glance at mingyu, giving him a knowing look. “that’s where my father’s main office is.”

“you think the guy’s gonna try to break in?”

“if he got his hands on the passcodes and proceeds to wait before the building he always worked in, then yeah, i do.”

you nod in agreement, because he makes a fair point. mingyu looks at the worried expression on your face and decides you’ve gathered enough information now.

he thanks seungkwan and tells him bye before hanging up, then turning his focus to you. “whoever that guy is, if he’s planning on breaking in, we gotta beat him to it.”

“you wanna break into an office on the seventh floor located in a building that neither of us are allowed into? they won’t even let us pass the front desk. i know because i’ve tried.”

he shakes his head. “trust me — we’ll find a way in. i’ve got an idea, but it’s not gonna be easy.”

vi. WE’RE NOT SO DIFFERENT, YOU AND I

the following days are spent analyzing and memorizing blueprints, tracking the people entering and exiting the building and checking security in the hope of finding some kind of loophole in the system.

trying to get in through the front door is too risky, so you’ve opted for the roof instead, because there’s several buildings so closeby that you can get into either of the buildings next to it and reach it from there. you’ll get in with a classic heist movie tactic you pray works in real life as well.

ventilation shafts.

so now, you’re both in dark and practical clothing to attempt breaking in. because your plan is mediocre at best.

as you watch from the rooftop of a currently unoccupied office building nearby with a binocular, you face-palm yourself the moment you notice the security set-up is different than anticipated with the blueprints, meaning the ventilation shafts are most likely not accessible. “well, fuck.”

“what’s wrong?”

you hand the binocular to mingyu, and he mimics your previous actions, huffing in annoyance when he sees it too. “shit. what do we do now?”

“nothing.”

“what?”

“our plan was already risky enough, but now that we pretty much don’t even have a way in, we’d be stupid to try. we only have a fifteen-minute window before a security guard comes up the roof again.”

“that’s plenty.”

“it would be, for like — a swat team. we’re amateurs. at this, anyway.”

“speak for yourself.”

“oh, i’m sorry, have you done anything remotely on this scale before?”

“well… no.”

pinching the bridge of your nose, you roll your eyes to yourself. “we should’ve brought wonwoo.”

mingyu is quick to respond with a sarcastic comment. “and tell him what, exactly? ‘hey, we need your help breaking into one of the best-guarded buildings in the city so we can snoop around and try to find a clue leading to a killer’?”

“well, i don’t know if you’ve noticed, gyu, but we quite literally have no other options.”

“we could always try the front door. you’re still his daughter, they might let you in.”

“i really hope that wasn’t an actual suggestion, because if it was, it would highly diminish the idea i have of your intelligence.”

“is this your way of telling me you think i’m smart?”

“well, currently, i think you’re being an idiot, so no.” you retort, stealing the binocular out of his hand again. “god, i’m starting to respect criminals. this shit is difficult to navigate around.”

mingyu chuckles as he adjusts the black baseball cap on his head. “there has to be another way. maybe we could—”

“—get in through an open window.” you interrupt, handing the device over to him. “you see the glass window in the roof of his office? it looks like it’s ajar.”

once he sees it too, he tilts his head. “it’s almost too easy. it’d have to open manually, otherwise we’re screwed.”

you can only shrug. “it’s only a modern interior on the inside, the building itself is older, so the odds might be on our side. besides, it’s worth a shot, right?”

“can’t argue with that.” he agrees, checking the other buildings around to figure out the best approach.

you watch him as he’s distracted. he’s fully going for the whole partners-in-crime thing you’ve got going on with him, yet a part of you is still unsure what his motives might be.

but for now, you’ll just focus on the task at hand.

every fifteen minutes, a security guard comes up to the roof, checks everything, stays for a minute or two and leaves again. you’ve been keeping track of it. as soon as the one currently on duty closes the door to the staircase behind him, heading back down, you both start a silent timer on your watches, getting to work.

one thing you discover doing said task is that jumping from roof to roof is really not as easy as they make it seem in the movies. if anything, it’s pretty scary, even if they are relatively close to eachother.

the jump from the last building to the one you need to be on top of has the biggest gap, and mingyu takes a solid leap, landing ever so gracefully.

you shuffle your feet for a moment, making the mistake of looking down. mingyu notices your hesitation and tries to encourage you the best he can. “it looks scary, but it’s a relatively easy jump. i swear. that’s gotta mean something coming from a person with a fear of heights.”

clenching your fists, you try to steady your breathing. “don’t you lie to me, kim.”

there’s something strangely charming about you using his last name whenever you’re scolding him. “c’mon. i’ve always thought you were fearless. you’re not gonna diminish the idea i have of you, right?”

curse him for using your words against you like that.

clenching your fists, you bite your lip, the worst case scenario going through your head over and over.

“just go back a couple steps. steady your breathing, and then you run. okay?”

you don’t respond to his words but do as he says anyways. the jump isn’t even that far, you’re just afraid of tripping.

but you won’t go out embarrassing yourself in front of kim mingyu. your pride is too strong for that.

so you take a deep breath and make a run for it, jumping over the gap and landing on top of the other roof, far away from the edge. mingyu laughs triumphantly. “good job.”

“thanks.” you smile as he helps you up to your feet, and you dust off your jacket, proud of yourself for going through with it.

the two of you walk over to the glass window, and you kneel down, inspecting the lock. thank fuck — it’s so simple that all you have to do is click it open. you’re guessing they probably thought the security walking around was enough.

with your hands covered in gloves, you wiggle them through the gap and crack it open, after which mingyu takes the lead. he lets himself drop into the office silently, looking up at you as a gesture for you to follow him.

you attempt to do the same as him, but you figure he must have strong arm muscles, because you’re barely able to hold yourself up the way he can. he notices your struggle and moves to stand underneath you.

“just let go. i’ll catch you.”

“are you sure?”

he nods, his arms up as if he’s waiting for you to jump right into them. “yeah, yeah. i got you.”

not entirely convinced, you try to drop onto the floor in a way you can still hold yourself up, but mingyu proves himself true to his word when he catches you as easily as drawing his next breath. he looks you in the eye while he has you in his arms, his senses feeling heightened as your clothed skin touches with his.

then you tap on his shoulder, and he lets go of you.

the office is bigger than anticipated. the moonlight from outside is bright enough for you to not need a flashlight, so that’s beneficial.

mingyu is awfully quick on his feet for someone as tall and bulky as him. he’s quiet in every step he takes, which is useful in a situation like this.

while he begins to look through a bunch of drawers, you open cabinet after cabinet, going through some documents that don’t really contain anything interesting.

you turn to look at the desk and the painting on the wall behind it. it’s nothing spectacular — your father never had much of an appreciation for art, so you find it strange he’d even have it up here.

out of sheer curiosity, you try to check if there’s a secret stash behind the painting like in those crime movies.

you have to refrain from laughing when your eyes fall onto the safe in the wall. “hey. gyu.”

he turns around, his entire demeanor changing when he sees what you’ve found. “you’re kidding.”

the safe has a surprisingly easy system. it has four dials, so you need a code with four numbers to get access to whatever’s inside. you change the dials to your birth year for fun, but naturally, it doesn’t work. hell, mingyu’s birth year might have a better shot.

while you try out every combination you can think of, mingyu gets the little notebook out of his pocket — the one that was part of your father’s inheritance. he flips to one of the last pages. “try 9-3-6-8.”

going with his suggestion, you rotate the dials until they have the right numbers, and you hear a click. blinking a few times, you turn the small crank wheel beside the dials and open the safe.

there’s not much inside in terms of quantity, but the things that are in there are no joke.

two gold ingots, a stack of files and a loaded handgun with a silencer attached to it.

“what the fuck was he up to?” mingyu asks rhetorically, inspecting the pistol with care, and you shrug, grabbing the files to put them into the bag you took with you.

“i don’t know, but we should hurry up. we can look at whatever all this is later. clock’s ticking.”

he figures you make a good point, so you hold out your bag, and he puts all of the safe’s contents into it.

you’re both scared to death when you suddenly hear voices coming from the other side of the door. you immediately zip up your bag and close the safe back up, putting the painting right back in front of it.

footsteps come approaching your direction, and you realize you don’t have enough time to get back out of the office without being caught red-handed, so you’ll have to find a place to hide.

just as you’re about to go sit underneath the desk, mingyu doesn’t hesitate to grab you by your hand and pull you against his body, both of you hiding in the small gap between the bookcase and the wall, which is right next to the door.

you almost jump in your place when the door is opened by a security guard, and mingyu puts his hand over your mouth to make sure the guard doesn’t hear you.

thankfully, you’re hidden right behind the door now that it’s opened, but your heart is fucking pounding as your chest is pressed against mingyu’s, and all you can focus on is him.

he’s suffocatingly close to you.

the situation forces you to look at him so closely — like never before. your attention trails down from his dark eyes to the litte mole on the bottom of his nose, the shape of his lips, and the glimpse you catch of the silver chain adorning his collarbones.

it’s the first time you see how big of a man he is. he’s been working out a lot in the past few years, with considerable results — standing this close to him highlights the contrast between his frame and yours.

the footsteps leave the office not long after, and the door closes. you’re finally able to breathe properly when he releases his palm from your mouth, and you inhale and exhale deeply.

“you alright?”

“yeah. that was just — scary.” you respond, cracking a little smile.

he nods, neither of you really moving in your places yet. “you can let go of me, y’know.” mingyu whispers, sounding entirely unconvincing, and you frown before looking to your hand that’s apparently been clutching his jacket this whole time.

“oh, yeah. sorry.”

“it’s okay.” he assures you, pointing to the ceiling. “we should probably head back.”

you agree and sling the bag over your shoulders, on your back. he gets onto the desk first so he can climb out the same window you used to get in, and once he’s gotten up the roof again, he extends his hand to you so he can pull you up.

it doesn’t go smoothly. he’s a little clumsy, but he manages, so you take a breather once you’ve made it out of the office with him. you close the window in the exact position it was before you opened it, and you make it to the safety of the rooftop where you started just twenty minutes ago.

as you quickly go down the stairs of the abandoned building to reach the ground floor, he laughs triumphantly. “holy fucking shit. i can’t believe we actually pulled that off.”

you smile at him with adrenaline still rushing through you, heart still pounding in your chest when you realize what you just did.

and honestly, you don’t think you’ve ever felt that… alive.

a mere fifteen minutes later, you’re seated in a half-empty diner with him. he’s across from you in the booth, elbows on the table as he fiddles with his fingers.

while he looks around the place, you take the files you found in the safe out of your bag so you can look them over.

as your eyes fall onto the first page, you frown.

mingyu notices your gaze. “what’s wrong?”

you switch to the other file folders before scoffing to yourself, realization hitting you. “you gotta be fucking kidding me. they’re tabs he kept on the people around him. the staff at home, his driver... even me. and you. well, looks like he didn’t trust you completely.”

before he can even reply to the subtle dig, you slide the folder with his name on it across the table, and he opens it up, noticing a huge chunk of information on him neatly stashed away in separate documents. there’s even candids there that must’ve been made by a private investigator.

“i knew he was paranoid, but this takes the cake.” you mutter, and you throw the folders back into your bag, and mingyu hands you his so you can take it as well.

“well, this sucks.” he sighs. “those files aren’t of much use, so now we’re back to square one.”

you tilt your head. “that’s not entirely true. we might be able to check where the gun came from, or whose name it’s registered under.”

mingyu hums, lifting the cup to his mouth, whispering a compliment, not really expecting for you to hear it. “smart girl.”

with your bag zipped up and everything off the table again, it’s quiet between you and mingyu for a moment.

“god, i’m starving.” he says as you wait for your food to arrive, and where he’s slightly fidgeting in his place, you sit completely still, looking at him with a frown. once he catches your gaze, he raises a brow at you. “what?”

“do you do this often?”

“eating in a cheap diner?”

“trespassing. breaking in. illegal activities. whatever you wanna call it.”

he shrugs. “occasionally. keeps life interesting, y’know?”

the casualness in his attitude makes you scoff. “sure.”

“you don’t agree?”

“i didn’t say that.”

“no, but then again, you don’t really say much at all.” he says bluntly. he doesn’t mean it as an offensive statement in the slightest, but it would’ve probably sounded better if worded differently.

for a moment, he thinks his impulsivity must’ve upset you, seeing as you remain silent for a moment.

then you laugh at him. the sound is completely new to him, yet strangely soothing to his ears.

“you’re bold, i’ll give you that.” you snicker before taking a sip of your coke. “but i assume you don’t have an issue with people who are on the quieter side, since you’re besties with wonwoo and all.”

mingyu mimics your facial expressions. “yeah, i prefer being around quieter people more. but i didn’t—it came out wrong. i meant, you don’t really, like... show who you are. if that makes sense. even back when we were in high school, you were like a mystery. you still are, to me.”

“is this what this whole partnering-up thing is about? you wanting to unravel the mystery about me? because if it is, i’ll give you credit for the creativity.”

mingyu tilts his head. “well, it’s a little more nuanced than that.”

“if you wanted to get to know me, why didn’t you try years ago?”

“have you met you?”

you roll your eyes. he smirks at you, enjoying your company quite a lot, anticipating whatever it is you’ll say in response.

“you wanna know something, mingyu?”

“yeah.”

“you’re telling me i’m the mysterious one, but i’d say that’s you.”

his playfulness falters a bit, and he shows his confusion instead. “me?”

“mhm. you’re popular, good-looking, charming, all of that — and i think you’ve got layers to yourself that no one even knows about. characteristics no one would ever dare imagine when they think of you.”

his breath hitches in his throat. “why do you think that?”

twisting your lips into a pout, you put your drink back down on the table. “wouldn’t be any fun if i outright told you, would it?”

mingyu narrows his eyes at you. you just shrug, as if to tell him he’ll figure it out, if he’s smart enough.

and he welcomes the challenge.

“okay.” he smiles, biting his lip when he leans back in his seat. “but, hypothetically — what if you’re wrong about me? what if i don’t have those layers you’re talking about?”

you eye him up and down, remaining quiet with your arms crossed over your chest. you’ve always had that attitude. like you know more than everyone else, as if you’re the smartest person in the room. usually, you are. and yet you’re never smug about it, unless someone challenges you to be — you’re always calm, cool, collected. stoic. the fact that wonwoo of all people called you an ice princess years ago says enough.

“i’d be sorely disappointed.”

“so you have high expectations of me?”

“in a way, perhaps. though you’ll have to work a little harder to impress me.”

“tonight wasn’t enough?”

“it was a start. we still loathe eachother, remember?”

“right. i’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

sure, you and kim mingyu hate one another, but he still makes you smile the most anyone has in ages, and you make him feel more alive than anyone else has.

vii. FRIENDS CLOSE, ENEMIES CLOSER

“i’ve got bad news.” you say, tapping your nails on the coffee table in your living room as you have mingyu on speaker.

“okay. do tell.”

“the gun isn’t registered, so we pretty much only have the files as evidence.”

“yeah. i doubt your father put those files together himself, since they seem like the work of a professional. we might be smart to seek out the private investigator who gave him the intel.”

you know he hears you sigh at the other end of the line, and your response hardly sound convincing. “yeah, i guess.”

“what’s wrong?”

it’s quiet for a moment. you speak up with a tension rumbling in your chest. “maybe we should just quit, gyu. i don’t feel like what we’re doing is actually going anywhere. we still don’t have a proper lead.”

then it’s his turn to remain silent, and you swear you can hear his breath shudder. “we’ll get there. it just... takes some time.”

“you sound a little too sure of that.”

“i just think it’d be a waste to not continue after the stunt we pulled last week.”

“what’re we gonna be doing next? breaking into the national bank?”

“something tells me you’d find that exciting.”

well, shit. have you become so transparent that kim mingyu of all people can tell the truth about you?

“maybe i would.” you grumble like a child admitting defeat.

the sound of his laughter echoes through the phone. it subconsciously brings a small smile to your face.

“look, i have a meeting ‘til five. i can come by after to brainstorm about things, pick up some food on the way. are you free tonight?”

“yeah. text me when you’re on the way here.”

“yes, ma’am.” he jests, saying he’s got to go before hanging up. it leaves you to stare at your phone for a minute. a past version of yourself would never believe it if you said mingyu would ever get close to you in the way he has over the past two months. it’s been a strange time. it’s come to the point you’re pretty sure you don’t even hate him as much as you used to.

maybe you don’t even hate him at all anymore. maybe.

but something about admitting that to yourself feels scary, so you put your thoughts elsewhere while secretly looking forward to having him come over again.

it’s a quarter past five when he sends you a message, letting you know he’s picked up the food and on the way to your house, and a mere twenty minutes later, you and him are seated in the lounge on the first floor as he tells you about his day – all while shoving a dumpling into his mouth.

what interrupts you, however, is the noise of your doorbell. mingyu frowns instantly, and you mimic his expression, because you weren’t expecting any more company. “who’s that?”

“no idea.” you shrug, so you get up from your seat, jogging down the stairs with mingyu following you, simultaneously chewing the food in his mouth.

checking the screen beside the door that’s connected to the doorbell, you notice a familiar face standing outside.

“isn’t he the main detective on the investigation?” mingyu asks rhetorically, his body language changing to something more stiff. “what is he doing here?”

“good question. i certainly didn’t invite him, but the guy at the front gate probably told him i was home. fuck — you have to hide.”

“hide? why?”

because the detective thinks you still hate mingyu, so seeing him here would make your story hardly plausible. “because he can’t see you, obviously. get upstairs and stay there. i’ll distract him.”

“are you sure?”

“yeah, so go!” you push him back with your hands on his chest, and he seems hesitant to leave you by yourself, but he eventually jogs up the stairs again to get out of sight.

the inspector smiles only as a formality. you do the same. you haven’t spoken to him since you indirectly accused him of being an asshole, a while before your father’s funeral.

“good evening. i hope i haven’t come at a bad time. may i come in?”

“i have to take a business call soon, actually, so another time would be—”

“i won’t be long. i assume you’d like to have an update on the investigation?”

well, fuck. he’s got you there, so you’re forced to let him in, but you don’t let him wonder and gesture for him to sit down in the living room, on the couch. you move to take the seat directly across from him to ensure his focus is on you, instead of on the huge staircase behind him.

“am i still at the top of your list?” you ask. when the man tries to find the right words to respond, you scoff, filling in the blanks. of course you still are. “but you have no evidence.”

“it’s not about evidence — moreso the lack thereof. i’m stuck with two people who each have a solid motive, an alibi that’s far from foolproof, and an important tie to the victim. you cannot deny that.”

“is this another interrogation? because this is all off-record.”

“not an interrogation. i was just wondering something – back when i spoke to you last, before your father’s funeral, i asked what you could tell me about kim mingyu, your father’s former associate.” hearing him say his name makes you anxious, yet you pull every possible muscle to hide it. “you spoke of him as if he were the devil himself. you clearly hated him, perhaps more than you hated your father.”

“and?”

he pulls something from the inside of his jacket, and you discover they’re a few candids, photos taken of you with mingyu while out in the city. well, that’s just fucking great. you’re gonna have to make use of your top-notch acting skills here.

“i’m sure you wouldn’t mind me asking why you’re suddenly seeing someone you claim to hate as much as you do.”

the blankness of your face dissolves as you adapt a more playful and sassy persona. “you came all the way to my home for this? a few photos?”

“a few photos of my two main suspects together for a reason i cannot think of, yes.”

“you can’t think of a single thing? really? no offense, but i was under the impression you were at least a little clever.”

the man stares at you as if he’s trying to solve a puzzle. that can only mean one thing – he’s falling for your act.

what an idiot.

you lean forward in your place, the dry smile remaining on your face. “i fucked him. several times, actually.”

he narrows his eyes at your statement. “i thought you told me you hated him.”

“oh, i do. but a good hate-fuck is the best way to release some frustration. you should try it sometime.” the sound of your voice is monotonous as you utter the words in one go.

“i’ll keep it in mind.” he sarcastically responds with a fake smile, and you copy his body language, pleased to see you’ve made him somewhat uncomfortable.

he clearly wants to change the subject, but you don’t feel like continuing this conversation any longer. “if you’ll excuse me, i really have more pressing matters, so i trust you can see yourself out.”

the inspector huffs a bit, but he knows better than to overstay his welcome. he wordlessly allows you to let you walk him to the door before turning around. “i hope you know who you’re dealing with. not everyone is who they say they are.”

leaving you confused, he looks at you a moment, proceeding to walk out your front door, after which you close it. did he know more than he was willing to let on? what a strange visit.

when you finally decide to turn around, you see mingyu standing in the middle of the stairs, looking a little baffled, at which you roll your eyes.

“why would you tell him that?”

“would you have preferred it if i told him the truth?”

“would that be so bad?”

you scoff, passing him on the staircase. “see, this is what i mean when i say you’re not as smart as you think you are.”

mingyu follows you back up to the lounge. “i’m just saying — maybe it’d make us look less suspicious.”

“it’d do the opposite, gyu. trust me.”

“okay. fine. but out of all the things you could’ve said, why that?”

“well, it made him uncomfortable, making it easier to get him to leave early. and, well… you know what you look like.”

the last sentence really grabs his attention.

“what i look like?” he repeats, knowing damn well what you’re getting at, but he’s eager to hear you spell it out for him.

“well, you’re somewhat good-looking. it’s one of your few strong points, actually.”

“so you think i’m hot?”

“didn’t quite say that.”

“no, but you implied it.”

“not really. you may be conventionally handsome, gyu, but attraction is a whole different thing.”

“oh, c’mon. admit it. i’m willing to, so…”

“do i need to remind you i said we’d keep things professional? which you agreed to.”

“god, you’re so tough.”

“part of my charm. maybe that’s why you like me so much.”

“i never said i liked you.”

“no, you didn’t have to.” you scoff, laughing at him, and mingyu feels the corners of his lips curling up — because you’re right.

then, as you plop down on the seats in the lounge again, you sigh as you look at the papers scattered across the table.

“you know, it’s been weeks, and we still haven’t got the slightest clue who’s the killer,” you frown, fingers resting on your collarbone, “and if i’m being honest, i doubt we ever will.”

mingyu briefly narrows his eyes at you, proceeding to take his laptop out of his bag. you watch curiously when he silently types away at his keyboard, then turning the device around and clicking on the play button.

suddenly you hear your own voice, and the words — you said those during the interrogations. how the hell did he get his hands on those recordings?

he seems to be able to read your mind. “i’ve got a contact in the force. he sent me the sorted files of everyone who was interrogated. we should probably listen to them, right? after all, we know more about the situation than the detectives.”

blinking a few times, you shrug and nod in agreement, so he increases the volume and presses the button again.

the following two and a half hours are spent listening to the recordings and taking notes of important things. you’re only halfway through them, but doing this the whole time really sucks you dry of energy.

at a certain point, you press the pause button and get up from your seat, moving to the liquor cabinet a few meters away. “you like a good whiskey, right?”

“yeah. how’d you know?”

“i observe and listen. that, and i heard you say it to wonwoo one time.”

he chuckles at your words, watching you take the bottle with two glasses and set it down on the table.

once you’ve poured the liquid into the glass, he takes what you offer him and down it in one go, after which you give him a judgemental stare. “seriously?”

“sorry. had a rough day.”

your gaze softens, and you pour him a second glass as he holds it out. “why?”

“i just… haven’t been feeling great lately. not really sure why.”

well, that’s interesting. “your conscience eating away at you?”

his eyes widen an uncharacteristical amount, and your face is blank for a few moments until you crack a smile. he laughs it off, squeezing his hands together, which you take notice of.

“guess you could say that. no, i don’t know. my sister’s been stressed and she won’t tell me why, which is odd ‘cause she always comes to me — and my mother’s been overworking herself, and i’m worried for her.”

pursing your lips together, you cast your eyes down for a moment.

for some reason, you feel a sense of repulsiveness whenever mingyu speaks of his family like that. as if it’s a reminder of what you didn’t have.

but you don’t show it.

“sounds tough.” you reply, not intending to sound distant — you just find it difficult to know what to say.

what you fail to recognize is that mingyu sees it. he sees your struggle and the emotions you think are so deeply hidden underneath the surface. they actually are, to be honest, but he’s come to know you and with that the way you hold yourself. and he’s suddenly able to read you better.

you’re made of sharp edges only — broken glass on all sides.

he takes another sip of his drink. you down yours in one go.

“can i ask you something?”

“sure.”

mingyu’s eyes curiously follow your every move, the alcohol in his system making him bolder. “how are you holding up?”

“me? ‘m fine. why do you ask?”

“i think mostly ‘cause i’ve asked you a lot of questions, but not that one.”

the words make you silent for a moment, and you let out a knowing sigh when you realize what he’s getting at. “i told you i was glad he died, gyu.”

“i know. but even if you are, you can still find it difficult to deal with.”

you inhale and exhale slowly, leaning back against the wall for a moment, staring into nothing. “i’m not sad that he’s gone. i never will be. but there’s things i wanted to ask him.”

when you don’t continue, he asks you to. “what things?”

“things about my youth, my mother… hell, maybe even about you.” you shrug, chuckling for a brief moment, but the sound is gone as soon as it came. “but i think, mostly, i’d ask if he saw himself in me.”

mingyu is intrigued by your answer. “why would you wanna know that?”

you shrug, your tiredness contributing to you opening up. “because maybe i’d hear the answer i want to hear, and not the one i currently have. my worst nightmare has always been to turn into him.”

“you won’t be like him.” he tries to tell you, but you shake your head.

“i already am. i hated him to the bone, and yet i act like him, sound like him, handle things like him — because he taught me everything i know. at the end of the day, i am my father’s daughter. there’s no changing that.”

“you’re not a bad person. he was.”

“how would you know? he was nice to you. stand-offish, probably, but nice.”

“you don’t think i had an idea of what kind of person he was? i cared for him, but i knew he could be harsh. i caught some bits and pieces when he… yelled at you after our high school graduation.”

you have an almost visceral reaction as he mentions the incident. your father had yelled at you after the graduation, because the best student of your class got a prize on the big podium, and it wasn’t you. and that as a result made your father angry, because being in the top five wasn’t enough — because it should’ve been you.

it was always supposed to be you.

“why did you even want to be around him at all? if you knew how much of an asshole he was all this time.”

mingyu stares at the wall for a few seconds when he thinks about it. “he came into my life when i needed it the most. but looking back, i feel guilty. i shouldn’t have cared for someone like that.”

“like what?”

“someone that cruel. he didn’t deserve to be loved or cared for, not in any way.”

“can only good people be loved?” you ask in return, and he seems positively surprised at your question.

“you’d find love for a bad person?”

“mingyu.” you say his name in a brief chuckle, and it steals his breath away. “do you think you have that much of a choice over who we love? we don’t. that’s what makes it so complicated.”

he seems to grow increasingly stressed with each thing you say, much to your surprise. “but would you want to love someone like that?”

looking away from him for a moment, you think his words over. “if that person was good to me, and had the same values… yeah, i would. trust me, the few people i care about are no saints, and yet i’d go to hell and back for them.”

“am i on that list too?”

you meet his eyes, and his expression is so beautifully genuine, full of raw emotion you’ve never seen him show before. it’s then that it finally hits you — kim mingyu actually cares about you.

the worst thing is that you just might care about him, too.

so you gently smile at him with a light shrug of your shoulders. “maybe.”

he reciprocates it, his brown eyes blown wide as he gazes at you. “i’m glad. you’re on my list too, y’know.”

“am i?” you tease, and he nods cheerfully, happy to have verbalized his appreciation for you. “well, i didn’t really see it coming, that’s for sure.”

your words bring mingyu’s thoughts back to the death of your father, the rift you accused him of causing between the two of you. a wave of guilt comes flooding in once more.

“look, i… i know you may not believe me, but i genuinely feel sorry for what happened. for taking something from you. despite the things i saw and heard, i really was too stupid to see that your dad treated you as badly as he did.”

staring him right in the eye, you don’t fail to catch the earnestness in them. “it’s alright. you’re not half as much to blame as i’ve tried to make myself believe you were.”

the words intrigue him. “how come?”

swallowing the lump in your throat, you press your lips together. “because he didn’t care about me. he never did. maybe he was different before my mother died, maybe he wasn’t. i wouldn’t know.”

mingyu tries to hold his ground as he watches you get emotional. he remains quiet in his spot next to you.

“can i tell you something?” your voice is hesitant and almost inaudible, like a child who’s trying to tell their parent they did something wrong.

when he silently nods, you continue.

“you wanted to know why i hated you, right? well, i...” you pause in an attempt to find the right words, “i felt invisible to my father. like i didn’t matter — i was treated like nothing more than a tool to improve his businesses. but you... he treated you like a son. like a person. and i spent years trying to figure out what i did wrong and you did right, and i just... i didn’t get it. i still don’t. but whatever it was, i was jealous that you had it and i didn’t. and everyone loved you and praised you, be it our friends or their parents. everyone in our social circle. from my point of view, no one had ever uttered a single bad word about you, and then when my father began to take a liking towards you as well... i just hated you. you were my perfect scapegoat.”

the guilt on his face is clear as day. when he parts his lips, you already know he wants to apologize again, but you shake your head, speaking up first.

because you don’t hate him anymore.

“mingyu, there was nothing for you to take away from me to begin with. long before you were even present in his life, he didn’t care for me either.” with the corners of your lips turned down, you continue. “i did everything he asked. perfect grades, perfect manners, perfect social life. but he didn’t care. it’s not often i say people have no heart, but he just… he just didn’t have one. for his job, perhaps, for his business partners — but not for anyone outside of his work. i just didn’t think that would go for his own child, too.”

you reach for your forehead, trying to take his attention away from your face, running your hand through your hair while blinking your tears away. why are you telling him all this?

but it just feels so good to finally get it all out.

“you did the best you could.” he tells you, and you nod with watery eyes.

“i did. and somehow, none of it mattered.”

when the first heavy sob leaves you, you try to hold it back, not wanting him to see you break down.

he doesn’t let you. he moves to sit next to you and takes you into his arms, and for the first time in however long, you let yourself break. the tears are your acknowledgement of the pain it has caused you over the years, the damage that will never quite heal and always follow you wherever you go.

you’re not sure why you’re falling apart this easily. you hardly ever cry anymore, perhaps a few times a year, and you usually feel strong enough to hold it all back when you’re in front of others, but this time — this time, you just can’t.

“it’s alright, sweetheart. it’s okay. you’re alright. he’s gone now.” he whispers into your ear as comfort. “but you’re not alone. not anymore.”

his heart shatters when he internally makes the comparison between the loving family he grew up in and the lonely, broken family you could hardly call home.

“why wasn’t i enough? why didn’t he like me?” you mutter to yourself, having lost control as you cry into mingyu’s neck, clinging onto his body as your chest aches.

“because he couldn’t. he didn’t have it in him to care for anyone. that says more about him than it does about you.” he responds, gently stroking your hair, even pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

and for the first time in a long time, you feel… cared for. like you truly matter to someone.

something that feels scary, perhaps even strange, but good.

mingyu’s big arms cage you into his hold, a comforting feeling. to be honest, you wish you could stay with him like this for the whole night. maybe even longer than that.

he rubs your back, feeling the pain in your chest as if it were his own. he’d take all of it if he could. you were damaged in a way that no one deserves, and seeing how much it still affects you and most likely will in the long term, that tears him apart.

the heavy ache in your chest subsides, yet you still cling onto him. you feel the most at ease you’ve ever been with anyone.

“thank you.” you mumble, giving him a tight hug with you wrapping your arms around him ‘till he’s almost suffocating. “i needed that.”

“anytime.”

you eventually finally come down from your breakdown, body slightly twitching as the last tears silently roll down your cheeks.

with your head in his lap, you lay on your side, closing your eyes for a while as the pain in your chest slowly subsides. he’s still rubbing at your clothed skin, and you’re curious if he’s aware it does wonders for calming you down.

“i’m sorry for yelling at you, gyu. after the funeral.” you speak up, voice still raspy. “i was wrong about you.”

mingyu feels his throat tighten up. “it’s okay. i was wrong about you, too. we have more in common than i initially thought we did.”

you wipe your tears away and move to sit upright, finally feeling confident enough to look him in the eye again. “like what?”

both of you are tired. everything that’s happened the past weeks has definitely been causing some sleepless nights for both of you, and with all the alcohol and emotions running high, you’re both feeling a tad drowsy.

he runs a hand through his dark locks. “this part of society — i think it’s exhausting, a lot of the time. full of noise, small talk that’s supposed to hide how cold half these people are, social pressure, all of that. but here, at home, it’s quiet. maybe a little too quiet. the thing is, i have my friends and family that i care about more than anyone else, but i still feel… hollow. like i’m missing something.”

you nod at him. “you can be surrounded by people and still feel lonely.”

“yeah.” he sighs. “do you feel it too?”

“well, i may not have a family, but i have my friends. and they mean so much to me, and i can talk to them if i need to, but… yeah. i feel it too.”

he wonders if you feel the same connection that he’s feeling right now. he’s drawn to you like a damn magnet.

mingyu already knows he’s a goner when he gently puts his hand on your cheek. he feels electrified by your presence, your voice, even the way you look at him.

he needs you.

“maybe we can be lonely together.”

his words are enough for your breath to hitch in your throat. you doubt you’ve ever wanted to have someone as much as you do now.

and so you cross a line you never thought you would and press your lips to his, desperately needing his touch.

the kiss is harsh but slow, as if you’re aching to taste eachother. his hand makes its way to the back of your head, the other on your back to pull you closer to him.

his heart might as well be lurching out of his chest. god, he feels that excitement and nervousness as if he were his teenage self sharing a first kiss with his crush — yet whatever feeling is clouding his mind is something darker and deeper, something that transcends what he can describe with words.

he kisses you like his life depends on it. once you’ve both pulled back to get some air, looking the other straight in the eye, it’s like you’re silently admitting that the relationship you share is more than just being partners.

it’s something that comes alarmingly close to love.

the moment is harshly interrupted when his phone rings. he blinks a few times before rolling his eyes at the timing, as he’s still half on top of you.

you can do nothing but wait underneath him as he takes the call, and when he closes his eyes and releases a sigh, you know it’s not positive.

“alright, thank you.” he says before hanging up, turning his focus to you. “the alarm at my apartment in the city was triggered. i gotta check it out, i’m sorry.”

“it’s fine.” you mutter out, suddenly unsure of how to talk to him now that you’ve crossed the line that you have.

but mingyu is much more straightforward. his gaze is warm and intense as it finds your eyes, and he wants nothing more than to stay here with you. so he shows you that.

just when your lips are about to touch again, he smirks, gently holding your chin. “i’ll be back for this.”

with those words, he catches his breath and gets up from the couch, after which he jogs down the stairs, and half a minute later, you hear the front doors open and close.

the sound allows you to release the breath you’ve been holding.

what the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

thank you for reading. let me know if you enjoyed it x

READ PART TWO HERE

® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.

#kim mingyu x reader #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svthub #mingyu x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen fanfic #svt smut #seventeen imagine #svt imagine #kim mingyu ff #kim mingyu angst #svt fic #svt angst #svt fanfic #svt imagines

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mononijikayu · 1 month ago

Text

criminal love — nanami kento.

"Look at me, siren." he commands, his tone steady but charged. "I want to see everything." Your eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, locking onto him with an effort that feels monumental. There’s a glint in his caramel gaze—intense, searching, as if he’s reading more than just the surface of your expression. “Good little siren.” he murmurs, his voice softening but no less dominant. “Don’t run from it. Let me see what it does to you.”

GENRE: alternate universe - detective au;

WARNING/S: afab!, romance, smut, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, nudity, kissing, making out, clit stimulation, rough sex, p to v sex, teasing, orgasm, humor, profanity, pet names (pretty man, siren, etc), characters speaking in sexual innuendo, possessiveness, betrayal, faking death, crying, drama, violence, emotional manipulation, emotional distress, guilt, angst, depression, mention of extortion, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, nanami ooc, detective! nanami kento, criminal! reader;

WORD COUNT: 20k words.

NOTE: this was roughly based on irene adler and sherlock from bbc sherlock. i ended up rewatching clips of them recently and i ended up wanting to write something about this in my own way and so i hope you enjoy it. ill probably be gone for a long while between these weeks as exam season is coming, so whatever i upload would be automated queued up. i hope you enjoy it anyway!!! i love you all!!! <3

masterlist

kayu's playlist - side 2000;

if you want to, tip! <3

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MUCH WAS TO BE DISCERNED, THAT WAS FOR CERTAIN. Nanami Kento was yet unsure what to feel about this case. But he knew that he’d better just keep his opinions to himself. He was a consulting detective, more than he was a spy.

And he was the first of his kind, well — he created the job. But he found that in his own line of work, he made the rules. And he’s not like a rule breaker — not unless he was bored. Which happens all too often nowadays.

But he made boundaries. And he likes to keep within them. A consulting detective is not meant to be a populist, nor someone who expresses the biases that come with his existence. A consulting detective was a blank canvas, a mask that never tires or tears.

The mind cannot be diluted nor dulled. Not even when it comes to personal intrigue. But as he looked at your personal profile, he couldn’t help but find himself intrigued by you.

He hums, staring at your profile. There wasn’t much to tell in detail. That’s why Yaga came to him in the first place. If they had known more about you, then they would have never come to him. But it was clear to him that you were too beautiful, much like a siren.

But then again, you were a dominatrix. That was how you grabbed your victim’s attention. That’s how you got the prime minister under your thumb and how you blackmailed him.

Still there was something about your eyes. How they were so full of walls he wanted to pierce. He’d never seen them before. Perhaps that adds to the allure he already has with you.

He was enamoured by them in his own way. Your sharp eyes glaring back at him, full of mystery. Like a puzzle. And he wanted to solve everything. He wanted to know you, unravel you for his own desires to escape boredom.

Nanami Kento leaned back in his chair, a heavy sigh escaping him as he thumbed through the sparse details of your profile once again. His office was dim, save for the soft golden light spilling from the desk lamp. It cast sharp shadows across his furrowed brow, accentuating the contemplative set of his jaw. The rain outside tapped a steady rhythm against the windowpane, a melody of monotony he had long grown indifferent to.

He tapped a pen absently against the leather-bound notebook on his desk. "A dominatrix, a prolific criminal." he muttered to himself, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Of course. Why else would someone like you have the Prime Minister dancing to your tune?"

He paused, letting the words hang in the air. A lesser man might have judged you outright, but Nanami Kento wasn’t a lesser man. Judgment required bias, and bias was a weakness. Yet even he couldn't deny the intrigue you stirred in him—a siren cloaked in mystery, luring him to uncharted depths.

Picking up your profile again, he scanned the details with a practiced eye. It was deliberately vague. Yaga Masamichi had been careful about that, only providing enough to hook him without tipping the scales. Clever. Kento appreciated cleverness.

“You’re an enigma, aren’t you?” he murmured, his voice low and thoughtful. His gaze lingered on the photograph clipped to the file. Your sharp eyes seemed to pierce through the page, as if daring him to look deeper.

The phone on his desk buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. He reached for it, his tone clipped and professional. "Nanami Kento speaking."

Yaga's gruff voice crackled through the line. "Have you made any progress?"

Kento glanced at the profile again, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips. "Progress? No. But I’m intrigued. That’s more than you can usually say after five minutes of reading these files."

"This isn't a game, Kento. This is a high profile case." Yaga growled. "We need results."

Kento leaned back, the smirk fading into something more inscrutable. "And you’ll have them, eventually. When I get into it. But you brought me in because I don’t rush. I don’t make mistakes. Trust that I’ll deliver, Yaga. But you knew that already, didn’t you?"

A strained silence followed. Kento snickers silently. Yaga knew that he was right. He’s never failed a case before. He was their only shot at figuring this out.

Driving him away with their pondering would irritate him. So, Yaga knew it best. Yaga grumbled his assent on the other side of the line and then hung up. Kento replaced the receiver with a quiet exhale and turned his attention back to your profile.

"Who are you really?" he mused aloud. The rain continued its persistent tapping, as if echoing the question. He traced a finger along the edge of the photograph, his mind already dissecting the puzzle you presented.

This wasn’t just about solving a case anymore. It was about understanding the layers beneath your sharp eyes and enigmatic smirk. You were a challenge, and Nanami Kento never walked away from a challenge.

“Time to meet the siren.” he murmured, closing the file and grabbing his coat.

The game had officially begun.

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HE LIKED GETTING THINGS DONE WELL. So, with meticulous precision, Nanami Kento began preparing. His process was almost ritualistic—a series of carefully honed steps that allowed him to immerse himself in the task at hand.

Research, observation, analysis; each was a brushstroke on the canvas of his understanding. He had done this countless times before, dissecting lives and habits like a surgeon with a scalpel. It was a game he played alone, and one he rarely lost.

It didn’t take him long to find you. You weren’t exactly hiding, after all. You were a bold one, he would admit that. Certainly, others would have tried to find a way to hide from him. But you did not. No, you don’t seem to have liked that.

The apartment you lived in was in the heart of the city. Though modest, it had an air of curated simplicity. A facade, he suspected. There could be some other place you found yourself to be at. It’s impossible to have no back up plan. Still, he’d start here. The moment he identified your specific location, he began to watch.

At first, it was dull. Too dull. Your routines were painfully ordinary: niche little trips to the market, morning coffee on your tiny balcony, polite nods to neighbors as you passed. For all the whispers of scandal surrounding you, you seemed frustratingly… normal.

“Boring.” Nanami muttered under his breath, reclining in his concealed vantage point. He adjusted his tie absentmindedly, a habitual gesture when his patience wore thin. But he wasn’t one to abandon a lead, not even when boredom threatened to set in. Boredom, after all, was often a disguise for something hidden.

And he was right. It didn’t take long before the cracks in the surface began to show.

There were subtle inconsistencies. He picks on them right away, of course. Like the way your routine shifted ever so slightly every few days. The lingering looks you exchanged with strangers on the street, each glance charged with unspoken meaning.

The phone calls you took late at night, your voice low and hushed as you paced your apartment. Much of those were patterned just as much. Of course, you would try to throw him off the course with your other calls. But he was not falling for it.

You were normal, yes—but only just enough to keep the untrained eye from noticing the undertow beneath.

Kento took note of everything, each detail cataloged with precision in his mind. How you lingered in front of a particular bookstore on days when the street was less crowded.

How your posture straightened imperceptibly when you stepped into the dimly lit café on the corner, like you were stepping into character. How your sharp eyes softened, just briefly, when you gazed out over the city skyline from your balcony at night.

"You’re meticulous, little siren." he murmured, watching from afar as you adjusted the hem of your coat before entering a black sedan one evening. "Calculated. And hiding something."

His instincts, honed by years of studying human behavior, told him you were more than the sum of your parts. You weren’t erratic, nor did you display the cold mechanical precision of a methodical planner. You were something else entirely—a paradox wrapped in elegance, wearing your secrets as effortlessly as a designer gown.

As the days turned into weeks, his understanding of you deepened. He noted how you interacted with others, your charm carefully measured, your words like baited hooks. He saw the way people gravitated to you, unaware of the quiet power you wielded over them. It was mesmerizing to watch, even for someone as detached as Nanami.

But then there were the moments that broke the pattern. The fleeting, unguarded seconds when the mask slipped. It was just for a split second and yet, it was glaringly obvious. when your smile faltered, when your gaze lingered on nothing in particular, as if lost in thought. Those moments fascinated him the most.

"You're not what you seem, aren’t you, siren?" Nanami said one evening, speaking to no one but himself as he jotted down another observation in his notebook. "And that’s what makes you dangerous."

He leaned back, letting the pen rest against his lips as he studied his notes. The bitter rain had begun again, a softly patters against the window. Watching you has become more than an assignment. It was a challenge, one he was determined to unravel.

Whatever secrets you held, he would uncover them.

Whatever lies you told, he would see through them.

And perhaps, just perhaps, he would finally find something that would make him feel alive again.

Kento approached your residence with the confidence of a seasoned professional, every step measured, every glance purposeful. The modest, meek exterior belied the reputation you had earned—a mind sharper than most, a presence impossible to ignore. Well, not to him.

For all his precision and preparation, Nanami Kento prided himself on being unshakeable.

That illusion shattered the moment he stepped inside.

The scent of sandalwood lingered in the air, rich and intoxicating, blending seamlessly with the warm glow of the afternoon sun filtering through gauzy curtains. The room was immaculate, deceptively serene, yet every detail felt deliberate, as though the space itself were watching him. And then there was you.

You stood in the center of the room, utterly bare, holding a steaming cup of tea as though this were the most natural thing in the world. The room itself was dimly lit, the amber glow of a single lamp casting elongated shadows that danced along the walls. The steam from your cup curled upward in lazy tendrils, disappearing into the stillness that seemed to envelop everything around you.

For a moment, Nanami Kento froze where he stood, his usually unshakable composure wavering. He had been meticulous, quiet as a shadow as he made his way into your space, every step calculated. He hadn’t anticipated this—hadn’t prepared for the sight of you standing there, unguarded and unapologetic.

“You’re not easily startled, detective.” you said, your voice smooth and unhurried, like the tea you sipped from the delicate porcelain cup. The corners of your lips curled upward, though the smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “But I think I managed to catch you off guard.”

"I... was unaware we had an appointment." he managed, his voice clipped, struggling to keep his gaze fixed on your eyes.

"Unaware? Oh, Detective, you wound me." You stepped forward, the subtle sway of your hips hypnotic, your bare feet making no sound against the polished wood floor. "But I knew you’d come. You’re far too predictable for your own good. Handsome, brilliant, but predictable."

Kento’s brow furrowed imperceptibly. You had noticed him before he had even made himself known, yet here you were, unconcerned and entirely in control. It was a calculated choice, he realized. Everything about you was measured. Everything from your posture, your tone, even your lack of clothing—was deliberate. A statement of power.

He stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. His gaze remained steady, unflinching, as he addressed you. “You have a peculiar way of entertaining unexpected guests, don’t you?

You chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to ripple through the charged air between you. “And you have a peculiar way of entering someone’s home uninvited. But I suppose we both like to keep things interesting.”

Kento’s caramel eyes flicked briefly to the cup in your hands, the steam still rising. You held it with a casual grace, as though the vulnerability of your current state was irrelevant. He took a measured step closer, his voice as calm and steady as ever.

“I’m not here to entertain. I’m here for answers.”

“And you think breaking into my home is the best way to get them?” you replied, tilting your head slightly. “Interesting method, detective.”

There was no fear in your voice, no tremor of uncertainty. You don’t seem to cower at the thought that he was in front of you. You were not at the least afraid, flaunting yourself bare as the day you were born right in front of him, no. If anything, you seemed amused, as though this was just another game—one you intended to win. As he usually does.

Kento’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t used to this. Being disarmed, even momentarily. You were unlike anyone he had encountered before, and it both intrigued and irritated him. You drank a handful of your tea, not breaking eye contact with him.

“You know why I’m here.” he said, his tone firm. “Let’s not waste time pretending otherwise.”

You raised the cup to your lips, taking a slow sip before responding. “Ah, but time is all we have, isn’t it, mister detective? Besides, I’m curious to see how far you’re willing to go for your answers.”

Kento’s gaze remained fixed on you, his mind racing to piece together your intentions. He had come here prepared to confront a manipulator, a blackmailer, someone who thrived on exploiting the weaknesses of others. Instead, he found himself standing before an enigma. You were a person who seemed to thrive in the liminal space between predator and prey.

“You’re not afraid of me.” he said finally, his voice quieter now, almost reflective.

You met his gaze, unblinking. “Should I be?”

The silence that followed was thick, charged with an unspoken challenge. Kento felt the weight of it pressing against him, but he refused to yield. He had come here to unravel you, to strip away the layers of mystery and deceit. But in this moment, with the air thick with the scent of tea and tension, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was you who was peeling back his layers instead.

Kento held your gaze, his mind a calculated storm of thoughts. You were testing him, pushing boundaries to see how far he’d go, how much of himself he’d expose in pursuit of whatever he sought from you. It wasn’t fearlessness that radiated from you, no. It was the epitome of control. Complete, unyielding control.

He didn’t like it.

But he couldn’t deny the subtle exhilaration it stirred in him.

“You know why I’m here, don’t you?” he said again, his voice colder this time, a deliberate shift in tone to reassert authority. “And you know I won’t leave without what I need.”

You smirked, lowering your cup and cradling it in both hands. “Oh, I know you won’t leave. Not yet, at least. But I’m not convinced you truly know what it is you’re looking for.”

Kento took another step closer, his hands sliding into the pockets of his coat as he surveyed the room with a careful glance. Minimalist decor. Sparse yet elegant, like an art exhibit curated to hide the truth. Everything was deliberate. Everything was you.

“What I’m looking for,” he said evenly, his gaze snapping back to you. “are answers. About the Prime Minister. About the leverage you hold over him.”

You raised a brow, your smirk deepening into something more indulgent. “Straight to the point. I like that. But tell me, Detective Nanami Kento—what makes you think you can find answers here?”

He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “Because you want me to find them. Aren’t you someone as bored as I am, playing the game?”

That gave you pause, though only for a fraction of a second. It was enough. Nanami Kento caught the brief flicker of surprise in your eyes before you masked it with a soft laugh. He found that your laugh was a beautiful one, had it not been one that was dangerous venom, a double entendre.

“Touché, detective.” you said, setting the cup down on a nearby table with deliberate care. “But even if that were true, you’d still have to earn them.”

“Earn them.” Kento repeated, his tone flat. “Is that your way of trying to bargain?”

You stepped closer now, the soft light catching the sharp angles of your face. Barefoot and unguarded, you moved with the confidence of someone who knew they held the upper hand—or at least wanted him to believe they did.

“Call it whatever you like, detective.” you replied, stopping just a breath away from him. “You came here for the truth, and the truth is rarely free. Especially from someone like me.”

Kento didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. He held his ground, studying you with an intensity that bordered on invasive. “And what do you want in return?”

You smiled, but it wasn’t the warm kind. It was calculated, sharp. It was your favorite weapon of choice. “For now? Just your time. Let me see how you operate, how your mind works when it isn’t trapped behind your rules and decorum. Then, maybe, I’ll decide what else you have to offer.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to manipulate him, to pull him into their web. But you were different. You didn’t rely on desperation or brute force; you wielded intrigue like a scalpel, cutting just deep enough to make him curious.

“You think I’ll play your game, hm?” he said finally, his voice low and edged with warning.

You tilted your head, your eyes gleaming with amusement. “I think you already are.”

The silence that followed was electric, the space between you charged with unspoken tension. For a moment, neither of you moved, two opposing forces locked in an invisible standoff.

Then, with a calculated step back, you broke the spell. “Well, my pretty detective, the night is young. Shall we begin?”

Kento’s gaze followed you as you turned and disappeared further into the apartment, your figure melting into the shadows. His instincts screamed at him to leave, to walk away before he found himself ensnared in something he couldn’t control.

But his curiosity wouldn’t let him.

Adjusting his tie, he followed. The game, it seemed, was just beginning.

"Do you always play fair, mister detective?" you asked, your voice laced with mischief. "Or are you tempted to bend the rules for me?"

"I don’t bend the rules." he said flatly, though the slight crack in his voice betrayed him.

"How dull." you teased, stepping closer. "Then I’ll just have to see how far I can push them before you do."

Kento swallowed hard, forcing himself to break eye contact. He scanned the room, trying to redirect his focus. Every detail he observed seemed to mock him—your careful minimalism, the way the soft lighting accentuated the curves you seemed so effortlessly confident in, and the unshaken calm you radiated.

“Come.” You urged him, walking away, expectant for him to follow you.

Kento followed you into the next room, his steps measured, his senses sharp. The shift in atmosphere was immediate. The dimly lit space you led him to was more intimate, yet it carried an undeniable weight of purpose.

A single table sat in the center, flanked by two chairs. On the table was a deck of cards, pristine and neatly stacked, and a pair of glasses filled with amber liquid.You gestured toward the empty chair across from you, settling into your own with a grace that felt practiced, deliberate.

“Sit down there, pretty detective.” you said simply, as though commanding a king to take his throne.

He regarded you silently for a moment, weighing the situation, before pulling the chair out and sitting down. His coat shifted slightly as he adjusted, the fabric catching the low light. He didn’t reach for the glass in front of him, nor did he touch the cards.

“Do you always greet your intruders like this?” he asked, his tone dry but probing. “Or am I a special case of favoritism?”

You leaned forward slightly, resting your chin on your hand as you studied him. “You’re not just an intruder, detective. You’re a puzzle. And I do enjoy puzzles.”

Kento’s eyes narrowed. “Flattery won’t distract me.”

You laughed softly, the sound melodic and tinged with mischief. “It’s not flattery if it’s true. But if you insist, let’s get to it, shall we?” Your hand moved to the deck of cards, your fingers deftly shuffling them with an ease that spoke of countless hours of practice. “We’re going to play a game.”

Kento’s brow furrowed slightly, though his expression remained otherwise unreadable. “A game.”

“Yes.” You began dealing the cards, your movements precise. “Call it… a test of wits. Each of us will ask a question. The other must answer truthfully—or pass. But passing comes at a cost.”

“And what cost is that?” he asked, his tone skeptical.

You leaned back, the flicker of a smirk gracing your lips. “If you pass, you lose a piece of yourself in this game. A truth you’ll never get back, if you will. And if I pass, well… you lose time. Precious time that you’ll never recover from.”

He exhaled softly, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table. “Clever. But you don’t strike me as someone who’s interested in losing anything, especially time.”

You tilted your head, your smirk widening. “You’re right. I don’t intend to lose.”

Nanami studied you for a moment, his analytical mind dissecting every word, every movement. This was more than a game to you, no. You liked being an actress. And this was a stage, a performance. A calculated way to see how far you could push him.

“Fine.” he said finally, his voice calm and steady. “I’ll play.”

You nodded, almost as if you had expected nothing less. Picking up your cards, you gestured for him to do the same. “Good. I’ll start.”

Your eyes gleamed as you asked your first question. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

Kento didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. He considered the question briefly, then responded with a measured tone. “I once let a guilty man walk free. It wasn’t my case, but I could’ve stopped it. I chose not to.”

You arched a brow, intrigued. “Why?”

He tapped a finger lightly on the edge of the table. “Because letting him walk was the only way to catch someone worse.”

“Interesting, detective.” you mused, drawing a card and placing it down. “Your turn.”

Kento’s eyes bore into yours, sharp and calculating. “What do you really want from the Prime Minister?”

Your smirk didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of something else. There was something deeper in the corner of your eyes. “Power. Intrigue. Freedom from boredom. I think you can already tell, don’t you think? You’ve watched me for a while.” you said simply, your voice like silk. “I like my little games, detective. I don’t like boredom.”

Kento’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing. You were the same in that regard, he supposed. You smiled at him as you discarded the card. He continued watching as you played another card.

The game continued, each question like a blade, cutting deeper with every exchange. You asked about his weaknesses, his fears. He asked about your plans, your past. Neither of you passed, neither willing to give the other the satisfaction of retreat. The tension between you built with every answer, an unspoken duel fought in shadows and half-truths.

By the time the deck was nearly gone, the air between you was thick with something unspoken. There was a heavy mixture of understanding and challenge, of intrigue and something more dangerous. And slowly, Kento began to feel more intrigue gather like clouds around his head when he looked at you.

You placed the final card down with a quiet laugh. “You’re good at this, detective. Better than most.”

Kento leaned back slightly, his gaze still fixed on you. “And you’re not as untouchable as you think.”

You smiled at that, leaning forward once more. “Perhaps not. But tell me, detective—after all this, do you think you’ve won?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached for the glass in front of him, finally taking a sip. The burn of the liquid was sharp, grounding. He set the glass back down, meeting your gaze with an intensity that could cut through steel.

“I think the game’s just begun.”

You laughed as you looked at him. “Then you’ll continue to indulge me?”

“I have all the time in the world.”

“Such a reply, detective.” Your lips curled into a sly smile.

“Much more I should be giving to you, siren.”

You laughed back at him. “Tell me, detective. Are you looking for something else, besides my secrets?” you asked, your voice dripping with amusement. You took another step forward, close enough now that he could feel the faint warmth of your presence.

"My resolve." he replied curtly, his gaze darting back to your face.

You laughed again, the sound teasing and far too pleasant. "I wouldn’t bother looking for that. It’s already mine."

Kento’s mouth opened, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but you raised a finger to his lips before he could speak. The gesture was bold, disarming, and far too intimate. His eyes narrows at you, meeting your orbs in an intense match of staring. Tension filled the air.

“I do not like betraying my rules for fun, siren.”

"Hush." you said softly, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "This is far more entertaining when you let me lead, don’t you think?"

Kento felt his pulse quicken, though he loathed admitting it. Every instinct screamed at him to retreat, to regroup, but his feet stayed rooted to the floor. You circled him slowly, your movements deliberate and languid, like a predator sizing up its prey.

"You’re tense, aren’t you, detective?" you observed, your voice lilting. "A man like you shouldn’t carry so much weight on his shoulders. Let me help you relax."

"Help." he echoed dryly, trying to inject a sliver of his usual deadpan wit. "Is that what you call this?"

"Call it what you like, pretty man." you replied with a shrug, your bare skin glinting in the warm light. "But let’s not pretend you’re not enjoying it just a little."

Kento clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms in a desperate attempt to ground himself. "You’re stalling again, aren’t you?" he said, his voice low and firm, though he hated how weak the accusation sounded even to his own ears.

"And you’re flustered. I like good, flustered, pretty men, detective." you shot back effortlessly. "But I’ll let you in on a little secret, detective." You leaned in, your breath brushing against his ear. "I don’t have to stall. You’re doing that all on your own."

Kento’s breath hitched. He turned his head slightly to meet your gaze, his brow furrowing as he tried to summon the cold, logical detachment he prided himself on. But your eyes, all bright, teasing, and endlessly confident had drawn him in, scattering his thoughts like leaves in the wind.

"You’re not going to win this little game." he said, though the words felt as much a reassurance to himself as they were a warning to you.

"Win?" You tilted your head, your smile widening. "Oh, darling, I’ve already won. You just haven’t realized it yet."

And there it was—the final, undeniable truth that sank into Nanami Kento like a blade. This wasn’t a confrontation he could reason his way out of. You weren’t just a distraction; you were a storm, unrelenting and impossible to ignore. Still, Kento wasn’t one to give up easily. He squared his shoulders, taking a small step back to create space between you.

"You can play your games, siren." he said evenly, his resolve hardening. "But I will leave with what I came for."

Your grin turned wicked, your hands resting on your hips as you regarded him with mock pity. "Oh, detective. If you want it that badly, you’re going to have to earn it."

The gauntlet had been thrown, but as Nanami stared into your eyes, he couldn’t help but feel that this was a battle where victory. If such a thing even existed might come at a cost he wasn’t prepared to pay.

Kento’s resolve teetered on the edge of collapse. Your challenge hung in the air between you, daring him to act, to push back. For all his usual composure, the magnetic pull of your presence was undeniable. And you knew it. With deliberate slowness, you closed the distance he had just created. Your hand reached out, brushing against his tie, straightening it with a casual intimacy that made his breath hitch.

"Tell me, pretty man." you said softly, your voice a sultry whisper. "Is it always this hard for you to focus... or is it just me?"

Kento’s jaw tightened, his full luscious lips parting as though to deliver a sharp retort, but the words never came. Instead, his eyes locked onto yours, his usual clarity clouded by a storm of conflicting emotions.

"Careful." he warned, his voice low, though the conviction behind it faltered.

"Careful?" you echoed, your smile widening. "Detective, I don’t think you want to be careful."

The moment hung in a delicate balance, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. And then, with a boldness that took even you by surprise, you leaned in. Your lips met his, soft yet insistent, pulling him into the heat of your daring. For a heartbeat, Kento froze, caught off guard by the sheer audacity of the act. But then something shifted.

His hands moved instinctively, one gripping your wrist, the other curling around your waist as though to steady himself. He kissed you back, tentative at first, as though testing the waters, but quickly matching your fervor.

It was a clash of wills, a battle of control as much as passion. You smiled against his lips, sensing the conflict within him, the way his rational mind warred with his undeniable desire. When you finally pulled away, your faces still mere inches apart, you couldn’t help but laugh softly.

"So much for not bending the rules, pretty man." you teased, your voice barely more than a breath. “Intrigue won you over.”

Kento’s grip on your wrist tightened slightly, his caramel eyes narrowing. "You think this changes anything?" he said, though his voice was rougher now, edged with something he couldn’t quite suppress.

"Not at all. We’re still playing this game, detective." you replied, your tone light, your smile infuriatingly smug. "But it does make things more interesting, don’t you think?"

His gaze burned into yours, but he didn’t let go. "You’re dangerous, little siren." he muttered, his voice both an accusation and a reluctant admission.

"And you’re intrigued about me, pretty man." you countered, your free hand tracing a light, teasing line down the lapel of his trench coat.

For all his strength, for all his discipline, Kento found himself at a crossroads. He could retreat, rebuild his defenses, and focus on the mission. Or he could lean into the chaos you so effortlessly embodied, knowing full well the risks involved.

For the first time in his career, the brilliant consulting detective wasn’t sure which path he would take. Nanami Kento’s breath hitched as his grip tightened, his movements becoming more deliberate, almost desperate.

“It’s for the game.” he muttered again, his voice low, almost as if trying to convince himself.

But the way your fingers dug into his shoulders, the soft sound that escaped your lips—those weren’t part of the plan. He could feel the way your body yielded to him, how every subtle shift and reaction drew him in further.

His mind wavered, the discipline he prided himself on fraying at the edges. This wasn’t just duty anymore. The mission was the furthest thing from his thoughts as he surrendered to the feeling of your warmth, your trust, and the undeniable connection that bound the two of you.

“Kento, that’s your name isn’t it?” you whispered, your voice trembling yet steady enough to pull him back into the present.

The way his name sounded on your lips... it unraveled him completely. For a moment, he forgot everything else. He wasn’t sure anymore what this case was even about and what was left to desire—but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Not when he was enjoying himself too much.

“K-Ken!” The word comes out strangled out of your mouth.

If anything, it was barely a whisper as his relentless rhythm forces your body to react in ways you can’t control. Each deep, forceful thrust hits with perfect precision, and your head spins, eyes crossing from the intensity of it all. He doesn’t care about the soft gasps escaping you or the way your nails dig into his skin; he’s on a mission.

But you’re not the same. The slick warmth building inside of you, the way your body feels stretched and filled by him. It’s all so much more than the physical. He’s not just moving through you. He’s pulling something from deep inside. Every thrust makes your spine arch involuntarily, and your chest heaves as your breath hitches with each stroke.

He’s searching. Not for your pleasure. He likes to think that he’s past that. He knows exactly what you need, but there’s one sound he’s after. That sweet little squeal, the one you only make when he’s pushing you just right, when the world disappears and all that matters is the way he makes you feel. It’s a sound so raw, so fragile, that it breaks his composure every time.

Kento’s grip on you tightens, a firm hand on your hip anchoring you in place as he drives into you with precise force. The pace is relentless, unwavering, and you can feel his determination, his need to hear it again. The pressure building inside you, so close now, your body humming with anticipation, a coil wound impossibly tight.

“Say my name, little siren.” he commands, his voice a low growl, dark with intent.

You can’t. You can barely think, much less speak. But you can’t hold it back. The sound breaks free—a high-pitched squeal that fills the space between you, a fragile, involuntary release that shatters whatever control you had left.

“There it is, little siren.” he murmurs, his voice triumphant, but there’s no slowing now.

He digs in deeper, faster, with a relentless focus that makes it clear he’s hunting something. He was hunting for something intangible yet vital. That sound, the one he coaxes from you with every calculated movement, seems to fuel him.

It's primal, magnetic, as though the entire universe has narrowed down to this single exchange, to the rhythm of his pursuit and your response.

You’re trapped in the tension, every nerve in your body taut like a wire about to snap. The pleasure is sharp and consuming, pulling you under in waves that crash against the edges of your sanity.

Your breaths come in shallow, broken gasps, each one a fight to steady yourself against the relentless onslaught. But there’s no escape; the sensations are everywhere, an unrelenting tide that drowns out thought and reason.

Your mind is a haze, a tangled mess of fragmented impulses and fleeting clarity. You try to anchor yourself, to regain control, but the overwhelming rush of feeling renders you powerless. Every time you think you’ve caught your breath, he changes his rhythm, his touch, pulling a new sound from your lips, a new surge of heat that floods through you.

It’s maddening, the way he anticipates your every reaction, how he seems to know your body better than you do. The tension builds higher, tighter, like a crescendo that has no end, no resolution, just an endless climb. Your fingers clutch at anything within reach, a desperate attempt to ground yourself. But even that slips away in the face of the intensity.

You can’t think, can’t process. You can only feel. And in this moment, it’s as though feeling is all that matters, all that exists. It’s overwhelming, consuming, leaving no room for anything else. Just the tension, the pleasure, and the sound he’s chasing like it’s the answer to every question he’s ever had.

The next wave of pleasure crashes over you, almost too much to bear, and your body responds in kind. Everything was shaking, trembling, in pleasure because of him. The only thing left to do is submit completely to him. So he can win the game.

And yet, he isn’t finished. Not yet. Because now that he’s found it, he’s going to make you give it to him again.

The tension between you is palpable, every sound, every movement heightened by the closeness. His voice, low and rough, breaks through the haze, cutting through the cacophony of sensations that have overtaken your mind.

"Look at me, siren." he commands, his tone steady but charged. "I want to see everything."

Your eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, locking onto him with an effort that feels monumental. There’s a glint in his caramel gaze—intense, searching, as if he’s reading more than just the surface of your expression.

“Good little siren.” he murmurs, his voice softening but no less dominant. “Don’t run from it. Let me see what it does to you.”

You try to speak, to form words, but they dissolve on your tongue, lost in the whirlwind of sensations. A small, breathless sound escapes instead, and his expression shifts ever so slightly, that satisfaction, mixed with something deeper, more primal.

“That’s it, yes.” he says, almost whispering, as though coaxing a secret from you. “Don’t hold back.”

You manage a broken, defiant whisper in response, your voice trembling but resolute. “You think you’re in control.”

His lips curl into a small, knowing smile. “Oh, I don’t think. I know.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down your spine, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air between you. You grip his arm, nails digging into his skin, as if to remind him that you’re still present, still capable of holding your ground even if it’s slipping beneath you.

“And you?” he pressed, his voice low, intimate. “Do you know what you’re feeling? Or are you too far gone?”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you can’t tell if it’s frustration or surrender that flickers in your chest. His words are a mirror, reflecting the battle waging inside you. It felt so good, it swallowed you whole. And you couldn’t even describe it. Everything about the rising pleasure as he thrusted in and out of you was a clash of will and vulnerability, of defiance and need.

You needed more of him.

You needed him deeper.

You needed him closer.

“I—” you start, but the word fractures, lost in another wave of sensation.

He leans closer, his breath ghosting over your skin. “Say it, siren.” he urges, his voice a quiet demand. “Say what you want.”

You hesitate, the words tangled in your throat. And in that hesitation, he holds you captive, his gaze unwavering, waiting for the answer he already knows is there. He bites your shoulder as he thrust hard, earning a loud cry of pleasure from you. He hummed against your flesh, satisfied at the reaction you gave him.

The silence between you hums with tension, the air charged and electric. His eyes remain locked on yours, dark and smoldering, the kind of gaze that seems to peel back every layer, leaving you exposed in a way that feels both terrifying and intoxicating. He doesn’t move, doesn’t touch, but his presence presses against you like a storm just waiting to break.

Your lips part, trembling as you try to form words, but they falter, caught in the haze of his nearness. Tears permeating from your eyes at the pleasure that he makes you feel. He slows his movements, earning a cry from you as he tries to coax those words out of you.

“I…” you whisper, voice low, breath catching as if the mere act of speaking might shatter whatever fragile thread is holding you together. “I don’t know.”

The admission hangs between you, raw and unfiltered, cutting through the charged atmosphere. A slow, knowing smile curves his lips, but there’s nothing cruel about it. Instead, it feels like a quiet triumph, as if he’s been waiting for this moment, this unraveling of your defenses.

“Good.” he murmurs, his voice like a dark caress, low and intimate. “ At least some honesty suits you.”

A shiver courses through you, his words sinking deeper than you’d like to admit. His head tilts slightly, the faintest motion, but it draws your attention to the curve of his jaw, the way the soft glow of the room highlights his features.

His breath, warm and steady, ghosts over your skin as he leans closer, the space between you shrinking to something nearly unbearable. Sweat glistens against the two of you, juices of your body echoing from flesh to flesh as he occupied you whole.

“I hate you.” you manage, your voice trembling but defiant, though even as the words leave your lips, they feel hollow. “You’re making me beg.”

His smirk deepens, and he raises a hand, slow and deliberate, brushing the backs of his fingers against your cheek. The touch is featherlight, enough to send a ripple of sensation through you, your breath hitching in response. He presses a kiss against your lips, earning a grunt from you.

“No.” he says softly, his tone velvet-smooth, a promise wrapped in certainty. “You don’t hate me. You hate this.” His fingers trace down, following the curve of your jaw, his touch impossibly gentle yet electric. “What I make you feel.”

Your chest rises and falls with uneven breaths, your body betraying you even as your mind screams for control. His touch lingers, deliberate and unhurried, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

You don’t pull away; you can’t. You’re caught, pinned not by force but by something far more potent—his ability to see through you, to unravel you piece by piece.

“I don’t—” you start, but the words crumble as his thumb grazes your lower lip, silencing you effortlessly. The contact sends a jolt straight through you, your lips parting instinctively under his touch.

“Don’t lie, siren. ” he whispers, his voice dipping lower, wrapping around you like silk. “Not to me. Not to yourself.”

The challenge in his tone, in his touch, is impossible to ignore. Your pulse pounds in your ears, heat pooling in places you wish it wouldn’t, your body betraying every last shred of resistance you’re clinging to. His gaze never wavers, molten and heavy, pulling you deeper into the storm of him.

“I hate you.” you whisper again, but this time the words are soft, breathless, a futile attempt to hold on to a crumbling facade.

He leans in closer, his lips just a whisper away from yours, his breath mingling with yours in the charged space between you. “Say it again.” he murmurs, his voice a dangerous, sensual tease. “Convince me.”

Your mind spins, the tension between you unbearable, intoxicating. He waits, unyielding, his proximity burning into you like fire, daring you to say something, anything. But in this moment, words feel impossible, eclipsed by the raw pull of his presence and the electric current thrumming in the space between you.

“I hate you, oh—” you whispered again, before moaning and finding no words left as his fingers thrust against your clit in circular motions. You can feel him grind against you in a slow fashion, matching the echo of his fingers.

You cry as everything in you starts to surrender before it defies. Your voice faltered just slightly, the vulnerability creeping through your chest, but you held on to it, stubborn in the way that only you could be.

His laugh was soft, almost a whisper itself, the sound vibrating against your skin like a quiet tremor. It was dark, low, and knowing, as though he found your words more amusing than anything else. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your neck, the slight brush of his lips as he spoke, each word carrying a challenge.

“We’ll see about that, siren.” he murmured, his voice rich with intention, sending a shiver down your spine. The promise in his tone was undeniable, and it sank deep inside you, where the pulse of your desire had only been growing stronger.

With slow, deliberate movements, he continued to press forward, his rhythm steady, but unrelenting. His body aligned with yours in a perfect, consuming dance. Every shift, every movement sends waves of sensation crashing over you.

His pace was measured, as much as there was that playfulness in the way he plays with your clit. But there was a quiet power behind it—an awareness of how easily he could unravel you, how each thrust deepened the tension that coiled between you.

The connection between you was electric, an undeniable force that seemed to press against the very air you breathed. Your mind struggled to keep up, lost in the clash of sensations that flooded every inch of you. Each movement made you dizzy, a mix of pleasure and frustration, but you were unable to pull away, unable to break free from the pull of him.

You tried to hold on, to maintain that stubborn edge, to convince yourself that your resistance could hold. But with every push, every breathless moment that passed, the lines between hatred and desire blurred.

It wasn’t just him moving inside of you—it was the way he knew exactly how to push you, how to pull the tension taut, drawing out something from you that you could barely name.

He shifted slightly, leaning closer, his chest brushing against your back. The sound of his breath, shallow now, mixed with the quickening rhythm of his movements. His hands slid across your skin, every touch searing, every caress a reminder of how deeply entwined you had become in this moment.

You couldn’t focus on the words anymore, couldn’t even remember what you had said. The intensity was too overwhelming, his presence too consuming. All you could do was feel, your body caught in the pull of him, trapped in the ebb and flow of sensation that made everything else disappear.

He whispered again, his lips brushing your ear as he moved, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “I know what you feel. Don’t pretend it’s anything but this.”

His words broke through the haze, pulling you back to reality, but only for a moment. The desire was stronger now, an undeniable current that swept through you, making it impossible to think beyond the next wave, the next surge of pleasure. There was no room for resistance, not anymore.

And in that moment, you were no longer sure if you hated him or needed him.

You just wanted him to make you feel this good.

You wanted him to make you feel whole.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

IN THE MORNING, IT’S NOT WHAT HE EXPECTED. He woke up early, as he usually did, the quiet of the morning wrapping around him like a cocoon. The room was still heavy with the scent of the night, the lingering warmth of your body where you lay sprawled across the sheets, naked and content in sleep.

It was a scene that could’ve been serene, intimate, a moment of peace—but last night shouldn’t have happened. It wasn’t part of the plan, and he knew that. Yet, as he sat up, his eyes lingering on the curves of your body beneath the soft, rumpled sheets, he knew that it had.

But there were no regrets. No hesitation. He had a purpose, and he had no choice but to play your game, to dive into the depths of it, as dangerous as it might be. Every move he made had to be calculated, every action precise. If he wanted to win, truly win, he had to risk it all. He had to let himself slip into the very thing that might unravel him, if only to see how far he could go.

Last night was a game, nothing more. But in the dark corners of his mind, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it had meant more to you than you let on. He saw it in the way you moved, the way your breath had caught when he’d touched you in the right way, the slight tremor in your fingers when you’d whispered to him. But that wasn’t something he could afford to dwell on—not yet.

He stood, feeling the plush fabric of the night robe you had given him last night slide over his skin. It was a reminder, a lingering token of the intimacy between you two that he had to put aside. He couldn't afford distractions. Not now. Not when the stakes were so high.

His eyes flickered to the space where you slept. For a moment, he almost lingered, but he couldn’t. He knew the risks. He had to move. The urgency gnawed at him as he stepped away from the bed, the silence of the room pressing in on him like a thick fog.

He didn’t need to think twice about where you’d hidden the phone. He already knew. You weren’t subtle, and he was too good at reading people—especially when it came to you. Your body doesn’t lie. Your movements, the way you’d touched that phone last night, the exact spot where you’d set it down without thinking.

All spoke to him in a language he knew better than his own. He made his way to the desk, his fingers brushing over the surface, feeling the faint indentation left by your hand when you’d placed the phone there. He smiled to himself, a brief, knowing smirk, before he slid the drawer open.

There it was.

The phone, sleek and cold, resting where you’d left it. He picked it up with a certain reverence, his fingers brushing the screen, already knowing the passcode, already aware of what lay beneath the surface.

The secrets, the blackmailing material, the coded messages that could bring the world to its knees. He’d seen enough to know just how much power you wielded, how dangerous you could be when it suited you.

But he wasn’t worried. Not yet.

He pressed his fingers to the phone, feeling the slight warmth still radiating from where you had held it last night. The touch was almost intimate in its own way, like the faintest reminder of your presence, but he pushed that aside.

There was no room for sentimentality in this. He had to keep his focus. His eyes scanned the screen as the lock clicked open under his touch, revealing everything you thought you had carefully hidden.

You were easy to read in that regard. Your body, your habits, the way you’d hidden everything. All your secrets were all written in the lines of your movements. You couldn’t help but let slip your patterns, and that, he had learned long ago, was your greatest weakness.

With the phone in his hand, he knew he was one step closer. Just one step. But there were many more ahead, and the game wasn’t over yet. He’d made his move. All he has to do is figure out the password.

He has a few guesses in mind, if he was being honest.

It’s why he was careful to measure everything about you last night.

Choices were good for a detective playing a game.

But as he was starting to get into his mind, he could hear the thumping. His face darted in annoyance. They’re already here to disturb his case. He moved aside as he heard the footsteps.

Just like that, the special forces stormed in like a thunderclap, their tactical gear and weapons clashing violently with the otherwise serene atmosphere of your home. The once peaceful, intimate space was now flooded with tension, the air thick with danger.

Kento could feel his body tense at the sound of muffled voices, his mind quickly shifting gears. The case was no longer about you, about the stolen moment between the two of you—it was all about the objective now.

A quiet anger simmered beneath his calm exterior, but he pushed it down. His instincts took over as his analytical mind snapped back into focus. He had to get this right. He had no choice. He had to make this quick.

“Numbers... proportions…” he muttered to himself, his fingers itching for the puzzle’s answer.

He looked at the phone, his hand moving automatically to input the code. His caramel gold eyes never left the paper as he punched the numbers into the safe’s sleek digital keypad of the phone. He hums to himself, trying to get various options right.

"Bust, waist, hips..." he muttered, piecing it together at last. He had known it all along, hadn't he? Should’ve guessed earlier. But now there was no mistaking it—the passcode was your measurements.

Just as he got to the size of your waist, everything had just clicked. The phone had opened and the screen opened with all the files welcoming him with open arms. He couldn’t help but smirk to himself.

Another case closed, another win for him, he supposed. The special forces were moving in quickly, eagerly. But just as they approached, something shifted in the room. Before anyone could take a step closer, you smiled as you appeared before him.

“Now, you don’t think I wouldn’t have a little fun of my own, don’t you?”

It was as if the world slowed. Your body blurred with speed and precision, a fluid motion that defied logic. One moment, you were on your bed upstairs asleep; the next, special forces agents were incapacitated, writhing in pain, their weapons scattered across the floor. Nanami Kento was too late to stop you. His own body, still reeling from the unexpected turn of events, couldn’t react in time.

And then, as he tried to process what had just happened, your bright clouded eyes locked with his own orbs with a sharp, calculating gaze. Everything about that is filled with something darker. A quiet satisfaction, as though everything had gone exactly as you’d planned.

He stood there, caught in the unexpected chaos, watching you. The mission had shifted once again—now it was about survival, about navigating a trap he hadn’t seen coming. And for once, Nanami Kento soon realized that he wasn’t the one in control.

When Kento came to, the world around him was eerily silent. His head throbbed, the pain searing through his skull like a jagged blade. His hands were bound behind his back, his arms aching as if they’d been in this position for hours.

His vision was blurry, hazy, and it took a moment for his mind to catch up with his body. The room felt wrong, too still, too quiet, as though the calm before a storm. He could feel everything was so out of place. So deeply disturbed. How could he have let this happen?

The memories hit him swiftly, a flash of what had just transpired. He had your phone, he had opened it, the special forces were here to assist him and had stormed in to do their job and then you, in your smiling nude form, walked over to him.

He curses under his breath. That knowing smile. You were good. You were too good. The way you had incapacitated everyone so effortlessly. The look in your excited eyes were so determined as they were unreadable. That had unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

Before Nanami Kento could make sense of it all, he found that his vision blurred again, and his body once more succumbed to unconsciousness, drifting away from the present and into the chaos of his mind.

In the dream, the world was different. It wasn’t quite reality, but it felt more vivid, more alive—like a twisted, almost haunting version of it. The colors were sharper, the air heavier, and you were there beside him.

Your presence was undeniable, a force he couldn’t ignore, and your gaze never left his. You were dressed sharply, every inch of you radiating confidence and poise, an aura of unspoken power that seemed to disarm even the most guarded men.

Your bright eyes glinted with mischief, that familiar spark he’d seen in you when you were toying with him in the real world. There was something dangerously playful in the way you watched him, as if you knew exactly what he was thinking and how to throw him off balance.

“This is why you can’t solve it, detective.” you said, your voice smooth, like honey dripping from the tip of your tongue.

There was something unsettling in the calmness of your tone, almost too composed, like you were savoring the moment. It was the kind of voice that could lull a man into a false sense of security, a trick, an illusion—just like the puzzle you had expertly crafted around him.

“I thought you were good.” you added, your words almost teasing, laced with an unmistakable challenge, as though you were daring him to catch up.

Nanami Kento’s brow furrowed. It was a rare sight, him visibly unsettled, caught off guard. The detective in him prided himself on his ability to read people, to dissect a situation with precision, but in that moment, he realized how wrong he had been.

He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected you to be a part of the puzzle. But there you were, standing beside him, offering cryptic insights with a calm that sent a shiver down his spine. You weren’t just playing the game. You were the game. You had manipulated every thread, every clue, just to see how far he would go before he cracked.

“See here.” you said, stepping closer, your presence leaning in like a quiet storm.

You reached forward, your finger tracing a spot on the board in front of him, the motion effortless, deliberate. Your touch was controlled, tracing the edges of something he had missed entirely. His eyes followed, every movement of yours like a magnet pulling him closer to the realization that his assumptions had been all wrong.

“You focused on the suspects, the alibis, the motives, but you never asked yourself why this wasn’t adding up.” you continued, voice almost a whisper, a dagger slipping between his ribs. “You already knew that, didn’t you?”

Your finger glided over the surface, slowly but with purpose, pointing out a flaw in his reasoning that he hadn’t even thought to consider. A blind spot, now glaringly obvious. He watched as you dissected his work, the very strategy he had relied on crumbling beneath your hands. He could feel the tightness in his chest, a strange sense of unease creeping in.

“You’ve been chasing the wrong lead, Kento.” Your voice was quiet but damning. “This isn’t about them. It was about who was in the front car seat. You knew it couldn’t have been that. You knew that already, didn’t you? You always have.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. The weight of them made his heart skip a beat, and for the first time in this case, his sharp mind had trouble keeping up. That car. Of course, he’d known something was off.

He’d felt it in his gut, the way the pieces didn’t quite fit together. But he had overlooked it. Too focused on the suspects, the alibis, the obvious trails. He had been distracted by the noise.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. The pieces finally clicked, and it was all too clear now. Your finger had pointed out a thread he hadn’t seen, the one that connected everything. You weren’t just playing a part in this.

You were the key to the whole puzzle. Your precision, your sharp ability to see things from a different angle, had allowed you to lead him down the path of his own mistakes. His breath caught in his throat as everything aligned. You knew. Even in his dreams, you had always known how to play the game with him.

“That’s why you let this said guilty man walk, didn’t you?” His voice was lower now, a realization dawning on him, both a question and an accusation. “Because you knew the murderer wasn’t him. It was that girl he was protecting. Because you knew she’d give you that hit on the serial killer you were finding, didn’t you?”

You didn’t say anything at first, but your gaze softened, an unreadable look flashing in your eyes. There was something in the way you looked at him, something that didn’t quite match the cold logic of your words.

“You’re catching on, detective.” you said, a ghost of a smile playing on your lips. “The girl was always the key. The one everyone overlooked. But not you. Not anymore.”

His mind raced, scrambling to catch up with the torrent of information flooding in. You had manipulated him so effortlessly, guided him through a maze of false leads, making him chase shadows when the real answer had been in plain sight the entire time. He had been so sure, so convinced that he had it all figured out. But you had been several steps ahead, as always.

He looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time in this entire game, he wasn’t sure if he was the one playing or if he had been the one being played. He blinked, his mind racing as he took in everything you were saying. Your deductions were sharp, methodical.

Together, you moved through the case, your minds combining in a beautiful, almost perfect dance of logic and wit. Every piece seemed to fall into place, the puzzle coming together effortlessly, as if it had been waiting for you to find the answer all along.

His heart raced, but he couldn’t help the sense of awe that filled him. You were good. Too damn good. And he realized, in that moment, that maybe he hadn’t been the one pulling the strings all along. It was you.

You smiled, a knowing, almost secretive smile, as you moved to stand closer to him. The case had been solved, but the triumph felt fleeting, overshadowed by the way your presence seemed to swallow the room, leaving him feeling small, uncertain. He wasn’t sure what to make of it—of you.

As the final pieces clicked into place, you leaned in, stepping close enough for your lips to barely brush his ear. The warmth of your breath sent a shiver down his spine, and his pulse quickened. You were so close now, the space between you almost nonexistent, your presence overwhelming.

“Brainy, that’s what you are, detective. You always have been.” you whispered, your voice low and sultry, just the right amount of tease in it. “Definitely the new sexy.”

Your words reverberated in his mind, burning into his thoughts. You had always known how to push his buttons, how to get under his skin, but in that moment, it was different. There was something dangerous in the way you said it, something that left him feeling both drawn to you and utterly helpless.

He pulled away just slightly, but your gaze followed him, never breaking. The mischievous glint in your eyes remained, and Nanami couldn’t shake the feeling that you were playing a game far beyond him, the one he hadn’t even realized he was a part of.

"Why do you do this?" Kento murmured, unable to hold back the frustration. "You throw me off balance, make everything feel like a damn puzzle."

You shrugged nonchalantly, your expression unreadable, but the smile on your lips never faltered. “Because, detective.” you said, tilting your head slightly, “I like games. And you play with me too well.”

He stared at you, his heart beating a little faster than it should have been. He wasn’t sure whether to be angry or impressed. He lets himself be washed by the sight of you, the siren you were. The siren that’s playing a criminal for fun. He lets his lips echo into a line.

"You always think you’re ahead, don’t you?" you continued, your voice laced with amusement, though there was a challenge in your eyes. "Well, maybe you should start thinking of me as the puzzle, Nanami Kento. Because I’m the one who’s always going to be one step ahead of you."

He couldn’t argue with that. You had always been one step ahead, even when he thought he was in control. But something inside him, some part of him, didn’t want to accept it. He wasn’t going to let you get the better of him forever.

As the dream began to fade, the room around them blurring and distorting, he found himself reaching for you, his hand grasping at the air in an attempt to hold on to the only thing that had ever truly unraveled him.

But you were gone. You already were. And this round was over. That’s just how it was. As he took a breath, he could feel everything was disappearing into the dream’s chaos, leaving him grasping at nothing but the lingering memory of your voice and the faintest scent of your perfume.

Nanami Kento woke with a start, groaning as the harsh light of reality pierced through his senses. His head was pounding, and the ropes around his wrists dug into his skin. The room was silent, the aftermath of the dream still clinging to him like a fog. The evidence was gone. You were gone.

Except for the lingering hint of your perfume, faint but undeniable.

He cursed under his breath, his jaw tightening in frustration. He had been so close. He had let himself be distracted, fooled by your words, your presence. He couldn’t afford that mistake again.

Next time, he thought, his mind sharpening as he refocused. Next time, you wouldn’t outsmart him.

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HE DIDN’T KNOW WHERE YOU HAD GONE. But he had quite a few guesses, knowing you. But life moved on as it always has. And still continued solving cases left and right, as he always has. In the months that followed, Nanami Kento found himself caught in an unexpected dance with you, one he didn’t know how to step away from.

You had added a phone number on his phone.

Six months after he met you, you messaged him.

And ever since then, you kept texting him.

Your flirtations, while playful, always left a subtle bite, a lingering edge to them. Your messages were never too forward, never outright invasive, but there was always something that felt like a slow burn. You knew how to pull him in, how to keep him wondering, questioning, and even when he tried to distance himself, the pull of your words, your subtle, calculated charm, kept him coming back for more.

Your Siren:

“Detective, you’ve been quiet lately. Too busy solving everyone else’s problems? Or is it that you can’t stop thinking about me?” 😏

Pretty Man:

“I don’t have time for distractions at this moment.”

Your Siren:

“Hmm, I’m not a distraction. Just a little... temptation. Don’t worry, I won’t bite. Not unless you ask me to.” 😈

Pretty Man:

“I’m not in the habit of asking for things like that.”

Your Siren:

“Oh, but maybe you should be. You might find it interesting... just a thought. How long do you think you can avoid temptation, Kento?”

Pretty Man:

“Too busy to play games.”

Your Siren:

“You sure? Because every time you text me, I can’t help but think you’re already playing. But don’t worry... I won’t push. Yet.” 😏

Pretty Man:

“You always do this. You don’t know when to stop.”

Your Siren:

“You’re right, I don’t. But I can’t help it when someone’s so... irresistible. I’ll let you figure it out. But just so you know, I don’t mind being patient. We both know you’re not as immune as you think.”

Pretty Man:

“You don’t know me as well as you think.”

Your Siren:

“Oh, Kento. I know exactly what you want. And trust me, I know exactly how to give it to you. But only if you’re ready for it.” 😏

Pretty Man:

“I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling.”

Your Siren:

“Of course, you’re not. But I think you might be interested in me. And I don’t mean the usual way. I’m more than just... a pretty face. You’ll see soon enough.”

Pretty Man:

“As I said, I don’t have time for games at this moment.”

Your Siren:

“The problem with you, Kento, is that you think everything is a game. But maybe... just maybe... the game is already over. You’re already playing, and I’m always one move ahead.”

Pretty Man:

“I’m not falling for this.”

Your Siren:

“I’m not asking you to. I’m just showing you how easily you can fall when you least expect it. You’ll see.” 😈

He’d wake up to your texts, your quiet, seductive words that danced between lighthearted banter and something darker, something dangerous that made his pulse race and his heart beat faster. It was a game, he knew, but it was a game he couldn’t seem to quit.

Sometimes, he caught himself getting lost in those conversations, allowing his mind to wander to places he knew it shouldn’t. He never let himself acknowledge it fully, but deep down, he recognized that you were getting under his skin. You were more than just a case, more than a temptation. You were becoming a shadow in his life.

As Christmas drew closer, a sense of foreboding settled over him, thickening the air around him. It wasn’t just the weight of the holidays or the cases he hadn’t solved; it was you.

The last few months had made him feel like he was constantly walking a tightrope, one step away from falling off, and every text from you only deepened that sense. He tried to focus on his work, tried to keep his mind clear, but you were always there, lingering like an unanswered question.

Then, one evening, a package arrived. The familiar weight of it told him who it was from before he even opened it. He didn’t need to look at the return address—he already knew. Inside, wrapped in simple brown paper, was a phone.

A camera phone, scratched and worn, with the screen cracked and a faded sticker on the back. Your phone. The woman whose disappearance had left a hole in his chest, whose death had been the catalyst for so many of his sleepless nights. The case had never sat right with him, and now, months later, this phone was reappearing in his life like some twisted ghost.

His fingers were cold as he held the phone, his breath catching in his throat. The smell of her perfume, faint but still distinct, clung to the device. The note that came with it was simple, almost too simple, but it sent a chill down his spine nonetheless:

“You wanted answers. I think it’s time you got some.”

The words haunted him. His grip tightened on the phone as his mind began to race. He had tried to bury the case, tried to move on, but now this thing you had sent, this link to the past, dragged him back into the abyss.

The guilt he had buried deep down resurfaced, mixing with a sense of dread. This wasn’t just a message about the woman who was dead—it was a message to him, about him, as if he were being pulled back into the game he’d been trying to escape.

A few days later, the news hit him like a blow to the stomach: a body had been found. The victim was a woman, her body discarded, lifeless and cold. The description matched you—you, his siren.

The one whose death had never been fully explained, never truly understood. His mind raced, every instinct screaming at him that this was connected. It had to be. He should have expected it, but when the truth came crashing down, it was still a blow.

He couldn’t look away from the image of your own body, your face frozen in an expression of pain, the familiar features twisted by the brutal finality of death. The realization was slow to settle in, but it sank like a stone in his chest.

You had orchestrated this. You had sent him the phone. You were always the one pulling the strings. This was more than just a case to you. It was personal. It was a twisted game, and Nanami Kento was just another piece on your board.

Days turned into weeks, and Nanami found himself sinking deeper into a well of depression. The guilt, the despair. He couldn’t escape it. He had failed. Failed to protect you, failed to see the signs, failed to connect the dots in time.

The person whose life he couldn’t save now haunted him, and the worst part was that it wasn’t just about you anymore. It was about you. You had been playing him all along, and now he was left to clean up the mess, surrounded by the broken pieces of a case that he could never close.

Each night, he would come home, exhausted from the mental and emotional toll, only to stare at the phone you had sent him. He couldn’t bring himself to throw it away. Something about it kept him tethered to the reality he didn’t want to face.

It was a constant reminder of his failure—and of you. The scent of your perfume clung to it like a poison. The knowledge that you were still out there, still watching him, was a constant weight pressing on his chest over and over again.

He tried to focus on the case, tried to throw himself into finding answers, but the deeper he dug, the more he realized that this was a trap. It was a trap you had set for him long ago, and he was too far in to find his way out. Every lead he followed seemed to circle back to you. Every piece of evidence pointed back to you.

You were the mastermind, always just out of reach, always one step ahead.

By the time the holidays passed, Nanami Kento had stopped celebrating. There was no joy in the season for him. Only the gnawing emptiness and the crushing weight of his own inadequacies. He knew, deep down, that he would never escape you. You were like a shadow, always following, always watching. Always waiting for the next move.

And as he lay awake at night, the thought that gnawed at him more than any other was this: Next time, would he be able to stop you? Or would he fall for your game again?

But then he received that message.

He felt his eyes widened at that beep.

Did you miss me, pretty man?

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YOU CAME TO HIS APARTMENT THAT DAY. He couldn’t believe it. His mind was racing, his heart hammering in his chest. You were still alive. After everything, after all the assumptions and deductions, after all the pieces that seemed to fit perfectly in their place, here you were.

Full in the flesh, standing before him. The winter air was crisp around you, your breath visible in the cold as you stood there in a coat, a scarf wrapped loosely around your neck, looking as composed as ever.

Nanami Kento took a moment to take you in. His caramel eyes lingered, almost as if he couldn’t quite process the sight. You were here. Alive. Breathing. In the flesh. The siren who had been a ghost, a phantom in his case, who had slipped through his fingers.

The same vicious smile you always wore was still there, tugging at the corners of your lips, as though everything was a game to you. And those eyes—those same cloudy, unreadable eyes. Eyes that seemed to reflect nothing and everything at once.

He felt a pang in his chest, the strange mixture of emotions flooding him all at once. Confusion, anger, horror, surprise. Some of it was easy to name, others not so much. But the most striking of all was the disbelief.

The realization that this was real, that this moment was real. His breath caught as he stared at you, frozen in place for a moment. How did this happen? How did you survive?

"You’re not dead." he finally managed, his voice rougher than he meant it to be. His hands were clenched at his sides, every muscle in his body taut with the need to understand, to make sense of it all. "How?"

You gave him no answer at first, simply letting your gaze hold his, piercing and cold. You were enjoying this, the way he struggled to find the words, the way the detective inside him faltered. Then, as though sensing his confusion, you spoke, your voice smooth and mocking, a trace of amusement threading through your words.

"You missed me, didn’t you?"

The question hung in the air like smoke, curling around him, suffocating him in a way that left him almost breathless. He didn’t know how to respond. His mind was still reeling from the shock, his pulse quickening. You were alive, and yet, everything he had come to understand about this case had been a lie. A carefully constructed illusion designed to deceive him.

"Missed you?" His voice was quieter now, laced with a mixture of disbelief and something darker. His eyes narrowed as he finally took a step forward. "You’ve been playing me from the beginning."

You tilted your head, a small, satisfied smile playing on your lips. "Is that what you think?" you asked, your tone almost playful. "Tell me, pretty man, do you feel used? Confused? Or perhaps... a little betrayed?"

His frown deepened as he stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "All of the above." he muttered, voice low with frustration.

But despite his words, something else flickered beneath the surface. Curiosity, maybe. A strange pull he couldn’t quite ignore.

"You knew this whole time, didn’t you? You knew I’d be after you. You wanted me to come for you."

You didn’t answer at first, letting the silence stretch between you. Then, with a small sigh, you shrugged as if it was nothing. "You’re the one who followed the breadcrumbs. You’re the one who couldn’t resist. You wanted to solve it. It’s just a part of the game."

"Game?" he repeated, the disbelief turning to something sharper, more biting. "You think this is a game? People have died."

Your smile only deepened, colder now, the amusement never leaving your face. "And yet, here you are, still chasing after me. Yearning even, don’t you think? Still trying to make sense of it all."

His hands clenched tighter, anger flaring. “You’ve made a mess of everything. You’re toying with people’s lives like they don’t matter.”

"Toying?" You raised an eyebrow, amused, almost entertained by his indignation. “No. I’m giving them a choice. And you’re the one who chose to follow. After all, detective, you thrive on puzzles, don’t you?”

He took another step toward you, his voice a low, threatening murmur. “You’ve made your game far too dangerous. You’ve hurt people... innocent people.”

“You’re acting like you care.” you replied with a laugh, as if the idea of him being emotionally invested was laughable. “But we both know you don’t. You’re just trying to win. And you will, Kento. Eventually. But not without paying the price. That’s how this works.”

For a moment, the tension between you two was unbearable. He was so close now, the air thick with the weight of his anger, and yet, there was something else beneath it all. He wanted to understand you.

With how you thought, how you operated. But more than that, something in him craved the challenge you presented, even now, even after all the destruction you’d caused.

"You think you’re above it all, don’t you?" he muttered, his tone laced with both frustration and intrigue. "But you’re just as trapped in this as everyone else."

The smile never left your lips, but your eyes shifted, a flicker of something darker flashing beneath the surface. "Maybe." you said softly, the words drawing his focus closer. "But I’m not the one chasing. You are."

Nanami Kento’s frustration was palpable, his brow furrowing as he stared at you, unable to fathom why you were here, standing in front of him, alive. Alive. His thoughts scrambled, questions tumbling over one another in a chaotic mess.

He couldn’t understand it, couldn’t grasp the full extent of the situation. And yet, here you were, standing in the middle of it all, as calm and composed as ever.

“Why are you here?” he demanded, his voice rough with a mix of disbelief and barely contained anger. “You should be—" He stopped himself, the words hanging in the air as he realized how much had gone wrong. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

You let his question linger for a moment, your gaze never leaving his as the air between you thickened with unspoken tension. His eyes, sharp and searching, never wavered, as if waiting for some explanation that would make sense of the madness. But all you did was smile. Calm, almost indifferent.

“I needed a place to hide.” you said softly, your voice smooth, almost too casual for someone who had just reappeared from the dead. “And you’ve been looking for me for so long, pretty man. It seemed like the most obvious choice.”

His eyes narrowed, not sure whether to be more furious or more confused by your nonchalant answer. His breath came in quick, uneven bursts, his hands clenched tightly at his sides as if keeping himself from reaching out and shaking some sense into you.

"Hide? Hide from what? From who? You’ve been playing everyone, manipulating them—manipulating me."

Your gaze flickered with something unreadable, but your lips quivered upwards, amused by his attempt to piece it all together. "You think you understand everything, don't you?" you said, stepping a little closer to him, the space between you closing, your body language daring him to act. "But you're missing the point. You're too caught up in your own game, in your own rules."

His breath hitched as he took a step forward, eyes burning with something darker, something more dangerous than frustration. "Stop playing with me." he warned, his voice low and tense, every word coming out with an edge that made the air feel even heavier. "Tell me what you want, what you're really after."

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you looked up at him, your eyes locking with his, and for a brief moment, the tension between you both was almost suffocating. The air was thick with unspoken words, with desire and anger and something else, something neither of you had been willing to acknowledge until now.

Kento couldn’t help but just stand there, staring at you, the weight of the situation sinking in deeper with every passing second. His mind was clouded, his control slipping just a little more with each heartbeat that seemed to thunder in his chest. And then, before he could stop himself, the last thread of restraint snapped.

Without warning, he moved, closing the distance between you in one swift motion. His hands gripped your shoulders possessively, pulling you into him as his lips crushed against yours. It was a kiss of urgency, of frustration, of desire that had been building since the moment you walked back into his life.

For a moment, you didn’t react. But then, slowly, deliberately, you kissed him back. Your lips parted, and the tension that had been coiling between you two unraveled, replaced by the heat of your kiss.

The sensation was electric, a dangerous blend of anger and attraction that you both couldn’t seem to escape. His hands slid to the small of your back, pressing you closer, as if trying to imprint the feeling of you into his very being.

You let yourself go, the sharp edges of your emotions dulling under the intensity of the kiss. It was everything he hadn’t expected and yet everything he had craved in this moment. The game, the puzzle, the questions—they all faded into the background as his kiss consumed you.

His heart was pounding in his chest, every nerve alive with the need for more, but he pulled away just enough to look at you, eyes dark and intense. "You’re not getting away this time." he muttered, his voice low and gravelly.

You smirked, breathless but unfazed, your fingers lightly tracing his jaw as you met his gaze. "I never planned on running." you replied softly, your voice a whisper of something darker, something more dangerous.

The tension between you was palpable now, the air crackling with a dangerous energy that neither of you could deny. You were playing the game, and so was he—but this time, the rules had shifted. And neither of you knew exactly where it would lead.

As the days wore on, the subtle, electrifying tension between Kento and you only deepened. Your presence in his life was no longer something he could dismiss. Even though he tried to maintain his emotional distance, you had an uncanny ability to break through that wall, piece by piece.

Every conversation, every look, and every small gesture you made slowly chipped away at his resolve. You were pulling him in with an invisible force, and despite his best efforts to resist, he could feel himself being tugged along, unable to escape the gravitational pull of you.

The house was quieter now, the days blending into nights where neither of you spoke much about the underlying tension. But you didn’t need words to communicate. The silence between you both was a language all its own, an understanding that neither of you could easily put into words. You didn’t need to talk about your past, about the things that had driven you to seek him out again.

Kento knew that there was a story buried deep inside you, one you were unwilling to share, but it didn’t matter anymore. You had already told him more than enough, through your body language, the quiet moments where your eyes would meet just a little longer than usual. He understood you better than anyone else could, even if he hated it.

One evening, the two of you sat together at the kitchen table, an open bottle of wine between you. It was a routine that had become familiar, a time when the chaos of the outside world could be forgotten, even if just for a moment.

You had been telling him about a case you were working on, but as you spoke, Kento found himself lost in your presence rather than the details of the case. The way you leaned into the table, the way your fingers brushed the rim of your glass, the way your voice carried effortlessly through the room.

Everything about that, all of it held him captive. You had caged him along with you. It was then, in the stillness between your words, that the question came, hanging in the air like a soft whisper. It always was.

“Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?” Your voice was quiet but laced with something unspoken, something that made the words feel heavier than they should have been.

Kento’s heart thudded in his chest, and for a moment, he almost forgot how to breathe. He knew what you were offering wasn’t just a meal. There was something deeper, more intimate in the way you phrased the question.

It was a silent invitation, one that promised more than just food and conversation. He knew that much. It was obvious. It promised the chance to finally break down the last of the barriers that had kept you both apart. But he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t. He pursed his lips.

No matter how much he wanted to, no matter how badly his body and mind screamed at him to give in, he knew he couldn’t let himself fall back into this—this pattern, this trap. He had to maintain control, to keep his distance.

But even as the words left his lips, as he said, “I can’t” something inside him felt like it was unraveling. The regret and the longing in your eyes, the way your smile faltered just for a moment, told him that you understood exactly what he meant. It hurt, but it was the right thing to do. Or so he told himself.

You didn’t say anything at first. You simply looked at him, the silence stretching between you like an ocean. And then, as if all of your plans had finally come to fruition, you stood up from the table and walked around it, your heels clicking softly on the floor.

The distance between you both evaporated the moment you moved closer, your presence suddenly all-encompassing. Without a word, you leaned in, your lips barely grazing his ear as your breath sent a shiver down his spine.

“You don’t have to say it with words, Kento.” you whispered. “I think you already know what I want.”

And in that moment, every single ounce of resistance he had left shattered. It wasn’t that he had stopped caring about the boundaries he had put in place. It wasn’t that he was suddenly willing to throw away everything he had tried to protect.

It was simply that the pull of you was too strong, too irresistible. The magnetic force between you both was something that no amount of willpower could suppress. He was already too far gone.

Before he could think or process what was happening, your lips were on his, soft and urgent, demanding nothing and everything all at once. His hands, seemingly of their own accord, reached up to pull you closer, to feel the warmth of your body against his.

The kiss deepened, slow at first but quickly turning desperate, as if both of you had been holding back for too long. The taste of you, the feel of your skin against his, was intoxicating, overwhelming.

It was more than just desire. It was the culmination of everything that had been building up between you both, an undeniable need that neither of you could control.

The night unfolded like a haze of touch, soft whispers, and heated moments that blurred into each other. The world outside ceased to exist as the two of you lost yourselves in each other, in the raw, untamed connection that had always simmered between you.

Nanami Kento couldn’t remember when things had gone from tentative, unsure steps to something more frantic, more desperate, but he didn’t care. He was past caring. In the quiet aftermath, as you lay beside him, your body pressed against his, Kento’s mind raced.

He couldn’t pretend that this didn’t change things. It had already changed everything. The walls he had so carefully built had crumbled in a matter of hours, and now he was left standing at the edge, unsure of how to move forward.

As you slept beside him, your head resting on his chest, he realized the truth that he had been trying so hard to deny: You were no longer just a temptation, a passing distraction. You were something else entirely—a force that had entered his life and shaken everything to its core.

And for all his attempts to hold back, to keep his distance, he knew, deep down, that he would never be able to escape you. The lines between right and wrong, between desire and control, had blurred beyond recognition, and now, there was only one thing he knew for certain: he was caught in your web, and there was no going back.

As the quiet settled over the room, Kento couldn’t shake the feeling of your presence beside him. It was as though every inch of him had been pulled toward you, and now that you were so close, the pull had only deepened.

He wanted to say something, anything, to break the silence, but the words seemed stuck in his throat. The vulnerability of the moment was overwhelming, and he didn’t know how to handle it. You stirred beside him, your fingers tracing idle patterns across his chest.

There was a quiet contentment in the way you touched him, as if you knew exactly how to make him feel both at ease and disoriented at the same time. Finally, you broke the silence with a soft, teasing whisper, your voice low and laced with something that made his pulse quicken.

“You know, Kento, I never took you for someone who’d be so... unpredictable.”

Kento turned his head to look at you, your face still partially hidden by the dim light of the room, but he could see the playful glint in your eyes. Despite the heaviness of the situation, despite everything that had just transpired, there was still a challenge in your tone—like you were daring him to acknowledge what had just happened between you.

“I never expected you to be so persistent.” he replied, his voice hushed but tinged with the weight of the words.

You smiled, a faint, knowing smile that seemed to reach the corners of your eyes. “Persistence has its rewards, don’t you think?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he let his eyes linger on you, taking in the details of your face—how you looked so much like the woman who had always been just out of reach, yet now was lying next to him as though you belonged there.

The closeness was intoxicating, and for a moment, Nanami Kento allowed himself to let go of the inner tension that had been gnawing at him.

“I shouldn’t be doing this.” he muttered, almost to himself. His hand moved to gently push a lock of your hair behind your ear, a movement that seemed strangely intimate. “I’m not... someone you should be relying on for this kind of thing.”

You turned toward him, propping your head up with one hand, the other resting on his chest. Your gaze was steady, unwavering, and you leaned in slightly, as if closing the space between you would help you understand him better.

“You’re wrong.” you said softly, your voice carrying a quiet confidence. “I know exactly who you are, Kento. You’ve been so careful, so stoic, but underneath that... I see you. And I know this isn’t just a passing thing for you. You wouldn’t let it be. Not with me.”

His throat tightened. He wanted to say something in response, something to deny the truth of your words, but for some reason, the honesty in your gaze made him pause. It was almost like you had peeled back a layer of himself that he had buried for so long, and now there was no turning back.

“Do you think you’re the first person to think they can outsmart me?” Nanami asked, his voice surprisingly gentle, almost like he was talking to himself. “You’ve always been good at what you do. Too good.”

“Is that a compliment, or are you just being modest?” you teased, but your voice was softer now, as if the playful note was fading into something more serious.

“It’s the truth.” he said, his voice steady but filled with a new kind of weight. “I can’t pretend that I’m immune to you, that I can just walk away from all this.”

You shifted slightly, your body inching closer to his, as though the tension in the air had become too much for both of you to ignore. Your lips parted, your gaze never leaving his. A glint of something beyond the icy clouds he was enamoured about.

“You don’t have to walk away, Kento.” you whispered, a trace of vulnerability beneath your usual boldness. “But if you’re not willing to stay, then don’t bother pretending. I won’t waste my time.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on him, heavier than it had ever been before. Your hand rested against his own, smiling at him so tenderly.

“I’m not pretending.” he finally said, his voice quiet but resolute. “I know what I want. The question is... do you know what you want?”

For a moment, it seemed like the world outside the room had disappeared entirely. You were both in this space, suspended in time, just the two of you, your emotions intertwined in a way neither of you had fully prepared for.

“I know exactly what I want.” you replied softly, your fingers brushing his jawline. “But the real question, Kento, is whether you’re ready to let go of what you’re holding onto. You may be in control... but for how long?”

The challenge in your voice sent a shiver down his spine, and Kento couldn’t help but lean in just a fraction closer, as though the very air between you had become too thick to ignore. The magnetism of the moment was too strong, and even though he knew the risks, knew the consequences, he didn’t pull back.

“I’m not sure if I can let go.” he admitted, his voice low. His caramel eyes searched yours, looking for something—anything—to make sense of the chaos swirling inside him. “But maybe... just maybe... I’m starting to understand why I don’t want to.”

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you closed the small gap between you and kissed him, a soft, slow kiss that held all the promises neither of you dared to speak aloud. It was a kiss that conveyed everything, a silent agreement that neither of you had the strength to pull away from.

And as the night stretched on, the boundaries between right and wrong, between need and guilt, blurred once again. Neither of you said what was truly on your minds, but in that moment, words weren’t necessary.

The understanding was enough. The desire was enough. And maybe, just maybe, this—this strange, inevitable connection was more than either of you could ever have imagined. Even though he didn’t know how long this was going to last.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

YET HE KNEW THAT YOU WERE COMPETITIVE TOO. You didn’t want to lose the game. It was more than just a challenge to you—it was a test of your control, your power over the situation. You’d played the game so carefully, weaving each step, each move, into a perfect symphony of manipulation.

But that night, before you disappeared from his apartment, Kento had seen it in your eyes. That brief, fleeting moment where the façade cracked, where the sharp edges of your confidence gave way to something far more vulnerable, something he would never fully understand.

The room was thick with tension, charged with an intensity that neither of you had been able to escape. You were face to face with him now, and the walls of your meticulously crafted world were closing in. The situation had shifted in ways you hadn’t planned for, and every move you had made, every carefully laid out strategy, was beginning to unravel.

You’d been the one pulling the strings, the one who had orchestrated everything with precision. But now, Nanami Kento stood before you, a force that had disrupted the delicate balance you had worked so hard to maintain.

His sharp mind, his piercing gaze, and his unyielding persistence had become the thorn in your side, one you hadn’t expected. The game was still on, but the stakes were higher than ever. For a moment, you let your mind drift back to the past few days.

How you’d thought you had him under control, how you’d been so sure of yourself. You had always been in control of the game. Whether it was your charm, your intellect, or the secrets you so expertly guarded, you had always held the upper hand.

But with Nanami Kento, there was something different. Everything about him was an anomaly. His presence was like a force of nature, one that couldn’t be ignored, one that made you question everything.

“This is what you’ve been working towards?” Yaga Masamichi's voice was cold, filled with disbelief.

He had been observing from a distance, waiting for the right moment to intervene, but now it was clear that the game had reached its climax. You stood across from them, eyes sharp, calculating. You could feel Kento’s eyes burning holes into you.

"I’m not interested in your so-called justice, iceman." you spat, turning your focus back to Kento. "You both are just pawns in a much bigger plan. This—" you motioned vaguely around you. "—all of this is a distraction. A test. And you were so easy to manipulate, detective."

Kento stood still, the air thick with resolve. The betrayal in your voice stung, but he wasn’t letting it sway him. “You’re the one who’s been playing a game, siren.” he said quietly, his gaze never leaving yours. "And the one who's been pretending. Pretending like you didn’t have a stake in all this."

You scoffed. "Please. Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t need you. I’m using you, just like I’ve used everyone else. You were always just a tool."

But there was something in your eyes, there was a flicker, an imperceptible shift. Something that betrayed your words. Kento, ever observant, didn’t miss it. He took a step forward, his brow furrowed, voice cutting through the air.

“You’re lying.”

You froze.

His eyes narrowed, taking in the subtle signs you thought you had hidden so well. "Your elevated pulse. You can't fool me. You're interested in me. All this... it’s a game to you, but you’re not fooling anyone.”

You felt a chill run down your spine. How could he have figured it out so easily? You had worked so hard to keep up the façade, to maintain the power, but in that moment, Nanami Kento had seen right through you. He always has, the moment you both met.

“You really thought you had me, didn’t you?” Kento continued, his voice low and steady, almost teasing. “You thought I wouldn’t notice. But I can see right through you. The truth is, you’ve always been a lot more invested than you let on."

“How can you be so confident?”

The room felt smaller, the silence deafening as Nanami Kento moved closer, his expression unreadable. You were beginning to panic inside, but you refused to let it show. Your eyes tensed as he got to you. You watched as he wraps the fingers of his right hand around her left wrist, then leans forward and brings his mouth close to her right ear.

“Because I took your pulse.”

Almost suddenly, you could feel yourself going through your memories. You found yourself at that moment, where you were kneeling in front of him and smiling at him. Your hand on top of him. You hadn’t noticed it then. You were too busy looking at him.

It was then he, keeping eye contact, turning his hand over and resting his fingertips on the underside of your wrist. The beating of your heart echoes against the fabric of his flesh. He pursed his lips in a flat line.

You frowned, betrayal finally evident in your eyes as you gathered yourself to the present once more. You could feel his grip on your wrist tightens. You try to open your mouth but nothing comes out of your lips.

“They’re elevated.” He continues to whisper to you. “Your pupils dilated, just like back then.”

“I imagine people think that love seems like a mystery to me, that it’s of lesser value to my fondness of the game, of logic.Like you want it to be.” He tells you, brushing your hair and tucking it against your ear. “But it’s chemistry,a s simple as breathing. It’s just as destructive, don’t you think?”

Kento turns away and walks a few paces from you. You couldn’t help but try and follow behind him. But you stopped as he turned around and faced you once again. You purse your lips in a flat line. He smiles at you as he takes the phone.

“You know, you tried to convince me that this is all a game, that you were bored and this was you having fun. You played all those games over and over, tempting me and you couldn’t help it could you?”

He starts pressing the buttons on the phone. You could feel the air get punched out of your lungs. You wanted him to stop, but he didn't. He looks up to you, trying to see your panic and tension.

“You knew I would try and use your body as much as you would use mine. You allowed me to take your measurements, everything. But this phone, everything about this is intimate. This is your heart.”

Without breaking his gaze into your bright emotional eyes, Kento pushes his finger and punches in the first of the five letter code. Then it clicked. You closed your eyes, tears pouring out your eyes. You could feel your heart beating loudly.

“And if you wanted to win the game.” He whispers to you, smiling. “You should never let it rule your head.”

You stared at him, trying to stay calm but the panic is beginning to show behind your eyes, tears pouring down your cheeks. You had lost to him. He smiles at you in a triumph as your breathing becomes heavier.

“You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you’ve worked for.” he tells you as he stares at the phone. “But after all that time, being obsessed about me. You just couldn’t resist it, couldn’t you?”

“Stop. Please.”

“I’ve always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage.” He continues as you try to seize his hand, gazing intensely at him. “Thank you for the final proof.”

He shows Yaga the phone.

It was his name, K-E-N-T-O.

You felt the tears pour again.

“Everything I said: it’s not real.” You whispered back at him, lying through your teeth. “I was just playing the game.”

“I know.” He whispered to you, his eyes echoing fondness. “And this is just losing it.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t expected him to be able to guess it so quickly, but of course, he was always ahead of the game. He knew what you had been hiding all along. With a sharp click, the phone unlocked. Kento glanced at the screen briefly before turning his gaze back to you.

Your stomach turned. The room seemed to tilt around you. For the first time in your life, you were the one caught in the web. You had underestimated him. The man who had been nothing more than a distraction was now the one holding the key to your entire operation.

Before you could react, Yaga moved swiftly to grab the phone from Kento’s hands, but you were already one step ahead. Your instinct for survival kicked in. You didn’t have time to make sense of it all. You needed to leave. Now.

With a sudden movement, you grabbed your coat, the weight of the situation pressing down on you as you turned to the door. Kento’s gaze followed you, but he didn’t try to stop you. You looked into his eyes. He knew that you wouldn’t last six months.

“Not so fast.” you heard him say, his tone sharp. “You won’t get away that easily.”

But you were already slipping out of the room, the sound of your heels echoing down the hallway as you fled. Behind you, you could hear Kento and Yaga discussing the aftermath, but it didn’t matter anymore.

Your plan was unraveling, but you were no longer in the mood to play by their rules. In the blink of an eye, you were gone, disappearing into the shadows of the city, knowing that the game had shifted—and you would need to find a new way to stay in control.

As you hurried through the corridor, your mind raced. The realization that Nanami Kento had figured out your carefully constructed ruse was a blow to your confidence, but you couldn’t afford to dwell on it. You had come too far, planned too meticulously, to let it all collapse now.

Still, the fact that he had guessed the password, his name, cut deep, deeper than you'd expected. You had thought your feelings were buried beneath the cold, calculated façade you’d built, but now, standing on the brink of losing everything, they resurfaced in full force.

Nanami Kento—the man who had been a mere pawn in your plan had somehow become the center of it. His presence, his ability to break through your defenses, it all felt like a betrayal, even though you were the one who had been playing the game. You didn’t have time to question what had gone wrong; you had to act fast.

As you made your way down the stairs, the voices of Yaga and Kento grew fainter, their words drowned out by the pounding of your heart. You knew you had to disappear before they caught up, but something inside you resisted, a strange mix of anger and... longing. You couldn’t let it show, not now, not when everything was slipping through your fingers.

Your fingers gripped the handle of the door to the street, but just as you were about to escape, a voice called out.

“You think you can just run?” Kento’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that sent a shiver down your spine. He had followed you.

You whirled around to face him, your eyes narrowing in defiance, your body tense with adrenaline. Kento stood a few feet behind you, the doorframe casting shadows across his features. He looked at you with a mixture of frustration and something else, something more complex than anger, maybe even understanding.

“Do you really think this is the end, Kento?” you sneered, trying to mask the uncertainty building inside.

You had never shown this side of yourself to him before, this vulnerable, off-balance side that was beginning to crack under the weight of your own feelings. You couldn’t afford to let him see it, though. Not now.

“You always have an answer, don’t you?” he said quietly, his gaze steady as it locked with yours. “Always one step ahead, but this time, I’m the one who figured you out. I know what you're really after.”

You clenched your jaw. You could feel the heat of your emotions bubbling to the surface, but you held them back. “You don’t know anything, Kento.” you said, your voice was hard, but the crack in it betrayed you.

He stepped forward, closing the distance between you. His presence was like an anchor, heavy and undeniable, making it impossible for you to ignore the magnetic pull between you. For a moment, the anger you had been holding onto faded, replaced by something much more dangerous. You could feel it in your chest. A thudding, tight sensation that wasn’t entirely from fear.

“I know you.” Nanami said, his voice low. “I know how you work. How you manipulate, how you play people to get what you want.” He took another step toward you, his eyes never leaving yours. “But I also know something else. I know that you... care.”

You blinked, startled. "You're wrong." you hissed, your heart racing as you tried to shove the feelings back into the recesses of your mind where they had been hiding.

But he wasn’t finished. "No.”he said, his tone firm. "I’m right. You’re not as cold as you think you are. You’ve been hiding behind your plan, using it as a shield, but it’s not fooling me anymore."

You wanted to lash out, to deny it, to prove him wrong. But his words hung in the air, making it harder and harder to push them away. He was right, in a way. You had always told yourself that you were in control, that you could manipulate the situation, use it to your advantage. But now, standing there with him, with the evidence of your vulnerability laid bare, you weren’t so sure.

"Don’t make this harder than it already is." he said, his voice soft but resolute. “You don’t have to keep running, but if you do, you’ll only be fooling yourself.”

You could feel the weight of his words pressing down on you, the truth of them sinking in like a heavy stone. You were out of options. You didn’t have an answer. The truth of it hit you hard, and before you could stop yourself, you were already fleeing.

Your heart pounding, the camera phone slipping from your hand as you disappeared into the night. You didn’t know if you were running from Nanami Kento or from yourself. But one thing was certain: the game was far from over.

“Run now, siren.” He whispers in your ear. “I’ll let you have the head start.”

He had won this time, and you lost.

You always will, when it comes to him.

You loved him, after all.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

THINGS HAVE GONE AND PASSED AGAIN. The air was heavy with the kind of silence that could only follow about something like this. Yaga Masamichi. sat at his desk, the faint hum of the office lights above the only sound as he held the letter in his hands. Kento can only look at him, trying to keep a poker face.

He had received the news just moments ago. The news that people were expecting. News that even Kento knew would happen. But after you had lost the game, you were more vulnerable than ever before. And there was nothing that was to be done about it. That was just how it was in this world.

You, the enigmatic figure who had stirred the threads of chaos and manipulation in their lives, had been executed by enemy spies. He heard it was at least merciful, one clean cut. And now he has to tell Nanami Kento. And that would close the case.

"Yaga, you called me here too early for this.”

“I know, I know. But it has to be said in person.” Yaga said, his voice steady but grim. “It’s about the dominatrix.”

Kento looked at him for a moment.

He sighed as he straightened his position.

“What happened?” Kento’s voice had softened, as if preparing for the inevitable.

“They’ve been executed.” Yaga said, each word feeling like a final nail in the coffin of everything they had all been through with you. “Some of their enemies... They caught them. They’re gone.”

There was another long silence. Nanami Kento didn’t speak immediately. He sighed, and slowly took out a cigarette from his pocket. Soon, he pulls out a lighter. The soft click of a lighter igniting the moment filled the void.

“Thank you for informing me.” Kento replied, his voice low, emotionless.

“Listen, I just—” Yaga started, sensing the complicated nature of their relationship, but Nanami cut him off.

“I’ll handle it.” he said, his tone final.

And with that, Nanami Kento stood up.

The smell of nicotine echoed through.

And then, he left as quietly as he entered.

Nanami Kento arrived back at his apartment, the cigarette already gone. He sighed as he sat in the quiet of his apartment, the heavy weight of the news pressing against him. His apartment, usually a place of calm and routine, felt eerily empty now.

The hum of the outside world fading into a distant, unimportant murmur. He walked to the corner where his violin sat. He had left it a while ago, having been summoned. There was a new piece he had to enjoy. A new refuge from the chaos of his life.

Sitting down, Kento lifted the violin, the bow in his hand as though it were second nature. He placed it against the strings and began to play—a soft, mournful tune that echoed through the empty space of his home.

The melody wasn’t one he had planned to play. It was a reflection of the tumult he felt inside. There was an unspoken grief, a lingering ache that he couldn’t quite place. It was almost as if he were trying to play the sorrow out of his chest, to make sense of the confusion swirling in his mind.

But his mind kept circling back to you. The way you had manipulated him, pulled him into your web, but also the way you had challenged him, pushed him to think in ways he never had before. He couldn't deny the complexity of his feelings for you. The mix of resentment and a strange, reluctant respect for the person you were.

You had been his puzzle, one that never quite made sense, and now, with your loss, that piece of his life was forever unfinished. You were the game that he enjoyed the most, the game that had excited him the most. The game he loved.

As he played, his fingers faltered slightly over the strings, the tension building in his chest as he remembered the last time he had seen you. The way your eyes had locked, full of unspoken words. The way you had almost reached for him, only for everything to crumble apart in the chaos of the mission.

The music began to swell as he poured his emotions into each note, but something else caught his attention. The glint of the camera phone in his breast pocket. The phone that had been the key to everything.

The phone that he had kept close, far closer than he had ever intended. It wasn’t just a tool, a piece of evidence. It was a reminder of you, a tether that still held him in your orbit, even in your absence.

He paused his playing, reaching up to gently pull the phone from his pocket. His fingers brushed over the smooth surface, feeling the weight of it like a secret too heavy to carry. The camera phone wasn’t just part of the plan you had devised.

It was a part of you. And in that moment, Nanami realized that he hadn’t just kept it because it was useful; he kept it because it was a connection to something deeper. You were gone, but the phone, the lingering traces of you, remained.

Nanami Kento sighed, placing the phone on the table before him as he continued to play, the melody soft and contemplative now. It was clear that, despite the distance between them, despite all the lies and manipulation, there had been something real there. A part of him, something he couldn’t quite articulate, had been drawn to you.

He didn’t understand it completely, but one thing was undeniable: you had left your mark on him, and in the quiet solitude of his apartment, Nanami Kento allowed himself to admit it. He would keep the camera phone close. Near his heart.

But then he smiles.

His mind goes to months ago.

The air was thick with the sounds of an angry voice drifting over the low hum of a military vehicle. The camera shakes, blurring the scene in the darkness, until it finally stabilizes, the picture clearing as reality begins to take form.

You’re kneeling on the cold, unforgiving earth, the bright floodlights from the vehicle casting long shadows across your body. Clad in your death robes, you appear almost serene, a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding you.

With one hand, you type slowly and deliberately on your phone, ignoring the shouts, the movement, the urgency of it all. Your fingers glide over the screen, eyes fixed on the message you’ve been preparing for hours.

Goodbye pretty man.

Your heart beats steadily as you press send. It’s the final touch. Your final act. To your right, a man holds a rifle with one hand, his other hand outstretched, demanding your phone. His voice is rough, laced with frustration as he calls for you to hand it over.

But you don’t flinch. You don’t move. You’re not done. His voice sharpens with each demand, but you remain composed, fingers pressing the keys with a calm that unnerves him. Give me the phone! Now! he roars, but your gaze stays fixed on the screen.

Not yet. Not until you finish.

He steps closer, anger flashing across his face, rifle raised again, his grip tightening. But you don’t look up. You don’t react. You type with precision, your thumb moving over the screen with careful intent, as if time no longer holds any meaning.

The world around you may be closing in, but you’re lost in the finality of your message.

It feels almost too simple, and yet, it’s everything.

Then the atmosphere shifts.

A sudden tension cracks through the air, and the voices behind you falter, confusion rippling through the men as a figure steps forward from the shadows. You hear his voice before you see him, calm, unyielding.

“Stand down.”

Nanami Kento.

The man holding the rifle hesitates, looking between you and the newcomer. Kento’s presence is a force. It was silent, authoritative. His voice has the weight of a command, and it leaves no room for argument. The rifle lowers, and the soldier steps back, unwilling to face the quiet fury Kento brings with him.

Kento doesn’t spare a glance at the man. His attention is on you. His steps are measured, purposeful, as he approaches. He kneels beside you, and for a moment, the chaos around you blurs into silence.

His hand brushes your shoulder gently, a wordless comfort in the midst of everything. He doesn’t ask why you’re here, doesn’t ask why you’ve sent the message. Instead, he simply looks at the phone, glancing down at the words you’ve typed.

“Goodbye pretty man...” he reads softly, his voice a mixture of concern and something else—something unreadable.

You finally glance up at him, your expression a mask of calm, but your eyes flicker with something more. A slight smile, cold but there, pulls at the corners of your lips. You take a moment to breathe, taking in the presence of him.

“I didn’t think I’d make it out this time.”

His gaze softens, just for a second, before he stands, pulling you to your feet effortlessly. His fingers are warm against yours as he closes the phone, taking it from your hand. His grip is firm, sure, as he pulls you into his orbit, away from the danger, away from the violence.

Without a word, Kento turns his back to the men as he walks away. You’re with him now, an unspoken agreement passing between you. His presence is unwavering, the tension around you fading with each step. He leads you through the chaos, his voice cutting through the din with quiet authority, silencing any protest from the soldiers around you.

“You’re coming with me. Now.”

His words are simple, but there’s no room for defiance. You follow, not because you have to, but because for the first time in months, you feel something that’s been missing. An anchor, a safety in his steady presence. You couldn’t help but smile.

You don’t need to say anything more. He’s here.

You’re not alone anymore.

The game has changed.

And Nanami Kento is the one who changed it.

“My vixen of a siren, where could you be now?”

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