#im still very not okay and its not really getting better at the moment but i think when it gets colde it will all be better | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

every1woo · 1 month ago

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all my live reactions :P

𝒯𝑂: 𝑆𝑂𝑀𝐸𝑂𝑁𝐸 𝐹𝑅𝑂𝑀 𝐴 𝑊𝐴𝑅𝑀 𝐶𝐿𝐼𝑀𝐴𝑇𝐸 ༉

𝓘N THIS STORY 〃 a life lived as a human among the fae is one hard-earned. the folk are built of indescribable beauty, and of debauchery and mischief. for some, a life lived subservient to the folk is just fine; but to those who dream of something more, they would spend their lives clawing and biting to make it happen.

you, looking for a way to escape a life as a faerie’s human servant, put a new foot forward thinking that any life could be better than that. but, when your first assignment as a king’s spy is alongside a brooding, icy faerie man, you begin to wonder what your place in this foreign world really could be.

wc ➳ 20.2k

pairings faerie!taehyun x human!reader, faerie!yeonjun x human!reader

warnings angst, heated kissing, violence, blood, jealousy jealousy jealousy, controlling and obsessive behavior, a bit of a gross nightmare, magic spell places over a human, a bit of traditional values, i think that’s all…

playlists ⑊ yeonjun ˒ taehyun ˒ series

…🪶 ashlynn's note guys. really. that’s all i have to say. i love u and once again if u see a typo or like whack sentence…… no you didn’t. also my back hurts help

← ⑊ →

You’ve come to a thought, in all your aimless idling about the estate. Running your fingers over the surface of all the things you’ve done and the decisions you’d made leading you into this reality, you’ve been caught on one particularly worrisome divot: the geas.

They hadn’t exactly given you a time frame, but you surmise that you’re quickly approaching the limit. You've entertained the fantasy that they’ll just consider the both of you dead, but it’s just that: fantasy. You know it’s a ridiculous thought. There’s a plethora of things that they might first assume before coming to the conclusion that you’ve met your ends. Though the geas’ workings are a bit elusive to you, you can imagine that all it would take is a tug to check whether or not you’re alive. So, if you ever really wanted to call this place home, you’ve got to do away with it. You’ve got to. Otherwise, all your wagering to stay here would be in terrible vain. You imagine how much of a fool you already look to Taehyun, considering your entanglement with the prince, and how he’d warned you repeatedly. It’s not your fault that he decided to stay here along with you, but you feel nauseous imagining your own mistakes getting the both of you killed.

Embroidering whorling designs on the hems of your coverlets or sweating away your energy with practicing blocks and parries, you’d also let your mind wander off to fill the silence. It was then that you’d remembered what Beomgyu had offered you in his attempts at luring you. I could dissolve that geas for you.

You sit, legs spread out ahead of you, in the little spot that you’ve found yourself frequenting these days: pressed against the side of your wardrobe, just enough room for your feet to brush against the wood framing of your bed without having to bend your knees. Taehyun has recently been bringing an influx of faeries to work the estate—all indebted to him or his father. Or, well, that’s what he tells you, anyway. You choose to believe him, but still, you wonder about the circumstances of those debts. The brownie assigned to your care, named Conifer, is long-limbed with bark for skin that crawls up from her spindly fingers and toes, just to end at her shins and fore-arm, and insists on bathing you and preparing your clothes each day. When you refuse her, she loiters around the doorway anxiously watching you prepare yourself with her watery black eyes until you decide to make her life just a bit easier and allow her to do her work. You don’t exactly adore the scrape of her sharp fingers on your scalp while she does your tresses up, though. Their presence reminds you of the servants you’d see running around Yeonjun’s place.

In this corner, you avoid them. It’s a nice spot to betray your own resolution; his letters are only a grab of the handles away. You try not to, but you read them. Often. When your memories really get kicking, when you’re sickened by twinkling, desperate eyes looking up to you from the ground, you read them.

“You look sorry.” Beomgyu settles opposite from you, his back against your bed.

Scoffing at him, you pull yourself out of a slouch. “Oh, wow. Thank you. You have a way with words,” you quip, hiding the letters you’d fished out indulgently away behind you.

He furrows his brows. “I meant it.”

You drag in some air and release it slow. “I know. I’m sure I do.”

He points at you with the hand he has rested on his knee. “Does it have something to do with the letters?”

You hadn’t hidden them fast enough. Shame crawls a warm red path over your cheeks and ears. Nobody has made any comments at you for your longing, but it feels pitiful to be doing so. You shake your head. “No. I was just... thinking. About something you said when we first met.”

Strong brows shoot up over lazed eyes. “I think I said many things,” he says, “you’ll have to tell me.”

“That you could dissolve my geas,” you say, fiddling with your fingers.

His eyes consider you. “It bothers you.”

“It does,” you say. “It was a mistake. I should’ve refused it.” Hope flutters in your chest like a dead weight. You shun it away before reality can rip it out for you.

Deadpanned, and not particularly delicately, he tells you, “I cannot break it.”

Nodding, you wilt. It’s what you were expecting, anyway. That would be too easy. "Why not? You said it yourself that you could.”

“A geas is a type of magic cut from the fabric of a promise. It’ll exist until the faerie that placed it over you chooses to revoke it. I couldn’t reach in and cut the line like I would another sort of enchantment.” He presses his mouth into a line. “I was under the impression that you were brought up here. Hadn’t you known that a promise is binding?”

Wincing, you answer, “Yeah. I did.” And yet, you made it. It was perhaps the biggest mistake you’ve made in your entire life. You now understand Taehyun’s aversion when he first made his appearance at the den. You were too tunnel-visioned to really listened to him, then. You run your hands furiously through your hair. “Still... you said you could. How did you say that, if it was a lie?”

A wicked smile cracks over his lips—one that looks as though he’s sharing a joke that only the both of you might understand, but you’re far from being in on it with him. “A bit late to be learning how our kind play, I believe. I was able to say that because I made myself think it true. It is not plain, and it is not fair, but it’s what it is.”

“That makes no sense,” you say, shaking your head. “You can’t believe something is true over what you already know is the truth. You’d have to acknowledge the other thing’s truth to do that.”

He grimaces. “That you believe that is why you’ve found yourself here. It’s paradoxical, maybe, but we’re good at that. Loopholes exist where you look hard enough for them. If you don’t intend to get caught up, you just never accept a Faerie deal, there’s no other way to it.”

Running fingers over the grooves in the wood of the floor, you say, “I suppose I shouldn’t ask you to work up an enchantment that might counteract it, then.”

“Perhaps I could,” he says.

Perked up and mouth dropped open, you’re ready to ask him a waterfall of questions. He cuts in before you can even start. “It wouldn’t rid you of the original magic, and I can make no promises to you that it’d be watertight.”

“I’ll take anything,” you say. With narrowed eyes, you add, “After that whole speech about finding loopholes to lie, and to never trust faerie magic, though...”

He frowns at you. “I see how it is.”

“What? I mean, you said it a few seconds ago. I think getting tripped up into another Faerie trick, like, literally seconds after you warned me about them would be a bit ironic.”

“We’re no longer friendly,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

You laugh. Him considering you friends is news to you. The word is delicious. You want to say it more. “Oh, please. We’re only friends when it benefits you. How can I be so sure you aren’t tricking me?”

“Now, we’re really not friendly.”

A laugh bubbles past your lips once again, and you crawl over to him to try and make amends. “You’re the one who said it.”

He turns his face from you. “Spare me.”

“Seriously though, do you mean it? That you’d help me?” you ask. The proposition is too shiny to not consider.

“It’s not as if I could harm you in any way,” he tells you, dropping the theatrics. “I think I’d like something in return for it, though.”

You frown. Of course, in Faerie, there are no favors. “What would you want?”

The kelpie’s eyes roam over your room for a moment, but it’s mostly for show, because his eyes come back on you with intent. He lifts his head at you in a pointing gesture. “Those letters,” he says.

Frown deepening, you sit back. “The letters?” you say, trying to rein in your face. You don’t want him to see how awfully you want to cling to them. Having them is inconsequential when stood beside dealing with the geas, but still... “The ones from Yeonjun?”

Eyes dancing with interest, he nods. “Those.”

You pull them from behind you. They look a lot less pretty now, envelopes dented with your touches. You can’t see why he’d have any interest in them; they weren’t even for him. “Why?” you ask him. “They’re just letters.”

Beomgyu nod his head in acknowledgment. “They are,” he says. “So why do they bother you as they do?”

Pausing, you consider his words. Why do they? Yeonjun is a liar. You weren’t special—just a mission to him. You should hate him; seeing those letters full of flowery words and proclamations of love should anger you. And they do, they do anger you, but that doesn’t stop you from reading them. You’re not sure what you’re searching for in them. Closure? Proof of his lies? Or, excuses?

Beomgyu has no interest in the letters. It’s his way of telling you that you need to grow a spine. You suppose it’s about time that you do just that.

“Here.” You push them off into his hands. “You’ll do it, then?”

The corners of his lips turn up. “Maybe...”

You hiss and reach for your letters, but he tugs them toward himself and holds them safe out of your reach.

“Give those back, you prick,” you say. “You don’t get them for free. It’s called a deal. You said you’d help me.”

With his eyes dancing with wild mischievous intent, he pretends to think. “Did I?”

You land a smack on his upper arm, groaning when it only sends his face more viciously taunting. That playing glint in his eyes is welcomed, though. At least you know he’s only playing. Otherwise, you might be more worried that he is genuinely screwing you over. “Stop playing tricks,” you say, furled out from gritted teeth. “You know you did. This is what got you here in the first place, idiot. I’m being serious.”

His lip curls, and he relents. “Do not remind me.”

“Didn’t you learn your lesson the first time?” you say, sending eyes with dagger points his way. “C’mon. Magic.”

Looking kicked, he grabs your hand. It sends you back to the day you’d gotten that awful geas and the way Cricket had done the same thing. You’re going to fix that mistake.

“I was just having my fun. I suffer a terrible drought of it here.”

Your skin tickles, and you know he’s working on it. Heart doing nervous laps, you say, “Well, look whose roof we live under. It’s no wonder.”

He likes that, wicked delight crackling over his features in just the same way his magic crackles through your veins. It’s a far cry from the last time you’d felt a sensation like this. It feels as though a beast of the wild is crashing through your bones like they’re hollow. It’s untamed, but you know just by the thrumming of it that his magic is much more refined and ancient than the geas’. Its claws brush up against your very core.

You try and blink away the daze, deciding to distract yourself away from it with speech. “You know, I was thinking.”

He raises his eyebrows, listening. His magic doesn’t falter as he offers you his attention; no need for his concentration. Not when he’s had centuries to become intimately familiar with it.

“That maybe Yeonjun is a gancanagh,” you continue.

A gancanagh—sugar-mouthed faeries with the power to send those around them enamored with them with only as much as their words. They’re better known for their other, and in your opinion more fitting, name: love-talker. You’d been so taken by Yeonjun, so weakened by him. The idea that perhaps it was all to the effect of some magic... You’re not sure whether it consoles you or makes it hurt more. Then again, it could also just be you trying to justify the mistakes you’d made. Your mind bends and twists around the thought, maybe the magic. Or, maybe, frustration.

“A gancanagh,” he says. Beomgyu considers the notion for a moment, but still works his magic through you. “I’m not sure.”

Not sure? You press the issue. “How are you not sure whether or not the prince is a gancanagh? I know you stay in your forest, but I imagine that you’d know that.”

“Hmm.” He turns your arm as if trying for a new angle. “I believe that the prince’s mother is one of the sorrier kinds that the High King takes. He has his Ladies, and he has his courtesans. It seems that he was not so proud of her, since her name never reached my lands.”

A bout of nausea rolls over your skull. His magic is so potent. The tidbit of information is enough to have you perking up despite it. “You think that his mother is a courtesan?”

“Well, I know she is not a favored Lady. I know nothing of her. She could be gancanagh, or she could be any other thing.” He shoots you a pointed look. “I’m curious as to why you ask.”

Skin clammy, you wipe at your cheek. “How long does this take?” you ask.

“As long as I make it take,” he says, tilting his head off to one side. “Why are you worried of the prince’s heritage?”

You know he’s fishing answers out of you. Shrugging, you tell him, “It was a genuine thought.”

Nausea and buzzing subside as he releases your arm. “The King has many children. Only some were really considered for their father’s throne, though. I know that the young prince was never one of them. I suggest thinking on that.”

You blow out a shuddering breath, controlled and small, to compose yourself under the weight of this new magic. “That’s it?” you ask, brushing some hair away from your face. “What did you do?”

“Mostly, blocked.”

“Elaborate,” you say, running fingers over your skin as if you might feel the magic there.

Taken with amusement, he answers, “If the one who placed the geas there tries and play that card, they’ll find the pathways blocked.” He slumps back onto your bed. “It does not mean that the original magic is gone. It is still very much there. Just... hindered.”

Your head swims. It’s not gone, but this... You know that your sleep will come to you easier now. Maybe it’s not foolproof, but this is much better. Much.

“No more deals,” he tells you. “You’ve only got so much of yourself. Each time you fill yourself up with our magic, you lose that space. You will never be whole again, but you ought to savor what you’ve got left. You can only make the best of it.” His mud brown eyes are not joking, now.

Blinking, you fumble out a nod.

You’ll never be whole again. You hope that’s more a clever wording than the truth, but with the chill that grips your belly and brushes over the overfilled parts of you, you fear you can’t help but believe it.

❆

You hate it.

Drowning in it—you hate it. You hate the scarlet red of it, you hate the sticky spray of it on your skin, hate the cries of agony that follow its ceremony, and the feel of its blazing warmth fresh from the body. You’re choking. Swimming up with thrashing arms, it’s so thick that you make no way.

The liquidity turns to sturdy arms. They cage you, grab your heart and twist, point daggers at your chest and they whisper words in your ears that you don’t want to remember. Your place is in the dirt, they say. You are nothing. A boot in your neck chokes you. You want to scream and cry that you are good, that you didn’t want to hurt them, that you’ll just mind your place if they take their boot off from your neck, but you can’t. You have no voice.

The metallic tang of the blood follows you, even as you find yourself standing in Court. It stains the muddy floor a wretched color. A thousand eyes blaze on your skin.

You feel them looking at you. You want them to stop, but they laugh and laugh. Yeonjun joins them, looking up at you with vile mock.

“You think I’d beg for you?” he sneers. His sweet voice is warped and twisted into something ugly and mean that grates at your ears and heart. His laugh echoes, and then you’re looking up at him as he hovers over you. “You don’t deserve my begging. I hate you.”

Metal burns your nose, and when you look between the two of you, he’s bleeding from the stomach—from the dagger you’d plunged there. He looks up at you, livid eyes piercing you. “Look. Look what you did. You killed me.”

You shake your head frantically, going to hold his face. You try to tell him no, no you didn’t—you didn’t kill him, but still—

Shooting up, you grasp for breaths and clutch at the bedding. Heart thudding in your chest, you find Taehyun stood in your doorway, looking dragged from sleep.

You adjust your sleep gown, disheveled with sleep and ridden up your thighs. Still piecing together consciousness, you croak out a, “Huh?”

There, tickling at the back of your mind, you still smell blood.

“I thought something was wrong,” he says, taking in the room with a thorough sweep. “You sounded...” Taehyun starts, but does not finish. “Since you’re doing fine, I’ll leave you to sleep.”

“Stay?” you blurt, before he can turn and leave you here. Your voice comes out thinner and more fragile than you’d meant it to.

Brows shooting up, Taehyun is hesitant to step into the room. “It’s probably hours before sunrise,” he says. “You don’t want to fall back asleep?”

You shake your head. No, you don’t. If you do, then you’ll be back to drowning. You might not even be able to fall asleep at this point. The taste lingers. You’re still panting a little when you say, “I don’t want to bother you, but... Please.”

Taehyun relents apprehensively, stopping just before the end of your bed. Moonlight blooms over his face from the window. It makes a show of his sharp cheek and jaw lines and emphasizes the feathering of his jaw around a hard swallow. “You were having a bad dream,” he says, an observation rather than a question. “About what?”

Him standing over you like that; it doesn’t feel so easy to tell him that you’re haunted by what you’ve done. You wince at him and send a gesture up. “You don’t have to stand there. You can sit here.” You pat at the opposite end of your bed.

He flexes one hand, a rare anxious gesture from him. “I wouldn’t just invite myself into a lady’s bed.”

Well, he didn’t have to put it like that.

You say, “I’m inviting you to sit down next to me, Taehyun...”

It’s a few moments before he does, bed dipping beneath him. Like this, it feels much less like an interrogation. Insects buzz outside, singing their song to the stars and mercifully filling up the moment that you take to pluck up composure. He watches you, but doesn’t say anything. He waits.

Catching a few strands of your scattered thoughts, you say, “Do you get nightmares sometimes? About the people you’ve killed?” It’s blunt and not much, but it’s all you have in you. It’s a thought that has served as a thorn in your side for quite a while now, too. Is it only you who’s had a prison made of their own mind?

Will it ever go away?

Resolutely, he shakes his head. “No. I don’t.”

“Oh.” You hold yourself a little harder, as if the chill that passes over you is a draft from the window and not bitter dread. “How? How can you not be bothered by it? They’re dead, and they’ll never be coming back. They had as many thoughts and wants as we did. They had mothers that might weep to know they’re gone. I can’t... I don’t stop thinking of them.”

“It’s a bit too late for me to start feeling sorry for it,” Taehyun says. “You can’t let it rule you. Not everybody is good, and they were not. If they try to hurt you, you hurt them first. If they lay their hands on you, you cut them off.”

You grow tense as he explains, eyes so heavy that you can practically feel the dark hollows beneath them. “Not even when you hurt someone for the first time? It didn’t bother you then?”

He eyes you. The pine smell of him so close to you is both familiar and a distant memory. “I saw blood too early for it to ever haunt me.”

Turning finally, you find his eyes. “I feel so guilty.” Your body buzzes with the need to curl into him, to have him comfort you for it, but you know that he won’t receive it the way you want him to. The way Yeonjun had.

But you need it. You need it so bad right now.

“That won’t absolve it. Guilt will not raise them from the dead,” he says. It’s forthright, but he doesn’t mean it to disconcert you. “You’re tearing yourself up inside, but there’s justice in protecting yourself.”

Swallowing around tension, you nod. He’s right; you had every right to kill those times. You’ve known that the whole time. So, why does it still visit you in the deep hours of the night? You chant his words in your head, as if to beat them into your skull. If you try hard enough, you will.

“What happens?” he asks, when the both of you have been quiet for too long. It’s strange to see him making attempts to fill silence. “In the dreams, what happens?”

Shifting into a cozier position, you lean into the headboard by your shoulder. Some of the adrenaline has worked itself away, but remembering it is still bitter.

You don’t miss the flickering of his eyes over the expanse of your thigh. You might’ve explained it away as a quick glance if that... look had not passed over his face. Restraint—darting eyes and his throat bobbing. It seems that his concern about being in your bed was about more than just propriety.

“Mostly, blood.” You make a distraction out of the hemming of your blanket, pinching and picking at it. “So much of it. Sometimes the dreams are different, but... it’s always the common theme.”

Acknowledging that, he dips his head in a slow, shallow nod. “We’ll start training you on the bow, then.”

“The bow?” you ask.

“I think that the long range will be better for you,” Taehyun elaborates.

You drink his face in once more. In it, you see him reaching out a hand—it’s shaky and awkward and untrained. But under all that, you see that he’s trying. In the silver moonlight, the bow does not look so bad.

Taehyun doesn’t leave you until dawn cracks through the windows.

❆

You wish that you had your gloves. It’s freezing today—wind whipping your hair and teeth chattering even through your extensive layering. You have, like, two pairs of woolen stockings on. But Taehyun said that you’ll need to be able to grip the bowstring good, and so you abandoned them when you’d dragged all this on.

He’d made good on his word. Now, you’re out in some shallow neck of the woods, and he’s pointing out the trees that you’re supposed to be using for targets. They’re obscured in the onslaught of snowy haze. You want to gripe that he’d picked the worst day to drag you out here, but really, you know it was a fully intentional choice.

“No bullseye for now, just try and hit them wherever you can manage.” Taehyun makes a gesture up at the array of trees. “Don’t forget that the wind is blowing west. You’ll have to adjust for that.”

He watches you take up an arrow, quiet as you clumsily wiggle it around until it sits in a spot that feels relatively correct.

“Higher,” he finally says. “Find the rest for the arrow, and then you’ll find the nocking point on the string.”

You fumble with the placement some more, freezing fingers not as agile as they could be. Just as he said, the arrow falls into a place where it sits comfortably. “This?”

He hums, voice closer. “That’s good. Now, you lift it just like that. Don’t lose that hold, and pinch the back of the arrow, behind the feathers, with your knuckles.”

Raising the bow, you’re so concentrated on keeping the arrow in place that it shocks you how hard it is to pull the bowstring. The further back you pull it, the more force it demands from you. You only manage to bring it halfway before you stop. “Woah.”

Wind stops brushing your cheeks and hair so hard, and Taehyun’s voice comes from right beside you this time. “Harder than you thought it’d be, huh?” he says, smirk in his voice matching the one you find on his mouth when you turn to look at him. “It’s going to be hard for a while. You’ve got to build up the muscle for it. For now, you just have to power through it.”

You try again, finding the spot where your muscles protest and then going beyond it. Your arms tremble, some spot in the middle of your chest aching with it. You sift through the trees, rushing to find one to release the arrow on before you can no longer maintain the hold.

“Stand straighter.” He reaches over to adjust your arm, pulling the string-wielding one even further back and forcing your chest further open. Your arms burn. You’re not sure how much longer you can hold like this.

“Hurry,” you say.

“Go ahead.”

Deciding on the nearest tree, you let the string go from between aching fingertips. It misses and passes the tree to land somewhere in the foliage behind it, but not as awfully as you’d expected. Hissing, you shake out your arms and stretch your shoulders to try and kill the burn, but it lingers. “You made that look a lot easier than it really is,” you tell him.

“My first shot looked a lot like that,” he says, leaned back into a tree. “That was a great first try. I should’ve had you on the bow earlier.” He motions to the bow. “Show me another one.”

Arms still ringing, you sloppily repeat. None of the arrows meet their mark, and you get worse with each. You’d done so well with the first one, though. Frustration sparks in your chest, catching into a flame when this one misses as well. The cramping in your shoulders and the gnawing of frost at your fingers do not help your temper. “Guess that was beginner’s luck,” you say, jaw tense. “I can’t shoot for shit, now.”

Pushing himself off the tree, Taehyun approaches you once more and says, “It helps if you breathe out before letting the arrow go, but it’s mostly that your arms are tired. Today isn’t about aim, it’s about repetition.” Now in front of you, his eyes dart down to your mouth, but it’s a split-second look. You’d have missed it with a blink. You want to ask him why he keeps looking at you like that—like how he had in your bed that one night. You don’t want to make the air awkward, though.

To be more honest with yourself, you’re afraid to ask. You’re afraid what the answer might be; you have don’t even have the foggiest clue. “Maybe we should go back. I’ll just stick with what I know.”

“So, you’ll just give it up when it gets hard?” he says, a little ticked off. A muscle in his jaw feathers.

You wonder what he’s thinking, beyond just what he’s saying. What he feels beyond what he’ll let you see. The reason that Taehyun dropped the spy life the moment you’d told him you’d stay here with Yeonjun is still just as elusive to you. You’re no fool—you’d seen the look that passed over his face when you had. It had brought a chill down your spine, something hollow but also desperate. Taehyun does not seem like the type taken to puppy love. He does not seem like the type to follow whims, either. So, what is this? You’re unsure what to make of it, and what to make of him.

You two had been snapping teeth and blazing arguments, but what lays beneath that? Why does the impenetrable man let you get under his skin the way he does?

“Yes,” you say, just to ruffle some feathers. “I’ll just keep working on swordplay.”

He catches the bait. “Then, what are we out here for? I thought close combat was bothering you.” Flakes of fluffy snow sit on his hair, white petals against black. “And, it doesn’t hurt to diversify your skillset. Not with a war looming.”

Frustration gives way to softness. Taehyun doesn’t have to be out here. He has no obligations to help you with your ridiculous, pitiful dreams. You’re thankful for it, no matter how rugged he comes across while doing it. “I’m just messing with you. You make it too easy,” you say, offering him a smile. Beneath it, you’re left reeling with the reminder about the war. In your choosing to omit it from your thoughts, you’d just about forgotten about it. Anxiety comes crashing back through the crumbling dam. By now, the King has absolutely realized that Yeonjun is not coming back. Does he think that the north has hurt him or holds him hostage? He might start the war himself, then. A thought dawns upon you. That might’ve been the intention all along—to have him start things, to remain faultless. Taehyun had said that the Queen is a scheming sovereign.

“War,” you say, licking over chapped lips. “Do you think it’ll really happen? That it’ll come to battles?” You can’t help worrying. You’ve chosen your side in staying here. What if that was the wrong choice? What if your betrayal comes around to bite you? Or, what if the north’s reputation for brutality ends up doing the job before it ever can? You feel surrounded by death—surrounded by walls of violence, where too far in one direction would be your end. “It’s not as if I’ll be fighting, though.”

Face solemn, he says, “Let’s start heading back.”

That draws no complaints from you, tucking fingers under your arms to try and save them. He hadn’t answered your question, though. “Taehyun?”

Brittle leaves and brush crunch underfoot. “It’s coming.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, tensed in the shoulders, you ask, “Why are you acting like that? Are you hiding something from me?”

The both of you pause to let a dryad scurry off, snow falling off its bark skin in chunks as it crashes through the forest and away from you. These woods are a lot fuller than the ones you’d found Beomgyu in.

“Taehyun,” you repeat. Your stomach is sick. Skin burning, you get flashes of memories—of Yeonjun’s guilty eyes that night. It rushes through your bloodstream like icy water. This feels like an overreaction, but your body does not align with your stuttering heart. You can’t tamp it down. “What is it? I don’t like secrets.” Your voice comes out fragile, like it’ll break in the frigid air like ice and fall down to the ground in a crash.

His face is hard. You don’t like that, either.

“You’re not going to be fighting, but I know what is planned. It’s messy; messy and dirty. And dirty wars are not afraid of collateral damage.”

Frowning, you ask, “How do you know what’s planned?”

“It’s a general’s job to know the war he leads his army into.”

You stop dead. “Are you serious?” you snap, voice on a tight leash. “Seriously, Taehyun?” He keeps walking, forcing you to tear your feet from their spot to follow him. Jogging to match his stride, you say, “So, you’re just going to take up his will? You’re going to lead a war, like him? What about me, Taehyun? What happens to me?”

It seems that he’s fully taken over his role as heir to his father and his estate, but why? Why, if he sheared off his own ears to escape that legacy? Taehyun’s moral code has exceptions for violence, but he said it himself—he doesn’t like senseless killing. Not like what would come with taking on this role.

“Being general secures me a seat while they discuss their plans. It means I have sway in what happens. This is not for my enjoyment, or for power, like how my father saw it,” he says, measured and steady. “You’ve not seen a Faerie war. They’re given to dramatics, and they span... they span long. If something is going to happen, it’s better off that I’m in the room that they discuss it. Otherwise, we’re just sitting here and crossing out fingers that we don’t get caught in the crossfire.” Head held high, he adds, “This is my duty.”

Anxiety warms your frozen bones. “Duty?” you say through a caustic laugh. “You’ll be going to war, Taehyun.”

“Not petty battles. If something more drastic happens, I suppose I would, but being a foot soldier is not my role in this. Maybe my father would’ve, just to see the blood and carnage, but not me,” he says, as if that makes it any better.

“I don’t like this.”

“They know we were here as spies. They could decide at any moment to kill us. As general, my position would protect us.” He levels you a stare, hard. “You decided to stay here for him, so this is what I have to do.”

A terrible sickness settles in your stomach with his words. These are the consequences to your actions, for your overenthusiasm, but you feel more like a burden than sorry for yourself.

You want to tell him to stop paying the prices; that it’s not his job, but a chilly breeze sings in your ears that it’s much too late for that.

❆

Biting back complaints and the prickling of tears, you let Conifer work on your hair. She’s merciless with the tugs and pins, fingers threading through strands to tug them up into the frilly and loose updo.

“Why do I need to be dressed?” you ask her, watching her work dutifully behind you through the mirror.

“My Lady,” she says around a pin she holds in between her lips. “One moment.”

“You don’t have to call me Lady, or anything,” you tell her, wincing at the sound of it. “I’m no more a Lady than you.” She’d come into your room, nervously plucking at the pine needles on her forearms as she informed you that she needed to get you prettied up. It’s random, but you’d perked up immediately. It’s been so long since you’ve done anything—so long since you had a reason to look pretty and drag on glittering dresses. Not doing the work yourself is strange, though. You wonder if this is what your life would’ve been with Yeonjun, with servants waiting at every corner to pamper you and make sure that your hands never again see any type of hard work.

You shake those thoughts away. That’s not your life here in Taehyun’s estate. It does you no use comparing. You’re not so used to this, anyway. It gets under your skin a bit, though you know they’re working off debts in his service.

“Oh, the Lord would prefer that I do,” she says. A sharp pin scrapes up against your scalp as she pushes it in, securing up a willowy tress. All Yeonjun’s gifts—the dress she’d laid out for you, and the jewels she garnishes you in. How strange is it to have Taehyun’s servants dressing you in Yeonjun’s things? You still don’t know why he even bothered with bringing them in. You all were managing before. It's not as if any of you are the type to demand being waited on, anyway. You all have lived in more humble means. Beomgyu literally comes from the forest. And, why would it even matter how she addresses you to Taehyun?

It wouldn’t be fair of you to demand her to call you otherwise, then. You nod. “I’m sorry you have to work for me.”

“Oh, it’s no bother, dear. I’m grateful that the Lord has chosen such a way for me to pay him for my debt.” She tugs a few tendrils loose. It looks now more like the style is worn in by a good night spent dancing and laughing than freshly combed up. “There are worse ways to do so.”

That’s right. For her, servitude is only a result of some extrenuating circumstance. Your servitude was nowhere near your fault. That’s where the difference lies; why she can be so blithe about it.

“What happened?” you ask. It’s an invasive question, sure, but you prefer to ask it straight. No buttering it up or smoothing over words.

“The late General spared my life on a whim. I’d worked this estate for years, even watched the boy grow into his manhood, until the General passed and the young Lord went disappearing. No reason to work an empty estate. And now, by bloodline, my debt is owed to him.”

You frown. Serving under Taehyun’s father, only because he decided out of the kindness of his heart to not murder you, sounds harrowing.

“But, that’s of no importance, dear. The Lord is expecting you; the Queen holds council soon.” Hastily, Conifer slides one last pin in, just for safe measure. “It’s terribly important that you maintain good manners, dear. Stay by the Lord, and do not speak unless they speak to you.”

Council? He’s expecting you to come with him to a war council? You pause, but she ushers you up and away.

Bounding down the stairs in a flurry of feet, you hold your skirts in a death grip, heart clenching with nerves. Once, you’d been a mirror to this—panicking over attending Court for the first time. That was nothing. If you had been oblivious to Court propriety, sitting in on a Faerie council in the presence of the Queen and her entourage... You’re screwed. So, so screwed.

Taehyun waits beside the blackthorn tree. Noticing you, he greets, “Ready?”

“You’re serious about this?” you say. It’s hard to speak around the lump in your throat. “Why do I have to come? It seems more like a risk than anything.”

Brows furrowed, he adjusts his tunic. “You’re smart, aren’t you?” he says, cadence flat and matter-of-fact. “It’s not a risk. I’m bringing you so that they know you’re with me. You won’t have to come to any more after this, unless it’s what you want.”

Frowning, you say, “I feel as though they’ll react not so kindly to a human just... waltzing into a war council. You really think they’ll just let me come and sit in?” The Queen will be there, and all the terrifyingly massive players in the Unseelie Court, and then... You. You’ll just have to make yourself seem important enough to be there. Taehyun is one of those invaluable players now, you suppose. The General. Your mind still struggles to wrap itself around the enormity of that.

Will Yeonjun be there? He’s no doubt got the status. You pick at your fingers viciously. You’re not ready to see him again; not sure if you’ve fortified your walls enough for that yet. You might crumple with just a glance, but to sit in the same room as him?

“They’ll trust my judgement,” he says. The lines of his face do not carry the same confidence that his voice does. “You’re not just stumbling in. You’re walking in with me.”

“But, I’m sure they’re all very aware by now that we were spies. Doesn’t that leave a stain on your word?”

He reaches up to a low-hanging branch, dark and bristling with thorns, and snaps off the very ends of them into thin poles of twig armed with spikes. The thistles remind you of his eyes—in fact, the whole tree does. Barbed and dark and sturdy; the House of Blackthorn could not have better chosen their symbol.

“They made me their general,” he says, circling until he’s come behind you. “They’ve already made up their minds.”

Tugging at your hair tells you that he’s wiggling those sticks, black and sharp, into the updo, as if they’re accessories. It’s like what he’d done with those berries just before you’d gone to Court for the first time, but these twigs do not act like a ward like they had.

You turn to interrogate him and his sudden interest in your hairstyle, but confusion splinters off into nothing when his cold hand brushes at the back of your neck. In a heart-pounding moment, his sword-roughened fingers drag down the length of your jaw from behind. He grabs your chin his hand and turns your face further toward your shoulder. Snowflakes and the breeze and the stars all stand frozen around you. Or, maybe, you haven’t got the will to pretend they exist while he’s leaning down so that he’s right in your ear and whispering with puffed breaths that raise chills on your skin.

Under his breath, low and just for your ears, he says just one word. It’s one that you don’t recognize, curling in a way that you doubt your tongue would be able to even pronounce. As quickly as the moment had come, he releases your face. Snow crunches under his feet as he retreats.

Blinking for a moment, you spin on your heel to follow him. You make a point to not catch his stride fully, though. He absolutely should not see how ruffled you are. “What does that mean?”

He doesn’t answer, only leaving you in a flustered, charged silence. You beg the wintry breeze to carry away your racing thoughts, or at least to lick at your cheeks and cool them. Whatever it was that he’d said, you can only assume it to be in an ancient Faerie tongue.

With a stuttering heart, you follow him. You’ll just have to whistle in the dark. If you don’t do it scared, you won’t do it at all, and you’re always scared.

❆

Inside the council room, a handful of who you assume to be the Queen’s most important advisors sit around a circle table. On that table stand war maps and a collection of letters and objects no doubt important to plans and intel.

In one of those seats sits Yeonjun. Of course, he’s here. You’d anticipated as much, but that doesn’t change the way you jump right out of your skin the split second your eyes meet. It’s a fiery exchange, sending sparks up your spin and rendering your mind a blistering mess. His eyes are hard. He doesn’t shy away from it the way you do, tearing yourself away to sit in the seat next to Taehyun’s.

It’s not just Yeonjun’s eyes that burn on your skin. They’re wondering why you’re here. You itch to dip out and away from their scrutiny.

“Do I have to say anything?” you say, voice barely anything but a whisper as you lean over to Taehyun. “Like, announce myself or anything?”

“Not now,” he says. “Not unless you’re asked to.”

Fidgeting with your dress under the table, you dip your head in a shallow, quick nod. You’ll just mind your own, unless you’re forced to do otherwise. You can’t risk saying something that’ll end up screwing you both over.

Chairs scrape the floor, faeries standing and dipping at the waist. You follow them. Your back is to the door, but you don’t need to see to know who’s arrived. The Queen.

She sits in her seat, at the head of the table, and everybody else follows. You swallow hard. Her eyes, hardened and storm-colored, pin each of the attendees as she sweeps the room. A diadem of twigs and rotted leaf lays on her tangle of hair. The Unseelie Queen; she looks the part. Breath catches in your throat when her eyes come to you.

When she opens her mouth to speak, jagged teeth reveal themselves from behind grey lips. “The human girl. Does the Blackthorn house claim her?” she asks. Her voice commands the air—both slackened and imposing.

Yeonjun’s eyes bare down on you.

Taehyun answers her. “Yes. She is my retinue.”

One of the council members, with a haughty, long face and a sneer to match it, says, “Is this the girl that you sang so profusely to us for, prince? The spy girl?” His ruffled sleeves flourish as he gestures. He’s dressed especially plummy among them, but they all are dressed in glittering robes and tunics. This faerie no doubt thinks highly of himself, though, to be poking at Yeonjun.

Yeonjun had spoken of you here?

You feel a little frozen. Becoming the center of their attention is the very last thing you’d wanted. Rather than sinking back into your seat, you claw at your insides to keep your head held high. You do exchange a quick glance with Taehyun, who’s mouth is pulled taut.

He takes it in stride. “Yes, it is.”

“You beseeched us for her safety, but...” the black-haired faerie continues, “She’s sat beside our General.” A cruel smile plays on his lips. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “And I believe it to be unprecedented that a human joins us here, your highness.” He turns to the Queen, a smile that tells exactly of the game he’s playing.

“Not here,” the Queen snaps. “We haven’t the time for this. Who cares. Let’s not waste what slight time we have, with all of us in attendance.”

The black-haired faerie snaps his mouth shut, but a nasty attitude lingers.

Another speaks up. “Your majesty, is there not something to be said of the exclusivity pertaining to who we meet here with?”

She drums her fingers on the arm of her seat. Bored. “Be gone with it. I did not know you’d become so wary of humans.”

That stings. You’re not even worthy of being a threat. Jaw tightened, you grit your teeth.

“She has ears,” he says. “And a well-working mouth, I’m sure, and we have delicate issues to discuss.”

None of them press any further as she sends them a pointed stare. They begin offering up and discussing their positions and knowledge, much of it lost on you. All you’re thankful for is that most of it is bickering over how to approach the war, and not plans for full-fledged schemes.

Taehyun offers up his approach a few times, his voice carrying strong and his shoulders squared. Yeonjun does not speak much at all.

And when it’s over and everybody disassembles, you know you’ve got to leave. Fast; fast enough that Yeonjun will not be able to corner you into a conversation that you are too flimsy to be having. As you do, though, you war against every instinct in your body—heart and feet and arms ringing pleas in your bones. You can’t. Really, you can’t.

“Pretty.”

That voice, smooth but also so very sullen now, shatters your frenzied bubble. You go solid and frozen to the ground.

“Pretty, look at me,” he grits out, voice cracked down and raw.

When you don’t, he steps around you. His eyes dart up, taking in something on your head, and then his jaw ticks when he finds something he doesn’t like. The blackthorn twigs in your hair.

He’d looked sullen and detached when sitting at the table, but here, up close, he looks awful—far and beyond worse than you’ve ever seen him. It’s as if you’d ripped the heart right out of his chest and asked him to go on living without it. In the hollowness there’s a sadness, but there’s also a blazing anger.

A frozen hand takes your upper arm and tugs hard. “Come on. We’re leaving.” Taehyun’s voice is hard.

You stumble forward with him, summoning the will within you to not look back while you do. You do not want to watch his face as you leave. You absolutely cannot. Your gut twists viciously.

You’re pathetic, missing him the way you do.

❆

When you get the first letter, you accept it from the servant uneasily. You don’t even ask whose letter it is. The wax seal tells you enough, but you’d know even without it. Yeonjun has broken his silence.

It confuses you. Taehyun had intercepted his letters when he sent them before. Why does he not bother, now? It doesn’t feel like a kindness. It feels intentional—like a gambit. Beomgyu had made a point to take those original letters from you. You know he meant well in the cheeky way that he shows his companionship, but you’re spineless after all, and they come at a very weak moment. Just as you’ve built up wavering pillars, he reaches in and crumbles them down as if they were nothing.

ℐ 𝑘𝓃𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝓊 𝑡𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑘 𝑡𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝑡’𝓈 𝑙𝒾𝑒𝓈, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝑡 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓅𝒶𝑟𝓉 𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓁. 𝐿𝑜𝑣𝒾𝑛𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝑡 𝓅𝒶𝑟𝓉 𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝑙. 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝓇𝑦 𝒷𝒾𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝑙. 𝐹𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑣𝑒𝓇𝑦 𝓂𝑜𝓂𝑒𝑛𝓉 ℐ 𝑙𝒶𝒾𝒹 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝑡𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝒹. 𝒩𝑜 𝑙𝒶𝓉𝑒𝑟 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝑡𝒽𝒶𝓉. 𝒲𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝒹; 𝒲𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝑣𝑒𝒹 𝑡𝑟𝓊𝑒.

𝐼’𝓂 𝓈𝑜 𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓇𝑦 𝑡𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓂𝑒𝑒𝓉𝒾𝑛𝑔 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝑜𝓃 𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓇𝑦 𝒸𝒾𝓇𝒸𝓊𝓂𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓈, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝑡𝓇𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝒸𝓉 𝑙𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓋𝑒 ℐ’𝒹 𝒽𝓊𝑟𝓉 𝑦𝑜𝓊. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝓌 𝑡𝒽𝒶𝓉’𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝑟𝓊𝑒. 𝒟𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝑘𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝑟𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝑙𝒾𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝒾𝓉 𝓈𝑜.

𝒴𝑜𝓊𝑟 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝓈 𝒽𝒶𝓊𝑛𝓉 𝓂𝑒. 𝐼 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝑡𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝑦 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝑙𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝑡𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝑛, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑦𝑒𝓉 ℐ 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝒾𝓉 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉.

𝒞𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝑛𝒹 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝓊𝑟 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓈𝑡 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝒾𝓉. 𝐼 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓇𝑣𝑒 𝒾𝓉. 𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝑡 𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓎 𝑡𝒽𝒶𝓉; 𝐼 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑒 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝑙𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝒹𝑟𝑜𝓅 𝑜𝑓 𝒾𝓉. 𝒯𝑒𝓁𝑙 𝓂𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝑡𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝑓𝒾𝓍 𝑡𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝑛𝒹 ℐ’𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝑣𝑒 𝒾𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝓃𝑒, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝒶𝓈𝑘 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝑦 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝓂 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝑛𝑜𝓉 𝒹𝑜 𝑡𝒽𝒶𝓉.

𝒴𝑒𝑜𝓃𝒿𝓊𝑛

You’re able to let this one roll off your shoulders, but the next few are not so easy.

𝐼 𝑤𝒾𝑠𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 ℎ𝑎𝒹 𝑠𝓉𝒶𝓎𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑙𝒾𝓈𝑡𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒. 𝐼 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝑟𝓈𝑡𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑤𝒽𝓎 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃’𝑡, 𝑎𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑒𝑡, 𝐼 𝑠𝓉𝒾𝓁𝑙 𝑤𝒾��𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 ℎ𝒶𝒹. ℐ’𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝑣𝑒 𝑙𝒾𝑠𝑡𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊.

𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 ℐ 𝑝𝓁𝒶𝑔𝓊𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝓊𝑟 𝑚𝒾𝓃𝒹. 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝑓𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝑤𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝑟 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝓈 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑡, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 ℐ 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝑡 𝑏𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝓊 𝑏𝒶𝒸𝑘 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒, 𝑡𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝑟 ℎ𝑜𝓂𝑒: 𝑚𝓎 𝒶𝓇𝓂𝑠. 𝒲𝒾𝑡ℎ 𝑚𝑒, 𝓃𝑜𝓉 ℎ𝒾𝑚. 𝒩𝑜𝓉 ℎ𝒾𝑚.

𝒫𝑒𝓇𝒽𝒶𝓅𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝓈𝓌𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝑙 𝒶𝒸𝒸𝑒𝓅𝑡 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝑒𝓃𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝑏𝓊𝑡 𝐼 𝑤𝒾𝓁𝑙 𝓃𝑜𝓉. 𝒯ℎ𝒾𝓈 𝒹𝑜𝑒𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝑡𝒽 𝓊𝓃𝑓𝒾𝓃𝒾𝑠𝒽𝑒𝒹 𝑤𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑔𝑟𝒾𝑒𝑣𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒𝑠.

𝑁𝑜. 𝒯ℎ𝒾𝓈 𝒹𝑜𝑒𝑠𝓃’𝑡 𝑒𝓃𝒹.

𝒴𝑒𝑜𝓃𝒿𝓊𝓃

The letters change with your prolonged silence, too.

𝒮𝑒𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑟𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝑏𝓎 ℎ𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒, 𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝑓 𝓎𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝒽𝒾𝓈… 𝒟𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑤𝒶𝑛𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝒸𝑟𝒶𝓏𝓎? 𝐼 𝒹𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓋𝑒 ℐ’𝓋𝑒 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝓉 𝓈𝑜 𝑜𝑢𝓉 𝑜𝑓 𝓂𝓎 𝑜𝓌𝑛 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑙 𝒶𝓈 𝐼 𝒹𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑤. 𝐼𝑓 𝓉ℎ𝒶𝓉 𝑤𝒶𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝒾𝑛𝑡𝑒𝓃𝑡𝒾𝑜𝑛, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 ℎ𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒽𝒾𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝑢𝓇 𝓂𝒶𝑟𝑘 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙.

𝒞𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒾𝑛𝑢𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝒾𝓈 𝑏𝒶𝑛𝒾𝓈ℎ𝓂𝑒𝑛𝓉 𝒾𝑓 𝓎𝑜𝑢 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉, 𝑏𝓊𝓉 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝑔𝑒𝓉ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝑛. 𝐼𝑡'𝓈 𝑜𝓃𝑙𝓎 𝑓𝒶𝓉𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌ℎ𝑜 𝒶𝓂 𝐼 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒𝒹𝒹𝓁𝑒 𝑤𝒾𝑡ℎ 𝑓𝒶𝑡𝑒?

𝒴𝑒𝑜𝓃𝒿𝑢𝓃

It’s jarring, it’s more of that desperate pleading that you’ve been trying so hard to escape, and it’s burrowing deep down into the tender parts of your heart like a stake.

There are some letters that are even more frenzied than that. They’re testaments to his promises: this doesn’t end.

You had been sorely mistaken in thinking that Yeonjun would just step away. Terribly mistaken. Deep in your belly brews the feeling that this is not going to go over as smoothly as you hoped it would. In retrospect, how had you ever thought you could cleanly tear him off you? This is not like ripping off a bandage—quick and painful—no, this will be much, much more unpleasant than that. Yeonjun had done a delicate job of veiling just how wretchedly he loves you, but you’d seen peeks of it. Flickers and moments of potent neediness and jealousy, quickly smoothed over with something more groomed and palatable. Now, you see it in full force. As soon as given the need to unveil himself, he was not afraid to. As long as it brings him you.

But he will not get you. You’re not yet so foolish to go falling back into his arms. Not after you’d done just that, and then learned what trusting him just based off his inability to lie meant. It’s not as if you’re not already slowly wanting to forgive him for the fact that his initial job was to kill you. In weak moments, you construct excuses. But if you brush off lie after lie, where is the limit to the lies you’ll accept, if only just for him? There would be none. That is a dangerous beast to toe.

You think you know now, why Taehyun lets you read those letters freely.

❆

Lifting your fist to knock on the door, you bounce on your heels. Taehyun tells you to come in, voice muffled behind the door.

Stepping in, you drink in the sight of his quarters. Not once in the months that you’ve spent here have you been in his room. In the center is the bed, bedding coal black. His desk is cluttered with maps and stray daggers. Taehyun works on the strap to his leather baldric, looking up to you.

“Where are you going?” you ask him.

“They called me for council,” Taehyun answers. He straightens up. “What’s up?”

You purse your lips. “Oh,” you say. “Nothing. I was just seeing what you were up to.”

Honestly, you’re not entirely sure why you’d stumbled in here. It had just felt right in that moment. It couldn’t hurt to try and mend the tensions that lay between you two, anyway. If this is going to be your home, it’s better off that way.

Taehyun nods slowly, as if he’s not entirely sure what to say. His tongue darts out to wet his lips.

A smile tugs at your mouth. Beneath the confident, hardened exterior, Taehyun is stiff in the face of emotional connection. “Didn’t want me to join you for this one?”

He shakes his head, the lines in his shoulders stiffening as if the thought were offensive.

Scoffing around a laugh, you say, “I didn’t do that bad, did I?” It’s more to pester him than offense—you’d had your fill. And you want to know what’s changed; why he’s suddenly averse to you joining.

Jaw shifting, he says, “No, you didn’t.” Taehyun brings his hand up and adjusts his collar. “I’d just prefer it.”

You change tack. His face has fallen a bit, and you’d intended to lighten things up. “It’s fine. That was boring anyway,” you say, “Besides, I’d prefer it here, with the army of servants waiting to see to my needs.” Tilting your head to one side, you give him a grin chock-full of mock pretension.

His brow furrows. “The servants? Do you not like it?”

Shrugging, you answer, “I don’t hate it. It’s nice to have help getting ready, though, I guess. Makes me feel special.” To quell your own gnawing curiosity that’s been festering beginning the moment the first one had arrived, you add, “Why’d you do it, though?”

His face flickers. “The estate needs to be run. They have duty to do so. If it were going to be anybody, it’s them.”

You know that look. Living with Taehyun, you’ve got to become fluent in the face and even the most subtle changes. What he doesn’t speak in words, you’re forced to find there. Try as he might to fortify his mask, water will always find and slip through the cracks as slivers of true emotion crack through his face. He’s not telling you the truth. You narrow your eyes.

“Yeah. I understand that. I just thought we were doing fine before, I guess.”

“I thought...” he says. “Did the prince not keep servants?”

Your frown deepens. Why would it matter whether or not Yeonjun has servants? Of course he’d have attendants; he’s a prince of Faerie. Mind churning for a moment, you stumble upon a thought. Or rather, it stumbles upon you.

Taehyun had brought servants here because he figured that, because of your time with Yeonjun, you’d want that. It bothered him to think that Yeonjun could provide something for you that he couldn’t. He’d gone out and tracked down faeries indebted to him and his father because that got under his skin. You think to that morning he’d woken you up, spitting venom, because Yeonjun had sent you those dresses. And in his arm, he’d held a single crystalline gown.

“Taehyun, why did you tell Yeonjun about our kiss?”

For a split second, he’s taken aback, shifting as though you’d lit a fire under his feet. The air hangs heavy—so, so thick. It’s so stiff that you have to breathe with conscious effort. This silence, tense and on the brink of snapping, stretches for an eternity. Your mind reels; you’re just as caught off guard as him. You haven’t the faintest clue where you’d trudged up the nerve, but you had, and now you’re terribly curious to know his answer. The memory had hovered around, blazing and impossible to brush off, from the very moment the words had tumbled out from Yeonjun’s lips. How had you even lasted this long, pretending it hadn’t happened? All off that electric curiosity comes to a head here—now—and you do not know if you’ve prepared well enough for the truth of it.

As silent as it is, the moment buzzes. It’s deafeningly loud, just as it is deafeningly quiet. His silence answers just as well as words.

His answer slices the air, cutting through the tension like a scalding knife. “The prince told you that?”

You step toward him, looking up at him through your lashes. “He did," you say, quick and dismissive. “Why did you tell him? When?”

A flash—a flash of something untamed and deep like the woods—renders his eyes dark. You remember that look; he’d scarcely let you see it. It had scrawled under your skin the first time he had. Something in it strips you down to your very bones, where you are nothing more than buzzing soul and heat. Taehyun approaches you in dark, languid steps. You’re lightheaded, breaths lodged deep in your chest. Any semblance of clarity you might have had becomes a lost cause as he takes your face in his hands and leaves you no other option than to meet those smoldering eyes. Bitterly cold hands bite into the soft skin of your cheeks. Cold-blooded.

Your head spins. “Taehyun?” you say, short and breathless. Even just a naked whisper of his name, you struggled to manage it. Him, here, in front of you, is both so real that it rattles you down to you core and so intangible that you wouldn’t dare believe it. And yet, blistering eyes pierce through the mist, and you know that it is sickeningly real.

“Fuck,” he says, mouth turned down and at war with the rest of his face. He’s so close that you feel the word on your face. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” His throat bobs. “I don’t know who this is.”

In a stumble of clumsy feet, you clash with the desk in a rattle. There’s hardly any perch for you, but in a scramble, you curl your fingers white-knuckled around the edge. He has you pinned between him and the wood with nowhere to breathe and nowhere to think. A controlled, shaky breath comes tumbling from behind your lips. Electricity crackles in the air between you, and you’re weak to it. You turn your head away, clawing for some semblance of control or respite from the bare intensity.

Despite your shock, somewhere deep, deep down in your belly, you know that this is only the fruit of some howling storm that has been swirling—swirling and churning and gaining power. You’d felt the trembling of it, the promise of something explosive and imminent, as oblivious as you were to its source. Now, the ground cracks open beneath you, and it will accept nothing other than to swallow you whole.

“Do you not think of me as a man?” he grits out. Since you’ve decided to blatantly avoid his gaze, he gets down right into your neck. “Well, I am. And you brought him here. Brought him into my home, and you let him touch you. ”

Taehyun had been there that day.

It’s as if time itself slows down around you. This moment inflates into something infinite. Everything that he’d done, every little thing that you’d struggled to digest, is laid out before you. He’s holding your hips as if you’ll fade around the edges and leave him here. There’s something raw beneath the growled words; something desperate.

Belly flipping ruthlessly, you speak, but they’re not coherent thoughts. “I... didn’t think that...”

He’s quick to cut you off, rearing back to look you in the eyes once more, forcing you to do the same. And he holds you there. “Do you think that he can provide for you better than me? That I can’t provide you your needs?”

Your heart is a ravenous, wild thing in your chest. All that he’d done: the dress, the servants, finding Beomgyu, staying here in the north, demanding that you don’t depend or even associate with Yeonjun, urging you to not attend Court because he knew Yeonjun would be there—was because it was supposed to be him. And it was killing him because finally something had managed to drive right through that suit of ice armor he struggles so hard to keep up, right down to where his real emotions slumber, and he is forced to feel something. In all that banishing emotion away, he’s now faced with this blazing consumption, and he is utterly lost.

Taehyun curses, a relenting of his will, before he’s taking your lips to his. It’s a ravaging, fervent meeting, clashing teeth and roaming hands with no destination. He lifts you up onto the desk, and then his hand finds the hair at the very back of your head. You remember this wild dance of tongue and mouth—the first time he’d put his mouth on you, it’d been just the same. You’re gasping and clawing at his shoulders.

What on earth are you doing?

His hands are all over you. It’s as if he can’t get enough, as if he’s catching up to all that had been bursting at the seams in his mind. His lips taste like finally. When he’s forced to release your lips for air, it’s not as if he gives you any real room to breathe—his lips fall like glowing ashes down the column of your neck. You’re helpless to the whines he takes from your lips. He melds your bodies into one clumsy thing, pushing you down into the desk in a clumsy clatter. He wholly overwhelms you, and you think that it is a conscious effort. He intends to wiggle his way into every little corner, every little space, until you have no room for thought but him. If the drunken haze that’s rendered your thoughts sluggish is anything to speak of his efforts, he’s succeeded.

You catch yourself halfway down, before your back makes it down onto the desk. His mouth is back on yours, spinning with the sting of your scalp as he guides you through his kiss. His hands reach your upper thigh, making slow work of bunching the fabric.

“If you knew,” he says, appreciating the bare skin as if it were as precious as jewel and gold the same way he had that night in your bed: as if every inch were just as intimate as a glimpse of your cunt. “If you knew what I think about doing to you.”

Blood roars beneath your skin. The confession that Taehyun has thought about touching you like this, or the fact that he’s been battling against his own mind in the onslaught of those thoughts, sheds a new light over so much. Beneath that stony face, he’d been needing you.

Through the licking of your bottom lip and the buzzing behind your skull, you see Yeonjun’s face. Your stomach does a flip. You’re not supposed to feel guilty. You shouldn’t, but guilt slices like a molten dagger through the haze. How can you be here, doing this, when he’s out there aching for you? As far as you distance yourself from his sphere, you’re still reminded of who taught you your body now that another man touches you. You imagine how hurt he’d be if he saw you now.

You rage against those thoughts. You owe no guilt to the man that had only ever approached you because you were his target.

Taehyun’s gaze meets yours. You must’ve gone quiet, or maybe still. Perhaps it’s your eyes that gives it away, though, because he does not like what he finds in them. In a blink, he’s retracting back into his shell.

“You’re thinking of him,” he spits. His voice is so caustic and venomous as it falls out that your skin burns. “Even while I’m touching you.”

You want nothing more than to reach in and pull that fire and raw emotion back out. He pulls away. Your skin is painfully empty of his touch. Chest aching, you say, “Taehyun, wait. Please. I wasn’t.” The lie rolls off your tongue too easily, but you can’t stand the chill fallen over your form.

His face is far off and distant, his jaw set tight. He runs a hand through his hair, made a mess with your touch, the action punctuated by a barbed laugh.

He doesn’t even say anything more to you when he leaves the room. He just leaves. You sit for a few minutes, legs dangling and blood roaring.

Taehyun has kept a lot beneath a jaded and aloof front, but it seems that even he has a tipping point.

❆

“That reeks,” Beomgyu says. He’s sat on the basin, legs dangling down.

The water embraces you in a delightful lukewarm that disarms your nerves and has you drowsy. “Soap?” you say with a subsequent rich snort. You scoot, bathwater lapping at the walls of the tub when you bring your knees to your chest. The round tub is big enough for you to sprawl out, but you prefer sitting right up against the wall. Only the suds and perfumed oils sitting in a thin, hazy film on top of the water protect your decency from Beomgyu’s eyes. With the servants insisting on helping you wash, though, you’ve become indifferent to bathing in front of others. It’s not as if you’ve got to worry about him leering, anyway. He doesn’t blink at your nakedness. You appreciate the company. “It smells clean. You know, so you don’t smell like straight mud.”

“Mud is not such an offensive smell as that,” he says, nose crinkling. “You lather yourself in smells that are wholly unbelievable.”

Laughing, you feign sending a spray of water droplets his way. “Well,” you muse, “We are not hewn from the same stone. We have to clean ourselves.” While your worldly body demands that you maintain hygiene with soap and water, the folk wash for leisure. You don’t bemoan it, though. It’s your reality—always will be—and you delight in coming out feeling fresh. “And your earthy... musk... is just as terrible to me as this is to you. So...”

“Agree to disagree.” He sits still. Beomgyu is always eerily still—you’ve come to the realization that it’s because he doesn’t breathe. No rising or falling of his chest meant he could sit in absolute repose. You’re not entirely used to it, even now. How could anything be a living, talking being, without breath? There he sits, though.

Echoes of your washing fill the room. You sigh. With each scrub, you imagine carving away both any dirtiness and any heavy thoughts. It doesn’t work, of course. You feel no less heavy. If only it were that easy.

“Taehyun is general now,” you say, frown tugging at your face. “For the Queen.” Remembering it makes you feel impossibly heavier. It had been a secretive move, but still... He had become the one thing that has haunted him for you. His words yesterday said as much. You buzz at that memory, heart racing at just the memory. It had been a battle pretending your first kiss hadn’t happened, but this was different. Terribly different.

You blink, trying to bring yourself together when Beomgyu says, huffing out a humorless laugh, “He is only his father’s son.”

Sighing, you sink lower into the water. The kelpie wouldn’t be himself without some snide remark in Taehyun or his father’s expense. You know why he’d done it, now, but you’re awful and can’t help but consider what him being general might mean. Taehyun has a strict moral code; you don’t think he’ll go around killing in cold blood. Still, in order to retain his standing, he’ll have to carry out the council’s will. It’s a slippery slope; you fear the he’ll become the thing he’d once hated at your expense. With a sickened stomach, you hold your knees closer. You don’t want that. “He said it was to make sure we’re no longer targets. You know, since we came here as spies and all that,” you say, voice softening as thoughts grow louder.

Agitated, Beomgyu slips off the basin. “Why would he have bothered with finding me, then, if he had already made other plans?”

Spinning water with a finger and watching it swirl, you say, “I know for a fact it’s why he did it. It’s just that I don’t like it. I mean, getting involved in the war is one thing. We were already involved to some degree, anyway. Becoming the general is a whole other thing.”

A wicked delight crackles across Beomgyu’s face, and you brace yourself for whatever has excited him so. “If you would deign it with your word... We could be gone from this estate. Anywhere that pleases us, free from the fool.”

“Of course,” you say, rolling your eyes and watching him pace the floor. “It’s always dramatics with you. We’re not running away. Good try, though.”

He pauses, grimacing down at you. You suppress a laugh. Maybe you could’ve entertained his grand plan. At least, for a moment. Your fingers have pruned up, but you have no will to drag yourself from the warmth. Let you just stay like this, cocooned in its welcoming arms, for a bit longer. Then, you’ll find it within you to face the memory of Taehyun’s hands and the gravity of what he’d let slip.

❆

Dust motes flutter when caught in the light. You, with bare feet padding on the chilly morning floors, plow right through them. A clattering, so lively in the still sleep-ridden estate, floats out from the kitchens. You follow it.

Beomgyu stands, lanky and strange as always, watching a servant work dutifully on a meal. You frown. It’s a bit early for any of your usual meals.

“Hanging around in the kitchen? Thought you didn’t eat,” you say.

He gives you a distracted grumble. “I can eat. I just don’t need to.”

An eye roll slips. “That’s even worse. You asked for a meal to be made for you, just so that you can taste it,” you say, hand on your hip. “Very inconsiderate.”

Disconcertment lines his face at that, looking back over at the servant. “I did not ask for a meal.”

“Yeah... Okay. Anyway, do you know where Taehyun has gone? Out?”

Beomgyu shakes his head. “No, I don’t believe he’s gone anywhere,” he says, eyeing you. “You’re searching for the Lord?”

“I mean, I was just wondering where he is. I didn’t see him around, or anything.”

“Oh, pull your stake from my heart,” he grumbles and scratches at his neck. “I fear you’ve abandoned me in my loathing, with who else am I to escape this place? ” he says.

“There you go again,” you say, relenting to conversation. Conversation with Beomgyu makes you feel lighter. “If we ran away, we’d make it like... a week.”

He cocks his head to the side. “You’d last a week. I’d be just fine.”

“Oh, you think so?” you scoff. “And where would we go?”

Now, he’s really riled up, throwing his arms up, exasperated. “To the forest,” he deadpans. “I... come from the forest. Of course I’d go to the forest.”

Mouth pulled into a grin that you know will irk him, you say, “Sounds like a nice place. For you. You just want to get out of here, you don’t care about what happens to me. I’m hurt. This is supposed to be our escape plan, not Beomgyu’s.”

He likes that, lips curling at the corners. “Well, I pride myself in my cleverness, and it’s not as though I’ll be leaving this rotten place by my own means,” Beomgyu says.

“Oh, you’re just so clever.” You’ve become too familiar with that impish grin—he’s joking. But you don’t doubt for a second that if you were to propose running away, Beomgyu would be elated. He makes the jokes for a reason, anyway. It’s become a sort of game; him suggesting it, and you shutting it down. “And is that why you deign to bless me with your presence? Plotting and scheming?”

“Don’t give me your sarcasm,” he huffs. “I deign you with my presence because I ought to. What else should I do?”

“You love me,” you say, tableware and platters clattering and mingling with the sound of your voice. “I know it.” You drag out the last syllables in a taunting melody.

The servant who had been busy with making the breakfast, a hob you don’t really recognize, pokes in to tell you that it’s finished, so you move your conversation over to the table. Pulling out the chair, you eye the plates. It’s more extravagant than you usually eat here. It reminds you more of Court food or what few meals you’d had with Yeonjun: a honeyed meat and some fire-roasted burdock root. Beside it is a bowlful of salt, but it’s only by yours. You dip your head at the faerie, careful of course not to say thank you. That would mean that the faerie has done you a favor, and then you’d be expected to repay it. A simple gesture works just fine.

Beomgyu doesn’t sit, nor does he take any interest in eating. Instead, he hovers at the far end of the long table, telling you, “I do not love anything.”

Raising your brows at him, you say, “Whatever.” You salt the bitter root before forking it. “What are you so antsy for, anyway? Isn’t your whole thing that you sit around in a swamp for the entirety of your existence? What’s that, to staying in an estate for a bit? I think that you just like to complain to me.”

He laughs, rocking on his heels. “It’s about free will,” he says, “And, maybe I do. Though, isn’t it a wonder that you complain to me just as much?”

You’ve finished your plate. “Fair.”

Taehyun emerges from a room. Your belly does a little surprised flip. You knew he was still here, but you’d hoped to avoid him. When you’d first arrived here, the estate had felt massive. Now, it’s not so much the same.

He doesn’t mention it, though. Instead, he surveys the table, and then his brows knit. “You’ve cooked?”

“Not us. It was being made when I got up. There’s some for you, too, though. If you’re hungry.”

His frown deepens, but he nods and wanders off into the kitchen. You understand. You’d been confused when you’d went into the kitchen to find a meal being made so early. It’s as if the servant is new and unfamiliar with schedules. Turning to Beomgyu, you say, “Anyway. Would sneaking out for one night appease you?” You push around the last bits of your breakfast, too full to eat anymore. “Maybe you just need to get the thrill out of your system. I have a tree by my window, that might up the ante rather than sneaking out the front door.” You give him a tongue-in-cheek raise of a brow.

“Well, I don’t think it’s sneaking if you discuss it a room away from who you’re sneaking around,” he answers, picking at the wood of the table. “And, no.”

At a crash, you both are whipping your heads toward the doorway. The hob servant is sprawled out on its knees. Taehyun’s face has gone cold, and he holds his sword out at the faerie in a point. Your eyes go wide, and you hop up out of your seat. “What are you doing?” you say, taking in the scene. Adrenaline sparkles in your pulse. One second, you’d been enjoying your morning, the next Taehyun has one of his servants at sword point. It’s whiplash.

Despite your initial shock, though, you pull together the pieces—about the strangeness of the routine, and the unusual meal, and the unfamiliar faerie. You go to share a look with Beomgyu. In the narrow twitch of his eyes, you deduct that he’s come to the same conclusion. And, you’d eaten that whole meal.

“Face me.” Taehyun barks out the command, looking down on the hob with a chilling severity.

The faerie does slowly, bowing its head to avoid Taehyun’s face in an attempt to placate him. Taehyun says, “Who have you weaseled yourself into my estate for?” His voice carries, strong and unforgiving. It penetrates down to your marrow. You’re sure the hob feels it worse, though. There’s a long few moments with no answer. Either they won’t say it, or they can’t. They dip their head further. “If you think that your silence will earn you a quick death, it will not. Speak now, or give me your hand. I’ll have your fingers.”

“Taehyun,” you say, shooting him a hard stare. “Are you serious?” Your stomach goes nauseous. You’ve seen Taehyun kill before, but a punishment like that, meant to inflict agony... It shocks you.

Taehyun looks at you strangely, eyes at war with the rest of him. He says to you, keeping his sword on the hob, “Am I serious? You just ate all of that, who knows if it was poisoned.” Now stood behind the hob, he takes it by the scruff and lines the deadly edge of his sword up to its neck.

Your heart does a little trick. You absolutely had eaten that food without question. Why would you question it? It hadn’t come to your mind at all that somebody might infiltrate this estate. With Taehyun’s new role, it only makes sense. You don’t feel bad, though. Not like when you had been poisoned at The Hovel. You’d felt that pretty fast and hard. Right now, you feel fine. As much relief as that brings you, it does beg the question: if they’d come here to do harm, why wouldn’t they utilize such a blaring opportunity? The hob had just... made you food.

“I have every right to protect my home, and those who live in it.” Taehyun grabs harder, picking the hob up and pressing his sword in closer. The hob squeezes its narrow eyes shut. “It’s my duty.”

It’s always duty, with Taehyun. The sight of the faerie bracing, knowing that Taehyun will hurt or kill it, worms under your skin. Your fingers strain in trembling fist. You can’t handle the awful sight, no matter if the faerie had intended to harm you.

You think you know who’d sent the hob to come and be eyes on the inside of Taehyun’s estate, anyway.

Beomgyu scoffs hoarsely from beside you. “I watched the fool make it. She’s not fallen sick, had she?” His bored eyes shine with distaste. "You, general, just miss the taste of blood on your tongue. You miss it dearly, I know. It’s a terrible hunger to have.” He exchanges the word Lord with one that you can acknowledge hits as a much lower blow, considering his past. Beomgyu would never miss the opportunity to remind Taehyun that from which he comes from. To that regard, you are thankful for not knowing who your parents are. No matter where you end up, at least you’ve had the power to mold your own legacy. Taehyun’s follows him, grim and stained red.

“Taehyun, can’t you just make an exception this once? Beomgyu’s right. If they’d have wanted us hurt, they had a pretty good opportunity to. But, they didn’t.” You flex your fingers hoping to expel some nerves and step closer to where he’s stood. Making a point to catch his eyes and hold them hostage, you add, “We’d be hypocrites to kill for spying. You know that. Who are we, to call it justice and kill over this? That’s not fair.”

He holds your eyes, pausing. “Exceptions are dangerous,” he says, but his voice is changed. There’s something other than ice-cold resolution there. You release a breath of tension.

“I get that, but...” You search his face. “Please.”

The estate is quiet aside from the huffing of the hob for a second. The look in Taehyun’s face changes, and then he’s throwing the faerie to the ground. He sheathes his sword with a crisp click that you’ve never been more elated to hear, and he snaps, “Get out. Go. Tell whoever the hell sent you here that I won’t take so kindly to this again.”

The hob does not waste even a second in making good on their second chance. It scrambles up and away in a scramble of furious legs and arms.

Beomgyu shakes his head and goes to retreat off to wherever he spends a majority of his time, now that the show is over.

Taehyun, looking disconcerted with his arms folded and brows lifted, says, “Somebody is sending their people here, and now I’ve set a precedent. I look weak. Those wolves will pounce on any stretch of weakness they can find.”

You sigh. “I know,” you say. “I know, Taehyun. Thank you.” You don’t tell him that the wolf he speaks of is Yeonjun, and that the spy was not here to kill or collect intellect from him.

It seems that the prince has made his move.

❆

“You think that was the end of it?” Beomgyu says. “No. That was nothing beyond a glimpse. A life spent beside his blood-drinking father is undeniable. How the gentry kids learn Court snark, the Lord learned to take butchery as a trophy.”

Shooting him a glare, you slot the arrow in its home and pull the bowstring taut. It comes much easier, now. Your chest doesn’t tremble, and you can properly hold it there comfortably enough to actually aim. Finding the bullseye of woven straw, you narrow your eyes down. You find the center of the spiral, further down the field now that you’ve gotten a better handle on your archery. Like Taehyun had said, you aim a little left to make room for wind direction. You release a slow breath in a smooth, silver stream of breath. Wind whistles around the arrow as it dances down the flat of powdery snow. It pierces the center left with a far-off thud. Not a bullseye, but you’re glad to meet your mark.

You reach for another arrow. “Or,” you say, “Growing up with his father taught him to be a better man for it.”

The kelpie, having watched you practice out here for at least thirty minutes, looks up to you from where he sits squatted on the ground. “You don’t believe that,” he scoffs. He drags a finger in the snow. The ground around him is a work of muddy shapes, where he’s worked the snow so much that the wet ground beneath it has begun turning it to brown slush. “The brute is no different. Ardently as he may detest the former general, he has followed his tracks in the snow. Reluctance makes him no better.”

Cupping your hands over your mouth, you puff out warm breaths that soothe your stinging nose and stiff fingers. It lasts only a small, gratifying moment. You puff out a sigh and take the bow back into your hands. You thought you’d gotten over this conversation, decided to determine for yourself what kind of man Taehyun is, but... When he took up his role as general, you were set back an infuriating mile. Things are even muddier, now. You know he has a reputation to keep up as general, and that he made an exception for you in letting that spy go. If he doesn’t present a strong front, it’ll put you all in danger. That doesn’t stop abrasive thoughts from sticking under your skin, though.

“Don’t even try and act like you care about violence,” you tell him, giving him a high brow. “It’s not as if you don’t trick people and drag them down into your swamp for your own enjoyment. You just dislike Taehyun.” You bring back the string and let another arrow go. It lands somewhere near the first.

He doesn’t deny that, a rotten smile splitting across his face.

Your next shot lands beside the bullseye. Letting out a triumphant sound, you say, “Did you see that?”

Beomgyu hums. “That one was good.” He stands up to full height with creaking bones and adds, “But, aren’t you getting bored of this? I say we find something more interesting to waste precious time with.”

You frown. “More interesting...”

He nods, enthused.

“That sounds like a terrible idea, coming from you. Interesting is subjective, and I don’t think I’d like to learn your interpretation of it,” you say, voice sewn with suspicion. You lean your bow against the tree, though. Hitting so close to the center was enough gratification to appease you for the day. “And how can I be sure that this isn’t part of an escape plan?”

He groans. “Let me play some, won’t you? I have a place that will please the both of us.”

You feign long consideration, but you’ve already decided. As cold as you are, and despite your weary arms, you’re jumping at the opportunity to escape the strong walls of the estate. You’ve got a funny tingling in your veins that pleads with you to go and do something. Wherever Beomgyu may take you, you’ll just appreciate the distraction from muddled thoughts and recycling anxieties. You nod finally. “Fine. Don’t bring me anywhere weird, kelpie.”

Though, you never know what you’re getting into, with Beomgyu.

❆

Well, the dusted walls of a once-great residence around you are not the worst you imagined when thinking where Beomgyu might take you.

“You told I’d me be pleased,” you say, voice bouncing off the walls and coming back to you hollow. It was the residence of some gone gentry folk, you know. Why that would be of any interest to you, you’re not sure. It’s pretty, sure. You’d fought snow and numb fingers to get here, though. You frown at him expectantly.

“You have a sorry amount of trust in me. You would be, if you’d just open your eyes to it,” he cuts back.

You hum. “Sure.” Raking your eyes over the baseboards, brown wood carved into leaves and acorns, and then down the still halls, you make an effort to see anything differently. Of course, it does nothing. Beomgyu speaks strangely, and he hadn’t actually meant to look differently. Despite your conclusion, you still see a stale and forgotten place. You cross your arms over your chest and say, “I get it. This was just an escape plan. And I’m gonna get your ass. Do you know how far of a that walk was?”

“This would be a nice to stay, if we were to forget a certain Lord’s estate...” he muses, tilting his head off to one side. “But no.”

Looking around, your eyes catch on the film of dust on the floor down the hallway that shoots off from the tall dining hall that you stand in. More specifically, you’re concerned with the set of footsteps leading down it. Your feet tell you to dart. “Beomgyu?” you say, eyes wide as you look over to him. “Who’s here?”

“Should we go find out?” he says, thick set of brows jumping in a playful twitch.

He sets off down the hallway. You follow, internalizing the new surroundings with large drinks. You’re not sure why you ever thought this would end with him taking you out to the forest to watch will-o'-the-wisps dance in twinkling balls of light, or going to watch a babbling brook work its way over the earth.

A tall man steps out from a room. You jump, pulling Beomgyu back, as if he weren’t some ancient faerie beast capable of managing himself. He cracks a laugh. The man looks between you two. Your tongue darts out to wet dry lips. He’s no doubt wondering who you are, just the same as you’re wondering who he is. You whisper to your cavorting heart that Beomgyu is magically compelled to not shove you into harm’s way, and it seems that he knows who this is.

You notice the man’s round ears, and his soft and humble features, and the earthliness, and the imperfection-flecked skin. Familiarity bursts in your chest—you’re looking into the face of another human. “Who is this?” you whisper over to Beomgyu.

“This is Soobin,” he announces, answering your whisperings with his full chest. “A friend, and a human, as I think you’ve noticed.” A proud gleam flashes over his eyes. “I believe that you owe me your thanks now.”

The man, Soobin, dips his head at you. Dull, brown eyes study you. “I am,” he says.

Searching for words, you open and close your mouth a few times. A nervous thrill wraps you up. You’ve wanted to get to know and be friends with your kind for your entire life. “Why are you here?” you ask, making a gesture at the residence. “It looks abandoned. Very abandoned.” When you’d first arrived at Taehyun’s estate, it’d been left alone for quite a while in Taehyun’s leaving it behind. This, though, looks much different than that. You wonder who this place belonged to, and why it’s no longer in use.

Sullen eyes answer yours. They remind you of Beomgyu’s, the old tiredness. It’s strange, seeing that look reflected on such a young face. How does Beomgyu known him, anyway? Soobin answers, “I was a glamoured servant here. Until the faerie died.” He continues talking as he returns to the room from which he’d come from. This room, off and away from the massive inner hall that makes up the majority of the residence, is fresher. Where dust balls and had taken over what was once most definitely a place busy with servants and the host of many feasts, this room is alive and no doubt where Soobin lives. “Then, the glamour died, and I came back to myself.” He sits down onto a foot bench in front of a green-sheeted bed. This must’ve been bedroom for the faerie he’d served. Now, it’s his. He brings his hands up. Where the soft skin of an easy life should sit, there’s worn and ruined skin in its place. “I wasn’t conscious when I’d been working it, but when I came back... my body ached. It ached so bad, and at first, I had no idea why or... where I was. All I knew was that I’d been worked into the ground.”

Your heart hangs like stone in your chest, looking at his broken hands. When you’d been taken from the human world, you’d been so young that it made no difference to you. Growing up here, it’s all you’ve ever known. Not every human is brought here how you had been, though. Some are snatched up from their adult lives; fallen to some faerie trick hidden in plain sight. Slip up, and you’re stolen away to come do work in this wretched realm. You don’t know what’s worse: what happened to you, being raised here and molded into a meaningless servant, or that. The faerie had stolen time from his life that he will never get back—and he remembers none of it. Glamoured servants had always stricken a gut-wrenching sick feeling in you, whenever you’d seen them. With gone eyes and hollowed out cheeks, they’d look right through you like mist and continue on with their prescribed duties. Like a husk of a living being.

Even now, Soobin’s body tells the story of the taxation. This faerie must’ve seen humans as cattle. “Why stay here?” you ask, making a seat out of a sofa along the wall. The cushions accept your shape graciously; made affable by time and use. Beomgyu trades the cushioned seat for the floor in front of your crisscrossed legs. He lolls his head back, coarse hair tickling at your skin.

Beomgyu answers. “Because he has no place else to go, and his awful stubbornness keeps him here. There are no rides back to the human world, if you’re not willing to give something away for it.”

Soobin, looking more annoyed than genuinely angry with Beomgyu’s words, says, “I’m not going to give your kind any more of me than I was already forced to. I’ll find a way. Eventually.”

Eventually. The word is heavy coming out from his mouth, falling out like a dud; not even he believes it. “How long have you been here?”

“I... don’t know.” He shifts, watching the flooring rather than looking at the two of you as he speaks. “Since I was taken here? I have no idea. I don’t remember a lick of it. But from what I do remember, long. Centuries, maybe.”

Your fingers, raking paths through the tangles in Beomgyu’s hair, freeze. Looking up at him, you tilt your head. It sounds like it should be a hyperbole, an overdramatization to describe what feels like an eternity spent here in this old place. But he doesn’t deliver it as such. No, his voice doesn’t joke at all—his eyes stare hard and lack the light of life. “What?” you say. Your voice crackles with a confused flare. “What do you mean, centuries?”

“He means that he’s been making this his home for centuries,” Beomgyu says.

“No,” you say, willing your glare to burn holes through the back of his head below you. Of course, he doesn’t stir or notice at all. “I mean, that’s not possible. We don’t live that long.” Nonetheless, he looks no older than you. Anything above twenty years is no less unbelievable than centuries.

“You don’t?” Beomgyu says. You hear the patronizing smile through his words. “I have known him long. And yet, he lives... How strange is that?”

You deliver a punishing shove at the back of his head. “You know what I meant, idiot.”

Simpering, he says back to you from over his shoulder, “You’re not so much the sweet girl I remember meeting. Spend enough of your time here, and even the human’s body slows. The makeup of his human flesh has not aged for quite some time. Neither will yours.”

A lifetime spent dreading how fast your life will dwindle away comes crashing down over you. You blink hard at the impact. You’d been haunted; followed around by the dark and heavy promise of a soon death, of deteriorating joints and a forgettable name. That had all been in vain? The enormity of that realization... it comes overhead like dark and swirling water, sucking you down where no amount of kicking or thrashing will clear a way. It swallows you. A bitter anger kindles down in the depths from which that fear had nestled itself. So, Nut-hatch had made the very conscious decision to lead you to believe otherwise.

“You’ve reached maturity, and you will stay this way for until you leave Faerie. The years will begin coming to you, as long as you remain there; where time flows differently through the veins,” Beomgyu continues. “He only wishes to spend his blessing of time decaying away here.”

The two of them begin talking back and forth about whatever it is that Beomgyu says, but a loud silence like fog in your head has their words more like background noise. You’d lived for so, so long thinking that you were running out of time. The tick of a terrible clock sounded off in the distance in a haunting echo in everything you ever did. It’s why you ever rallied the nerve to up and leave the life you’d been dragged into. You’d been so scared of wasting what little life you had—fear welled up high and told you that time was running out to do it. Would you have ever even left, if you’d not thought yourself so rushed? Your face feels hot.

Soobin saying your name, loud and questioning, draws you out just enough to hear him say, “How did you get tricked?”

You swallow and clear your throat, sitting up straighter. “What do you mean?” you ask, mental inertia coloring your words lost. “Tricked?” Doing a re-survey of the room, you stop on the windows. Day has begun weaning off into the gray of eventide.

“How did you end up as a servant, I mean,” he elaborates.

“Oh,” you say, nodding your understanding. “Sorry, I got distracted. I was taken when I was little, so I didn’t get tricked, or anything.” Nut-hatch didn’t have to trick you to bring you here like most faeries do when taking humans from their world, because you had no will. It’s the loophole in their governing nature; though they might not be able to just take humans without a promise or debt or something of that sort, they can take away the newly born. As long as they leave behind what they believe to be a replacement as payment.

“You’re a changeling,” he says, as if realizing out loud. His eyes meet yours, dead and gone and bitter. “You should’ve killed that faerie. They all deserve it.”

The acidic rancor there has you balking. Kill Nut-hatch? You may still harbor resentment—deep, deep gnarly gashes and crevices that you’d had to fill, and it just so happens that enmity did the job well. You understand his anger, but the thought of killing your stealer for self-gratifying revenge doesn’t make you feel good. Not in the way he suggests it should. In a sick way that only a child with a cavity in their chest where the love for a parent should be could manage, you consumed her role as your owner and digested it down into something you could cling on to. And, with chubby little desperate hands, you had. Perhaps she would spit in your face if you were to return to her now—because you’d failed to fulfill your purpose for her—you could not fathom hurting her. You pull back the sour face twitching at your muscles and say, “How do you feel about that, Beomgyu? I thought you were friends.”

He shakes his head. “If you make senseless bets, you’re already the fool. You can’t act so surprised when you’re then asked to put on the fool’s hat and to dance,” he says, pointed derision like an arrow at Soobin.

Whatever that means. The folk speak with adages and idioms, but Beomgyu’s verbiage is infested with it. You scuffle down your laugh when Soobin does not share your humor.

“How was I supposed to have thought I’d be making a bet with a faerie? Nobody even knows this shit is real, there. It’s all just folklore and scary stories. It’s not fair ground if I didn’t even know that I was doing it. And now, here I am: everybody I ever knew and loved is long, long dead.”

His words are seething with hatred, and yet they’re barren. It’s carved him up inside, dug him out into a shell with only this awfulness left. It shakes you a bit. You’d been so eager to find another human to know or to bond with. This, though... Your brain feels rattled around in your skull. You hope to never become this.

“So, no. We are not friends,” Soobin says. “He only comes here to enjoy my misfortune, and our kind live with the need for interaction. I tolerate it, I guess.”

You husk out a laugh that doesn’t find your eyes. “Well, that’s not very nice, Beomgyu,” you say, stressing his name with false reprimand. “He enjoys my suffering too,” you tell Soobin. You nudge Beomgyu with your dangling leg, trying to drag the nonplussed kelpie back into the conversation to save you.

“Of course, he does. It’s why they take us from our world: our pain is no more than like playing with a beetle to watch it struggle, and then killing it when it’s no longer fun. We’re bugs. Or, dirt. I’m sure you’ve heard that before. They love to tell us that.”

You have. That memory is one that you prefer shoved down and compact where you can’t let it remind you what your designated role really is. You’ve been so good about ignoring it, too. With a quick glance to the windows and the dark that’s fallen outside, you say, “I think we need to go, Beomgyu. We didn’t bring any lights...”

The kelpie drags himself up from the ground and away from the room without any sharing of pleasantries. You offer Soobin a quick goodbye and are next out of the room, feet moving like the wood flooring has gone to hot coals.

Even in the round edges of a human face, you had not found the resonance that you’ve longed so hard for. Humans have the capacity for unshaking violence and vacant souls too, it seems. Perhaps it was never that you were looking for a human to see yourself reflected in—you’d just bloomed cloudy hopes of finding eyes that will see you clearly and deeply. Those hopes had been misplaced.

But, if not in another human, then who?

❆

It’s utterly black outside—a moonless night. Kicking your restless legs out from your blankets, you stumble down the stairs.

You can’t find sleep, even behind closed eyes. Behind your eyelids, you see Yeonjun’s storm-clouded face and you taste Taehyun on your mouth. You’re harassed by guilt cruelly, and feel the weight of your conversation with Soobin deep in your chest.

How you end up at Taehyun’s door once again, you’re not sure. It’s a wholly inappropriate hour of the night, and you ought to have learned your lesson the last time you’d found yourself here. You don’t know why your sleepy legs lead you here. You’re better off plaguing Beomgyu with your restlessness instead. Why you’re stood here before this door... It’s beyond you.

Though, you’ve been desperately unable to shove down the urge to stick your toes in the water and see just how icy they are. He’s pointedly avoided you, and you have no grasp on where you two are going after this. An innate feeling, settled heavy like stone in your chest, tells you that everything has changed.

Once you’ve knocked and cracked the door open, though, a nervous tide creeps up on you. You should pivot and be back to your room. You would, if you were smart, but as Taehyun sits up with a mess of dark hair and sleep-dusted cheeks, you’re compelled by something other than your mind. It’s something strangely human, waking up in a groggy haze. The sight of sleepiness on the ever-composed Taehyun is jarring. It’s gone in only a blink, though, as he shakes it away.

“Is something wrong?” he says. He may have brushed away the fog in his brain, but he’s powerless to the husk still weighing his voice down. It sends a strange thrill through you.

You shake your head, throat dry.

He frowns. “You’re having dreams again?”

The gentle question has you pausing. It’s so out and away—so far beyond what you expect from him. Taehyun has never been one to ask around about how you’re feeling. He’d much rather skirt around such things, and pretend them away. Emotional nuance is a lost cause on him. Or, that’s what you’d thought, anyway. What’s changed? “No,” you tell him, pursing your lips. “I just... wanted to talk to you.”

Taehyun sits more fully upright. “About what?” he says. You don’t miss how his shoulders straighten and stiffen.

On bare feet, you shuffle over to his bed. “Nothing,” you tell him. You hadn’t exactly planned on coming here. Of course, he thinks you’ve come here to address what had happened. But... that’s not why you came here. At least, you think it isn’t. You don’t know. “Can I sit?” You gesture at the foot of his bed. He nods, eyes trained right on you. Pressing one knee into the coverlets, you climb in.

The buzzing and hum of wind dance in the air between you. You’re not sure what to say; it’s so heavy with every single thing. It’s hard to keep things light with him, when even the silence is painted with intensity.

You settle with just saying, “I couldn’t sleep.”

He licks his lips, nodding. “I’d only just fallen asleep,” he says. “Always something to think about.”

You can relate to that. The melody of a serene, content mind seems like a distant memory. “Sorry,” you say. You hadn’t meant to ruin his rest. Rigidity intrudes on the flow of conversation. You don’t remember ever being this awkward.

He dismisses that with a shake of his head. “I’ll manage,” he says. “When I came back yesterday, you and the kelpie weren’t here. Where did you go?”

This is exactly what had been keeping your mind awake. You had wanted to think of anything but that, but maybe talking to somebody about it will be nice. “Beomgyu took me somewhere,” you say. You laugh softly as he makes a face. “Yeah, I know. It was some old, run-down place. And there was this human there.”

You pause, filtering through the memory. Taehyun doesn’t speak, his eyes watching you with an attentive slowness. He’s just listening. Continuing, you say, “It was weird, because... Well, we were talking, and... He was nice. It was nice, talking to another human and seeing my features on him.”

You give a passing glance over at his ears.

“And Beomgyu is a jerk, but I don’t think I learned that yesterday,” you say. You ramble, perhaps filling the space where the uncomfortable memory sits before you can let it bother you. It doesn’t help that the air is so quiet. Your mouth moves quick to make it less so. “But... this guy. He’s centuries old, and just lives inside that place. I’d been so excited to have someone who could understand me like that, but then he started saying stuff that made me feel... just, bad for him, I guess. He was so angry and bitter.”

Taehyun watches you speak, and then nods. Tinged with his sleepy husk, he says, “Not everybody stays good when they live for so long. He let it rot him.”

“Yeah. It was really like he was rotted. Not bad, I guess,” you say. “It made me worry that I’ll end up that way, someday. Even though we came here differently, I still feel that sort of anger sometimes. I don’t like it, though.”

“I don’t think you will,” he says.

His voice feels so strangely soft. You don’t know how to respond to this, coming from him. Long, quiet beats only decorated by the crackling of bushes scraping up and down the windows, fall over you two again. Your gazes intertwine, dancing together in a way that is also different. “Thank you,” you tell him, your voice meek. “I hope that’s true.”

The longer you’re sat there in Taehyun’s bed, the plush warmth of it and his presence serving as some sort of scarecrow for your pestering thoughts, your eyes grow heavier and your words more useless. Here, in his room and in his presence, it’s as if those thoughts and their terrible claws cannot reach you. You prattle on to him about sleepy nothings, but he doesn’t seem to mind that you’re stealing his sleep from him. He only listens, eyes watching you melt down into something softer on the surface of his bed.

❆

When you’d woken up this morning, you’d popped up in a frantic flurry. Instead of on your own bed, your dreary eyes were met with the walls of Taehyun’s room. You had fallen asleep in Taehyun’s bed; talked yourself into a solid sleep. You had been so thankful that he was not there when you’d been drug from your slumber by the feel of foreign bedsheets on your skin.

Even thinking about it now, your ears glow red. Had he been annoyed? You frantically shove those thoughts away.

There’s a thump from outside. You lean over from your spot on the bed and try to get the best look out you can manage, but it’s at an angle. You see nothing but winter’s flurries there.

Your head drops back down to the threadbare fabric in hand. Beomgyu, after a long-winded back and forth, had relented to letting you patch up his clothes. Well, just his shirt. When he’d handed it over to you, it had been a valiant internal battle to not run off and drown the thing in soaped water. For now, you settle for just patching up the mangiest bits. It gives you something to be busy with.

Taehyun has been especially busy lately. You’re not sure why; he doesn’t exactly go around singing about his stresses.

This time, there’s three resounding and deliberate knocks at the pane of your window. Your working fingers come to a stop, head popping up. A nervous rattle thrums up and down your spine. It could have been a straying tree branch knocking a song with the wind’s encouragement, but they’d been so sure and pronounced. You let the shirt down and slip off the bed. Keeping your approach down to whisper, you creep toward the window.

Yeonjun, nose gone pink, sits on a sturdy branch.

For a moment, you stand there taking in the sight of him there; a prince of Faerie, crouched up and in a tangle of branches as he waits for you. It’s absurd. Not only that, it’s dreadful. You’ve done well, tearing yourself away from him. So, so well. Recently, all that hurt has painted its face and made itself anger. At the sight of his face, it sparks in your chest. But it’s a dull, slow flame, oh so reluctant. This anger feels different than other angers. It bothers you so deeply that you can’t place a finger on why.

And you want to let that anger sit there and fester, hoping that it will work at eroding away your still-connected heartstrings like rot. Even through the glass of the window, you feel them—red and reinforced and tugging you toward him.

It’s ridiculous. This is ridiculous and pathetic, letting him send you fragmented just with this. You’ve become the sort of girl that you’d snort over in sappy lover’s ballads and odes, the kind that you’d looked down on for their lack of spine. How different it is, when it comes to your turn. Despite it all, you reach out and push the windows open. Even with the sputtering flame you foster, he’s frozen and does not look like he’s going to give up just at this. If you were to pretend he wasn’t there and flop back down into the bed, you think that he might sit there brazen and let the ice freeze him from the inside out. Or, he’ll find some other way to speak with you. The glint in his eyes, the only light reflected in flatness, tells you as much.

“This isn’t cute, or... romantic, like you think it is, Yeonjun. Not like last time. It’s just hurtful,” you tell him.

Breath like smoke, Yeonjun says, “I don’t mean to hurt you. It kills me that I do.” His voice is sweet and smooth like malt liquor. It grips your mind in dazzling claws.

You shake your head, staying a reasonable distance from him and the window. “You’re not supposed to be here. You have to go,” you tell him, pulling the leash to the collar you’ve put on yourself taut. “It’s icy. Climb down safe, please.”

Of course, that doesn’t budge him. “Not supposed to be here? Why, because you don’t want it, or because he’ll be angry at you?” he says. His pretty face has gone sour. “Look at you. You’ve lost so much weight. He’s not taking care of you, pretty. Come home to me. I know you know where it is; I see the look on your face. I know that you lie to me with your words, but you were never good at hiding your face.”

You stay rooted to your spot; you won’t be so weak to words again. No matter how sweet and soft they feel against your shining, weeping wounds. He put that hurt there. Leaning into it would just be self-destructive.

“Please. It hurts both of us to be away, so why do it? I know that I’ve hurt you, and I’ll spend every last of my waking breath letting you know that it was a mistake. I’ll leave it all behind—none of it matters,” he continues. “Make me your servant. Ask me to swear my life away to you, and I’ll drop to my knees and put it on my beating heart right now.”

Your throat feels dry. He’d swear himself in your service, give you the ability to control him as you will. It’s an unfathomably massive show of trust and dedication. You don’t want that, though. Not one bit. His frantic professions punch you in the gut nonetheless. Had you been losing weight? You haven’t even noticed. Yeonjun did, though—at a glance, he’d known you’ve been hurting.

“Yeonjun, please. You’re not making this easy for me. Just give it time; we’ll get over it. Eventually, we’ll forget each other,” you say, jaw aching with protest at each heavy word. Now faced with the reality of a much, much longer life, your own words bite you. It means, though, that you have so much time to build yourself up into something solid and beautiful. And, somewhere down the road, you’ll think of this and be unaffected. Won’t that day come any sooner, though?

“Forget each other?” he says, laugh like poison. “No, we won’t forget each other. Time doesn’t fix it. I promise you that I know that all too well. Our love is not the kind you can forget. It will just hurt forever.”

“Go on,” you say. “Lie to me again. I want to hear it.”

Eyes shining and unable to lie, he says, “I love you.”

Swallowing thickly, you back away and get ready to close the window.

He climbs in through the window in a quick move. You don’t even have time to protest it before he’s saying, “Ask anything of me. Any last thing that you want of me, but do not ask me to watch you in his arms. I will not.”

There it is again—that dread. You want it to go easy, but of course it never was going to. “Stop it,” you say, mustering up a shaking finger to point at him. “Stop. Just go.”

His face goes hard. “That bastard is off to a war camp. Soon. He becomes more like his father every day, doesn’t he?” His soft hands, warm and cradling, find your face. “You don’t have to punish me by being with him. Come be safe. All he’s done is throw you out in the path of danger. If he cared for you, it would have never happened.”

Darting between his eyes, breaths come quick to you. “What?” you say. It’s the one word you can pull out from the chaos that he’s wrought onto your thoughts. A blizzard erupts, and through the whipping breeze and shards you don’t think to pull away from him or take his hands off of you.

So, that’s why Taehyun had been busy. What does that even entail for you? Are you going to be here? Does he expect you to pack up and go there with him, to travel for a war that you don’t even care for?

“All I ever did was protect you, pretty. I know that, in hindsight, it all seems shady. But I promise you that I did. They were never going to hurt you, and neither was I,” he says, his voice thick and strong with conviction.

Metal rings, the sound of a quick blade being unsheathed.

“Leave,” Taehyun snarls. He holds his sword at point, right on Yeonjun. It’s an emphatic promise of what he’s capable of and what he’ll do.

Flame, wild and melting you around the edges, eats up every last bit of oxygen in the room. It leaves none for you to breathe. It crackles and pops between them, where their gazes meet and feed it. Everything else has gone still. Even the wind, it seems.

Sword held fast and unmoving, Taehyun says, “You send your people into my home, and now you sneak in yourself. I won’t be walked over. Leave now, or you waste my courtesy.”

So, he’d come to that conclusion as well. He’s so still—his face carved of ice into sharp edges.

When Yeonjun sends a look your way, you shake your head at him. You have no clue what he’s thinking, but you want none of it. Your stomach does a violent flip. “Yeonjun, go. I want you to go. Please.”

His features lined with flame; he looks from you to Taehyun. “Your violence will be the fall of you,” he says, jaw tight as he pushes out toward your door. Not without a final glance sent to you, though. The promise you see there is a dreadful one.

You refuse to meet Taehyun’s daggered look. Beomgyu’s shirt lays forgotten on your bed. You’re half tempted to grab it and resume work; to continue on and escape this.

“That didn’t take very fucking long, did it?” he says. “Right back into his arms.”

Your drag your hands down your face. “I didn’t tell him to come here,” you snap. “It’s none of your business who I talk to. How about we talk about you leaving? When did you plan on telling me, huh? I don’t like secrets, Taehyun.”

Taehyun slips his sword back into the sheath. It clicks back in place. “None of my business?” he says. He repeats the words back at you with an asp’s curl. “When he’s in my home, in your room, it’s my business.”

“Would you stop?” you say, exhaustion sputtering out your fight. “With Yeonjun, I always know what’s going on. With you? I don’t know what to expect,” you say. “Tell me. When were you going to tell me that you’re going?”

His face morphs into something different: one of those bone-chilling ones that you don’t know how to explain. He doesn’t answer for a few beats; you can see his mind turning itself over. “This was going to happen. I told you that,” he says. “And I was going to tell you.”

You let out a long sigh, your shoulders loosening with it, when this time his voice isn’t so venomous. He’d been so busy lately. Being general assured that, especially now that things are moving. “When? How long will you be gone?” you say. “What if something happens to you, Taehyun? What are Beomgyu and I supposed to do?” You include Beomgyu in your proposition, but you’re not sure whether he’d stay with you or run off into the tree line the moment he finds he’s free. Then, really, who would you have?

“You’ll be there,” he says. “You can come. I prefer it. If you stay here, you’re vulnerable to attacks. This estate is known to be mine, and now that I’ve become the general... I can’t say that it’s safe.” He’s come so close that now his eyes look down on you. They don’t feel acidic on your skin. “And nothing will happen to me. I promise it, nothing will happen to me or you. Or that kelpie. I’ll win this war.”

Around a thick swallow, you nod.

You don’t doubt that Taehyun has the skill or the wits to do so. You only can hope that he doesn’t destroy himself trying to prove it; to both you and himself.

…🪶 ashlynn's note i know, i know. we made big moves this chapter. AHHHH! taehyun…… taehyun…..

﹙🏷️ ﹚ @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless , @prince-jjae , @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

#still loving the beomgyus character over here he adds a nice energy to the mix!!!#even tho he did say something kinda insane and ominous in the beginning there about magic!#“the pine smell of him so close to you is both familiar and a distant memory” NOT RELATED TO THE SCENE BUT I WANT HIMMMBBB #‘But under all that you see that he’s trying. Taehyun doesn’t leave you until dawn cracks through the windows’ sweet boy :(#‘You want to ask him why he keeps looking at you like that—like how he had in your bed that one night.’#OH! GONNA BE TOTALLY NORMAL AND FINE ABT THIS HAHAHAHA!!!!#“It’s a general’s job to know the war he leads his army into.” im gonna kms. are you joking.#‘ “You decided to stay here for him so this is what I have to do.’ omfg. im really gonna kms now holy shit.#AHH YEONJUN LEAVE HER ALONE!!!!!!!!!!! “You’re pathetic missing him the way you do” YEAH YOU ARE!#okay wait ill give it to him that last letter was kind of a heater “its only fate and who am i to meddle with fate?”#But he will not get you. You’re not yet so foolish to go falling back into his arms. YESSS MY QUEENNN #“I thought...” he says. “Did the prince not keep servants?” pause. what.#“Do you not think of me as a man?” he grits out. Well I am. And you brought him here.-#-Brought him into my home and you let him touch you.”#HOLY FU*CKONG SHIT I AM LOSING IT MY TUMMY IS IN KNOTS AND I AM GRIPPING MY BLANKET RIGHT NOW #There’s something raw beneath the growled words; something desperate. HOLHUDSFJ #“Do you think that he can provide for you better than me? That I can’t provide you your needs?”#it was supposed to be him.#he’s now faced with this blazing consumption and he is utterly lost. IAOHUEYDFHIAEKHJR #He intends to wiggle his way into every little corner every little space until you have no room for thought but him.#“You’re thinking of him”. “Even while I’m touching you.”#ARE YOUP FYUKCING JOKING DO NOT PLAY WITH ME RIGHT NOW OMG #WE WILL BE TALKING ABT THIS SCENE BUT THOSE ARE LIKE SOME OF MY FAV LINES/MOMENTS AHHHH #need to talk abt how you always know how to end a section of the story with a heater of a line #like they got my head spinninggggg #esp “Then you’ll find it within you to face the memory of Taehyun’s hands and the gravity of what he’d let slip.”#SOOBINNN!!! :D #soobin :(#very sweet moment with tyun :(#YEONJUN???? no hes just so UGH infuriating and in love but mostly infuriating

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d1s1ntegrated · 5 months ago

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Fugk shigrli LSOEE LOSER SHIGARAKI PLZ PLS SAVE MEEUGHHHH...can yu do..like THIS SOUNDS CRINGE BUT READER ISEKAI AND THEY R OBSESSD W SHIGARAKI,,, like, they get plopped down into his bar, they explain his lore to him, his fanarts, shiparts ALL OF THAT🙏🎀

Love u munch plz dont die

love u too munch!! hope u enjoy <3

i died violently in a car crash and all i got was this weirdo virgin!

shigaraki x isekai!reader

cw: no use of "y/n" (i used "______" instead!), fem reader, loser shigaraki (aka early chapter shiggy), virgin!shigaraki, isekai, tw: implications of death/major trauma, car crash, oral (male rec), loss of virginity, slight musk kink if you squint, kinda canon shiggy? rough sex, unprotected, pathetic virgin moment lol, teasing, missionary, p/v sex, choking implied for a few seconds, desperation, premature ejaculation, sliiiiiight breeding kink? if u squint

not proofread! pls dont eat me im sorry but its 5am i dont have the energy to edit rn!!!!!!!

you don't know how it happened. there was a sharp, hollow static, paired with the feeling of drowning, choking, sputtering. you could hear screaming, you could feel the branches interlocking with your innards, pinning you to the car seat. but...everything was so soft, so light...

until it wasn't.

you figured heaven would be a little less daunting than this. even atheists could dream up a place better than this.

but here you were, plopped onto a worn stool, a long mahogany bartop splayed in front of you. maybe it was a sick joke, maybe this bartop was the tree you lost your life to. maybe it was one big metaphor. either way, the leather was sticking to your legs already, a loose nail prodding at your thigh as you shifted in your seat. there was a strange smell here, a mixture of sweat and blood and something smoky, and you couldn't place whether you liked it or not. you tapped your fingers against the worn wood for a moment before glancing around the sullen room.

it looked so very familiar. worn furniture, brick walls, and a dingy carpet splattered the room like dollhouse furniture. the bar was fully stocked, but no one was tending to it. there were a few rooms down a hall, but nothing you could recognize. across from you, a little tv sat, with a torn poster of something you felt on the tip of your tongue. you forced yourself to move, standing from the seat and rubbing your eyes as you approached the wall. with a shaky hand, you wiped dust from the ripped paper, revealing a heroic-looking man. little holes scattered the image, as if it had been used as a dart board. bold writing splayed beneath his portrait read: "ALL-MIGHT", and like a crashing wave, everything came flooding back. your favorite manga series, my hero academia, had a bar similar as the base for the league of villains. you sucked in a sharp, excited breath as your eyes took in another look of the room. maybe this was heaven.

but...this shit doesn't happen in real life. isekai's were a favorite trope of yours, like re:zero or konosuba, yes, now you remembered- you had loved the idea of another world rather than death or rebirth. maybe it was your version of heaven. you bit your nail at the idea of being able to see the base for yourself. sure, it wasn't at all what you had imagined it to be- it wasn't as enchanting, per se, as you had thought. but it was...all in front of you. as you swallowed your discoveries, a squeal of joy erupted from your core. shit, your core. your body, fuck, was it okay? you lifted your shirt, expecting to see the gory visual of your death still imprinted on your skin...but it was gone. as if it had never happened. shit. this isnt so bad then, right?

but something surely was missing. and no, it wasn't your life. well, technically yes it was, but fuck that, who cares? what you really were missing was them. if this was a true isekai...

the sound of metal clanging sends a freezing shock through your bones. you whip around in time to see a very battered and bloody league stumbling in, kurogiri rushing to the bar to grab supplies. you stay silent as you watch them all individually groaning and pushing each other for a seat, too scared to say a fucking word. sure, your obsession was there, but it was all-too-intimidating when they're right in front of you. your breath is stuck in your chest, until a voice shatters your glass-persona.

"boss? who the FUCK is that?" a raspy voice slices the air and you feel everyone's stares fall onto you.

your eyes widen as shigaraki slumps out of his seat wordlessly and slinks over to you, hand extended. he's much larger than you thought he'd be. his frame towers over you slightly as he approaches, a sinister smile creeping up on his cracked lips.

"good question, spinner" his teeth are bared, and he's inches from you now as you shake. "who the FUCK are you?" he repeats the question, a sickening twist in his voice that shows he's really not in the mood to talk. without hesitation, you slip underneath him and head for the door, but he grabs you before you reach it. he yanks you back with four fingers, his grip deadly on the back of your shirt. in a panic, you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

"please! i'm sorry! fuck, i'm your biggest fan i promise! i don't know how the fuck i got here i just died and woke up here pleasedon'tturnmeintoashesi'msorry!" your voice is rushed and trembling, but he releases you onto the ground with a thud. you catch your breath as you stand, wiping the dirt from your legs.

"...the fuck?" dabi's voice rings through the thick silence, and the group breaks into a bellowing laughter. except for shigaraki. he stands over you, a wide, confused expression on his face.

"fan? so you've heard of us?" his smirk reappears as he couches down into your face, and you nod rapidly.

"yes, yes, i know all of you, you're my favorite characters!" you point at all of them, reciting their names. toga's smile consumes her entire face as you do so, and grabs onto twice's arm as she squeals.

"characters? tch, what are we to you?" shigaraki shakes his head as he looks down at you.

your expression falls as you realize they all have no fucking idea what the hell you're talking about. you take a deep breath and begin infodumping about "my hero academia", your favorite manga. everything from deku and his quirk, to all might, to the league itself. shigaraki finally backs up a step and offers you space to stand, and you do so. he nods as you recite the plot, his eyes widening in confusion and anticipation. when you run out of breath, he raises a finger to you, and you go silent.

"she sounds fucking crazy..." twice mutters sing-songy through his teeth. you chuckle nervously as shigaraki glances to the rest of the group, still bleeding and beaten.

"tend to your wounds elsewhere. i want a minute alone with...this thing." he gestures with a curled lip to you and you wave awkwardly. the group sighs and exits to their own spaces, toga examining you head-to-toe before bouncing away, exclaiming: "okay, but i want her when you're done!".

you cant help the anxious fiddling as he guides you to the worn stools again. he throws himself in one next to you, poppy irises still fixated on you with furrowed brow. he scowls at you, but says with a hint of amusement, "tell the truth now". his voice has a twinge of agitation to it, and you smile weakly at him.

"that's the truth, i swear" you start, and he shakes his head. you can feel the annoyance leeching off of him, and you start your next sentence very carefully.

"have you ever heard of an isekai?" you drag the words as if it would prevent your death, and he nods. "okay okay, good. so i think that's what happened. see, i'm not from here, as you can tell...and i died in a car crash, really brutal shit man, like literal sticks in my lower intestines and shit, that sucked balls." you trail off as you describe the fatality and he sighs.

"sorry, i got carried away. but yeah, basically, no need for an introduction on your part, i already know everything about you". you smile gingerly as he raises an eyebrow at you and scratches at his neck.

"mhm. everything, eh?" he leans into you again now and your breath hitches. you can smell him now, and it's unlike anything you could have imagined. the smell of sweat is combined with a faint sugared citrus scent. it's strange, honestly you didn't imagine he'd smell like anything more than a general stink, but he isn't unpleasant in the slightest. he's also all-too-close to your face, and you're able to see every patch of dry skin, scar, and scrape on his delicate pale face. strands of powdery blue hair drape around his face, and he pushes it back with a brutish movement as he takes in the image of you. you fight the urge to reach out and touch him as he speaks again, his breath on your face.

"what else do you know about me then, hmm?"

him being that close to you was overwhelming as fuck, and it takes a minute to reboot your brain and respond.

"well, fuck i don't have my phone" you exclaim as you pat your pockets down.

"need mine?" he slips his out of his hoodie pocket with two fingers and you shake your head shyly. "no thank you" you creak out, and shrug.

"well, basically, you're like, all over social media. and people really love you" you start, and a smirk forms on his face again.

"so, in another world i'm...people like me? in this other world...do i kill all might?" he says excitedly, snaking his long fingers together with a clap.

"well," you start, "sometimes?" you bite your lip, thinking of how to phrase it. "people write stories about you, and draw you, hell, some people even cosplay you..."

"cosplay? like...dress up? like me?" he says shocked, and you respond with a content "mhm!"

"...in your other world, do i win?" he smiles manically and you frown. you know his fate in your world. but maybe, in his, it's different. maybe you can lie to him.

"yes." you recall the recent manga leaks and chapters, and force a smile out. "you win, victoriously. and...you're the best villain!"

he leans back in his seat, a cocky look on his face as he folds his arms. "and society...does it fall?"

"you make it yours, shigaraki" you nod, distracting yourself from the blatant display of his death that replays in your mind.

"excellent" he hisses out. "tell me how i do it".

you shake your head. "i promise i can!" a look of determination overcomes you, your confidence way too high for someone who just got obliterated by a fucking tree branch. "if...if i can join you, i can show you everything from my world and help you" you propose, fighting off the aching in your chest. he glares at you for a moment and purses his lips.

"hmph. i'll consider it" he raises a brow and you respond with a tight, flat grin. he rolls his eyes as you shimmy closer to him. at this point, he hasn't killed you, and fuck it, if you die again, who knows where you'll go.

"did you know that a lot of people want to fuck you?" you blurt out, and he chokes on air.

"WHAT?"

"yeah, and they write about it all the time. and draw it, too. they also think you and dabi are together, sometimes you and spinner, hell i've even seen you and eraserhea-"

"WHAT THE FUCK?" he shouts out, and you laugh. you feel the excitement from before come rushing back, making you slightly delirious next to this definitely unstable and unhealthy villain.

"yeah! in my world, you're like, so hot" you giggle.

"i'm going to need you to shut the fuck up while i process that" he raises a hand and takes a deep breath.

he takes a few seconds, rubbing his temples and sighing. "...in what world would i fuck dabi?"

you laugh, violently, and he grimaces. you cant reply, so you just shrug as your laughter continues to startle him.

"well, a lot of people also think you're," you whisper the next part, "a virgin". he scowls at this and flattens his lips. he doesn't respond, which causes you in your delusional state to scooch closer to him.

"...is that true?" you ask quietly, and he glares at you. you take his silence as a yes, and nod.

"hmm. thought so" you reply with approval, slightly satisfied your favorite headcanon was very much true. he grits his teeth and stands from his seat, stretching a bit before walking away with a huff. you immediately fling yourself off your own seat and follow him.

"you know, that's not a bad thing!" you say behind as he trudges down the hall. he flings open a door and slams it in your face, sending you back a bit. you frown, not realizing how far you've been pushing it. you reach for the doorhandle and somehow, it's not locked. you push the old wood and enter slowly, the smell of dirty laundry and that same citrus smell enveloping your senses. he groans as he meets your gaze and you smile sheepishly.

"hey, sorry, i'm not sure why that of all things bothered you..."

he rolls his eyes and flops onto his bed. the springs creak with exasperation as his weight squishes against the old frame.

"of course an idiot like you wouldn't understand. even in your world i'm still somehow seen as a loser" he grumbles and you bite your cheek. you close and lock the handle behind you, and shuffle over to the bed. you dont sit, but you sway slightly as you watch him. his body is more defined from this angle, you can see the gentle muscles under his tshirt-his hoodie has been flung onto the floor with the rest of the clothes-and his baggy pants fall just low enough to expose his porcelain skin just above the waistband of his boxers. you take him in with a greedy stare as you plan your next response.

"...well, yes, but...we all think it's hot." the words startle him and he sits up slightly.

"we??" his eyes narrow, "you're one of them?"

you cringe and nod slowly. "sorry, shiggy, but if its any consolation" he cuts you off with a snap-

"i should kill you right now and send you back to your other world".

your hands fidget uncomfortably at your sides and you fight the urge to take off sprinting again. seems as though when you died, your proper judgement died with you. you sit slowly on the edge of his worn mattress and raise your hands in defeat.

"i don't think that's how it works. if i die again here, i'll just be sent somewhere else, and then i can't help you". he interjects with a quiet "ughhh", and you shrug. "like i was saying, if its any consolation, everyone who does think you're a virgin just wants to fuck you all the more. so in my world you get like, infinite bitches" you grin, and he frowns again.

"are you also one of those freaks?" he retorts, and you wince.

"hmph. checks out. mystery girl from mystery world shows up and says i, quote, get infinite bitches, and allegedly wants to fuck me" he throws his hands up in defeat. "i don't suppose you actually want that, just the idea of it, hm? i'm sure you get off on your world's portrayal of me. for all i know though, you could be lying, you could be a narc little NPC that works for the heroes, and they sent you to weaken me. i don't think i'll fall for it this time, idiot. get out." he points furiously at the door and you pout, folding your arms.

"fair assumption, but with all due respect, even if i were a spy, i don't think i'd be so stupid as to lock myself in a room with you" you motion to the locked door, and he huffs.

"prove you aren't then." he challenges, and you very quickly oblige. at this rate, you're living a fanfiction fantasy and you're thanking that tree branch more and more. you yank your shirt off and climb into his lap, choking out an exclamation from him. you straddle him and almost immediately feel him harden underneath you, eyes blown wide in shock as you wrap your arms around his frame and plant your lips on his. they're cracked and dry, but you couldn't care less. it feels like death all over again, the swirling static enveloping you as you taste him on you. a sweet twinge of blood and candy and salt coats your tongue as you slip it in past his lips, swallowing him whole. he whines as you tug on his tangled hair, rutting into you from below desperately. his body is already shaking, a silent plea as you grind down into him again, the friction of his rock-hard dick against your already throbbing center causing you to both moan. you cant hide your excitement and desperation as you claw at his back. he pulls away for a moment and shakily points to his hoodie on the floor.

"g-gloves" he chokes out, and you nod. you spring up and reach for the pocket, pulling out two artists gloves and tossing them to him. your hands brush against Father in his pocket and you suck air in through your teeth, completely forgetting about that weird fucking thing. you shake off the strange feeling and turn your attention back to him. he's hastily strapping the gloves on and fiddling with the button on his jeans. you lower yourself down to his crotch, the fabric strained against his length. with a surge of newfound confidence, you bite the button and undo the zip with your teeth, and he gasps at the sudden motion. you silently fist-bump yourself as he shimmies the jeans down his legs, tossing them off the bed. you follow, peeling the fabric off your own body and placing yourself back on top of him. he finally reaches up and squeezes your tits with his gloved hands, groaning at the feeling of them in his hands. his eyes are lit up like stars as he ogles your chest, yanking them out of your bra. you silently chuckle and completely lift the article off of you, and his jaw drops. he looks absolutely blown away, and as he greedily cups your tits and squeezes them, he whimpers underneath you. you feel his cock twitch and you grind slightly against it, and within seconds, he's panting and cumming all over you and himself, crying out a string of vulgarities. you kiss him again as he coats you both in slick, hot beads of cum and he bites your lip in pure craze. you remove yourself from his wet lap and look at him with a soft expression.

"aww, you've made a mess already. your boxers arent even off, shiggy" you whisper out and he balls his fists.

"mmf, fuck you, mystery girl" he mumbles out, and you help him pull his boxers off.

"call me by my name, _________". you plant a chaste kiss to his cheek. as his cock springs free, you audibly gasp.

its much bigger, and much angrier right now, than you typically read about. you take it in your hand and feel it, the soft, delicate skin feeling almost out of place on him. it's surrounded by thick baby blue hair, going up to his navel in a sparse trail. its heavier than you expected, too, as it switches in your palm. the creamy skin of his length is offset by a very sensitive silvery-pink tip, already leaking precum again as you thumb over it, sending pathetic whimpers to escape his lips in a fury. you blink away your greater morals and bring your mouth to it, licking a thick stripe from the base, tasting the slightly salty precum against your lips. he shakes as you slip him into your mouth, stretching your jaw out more then you expected you'd have to.

you begin slowly, keeping a hand twisting around the base as your mouth adjusts to the sheer size of it. slowly, you gain comfort and confidence in your actions, and you let your hand go. you take him further into your mouth with a sharp exhale through your nose, and he grips at your hair. he pushes you down, shuddering, and you bury your nose into the mass of hair, breathing in the aroma of his sweat and warmth. you feel yourself slicken more at this, and you bob your head up and down graciously as he whimpers, your name spilling from his lips a few times between labored breaths. you feel the blood pulsing in his shaft, and you wrap your hand around his balls as they tighten, squeezing them as he shatters into you again, thick ropes streaming into your mouth. his grip tightens on your hair and he shoves you all the way down, gagging you slightly as his cum drips down your throat.

"hnng, f-fuck" he drools as his seed fills your mouth generously, adn you pull off with a sloppy mixture of saliva and cum dripping from your lips. you swallow it feverishly and he shakes, watching as you collapse next to him.

it takes him a moment to speak, and its barely above a whisper when he does.

"_______?" his voice is raspier than before as he says your name, and is thick with desire still. you turn to him, still aching for your own orgasm.

"i'm going to fuck you now" he says, a little louder than before. you look at him with wide eyes and nod, spreading your legs are he peels his tshirt off and centers himself between them. he grips a thigh with his calloused fingers, digging his dirty nails into your skin. you hiss slightly but your back arches at the contact.

"why aren't you afraid of me?" he presses himself against your soaking cunt, leaning in to bite your neck. you gasp and grab his face, bringing him to your lips. waves of desire crash over you as he throbs against you. for a virgin, his stamina is something else.

"because i know that if i die again, i'll at least die happy this time" you admit, and reach a hand down to grab his cock. you center it to your opening, and nod. he presses himself in sharply, without warning, and you shriek out in pain.

"gah, fuck, okay, shigaraki" you put a hand to his chest to slow him, "easy, slow, please". he shakes his head and rams himself back into you, snaking a hand to your throat as he pumps inside of you haphazardly. there's no real rhythm to it yet, and you do your best to adjust to the size of him stretching your tight hole hungrily.

"tomura" he replies through grit teeth, and you moan.

"tomura," you repeat with a desperate sob, "please"

his eyes glaze over and with a newfound glimmer of faith, he grips your hips and begins to slowly rut into you, allowing the both of you to finally adjust. he exhales slowly as he rocks his hips into you, and you grab one of his hands, dragging it to your core.

"try...fuck, tomura, touch me" you plead, and he immediately presses his middle finger to your clit. its hard, almost too forceful, and you pull his hand back. he loses concentration and falls out of rhythm for a moment as you guide his hand around, showing him what feels good. you recall a few stories you had read and get an idea.

"like an analog. thumbstick. fuck. you know what i mean" you stumble out, and he very quickly nods.

"so not like a trigger." he follows, and suddenly, his movements are a lot more fluid. he smirks as he rubs your clit steadily. he begins to thrust back into you shakily, then with harder, longer strokes. he follows your directions as you moan and squirm under him, beads of sweat forming on his forehead and shoulders as he gains momentum, the mattress squeaking rapidly under the both of you.

you feel yourself at your own breaking point, the fire inside of you melting like metal as it fills you, and you sink your nails into his back as you clench even tighter around his merciless cock. he snaps out with a cry and thrusts into you faster, becoming a little unsteady as you soak his length. your body splinters in ecstasy as he drives himself relentlessly into you, orgasm ripping your body like a hurricane. you call his name out like an unholy prayer as you fall from your high, and he throws his head back as his own climax tears through him. you feel it as he rams himself as deep as he can, filling you with sticky cum furiously. his jaw slackens as he huffs and pants, the most angelic sounds emanating from the villain's flustered body.

as you both crash hard, he pulls out slowly with a hiss. his arms turn to jelly as he collapses on top of you, the weight of him crushing the air from you slightly, and you giggle breathlessly. you wrap your arms around his sweaty, shaking frame and kiss the top of his head as he hyperventilates.

he gathers the strength to push himself off of you and rolls onto his back next to you.

"was that real?" he asks, and you chuckle lightly.

"well, as real as i am, i suppose". he shrugs and closes his eyes.

"did you read about this? in your other world?" he asks gingerly, and you turn to him.

"something like this, yeah" you admit, and he nods slowly.

"you can stay, mystery girl, so long as you keep telling me about those things you read. or just show me" he says, and you smile. "oh, and help me kill that all-might fucker."

your eyes flutter shut in pure bliss as his visage interrupts your greater thoughts. if this is what your new life would be like, then perhaps the violent death was worth it.

===============================================

this took me like 3 hours to write tbh, i hope its good! i think im gonna cross-post this to ao3 to get the ball rollin. thank u sm for the ask! it was a pleasure (literally) to write this :)

#myposts #mha #bnha #my hero academia #tomura shigaraki #mha shigaraki #tenko shimura #shigaraki x reader #myfics #myoneshots #bnha shigaraki #shigaraki smut

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lovieku · 3 months ago

Text

GOOD LUCK, BABE! #4 ⋆ 정국

what happens when you leave everything behind, only to be faced with it again years later? eunbi is convinced she was given another shot at keeping all she ever wanted, but it’s difficult when that all is her childhood best friend who doesn’t want to do anything with her anymore. how to earn his trust back?

☾ pairing: non idol!jk x fem!oc

☾ genre: childhood friends to strangers, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, smut

☾ word count: 21.8k

☾ warnings: huhhhh. Angst! jeongguk being a pain in the ass for no reason. well sorta kinda! lots of cute fun moments with the group. until jeongguk comes and ruins it all. (no but i love him). unserious banter until it gets serious, again. pov switch! angst angst angst. mentions of blood!!! fluff if you squint. jealousy if you squint, like, really hard.

☾ author’s note: HELLOOOO first of all happy (late) birthday namjoonie <3 second of all IM FINALLY HERE!!! and this chapter is so long omfg. i got carried away and realised way too late. was too deep in! hope you can enjoy, i love love them sm, its worth getting to the end!

ps: if you read this, lmk what u enjoy more between eunbi’s pov and jk’s pov. it wont change the way i write the story, im just curious!! okay bye <3

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four ⋆ good 4 u

Sleep doesn’t find Eunbi that night. Her mind runs from it, busy searching for something else, grasping for answers to questions that don’t have one. And if they do exist, they get lost in a haze of sadness. Anger. Helplessness. Sadness again.

When Dahye joins her in their shared tent, Eunbi’s eyes are hollow, devoid of any emotion. Her ears still ring with a distant noise, struggling to pick up her friend’s passionate reassurances. Still, she lets herself be held, and comforted by words her brain can’t quite grasp, head resting on Dahye’s chest, a gentle hand running through her hair. For a moment, feeling the soft rhythm of her friend’s breath, she clings to the comfort of her presence, hoping it might anchor her in some way, keep her from completely drifting away.

But everything she has been trying to shut out comes crashing down on her fragile figure the moment she feels Dahye’s arms grow weaker around her, and her breaths getting heavier as sleep takes her. Silent tears trace a path down her cheeks, while loud, screaming thoughts make her head throb and keep her awake all night. She regrets being here; regrets naively hoping things could be mended so easily; regrets the way she stayed quiet the first moment she laid eyes on Jeongguk after all those years; knows it’s her fault.

By morning, the sun having climbed its way in the sky for a couple hours already and its rays forcing themselves in their shelter with unwanted light, she can sense Dahye subtly stir under her. Immediately, Eunbi shuts her eyes closed, feigning deep slumber. Instead, her very awake ears perk when she can feel fussing, Dahye sitting up and ultimately shaking the seemingly unconscious girl’s shoulder, “Bibi?”

If all goes wrong, at least Eunbi could win an Oscar for her performance, the way her eyelids flutter open, slow and heavy, only after rubbing them, and a big yawn escapes her mouth. That wasn’t too fake after all, her body weary with the all-nighter. Dahye doesn’t notice, her smile soft, “Did you sleep well? Are you feeling a bit better?”

Eunbi simply nods, her expression void. She barely registers the other girl mentioning something about washing up, and breakfast, “I’ll leave you some time. But if you’re not out by the time I’m done in the bathroom, I’m dragging your ass out.” Just like that, she slips out of the tent.

Left alone once again with silence, Eunbi listens to the faint noises outside— the muffled voices of her roommate greeting Hoseok and Yoongi. At that, the urge to cry returns, and she feels tears sting at her bottom lashes, threatening to spill. But this time, she holds them back. She knows she can’t let herself break down, not now. Not with everyone outside, and especially not with Jeongguk. Still, she doesn’t think the sorrow written all over her features will go unnoticed.

She feels like an outsider, an intruder trespassing on sacred ground. As if the moment she steps out, all eyes will be on her miserable figure, stripping her bare, judging her poor choices, the ones that lead Jeongguk to spit venom in her face hours ago. Making it clear that she doesn't belong there, that she will never be part of what they already have. Of what Jeongguk has built after her.

Last night, she tried to blame him. She wanted to be angry at him, to turn her hurt into something tangible, something outside of herself. But she couldn't. In the end, she could only turn the anger inward, could only blame herself. Being called a bitch by the best person she's ever known, in front of her university friends, was a brutal wake up call. A reminder of how far she has fallen.

The weight of those thoughts paralyses her for a long moment, while a squeaky, high-pitched voice in the back of her brain screams at her to move, if only to avoid the pitying glance she might receive when Dahye returns. Still, her body protests, limbs heavy and muscles tight from the lack of sleep in the small, uncomfortable place.

With a deep breath that quivers in her chest, she forces herself up. For a second, her hand hesitating at the tent’s entrance and hovering over the zipper, she contemplates hiding in here forever, away from the discomfort. But she knows better. The world outside is waiting, and no amount of hesitation will make it disappear. Quickly throwing on a light pink crewneck over her pyjama shorts, she steps out.

Cool air brushes against her skin in a tender manner, gently welcoming her and seemingly easing her nerves. Before she’s forced to acknowledge the others, she moves quickly, her flip flops clad feet making their way to the small wash station. She hopes the freezing water she repeatedly splashes on her face will cleanse away the fog of the sleepless night, and wishes it could also wash away the weight pressing down on her chest. In the mirror, she convinces herself the dark circles under her eyes aren’t that dark after all, and that the unsettling smile she’s practising is convincing enough to finally join Dahye outside.

The makeshift breakfast setup is simple: a few snacks, some bread, fruit. Namjoon, Taehyung and Aera have also joined the small gathering, making it seven of them now, while the others seem to still be asleep in their tents. Eunbi can hear the casual chatter of the group, the way their voices blend together in an easy rhythm that feels foreign to her now.

With her head down, she picks at the small offerings, not really tasting anything, her appetite almost nonexistent. She almost misses Yoongi’s voice beside her, “Did the creams work?”

Eunbi startles slightly, her gaze darting to the older boy, who wears a sweet grin on his lips. She nods, mirroring his smile timidly. Yoongi makes a show of inspecting her nose as he leans closer, without going over the invisible boundary, his eyes squinting with exaggerated seriousness as he impersonates a doctor’s authority, “Yes, yes. They definitely worked. My patient looks so much better now.” His voice mocks a solemn tone, and it makes the girl heartily giggle.

She’s surprised to see this side of the boy, and she briefly wonders if he’s putting on this act just for her sake, because the misery on her features is that obvious even to him, who left the campfire way before the incident had happened. Either way, it works— she feels herself relax, if only a little, sinking back into her chair with a bit more ease.

Then, Aera asks her about the hoodie she’s wearing, going on about how it compliments her complexion perfectly and Dahye chimes in, explaining how it had originally belonged to her, but after the other girl borrowed it once she decided it looked so much better on her friend that she insisted Eunbi kept it. The recalling of those times keep her distracted, the smile on her face growing bigger as Namjoon makes sure she’s refilling her stomach properly, insisting that she needs her strength for the day’s activities, the worry in his furrowed brows making her feel part of something again.

Just as she begins to think she might make it through this, she senses a shift in the atmosphere. Besides her, Dahye tenses, and Aera clears her throat. Eunbi doesn’t have to look up to know why. Jeongguk has joined them. She can feel his presence like a dark cloud hanging over her, suffocating.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, her eyes lift to meet his. His gaze is sharp, eyes shadowed by dark circles that suggest he’s had as restless a night as she has. There’s no trace of warmth, no hint of the familiarity they used to share. Just cold, hard resentment. For a fleeting second, she wills herself to desperately search his face for any sign that she hasn’t lost everything, that there’s still something worth saving. But he quickly diverts his eyes, turning his attention to the others and slipping easily into their conversation. Once again, she feels like a stranger intruding on his world.

As the group’s attention shifts to the boy, Eunbi finds herself spiralling back into her thoughts, struggling to grasp onto anything solid, anything that makes sense. She knows how this will play out: both of them only pretending the other doesn’t exist, but making it clear that same presence is despised, the petty glares and spiteful comments building until one of them finally snaps, just like last night.

To some extent, she understands his frustration. After all, she’s the unwanted guest at his birthday, a painful reminder of a past he’d rather forget. But understanding doesn’t make it hurt any less. She wasn’t expecting to be openly degraded, with such hatred in his face; to feel small and unwelcome in a place that feels as much hers as his. What can she do? It’s not as if she can just get up and disappear. She’s there, he’s there, and they’re stuck in this awkward dance.

He hasn’t tried to make it any less awkward. Her attempts at being civil have been outright dismissed, and the memory of it fills her with the same rage that bubbled up last night. And as she observes him, it only intensifies. She feels herself cycling through the five stages of grief at an inhumane speed and without following its original order, having skipped straight to depression and now bouncing back to anger. When Jeongguk’s eyes meet hers again, the smile he had been giving Jimin fades instantly. She hates that look.

All that heaviness from last night feels like it has been sucked out of her chest, suddenly devoid of any of the previous gloom that had led her to sad tears streaming her cheeks and impending guilt putting her at fault. Nothing’s left, except this tight, burning knot. It’s not sadness anymore, it’s a hot, fierce feeling coiling in her stomach.

It’s Hoseok who breaks the spell, demanding all of their attention on him, his voice taking on a loud and excited tone. Eunbi struggles to make sense of his words through the fog of anger, her slowed down thought process only registering them when the collective holler that follows fully snaps her out of her trance and pulls her back to the present. The first, opening activity of the trip would be trekking. She doesn’t even bother to fake enthusiasm.

It’s only the second day at the campsite, and Eunbi already has a list long enough to fill an entire notebook of reasons why she never should have come. First of all, whatever fragile hope she had about making things right with Jeongguk has probably died a quick death only in those first few hours. And the rest of the trip? It’s packed with outdoor activities that she wouldn’t really proclaim herself a fan of. Did she even consider that before agreeing to this? The small kid still living inside her most likely saw the words “Jeongguk” and “birthday” and hit yes without a second thought. Not paying any mind to the fact that the two of them are no longer those kids in Busan.

When she glances back at said Busan boy, the previous negativity is washed off his face and instead, his eyes are bright and animated, geeking about today’s trek. Her chest tightens, again. It stings. He looks exactly the way he always has, like the Jeongguk she knows, except she’s not the reason for that look on his face, anymore.

It makes her think. Overthink. Weigh her options. Trying to map out the safest way to move around this minefield. Just moments ago, the sight of him had her blood boiling, the fire in his eyes igniting a stronger spark in her own. But she’s also aware her current position doesn’t paint her as the one entitled to put all the blame on him. Especially when this is supposed to be his trip, a way to celebrate with the people he’s building a new life with. She was never part of the equation, and she gets it. A wrong combination led to unwanted results, and now neither of them know how to find the right pieces and put them back together. None of the numbers are adding up.

She doesn’t feel like letting her resentment take over, at least not here and now; last night only went to show emotions are definitely not needed to decode the problem. She’ll carry them quietly, maybe even figure out some kind of solution along the way. Discover different sequences of calculations that could make sense.

For now, she’s set on ignoring him and making sure her presence is ignored back; avoiding a problem and avoiding creating one. Is this the stage of acceptance? If that’s what it can be called, she welcomes it with a long, liberating breath, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Dahye.

Except, several more huffs follow, and Dahye is there to endure all of them: when they’re back in the tent, Eunbi slapping on some concealer to cover her dark circles, then trying to disguise her pallid complexion with blush, ending up groaning and turning to her concerned friend with drawn up eyebrows, “Did I overdo it?”; as she’s zipping up her white tennis skort; rummaging her bag for ages only to slip on the most basic black oversized t-shirt; taking forever to tie her Converses.

Dahye stalls. She’s aware they’re late, can sense it in the way Hoseok is subtly raising his voice outside to make himself heard, “It’s not like we’re totally late on our schedule. Take your sweet time, guys!” He’s sarcastic, if his shaky laughter is anything to go by.

She also knows she doesn’t want to be eaten alive by her best friend, knows better not to rush her right now. She’s had enough experience living with her. So she stays quiet, puts up with her friend’s small crisis and lets her deal with it on her own. Only when it seems like she’s over with it, Dahye calmly asks Eunbi if she feels like she’s ready to go. The answer is uncertain, but Dahye grasps on that small percentuality of sureness and exits the tent either way, before Hoseok turns out to be the one eating her alive.

When they finally step out to join the group, Eunbi releases one last dramatic sigh, and the prolonged sound of it translates into Dahye’s right eyelid twitching. She tries composedly, at first, “Bibi, will you stop doing that?”

”Doing what?”

”Sighing like you’re a damn war veteran!” Her exasperation draws a few chuckles from their friends, including a sneaky giggle from Jimin, observing the interaction and getting Dahye’s attention in the process.

Eunbi mutters a small sorry, the apology dismissed by her now distracted friend, seemingly having forgotten the whole ordeal in a matter of seconds. The other girl seizes the moment to vent, “I’m just getting more stressed by the minute about this whole thing. I told you I shouldn’t have come. What if, I don’t know— I get hurt?” Her eyebrows are raised, dramatic act on, pout displayed, “I’ll blame you.”

Dahye is clearly unimpressed, rolling her eyes amusedly at Eunbi’s efforts, “Bi, you’ll be okay. Just fine.” She faces the shorter one now, hands on her shoulders like a mother sending her child off to summer camp. Well, technically she is about to do that, “Why don’t you try mingling with the others? Let’s pretend I don’t exist. Yeah!”

Dahye’s convincing nods are comically mirrored by Eunbi shaking her head, the desperation on her features going ignored by her taller friend. The last thing she wants right now is exactly mingling with the others. Dahye goes on dissimulating, “Stick next to Namjoon. He, huh— he knows about this kinda stuff. I guess? I’ll catch up with Jimin, okay? Bye, babe!”

Eunbi’s childish protests fall on deaf ears as the other girl slips away. Her one anchor, gone. Not even her best pleading tactics have worked. The muffled curses under her breath are vile, and she wishes Jimin would just make a move on her friend already. Maybe then, all of this would make sense.

Still, she merges with the others. It’s hard to find her place in there, especially with the insecurities plaguing her mind, as everyone splits off into their little duos and trios. Taehyung and Seokjin try to pull her into their usual, weird hypothetical debates, “Let’s say you have a penis. Would you still jack off if when you came your semen was just one big sperm, and afterward you'd have to fight it?”

Despite herself, she enjoys the distraction. Trekking is not so bad when you desperately need your brain to unplug. The trail is not too far from the campsite, circling it and making it ideal for them to wander without getting lost. The summer air is warm, and heavy with the sweet scent of wildflowers and the earthy aroma of sun-warmed pine needles.

With the path gradually climbing uphill, the initially dense forest begins to thin, and with it Eunbi’s thoughts follow, loosening with each step. She’s not sure if it’s the silly joy filling her when colourful butterflies flutter past, or the brief interaction she entertains with a small chipmunk darting across the way, but there’s something calming about the rhythm of it all. The green all around her takes over her spiralling mind.

Eventually, Dahye’s suggestion turns out to be a good one, and soon Eunbi finds herself covering most part of the walk with Namjoon by her side, who’s a walking encyclopedia on the local fauna. His easy conversation and gentle humour slowly start to chip away at the tension in her shoulders. He’s good company— listens well, comes up with just the right responses, and somehow makes her feel less like she’s tagging along and more like she belongs.

Time slips away when being this disconnected to the chaos of the city but so connected to this bubble of green and quiet. Sharing that with her friends doesn’t make her worry about the clock, though. She laughs loudly, and speaks comfortably. And just like that, she’s unaware of the first two hours that go by with walking and chatting, this last part ceasing gradually when the path becomes steeper and more rugged, their breaths getting heavier with each large step. But the effort is worth it when they reach the summit and are rewarded with a breathtaking view. Eunbi’s eyes light up at the sight, even more so when she spots the perfect rock to plop down on and gulp water from her flask.

Before she can, it takes a few other seconds for her eyes to cover the whole scene, and when they do she notices Jeongguk. He’s sitting next to Iseul, his clothes similar to the ones Eunbi is wearing, just colour inverted with a white oversized t-shirt and black gym shorts. He doesn’t seem to be aware of her presence, yet. He’s laughing at something on the girl’s phone. Eunbi silently scoffs.

The attention is brought on her and Namjoon the moment the latter greets his friend, who acts as if she doesn’t exist. Eunbi is not any less of an actor, pretending to be much more interested in the panorama rather than the conversation the two men are having.

While her companion takes some pictures of the scenery, Eunbi drinks as much water as needed to feel hydrated without needing to go to the bathroom in the next 10 seconds. The walk is still long, and the campsite still far. For that reason, and totally not because she can’t stand the sight of Jeongguk sitting next to the short haired girl giggling about one of their inside jokes, she announces, “I’m ready to go again.”

Namjoon looks a bit taken aback, “Already?”

”Yeah. Let’s go.”

”You sure you don’t wanna rest?” Eunbi only shakes her head, fixing the backpack on her shoulders. The taller boy chuckles, “And here I thought you hated trekking.”

Eunbi lets out a genuine laugh. It’s refreshing to hear, even if she can feel the interaction being followed attentively by a pair of curious eyes, and when she gives in and looks their way, they immediately focus on the trees behind her. Whatever.

Just as she starts walking to follow behind Namjoon, her foot trips on a rock and she stumbles. Her first instinct, accompanied by a loud squeal, is to grab Namjoon’s shoulders for support, and luckily the boy promptly catches her. From the corner of her eye, she swears she sees Jeongguk nearly leaping to his feet. His hand twitches before he forces it back to his lap.

”Are you okay?” Namjoon’s eyes are wide with concern, hands steady on her forearms as he checks her foot with his gaze for any sprain, “Wait, your shoe is untied.”

He swiftly drops on his knee and works on the laces of her shoes, delicately inspecting her ankle in the process. Eunbi looks down at him, and she feels her cheeks flare slightly, both because of the embarrassment and the action feeling a little too intimate. She diverts her eyes, and her gaze automatically lands on Jeongguk. His face is immediately wiped from what, for a split second, looked like fright. Worry. He’s back to indifference, looking behind his shoulders, and she figures she must have imagined it.

”Can you walk?” Namjoon’s voice pulls her back, his figure now standing tall in front of her. She nods, shaking off the overwhelment, and assures she’s okay. Namjoon doesn’t believe her until she’s forced to take a walking test, going back and forth for one minute before he’s fully convinced she hasn’t twisted her ankle or anything.

When they set off again, laughter bubbles up between them as Namjoon cheekily makes fun of her squeal and her clumsiness, and Eunbi lightly shoves him. She’s glad she’s going through this with him; it’s making them closer and she finds they have so much more in common than she initially thought.

For a moment, she regrets not even sitting down for a second to rest, her feet protesting in her old Converses, but she quickly realises the other alternative and prefers having her legs hurt over being in the presence of Jeongguk, surrounded by quiet, and nature, and all the possible existent reasons to be kind to each other. Which they’re not really planning on doing, right now.

Even more with Iseul there. Eunbi doesn’t know why, but something about the girl rubs her the wrong way. It’s not like they ever got a chance to bond, but it feels like Iseul hasn’t even tried. They don’t have anything against each other, but the way she’s sticking to Jeongguk’s side after yesterday’s fiasco brings Eunbi to not really contemplate the possibility of them getting closer either.

The trail descends into a different path of the forest, this one denser and cooler, providing the duo with a break from the midday heat. Their pace is slower, and the talking quiets down too in favour of soaking in the tranquillity that surrounds them. Eunbi feels herself recover from the previous slip and sighs, this time contentedly.

The peace doesn’t last for long. Behind her shoulders, her ears pick up hurried footsteps, the cracking of the leaves stronger under them, the unmistakable sound of someone catching up. Eunbi doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is, she can sense his presence like an itch she can’t scratch. Jeongguk reaches her, his voice almost touching her neck, “Can you move out of the way?”

There’s plenty of space. Hell, the path could fit five trucks. Her eyes close momentarily, searching for all the strength she needs to resist the provocation. She steps aside, set on not paying him too much mind. She doesn’t want to be affected by his tone. She’s decided to let him be, and think what he wants of her.

Jeongguk doesn’t seem too fond of the silence he’s met with, though. Was probably expecting her witty impulses to react. But she ignores him. He walks past her, but it looks like his initial aim at surpassing her goes forgotten. His steps are shorter, not covering big distances anymore and keeping him at an arm’s length from her, Iseul beside him oblivious to the tension.

He looks back after Eunbi thought he would limit himself to the snappy tone, but she was wrong, obviously, the glint in his eyes daring her to respond, “Wow, you’re really slow.”

Eunbi tries not to snap, she really tries. Thinks of brushing the comment with a simple dismissing chuckle, pretending it doesn’t make her hand twitch. Her tongue poke her inner cheek. But it’s like the minimal sight of him gets her burning with annoyance.

“Oh, sorry. I wasn’t aware this was a marathon. Good luck winning!” Is this enough of a bitch answer? She hopes so, the smile that accompanies it deathly sarcastic. She just doesn’t want to deal with Jeongguk after last night. Fears the resentment is still too alive for her to handle it better.

Of course, he doesn’t back down from a good childish banter, though, “You’re still slow.”

”Well, I’m trekking.”

”And you’re seriously wearing Converses to do that.” His eyes fall to her feet with a delighted scoff. He’s unbelievable.

”So sorry I couldn’t afford trekking shoes.” The concern is clearly faked, and she hopes she just imagined Jeongguk rolling his eyes subtly.

”That’s why you’re slow.” He has the audacity to raise his eyebrows and shrug at Eunbi’s speechless state, the argument resulting in the dumbest interaction she’s had in days, leaving her pissed nonetheless.

Jeongguk rewinds his fast paced walk, not really considering poor Iseul trying to keep up with him. Both her and Namjoon are left disoriented with the meaningless bickering they found themselves spectators of, but they wisely stay silent to prevent stirring the pot further.

Eunbi, however, doesn’t even notice the sudden quiet, the thoughts screaming in her brain making up for it. She feels completely blindsided. All those times she tried to make even the smallest kind of conversation with him, she was ignored. Her smiles, kind requests and efforts to maintain a friendly demeanour— completely fucking dismissed. And now, just when she’d decided the best thing she could do for both of them was to back off, to give them each the space they needed to avoid any further animosity, what does he do? He searches for it. Purposefully searches for it, as if he wants to provoke some kind of reaction out of her. She’s so fed up. What’s his deal? Why seek out conflict when they were finally starting to find some semblance of peace in their indifference? It’s infuriating. She can’t help the small growl of frustration that escapes her lips. God, what an asshole.

A small scoff from Namjoon pulls her out of her daze, and she glances his way, her face a picture of confusion and irritation. The boy shakes his head, a faint, amused smile playing on his lips, “He can be, sometimes.”

It’s only then that she realises she must have muttered her last thought out loud. She laughs softly at her slip, sheepishly brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “Sorry about that. We’re just… not exactly on good terms, right now.”

Namjoon is silent as her admission hangs in the air, unpressured. Instead, he just nods, his eyes reflecting a quiet empathy, inviting but not intrusive. He’s giving her the choice, whether she wishes to open up or carry that baggage on her own. It’s not like he’s oblivious to the tension between her and Jeongguk; the whole group would agree it has been evident ever since Eunbi joined. But neither she nor Jeongguk offered any explanations, so there was no choice but to adapt to the hostility. Dahye had only once hinted at the fact that they’d known each other for a long time, letting it slip casually, much to Eunbi’s silent dismay, but beyond that, no other details were ever shared.

Eunbi hesitates. She trusts Namjoon, the way she trusts the others, really— would vomit all her feelings on his t-shirt right now. But it wouldn’t feel right to give only her side of the story, knowing Jeongguk has lived in the dark about certain truths for years. He probably harbours his own complicated feelings, ones he’s kept close to his chest for a long time, feelings that would be overshadowed by her own if she spoke out of turn. She doesn’t think it’s her place to say what happened.

The silence stretches on, and Eunbi is more conflicted with each passing second. Her eyes drift to the figure of Jeongguk moving farther away, his silhouette becoming smaller with every step until he rounds a corner and disappears from view. With him goes the moment, the possibility of Namjoon ever knowing what happened, at least from her. He seems to accept this, doesn’t push her to speak, and she appreciates it when he shifts the conversation, making a light-hearted comment about the trees and their unusual shapes. She smiles.

The afternoon sun beats down on them, making the air thick and sticky. Time drags on, more hours roll by, the trail winding endlessly through the woods. They find spots to sit now and then, taking short breaks to catch their breath. But the further they trek, the more Eunbi grows frustrated. Her calves ache, muscles burning from the climb, and she has to stop every so often to rub at them, cursing under her breath. Namjoon forces himself to not laugh at that, instead keeping his usual calm and patient, assuring her with a grin that they’re almost there. Though she’s pretty sure he’s just saying that to keep her spirits up.

Eventually, their slow pace brings them closer to some of the others who had lagged behind. They all wear the same weary expressions, the exhaustion etched into their features. They try to relieve some of it by distracting themselves from the thought of their feet hurting, one of them starting a game of Guess the Song by humming the melody. It quickly dissolves into a mess of off-key notes and missed beats, their tired brains unable to keep up, and it’s not long before they’re all laughing. The kind of belly laughs that make your sides ache.

Eunbi finds herself genuinely enjoying the moment, forgetting all about asking to sit down every five minutes, even catching herself humming along. She discovers Taehyung has quite a talent for singing, and notices how blatantly obvious Aera’s crush on him is.

By the time they finally reach the campsite, Eunbi feels a wave of relief wash over her, so strong it nearly brings tears to her eyes. The sun has started its descent, casting a golden glow over the clearing, and the heat of the day is beginning to be replaced by a cool, refreshing breeze that lifts the hair from her sweaty neck. She falls into step beside Dahye, who has reappeared after what feels like hours spent with Jimin. They don’t need words; they walk side by side in silence, until the shorter one bumps her shoulder lightly against Dahye’s, a knowing smile on her lips.

“Shut up,” the taller one rolls her eyes at the unspoken tease, though the grin on her face suggests she’s anything but annoyed.

Eunbi’s hands are immediately up in the air, mocking innocence, ”Didn’t say a single word.”

”Sure, you didn’t.” Dahye retorts, but her tone is playful. “Anyways, the others want to hit the lake before dinner. You in?”

”I’ll pass. I need a nap. I’m dead tired from all this. When I catch Hoseok, I swear.” Eunbi’s voice is half-joking, half-serious, her narrowed eyes suggesting she may be even a bit too serious, and Dahye just laughs.

They part ways, Eunbi disappearing in her tent and relishing the thought of a few quiet moments to herself. As much as she loves the company, sometimes it drains her. Sometimes, she just needs a moment to breathe, be with her own self and nobody else. Especially given the amount of times her sanity has been tested during the first two days of this trip.

Sleep comes to her easily, pulling her under as soon as her head hits the small, makeshift pillow. The muffled sounds of her friends outside — splashes from the lake, bursts of laughter — soothe her into a deep, much-needed, dreamless rest.

When she stirs awake, the sun has already dipped below the horizon, and she can feel the noises from the group much closer now. The air is filled with the mouth-watering aroma of roasting meat and vegetables, and it’s said delicious smell that puts her five senses to operate again. Her stomach grumbling wakes her before Dahye can, the tent flaps open just as her friend was about to poke her head inside.

Eunbi blinks awake groggily, stumbling out bleary-eyed, and Dahye mercilessly laughs at her still half-asleep face, “You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

”Fuck you.”

The teasing is playful, and Eunbi cheekily grins as her friend giggles. She wraps a hoodie around her shoulders to ward off the growing chill and keep some of the warmth from the nap, then makes her way to the fire where the others are gathered. When they take in her sleep-dazed state, they don’t miss a beat and start poking fun at her, pulling her hood up over her head or sneakily tickling her sides until she’s laughing despite herself. The laughter feels good, like a release, and she finds herself slowly waking up, becoming more aware, more present.

A large campfire crackles in the centre of the group, its flames dancing in the cool evening air, Yoongi and Seokjin in charge of dinner. Someone’s turned on a portable speaker, and soft music drifts through the campsite, blending with the sounds of laughter and the sizzle of food. Eunbi sits back, letting the warmth of the fire seep into her skin, content to simply listen, to watch the way the firelight plays across everyone’s faces.

It’s almost too easy to relax into the peaceful rhythm of the evening, her still vulnerable brain unwinding the tension she wasn’t aware of from her shoulders. The heat of the fire, the hum of laughter, and the quiet murmur of conversation blend together, creating a cocoon of comfort she hadn’t realised she needed. It’s as she starts letting herself be taken over by that familiar, soothing calm — the same one she’d found in her tent — that a faint alarm goes off in her brain. Its tiny beep only grows louder until it’s impossible to ignore. Something’s off. Her contentment feels misplaced. Like she’s forgotten a crucial detail that’s only now creeping back into her awareness.

The realisation slams into her like a wave, jolting her fully awake, the moment her gaze lands on Jeongguk. Suddenly, everything snaps back into sharp focus. His face, illuminated by the flickering firelight, is a stark reminder of the reality she had temporarily escaped. The events of the past few days come rushing back. Right, quick recap: she’s on Jeongguk’s birthday trip. Jeongguk, who can’t stand the sight of her. Jeongguk, who had called her a bitch last night. How could she almost forget that minor detail?

So here she is, in the middle of the woods, surrounded by friends and food, but all she can focus on is Jeongguk. The one person here who probably wishes she wasn’t. No sense dwelling on it now, though. She’s there, there’s no going back. Her only aim is to make it through the night. Make it through the night without repeating yesterday, or making things even worse. For that to happen, she just has to ignore the object of her epiphany like she has been trying to ever since the stressful day started. She hopes he’ll be smart enough to do the same.

It seems like it when dinner goes by without any notable tension, which is a small miracle in itself. Jeongguk seems just as engrossed by the food as she is, its hot, comforting and delicious taste being a welcome distraction, especially with that distinct smoky flavour from being cooked over the open fire. Everyone is too busy devouring their meals to talk much, but their sparkling eyes speak with gratitude for their hyungs’ magic hands. Eunbi uses the unusual quiet to gaze up at the sky, the stars slowly coming out to dot its darkening blue.

Though, peace never lasts long with this group. Jimin breaks the silence as he cracks open a beer bottle with a grin that spells mischief, “Let’s play a game.”

Taehyung, already leaning back in his chair with a lazy smile, nods, chiming in, “Since we’ve got alcohol, how about Never Have I Ever?”

”Just don’t ask stupid questions because you want to get drunk,” Dahye warns, her eyes twinkling with amusement. Her comment earns a round of laughter, easing the tension that had settled during the quiet, their voices soon overtaking the crackling of the fire once again.

Jimin hands the beer bottles, making sure everyone has one as he sits back with a teasing glint in his gaze. He locks eyes with Dahye, challenging her, “Okay, I got the perfect one, then. Never have I ever… pooped.”

The absurdity of the statement catches the others off guard, and they all erupt in silly chuckles, taking a sip. Except for Dahye, who sits there with a perfectly straight face. Jimin raises an eyebrow, expectantly waiting for her to drink, but she just shrugs, “Girls don’t poop.”

The girls echo her sentiment with mock seriousness, filling the camp with sarcastic agreements and playful banter, while a debate kicks off between Dahye and Jimin about the biological impossibility of her assertion. It’s cut short when Iseul eagerly starts smacking Jeongguk’s thigh by her side, her excitement palpable and getting everyone’s attention in the process, “Ooh, I got one! Never have I ever stolen something.”

Most of the group drinks at that, Yoongi snorting blatantly, and Iseul frowns in disappointment, expecting a different outcome. Dahye chuckles, “Babe, everyone’s stolen at some point. That was too easy. It’s okay, let’s just keep going. Jeongguk, your turn.”

Next to Iseul, Jeongguk seems to think for a moment, then he grins, “Never have I ever… rode a motorcycle.” He gulps down a big sip from his bottle.

”Are you looking to get drunk tonight, Ggukie?” It’s his best friend teasing him with wiggling eyebrows, and the younger just shrugs with a lazy smirk.

Eunbi drinks too, at that. Now that she thinks of it, the first and only time she was on a bike, Jeongguk was taking her home and she was holding her arms tight around his torso, his helmet secured under her chin and his jacket wrapped around her body. That’s the last nice gesture she’s seen from him, and the thought stirs something complicated in her chest. She glances at him without meaning to, catching his eye for just a second before they both look away.

Hoseok is quick with another question, “Never have I ever gone skinny-dipping.”

Only Seokjin and Sora drink, and the group teases them with a long, exaggerated holler. The two love birds share a sheepish smile, their faces turning a soft shade of pink under the firelight.

”We should all do that right now.” It’s Taehyung proposing it, his tone half-serious, half-challenging.

Dahye pulls a face, “The thought alone is making me want to vomit.” She mutters, and the laughter that follows becomes the soundtrack of their night for what feels like hours, the game stretching on with each question getting weirder and more personal.

The beer flows freely, and Eunbi finds herself relaxing more than she expected, her body sinking comfortably into her chair. She laughs at Hoseok’s ridiculous question about eating bugs and groans at Jimin recalling the time he laughed so hard he pissed his pants as an adult, sipping on her bottle as the group continues to tease one another.

The loop restarts for the nth time, Iseul piping up again, “Never have I ever sneaked out.”

Surprisingly, only Namjoon, Jeongguk and Eunbi drink this time. The reaction is immediate, the group’s interest piqued, Dahye curiously turning to her friend, “When was that, Bibi?”

Eunbi doesn’t register the implications of her light giggle, nor the way her eyes soften as she gets caught up in the memory, “Back when I was in middle school.” Young and restless, desperate for the thrill. Besides her forever best friend.

Always a bit more noisy than he should be, Hoseok chimes in, “Were you with anyone?”

She chuckles, the answer coming to her lips almost instinctively, “Oh, I was with—“ Her gaze flickers to Jeongguk, and suddenly the smile drops from her face. Right. She always seems to forget where they stand now. It’s like the kid inside her is still desperately clinging to those moments, fighting to have him back, to drag him into her orbit.

Jeongguk lets out a small scoff, barely audible over the crackling fire, but she catches it. His expression is closed off, guarded. Eunbi clears her throat, “Huh, it doesn’t matter.”

The air grows thick with tension, the silence that follows almost deafening. Some of them understand the awkwardness, sensing the history that neither Eunbi nor Jeongguk ever fully explained. Others, like Hoseok, are a little clueless. He turns to the other boy, grinning like a cat who caught the canary, “Ooh, Ggukie, you drank too, right? Who was it with?”

Jeongguk shrugs, a dark, unamused smirk spreading across his lips. His eyes don’t leave Eunbi, his tone sarcastic but cold, “Apparently, it doesn’t matter.”

The affronted girl narrows her eyes, trying to mask the sting of his tone. The jab hits deeper than she’d like to admit, even more when they both know exactly why she said that. Why she had to say it. Unspeakable words are plastered on their wounded expressions, but she looks down at her hands before her heart betrays her, fighting its way up her throat to scream them all out.

It’s ironic how the questions that follow feel like one stab after the other, almost purposefully touching a raw nerve from the past, memories she’d rather not revisit now. Never have I ever used someone else’s toothbrush. Never have I ever climbed out a window. It’s small, silly moments that she knows — hopes — Jeongguk remembers too. And she can’t help but search for that sign of recognition in his face. Or anything, at this point. The slightest spark in his eyes. The imperceptible jolt of his hand. She wants to tell him. It matters. It matters. It matters.

But does it matter to him now? Did every single piece of the puzzle get lost in the storm? Did Jeongguk always feel so unreachable? Were his eyes always so devoid of light when he looked at her? She misses stargazing.

When the weight on her heart becomes too much to bear, the weariness from the day and the effects of the sleepless night tangling with the complicated emotions she’s feeling and translating into frustrated tears welling up in her eyes, she gets up muttering a half-hearted excuse about being tired and heads for her tent.

Inside, focusing on the fabric ceiling rather than both her heart and brain exceptionally teaming up only to scream at her to find a way to escape from all this (maybe steal Namjoon’s car keys, or swim her way back to the city), she wills her eyes to close and begs whatever god who might be listening to spare her from more misery. Just for tomorrow. Please.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The divinities Eunbi tried to reach with her desperate pleas must have been terribly busy last night, because tomorrow is here and it’s charged with even more tension and hostility than she thought they could ever harbour for one another.

Today’s activity is canoeing, and with the surprisingly adequate amount of sleep she managed to get, her first approach is even optimistic. She’s decided to start off with the positive mindset that things couldn’t possibly get any worse. Sat in the small two-person canoe, she’s determined to steer the day in a better direction, to navigate the rough waters of their fraught relationship. Even if a new wave of something worse than what already happened is aimed directly at her, she’d be able to handle it.

Only thing she didn’t exactly consider was the counterpart of the clash possibly not sharing the same intentions as hers. Which is exactly what is happening, Jeongguk never backing down from stirring the pot further only to obtain a rank, grisly soup made with pettiness and resentment, spoon-feeding it to her with every chance he gets. Though she can still say she’s tasted worse from him, the bitterness lingers, coating her tongue like bile.

The setting for their little showdown is picturesque, almost mockingly so. The river glimmers under the afternoon sun, its surface reflecting a golden hue that dances across the water, and the hills in the distance are bathed in a soft, amber glow. Nature itself is trying to soothe the tension, yet it only seems to amplify the dissonance. The universe must be testing her. Can you handle this one, Bee?

The group naturally splits off into pairs, reflecting yesterday’s layout, with Eunbi and Namjoon finding themselves navigating together, just as Dahye is with Jimin, and Jeongguk with Iseul. It starts off peacefully enough. They glide slowly along the river, their paddles dipping gently into the water, the only sound the quiet murmurs of conversation and the occasional splash.

Eunbi allows herself to relax. She chuckles at Namjoon’s poor attempts at taking aesthetically pleasing pictures of her, then shows him how it’s done when she points the camera at him, sealing the moment with a lovely shot of her friend enveloped in an ochre light, his dimples sheepishly showing. She grazes the cold water with her finger, getting lost in the simple way it dances with her movements. She closes her eyes and tilts her face up to the sun, letting its warmth seep into her skin.

Though she should have anticipated the serenity being almost surreal, and should have considered herself deranged to even think it could continue like that. She’s pulled out of her moment when the water beside her canoe suddenly churns with agitation.

What she sees on her right is a sight that throws all the optimism and positivity from this morning right in the bin, and replaces it with the effects of Jeongguk’s wicked soup. Said chef shoots past her at an unnecessary, almost reckless speed for what’s supposed to be a leisurely excursion among friends. His canoe slices through the water with aggressive precision, sending ripples crashing against Eunbi’s boat. See, she would keep her composure in any other situation; would continue straight on her path of ignoring him, no matter how unsuccessful the previous attempts had been. She’s afraid she’ll keep failing, though.

And it’s really just because when she sees how he’s paddling with a furious intensity, his muscles straining with effort while Iseul is squealing and screaming in front of him, her hands gripping the sides of the boat as she begs him to slow down, it’s clear Jeongguk is doing it on purpose. Acting out another one of his plans to get a reaction out of her, not caring how down things could go at that point. Why should she, then? It’s when his eyes lock onto hers as he passes, daring to push all her buttons, that she finds her answer.

Eunbi’s blood boils. She’s speechless with the immaturity, but best believe she’s coming on ten times stronger with it. She just can’t wrap her mind around the fact that it seems the more she tries to interact with him, the more she gets pushed away; but the more she keeps her distance, the more he seeks for her reaction. What is he trying to prove? What is he aiming to get out of her? Eunbi doesn’t exactly have time to entertain the moral, rational part of her brain and puzzle over his motives, her own childishness busying her with gripping the paddles tight, her knuckles turning white as she channels all her frustration into rowing. She puts all the strength she can muster to try and catch up to Jeongguk without popping a vein. Namjoon notices the sudden shift in pace, even if minimal with Eunbi’s laughable efforts at moving faster, nonetheless startled by the abrupt burst of energy.

”Bi, what are you—“

”Joon, help me overtake Gguk.” It’s said through gritted teeth and narrowed eyes, fixated only on the target ahead. Namjoon is disoriented. Does she even realise the use of the nickname? It doesn’t look like that as she keeps going undeterred, even with her companion initially not collaborating, too confused to settle on what to do. Eventually, he sighs and grips his own paddle, deciding to help his friend in whatever battle she’s waging. He glances back to see just how far Jeongguk has gotten and shakes his head.

”You two are literal kids, you do know that?” Namjoon mutters, his comment going ignored.

Jeongguk, meanwhile, senses them closing in. A competitive glint flashes in his eyes. He doubles down, paddling harder, sending more water splashing in every direction. Eunbi isn't far behind, and for a moment it feels like they’re the only two on the river, locked in this ridiculous race. They’re both too stubborn to back down, too caught up in their own challenge to notice how idiotic they look.

Namjoon sighs again, raising his voice over the chaos, “Guys, seriously, this is getting out of hand.”

Iseul echoes his concern, a nervous edge to her voice, “Yeah, Joon’s right. Please, Ggukkie? We’re getting too far away from the others. It’s going to be a nightmare rowing back!”

Her whines go unnoticed by Jeongguk, who keeps his gaze straight on Eunbi as she has managed to catch up and is now beside him, mirroring that same flame in her orbs. He distractly acknowledges the two innocent spectators, “I just wanted to go and see… that thing over there.” He calls back, voice strained as he keeps his eyes locked on his rival. He doesn’t even know what he’s pointing at— there’s nothing but more water and distant trees.

”Oh, that… thing,” Eunbi adds, equally unconvincing. They exchange a glance, both wearing narrowed eyes and gritted teeth, determined not to be the first to admit defeat.

Their canoes race neck and neck, the water splashing around them as if reflecting the tension in the air. It’s a childish competition, one that speaks to their unresolved feelings, both wanting to interact, to be noticed by the other, but neither willing to show it’s because they care.

And mostly, it’s messy. Definitely not what two people should be attempting to do on their first time canoeing. On one side, their inexperience comes handy as it doesn’t completely isolate them from the starting point, but it still shouldn’t be happening. And it becomes more and more frantic as shown by their drawn faces and clumsy movements. A disaster of any kind should have been predicted at any second from that only.

It happens when Jeongguk leans too far over the edge, his canoe wobbling dangerously. Iseul lets out a high-pitched scream, gripping the sides of the boat. Eunbi’s heart leaps into her throat, all thoughts of their petty race forgotten in an instant.

“Gguk, careful!” She shouts, her voice thick with concern. Without thinking, she reaches out with her paddle, trying to steady his canoe from a distance. For a moment, everything else falls away— the tension, the bickering, the hurt. All she sees is him, about to fall, and her instinct to protect him kicks in.

Jeongguk manages to regain his balance just in time, his canoe righting itself with a lurch. Everything pauses. He lets out a breath of relief, a small, surprised chuckle escaping his lips. Eunbi exhales too, a soft, almost involuntary smile forming on her face. It lasts a second, but it feels like more when they share a look different from all the others. Relief. I’m glad you’re safe. Recognition. Thank you. Stillness.

But then reality snaps back into place. They both realise what they’re doing, and their expressions harden almost simultaneously. Eunbi quickly looks away, her face flushing with embarrassment. Jeongguk mutters, self-reproaching, “God, this is so stupid.”

The brief moment of softness vanishes the instant Eunbi catches his words, and she snaps, her voice rising childishly with indignation, “You started this!”

Jeongguk scoffs, “Me? You’re the one who wanted to overtake me!”

“You were the one paddling like a maniac!”

“I literally almost fell in the water because of you.”

Eunbi’s eyes get unbelievably wider with disbelief, a sarcastic laugh escaping her, “Oh, that was not because of me. That’s because you are incompetent.”

“Don’t throw big words at me now.”

“Sorry, I’ll lower my vocabulary down for you to understand.”

The childish bickering stretches on for astonishingly long minutes, the volume of their voices rising over the gentle sounds of the river. Namjoon, who had been rowing quietly, finally has enough. With a frustrated sigh, he takes the paddles and makes it his own solo mission to row back toward the others by himself, muttering under his breath, “I can’t believe I have to do this.”

His comment is mostly drowned out by the relentless sparring between Eunbi and Jeongguk, who are too engrossed in their argument to notice that Namjoon is now paddling alone, their strained voices echoing across the water. Jeongguk even goes as far as to row his canoe back behind his hyung’s just so he can have the last word in. It’s ridiculous, really— a silly argument born from a place neither of them is willing to acknowledge.

“Wow, that’s real mature of you, Eunbi. What’s next, you gonna stick your tongue out at me?”

She bristles, her cheeks flushing with the effort the rage is taking out of her, “I might as well if you keep acting like a dick!”

Jeongguk sneers, “Oh, please. I’m not the one who started this whole stupid race.”

Eunbi is aware the more she keeps it going, the more she’ll fall right into his trap but she fears she’s already too deep to back down now, “You were showing off!”

“And you were just so jealous you couldn’t stand it.”

“Enough! Both of you!” It’s Namjoon who finally snaps, his voice cutting through the chaos like a whip. He gives the oars a decisive pull, the canoe cutting through the water with renewed force. His voice is stern, and much different from the calm tone Eunbi has grown accustomed to, his patience had clearly worn thin, “I can’t believe I’m stuck in the middle of this… whatever this is. My ears are bleeding. If you two want to sort out whatever childish feud you’re having, do it on dry land. And away from me.”

The sudden authority in the older guy’s voice silences them both, and the quiet that falls upon them is as much a blessing as deafening. There’s a beat of awkward tension as they both realise how ridiculous they must look. Two grown adults behaving like squabbling children and shut down by their yelling, frustrated father. The reality of the situation finally starts to sink in. They’re too far from the rest of the group, their petty race having pulled them far off, all because of their stubbornness and bruised egos.

What follows is what should have surrounded them right from the beginning, stillness only interrupted by the flushing of the water as it gets caressed by their paddles rowing back to their initial position. Eunbi’s face burns with embarrassment, and with the realisation of how low she’s stooped. The urge to apologise to Namjoon itches at the back of her throat, but pride prevents her from doing it in front of Jeongguk.

No one dares add a word, not even a breath too loud, the tension lingering but now tinged with a sense of shame. Other than the rhythmic splash of their oars and the distant laughter of their friends, the only sound that can be occasionally heard is Namjoon’s bewildered scoffs and muttered comments. The other two know better than to cut the thin thread they’re all clutching onto.

But the chop comes, and it’s Iseul’s voice breaking the silence, soft and tentative, “You know, we’re all here to have fun. Can we just… try to get along for a little while?”

Eunbi has to bite her tongue. Otherwise, she fears any words that might leave her lips could permanently push Iseul away from the already slim possibility of them becoming friends. She keeps her eyes closed, a long exhale escaping her lips, irritation flaring up at the simplicity of the comment. As if it hadn’t already crossed her mind that they should be getting along. What a genius idea, truly.

Jeongguk seems to notice the tense silence that follows, especially the tightness in Eunbi’s expression and how Iseul’s well-meaning comment has only added fuel to the fire. He turns to his companion and offers her a reassuring smile, even if it feels a bit forced, “It’s okay, Isu. Let’s just head back.” His tone is gentle, trying to ease the awkward atmosphere, the nod that accompanies it recognising her effort, as well as its effective uselessness.

Taking in Jeongguk’s unnecessary, oversweet tone towards the other girl involuntarily causes Eunbi to scoff audibly, the sound loud and deliberate, followed by nothing. She keeps her gaze fixed on the water, refusing to look at either of them. But she feels Jeongguk’s narrowed eyes on her, “What now?”

”Nothing,” Eunbi mutters, the sarcasm in her tone cutting through the air. “Just love how you can turn on the charm when it suits you.”

Jeongguk’s jaw tightens for what feels like the nth time, fearing a possible cramp soon affecting the muscles of his mouth, but he keeps his response measured, “I’m just trying to not make this worse.”

A fake coo follows, Eunbi’s voice mockingly replicating his sudden calmness, “Oh, how nice of you, Ggukkie.”

“For the love of God, will you two drop it? Please?” Namjoon’s frustrated groan interrupts once again the bickering from stretching on, his patience truly at its limit. He increases the pace of his rowing, as if trying to physically distance himself from the scene.

The uncomfortable silence lingers for the rest of the paddling back, and it stretches on endlessly, mirroring the distance they’ve travelled in their pointless, self-inflicted race. If it isn’t the consequences of their own stupid actions. Eunbi dips her paddle in the water with more intention, fixating on the ripples spread out from each stroke, refusing to meet Namjoon’s annoyed gaze. She’s ashamed of the way she’s let her emotions and bottled up feelings rule a situation that could have been easily avoided, though she stubbornly refuses to fully acknowledge it, let alone admit that she might be in the wrong.

Still, Eunbi uses the time it gets to reach the shore to work on her breathing, counting every pause between her exhales, willing to free her mind from the chaotic flow of thoughts before she regrets letting them cling to her like a shadow and cause a bigger scene. The sight of the land approaching should bring some relief, but instead it only amplifies the sense of urgency gnawing at her. The moment the canoe nudges against the land, the sun beginning its descent, bathing the landscape in a warm light, Eunbi wastes no time making herself aware of her surroundings, as she’s already on her feet, moving with a speed that betrays her desperation to escape the tension that’s been suffocating her.

She’s unsteady as she steps out, the ground feeling oddly solid beneath her after the wobbly rhythm of the canoe. Namjoon notices her haste and instinctively reaches out to steady her, but she’s stepping away, her shoes sinking into the damp shore.

”I’m going back to the campsite,” Eunbi says, her voice clipped, the words barely more than a whisper after the raw shouting followed by complete muteness.

Namjoon, still seated, frowns as he looks up at her. Concern clouds his features, and he’s quick to offer, “Wait for me, I’ll take you back.”

Eunbi shakes her head, her refusal as gentle as it is resolute. A tight-lipped smile plays on her lips, though it doesn’t reach her eyes, “You should stay and enjoy the rest of the day.”

There’s a sheepish, unspoken apology written in her eyes, a fleeting look of regret that she’s too proud to voice. She unconsciously scrunches her nose, a telltale sign of her lingering embarrassment, and doesn’t even register Namjoon’s nod as she turns to start walking, eager to put distance between herself and the situation, but mostly from Jeongguk’s attentive eyes still throwing jabs her way.

As she walks back to the tents, Eunbi’s mind is already racing ahead to dinner. It’s been her biggest concern for a while now, a sinking feeling settling in her stomach, an instinctive dread that tonight will go as badly as she fears. Dinner always seems to bring out the worst in them, the frustration of the day simmering just below the surface until it boils over and erupts in sharp words and bitter exchanges. She can feel that exact feeling brewing dangerously in her stomach, but she knows she’d rather suppress it than have it consume her completely only for more pieces of her heart to break.

Dropping onto one of the deck chairs around the campsite, she waits for it to dissipate with her knees up to her chest. It’s hard at first, the sudden quiet too loud and overwhelming her with the pent up exasperation from today. It only fuels that part of her that still hasn’t moved on from the very first night, the one that set the tone for everything that followed, who harbours anger and spite for what Jeongguk had spat in her face with apparently no remorse. She wants to get back at him, to make him regret those words, to hurt him as much as he’s hurt her. But the bigger, remaining part of her knows she’s already done enough of that.

Would it even be worthy? What would she gain from it? Would getting back at Jeongguk truly bring her any peace, or would it only deepen the rift between them? She knows the answer, but it’s a bitter pill to swallow. Normally, she wouldn’t let any other person get away so easily with such a comment, but with Jeongguk, she’s aware he has lived with worse feelings for years, and that probably isn’t even the worst of what his heart holds. She’s not ready to wake that monster. Doesn’t know if she’s prepared to confront the truth behind the look he gives her. Doesn’t want to know if that truth is dictated by resentment, or if it’s all that’s left of her in Jeongguk’s view. Because if she’s honest with herself, no matter how angry she is, she can’t deny that she understands why he feels this way. And that understanding, more than anything, is what terrifies her the most.

Hours slip by in a blur, Eunbi stilling on her chair and giving space for her thoughts to unleash before it’s too late to put a collar back on again. The sun continues its descent, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, and when it dips down the horizon, the campfire that has been just a pile of logs earlier is now crackling with life, its warmth spreading through the group as they gather for dinner. The smell of grilled food wafts through the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the forest and the cool breeze.

It’s a comforting atmosphere, one that’s filled with laughter and easy conversation, but Eunbi is yet to be shaken out her trance to realise none of what she fears is reflecting in the reality surrounding her. Only when Dahye finds a spot on the seat next to hers and launches into a breathless retelling of apparently the craziest experience she’s had so far during the trip earlier at the river, Eunbi reconnects with the present, and disconnects from the almost maniac way she’s been analysing her thoughts alone all evening.

As she follows Dahye’s lips moving, acknowledging her with small nods and chuckles that the storytelling gets out of her, she finds she’s been making one huge mistake all this while. She’s always been so wrapped up in her own fears, her need to control the narrative and anticipate the next emotional blow, that she’s missed the simple reality of what’s unfolding around her. The night easily moves forward without the weight of her expectations pressing down on it.

Maybe she doesn’t have to anticipate every move, every subtle shift in the atmosphere. Maybe she doesn’t have to keep trying to predict what Jeongguk might say or how the night might fall apart. For the first time, she lets herself be present— really present. She lets herself feel the warmth of the fire, hear the laughter of her friends without reading too much into it, lets herself stop preparing for a storm that isn’t coming.

There’s a quiet revelation in that. Tonight, she doesn’t want to brace herself for another argument or another disappointment. She can simply allow the peace of the moment to wash over her, instead of waiting for the worse. And by the time the stars are twinkling overhead and her tummy is full, she allows herself to let go of the anger and just be.

It’s when they start another one of their games that she fully lets her guard down and doesn’t focus on anything in particular, just how genuine her laughs resound in her own ears. Once again, it’s Jimin suggesting it, eyes twinkling, “How about a story-telling challenge? We each say one line and keep the story going around the circle.”

Eunbi chuckles and nods, feeling a flicker of excitement at the idea. It’s been a while since she’s done something as silly and spontaneous. They all shuffle closer, forming a tight circle around the fire, the flickering flames dancing in their eyes. Taehyung starts them off, his voice solemn as he leans in, “Once upon a time, in a forest much like this one, there was a squirrel who could sing opera.”

It’s impossible to keep straight faces at first, but they all try. The mock-seriousness in Taehyung’s tone only makes it funnier, and the story takes off from there, spiralling into absurdity. Hoseok follows up, voice filled with faux sorrow, “And this squirrel, right? He had a tragic backstory. He lost his most precious acorn in a dramatic flood.”

The more the tale escalates, the more their giggles can’t be stopped, with the squirrel also being a secret agent for a woodland spy network side by side with his best friend, a tap-dancing raccoon who dreamed of opening a dance studio in the big city. Seokjin adds that the talented animal was also training to perform in a world-renowned animal talent show, but was being sabotaged by a jealous porcupine who could juggle flaming pinecones.

Yoongi, usually the voice of reason, surprisingly leans into the layers of idiocy rather than trying to steer it back to some semblance of order, “The porcupine is actually being helped by an evil ninja rabbit who only speaks in riddles.” His voice carries a playful tone, and Eunbi can’t help but reflect his same look on her own face— unforced, genuine.

The fire crackles louder in response, almost as if laughing along with them and cheering them on. By the time the story comes back around to Jimin, he leans in with a grin caught up in the fun, “And then! The raccoon finally achieves his dream of opening a dance school in the city where all the animals can learn tap-dancing and perform in the biggest talent show ever.”

There’s a beat of silence before they all burst out laughing again, though this time it’s mixed with good-natured teasing. Namjoon chuckles and shakes his head, “Okay, now you’re just projecting.“

Hoseok, grinning from ear to ear, chimes in, “Yeah, come on, you’re turning this into your own personal dream story.”

Taehyung, never missing a beat, adds, “Next thing you know, you’ll have the raccoon choreographing the whole animal kingdom.”

The teasing banter continues, the group’s laughter bouncing off the trees. But Eunbi, still a little out of sync with their inside jokes, blinks in confusion, “Wait, what? What do you mean, reflecting yourself?”

The laughter fades, and Jimin turns to her, a bit of a sheepish grin on his face, “Oh, it’s just… I’ve always loved dancing. It’s been a silly dream of mine to— you know, maybe open a dance studio when I’m older.”

Eunbi’s eyes widen, genuine surprise lighting her features, “Wow, I had no idea. That’s so cool, Jimin! Seriously, I didn’t know that about you.”

There’s a brief, awkward pause, in which Jimin’s smile softens at her reaction, but before he can say anything more, Jeongguk scoffs audibly. The sound cuts through the moment like a sharp blade. He’s leaning back, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowing at Eunbi with something between disdain and frustration but his tone unbothered, “That’s basic Jimin knowledge. Everyone knows that.”

Once again, Eunbi couldn’t have anticipated Jeongguk being on a completely different agenda. She should have known, she’s aware of that. But she hadn’t wanted to. She only wanted to go by the foolish belief that tonight would be different. That just for one evening they could coexist in the same space, be civil, even share a laugh.

It was a naive hope. And now, standing crosshairs of Jeongguk’s fiery glaze, not only with the glow of the flames, she realises just how mistaken she’s been. How stupid it was of her to think Jeongguk wouldn’t jump at the possibility of adding fuel to the fire. Because, right now, she finds herself utterly unprepared to read his clenched jaw, contrasting with the careless, almost indifferent posture he tries to maintain. She struggles to predict how it might develop if she uses a slightly different tone, or takes more time to respond.

She doesn’t remember moving around Jeongguk ever being this difficult. The physical closeness forced upon them by this trip only makes the emotional distance between them more glaring. They might be sitting around the same campfire, but it’s clear from the way he bristles at her every word, every gesture, that in Jeongguk’s mind, she’s universes away. And it’s exactly where he wants her to stay. No spaceship will bring her back. There’s nowhere she can land on his planet.

Eunbi’s exhaustion reaches its breaking point. She’s tired of pretending she’s okay with this. Fed up with letting remorse gnaw at her insides and reduce her to a punching bag for his barely-contained rage. Willing to take every fist thrown her way, rendering her vulnerable to his every attempt at breaking her down. Though what she feels is not resentment. It’s pure, bone-deep weariness. She doesn’t want to take this tug of war any further. If letting go of the idea of fixing things between them is what he wants, she’ll give him that.

With a sigh, she lowers her gaze to her hands for a moment, her fingers twitching unconsciously. Time and time again, she’s the reason why the group can’t go a few hours without being drawn into their venomous war.

Her eyes glisten with shame and helplessness as she looks back up, her voice reflecting anything but that weakness, its sharp and snappy tone overtaking the crackling fire, “What is your problem?”

Differently from the silence that stretched on after the unnecessary jab caught her by surprise, each second going by the ticks of a bomb ready to explode and wipe out the frivolity of the night, Jeongguk doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t even give her the courtesy of pretending to think it over. His response comes swiftly, harshly, as if he’s been waiting for the question all night, “My problem? My problem is that you’re here.”

Eunbi can’t help but scoff. It’s not meant to be arrogant, nor mocking. It’s almost an instinctive reaction, a defence mechanism against the disbelief that rises in her throat. Her words drip with sarcasm, though her voice remains calm, “Oh, I’m sorry I wanted to do something nice for you with the others.”

Jeongguk’s gaze is steady, unwavering, and his next words land like a punch to the gut, “Well, you shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t be here.”

Though she can say she’s gotten better at enduring, it still stings. None of that shows on her face, unflinching, neutral. A biting smile tugs at her lips, though it doesn’t reach her eyes, “Trust me, I know.”

There’s a pause— one brief, agonising moment where she thinks maybe, just maybe, this is still part of their aimless bickering that has been going on the past two days, a spat that will blow over.

But then Jeongguk speaks again, and his voice is so distant it’s even hard to hear him clearly, “I hope you do. You don’t belong here.”

Silence stretches on, the fire crackling softly the only sound between them. She’s sure everyone has stopped breathing, their exhales stuck up in their throat, afraid of releasing them, of stepping foot into something that doesn’t concern them.

Jeongguk’s eyes never leave hers, the coldness in them piercing through the thin veil of pretence they’ve both been clinging to. He doesn’t stop there, his voice deathly quiet, “Not with me. Not with the others. Can’t you see that?”

Eunbi’s heart lurches. She thinks she would prefer being called every name in the book. Have Jeongguk spit at her for all the pain she put him through. Say anything he wants about her being an awful person. But he knows just how to twist the knife. Still knows how to read her every faltering step, the doubts behind her eyes, the insecurities plaguing her mind. Surely, he also still knows how to be the one feeding her the desperate acceptance she needs, the assurance that none of her fears are true. So many times Jeongguk was there to swear she’s loved; that she wouldn’t be left alone ever again.

But now, he decides to use all that knowledge to spin it against her, to push all the right buttons that he knows will hurt her most. She doesn’t belong here. It’s what her mind has whispered to her over and over again since she stepped foot in his sacred circle, an outsider next to Dahye. She has been good at ignoring those hushed tones, to convince herself they’re lies. That these people are her friends, and they all see her as part of the group. That her fears were unfounded.

The proof her haunting thoughts have been right all along is in front of her though, and it presses down on her chest. It’s too much— too raw, too real. She should have seen it coming, but she’s still speechless. Her throat tight, her eyes burning with unshed tears. Though she refuses to let them fall for eleven pairs of eyes to watch. For his eyes to glow with satisfaction.

Eunbi manages to laugh bitterly, though the sound is hollow, “Right. Well, thanks for making it clear.” With her hands trembling slightly, hiding it by clenching them into fists at her sides, she pushes herself to her feet, “I’ll go now. Enjoy your night. Asshole.”

Her voice wavering on the last word, Eunbi turns and walks away from the fire, the warmth of it barely touching her anymore. She doesn’t let herself falter as she heads toward her tent, her footsteps hurried, the chill of the night settling in around her.

And as she shields herself from the outside world, its sounds accompanied by the group’s muttered voices escalating with agitation, words she won’t try to register, she doesn’t bother giving herself a headache trying to hold the tears in. This time, she lets them spill over freely, each one carrying the weight of every single one of her fears. She keeps the sobs in her chest, whimpering with the signals of panic taking over. And now more than ever, she really wishes she just wasn’t here.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

When it comes to this time of the year, Jeongguk inevitably becomes the worst version of himself. It’s a cruel irony that it all resurfaces right as his birthday approaches. It’s been that way for years now. In the beginning, when he was still in Busan, he found it hard to blow the candles on his cake without his shoulders feeling heavy, his eyes involuntarily searching for someone that was no longer there; with the unanswered questions dulling the sounds around, leaving him desensitised to the love so blatantly in front of him.

It took him a while to accept it, even with a missing spot unfilled. Jeongguk has never been good with changes. Has always lived by an unwavering, straight path on which he walked confidently, jumping over the cracks on the ground and ignoring any turns. The only deviation he allowed was the one that led him to Seoul. It was a long wait before the stoplight turned green, his own doubts plaguing him even with his parents’ encouragement; and when it did, he crossed the road alone reluctantly, glancing back more than once.

Jeongguk found that this lane was a little less preserved and far less predictable than the one he took his very first steps on. It was full of bumps, a lot of them causing him to trip and fall face first into the concrete. So many dead ends that forced him to make a choice, left or right. But on those same streets, he also recognised elements from the previous block: his love for filmography, the very reason he came to the capital; his mom’s goodnight tune, even over the phone; his thick Busan accent, instantly mirrored into Jimin’s own; the creeping dread as his birthday approached.

There are things he never fully got over, and every year, when August rushes to an end and September looms, he becomes highly aware of it. But over time, he’s learned to live with it. The questions that once consumed him have no answers, and he came to terms with the fact that he couldn’t help what happened. What he’s always had control over, however, was the small key to an even smaller room in his brain, where with great effort he locked Eunbi away once he turned 17.

She tried to break free multiple times, banging on the door and begging to be let out. Jeongguk even had to get maintenance on the lock. Eventually she quieted down, and only ever stirred whenever she knew September was coming from the little calendar she had hung up in the cramped space.

Jeongguk learned to handle it. The memories were still alive, but they didn’t hurt him the way they used to. They felt distant, resurfacing only when he himself noticed the final days of August being crossed on his own calendar. Using a red marker to draw those lines, his fingers still tingled with something close to familiar uneasiness. Sometimes, if it managed to spread to his whole body, it would overtake him, and in the days leading up to his birthday he’d snap more easily, feel more irritated.

But he’d gotten better at controlling it. Last year, his first time turning a year older in a place that wasn’t Busan, he didn’t even feel it. It might have been all the new, shiny people surrounding him in the small flat he was renting with Jimin, the fresh adrenaline from making sure he was feeding his friends with a fun time clouding every other thought. Back in that room, Eunbi peacefully slept through the entirety of it. Even forgot to wish him a happy birthday.

With the real Eunbi physically standing in front of him, all of Jeongguk’s efforts to keep her locked away shattered in one, insignificant instant. It only took a snap of the little-version-of-her in his brain for every wall he’d meticulously built to come crashing down. The door he had so carefully sealed off was now flung open, and little Eunbi burst through, running wild, mingling with thoughts she had no business messing with and wreaking havoc on all those parts of his mind that had been closed off, at least until that moment.

Behind her, an unstoppable flood of emotions he’d long buried surged in, filling his mind until it couldn’t hold any more. It spread to his chest, his heart straining under the weight of everything he didn’t want to feel. Little Eunbi, with her hair still short, worn bermudas, and a t-shirt stained with yellow paint, revelled in the chaos she was causing. She jumped and skipped back and forth between his brain and his heart, completely at ease, her presence so familiar yet entirely out of place. She seemed to enjoy every second of it.

And Jeongguk grew more and more unnerved by that. Little Eunbi was different from the Eunbi that avoided his gaze and awkwardly bowed. The latter had her hair longer, with short bangs softly brushing over her brows, her hands neatly manicured and her clothes spotless. She stood there, straight and put-together, a polished version of the girl who once got dirt all over herself and laughed too loud.

But what probably made him madder was that the more Eunbi started to find her place within the group, the more that seemingly dead part of her began to re-emerge, inching its way back into his life. It was like watching a ghost regain its form, piece by piece. The Eunbi he thought he had locked away was starting to blur with the present Eunbi, and every time she laughed it reminded him of how easy things had once been between them, back when her presence hadn’t been a thorn in his side but a constant comfort. Now, that sound twisted something deep in his chest, something he had long buried under layers of hurt and distance.

What frustrated him even more was that Eunbi seemed completely oblivious to it all. The way she eased into the group, gaining their acceptance, was infuriating. It was as if the distance between them meant nothing to her, as if she could waltz back into his life without consequence. The more they welcomed her, the more that old familiarity surfaced. She was becoming Eunbi again— the Eunbi who had once mattered. And that thought made his stomach churn.

It twisted even further when he found himself unconsciously reading into her every move. His knowledge of her, the way she used to be, crept into his mind without his consent, and he began to analyse her behaviour, picking apart her words and actions. It was almost instinctive, the way he could still understand her, still anticipate her moods. It only ended up poisoning him, because he soon realised those smiles — those little moments of reconnection to the past — were never directed at him. He could recognise her in the eyes of his friends, but never in his own.

Did she even care about what had happened between them? Did she think she could simply move on like none of it had affected him? Did she ever realise how deep those cracks still ran, or was he the only one haunted by the weight of their past?

At first, he forced the frustration to only translate into indifference. Bitter coldness. Not paying her presence too much mind, but still making sure she could feel his resentment dangerously tipping over the edge, and threatening to trip at any minute.

But the combination of his birthday approaching and Eunbi wandering around his space as if nothing ever happened caused the explosion. The rancorous version of himself, the one he thought he managed to successfully bury, now fought its way to the surface and dragged him back to square one: a freshly 16 years old Jeongguk with a freshly broken trust.

The intensity of those emotions hit him like a tidal wave, the kind that leaves you breathless, unable to distinguish between up and down. It wasn’t just anger. It was cold betrayal, and the sight of her, standing there so effortlessly among his friends on his birthday trip, made his skin prickle with irritation. Eunbi had slid into their plans with such ease, as if she belonged, and it was ironic considering she hadn’t even wanted to be in the same car as him.

Jeongguk only needed that last, littlest drop to fall, and with it, every ounce of restraint he had left evaporated. The thin thread of control he’d been clinging to snapped. He had thought he’d moved on, convinced himself that enough time had passed for him to handle her presence with maturity.

But he was wrong. Time hadn’t healed him like he’d hoped. Instead, it had just let the bitterness fester until now. He couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t hold himself back. The more he watched her fit in so naturally, laughing at someone’s joke or sharing a quiet moment by the fire, the more the frustration swelled in his chest. It was infuriating that she could act so unfazed, go up to him with a smile he has always recognised too well as if nothing ever was.

He didn’t even realise how tight the grip on his own emotions had been, until they were flooding out of him all at once. Jeongguk felt the words rising in his throat before he could stop them, the resentment spilling over like poison. And now he can feel the control slipping, the pain rushing to the surface like a dam had burst inside him. It’s almost addicting, even when his mind screams at him to stop, to take a breath. But his heart, the part of him still broken from all that time ago, drives him forward.

He needs her to feel it, needs it to be reflected in her eyes. This is what he’d been holding back for so long. This is the pain she’d left him with, and now he’s finally giving it back to her, forcing her to carry some of the weight. He isn’t the only one hurting anymore.

Each word that leaves his mouth is laced with venom, and he watches, wavering between satisfaction and regret, as they hit their target. Her eyes always widen slightly, the smallest flinch in her expression betraying her shock. For a second, he thinks he sees the cracks forming—tiny fissures in that calm, polished exterior she’d put on.

But the more he watches her crumble, the more he feels the bitter taste of victory sour in his mouth. There’s a part of him that hates what he’s doing. Hates that he has become the kind of person who lashes out like this, who takes pleasure in someone else’s pain. Especially hers. It’s like he’s caught in this vicious cycle of wanting to keep his distance but also wanting her attention. And the only way to get that is by hurting her before he himself can process his own hurt through different lenses.

Jeongguk knows he’s being unfair, but something in him can’t let it go. He‘s still simmering with unresolved anger, but there’s also a gnawing guilt, a nagging voice in his head telling him he’s pushing her too far, too hard. Last night, her eyes glossy with tears, he felt the pang that usually followed unleashing his poisonous words hit harder in his chest. He had picked his script with purpose, knowing exactly where to aim, only to shoot hard and leave her lifeless. She fought through the end to get her breaths out, until she couldn’t. Jeongguk waited for the sense of triumph to wash over him, but it never did.

Instead, her fragile figure retreating only after a weak attempt at returning even the smallest amount of the hurt she felt, Jeongguk still felt heavy. Heavy with remorse and guilt. Heavy with the pressure reflected in his friends’ eyes. And he couldn’t handle that. He stood up shortly after Eunbi left, his brain refusing to internalise Dahye’s affront and the group’s deafening silence.

Hours later, Jeongguk lies wide awake, his eyes staring into the void of the tent. He hasn’t been able to keep them shut for more than a minute, his mind a battlefield. He finds it’s impossible to resonate between the insatiable desire for revenge and the exhaustion rendering him numb to any possibility of feeding that need. There’s a part of him that just wants peace.

Glancing to his side, Jimin and Taehyung sleep soundly in the cramped space, blissfully unaware of the storm raging inside him. Neither of them had wanted to dive too deep into what happened, the spat words, the irrational rage constantly taking over their younger friend and keeping him stuck between fight and flight with no escape. Jimin only offered a soft pat on the shoulder and his warmest smile, “It’ll be okay, Jeonggukkie. Let’s just sleep now, hm?”

Jeongguk wishes it could have been as simple as Jimin made it sound. For his friends, it was. They both fell asleep without trouble, and Jeongguk is grateful for that. At least two out of three of them were getting the rest they deserved. Still, he’s careful not to wake them while he quietly slips out of the tent.

The early morning air is crisp, biting at his skin, but the sensation is grounding. Dawn is just beginning to break, soft light spilling over the horizon and casting everything in a faint glow. The quiet sounds of nature surround him, and though they don’t quite ease the weight in his chest, they provide a temporary lull. It’s the cool air caressing his face and threading through his hair that brings some sort of order.

His thoughts start to settle. They don’t feel like a stadium of shouting voices anymore. The yells quiet down and he’s able to sift through them now, picking each one apart, giving himself the space to breathe. It’s not perfect, but it’s better. He feels like he can move past this— if not for his own sake, then for the sake of the others.

Still, there’s one thought that refuses to be silenced. One question that lingers just beneath the surface, gnawing at the edges of his justified anger. It’s persistent, creeping into his mind with every inhale. Why does hurting her hurt him too?

It seems like the simplest of questions, but Jeongguk refuses to accept what appears to be the answer. It sits there, plain as day, yet he pushes it away. He doesn’t want to keep dissecting it, turning it over and over in his mind, trying to find any other plausible way out, but he can’t help himself. His thoughts spiral, stretching the minutes into what feels like eternity, until he loses track of time altogether. He zones out so deeply that when he finally snaps back, it’s only because the quiet sound of a tent zipper reaches his ears, followed by Hoseok’s hesitant head poking out.

Jeongguk blinks, suddenly aware that he’s been sitting in the same spot, on the same chair, staring at the same patch of dirt for who knows how long. Hours, at least. His body feels stiff, his mind trapped in an endless loop. He wonders if he’s lost his ability to pull himself out of this mental prison, if this is it. He’s stuck. His birthday is less than 24 hours away, and he’s more miserable than he’s been in months.

His chest tightens when he sees Hoseok walking toward him. Panic rises swiftly, because Hoseok had witnessed last night’s disaster. They all had. His hands clench into fists, his orbs trembling as doubt swarms his mind. Did he ruin the entire trip for everyone? Is the tension in the air his fault? Is he the cause of the awkward silence that lingered after he tore Eunbi apart with his words? Do they hate—

“Jeonggukkie? You okay?”

The softness in Hoseok’s tone almost makes Jeongguk flinch. It’s so gentle, filled with concern, and for a moment he questions everything he’s been telling himself. If Hoseok hated him, if any of them did, he wouldn’t be standing here now, looking at him with such care in his eyes.

Jeongguk only nods in response, the tension in his shoulders unwinding just a little as his older friend’s face softens into a sweet smile. There’s no judgement, no condemnation. Just quiet understanding. He waits in the lingering silence as Hoseok moves to freshen up. The moment he returns, settling into one of the chairs nearby, Jeongguk feels a sudden urge to speak clawing at his throat. He knows if he doesn’t start talking, the weight of the trap of his own mind will tighten around him again. So he talks, talks and talks about anything that doesn’t resemble the doom he was slipping into.

He’s a fugitive from his thoughts, and he keeps running even when more of the others join the small circle in the middle of the campsite. None of them seem to look at Jeongguk differently, the jokes flowing naturally as small laughs fill the quiet morning. It’s as if everything is as it should be, and he feels himself ease back into composure. Though, the guilt still lingers, heavy and unshakable. He ignores it.

The sun climbs higher in the sky, casting light above them and providing Jeongguk with warmth that he stores in his chest. He gets more of that from his friends’ smiles and the excitement flowing energetically out of them as Hoseok explains they’ll be cycling today, crossing scenic paths that round the campsite.

He watches as they all gather, geeking about today’s activity and stuffing their faces with as much food as they can get their hands on. The topic soon shifts to his birthday, which Jeongguk is particularly dreading. They’re already planning to get him wasted tonight, and the boy chuckles softly, though his laughter is hesitant, distracted.

His gaze keeps drifting to the one tent that hasn’t opened yet, the only place that remains closed off to the rest of the group. The only two people missing from their little circle haven’t joined yet, and it’s hard for Jeongguk to ignore that. To ignore her.

With more minutes going by and the tent unmoving, remaining still and almost mocking in its silence, he finds it even harder to focus on the laughter and the lightness of the morning. The world outside his head seems to move on without him, blissfully unaware of the turmoil inside him. On one side, he’s relieved that the attention has shifted away from him, that the day can unfold even without him being fully present. But that same realisation makes him feel like he’s teetering on the edge, dangerously close to falling back into the prison of his own thoughts.

Oblivious to it, his inner struggle is written all over his face, clear as day to anyone who cares enough to look. And Jimin notices right away. He doesn’t say anything at first, just reaches out to gently caress Jeongguk’s shoulder, the touch so light that the brown haired boy startles slightly before meeting his friend’s gaze. Jimin’s face is soft, a sweet smile tugging at his lips as he tilts his head, “Something on your mind?”

His tone is gentle, almost knowing. Jeongguk shakes his head, brushing off the concern, but his eyes flicker, and his own body betrays him when he instinctively turns once again to check for any movement from the tent. The subtle action doesn’t go unnoticed by the blonde, who hums and makes the other boy sigh wearily, an excuse ready on his lips, “I just haven’t had much sleep.”

“Why don’t you go call Eunbi and Dahye? They probably won’t get to have breakfast if we’re leaving soon.” Jimin’s suggestion comes with caution but it strikes a chord.

Jeongguk stares at his friend, though it feels more like he’s staring through him. The words hang in the air as he zones out, weighing his options. He doesn’t want them to miss breakfast, sure. And part of him just wants to check on them, to make sure they’re okay. Breathing, alive. Yeah, that’s it.

But a question lingers: is he ready to face Eunbi so directly? The task sounds simple enough—just call them over, remind them they’ll have to leave soon for the day’s plans. But the weight of last night still clings to him. What if he hasn’t recovered from the poison he spat? What if that anger rises up, unprovoked, and spills out again? Worse, what if he can’t say anything at all? Or what if Eunbi sees him and returns all the evil, even stronger and sharper? What if she hits back harder and he’s left bleeding on the ground?

The furious speed at which his thoughts churn makes Jeongguk’s head spin, a relentless loop that threatens to overtake him, before the weight on his lap pulls him back. He glances down to see a plate of food resting there—some leftovers from breakfast. When he looks back at his friend, Jimin’s gaze is comforting, “You could bring them this and check if they’re okay with leaving in 30 minutes, hm?”

Jimin is crouching beside him, eyes soft but knowing, not pushing or pressing for anything, but somehow encouraging him all the same. The reassurance he finds in his gaze is enough for Jeongguk. His rushed thought process slows down, and he has room to realise he was only letting irrational panic speak. There’s no reason why any of those scenarios and possible outcomes could roll out only from calling his friends (well, his friend and… Eunbi) over for breakfast.

Jeongguk nods as he stands, his movements stiff at first, his hands clutching the plate tightly. Even with the knowledge he doesn’t have to necessarily address Eunbi, each step toward the tent feels like he’s carrying the weight of the world. The ground beneath him crunches softly, and his heart unreasonably picks up. The idea of simply facing her makes him sick to his stomach. He doesn’t want to accept it, but it’s guilt that’s causing that.

He’s so consumed by trying to chase away his own thoughts he doesn’t immediately register he’s close enough now that he can see the outline of the closed tent flap. It takes him even more to discern the sounds coming from inside. At first, it’s just a faint noise—muffled, almost unintelligible.

But as he draws closer, it becomes clearer. His steps falter. Another second goes by before he places it, and then it hits him like a punch to the gut. Eunbi is crying.

Jeongguk’s body tenses. No, she’s sobbing. It feels like someone’s wrapped a hand around his heart and squeezed. Her words are barely comprehensible, choked-out syllables and pleading whispers. He can make out enough to know that she’s begging, almost desperately, for Dahye to take her away from here.

Jeongguk freezes, paralyzed by the intensity of each of her desperate gasps. The world around him fades. The raw sound of her pain consumes him, and it cuts through him in ways he didn’t anticipate. He had wanted this, hadn’t he? He had wanted to hurt her, to see her broken, see her exactly like this. He had succeeded. He thought it would somehow bring him peace, make things right. Then why does each sob that escapes her build a shattering pressure in his chest?

It all ended up feeling wrong. As if he’s the one falling apart, the one who can’t catch his breath. Her grief echoes in him, breaking pieces inside he thought were long buried. There’s that gnawing guilt, eating away at the anger he had used to justify everything.

With the cries growing louder in his ears, he finds an answer as to why it hurts to hurt her. And it’s a persistent whisper he can no longer ignore.

Jeongguk struggles. He struggles to process it all, his senses slow. He doesn’t know whether to walk away or step closer. His head is screaming at him to move, to do something, but his body won’t listen.

It takes him another moment to realise that Dahye is moving inside the tent, her voice low and soothing as she tries to comfort Eunbi. Then, the tent flap rustles, and Dahye steps out. The moment her eyes land on him, her expression shifts, hardening with disappointment that sends a new wave of guilt crashing into him.

“You really fucked up this time.” She doesn’t bother to hide what seemed to only paint her features seconds ago. Jeongguk is left momentarily stunned, even more with her shoulder brushing against his as she walks past him. It’s suddenly too fast, and he can’t bring himself to respond, can’t find the words to defend himself or apologise.

His gaze falls down in an attempt to regain control over his actions, but as he searches for something, anything, to ground him he notices that the tent is left slightly open. Through the small gap, he can only see darkness and make out the quiet sniffles coming from Eunbi. His body stills, the sound only worsening the mess of thoughts crashing into each other.

One realisation sends a fresh wave of panic through him. Eunbi can see him. She knows he’s there, standing. Doing nothing, even while she cries. The jolt rushes all through his muscles this time, travelling from his brain, and it’s enough to finally get him to move.

Jeongguk takes a shaky step back, only to turn around fast when he’s met with a possibility he doesn’t want to confront. If he sees her face — red, tear-streaked, her eyes swollen from crying — he doubts he’d be able to handle it. Handle the sight of the pain that he caused. He’s sure he’d lose whatever fragile control he has left. He’s already on the brink of breaking just from hearing her. Seeing her like that would undo him completely.

As he retreats, the weight of everything he’s done settles in. He wonders if they’ve reached a point of no coming back. The hurt is too deep, the damage too irreversible. And for the first time, even the foolish kid inside him, the one that still craves for his Dal, wonders if they’ll ever be able to find their way back to each other. The bridge between them feels burned, reduced to ashes, and he’s terrified that there’s no rebuilding it. It’s falling apart for good.

It’s impossible for Jeongguk to keep the dread eating at his insides from showing on his face. It betrays him, every ounce of regret etched plainly across his features. He reluctantly lifts up his gaze. Especially when he’s met with Jimin’s concerned one, the pity there making his stomach twist even tighter, and Dahye’s flaring eyes cutting through him like daggers.

Eunbi steps out shortly after. She moves quietly, almost too quietly, as if she’s trying to blend and disappear into the air. He can immediately tell that she’s made an effort to mask the misery, the makeup she’s wearing is heavier than usual. Too much in places that don’t need it. A shield against him.

But he refuses to let himself look at her for too long. His eyes flit away before he’s forced to see too much. Before the truths he runs from hit him square in the face, before he’s able to discern the words that should be spoken but remain unsaid.

Once again, he lets his doubts speak louder than reason. He convinces himself that all of his friends are against him, that they’re watching him with eyes full of judgement. They’re at his throat, ready to pounce, ready to pin all the blame on him. He can almost feel their fingers pointing in his direction, like they’ve already made up their minds. He’s the guilty one. He’s the tainted, selfish asshole who ruins everything.

That’s why Jeongguk cycles slowly, deliberately hanging back, lagging behind the rest of the group. He can’t bear to meet their eyes, to force himself into their light-hearted mood. He doesn’t feel like belonging there, right now. It feels like he’s on the outside looking in, like he’s forgotten what it means to just feel at peace.

So, he keeps his distance. It’s easier to stay where it’s quiet. Where he doesn’t have to put up an act or force himself to be present. The silence feels more like a refuge than loneliness, a momentary escape from the relentless noise in his mind.

In front of him, Eunbi cycles just as slowly. They’re both drifting behind the group, caught in their own separate orbits, not really blending with the others. Jeongguk unconsciously fixates on the steady rhythm of her bike wheels, the way they spin effortlessly, guiding her along the path. It’s a repeated, ceaseless action that serves as a temporary anchor to avoid sinking under.

Without meaning to, he finds himself mimicking their speed, gradually inching closer to her, his bike mirroring the pace of her wheels. The space between them narrows, and when he notices it, he pulls back slightly. Only to repeat the same motion moments later, closing the gap again. And again. It’s like he’s automatically attracted to the movement, which unintentionally draws him to her.

It’s Eunbi’s weary sigh cutting through the soft hum of the tires against the ground that snaps him out of that mindless trance, the one that had briefly distracted him from the darker thoughts creeping at the edges of his brain, “Can you stop doing that?”

Her voice, edged with irritation, breaks through the fog in his head. Jeongguk stills, confused, not even realising what she meant. He hums questioningly, his brows furrowing.

“I’m not in the mood for a race,” she mutters, not even looking back at him, her tone flat but tinged with weariness.

Jeongguk blinks, caught off guard, and he feels a flash of defensiveness rise up before he can stop it, “I— I wasn’t—”

“Whatever.” She cuts him off, sounding more tired than angry, “I just feel... anxious knowing you’re— there. Behind me. Please, just go ahead.”

The words strike him harder than they should, hitting him in a place he doesn’t want to acknowledge. They settle deep, mingling with guilt and frustration. Her voice, so casual yet heavy with discomfort, only stirs up the irrational anger that always seems to bubble up whenever they interact, the same one that brought them to this breaking point.

Before he can stop himself, he bites back, “Oh, now you’re the one feeling anxious.”

Eunbi’s shoulders stiffen, and her words shake with fatigue, begging once again, “Please, I don’t wanna start this again.”

“We’re not starting anything,” Jeongguk snaps back, his tone biting despite himself. Even he doesn’t believe it. It always feels like they’re on the verge of starting something, like every word is a match waiting to spark.

This time, she whips her head to look at him over her shoulder, her voice rising as her patience thins, “Oh, really? Then what is th—”

The words die in her throat as her bike catches on something, and in an instant, she’s thrown forward. She’s sent tumbling on the ground, her body skidding against the rocky surface, the harsh sound of scraping skin filling the air as her hands and knees are victim to the fall.

Jeongguk’s heart drops. The fragile tension between them shatters, and his breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t think—he just reacts. “Dal!”

Before he knows it, panic overtakes him and he’s off his bike in a flash, letting it crash behind him as he rushes to her side. His voice shakes when he kneels beside her, the name escaping him again, raw and urgent.

Eunbi is sprawled on the ground, dirt smudged across her skin, her hands trembling as they try to push her own body up. Jeongguk immediately detects the blood seeping from the cuts on her knees, then scans through her face contorted in pain. He searches her whole body for more wounds with wide, desperate eyes and he notices her palms are also bleeding.

His hands hover uselessly, unsure where to touch or how to help without hurting her more. His heart is racing, pounding in his chest as the sight of her like this rips through him. It feels like the ground has been yanked out from beneath his feet.

When he speaks again, his voice is rough with fright, “Are you okay?” It’s the first thing he manages to blurt out, while helping her turn on her back. But it’s a stupid question—he can see she’s not okay. He can see the ache written all over her features, more blood dripping from her cuts.

Eunbi doesn’t respond immediately. Her breath comes out in sharp, shaky gasps. Jeongguk can see the shock of it all settling into her body and he watches as she tries to pull herself together, her face pale. Eunbi mutters, her voice small but strained, attempting to sit up in slow movements, “I’m fine.”

Jeongguk feels himself spiralling. The terror in her eyes is reflected in his, but it seems to hit him ten times stronger than what the bruised girl has to deal with right now. His orbs widen impossibly more as the seconds go by, and when her eyes seem to mist over with tears he can’t help his own palms from framing her face and searching for possible scratches he couldn’t spot with his attentive gaze, then grasps her arms.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to make her feel the hurt he carried, make her understand how deep his pain went. But now, as he looks at her, all he can think is how wrong that is. The sight of her suffering doesn’t give him any satisfaction. Only a pang deep in his chest, something ugly that he doesn’t know how to deal with.

“I’m fine,” Eunbi repeats again, this time with a little more conviction, a small, forced smile barely reaching her lips. But Jeongguk can see right through it. He hopes she can feel the intention seeping from his contact, his hold rough but warm over her goosebumps-covered skin.

The rushed moment gives no space for the resentment they had grown accustomed to these past days, and it wraps them up in a bubble from which the present is locked out. They’re outside Jeongguk’s porch, and Eunbi just fell on her hands and knees trying to learn how to roller skate. Her best friend sits beside her, taking care of her pain.

Even with their friends now hovering above them, throwing concerned questions at her, Jeongguk’s entire focus is on Eunbi. He follows her every slight movement, every shift of her body as she tries to mask the discomfort. His eyes study the way her face scrunches in pain, his heart aching in time with her every wince. And every time she looks at him, silently seeking reassurance, he’s right there, offering it in the softening of his gaze.

As the group’s voices become a chaotic hum around them, Eunbi’s low murmur slips past the noise, meant only for him, “Gguk. Maybe I don’t feel so fine.”

Her sheepish smile doesn’t reach her eyes, and the worry in her eyebrows betrays her light-hearted attempt. Jeongguk doesn’t hesitate. He immediately reacts, delicately leading her upper body down again. Seated on his heels, he lays her head on his lap and keeps her eyes on his face, his voice soothing, “It’s okay, Bee. Look at me. You’re going to be fine.”

Eunbi nods, trying to will herself into trusting him, but Jeongguk sees the uncertainty etched into every line of her face. Her eyes, wide with panic, keep darting down to her legs, where Namjoon holds them up steady, and Dahye works carefully to clean her wounds. There’s terror in her eyes every time she follows the blood trickling down her skin and notices how it keeps flowing out furiously. Jeongguk knows that look all too well. He’s seen it before, is aware of how blood unsettles her, how easily fear grips her in moments like these.

He acts instinctively, gently covering her eyes with one of his hands, the thumb subtly caressing her forehead, “Don’t look, Dal. Close your eyes, hm?”

Jeongguk can feel the hesitancy radiating from the group, their confusion practically tangible as they watch the scene unfold. They’ve seen him and Eunbi at each other’s throats, and now this tenderness feels foreign. But to him, it’s more familiar than any of the anger he’s harboured towards her. It’s like something pulling at the edges of his consciousness, reminding him of how it always has been, and should have been.

He refuses to linger on that thought now. Rational explanations and consequences can wait for later. Right now, all he cares about is making sure Eunbi is okay.

Her fall wasn’t severe, not by any medical standard, but the sight of her pale face and the cold sweat clinging to her skin keeps his nerves taut. He can't relax, not when he can still feel the tremble in her body and see the fright in her eyes. The panic washing over her features only makes him grip her a little tighter.

Namjoon breaks through the haze of Jeongguk’s focus, his voice concerned as he lowers Eunbi’s legs gently to the ground. “I need a shirt or something. Tissues won’t be enough here.”

It seems more as if he’s muttering to himself than anyone else, because he instantly moves to search in his backpack. Jeongguk is quicker, reacting without hesitation, still making sure Eunbi is shielded from the view of her knee scratched and raw with blood, “There’s one in my backpack. You can rip it if you need to.”

Namjoon pauses for a moment, looking at Jeongguk with doubt and something else he can’t quite place. But after a beat, he nods, unzipping the bag and pulling out the t-shirt.

The older boy calls Eunbi’s attention on him, and Jeongguk’s hand reluctantly slips away from her face, settling in her hair instead. Namjoon’s tone is gentle, keeping the girl grounded, “Okay Bi. I’m going to press very hard now. It’ll hurt a bit, but I need to stop the bleeding. You okay?”

Eunbi nods, her expression tight with fear but determined to stay calm. She focuses solely on Namjoon’s face, deliberately avoiding the sight of her knee, where blood continues to drip down, relentless and vivid against her skin. The second Namjoon applies pressure, she lets out a sharp squeal, her brows knitting together as soft whimpers follow, each sound striking Jeongguk with a deep sense of helplessness.

And it’s more than he can bear. Without thinking, he reaches for Namjoon’s wrist, halting his movement, his voice tight and edged with a protectiveness he can’t suppress, “Yo, you’re hurting her. Don’t press so hard.”

The other boy meets his eyes, a small scoff escaping his lips without going unnoticed, his expression steady, “I’m studying to be a doctor. I think I know what I’m doing.”

“You’re studying to be a vet, that’s not a fucking doctor.” The comment slips past him before he can do anything about it, sharper than intended, fueled by frustration and anxiety. The unnecessary weight of his words reflect in the surprised reactions from his friends and the slight arch of Namjoon’s brow.

“Bibi kinda looks like a deer. I’d say it’s quite appropriate,” Dahye’s voice slices through the small, sudden moment of tension, and it’s sweet but tinged with humour, her light-hearted tone meant to ease some of her friend’s nerves. Eunbi chuckles, light and genuine, for the first time that morning. She searches for the taller girl’s gaze and finds her crouching next to Jeongguk, close to her.

Jeongguk notices the shift in her immediately, the way her features relax, the calm that briefly washes over her. He scrutinises every subtle change, searching for the girl he’d spent years knowing. But as he looks down at her, still resting in his lap, her gaze lingering on Dahye before quickly finding his and then returning to Namjoon, he spots something that twists in his gut.

There’s a shift in her eyes. Uncertainty. It all comes rushing back. It’s not just the physical pain that’s pulling her away. The brief connection they had shared slips through his fingers. It’s like a switch has been flipped, and they’re back where they always end up, strangers that know everything about the other, even when they’re this close. The softness in her eyes is not directed at him, and it’s then replaced by doubt. The image causes an obnoxious alarm to go off in his head. He doesn’t know how to restore the moment. Doesn’t want it to end.

Frantic, he keeps combing his fingers through her hair, desperate to hold onto any remains. His movements are absentminded, mechanical almost, as if he’s afraid to let go completely. Then, the need to hear her voice becomes almost overwhelming, and his words come out soft, tentative, “You okay?”

When she only nods, he frowns. It does little to ease his mounting anxiety.

Namjoon resumes his work diligently, and Eunbi eventually sits up, the warmth of her body now gone from Jeongguk’s lap. It only leads him to further seek for a way to bridge the gap, forcing a gentle smile, “Dal, it’s not even bleeding anymore. See?”

“Oh god, is she dying? She’s gonna bleed out.” It’s Hoseok’s dramatic outburst shattering the moment and Jeongguk’s every possible attempt at mending it, as the boy crouches down to inspect the stained shirt wrapped around Eunbi’s leg with a grimace.

Eunbi, who had just started to calm down, now feels her breath quicken. She instinctively looks at Jeongguk, her eyes pleading for reassurance, but before he can offer his comfort, Hoseok’s over-the-top concern strikes again, “Bi, what’s your blood type? Just in case we might need to give you a blood transfusion.”

“What? Is he serious?” Her eyes widen in disbelief as she searches for the bloodstain but finds Jeongguk quickly pulling her shoulder to keep her still, “He’s just—”

"Actually, I once watched a tutorial on YouTube on how to do that. It’s not that hard. We just need to find someone with your same blood type and you’re set." Jimin’s sudden comment adds to the absurdity, and Jeongguk groans, his frustration mingling with the ridiculousness of the situation.

”You two, shut up and help me clean these,” rolling her eyes, Dahye puts an end to the foolish interaction and urges them to take care of the cuts on Eunbi’s palms, still unattended. Hoseok tries, he does, but he feels like facing blood this close will probably result in him fainting. He doesn’t think having another person on the verge of passing out would help. So, he calls for Taehyung to take over while he just resolves by trying to distract Eunbi, “I was just kidding, doesn’t look so bad. Where did you get this top, by the way?”

Jeongguk hesitates. He can’t focus on the banter. His anxiety is slowly eating at his insides, and he knows he should let go of whatever bubble he found himself trapped into. Should burst it with the slightest nudge of his finger, the mocking plop! sound eventually bringing him back to the present and making the sounds clearer, closer. But he can’t. He’s feverish as Eunbi seems to avoid his gaze further, only offering small smiles when he attempts to comfort her like he did while she was laying on his legs, her eyes trained on his and seemingly the only thing able to keep her stable. The chaos makes his head spin, but what’s worse is the feeling that she’s slipping away, again. Even if it was just an illusion to begin with.

Deep in the spiral of his thoughts, it takes him a moment to notice that Eunbi is being helped up by Namjoon, and that she’s holding onto his forearms while taking small, hesitant steps without applying too much pressure on the bruised knee. Namjoon hums in concern, then looks behind his shoulders, “Hey, my bike has a seat behind. I’m taking Eunbi back to the campsite.”

The words snap Jeongguk out of his daze, making him stand up and instantly pulling him back from whatever other mental trap he had fallen right into. Even if it seems to be too late now, Eunbi restoring the wall between them brick by brick, his heart kicks into overdrive, and before he even knows what he’s doing, he blurts out with more urgency than necessary, “I’ll come with you!”

The response is immediate, and not in the way he expects. All eyes land on him, doubtful, surprised. He can feel the shift in the air, a tension settling around him as his friends exchange glances, unsure of where this sudden burst of energy came from. The awkwardness of the moment seeps into his skin, and Jeongguk clears his throat, feeling the heat rise to his face, “I’ll— I’ll help take Eunbi’s bike back.”

Dahye pats him on the shoulder reassuringly, and Jeongguk is momentarily taken aback considering their earlier interaction and how she had looked at him with murderous intents. This time, she sports a soft smile, “Don’t worry, Gguk. I’ll do it.”

Jeongguk opens his mouth to argue, but Namjoon cuts in, his expression equally puzzled by the younger’s outburst, “Yeah, man. You should stay here and enjoy the day. It’s your birthday, after all.”

“But—“

”You did enough already, Gguk. Stay with the others, we’ll take care of her.” After throwing him a convincing nod, Dahye is already pulling Eunbi’s bike up and steadying it, quickly collecting her own that had stopped not too far away.

Jeongguk frantically searches for Eunbi’s gaze, for any sign that he should push further, that she needs him with her. But as they lock eyes, the weight of his earlier actions come crashing down on him, like a bucket of cold water. He let himself get carried away in a distant fantasy that doesn’t belong in his reality, that shouldn’t have unfolded in their present. It only led him to try and force his way into a situation where he wasn’t needed. No, where he wasn’t wanted. The thought stings more than he cares to admit.

He seeks for confirmation either way, hanging on the last remaining thin thread, the name slipping from his tongue again, tentative, “Are you sure, Bee?”

Eunbi hesitates, her arms wrapping around her figure, shielding herself from him. She also seems to be realising the unfamiliarity of the moment, of his sweet tone, his eyes never once hardening when they land on her. And it’s weird, because she should be accepting this version of him with much more ease. But instead, she finds support in their distance right now, and she lowers her gaze, “Yes, Jeongguk. I don’t want to bother you further.”

A small gasp fights its way up his throat, but he stops it. He tries to argue, stuttering, “You— You’re not— Whatever. Huh, call if anything happens?”

His eyes are still trained on Eunbi, but she doesn’t react. Dahye chuckles softly to try and soothe the air, “Hey, she’s okay. It’s just a few scratches. Right, Bibi?”

The oddly silent girl nods, her head up again and now meeting Jeongguk with confidence, firmly holding his gaze, the smallest remains of whatever they got caught into scattered to the ground. He mirrors her nodding, attempting to smooth some of her certainty in himself, failing, “Huh— okay. I’m just— okay. I’ll see you later, then.”

Later comes, and Jeongguk barely sees Eunbi. The night grows louder, he’s surrounded by friends, their energy infectious as they prepare for his birthday, now just a few hours away. They’re bubbling with excitement, eyes bright with anticipation, instilling that nervous buzz that always hits him just before midnight. Jeongguk smiles along with them, but his heart isn’t quite in it.

Despite the laughter and the way the campfire crackles as they pass around bottles of alcohol, Jeongguk feels distant, like he's watching it all through a fog. His friends are trying, he can tell. They’re making every effort to keep him distracted, to drown out the noise in his head with their joy. Jokes fly around the fire, and every few minutes someone checks the time, gasping excitedly as midnight draws nearer. It’s sweet, thoughtful, and he genuinely appreciates it. But no matter how much he tries to focus on them, on the present moment, his mind keeps drifting. His eyes wander, searching for Eunbi.

She’s always just out of sight. There, but not fully. Lingering at the edges, sticking close to Dahye. Laughing quietly, but never wholly engaging with the group like she usually would, despite everything. It’s just enough to not raise suspicion, but it’s clear she’s retreating. Closing herself off from the rest of them, from him.

Jeongguk tells himself he’s reading too much into it. That she’s probably still finding it hard to recover from the earlier incident, her bruises still visible. But he also knows this feeling too well. He felt it after that ride on his motorcycle, Eunbi seeking for something in his eyes, the moment so tender but broken in an instant. He’s acquainted with the slow drift, the wall quietly being rebuilt between them. Taller, sturdier.

The campfire crackles, and his friends’ voices rise around him, but he’s only half there. Jeongguk wishes he could stop his mind from racing, wishes he could just fall into the rhythm of the celebration like everyone else.

And then midnight comes. With it, a burst of chaos. His friends spring to life, hoisting him up into the air, passing him between them like a beloved trophy. Their spark is contagious, and for a moment, Jeongguk lets himself be burnt by it. The joy, the love surrounding him. They sing him happy birthday, off-key and loud, pouring drinks and making ridiculous toasts. He allows himself to be showered by that affection. It’s not perfect, but it’s enough.

As the hours drag on, the celebration settles into a steady hum. They stay by the fire, some leaning into one another, others still joking around, the alcohol loosening their tongues. The earlier buzz mellows into something softer, more intimate, and Jeongguk feels himself unwind, even a little. He laughs more freely now, the weight of the night starting to lift as he becomes wrapped up in their warmth.

Eventually, exhaustion begins to creep in. One by one, his friends start to peel away, calling it a night and retreating to their tents with promises to continue the celebration tomorrow. They ruffle Jeongguk’s hair, poking at him one last time before bidding him goodnight, the warmth of their presence lingering even as they disappear. Jimin and Taehyung make sure he’s okay before heading to their tent, only after throwing final teases laced with affection at him. Jeongguk sports a boyish grin as he watches them go.

Then it’s just him, the fire crackling softly and the bright stars above him. They whisper something to him, but he can’t decipher it. It makes his skin prickle with the chill and his eyelids shut heavier, slower with every flutter. He doesn’t hear his thoughts so strongly, now. Maybe he chooses not to. He’s been dealing with them all day long, seeking for even one of the millions to lighten him with something he actually needs. Does he even know what he needs? The ache in his heart that refuses to settle hints at a negative answer.

Jeongguk knows there’s something he wants, though. He badly wants these first hours of his birthday to be blessed by a certain someone’s wishes. He completely lost sight of her in the earlier chaos. Didn’t get to check if a smile, even a forced one, was painting her lips when midnight struck.

Perhaps it’s the universe pitying him, reserving him with a gift that could or could not change his misery. But he soon realises he’s not alone when a soft clearing of a throat breaks the silence.

He turns and finds Eunbi standing there, hesitant. She visibly struggles with what to do, her legs refusing to bring her closer to him but her brain willing to, sheepishly taking the seat next to him, “Um. Happy birthday, I guess.”

Jeongguk recognises it instantly, the way she says it, her subtle, small, playful smile not lost on him. It mirrors the same tone he’d used when he had blurted it out awkwardly at her own birthday not too long ago, the first time they’d really spoken one-on-one. A small chuckle escapes him, unsure but undeniably warm, “Huh. Thanks.”

And then there’s silence. It stretches between them, heavy but not uncomfortable, like there’s something waiting beneath it, something unspoken. The two are deep in their thoughts, words they want to say hovering on the tip of their tongues, but neither quite ready to let them loose. The crackling of the fire fills the space, the occasional pop of embers the only sound as they sit side by side, both not used to the feeling.

Jeongguk hesitates, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “Do you… feel better?”

Eunbi hums.

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

It goes quiet again, air thick and pregnant with everything left unsaid. Jeongguk hesitates, his mind swirling with the urge to say something, anything, but the fear of breaking whatever fragile truce they have keeps him quiet. He wants to ask her if she’s okay — really okay — but the words feel inadequate.

Eventually, it’s Eunbi who takes a deep breath, as if drawing in strength from the fire, from the quiet of the night around them, “I— I feel like… we should talk. Do— do you want to?”

Jeongguk’s chest tightens, his heart pounding, but then he nods.

“Yeah.”

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