#jongho sick

[feverishly-kpop]

Ateez - Flu - Part 10 (Final Part)

When Hongjoong woke up he felt as if he was coming to from a coma. He hadn’t slept so soundly in a long time, but within seconds he wished that the coma would pull him back under. This flu was wreaking havoc on his body.

He sat up, confirming that Yunho was still asleep before stepping out of his room. All that hydration had left him in need of the washroom but, to his surprise, he found the door closed. Knocking quietly, Hongjoong listened for a response but did not receive one. After another knock met with silence he entered and nearly jumped out of his skin when he found Jongho lying on the washroom floor with a long-dried face cloth draped over his eyes and forehead.

“Jongho” Hongjoong whispered, nudging the maknae’s shoulder as he sank to the ground next to him, too exhausted and poorly to keep standing. Jongho stirred slowly and reached up to toss his compress aside but made no effort to respond to Hongjoong. “What are you doing on the floor, Jongho-ah?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Jongho responded in the most Jongho way possible, which is not at all what Hongjoong wanted to deal with in the middle of the night while his head was swimming with fever.

“I’m sick, Jongho” Hongjoong responded flatly. “I’m sick and had to use the washroom but here you are, laying in the damn floor. Your turn.”

Jongho sighed before responding. “I woke up with a headache so I got up to take my temperature.”

That was enough to send Hongjoong into hyung mode immediately. “Why didn’t you wake Seonghwa?”

“I can take my own temperature, hyung” Jongho quipped back before continuing. “I’m running a fever” he added nonchalantly. “And the floor was cold, so I just laid down with a cool compress. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes. This situation was so very Jongho. He was about to inquire about any other symptoms when the door flung open again, this time by Yeosang who nearly face planted, tripping over Jongho’s outstretched legs, as he barreled toward the toilet to be sick again. Jongho reached out an arm to pat Yeosang’s back in silent support but was too weak to do anything beyond that.

It took Yunho less than a minute to appear in the doorway, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. Hongjoong sighed before speaking up, realizing that everybody would be looking toward him to take control despite him being as sick as the rest of them and it being 3:30 AM.

“Yunho-ah, what are you doing out of bed?” He asked, willing his voice not to break as he spoke.

“I heard somebody getting sick. Now I feel queasy again” Yunho replied weakly, sounding half asleep. Hongjoong’s eyes darted to Yeosang, who was still draped over the toilet. He was out of ideas until Jongho acted quickly, reaching over his head and tossing the waste paper bin toward Yunho’s feet. Yunho muttered a weak “thank you” before taking the bin into the hallway and sitting down outside the washroom door. A wave of guilt and pity washed over Hongjoong as he heard his dongsaeng getting sick in the bin but there wasn’t enough room for a fourth member on the washroom floor and he sure as hell wasn’t about to get up from his cozy spot next to Jongho.

“It’s alright. You’re going to be just fine” Hongjoong slurred, unsure if the sentiment was directed more strongly to the others or to himself.

*~*~*~*~*~

Seonghwa woke up to muffled sounds coming from the washroom followed by the sound of retching. For a split second he contemplated rolling over and going back to sleep before he heard another set of feet pattering toward the washroom. Knowing that eldest-hyung duty called, he sat up in bed quickly - perhaps too quickly - his head quickly hitting his pillow again before he even realized that he needed to lie back down. He suddenly felt a shift of pressure in his sinuses.

Dammit.

He was sick.

Unfortunately, so was somebody else based on the cacophony of sounds emanating from outside his closed door. With a deep breath he sat up again, much slower this time, and headed toward the door, bracing himself for what he may find when he opened it.

Seonghwa almost stepped on Yunho as he closed the bedroom door behind him. He knelt down in front of him, giving a light tug on the waste paper basket that Yunho was nearly falling asleep in. Seonghwa placed a hand on Yunho’s cheek, quickly realizing that he was no longer able to very accurately feel for a fever now that he too was running one of his own. Despite his own body being feverishly warm now, he could still tell that Yunho was feeling even warmer.

“Yunho, love, you’re feeling very warm again” Seonghwa said quietly, noticing now how sore his throat was. “Did you forget to take your medication? You haven’t been running this high since it was prescribed…”

Yunho shook his head in response. “I didn’t forget. I didn’t want to take it. It makes me feel funny…”

Seonghwa cut him off, trying to mask the frustration he felt rising in his chest. “You know what else makes you feel funny? A high fever. You seem to be feeling really funny now, hmm? The medicine isn’t optional, Yunho. It’s…” Seonghwa stopped abruptly when a wave of dizziness struck. In the moment it took for him to center himself he took in how absolutely pathetic Yunho looked sitting on the hallway floor. There would be a time to discuss this, but that time was clearly not now. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves before speaking up again.

“Sweetheart, why are you out here in the hallway anyhow?” He asked, his tone much calmer than a moment ago.

“Because they are in there” Yunho said with some effort, indicating vaguely toward the washroom.

“Who? Who’s in there?” Seonghwa asked but Yunho was already beginning to doze off again. There was nothing Seonghwa could do about that at the moment. He couldn’t lift Yunho on a good day, and his running nose suddenly reminded him that this definitely wasn’t a good day. Making a mental note to wake Jongho to have him help Yunho off the floor and back to bed, he slowly opened the washroom door.

So much for that mental note.

Seonghwa felt close to tears. He was in over his head. This flu had done the impossible, taking out eight grown men in the span of a couple of days. Admitting defeat, he unlocked his phone, texting a manager:

“Sorry to wake you hyung. But we need you.”

*~*~*~*~*~

When the manager arrived, not even an hour later, his jaw dropped as he surveyed the scene.

Seonghwa had miraculously gotten everybody off the floor and into the living room. Jongho sat at one end of the sofa, his head resting in his hand as he shivered too violently to make sleep possible. Hongjoong, on the other hand, was curled up into the maknae’s side, having had no trouble at all finding sleep again. Yeosang was stretched out across the middle of the couch with blanket haphazardly draped over his legs that threatened to fall to the floor at any slight movement. Yeosang had left almost no space for Yunho, though Yunho didn’t seem to mind curling up in a tight ball in the small amount of space he did have, in a way that seemed physically impossible for a person of his stature.

The manager almost instantly jumped into action. He had years of experience wrangling his own sick kids in addition to sick ATEEZ members, but he struggled to recall a time when seven of the eight were sick at once.

“San, Mingi, and Wooyoung?” He asked quietly, turning to Seonghwa. Seonghwa finished his thought on his behalf.

“Sleeping. Hopefully” Seonghwa supplied helpfully as he stood with his arms crossed across his chest.

“I’ll be honest,” the manager said after a few moments of thought. “I’d like to take anybody with a fever to the hospital. This flu clearly is nothing to mess around with.”

Yeosang piped up at that. “I don’t have a fever, so I don’t need to go” he announced, his tone laced with pride despite not even opening his eyes as he spoke.

The manager turned to Seonghwa, wordlessly looking to fact check Yeosang’s statement. Seonghwa nodded slowly. “He’s telling the truth. I checked his temperature a few times yesterday afternoon and before you got here. Normal temp, somehow.”

Yeosang pulled up the blanket as he snuggled deeper into the couch, content that he’d be able to stay home, but Seonghwa wasn’t finished.

“No fever, but he’s vomited several times. I think he should go.” Seonghwa’s words cut Yeosang like a knife.

“You can’t just change the rules like that, hyung” Yeosang responded with a huff. Seonghwa couldn’t help but smirk at Yeosang’s petulance.

“Well I can. You’re going to have to come with me, kid. I’m sorry” the manager said in response, slowly pulling Yeosang’s blanket off and folding it before stuffing it under his arm. While he was clearly not happy about it, Yeosang sat up, resigned to his fate. “Fine, but it’s still not fair” Yeosang said with a pout.

Yunho was the next to speak up, although his voice was muffled, barely audible as he spoke into the couch cushion.

“What was that, Yunho?” The manager asked as he knelt down in front of him, his voice gentle, knowing that Yunho always needed a little extra care and comfort when he was sick.

“I don’t need to go. I don’t have a fever” he repeated, a little louder this time. The manager sighed, laying a cool hand over the nape of Yunho’s neck. “I don’t think that’s quite true, is it? Hmm?”

Yunho ignored him, relishing in the comfort of his touch before his hand warmed from the contact with Yunho’s fevered skin.

“And your hyung said you were throwing up again? Is that true?” The manager questioned, brushing Yunho’s hair back from his face. Yunho only shrugged. “Let’s get you up, nice and slow” he said, taking his time untangling Yunho’s limbs one by one.

“I don’t see the point in playing games,” Jongho said as the manager helped Yunho sit up. “I have a fever. It’s not high, but it’s a fever. But I also don’t want to end up like that” Jongho said bluntly, gesturing toward Yeosang and Yunho’s end of the couch. He didn’t have to elaborate further. Everybody knew what he meant by that. “So if I have to go, I’ll go.”

The manager signed internally, relieved that at least one member wasn’t putting up a fight.

“Oh, and I mean I’m sure it goes without saying,” Jongho added, level headed as always. “He’s going to have to go.” Jongho looked down at Hongjoong, who had remained fast asleep through the entire conversation.

The manager nodded as he pulled Seonghwa aside. “I’m going to go ahead and take these four.” I’m sure it’s going to take some time to get them checked in and settled.” Seonghwa nodded as the manager continued, pinching the bridge of his nose, a clear indication of his current stress levels. “Call me once the other three are awake. If they wake up still feverish, which they will be, I’m sure, I’ll come back and get them.”

*~*~*~*~*~

Getting Hongjoong, Yunho, Yeosang, and Jongho packed up and into the van with the manager went about as well as Seonghwa had assumed it would. Four overnight bags, four sick men who struggled to take more than a few steps without needing a break, a frazzled manager who was growing more and more concerned by the minute that their van would get towed before they had everybody loaded up, and Seonghwa, who was putting on the show of a lifetime, not wanting to tip anybody off to how sick he was.

Seonghwa drew in a sigh of relief as he put the last of the members’ bags in the trunk, feeling out of breath and weak. Just as he was about to slide the door closed Yunho broke down in tears.

“Hyung, my pillow” he said between sobs. “I forgot my dog pillow.” Seonghwa felt about ready to go upstairs and throw the damned pillow out an open window and hope for the best, but he smiled instead, ruffling Yunho’s hair and assuring him he’d be right back down with it.

*~*~*~*~*~

Seonghwa all but collapsed against the stone pillar at the dorm building’s entryway as the van pulled out of sight. The sun was beginning to peak out, a reminder that San, Mingi, and Wooyoung would be waking soon and he’d be repeating this entire process again.

The energy to go back upstairs was alluding him until a woman emerged from the building. A nurse decked out in scrubs, clearly on her way to work for the day. She looked down at Seonghwa, sitting miserably on the cold concrete in his pajamas.

“Are you okay, honey?” She asked kindly. Seonghwa could feel his cheeks heating up even more than they already were from sheer embarrassment. “Did you lock yourself out?”

Seonghwa shook his head, hopping up regrettably fast to his feet and pulling his key out of the pocket of his sweat pants. “I’m just fine, thank you” he said with a tired smile. “Eventful morning is all.”

The woman smiled as she continued to the parking garage. “Hope the day turns around for you” she added over her shoulder. Seonghwa flashed a friendly wave, knowing that it would only get worse from there.

*~*~*~*~*~

Seonghwa had managed to get another hour or two of sleep on the couch before Mingi woke up.

“It’s so quiet…” Mingi grumbled, running a hand through his hair as Mingi collapsed heavily at the other end of the couch.

“Well, it’s just you, me, San, and Wooyoungie here right now. And San and Woo are still asleep” Seonghwa replied, tip toeing around the matter at hand.

Mingi simply raised his eyebrow, sensing that his hyung had more to say.

“Listen Mingi,” Seonghwa resumed, uncharacteristically frazzled. “Don’t shoot the messenger but manager-hyung was here this morning. He put his foot down, anybody running a fever this morning has to go to the hospital.”

The silence hung heavy for what felt to Seonghwa like an eternity before Mingi replied.

“Well, I’m not going” Mingi said with a shrug. Seonghwa closed his eyes, his head pounding uncontrollably.

“Mingi, I’m sorry but it’s not up to you. Fuck, it’s not even up to me” Seonghwa said but Mingi remained unmoved.

“I’m not Yunho and I’m not Wooyoung. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself…” Mingi was cut off by Seonghwa.

“Mingi that’s mean and uncalled for” he said firmly.

Mingi sighed, relenting. “I didn’t mean it that way. It came out wrong. But I really don’t need to go. My fever is hasn’t gone up.”

“But it hasn’t broken?” Seonghwa asked, locking eyes work Mingi in a way that made it clear that the debate was over.

“No, it hasn’t broken” Mingi replied, rolling his eyes like a spoiled teenager.

“Pack your bag with anything you’ll want at the hospital. You might be there overnight so pack accordingly.” Seonghwa was too tired to scold Mingi when he threw the pillow at the end of the couch to the floor and stormed off to his room, slamming the door behind him, causing the pain behind Seonghwa’s eyes to pulsate.

*~*~*~*~*~

If San and Wooyoung hadn’t been awake before, they certainly were now. San emerged from his room, promptly laying down on the couch and using Seonghwa’s lap as a pillow. They were both silent until San spoke up.

“Wooyoung was talking in his sleep. Asking for his mom” San said with a sigh, covering his eyes with his forearm. “I’m tired, hyung.”

Seonghwa’s heart broke at the fatigue in his voice.

“I heard you tell Mingi we have to go to the hospital. I packed my bag and started Wooyoung’s but…” San’s statement was cut off by a spell of harsh coughs. “I’m sorry, hyung. I felt too weak to finish.”

Seonghwa stroked San’s forehead, trying to comfort him before helping San sit up and laying him back against a pillow. “When did you get so big, my little Sannie-ah?” Seonghwa asked lightly as he draped a blanket over his dongsaeng. “I’ll take care of Wooyoung and get him packed up and ready to go.”

*~*~*~*~*~

Wooyoung was still burrowed into Yunho’s bed when Seonghwa entered. Tears stained his cheeks, confirming to Seonghwa that he, beyond a doubt, was still running a fever. Seonghwa silently took the bag that San had started packing for Wooyoung, to Wooyoung’s own room, adding a cozy sweatshirt that would keep him comfortable in the hospital, as well as his headphones and a few hair clips, knowing that Wooyoung would get restless if his hair was in his face.

He pulled his phone out and sent a text to the manager as promised:

“The kids are up. Ready to get them to the hospital when you are.”

*~*~*~*~*~

The process passed in a blur this time. Seonghwa could tell his fever was up, leaving him feeling like his head was floating as he went through the motions. He left the bickering with Mingi to the manager, confident that he had done his part earlier that morning. San, always feeling like he had something to prove, slung his own bag over his shoulder as well as Wooyoung’s, and headed down to the van, that, once again, the manager was convinced would get towed if they took much longer.

Seonghwa pulled the front door closed, the last one out, carrying Wooyoung on his back after it had become clear that Wooyoung was too dizzy to walk. With the last of his dongsaengs safely buckled into the van, Seonghwa turned to go back inside. It was becoming more apparent that he had a finite window of time to get himself back upstairs and into bed before his body gave up.

The manager was about to pull away when he rolled the window down. “Hwa” he called out, putting the van back in park. “Hongjoong texted me. He’s sharing a room with Yunho. He said Yunho is asking for you.”

Seonghwa tensed at that. He meant it with all the love in the world. He adored each and every one of his dongsaengs with his whole heart and he’d do anything for every single one of them without so much as a moment of delay.

But, in the most loving, caring, concerned way -

Not a fucking chance, Yunho.

And with that, that finite window of time closed on Seonghwa.

“I know you’re exhausted. Being a dad is a lot of work, isn’t it?” the manager said with a good-natured chuckle. “If you want to come for a bit I can bring you back in a few hours.”

Seonghwa felt his breath coming faster.

“I can’t breathe” he mumbled, losing his balance and tripping into the side of the van with a thump.

He was now coughing, gasping for breath. It all happened in slow motion. He looked into the window of the van, seeing Wooyoung sleeping with his head in San’s lap.

Sleep.

That sounded so fucking good right now.

“Hwa!” He heard a voice call out. Strangely it sounded somehow far too loud but also so far away, simultaneously.

“M’ tired, hyung” Seonghwa said with a final sigh, giving in to the immediate need to sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~

It took no time at all for Seonghwa to realize where he was when he came to. The stark white walls and ceiling, the ambient sound of beeping equipment and the overwhelming smell of sanitizer that, even completely congested, was still evident.

Yep. He hand landed himself in the hospital with the rest of the members.

Eight makes one team and all that, I guess.

Seonghwa couldn’t help but feel bitter for a moment. He had made sure everybody else had a soft blanket packed in their bag but here he was, covered in one that felt like paper.

He closed his eyes again, the pain behind his eyes no match for the bright fluorescent lights overhead. That’s when he heard the voice of his manager talking to somebody outside his door. The voices were muffled, which was further compounded by the fact he couldn’t seem to hear very well out of his right ear, but he was able to make out a few words.

“Private room.”

He turned his head, cracking his eyes slightly. He did have a private room. He sighed in relief at that. No members bothering him when all he wanted, no, needed, to do was sleep.

“Bruised shoulder.”

Yeah, that checked out too. His shoulder felt tender where he had made contact with the side of the van before he…before he fell asleep? Passed out? What exactly had happened?

And the last thing he heard before the door opened:

“Sedative.”

Before he could process that a nurse appeased his bedside. He opened his eyes for a moment as she laid a hand over his forehead. It felt far more heavenly than a simple touch had the right to feel. She looked familiar.

“Sorry that the day didn’t turn around.” She stated as she slipped a thermometer probe under his tongue. So that’s where he recognized her from. The parking lot earlier that morning. It beeped in a matter of seconds.

Seonghwa tried to sit up to get a glance at the reading on the box-like device in her hand but was gently pushed back.

“What’s my temp?” He asked, his voice surprisingly gravelly. She sighed with a sad smile, as she injected something into his IV line. She was silent for a moment, concentrating on dosing Seonghwa with the right amount of medication.

“You’ve got a fever, honey” the nurse replied as she released the IV bag and stepped across the room, grabbing an ice pack and wrapping it in a cloth before draping it over Seonghwa’s brow. He could see her lips moving but couldn’t make out what she was saying. She even picked up the thermometer again and showed him the reading but his eyes couldn’t seem to actually make it out. Couldn’t be too bad he supposed. Or maybe, more so, hoped.

Sedative.

That’s right.

“You’re going to feel sleepy. Don’t fight it” he heard the nurse’s voice.

Fight it? After sleepless nights, dealing with endless crying, puking, fainting, sweating, sneezing, coughing, and arguing? No, fighting it didn’t even cross his mind.

[likeathunderoverflow]

I am so cooked this comeback

[darl-ingfics]

Sicktember Day 12: "You're not fine, you're throwing up."

Fandom: ATEEZ

Sickie: Yunho (stomach bug)

Caregiver(s): Jongho, with some Hongjoong

Word Count: 912

Jongho woke up to a sound he wasn't able to identify. He rolled over, hitting his phone screen. 7:30am. He sat up, frowning as his brain attempted to make sense to what he was hearing. That’s when it hit him: the distinct sound of gagging over the roar of the shower. 

Jongho was up and outside the bathroom door in seconds.

“Hyung?!” Jongho knocked. The only response was another gag. The youngest member pushed open the door, crossed the room in two steps, and ripped back the curtain. Yunho was on his knees, at the mercy of his body, throwing up in the shower. “Oh, hyung,” Jongho muttered. He reached over and turned off the water.

“Nooo.” Yunho reached a hand up towards the tap before he was cut off with a violent cough that turned into more retching. Jongho knelt on the floor outside the shower, rubbing at Yunho’s spine as he coughed up another wave of sick. 

“It’s okay,” the younger man soothed quietly. 

After a second, unproductive cough, Yunho sat back on his heels, scrubbing at his face. “Water was helping.”

“Helping with what, exactly?”

“Cleaning…” 

“That’s the last thing you should be worried about right now, hyung.” Jongho’s hand hadn’t left Yunho’s back, massaging up and down his spine. He felt the dancer’s body contract once, twice, before he was leaning over again, at the mercy of his stomach, but bringing up nothing. 

“This sucks,” Yunho whined.

“I know, I know. How long have you…?”

“I don’t know. What time is it?”

Jongho consulted his watch. “7:36.”

“Then I’ve probably been here for about fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes?!”

Yunho waved his hand. “Not… not the throwing up part. I came to take a shower fifteen minutes ago, got sick maybe… God, I don’t even know.”

“Well, at least it wasn’t fifteen minutes cause that would be a problem.” Yunho smirked at that. He closed his eyes, appreciating the feeling of Jongho’s hand on his back. The cold air hitting his wet skin, though, was less welcome, sending shivers through his body. “We should get you out of the shower.” 

“Okay.” Yunho didn’t move. Jongho squeezed his shoulder before standing up himself. He offered his hands out to the older man, carefully pulling Yunho to his feet. It was then that Jongho noticed that that dancer still had his boxers on. “Hyung, why were you wearing your underwear in the shower?” 

Yunho shrugged. “In case I passed out.”

Jongho blinked at him. “So you knew you weren’t feeling good, and you got into the shower? The most dangerous place to slip and fall?”

Yunho shrugged again. “I thought the water would feel good.”

“Did it?”

Yunho nodded. “Until I threw up, it was heavenly.”

Jongho nodded, restraining himself from sighing as he helped Yunho out of the shower. He wrapped a towel around the older man’s shoulders. “Think you can make it to your room to change, or do you want me to go grab you clothes?”

“I can make it,” Yunho replied, curling deeper into his towel. “I actually feel a lot better. Puke and rally, right?”

“Sure, hyung.” Jongho rolled his eyes as soon as Yunho moved past him and through the doorway. He would see to it that there would be no rallying for Yunho; Jongho could feel his fever plain as day while they sat in the shower. 

Still, there was work to be done. Jongho texted the group: no one use the upstairs shower for a bit. He then peeked under the sink to see what cleaning supplies were currently on hand. He didn’t find what he wanted, and resolved to simply turn the water back on and wash the shower out first, then go back with the disinfectant later. 

Hongjoong appeared a moment later. “What happened?” 

“Yunho threw up in the shower, so I want to clean it before anyone else uses it.” 

“Is he okay?” 

Jongho shrugged. “Definitely feverish. He should not be practicing today.”

Hongjoong nodded, pausing as Yunho rounded the corner from his room, dressed in his dance clothes.  

“What the…?” Hongjoong shook his head. “Yunho, what are you doing?” Jongho peeked his head into the doorway. 

Yunho shrugged. “We’re going to dance.”

“No. We’re going to dance. You’re going to bed,” Hongjoong relied. 

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, you’re throwing up,” Jongho insisted. 

“No, I threw up. Past tense. I’m good now.”

“That’s not how it works, and you know that,” the leader explained, moving forward to place his hand against Yunho’s forehead. “You have a fever, bud. That means no practice for you.” Yunho whined, shoulders slumping forward. “I know, I get it, but you know the rules.”

“But I wanna dance,” Yunho said in reply, attempting to hit Hongjoong with his most convincing puppy eyes. 

“And you’ll be able to dance a lot better sooner if you take today to rest your body,” the leader insisted, patting Yunho’s shoulder affectionately. “Besides, no one wants to see you puke in the middle of the practice room.”

Yunho gasped. “I would never!”

“Well let’s not tempt fate, shall we? Bed.” Hongjoong pointed towards the room, and Yunho shuffled off, all the fight leaving him. Hongjoong sighed. “In your professional opinion, Jongho, should he be left alone?”

“Probably not,” the youngest chuckled. “I don’t mind staying with him.” 

“You’re the hero we need.” Hongjoong cuffed Jongho’s shoulder before walking away to notify their manager of Yunho’s upcoming absence. 

[maximura]

Ateez for Elle Singapore (October 2023)

[cheollipop]

i was busy rewatching the mv like three times sorry but we know sounds fucking amazing im ascending

[smtown-tourist]

How long do y’all think Jonghyun was in heaven before he got his kazoo privileges taken away?

[joong-tori]

y’all this comeback has me going FERAL and i’m abt to be going ✨🌶️SLOW IT DOWN MAKE IT BOUNCY 지금부터 FLY🌶️✨ forever until the end of time i’m so serious

[bombuni]

do not be alarmed followers … I am Bom. How we liking the new pfp?

[hongtonie]

there are already ateez cb rumors too .. if both are true im going to riot

god for real they all need rest

[essenteez]

Bubbly speaks, bubbly writes, bubbly spits FACTS. HELP ME THIS IS SO ACCURATE 🫠

the type of dom who uses faux sympathy on his sub who keeps whining about being edged only to tut at them and remind them how they ended up in this situation in the first place 🎀

[feverishly-kpop]

Jongho & Ateez - Stomach Bug

Jongho is the strong maknae. He can split apples apart with his bare hands. He can lift his teammates with ease. So when he woke up to his alarm clock feeling less than ideal with an ache in his stomach Jongho knew he was in for a long day.

There wasn’t one member among them who wouldn’t drop everything to make sure that their teammates had everything that they needed if they were under the weather or hurt. They didn’t consider Seonghwa their “mom” for no reason. And some of the members liked being taken care of, but not Jongho. Being the youngest comes with a certain amount of special attention from everybody in their inner circle that he’s never been very comfortable with. Wooyoung would have been better suited as the group’s maknae whereas Jongho would have preferred to be a member of the hyung line.

Nonetheless, Jongho didn’t have time to dwell on the discomfort, knowing that he’d be late for his vocal lesson if he didn’t get moving. After locking himself in the bathroom he took a good look at his face in the mirror. He didn’t look too unwell besides the dark circles under his eyes, nothing a touch of sheer concealer couldn’t remedy. After applying a touch of makeup and swallowing a pain tablet, Jongho felt relatively confident that he’d make it though the day.

His thoughts were quickly interrupted by San knocking on the door, his voice sounding stressed.

“Jongho, you’re not the only one with schedules this morning, hurry up” San called as Jongho looked down at his watch. He’d been occupying the bathroom longer than he had realized but wasn’t sure where the time had gone. As he opened the door, exiting with a quiet apology, San ran in with his towel, rushing to get a shower in before he had to leave.

“Yeah, good morning to you too, hyung” Jongho muttered under his breath as his eyes rolled involuntarily.

“What do you want for breakfast?”

Jongho jumped at the voice behind him, not realizing that he wasn’t alone. Of course it was Seonghwa, the mother hen making sure that the baby chick had eaten before he left for the day.

“I’m not hungry, thanks though” Jongho replied as he slipped his shoes on. His ride would be there any minute to take him to work and he didn’t want to keep anyone waiting. But even more than that, he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to stomach any food with the pain he was feeling in his stomach still.

“Hey, please have at least a little something before you go” Seonghwa countered. Seonghwa was used to the members neglecting themselves in favor of fulfilling their numerous obligations, and he took a firm stance on making sure that his dongsaengs were taken care of, even when they needed a second or third reminder. This was especially true for the youngest.

“I said I wasn’t hungry” Jongho said coldly as he grabbed his coat of the rack. He hadn’t intended on sounding so aggressive and internally cringed when he saw how dejected his hyung looked at his response.

“Okay how about a protein bar for later? Or I can make you a smoothie? Or even…” Seonghwa tried again, desperate to ensure that his maknae had something before leaving for his solo schedule.

Rationally, Jongho knew that Seonghwa’s intentions were never anything less than good, but he was simply not in the mood for it today and the words rolled off his tongue before his brain could stop them.

“Is this how you treat Hongjoong? Or Yunho? Contrary to belief I am an adult too. If I say I’m not hungry, I’m not hungry. Stop treating me like some sort of kid.”

Jongho instantly knew that he messed up. Seonghwa had never done anything to deserve that treatment from him and Jongho would have never treated him that way under normal circumstances. His pain and irritability were no excuse but, unsure what to say or do next, he quickly turned around and opened the door, slipping out without another word.

*~*~*~*~*~

The sky was overcast and there was a damp chill in the air as the season changed from winter to spring. Jongho stared blankly out the window at nothing in particular on the ride to the company, gently rubbing his stomach as he waited for the pain medicine to kick in.

“What time do you think you’ll be done” his manager asked from the driver’s seat, glancing briefly in the rear-view mirror when he didn’t get an answer. “Jongho?”

Jongho was pulled from his thoughts at the mention of his name. “I’m sorry what?” he asked, not having heard the initial question.

“I was just asking what time you’d be done, so I can make sure you have a ride home” his manager repeated.

“Oh, I’m not sure…” Jongho started before his manager cut in.

“It’s okay, do you want me to check with the the vocal coach when we get there?”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll figure it out later” Jongho replied, his head feeling a little too foggy to think much about logistics right now.

“I just don’t want you walking back today. It’s still pretty cold out and I don’t like the idea of you walking back alone” his manager said firmly.

“Really?” Jongho said dryly. First Seonghwa, now his own manager?

His manager was about to respond before Jongho continued. “I am more than capable of figuring out when my lesson will be over. And I’m also more than capable of getting myself a ride. And, you know what, if I want to walk home, I’ll walk home. You all act like I’m helpless” Jongho said in a slightly raised voice.

His manager only sighed as they pulled into the parking garage. It was clear that Jongho wasn’t himself today but it was even more clear that he didn’t want to talk about it. After putting the car in park, he turned back to Jongho.

“I know you’re not helpless, Jongho” he said cautiously. “But I’d say the same thing to my own kids. There’s no reason to freeze and walking alone isn’t safe when…”

“Luckily I’m not a kid. Thank you for the ride” Jongho responded curtly, opening the door to the car to exit before his manager could finish.

*~*~*~*~*~

Jongho had been practicing for an hour and the pain medication still hadn’t kicked in. In fact, the uncomfortable pain he had felt when he woke up that morning had turned into a stabbing pain, complete with a mounting sensation of nausea.

“Your upper register sounds strained today” his vocal coach said softly as she handed him a bottle of water. “Have you been overusing your voice this week?”

Jongho shook his head as he sipped the water she had given him. He couldn’t help but notice that it wasn’t sitting well in his stomach and took a couple quick deep breaths with the hope of calming it down before speaking.

“No, I haven’t been overusing it” he responded before adding “well, no more than usual. You know, just for performance and rehearsal.”

She nodded thoughtfully, considering the best course of action before speaking up.

“It’s okay, we all have off days” she said kindly, “let’s call it a day so you can try and rest your voice for the rest of the day. No more singing today, and, if the schedule allows, no singing tomorrow.”

Jongho had been working with the same vocal coach since before debut. She had never been anything but absolutely kind and gracious with him and today was no exception. Yet he couldn’t help but feel that he had disappointed her today.

“Please, can I try just one more time?” Jongho managed to squeak out, his voice shaky from the increasing nausea. “I know in can do better.”

She smiled in response, shaking her head as she stood up from the piano. “I know you can do better too!” She replied, collecting her sheet music. “Your voice is your instrument, sometimes it requires some maintenance. It happens to all of us. Nothing to worry about.”

Jongho nodded lightly making sure to confirm the date and time of their next practice before leaving the room and closing the door behind him. For a moment he felt defeated, but that feeling was quickly replaced with a wave of nausea that he could no longer ignore. Quickly clasping his hand over his mouth, Jongho ran to the nearest washroom as fast as his body would allow.

*~*~*~*~*~

By the time Jongho was done vomiting what felt like everything he had eaten in his entire life, he knew that he was far sicker than he had originally anticipated. And, to add insult to injury, he didn’t have a ride back home because he had been so impertinent with his manager that morning.

Not only was Jongho strong, but he was also proud. A combination that made him confident and capable. But sometimes it was also to his detriment, like now, leaving him unable to call his manager back to admit that he was wrong and that he needed a ride. So with that, he decided to set off on the thirty minute walk from the company back home.

*~*~*~*~*~

Half way through his walk, Jongho knew he had made a massive mistake. The cold breeze had fully penetrated through his coat, leaving him shivering uncontrollably. As luck would have it, it had also started raining lightly. No more than a mist really, but enough to contribute to the unbearable chill Jongho was experiencing. And the nausea, coming in unrelenting waves, made it all but impossible to continue walking. Pulling his hat down a bit farther over his brow, Jongho admitted defeat and flopped down onto a bench situated near the sidewalk.

He took out his phone, dialing his manager’s number with trembling hands. Luckily, the call was answered almost immediately.

“Hyung, c-c-can you give me a ride home?” Jongho felt ashamed asking.

“Of course Jongho, I can be to the company in five minutes” he replied, sensing something off in Jongho’s tone.

“No” Jongho blurted out quickly. “I’m not at the company. I tried to walk…”

His manager only sighed, silent for a few moments before speaking again. “Drop a pin on your location and send it over. I’ll be there as soon as I get it.”

Luckily for Jongho, his manager had been nearby completing some personal business and was there within a few minutes. His heart dropped when he saw Jongho sitting on the bench with his knees drawn into his chest in an attempt to stay warm.

“Aish kid,” his manager muttered under his breath and he put the car in park and jumped out. “What did I tell you about walking today?” His voice sounded more concerned than angry. “This is how you get sick, Jongho” he said, grabbing Jongho’s hands and pulling him to his feet.

And that was all it took. With absolutely no notice Jongho’s stomach did a somersault sending the remaining contents of his stomach onto his manager’s shoes. Absolutely mortified Jonho looked up, his tearful eyes meeting the shocked eyes of his manager.

“Hyung, I think I’m already sick.”

*~*~*~*~*~

“I swear to you, Joong, it was the weirdest thing” Seonghwa said, recounting his run in with the maknae that morning. Seonghwa, Mingi, and Hongjoong had been working on some music at the kitchen table together before Hongjoong finally closed his laptop and asked Seonghwa what was bothering him. They all knew each other well enough to know when something wasn’t right.

“He seemed really offended, and it was totally out of the blue” Seonghwa added. He had been replaying the events of that morning over and over in his head, trying to figure out what had actually transpired and why.

“It’s not you, hyung” Mingi said confidently, resting a comforting hand on Seonghwa’s wrist. “He’s probably just tired.” Hongjoong nodded in response.

“Let’s call it a day as far as work is concerned” Hongjoong said as he stood up and put his laptop away. “We could watch a movie…” he began before turning to the living room and seeing Yunho fast asleep on the couch. “Okay maybe not a movie, but we can, I don’t know” Hongjoong sputtered, making eye contact with Mingi in a way that looked like he was pleading for help, desperate to come up with something to get Seonghwa’s mind off of what had happened that morning.

“We could go for coffee?” Mingi added tentatively, throwing a lifeline to Hongjoong who gladly accepted.

“Yeah, we could go for coffee, what do you think about that?” Hongjoong parroted back, but before Seonghwa had the opportunity to respond, all three heard the click of the lock following by the doorknob turning and the manager entering with Jongho. After pulling his jacket off, he managed to get Jongho to the couch at Yunho’s feet.

Yunho’s eyes quickly shot open as he kicked the heavy blanket off to the floor, startled by Jongho’s sudden arrival.

“I’m up, I’m up. I’m ready to leave” Yunho said, clearly confused after waking so unexpectedly.

“Wait, what? Never mind…” the manager muttered, turning back to Jongho and removing his soaking wet shoes. Jonho sat in silence, his eyes cast down.

Seonghwa, Hongjoong, and Mingi shared awkward glances, their eyes shifting between Jonho who was now turning his head away and wiping tears from his eyes, to Yunho who was still trying to find his bearings, to the manager who’s runners did not seem to match the slacks and blazer he was wearing.

“Are you feeling a bit better, Jongho?” The manager’s attention remained fully on the maknae, who was now hiding his face in his hands but nodding.

“What’s…going on?” Mingi was the first to speak up, trying to make sense of the situation.

The manager’s eyes shifted from Jongho to Mingi then quickly back to Jongho. He was clearly trying to decide how to handle all of it.

“Jongho, do you want to take a shower or head right to bed?” His voice was calm as he spoke.

“Just bed” Jongho replied. Mingi instantly moved to Jongho’s side, ready to help get him up and ready for bed despite still being clueless about what was actually going on.

The manager sighed, relieved that the situation was under control. He reached down and grabbed Yunho’s blanket. “Sorry to wake you Yunho, go back to sleep, okay?” he added as he draped the blanket over him.

Finally he turned back to Seonghwa and Hongjoong, indicating toward the kitchen. They followed him quietly, neither of them sure what to say.

“Maknae is sick” the manager said quietly to Seonghwa and Hongjoong. Seonghwa sighed, now better understanding why Jongho had been so temperamental. “Was he okay with you guys this morning?”

Seonghwa instantly shook his head. “I didn’t realize he was sick. But he was really irritable. He got mad at me for trying to get him to have some breakfast.”

The manager nodded. “He got upset with on the drive in this morning as well. He tried to walk home out of spite it would seem. When I picked him up he vomited…on my loafers.”

Hongjoong grimaced. At least that explained the runners. “Thank you for getting him back” he replied.

*~*~*~*~*~

Over the next few hours the rest of the members began to return home from their schedules and Yunho had woken from his nap. They were all gathered in the living room, quietly eavesdropping on the conversation between Seonghwa and Jongho.

“I’m not a baby” Jongho said for the umpteenth time, this time in response to Seonghwa bringing him a cup of ginger tea in bed.

“I know you’re not” Seonghwa replied softly, running his hand through Jongho’s hair. “But you are sick. So drink your tea.”

Jongho rolled his eyes but listened to his hyung and took a sip.

Satisfied with that, Seonghwa turned his back to leave Jongho to rest.

“Hyung,” Jongho called out softly. “I’m sorry for this morning.”

Seonghwa shook his head. “It’s okay” he responded before pausing for a moment. “Listen, Jongho, you’re our youngest. We care about you. But we also respect your boundaries. If we ever make you feel uncomfortable you have to let us know. But understand that we’ll never stop loving you, maknae. So get used to it.”

Jongho smiled and nodded, taking another sip of his tea before putting it down on his bedside table.

“I love you too, hyung” he said as he laid back down, pulling his blankets up to his chin.

“Oh, one last thing” Seonghwa said from the doorway. “I put a bucket by your bed in case you need to get sick again. No more puking on anybody’s shoes today.”

Jongho groaned at the embarrassing reminder, knowing he’d never live that down. But that came as part of the package as the maknae. He’d figure out another way to get his hyungs back for it, once he was feeling better.

[leenaur143]

just watched the mv for the first time and its safe to say i am still as lost as i was before but as per usual i am THRIVING AND BOPPING AHHHH

[riboism]

warm on a cold night

》 pairing: aged up professor! c.jh x fem student reader

》 plot: Choi Jongho, a middle-aged professor struggling with a midlife crisis and an unfulfilling marriage, seeks a brief escape through an affair with a bright young student he meets at a bar during a faculty Christmas party. What begins as a distraction soon forces him to confront deeper guilt and dissatisfaction, leading him to question his choices and the life he's built.

》 content: aged up and married jongho (40s), college student reader, mentions of OC, emma (jongho’s wife), cheating, alcohol, FAT COCK JONGHO AGENDA, manhandling, spanking, creampie, blowjob, face-fucking, stand and carry position, smut with some angst

》 wc: 4.7k

》 a/n: all credits for this idea goes to @yun-fangz

🎧 warm on a cold night- honne

Jongho leaned against the wall, his whiskey swirling lazily in hand as he watched his colleagues laugh and chat over the hum of soft holiday jazz. The semester had finally ended, and a handful of faculty members had chosen to unwind at a cozy bar just a few blocks from campus.

The place was charmingly festive, adorned with twinkling fairy lights, cranberry-decorated wreaths, bright red ribbons, and polished wood paneling that radiated warmth. Inside, the air was thick with the cheer of the season, a stark contrast to the biting cold winds just beyond the frosted windows. Yet, no matter how long he lingered near the fireplace, or how many shots burned in his chest, the chill from outside seemed to cling to him, refusing to melt away in the glow of the celebration.

Jongho lingered in the corner, isolating himself from the rest of the group. He watched the other professors mingle, their laughter bubbling over clinking glasses. The sight stirred a mix of envy and disdain. Their holiday cheer felt hollow, a performance, and yet he resented how effortlessly they seemed to pull it off.

He’d considered skipping the party altogether but couldn’t bear the thought of going home tonight. Not yet.

He shouldn’t be drinking—not this much, anyway—but he kept ordering pint after pint, convincing himself that each one would drown his thoughts a little more. And for a while, it worked. Until it didn’t. Now, his thoughts swirled darker, heavier, impossible to ignore.

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year,” or so the song went. Jongho begged to differ. The Christmas trees, the holiday sales, the relentless jingles—it all made him tense. He was sick of it. Sick of forcing smiles through strained dinners. Sick of walking on eggshells at home. Sick of pretending that everything was fine, that he was still happily married, that he still wanted this. And the thought of hosting Emma’s family for Christmas dinner this year made his stomach churn. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up the facade.

What gnawed at him most was that he couldn’t point to any one thing to explain his unhappiness. There’d been no affair, no fights, no children to argue over. Just a slow, relentless erosion of something he couldn’t name. He had simply checked out, growing numb.

Emma, once a beacon of warmth and brilliance, now felt dimmed to him, like a candle flickering from a draft. He thought back to their early years—the long dinners spent debating poetry, the late nights whispering sweet nothings in the dark, tangling into each other over white satin sheets, her longing for him even when he was only a few feet away. Now, their evenings were quiet, their conversations perfunctory. They ate in near silence, their words dried up like an old well. Nights in bed were worse: two bodies lying back-to-back, the weight of unspoken things pressing down on the space between them, the burning desire for each other now snuffed out like a dying flame.

It wasn’t her fault, not really. And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was suffocating.

Unlike the rest of the faculty, Jongho wasn’t looking forward to the long winter break. While his colleagues spoke eagerly of trips, family gatherings, and restful days at home, he found himself filled with a quiet, gnawing dread. Work had become his refuge—long hours at the office, stacks of papers to grade, and the pretense of ‘office hours’ no one ever attended. It was all a convenient shield. The thought of being home with Emma, with no deadlines or lectures to hide behind, felt almost unbearable.

He’d toyed with the idea of seeing a lawyer. The thought of ending it all—cleanly, definitively—had crossed his mind more times than he cared to admit. But every time, the guilt stopped him. How could he serve her divorce papers without a clear reason? No betrayal, no dramatic blowout, just the suffocating weight of his own unhappiness. It felt cruel, cowardly.

So, instead, he stayed. He let his depression settle in, heavy and inescapable, like an unwelcome guest. His wedding ring sat on his finger like a shackle, not a symbol of love but an anchor pulling him further into the depths of his discontent. Some days, he wondered what it would feel like to let it drag him all the way down to the bottom of the sea.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, staring down at the empty glass in his hand. The amber traces of his last drink clung stubbornly to the bottom, mocking him. With a groan, he pushed himself off the wall and stumbled back to the bar, his movements heavy and unsteady. He leaned over the polished counter, shaking his glass slightly to catch the bartender's attention. Without a word, the bartender nodded and began pouring another whiskey neat, the amber liquid glinting under the soft, golden lights.

As Jongho waited, his gaze drifted. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her—a familiar girl, laughing softly among two friends at a table on the far side of the bar. Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders, and her giggles carried just enough to reach him, rising above the hum of the crowd and the muted jazz playing overhead. For a moment, he squinted, trying to place her. Then it clicked.

Y/N. His student.

He remembered your paper on Keats’ Ode on Melancholy. It was rare for him to recall specific assignments, let alone be impressed by them. Most of his students treated his class like an obligation, churning out rushed, half-hearted essays that betrayed their indifference to literature. But your work had stood out—not just for its clarity and depth, but for the way it annoyed him.

You’d written with optimism, arguing that Keats saw melancholy as a companion to joy, as something that heightened the beauty of life rather than drowning it. Jongho had scoffed at your words as he read them, unable to reconcile your argument with his own misery. To him, melancholy wasn’t some poetic counterpoint to happiness—it was a relentless weight, suffocating and inescapable. Still, he couldn’t deny the paper’s quality or the sincerity behind it. 

The bartender slid his whiskey across the counter, snapping Jongho out of his thoughts. He picked it up, taking a long, deliberate sip before glancing back at you. Your friends had gotten up and were weaving through the crowd toward the exit, leaving you alone at the table. You didn’t seem to notice right away, your attention fixed on your phone, but when you looked up, a flicker of disappointment crossed your face.

Jongho hesitated. He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. But the whiskey burned warm in his chest, loosening his inhibitions and drowning out the voice of reason. Before he could think better of it, he picked up his glass and made his way toward you.

“Y/N?” he said, his voice low and slightly unsteady.

You looked up, startled, your eyes widening in recognition. “Professor Choi?”

He gave you a faint smile, gesturing toward the empty chair next to you. “Mind if I join you?”

You hesitated, glancing toward the door your friends had disappeared through. Then, with a small shrug and a curious smile, you gestured for him to sit.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your tone light but your eyes searching his face.

“Same thing as everyone else, I suppose,” he replied, settling into the chair. “Avoiding reality.”

Your lips curved into a half-smile. “That’s not how you struck me in class.”

He raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “How did I strike you, then?”

You hesitated again, as if weighing your words, before saying, “Like someone who sees too much reality to avoid it.”

The comment caught him off guard, and for the first time that night, Jongho felt seen. Vulnerable, but in a way he didn’t mind. He took another sip of his whiskey, the silence between you stretching just long enough to feel charged.

“So,” he said, setting his glass down. “Do you always come to bars like this, or is tonight special?”

You laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “My friends dragged me here. They’ve abandoned me for some frat party, so… I guess that’s my answer.”

Jongho nodded, leaning back slightly. “Their loss.”

Your cheeks flushed faintly at the comment, and for the first time, he noticed how young you seemed outside the context of his lectures. Yet, your presence held a gravity that felt far beyond your years.

And as the conversation unfolded, Jongho couldn’t quite shake the thought: he shouldn’t be here, saying these things, feeling this pull. But he stayed anyway. “Can I ask you something?” 

You paused, your fingers brushing the rim of your shot glass. You shared the same thought he had: maybe you shouldn’t be here, talking to him, sharing drinks, lingering longer than politeness demanded. But there was something about him tonight—a quiet vulnerability that mirrored your own. You could see it in his slightly hunched posture, in the way his eyes didn’t quite meet yours until they did, holding just a second too long.

And maybe, you admitted to herself, you felt a pull too. You were lonely. It was clear he was, too, and that unspoken connection put you at ease in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Sure,” you said softly.

Jongho leaned in, his voice dropping, as though he were about to share a secret. “Why Keats? Why not something easy, like Poe? Do you know how many essays I’ve graded on The Tell-Tale Heart or The Raven? Yours was the only outlier.”

You tilted her head, a small, thoughtful smile playing on your lips. You rubbed your fingers absentmindedly against the glass, the tequila inside still untouched. “I don’t know,” you said with a shrug, though your tone suggested otherwise. “I guess it’s just… comforting, you know?”

“Comforting?” He blinked, genuinely puzzled. “You think melancholy is comforting?”

You nodded, meeting his eyes directly. “Yeah. It’s like... it’s always there. Inevitable. You can’t escape it, but once you stop trying to, it feels less heavy. More like... a part of you. It’s something to be embraced, something to be experienced. It’s human. I think Keats got that.”

For a moment, Jongho didn’t respond. Your words hung in the air, resonating with something buried deep within him. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, his thoughts turning over themselves. “Most people run from it,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “They see it as a weakness. Something to be fixed.”

“Maybe it is,” you admitted, your gaze dropping to your drink. “But it’s also honest. Keats thought melancholy was the start of a new transition in life. Drowning it out by distracting yourself with alcohol or drugs would just ruin it.”

Jongho looked down at his drink. Your words struck a chord he hadn’t felt in years. This was the kind of conversation he used to have with Emma, back when they stayed up late talking about literature and life before the silence crept in. He felt the faintest spark—a flicker of something he couldn’t name. Connection, maybe.

“You think there’s harm in a little distraction?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes anything but. His gaze lingered on your face, studying every detail as though seeing you for the first time.

Maybe it was the whiskey or the fact that there was no desk separating you this time, but he realized how different you looked up close. Your eyes were wide, filled with a youthful energy that seemed so foreign to him. They practically radiated life, a stark contrast to the weight he carried in his own. The soft glow of the red Christmas lights hanging above reflected off your skin, casting a warm, rosy hue across your cheeks. He hadn’t noticed before—maybe he hadn’t let himself—but you were pretty.

You tilted your head slightly, your lips curling up in a shy smile as you considered his words. “I guess it depends on the distraction,” you said, your voice light, but there was a hint of curiosity there.

He took a slow sip of the dark liquid, his gaze never leaving yours. “Some distractions are good,” he said, his tone low and measured. “When you’re feeling stuck. Or....”

“Lonely?” you suggested, your voice soft and careful.

His expression shifted, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t his usual polite, practiced smile; it was something quieter, more real. Like you’d hit on something he wasn’t ready to say out loud.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to really look at him. The crinkles around his eyes and the subtle greys in his hair hinted at his age, but there was a boyish charm in the way his lips curved into that sly, gummy smile. It made you wonder what he looked like a decade ago, though you suspected he’d been just as magnetic.

Professor Choi was handsome—you’d known that since the first lecture. Most of the students had agreed on it, passing whispered comments and exchanging sly glances whenever he turned to write on the board. You’d harbored your own quiet crush on him, but it had been harmless, distant, academic.

This, however, was different.

Here, in this dimly lit bar, with his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a sliver of his collarbone, his salt-and-pepper hair slightly tousled, and the way his eyes lingered on you—longer than they should—you felt something shift. A warmth spread through you, pooling in your stomach, forcing you to press your thighs together under the table. 

You traced the rim of your glass with your finger, the smooth rhythm giving you a moment to collect your thoughts. His gaze followed the movement of your hand, his whiskey glass forgotten for the moment.

“And what kind of distraction are you looking for, Professor?” you asked finally, your voice low, testing.

His eyes flicked back to yours, and for a second, he seemed to hesitate. His smile faded into something more serious, almost contemplative. “The kind that makes you feel something…something different,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur.

There was a rawness in his words that made your breath hitch. You liked it. He wasn’t like most of the boys you talked to. Of course, he wasn’t just any boy; he was almost twenty years your senior, and with that came maturity and experience. It was different—refreshing, in a way.

You hadn’t realized how close you were to him until now. Your knees brushed under the table, a subtle contact that sent an electric spark up your spine, though neither of you acknowledged it. The scent of his cologne—a mix of mint and sandalwood—filled your nostrils, making it harder to focus. His presence was all around you now, and you couldn’t pull away.

Your gaze drifted down to his hand, still holding his drink, and there, gleaming under the bar’s soft lights, was a shiny gold band on his finger. The sight of it made something inside you tighten, and your shoulders sagged with sudden disillusionment.

“And what if you’re not sure if it’s just a harmless distraction or a momentary lapse in judgment?” you asked.

He caught your glance at his ring, and the weight of it hit him, harder than he expected. Part of him recoiled, disgusted with himself for letting things get this far. Shame settled over him like a cloak. But another part, the part that had been suffocating for so long, felt a strange relief. He was tired—tired of thinking, tired of fighting. For once, he just wanted to feel something. He twisted his wedding ring around his finger, lost in thought, before looking back at you.

“I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

—

Jongho hissed as he watched you part your lips over his throbbing tip. You were kneeling in front of him, your knees cushioned by the fluffy pink rug that lay before your bed. You two had stumbled into your apartment not too long ago, kissing and tugging at each other’s clothes, until the desire within you grew too strong to resist, and you began palming his crotch crazily until you felt him harden in your hand. 

You guided him into your mouth, your skilled tongue swirling around his girth with delight. His cock was so hard and heavy on your tongue that you couldn’t help but bring your fingers down to your clothed heat, rubbing yourself desperately as you imagined how good he’d feel when he’s buried deep inside you. You held onto his cock with your other hand, giving it a few lazy pumps as you sucked and slurped him.

“Feels so good baby,” he panted, his gaze fixated on you. Jongho refused to blink, stuck in a trance in which he couldn’t escape. You looked so sweet with your mouth stuffed full of him, your reddened, puffy lips and teary wet eyes enticing him even further. He felt himself melting into you, his core tightening in anticipation, but he held himself off, just enough to keep enjoying your warmth. 

Jongho grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling it up into a makeshift ponytail so he could have better control. “All the way princess,”  he coached, pushing you down his length until your nose was pressed against his pelvic bone. “Just like that, good girl,” he hummed, proud to see you take all of him so easily. You gagged around him, tears blurring your vision as he guided your head up and down, his sweet, honey-like moans making your core throb. 

Your eyes fluttered up to meet him, watching intently as he tilted his head back, his brows knitting together and his mouth falling open. Each breath he took grew shakier, more unsteady, and you knew he was close. Despite his efforts, Jongho couldn’t hold it in anymore, and he reached his peak somewhat prematurely. He pushed your head down firmly, his hips stilling as he flooded into you. The taste of his salty, thick cum overpowered you, and you moaned in satisfaction over the crown of his cock, forcing him to grasp onto your hair even tighter.

“Swallow,” he rasped, fucking the last bit of cum he had left into your pretty mouth, “all of it sweetheart, don’t waste a drop.” 

You gulped his creamy white just as he demanded, the bitterness on your tongue and his desperate whines making your head spin. You came off him with a plop, licking your lips to prove you listened to his directions well. 

“Good girl,” he smiled down at you, wiping away a tear from your warm, red cheeks. His thumb lingered over your skin as he watched you lick him clean, your soft kisses on his tender head making his gut tighten in overstimulation.  

You then wrapped your fingers around him tightly, his pretty cock standing tall in your small grasp. You lined his veiny length with wet, messy kisses, grinning to yourself each time he jolted and gasped in response to your touch. When you finally pulled back to look up at him, you were met with the sight of his flushed face, his chest rising and falling heavily. A light sheen of sweat clung to his brow, and he looked utterly spent— as if he might collapse into a long slumber at any moment. 

"What's the matter, Professor?" you teased, your voice low and taunting, "Can't keep up like you used to, huh?"

Jongho chucked at your little jab. He leaned down, cupping your face tightly with his hand. “Oh, don’t worry darling, I’m just getting started.” 

—

“F-fuck!” You wailed for the nth time as you fucked yourself over his hard cock, grasping onto your headboard to keep you steady. Your thighs burned with exhaustion, each movement growing heavier and more difficult. Your pace slowed significantly, despite your determination to keep going. Each time you lost your rhythm, Jongho would send a harsh smack on your ass, warning you to keep going. 

He sat against the headboard, nipping and sucking at your tender nipples as you rode him, his big hands grasping at your rear to keep you in place. He loved how you felt in his hands, your skin so soft and malleable, a complete contrast to your wet and tight cunt. 

Smack. 

The sting ignited a fiery pleasure on your skin, but the overwhelming exhaustion had you teetering on the edge of collapse.“Please, Professor,” You begged with tears streaming down your cheeks, “just wanna cum…wanna cum on your fat cock.” 

Jongho finally gave your swollen breasts a much-needed break, plopping off your flesh and sinking back against the headboard. He looked up at you in pure fascination, completely mesmerized by your messy hair and fucked-out expression. “Then cum baby…” He cooed, “What, do you need my permission?” 

Your pace faltered once again, the little bit of strength you had left in your legs finally giving out. You yelped as he brought down yet another hard smack to your already red, sensitive skin. “Please...need help.” 

Jongho understood now. He repositioned his hands onto your hips, grasping them tightly as he took over and jerked his hips up. He pounded into you so rapidly, the sounds of your frenzied moans and smacking flesh filling up the room. 

“Almost there…” He huffed, his eyes locked onto your core, “cum baby, cum all over my dick, need to feel it.” 

Following his words, your walls tightened around him, and before you knew it, your knees buckled in and a wave of relief took over you. You fell over into his chest, crying out as he pumped himself into you slowly now, your slick gushing all over him. 

“That’s it,” He purred into your ear, your chests heaving against each other, “that’s a good girl. Made such a mess, didn’t you?” 

The way he talked to you made you dizzy, and if it was possible to cum from just being called his good girl, you most definitely would. His movements paused, giving you a chance to catch your breath. Your lips lightly traveled over his shoulder, to his neck, until you finally met his plush lips. You felt his big hands caressing your bare back as he kissed you hungrily, his lips tasting of hard whiskey and sweat. He was still inside of you, and the excitement from your moany, wet lips made him stiffen up again. 

Suddenly, he flipped you over on your back, your head falling onto your stack of pillows. You let out a soft groan as his lips pulled away from yours, longing for the kiss to linger just a moment longer. You ran your fingers through his soft, dark strands as he traced his lips over the swells of your breast, making his way down to your wet heat. You gasped loudly as he pecked your skin, his practiced tongue parting your folds until finally reached your aching clit. 

“Taste so sweet,” he moaned into you, the vibration from his deep voice making goosebumps prickle all over your skin. You were so sensitive now, each swirl of his tongue making you melt further into the mattress. 

You lost yourself in his warm mouth, arching your back and writhing in pleasure over your messed up sheets. But then, the warmth slipped away, replaced by a sudden, isolating chill. 

Jongho stood at the edge of the bed now, pulling you closer to him before abruptly lifting you up. You gasped at the sudden move, your arms and legs wrapping around him almost instantly. 

“What are you doing?” You asked, still feeling hazy and confused from the interruption until you felt him tap his cockhead on your dripping cunt. 

You had never been in this position before. It felt all too new, too risky, and you worried if he’d be able to support you all the way. “Professor, I don’t know…” you hesitated, a look of anxiety washing over your soft features. 

Jongho’s lips curled up in that same boyish grin of his. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Afraid you can’t keep up with me?” 

Your nerves disappeared and gave way to determination. "No," you scoffed, a playful glint in your eye. "I’m just worried about your back. Wouldn’t want you to pull something.” 

Jongho smirked. He liked how quick you were with your jabs. “How considerate.” 

He pointed his cockhead towards your cunt, leveling you down just enough so he could slip inside of you. You screamed out as he pulled you up and down his length, working you open like the pocket pussy he keeps locked away in his office. His unrelenting tempo forced you to hold onto his broad shoulders for dear life. 

Jongho was strong. He held you up with ease, supporting you with a tight and secure grasp under your thighs. The sounds of your broken sobs and wet skin smacking against his made your cheeks flame red, which Jongho noticed immediately. He loved seeing you so bashful. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum if you keep screaming like that, sweetie,” He said against your ear. Your pussy was so open, and each pump over his cock felt raw and hard. There was a mix of pain and pleasure; the sweet feeling of his cock massaging your walls, and the pain of him jutting into you so deep with precision. You swore you were starting to see stars.

He slowed down, and you expected to feel his cum rush inside you, but when you looked up at him, his expression softened with worry evident in his eyes. 

“Oh, you're crying baby,” He soothed as he gently placed you back on the bed. You hadn’t realized the stream of tears running down your cheeks, your mind too preoccupied with being split open over his thick cock. He quickly leaned over you, his lips brushing against your salty tears, his hands gliding soothingly along your sides. “Want me to stop?” 

Your fingers tangled in his hair once more, threading through the soft strands as he trailed kisses across your face. A soft giggle escaped you, charmed by his sudden tenderness and care. 

“I want you to cum inside me,” You whispered, your voice tinged with a burning need. 

Without haste, he slipped into you once again, this time slow and steady, his face just millimeters away from yours. He thrust into you in languid strokes, leaving soft touches all over your skin like you were a fragile vase he didn’t want to tip over. 

“You feel so good,” He praised, sucking in the soft bit of flesh at your neck, “you’re doing so well for me.” 

His pace quickened again, he was just seconds away from reaching his climax. His breath felt hot against your skin, his dark brown eyes glinting with a fiery desire. “Kiss me,” he whispered, his voice thick with need, “kiss me when I cum inside you.” 

It wasn’t an odd request, but the way he said it—so desperate, so filled with need—you felt you had no other choice but to oblige. You pulled him in closer, your lips finding his once more. You both moved with equal fervor, your hands cradling onto his strong jaw as his cock twitched inside of you. Jongho groaned, his hips going still as he spilled into you, his warm seed filling you up. You laid like that for a while, your lips continuing to move in sync as his pearly white cum leaked out of you. 

—

Later that night, you rested against his chest, your breathing steady as he ran his fingers through your hair. You were deep asleep now, but Jongho remained wide awake, his gaze fixed on the wedding band he'd placed on your nightstand. A wave of guilt slowly crept in, sinking its teeth into him. He wondered what Emma might be doing at this very moment. Losing his phone at the bar meant she most likely bombarded him with calls and texts, desperate for answers—wondering where he was, if he was okay, when he was coming home. He relished his time with you, the feeling of experiencing something new, something that made him feel alive. But your words haunted him. "What if you're not sure if it's just a harmless distraction or a momentary lapse in judgment?"

He thought it over, turning it in his mind like a puzzle he couldn’t solve. This wasn’t just about one night. It wasn’t about the alcohol, or the thrill of doing something he thought would give him a sense of control. He’d replaced drink with sex, thinking it would numb the ache, solve his midlife crisis, fill the emptiness. But it didn’t. It just made everything more complicated.

He felt even less of a man now. The feeling of power that once came with teaching, with being wanted, had faded. In the wake of it all, he felt small, insignificant. What was the point of it all? What was he really searching for? The guilt had been creeping in, but now it was fully consuming him.

This wasn’t just about breaking away from his marriage; it was about breaking down the man he thought he was. And as he lay there, staring at the ceiling, it became painfully clear: this wasn’t a solution. It was a reminder of everything he had lost and could never reclaim.

The warmth of your body against his and your hair's softness felt like a fleeting comfort. It made him feel seen in a way he hadn’t in years, but it didn’t fix the hole inside him. And no matter how much he wanted to ignore it, the truth remained: he was still trapped in a life he didn’t know how to leave behind.

a/n: feedback is appreciated

[fleurdov]

this is like not a coherent analysis of the chapter at all! I just don’t have enough room in the tags for the things I usually say🤝🏾so first off THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE UPDATE??? IT WAS SO GOOD????????

can i just say the party scene had me stressed with okay like so obvious spoilers ahead but i waited a couple of days and it’s been clawing at my brain and i have to let out my thoughts how much Mc was drinking though like I was sweating thinking she was gonna miss the time to meet with San or somehow let it slip or something. I had to giggle when she was gonna go over to Jongho tho and her looking at Yunho is so real

Also the convo with hwa at the party where he said Mingi definitely wasn’t better off before hand, and how when we tried to leave he hasn’t been the same literally made me :( I know Seonghwa is like the worsttt but I trust him the most out of everyone here so it just makes me remember how this all started with Mingi, but also makes me think about that convo between San and him where Mingi says that he was never the target just a means to get to Mc and that makes me even more nervous. IM SO GLAD WE GOT TO TALK TO HIM THO, though it’s hard for me to trust his words too bc ya know Hongjoong.

“You might not think of me as your best friend anymore, but I value our friendship more than anything else in my life, (Y/n). More than Hongjoong, more than The Answer, more than all of this; you are what I thank God for everyday. If something happened to you, I don’t think I would survive it.”

nvm this had me on the floor sobbing like hello???? minus what he says about the insane man afterwards i choose to ignore that part but this convo was so sweet and i’m glad it was had bc I fear for him like everyday but also now that they are “made up” i’m even more scared

CAN I JUST SAY AS SOON AS SAN SAID HE HAD TO GO BACK MY STOMACH CURLED UP like I knew weren’t escaping but the idea of being alone????? it gave me ptsd to the corn fields like I actually went through it😭AND WHEN SEONGHWA KNOCKED ON THE WINDOW???? my soul left my body i had to literally take a moment before i continued because i knew things were about to not be good

“Why are you crying? Are you leaving?” He sounds so sad that your heart nearly shatters. You're leaving?” He asks again, “without me?” 

shutuoshutuoshutupshutupshutup drunk seonghwa is making me upset and uncomfortable and i wanna hug him but i know it’s a trap but it’s such a good trap. and the fact that he says he won’t tell and repeating that we’ll both be fine if I just come back ALL WHILE CRYING??? this scene is heart wrenching was your goal to hurt my feelings bc my feelings are hurt right now. All i can think of this those characters analysis you’ve posted for Seonghwa about the parallels between him and mc and just knowing that it hurts to see this scene go down even more to me. And the fact that Mc knew that there was so escape??? perfection my soul is rotting.

“You glance at Seonghwa, who still has his back turned to you. He seems to be shaking, but you find it hard to believe that, even in this scenario, he would cry for you. This has to be part of it, right? Part of making you feel guilty?”

STOP(if you haven’t noticed i’m like in love with seonghwa idc if he’s the worst i love him so much)

Can I just say the way you write Hongjoong is brilliant! The scene where he’s about to drag you back through the woods to the barn is I wasn’t scared? but it definitely still felt like waiting for him to snap and that felt even worse? Ooo and Joong calling Mc selfish for self preservation is crazy bc the moral greyness of it all. I’ve found myself being like i don’t want mc to get san or anyone else hurt but then I remembered hey! they got her hurt they brought her here! and when you’re in this i need to escape mode it’s definitely hard to think unselfishly so for her to be called out on it but the most selfish of them all to manipulate at her at one of her lowest is just wowwwww

and before i rant about the ending scene oh my gosh I just- I imagine Jongho just tryna have his alone time and seeing mc and being like 🫥i don’t get paid enough

SEE okay Hongjoong is so good at manipulating that I literally had to pause and be like “no San didn’t kill Hanseul right???” Like bro had me questioning myself he’s so SICK also San calling him a psycho had me giggling cause that definitely was not part of the script

I’m still like in circles that Hongjoong told San to make this escape plan bc like one hand when San first proposed the plan that’s exactly what I thought was going on bc San was so devoted to Hongjoong? But after seeing Sans pov(granted i’m not sure what’s accurate anymore) I’m not convinced of his loyalty to Hongjoong so I chose to believe that he was in a way loyal and looking out for Mc in the best way he knew how I mean the dude is a cult member at the end of the day??? But also I DONT TRUST ANYTHING HONGJOONG SAYS HE LIES FOR FUN THIS WHOLE CULT IS LITERALLY JUST HIM LYING FOR FUn so I’m like??? I don’t believe that San truly is betraying us like this!?? But maybe I’m just foolish and extremely stupid. Like San hasn’t been cruel to us?? and to instigate a conversation on what we would do after escape the cult would be so freaking cruel???? I just i’m fighting between wanting to have some faith left in San because if I don’t that means Hongjoong really is right and I hate a world where Hongjoong is right!!!(Ive also looked at Characters pinterest boards you’ve made more times than I care to admit👉🏾👈🏾and i take those into account so it’s just hard for me to fully believe in san betraying us like this) But again maybe I’m delusional and if that’s the case then me and Joong are like this 🫱🏾‍🫲🏼

Was not expecting Mc to launch herself and beat San tho! Like girl wait!!! But also these men have trapped you here so at the same time? Go girl? But hongjoong is obviously satisfied with this so I feel so much dread and uncomfortableness and I feel so horrible for San even though I know I shouldn’t???? But I definitely feel horrible for Mc and I just wanna give her a hug

“You’re sure that he’s planning on strangling you, there’s a sweet little look in his eyes that tells you everything you need to know.”

OOOO THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTINGGGGGG(mc and hwa) this is so horrible give me 12 more of them! no but actually the fact that mc is just baiting whoever she needs to bait into attempting to off her makes my heart clench this poor girl. I hate it so much she doesn’t deserve this!!!! What I wasn’t expecting was San to start going in on Hwa though! Like if anything solidified San has some sort of messed up love loyalty to Mc it’s this and I dont(do) like it!

“Doesn't this make you feel good? Seeing what San would do for you? Even after it’s all over?” He whispers so close that his breath tickles your ear. “It could always be like this. Everyone could love you like this.” 

“Love? This is love? Your ploy to upset Hongjoong by including Seonghwa failed. If there isn’t love lost between the two of them, then what on earth about this is love? Still, your heart skips a beat”

HONGjoong you’re a sick demented tiny man and i hate you and I hate that this is going according to your plan!

ALSO sEONGHWA AND SAN SOBBING IN THE BACKGROUND WHIKE HWA TURNS AWAY AND SLAPS HONGJOONG HAND AWAY?? Deserved on Hongjoong part but seonghwa baby boy please forgive me! But Then i have to remember that he is actually the worst!

and this man had the nerve to comfort and hug mc after everything. He is- He’s really good like in a way bc throughout this whole story mc has stayed strong in not giving him what he wants and not believing him but this scene just flipped ALL OF THAT?? And that is truly what’s so scary? Her finding his presence grounding and seeing that he’s right it makes me feel so much dread for the upcoming chapters. Like until this moment I never thought that Mc could be fully fully manipulated or turned by Hongjoong but now I fear it may be a possibility and now all of those warning from Seonghwa about the not ifs but when’s are starting to seem scarier now. WE LOVE A DOOMED NARRATIVE

OVERALL I LOVED THIS CHAPTER AND IM FLABBERGASTED!!!! Like I need to think more of the chapter and look make at my previous reblogs and interims to put together better thoughts but for now I just wanted to express how much I loved this!!!!!!!!!

san, seonghwa and joong at the end of the chapter

everyone read The Answer like immediately!

THE ANSWER: XXVIII

Kim Hongjoong doesn’t like the word ‘cult.’ He prefers ‘sect.’ pairing: ateez x fem reader genre: cult au, thriller, angst check warnings on AO3

← previous || next → || masterlist chapter word count: 14,305 chapter warnings: alcohol consumption

Your month drags on. Despite the heightened activity around the farm, nothing much changes in your day-to-day schedule. You wake up at the same time, listen to Hongjoong ramble for the same amount of time, eat the same meals with the same people, and eventually sleep at the same time. Even book club is monotonous, barely even happening— but that might have more to do with the fact that Seonghwa (who conducts most of your lessons) seems even less enthused about having to spend an hour talking to you than you are. 

Which is strange— ish. Not that you expected much different from him, but you had thought that… or, well, at least, you weren’t feeling such a burning hatred for him anymore, so, maybe… 

But that’s silly. Of course Seonghwa still doesn’t give a rat's ass about you, why would he? All you’ve ever done is be a pain in his side. Even when he’s… comforted you in the past… its been to relieve his own discomfort or guilty conscious, not to actually help you. Probably.

You truly have no idea. Seonghwa is an enigma. 

In a way, though, you’re glad that he’s at least mostly off your case. Maybe due to your slight mental breakdown after seeing the… thing… Seonghwa seems to be less eager to poke fun at you. Not nice by any standards, but he’s certainly less devious around you. 

Which also means that he hasn’t been prying into your personal life. Thankfully. With the secret of your escape looming over your every thought, it would be just like you to accidentally slip-up in front of Seonghwa and blow the whole thing. 

Instead, he keeps things very formal. He doesn’t put his hands on you, he doesn’t stare at your face with that scrunched-up look, he doesn’t ask questions about you or your day or San or anything else. He talks to you about The Answer and lets you leave after. 

Though the arrangement is a bit startling at first, you get used to it quickly. Hongjoong appears less and less at these meetings, not even making an appearance in the last two weeks of the month. You have no idea what he could possibly be so busy doing, but you’re not complaining. 

Over the course of the month, there were several more rituals, similar to the tune of the one that you had participated in. Luckily, you were not called to participate in any of them, and no more— and your hesitant to even give whatever happened a name, but— Guardians appear to confuse and scare the everliving fuck out of you. 

More and more, you find yourself absentmindedly reaching to touch the pins on the collar of your shirt, fiddling with them whenever your hands are free. You want to think that it has nothing to do with Hongjoong’s bullshit about the Sign protecting you… and it doesn’t! Not at all! That would be crazy! It’s just a habit. Like spinning a ring or twisting a necklace. 

… You’ll go with that, anyways. 

Occasionally, you still have nightmares about your encounter. What a horrible night that all was. Obviously, there still is nothing in you that can believe that Guardians are real. That would be silly. And insane. But it’s only natural that you’re still upset about the whole situation. Whatever had happened, it had scared the shit out of you. It affected you— it makes sense that your subconscious would be fixated on such a traumatic memory. 

Right…? Or maybe you’re still actively thinking about that night and what the fuck had happened. Could it have been what Hongjoong said? Could he be right? Or were you blitzed out on some mysterious drug and everyone else was just lying about what they saw? Could Hongjoong manage that?

He probably could. It couldn’t be that hard for him to convince the entire cult into gaslighting you into believing that they had all seen the thing, too. But San… He wouldn’t lie to you about it, right? You find that very hard to believe. 

Thinking on it, San had, of course, never outright said that he had seen the same thing as you— you had never spoken in detail with him about it… But he was disturbed enough to set your escape into motion, which must count for something. Maybe he had seen a Guardian and was terrified enough to run. 

These sorts of thoughts dominate your month. 

You had volunteered to help out with the harvest, almost pleading with San for something to do. You were sure that Wooyoung would take your help back in the kitchens, but Hongjoong denied you any opportunity that seemed to come your way. He wanted you with San, where he could see you. 

Which is stupid, in your opinion. Hongjoong has the Followers, all of whom are incredibly devoted to him; any of them would give you up in a heartbeat if they saw you trying anything that you shouldn’t. He could assign literally anyone to watch you while you did a task, and it would achieve the same thing as having San at your side. But no. You were forced to rot in your apartment, glancing over San’s shoulder to his laptop on occasion, hoping to see something that could brighten your mood (or give you more information). 

Most of the time, you watch out your window, hoping to snag another glance at Mingi. There are a few times when you can see him in the field, but the Followers make quick work of the harvest nearest the compound, and move farther and farther away as the month rolls onward. Sometimes, you swear you can see his hair in the distance, reflecting the sun so brightly. It gets harder and harder to remember why you fought. Why you were holding a grudge. Could you really blame him for having your best interests at heart?

Sure, he had been a little possessive and freaky, but, like, he was kind of telling the truth. And he was just trying to make sure that San wasn’t hurting you.

You’re probably just making excuses for him, now, as you miss his company. Here you were, a cult member, locked away in an apartment, all for him— and you don’t even have him. You can’t even speak with him freely. The irony isn’t lost on you. 

Anyways, it doesn’t come as much of a shock when Hongjoong announces that the harvest is complete. Though the month might have been one of the longest of your life, watching the field workers get farther and farther away everyday at least gave you a sense of time passing. When even their tractors were tiny specks that you could hardly see without squinting, it was clear that the work was almost finished. 

The announcement is met with much fanfare, though you’re not sure why. From what you make of it, Halloween is always the date on which the harvest celebration occurs. It shouldn’t be much of a surprise that the harvest is over, especially with the date looming so soon, but the Followers all seem overjoyed. Maybe they’re all just ready to relax after a long, toiling month. 

That said, the day itself comes much faster than you anticipated. Hongjoong made the announcement of the end of the Harvest on the 25th of the month, leaving six days between the sermon for celebration and the actual ceremony itself. 

Which left you with six days to finish your mental preparations for your escape. 

San had refined your plan over the month, including making a timeline of the night and the places you should find yourself. He took over the entire plan, which you really couldn’t be more thankful for. His knowledge of the farm and the workings of the cult provided a level of security that you would have never been able to achieve on your own. 

In essence, the plan remained the same. When the ceremonial party began at 6pm, you would have nothing to worry about… besides socializing for the next nine hours. Just follow the vibes, and you would be okay. San was sure that you would have free reign during the party, that you’d be allowed to be away from a higher-ups side once the alcohol was flowing. At three, you would meet with San near the front doors, trying to not be seen, and make your way into the woods beyond the compound, where San will have stashed your car in the days leading up to the ceremony (it was as he was telling you this that he admitted to having the keys to your car in his office this entire time). 

Despite the simplicity of the plan, you figured that it would probably work. As long as you didn’t raise any suspicions in the coming days, and as long as everything went smoothly on Halloween, there was no reason to dwell on the possibility of it failing. 

Another failed escape attempt was unlikely to be something that you would survive, you knew this. Even with Hongjoong’s delusional belief that you are someone important to him and his religion, you weren’t sure he could tolerate this level of disobedience— at the very least, it would be disastrous if you failed. At worst, you would be leading San and yourself to early graves. 

Maybe Hongjoong’s twisted dependence on you would mean that he couldn’t kill you… But you weren’t going to count on it. He had threatened your life in the past, and you were quite certain that he meant it. He would be able to reason out a way that killing you made sense, if you pissed him off enough.

So. You simply had to make sure that you did not fail. Because you didn’t want to find out what Hongjoong would do with you if you did. 

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。. 

Much like the rest of the month, the few days leading up to Halloween also fly by before you can appreciate the gravity of your situation. 

Your stomach churns all morning. You chalk it up to nerves, the most obvious explanation for an upset stomach, but part of you wonders if there wasn’t something wrong with your dinner last night. 

Hongjoong announces the party to be held that evening during the morning service, like San had said that he would. You wring your hands together at San’s side, avoiding Hongjoong’s eyes. There’s a small part of you that is so sure that he would be able to figure you out entirely if he got a glimpse into your eyes. You just try to focus on the activity at hand, listening to Hongjoong with an impassive look on your face. 

You must do an alright job, as Hongjoong allows you to leave the chapel with San at the conclusion of the service. You’re even able to eat breakfast in peace, which actually does surprise you. Though Hongjoong had been exceedingly busy over the month, he still typically made time to freak you out most days. 

But San and you are able to sneak away after breakfast, back to your apartment, without a word from anyone. 

As soon as San shuts and locks the door behind him, he asks, “Are you still feeling alright? Up to this?” 

You blink across the room at him, hardly needing a moment to assure him that you very much still are ready to make your escape. You ask if he’s feeling the same way, to which he agrees. 

“Just a little nervous, I guess,” he explains, shrugging. “That’s normal, right?” 

“Of course it is.” You’re sure that San is no stranger to Hongjoong’s wrath; you don’t need to wonder why he’s nervous. Once again, you’re struck by emotion as you realize what San is doing for you, what he’s risking and what he’s giving up. 

He smiles. “What should we do, after we’re out of here?” 

You sit down on the couch, thinking through your answer, “I think we should just show up on one of my friend’s doorsteps and freak the shit out of them.” 

San laughs, rolling his eyes. “I meant more long-term, but we can do that, too.” 

Oh… Long-term. You still hadn’t broached the subject about… well, blowing the whistle on this place again, ever since San flipped out when you suggested it. You certainly still planned on doing exactly that, and you really don’t think that you need San’s approval to do so, either. Like, if you escape and just let this be, aren’t you basically an accomplice to all of the crime? 

The last thing you plan to do with your life is go to prison for Hongjoong, so you’re very much resolved in what you have to do… whether San agrees with you or not. 

“Well,” you start, “when’s the last time you saw your parents? Where did you live before you came here?” 

San sighs dramatically, making his way to sit next to you. “Sheesh, don’t remind me. They’re gonna kill me.” 

“They’ll be happy to see you, I’m sure.” You think of your own parents, who will probably also be a little upset… but hopefully mostly pleased that you’re still alive. 

San agrees with you easily enough about his parents, before adding, “Is this a bad time to mention that the Followers have been paying your rent since you went missing?” He asks, “So everything should still be there.” 

You gape at him. “Are you serious? How?” 

You know for a fact that your rent could only be paid through a pain in the ass portal with a very specific and strange ID and password. 

He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “You had the info saved in your phone… so…” 

Puzzled. You are puzzled. Why would they go to such lengths to just keep your shit in your apartment? You had long since assumed that your landlord had probably broken down the door and left your stuff on the curb. 

Well, you remind yourself, it actually hasn’t been that long. Though it feels like you’ve been on this farm for the better part of your life, it has really only been… what, two and a half months? Maybe your landlord would give you some leeway, but… no need to worry about it, you guess. 

But why would they even do that? It’s not like your rent was cheap. What would they gain from keeping your apartment intact? The illusion of life? 

That’s probably it, you realize. Just a front to make it look like you, in fact, weren’t a missing person. Part of you wants to freak out at San, realizing that he must be the person that orchestrated all of this, but you’re too far past that. If you start being mad at him for doing his job, you’re going to have to be mad about a lot of things. Things that you can look past for the fact of what he’s helping you do tonight. 

“Speaking of my phone, can I get that back?” 

San, relieved that you don’t seem mad, smiles. “I’ll grab it tonight.” 

“Can’t I have it now?” 

He hesitates at that, inclining his head in question, “any particular reason?” 

You shouldn’t need to give him a reason, so you shake your head. 

“It’s probably best to keep it where it is, in case someone goes looking for it.” 

… Ominous. Who would be looking for your phone? 

But he’s probably right. And it’s not like there would be much to do on it, anyways. You’re not going to call the cops now, not when your escape is looming closer and closer with each minute that passes. You can’t jeopardize it now. 

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。. 

You’re a little surprised that dinner carries on as normal, without any extra fanfare. Though no one had mentioned one, you had kind of expected there to be another ceremony of sorts. But, no, dinner is normal. You sit with San and Wooyoung, the rest of the table almost awkwardly empty as the three of you eat in relative silence.

How is Wooyoung going to react when he wakes up tomorrow and you’re both gone? He’s going to be pissed. But, maybe, he’ll realize that you wouldn’t leave him here. Surely, after what he told you, he knows that you wouldn’t do that. You couldn’t have it in your heart to let him rot here, knowing what Hongjoong did to bend him to his will… or, at least, having an inkling of an idea. 

Before you know it, Hongjoong is standing at the head of the room, commanding the attention of the cafeteria. The room falls into a hush, no one speaks as Hongjoong starts his speech. 

“Everyone,” he addresses the room, “Loyal Followers of the Answer, it is with great joy that I officially conclude our harvest season.”

The room bursts into a polite applause, smiles shared around the tables as the Followers celebrate their leader’s message. 

“Despite a rocky start, we were very fortunate to remain safe for the duration of the month.” Hongjoong, for the first time that day, finds your eyes. “I put my thanks in the faith of our Followers, those who kept our protections strong all month long. Though it may seem that there was no danger at all, this is only thanks to their courage.” 

San reaches across the table to squeeze your hand, giving you a small smile. 

“As always, we will celebrate our safety and our bountiful harvest— which Jongho assures me will last us through the winter and beyond— tonight. Everyone of age shall participate; I do not expect anyone to hold back on anyone’s account, especially not my own. This success is as much yours as it is mine.

“Please, imbibe freely, socialize freely, celebrate your victory over evil. We start now, and we will not stop until dawn.” Hongjoong grabs his glass from the table behind him, saluting the room with it before downing the amber liquid. 

Again, the room applauds, though more raucously. Wooyoung excuses himself from your table, headed back to the kitchens. Soon after, Followers emerge with trays and trays of various specialty glassware, each filled with their respective (you assume) alcohols. Not long after, Wooyoung exits the kitchen with a rolling cart filled with, perhaps, more bottles of alcohol than you have ever seen in one place at one time (which was saying a lot, considering the bars you had frequented with Mingi in college). 

Without anyone’s encouragement, Followers begin congregating at the front of the room, helping themselves to the multitude of drinks available. You’re even surprised to see that someone brought out a case of Coke, presumably for mixing. When was the last time you saw coke? They must’ve made a run into town recently, you realize, though it couldn’t have had the same importance as when San went. 

You shrug it off. Not like it matters much, anyhow. San stands, offering his hand to you. You take it, graciously, prepared to get this night started. 

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。. 

There is an attempt to pace yourself, considering that you’re going to need to be at least a little coherent later tonight, but… well… it’s been a long time. And you are well aware of the fact that you have, like, basically 10 hours. That’s enough time to get drunk and then sober, if you play your cards right. 

So play them, you do. San sticks to your side like glue for the first couple hours, watching you carefully as you put away more than your fair share of drinks. He drinks, as well, but nowhere near at the speed or quantity you do. You’re vaguely aware that you probably should slow down, but why would you, when you’re surrounded by… like, tons of dudes that would protect you, and you include Hongjoong in that count. 

By nine, you are positively drunk, blissfully unaware of the worries from the morning. What is there to worry about? You’re having the time of your life, do you even want to leave? Why would you leave? The thought makes you laugh, not surprisingly. 

You flit around the cafeteria, having lost San a while ago. Or maybe it was only a few minutes ago… It doesn’t matter. You talk to a lot of people, introducing yourself and smiling when they tell you they know who you are. It almost makes you feel a little guilty, but it mostly makes you happy. So many lovely people know your name and your face and they know that Hongjoong thinks you're so important. How amazing! Tomorrow, you probably wouldn’t be able to repeat a single one of their names, but that doesn’t matter. 

The time flies as you keep talking to new people, your mind completely distracted from the plans you have for later. You do slow down your drinking, eventually, though that’s more so due to the fact that you’re too far away from the bar table to bother going back to it than anything else. 

More than a few times, you find yourself staring at Mingi, and, more often than not, he’s staring at you, as well. Maybe he’s worried about you…? The thought makes you blush. Mingi… Oh, Mingi. He looks so handsome tonight, too. His hair is still red, still bright, and his outfit is beautifully fitted to his bulky body. Phew. You almost need to fan yourself. 

Eventually, sometime, you’re not sure what time, you end up talking with Yunho. He is clearly not even a little bit drunk, you might even say he was stone-cold sober if not for the glass in his hands. Though you thought that he hated your guts, he still seemed a little amused by your presence, a small smile on his face as he has to catch your forearm a couple times. The drunk part of you wonders if you could get away with feeling his biceps, he’s just so tall and so handsome, but even you know it would probably be wrong to feel him up. 

You couldn’t repeat a word of your conversation to anyone, not even seconds after it happened; not that you think it particularly matters. After Yunho, you find Wooyoung and Yeosang, and you can distinctly remember thanking Wooyoung for the incredible selection, but… yeah, that’s about it. 

While you’re about to go talk to Jongho, who looks like he could use some company, a hand wraps around your elbow, tugging you backwards. Not one to argue, you spin around, ready to follow whoever it is. Seonghwa stares down at you, an incredulous expression on his face. 

“Hi, Hwa,” you smile up at him, grabbing his free hand with yours. 

His expression morphs from confusion to disgust. “Do not call me that. How much have you had to drink?” 

You shrug, swinging your conjoined hands back and forth. “Enough to have a good time. What about you?” 

“Certainly less than that,” he tugs you back toward the cafeteria tables that had, apparently, been mostly moved out of the way at one point. “Trust me, you don’t want to bother Jongho tonight.” 

You hadn’t planned on bothering him, just keeping him company, but you figured that Seonghwa wouldn’t see it the same way. 

“What time is it?” You ask him, only remembering that you’re wearing a watch after the words leave your mouth. 

“10:44. Got somewhere to be?” 

“Nope,” you pop the p sound, following his lead as he ushers for you to sit down at the table. 

Time continues to fly by, though Seonghwa isn’t as good of a conversation partner as the other people you’ve been spending your time with. He also doesn’t let you drink anymore, instead insisting that you drink water, refilling your glass every time you empty it. Lame. 

As the minutes pass, though, you can feel yourself coming back to reality. You definitely aren’t sober, very far from sober, but the lights stop being bright and you stop being amused by everything that Seonghwa says and does pretty quickly. You also excuse yourself to the restroom more than a few times, though you dutifully return to the same table each time. 

The night progresses, and you find yourself making eye contact with Mingi more and more. Like, seriously, basically everytime that you happen to look at him, he’s already looking at you. Besides the one time you look over and see him engaged in conversation with Hongjoong, you appear to have his rapt attention. 

You try to look around the room for San, but there are so many Followers and it’s kind of dark and you’re still not in your right mind, so you give up pretty quickly. You have no idea what it is that he could be doing, besides preparing for your escape, so you just let it be. Better to not ask after him and then have the others asking the same questions. 

Though he had stopped you from drinking, Seonghwa had not stopped himself. He paces himself much better than you had, but he keeps drinking as the night wears on, eventually starting to open up a bit more with you. He also lets you get another drink, which you happily allow yourself, as you start to feel much too aware of your situation once more. 

“You know,” Seonghwa mutters, leaning closer to you, “this is, essentially, Hongjoong’s birthday party.”

You pull away from him, confusion evident on your face. “It’s his birthday?” 

“In a week.” He sips his drink, grimacing at the taste. “But he doesn’t make a big deal of it on the actual day, so here we are.” 

You’re actually rather surprised to hear this, and from Seonghwa no less. It’s strange that Hongjoong doesn’t want his birthday to be a huge thing considering his, you know, enormous ego and narcissism issue. Maybe he doesn’t like everyone knowing how old he is. Kind of takes away the appeal, knowing that he’s… how old is he? He can’t be much older than you, just given what you know about him and Seonghwa (who you know to be the same age). You’d ask Seonghwa, but it kind of seems like he wants you to ask, so you’re not going to. 

Instead, you sip your own drink, trying to look like you’re thoughtfully processing and tucking this information away for later. Why would you ever need to remember Hongjoong’s birthday, especially after tonight? Your stomach rolls over as you have this thought, the reminder of your plan being truly nauseating. 

“When's your birthday?” You ask instead, propping your elbow onto the table. 

Seonghwa looks momentarily taken aback, but responds easily enough, “April third.” 

“Far away, then,” you frown. Another realization hits you. “You’re older than Hongjoong.” 

He shrugs, “Believe it or not.” 

For whatever reason, this is, in fact, slightly disconcerting. 

But you ignore that feeling, opting to look around the crowded room. Hongjoong himself is mingling with Yeosang and Wooyoung, both of whom look incredibly pleased to have their leader's attention. Wooyoung is not shy with his hands, clutching the Hongjoong’s arm close to his chest as they speak. Vaguely, you wonder if he’s feeling okay. You’re still not sure how he can be so loyal to someone that apparently had him… what? Tortured? Who even knows. Stockholm syndrome is a real thing, you guess. For once, Hongjoong doesn't sense your gaze, staying completely unaware until your eyes shift away. 

Immediately, perhaps unsurprisingly, at this point, you make eye contact with Mingi. You hold it this time, tilting your head in question as if asking him if he needs something. He’s certainly acting like it, with all this staring, but he looks away from you, resuming his conversation with a Follower you haven't met before. Like everyone else, he still sports a drink in his hand, dutifully sipping it every lull. 

“Princess, can I ask you a question?” Seonghwa speaks across from you, calling your attention back to him. You incline your head in the affirmative, and he asks, “Why did it take you so long to come after him?” 

The question takes you off guard, probably for the fact that you wonder it yourself. You take another drink, looking down at the wood grain on the table. 

“Too personal? I figured.” Seonghwa takes your silence as an unwillingness to respond.

“No,” you're quick to deny him, “it's not that. I just don't know the answer.” 

As horrible as it sounds, the real answer to the question is simply… you were busy. Life happened. You didn’t have any reason to suspect that he disappeared due to malicious circumstances. Finishing university was your top priority— plenty of your friendships fell to the wayside as you wrapped up your degree. And, by the time you graduated, it didn’t seem pertinent. You always figured that, if you reached out, he would answer. Hell, his mom told you where he was, if she knew about this place, at least to some extent, you couldn’t blame yourself for not knowing what it would end up being. 

If you had known the truth, you think, you would’ve come sooner. Of course you would have. There is no universe where you let Mingi go through this terror alone… though that’s essentially what’s happened since your argument and the rift in your relationship. 

Whatever the case, it seems silly to worry about now. You're here. There were a few months where Mingi was here alone, and the idea of those few months horrifies you. Knowing that Mingi went through a Choosing ceremony without any kind of internal support system makes you feel sick… but, you have to admit, he did pretty alright. Sure, he's traumatized and changed and brainwashed, but at least he has friends and a purpose and, well, he seems happy… ish. There's nothing you could've done if you had been here earlier, so it's no use dreading on it. You still would've been kept apart, and there still would've been the same circumstances. 

You take a look at your watch, sighing as it informs you that the time is 11:52 p.m., not nearly as late as you were hoping that it would be. 

Seonghwa huffs at your non-answer, tucking his hair away from his face to stare at you harder. “Sometimes I feel like I can hear your thoughts just from watching your expression change. Mingi wasn’t better off before you got here, if that is what you were thinking.” 

It wasn’t, but, like, that’s kind of close. 

You shake your head, sliding your drink across the table between your hands. “It’s not that I think he was better off… Just that he did alright for himself in the meantime.” 

His face twists, though you’re not sure what emotion he’s trying to convey. “Do you even remember what happened when you tried to leave?” 

Your eyes meet his. 

“He had you back for, what, two days, and then completely broke down.” Seonghwa glances back over at Mingi. “I don’t think he’s been the same since you did that.” 

“You can’t guilt trip me into forgetting my need for self-preservation,” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t betray any sense of, well, guilt. 

He rolls his eyes, looking back at you. “In case you haven’t noticed, Princess, you are very much still alive.” He mutters something else under his breath as he picks up his drink, taking quite a few consecutive swallows. 

You mirror his actions. Hopefully, you can keep it that way.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。. 

In a stroke of luck, Seonghwa let you keep drinking until you found yourself teetering between tipsy and drunk, again. He kept drinking, but he didn’t really keep entertaining you, instead wandering off to do his own socializing. You do try to keep yourself under control, though considering that it’s almost time. 

You take a look at your watch, surprised to see that it’s already 2:15. Blinking through the haze of your tipsiness, it sure seems like 2:15 is an okay time to get a move on, right? Like, surely no one will notice if you slip out now instead of in, like, twenty minutes or whenever you and San had agreed he would grab you. 

Plus, if anyone did notice, you could just say that you needed some air. It wouldn’t be hard to believe, looking at the state of you. You would quite enjoy a nice breath of fresh air. You could always come back inside if it felt like it was too early, or if you got a bad feeling. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to sneak off for just a moment. 

In a brief look around the room, you don’t find anyone paying any particular attention to yourself. In fact, you can see Hongjoong and Seonghwa engrossed in conversation, about as far away as could be. Seonghwa’s hand rests on Hongjoong’s shoulder, a demure smile on his face as he listens to Hongjoong speak. Most of the other Followers in the room all seem significantly more drunk than yourself, with hardly a person meeting your eyes for any longer than a second. 

No one will notice, you’re positive. 

As you begin your attempt to shuffle your way through the crowd toward the hall, a hand grasps your elbow, stopping you in place, for the second time that night. 

Despite the looks that he had been giving you all night, you’re still a bit surprised to see Mingi looking down at you when you spin around to see who the hand belongs to. Your plans to go get a breath of fresh air fall out the window at the sight of him. Why would you need fresh air when Mingi is standing in front of you? He has just about the same effect on you. 

At first, he doesn’t seem to have anything to say, but, if you know anything about Mingi, it’s that he yaps when he’s drunk. And he clearly is, judging from the rosy tinge of his face and the awkward smile he wears as he looks at you, a smile that sends you straight back to college. It’s as if he’s completely forgotten everything that’s happened in the past couple months, forgotten the arguments and the anger and the time that has passed. 

“Hey,” he greets you, having to raise his voice over the din of the party. 

“Hey,” you greet him in turn, politely waiting for him to continue. 

“Can I—” he stops, opting to lean his head closer to yours so that he can talk into your ear. His hand stays on your elbow, locking you in place (not that you would’ve moved away from him, anyways, being tipsy and all). “Can we talk in private?” He asks, his voice deep in a way that you had almost forgotten. 

Nodding, you allow him to retract himself and lead you away, toward the hall that you had originally been aiming for. When the door shuts behind the two of you, the party sounds fade; the two of you isolated from the rest of the world. 

Well, the two of you and a few other Followers that linger in the hall, but close enough. Mingi doesn’t seem bothered by their presence, and you really aren’t either. You’re sure that you haven’t had a truly private conversation with Mingi since before he went missing, given that he apparently seeks Hongjoong’s advice for everything. Anyways, the presence of a few stragglers doesn’t worry you. 

Mingi drops your arm, awkwardly smoothing his dress shirt. “You look nice. Pretty.” 

“Thanks,” you smile, leaning your back against the wall— partly in an effort to keep your balance.  “What did you wanna talk about?” 

He shrugs, observing the hallway like he had never seen it before. “Just wanted to talk. We haven’t talked in a looooooonnngggggggggg time.” 

Part of you wants to ask him who’s fault that is, but that would be cruel, so you don’t. “It has been a while now.” You agree instead, glancing at your watch. 2:22… which is basically 2:25, which is basically 2:30… already. Nerves wash over you again as you clench your hands in front of you. 

“If I’m being honest— and I always want to be honest with you, you know— Hongjoong said that I should talk to you because he thought it would be good for you to hear my thoughts about the situation and also because he said that he thought that you seemed bummed out that we haven’t been talking and that made me sad so I’m taking his advice and talking to you.” Mingi says after taking one deep breath, not stopping for a moment. “Also Yunho said that you still seemed kind of mad and I can’t take the thought of you being mad at me anymore so basically what I wanted to say was that I’m sorry.” 

Blinking, a pout forms on your face at his explanation. He had been worrying about you and your relationship. You could’ve reached out to him at any point in the last month, but hadn’t out of fear that he was still upset with you. And here he was, apologizing. 

“Mingi,” you wring your hands harder together, “it really isn’t important anymore. I stopped being angry a long time ago.” 

He shakes his head, closing his eyes. “It is important, (Y/n), I don’t want this to go unsaid. I’m sorry for confronting you and acting like a douchebag, I’m sorry for scaring you, I’m sorry for questioning you about San, which was absolutely none of my business, I’m sorry for yelling and fighting him and ignoring you for weeks and sending San dirty looks whenever I saw him.” He pauses. “You probably didn’t know about that last one, but, still, I’m sorry.” 

Your frown only grows deeper with each apology, your eyes starting to sting. You don’t want to cry, not when you’re sure that this night will steal plenty of tears already, but Mingi is making it hard. If you had known that he was beating himself up equally as hard as you had been, you would’ve apologized a long, long time ago. If you had known… isn’t that just the statement of your life? 

“When you were attacked at the start of the month, I was terrified.” He swallows. “I wanted to be at your side, but Hongjoong wouldn’t allow it, and I was sure that you would be pissed if you woke up and I was there, so I left. But that solitude left me a lot of time to think, to think about who you are and what you mean to me.

“You might not think of me as your best friend anymore, but I value our friendship more than anything else in my life, (Y/n). More than Hongjoong, more than The Answer, more than all of this; you are what I thank God for everyday. If something happened to you, I don’t think I would survive it.” Mingi swallows again, harder, tearing up himself. “I’m so glad that you’re here. I know you still are on the fence about Hongjoong, but I need you to trust me when I say that he loves us and he lives to make us better people.” 

Finally, you allow a few stray tears to spill onto your cheeks. Mingi’s confession is touching, truly, making your stomach do all sorts of gymnastics, but Hongjoong. How does he weasel his way into absolutely everything? Again, you’re struck by the thought that Mingi will be plagued by Hongjoong for the rest of his life. This… grip he has on Mingi won’t disappear overnight. 

Thankful for the wall behind you, considering your dizziness, you lift a hand to wipe at your cheeks before responding. “Mingi, no matter what happens or how much we fight or if I’m here or not, you’ll always be my best friend.” You smile weakly, hoping that he doesn’t read too deeply into your words. “Nothing can come between us for long.” 

Mingi wipes at his own tears, sniffling. “Can I hug you?” 

Before you can fully nod your head yes, Mingi is pulling you away from the wall and into his arms, crushing you to his chest. You’re quick to reciprocate, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist, savoring the feeling. You hadn’t been able to hug him in ages, but his arms feel just like you remember them— if not a little bit more muscled. Inhaling deeply, you rub your face against his shirt, probably ruining the crisp-ness that he had been trying to preserve. His tears wet your scalp, but you don’t mind as you only squeeze him tighter. 

The moment could not be more perfect; reconciling with Mingi fills your heart with such a certainty that you’re doing the right thing. Knowing that he isn’t upset with you, isn’t harboring any ill-will any longer reassures you that it will all be okay. He knows that you wouldn’t just leave him behind— he’ll know that you’re coming back for him (if he ever even finds out that you’ve left). 

That is, of course, ignoring the bit of his speech where he encouraged you to stay and adapt to Hongjoong, but, like, whatever. It’ll be irrelevant in a few hours, now. He’ll be thankful, eventually. 

But no moment can be perfect and last forever. 

A throat clearing from behind Mingi calls your attention back to the world. The two of you separate, though Mingi puts a hand on your cheek as you pull away, wiping away your tears with a tight smile. 

San looks behind Mingi’s shoulder, his face hard as he watches the two of you. You could almost chuckle at his jealousy, but the seriousness of the situation suddenly rises into your awareness once again. 

“I'm sorry, Mingi, you'll have to excuse us,” San says, despite the fact that Mingi hasn't acknowledged his presence. 

Mingi leans close to press a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you,” he says, quietly enough so that you're the only one who hears. 

Nodding, you untangle yourself from his arms, taking a few steps towards San before offering your hand to him. 

He takes it, offering no final remarks to Mingi as he pulls you further away from the cafeteria. Further away from Hongjoong and Seonghwa and Mingi and the rest of them. Closer to the forest and your car and freedom. 

Your heartbeat picks up in your chest again. Had you lost track of time talking with Mingi? Were you running behind? Why does it seem like San is in such a rush to get you away? It’s almost hard to keep up with his stride, your boots feeling heavier with each step that you take. 

Vaguely, you find yourself worrying over if Mingi will get in trouble for being the last one to speak to you. Surely not… How would he know what you were planning? There wouldn’t be a way for him to… unless they suspected that you had confided your plans to him. 

Which you hadn’t done, but if they were desperate enough to need a scapegoat… No. Hongjoong wouldn’t go that far. He may never even find out that you had the conversation in the first place. Mingi might mention it, but he probably wouldn’t have the opportunity to in the chaos that is sure to ensue when your absence was realized. 

They were bound to figure out what had happened easily enough; they wouldn’t have to interrogate your friends to come to the most obvious conclusion: that you and San had run away in the night, without outside help. 

Before you know it, San is opening the front door, ushering you into the night. 

As you had suspected, the cool air does feel amazing on your skin. Lacking a coat, you know that you’ll grow colder the longer that you’re outside. It’s almost November, now, the air is almost strikingly cold after the stuffiness of the cafeteria. Even the hallway had hardly felt relieving compared to this. 

Taking a few deep breaths, you allow San to continue wordlessly leading you forward. If you weren’t still rather tipsy, maybe you would question his silence. But it doesn’t bother you very much, if you’re being honest. He probably just doesn’t want to risk drawing any unnecessary attention…

He had assured you that there would be absolutely no one outside of the compound at this point in the night, though… 

But, still, he has his reasons, you’re sure. Instead of continuing to walk in front of the building, he veers dramatically to the right, walking the distance until you both turn the corner to round to the side and eventually the back.

Though you had never seen the woods at the back of the compound directly, you had known it was there. The ancient, old-growth trees loomed from behind the building, their leaves able to be seen from a far distance, even from the road. To actually be in front of them was a new sensation, a new emotion. The sight of their trunks startled you into realization.

This is real. You’re doing this. You’re running. You’re getting out of here. 

San stops at the edge of the trees, finally turning to address you in a low voice, “You still want to do this?” 

Nodding, you squeeze his hand in yours, bringing your free hand to grip your joined hands as well. 

He looks at the dirt, kicking a loose pebble at his feet. “Don’t look too hard at anything you might see in these trees, (Y/n).” 

However foreboding that is, you agree with his request, “I won’t take my eyes off of you.” 

San allows himself a small smile, squeezing your hands back. 

Whatever it is that San doesn’t want you seeing, you don’t think you ever had any hope of being able to see in the trees, anyways. It’s pitch black outside, the moon doing little to help you as you walk deeper and deeper. 

You’re almost kind of amazed that he’s able to lead you so confidently. He must not have consumed anywhere near the same quantity of alcohol as everyone else. Which actually makes quite a bit of sense, considering you hadn’t seen him very much at all following dinner. What had he been up to? Was Hongjoong not suspicious of his absence? He must’ve made something up… explained it away… 

More than a few times, you stumble over a tree root or loose brush, twigs snapping underfoot with each step that you take. San holds you steady, slowing his pace when you need it. 

After what feels like forever, but is probably more like a couple minutes, you reach a clearing. At first, you think that you spot your car right away… but then you realize that you can’t be sure. In the clearing, there’s no fewer than twenty vehicles, of all makes and models and sizes. Some look like they haven’t run in years, a thick, dusty coat over their windshields that you can even see in the dark. 

San doesn’t pause to let you take in the clearing for very long, however. He quickly pulls you along with him, between a row of cars, before you’re able to find your own. It looks just as you remember it, albeit a bit dirty. Your heart leaps as you realize what this means.

You’re at your car. Your car. It’s right here, right in front of you. You’re going to fucking get out of here. Holy shit. 

San lets go of your hand, fishing into his pocket before pulling out the keys and handing them to you. “We don’t lock the cars, but…” 

Clutching the keys in your hands, you can’t help but smile. “I can’t believe this is happening.” 

He awkwardly mirrors your smile, glancing behind you before pointing it out. You turn to look, not all that surprised to see that the clearing opens to a dirt road, leading back off into the trees. “We’ll go that way. It meets up with the main road after a couple miles.” 

Nodding, you turn back to your car, almost giddy as you approach the passenger’s side door. Gently, you pull on the handle, hoping the door doesn’t creak too loud as you do so. Thankfully, it’s no louder than normal, and you eagerly sit yourself down in the seat. San stands in the door, his hands resting on either side of the opening. “Ready, then?” He chuckles as you settle yourself into the seat, adjusting the recline to lay back. 

“Let’s go.” 

He gives you a thumbs up, pushing himself off of the car before patting at his pockets. 

His smile falls, his face paling. 

Your heart drops into your stomach, “What is it?” You ask, sitting back up. “Is something wrong?” 

San blinks, twisting to look back the way that you came. “I have to go back.” 

“What?” You almost shout, “Are you crazy? You can’t go back!” 

He shakes his head, leaning down toward you. He grips both of your shoulders tight in his hands, looking in your eyes, “It’ll be fine. I will be right back, I promise.” 

“San, no,” you gape at him, “what could possibly be so important?” 

San closes his eyes, shaking his head at your question. “It’s hard to explain, I— Just, I,” his eyes open as he squeezes you one last time before dropping your shoulders. “I’ll be back, I swear.” 

“Let me come with you,” you plead, attempting to grab one of his hands as he pulls away. “Don’t leave me here, alone, please, San.” 

Shushing you, he shakes his head again. “You’ll slow me down. I swear, (Y/n), it will be fine. I’ll see you in a minute.” 

He takes a step back, shutting the door before you can come up with a response. You’re too dumbfounded to even attempt to open the door again, too confused to try and follow. What could possibly be so important to him? What if someone finds you here? How are you going to explain that, huh? 

But the possibility of that is so remote. No one knows that you’re out here, how could they? Even if someone notices your absence at the party, they’ll just assume that you’ve retired to your room, right? And even if they feel inclined to check, that’ll take a few minutes, in which time San should return to you and get a move on. 

Still, you find it very hard to swallow your panic. 

What if this is it? What if you die because San had to go back for something that he wouldn’t even tell you about? Your breathing grows shallow with each new terrible thought that invades your mind. You can see it now, Hongjoong walking into the clearing, rage in his eyes, knife in his hands. Making you grovel and beg and plead with him only to end it right then and there, anyways. San would come back and find your still-warm body, soon to join you in death. 

You try to blink away the images that flit across your mind, realizing that your eyes burn as if you’d been crying. Your hand flies to your cheek, unsurprised to find it wet. Taking a deep breath, you do anything you can think of to distract yourself. 

The air in your car is so stale, your months old air-freshener doing little to help the dry, bitter smell. You fumble with the glove box, pulling it open while praying that there is anything in it that can distract you from the horror of the moment. 

Papers spill out as you indiscriminately pull everything out, ushering it onto your lap. You throw aside the car manuals and your outdated insurance, searching for just one thing, anything that could remind you of what you were enduring these terrors for. 

A brochure for The Bean slides out, your own face smiling from behind the coffee bar. Adam can be seen in the background. It almost makes you sick, that horrible reminder of the life that you had been forced to give up. You keep sliding the papers around, cutting your finger in your desperation. 

Sucking your paper cut into your mouth, you realize that you're not going to find anything in the glove box. You make a half hearted attempt to shove everything back inside before deciding that it's not worth it. 

Tears still pouring down your face, you reach for the driver's side sun visor, flicking it down to reveal the photos you kept in the sunglass clip. 

On top is a picture of Jungeun and yourself, embracing with your faces pressed together. You quickly slide it back, knowing for certain that you have a picture of Mingi in the stack. 

Seeing the picture will wake you up, you're certain. It will give you the courage to keep going. 

Finally, a polaroid emerges. It's the first picture you had clipped to the visor, a testament to how much time had passed before you started looking for Mingi. How had you waited so long? You pry the polaroid free, it having stuck to the metal after so long. 

Though your hands shake, you don't really need to see the photo in detail to appreciate it. Mingi stands in the center, a peace sign next to his eyes. He's not smiling, rather giving you a sour look. He wasn't pleased to be the first test subject of his gift to you. The second photo was of yourself, taken by him, you remember. The third was a selfie of the both of you. 

You don't have either of the other photos, but you have this one. Something compels you to protect the picture, to keep it on you, so you slide it into your waistline and pray that your pants don't distort it too much. 

A knock on the window almost kills you on the spot, with the way your heart leaps into your throat.

The shock of who you see through the window makes you gag. 

No sooner after seeing his face does he open the door, falling onto his knees next to the car to be eye level with you. 

Seonghwa is drunk, much more drunk than he had been when you were with him earlier, you realize this very quickly with the way his voice wavers as he asks, “What are you doing?”

You have no response. You open and close your mouth a few times, but only choked sounds of fear come out. 

He grabs your hands, holding them in your lap. “Why are you crying? Are you leaving?” 

He sounds so sad that your heart nearly shatters. Your heart should shatter, now, knowing that escape is impossible. But you can only focus on Seonghwa, on his knees, in front of you. 

His bangs brush his eyelids. “You're leaving?” He asks again, “without me?” 

Seonghwa hiccups, frowning. The question is so absurd you can't pay any mind to it. Why would you bring Seonghwa with you? His forehead comes to rest on your thigh. 

“Seonghwa, go back to the party,” you manage to get out, clearing your throat after. 

“I can't,” he pouts, “Hongjoong is mad at me. I can't tell why.” 

You think Hongjoong always seems a little mad at Seonghwa, but you're not going to say that to him now.

“Please, Seonghwa, go.” 

He shifts his face and blinks up at you, his eyes reflecting the moonlight so prettily it almost hurts. “Come with me, then.” 

Seonghwa gets to his feet, but he doesn't release your hands. They dangle between the two of you, the height different causing yours to float up. “We can fix this. Just come with me,” he says. 

You're shaking your head before you realize it. “I can't go back. I can't do this anymore.” 

Seonghwa bites his lip, looking around. “This isn't going to end well; please,” he looks back at you, “just come back with me. I won't say anything, Hongjoong will never know, we'll both be fine. We'll be fine. Nothing has to change.” 

“I can't go back.” Your heart beats wildly in your chest, you can feel its thrum. When San returns, what will he do about Seonghwa? How will he possibly get past him? Seonghwa won't let you leave, but you have to. To what length would San go to get you free? 

You don't want Seonghwa hurt. You realize now, staring up at him, that you care about him. More than you would've ever thought you would. Who is Seonghwa if not the ultimate victim? Is he not just a reflection of yourself?

“Get in the car, Seonghwa.”

He frowns again, pouting his lower lip. “I can't leave Hongjoong.” 

“Yes, you can. Get in the car.”

You don't give a second thought to your proposition, nodding your head toward the back seat.

“I won't leave Hongjoong.” Seonghwa clarifies, dropping your hands. They smack down onto your thighs, stinging. 

You'd question him, start yelling at him if you could. But you can hardly form a coherent thought and every word feels like risking the contents of your stomach coming up. Instead, you frown, looking down at your lap rather than at his confused face. 

“You can't leave Hongjoong, either,” he says. “Even if you run, he'll find you, always. You'd come back on your own, you won't know how to live without him anymore.” He tells you this eerily flat. “Just come back with me, he doesn't have to know about this.” 

Seonghwa is speaking nonsense. Even your flurried mind understands this.

“Please.” He begs. “(Y/n), please.” 

You shake your head. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head as singular tears run down his cheeks. “I'm sorry. I tried to help you, I did.” 

Seonghwa turns away from the car as the sinking feeling in your stomach solidifies into a rock of dread. 

Of course, you knew what it meant to see Seonghwa out here. There was never any chance, not after he had found you. If he knew where you were, Hongjoong did, too. Surely, he wouldn’t risk you getting away. He would drag the moment on, though. Making Seonghwa come here, making him plead with you, what sort of torture was that? What was the point? Isn’t he just going to kill you, now? 

Why is it that, when Hongjoong enters the clearing, you aren’t scared? You hardly feel anything. You knew this was coming. You knew that this would happen, didn’t you? There wasn’t any other possible ending to this night. You wanted to believe that it was possible, that you could escape, but it was futile. It was never a possibility. Even with San’s help. You knew it, deep down. 

Like Seongwha said, there is no getting away from Hongjoong. You were foolish to think that you could, and you know it, now. 

Instead of watching Hongjoong approach, you watch Seonghwa slink away. He doesn’t go far, stopping to rest his head against the roof of a car a few down from your own. You can imagine how good the cool metal must feel. 

You snivel, wiping at your eyes as Hongjoong stops in front of you, standing where San had stood, where Seonghwa kneeled. He’s silent. You don’t look up at him, instead focusing on his hands as they hang at his sides. They’re empty, though clenched into tight fists. 

“You have ignored every. Single. Opportunity. I have given you.” He emphasizes each word. “Chances I gave you to make the right decision.” 

It’s not even worth your energy to respond, is it? Obviously, you should’ve known that the various conversations you had over the night were warnings. How else would everyone manage to bring up something that would make you want to stay? And Seonghwa… 

How humiliating. 

“I’m disappointed in you.” Hongjoong says, and it’s so much worse than if he had been screaming and violent. “I thought you were starting to fit in.” 

You glance at Seonghwa, who still has his back turned to you. He seems to be shaking, but you find it hard to believe that, even in this scenario, he would cry for you. This has to be part of it, right? Part of making you feel guilty? 

Looking at him is a mistake, though. Hongjoong harshly grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Look at me when I'm speaking to you.”

You still have no idea what to say to him. It all seems so stupid, in retrospect. 

It's only as you look up at Hongjoong that you start to wonder where San is. If you asked, you'd surely get your ass handed to you. But the terrible feeling in your stomach only gets worse. What if he comes back to this scene? How will he react? Poor San, he was so desperate for you. How will he feel, with the plan destroyed? Does Hongjoong know the depth of his involvement? 

So, you break your silence. It couldn’t get much worse, could it? “Where is San?” You ask. 

Hongjoong lets go of your face, but only to bury a hand in your hair, yanking you into standing. Instinctively you bring your hands to his, crying out in pain. He only smirks, releasing his grasp on you. 

You collapse onto your knees, catching yourself with your hands at his feet. Your nice pants, they're dirty, now, you catch yourself thinking. Like that's the biggest issue right now. 

“Where is San?” He repeats your question, spitting the words out like they leave a vile taste in his mouth. 

Reduced to a heap at his feet, you can't bring yourself to look up at him. This night has turned up just as your last failure had. You're not all that surprised when Hongjoong's boot comes down on your hand, though not hard enough to hurt. “Look at me.” 

You do. From even further beneath him, he looks more Biblical than ever. 

“Who do you think told me where you were?” 

Ah. 

Of course. 

That makes sense. 

Your face contorts, though with what emotion, you’re not sure. 

You want to think that there might be an explanation, one that doesn’t involve San betraying you to a homicidal maniac, but you know that there isn’t. Instantly, you know. 

He never meant to help you. He never cared about you. He had laid a pretty trap for you, at Hongjoong’s request, and had sprung it just as planned.

And he couldn’t even be here to see the fruits of his labor. Pathetic. Your mind swims with everything you had told him, everything you confessed to him, the times you had been warned about him. You fought with Mingi over him, you defended him to Mingi. 

“Yes,” Hongjoong smiles down at you. “All of this has been planned since the day I made you live with him.” 

You nod up at him, realizing that he must want something else from you. 

“You must understand, (Y/n), that I control everything. You can’t trust in anything besides this fact.” Hongjoong kneels to meet your eye line, inadvertently crushing your hand under his foot as his weight shifts. 

Gritting your teeth, you suck in any sound of pain that threatens to escape. The last thing you plan on doing tonight is letting Hongjoong realize the depths of your pain. 

He tilts his head in question. “Do you have anything you want to say to me?” 

Even in your haze of emotions, you can hardly resist spitting a few choice curses at him. “Fuck you.” 

He grimaces, though he’s clearly not actually affected. “Not what I was thinking, Princess, but I’ll give you a pass.”

His hands are suddenly gripping into your shirt at the shoulders, yanking you onto your feet. He hardly allows you to catch yourself before he begins dragging you across the clearing, away from your car, into the trees, away from your last shred of dignity. 

There isn’t a single thing on your mind as he pulls you through the trees and eventually back around to the front of the compound. He’s groveling under his breath, probably cursing you out in any and every way that he knows how. And you deserve it. You deserve every stumble of your feet, every tear burning your cheeks, every horrible thing that Hongjoong can fling at you. 

You failed. Not only yourself, but everyone stuck here in this cult. You’ve utterly failed. No one is going to be rescued, no one is going to be saved. You cling onto Hongjoong’s blazer as he guides you to the barns, having no idea what could be waiting for you there.

Maybe this is it, huh? Maybe he has finally realized that you’re more trouble than you’re worth. For a second there, it had looked like he was going to keep you alive, but maybe not. That was probably just wishful thinking. He’s probably delivering you to Jongho, too disgusted to even deal with you himself. 

Hongjoong releases you to throw open the barn doors. You have to catch yourself on the siding to remain standing, but Hongjoong quickly returns his grip on you, hauling you further inside the barn. 

It’s the animal barn. He walks you into the center aisle, dropping you unceremoniously. You fall into a heap at his feet. Again.

You can hardly hear Hongjoong over the general animal sounds, but especially over the oinking of the pigs. “I’m going to leave you here,” he starts, glaring down at you. “When I come back, you’re going to still be in this building.”

Sniffling, you nod in agreement. 

He scoffs. “You’re lucky, (Y/n), very lucky. If you had made it even an inch down that road, what do you think would’ve happened to you? To Mingi? Haseul?”

There isn’t anything for you to say. The pigs fill the silence. 

“Selfish. Utterly, disgustingly, selfish.” Hongjoong spits. “Stay here— before you try and lure anyone else to their certain deaths.” 

With that, he turns on his heel and exits the barn, shutting the door behind him. The overhead lights remained on, but you barely even found yourself capable of caring. The dark wouldn’t make any difference. You failed.

And Hongjoong was right. You are selfish. Even though you knew the truth about San’s intentions now, you hadn’t known before. You had thought he was risking his life to help you, and you had been fine with it. What was wrong with you? Why is this just occurring to you now? Had you really been so desperate as to involve another person? What’s the matter with you? Have you no shame? No consideration? Were you such a narcissist that you would put your freedom above someone’s life?

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest as you wipe your cheeks with your hands. The sensation is calming, allowing you to take a few deep breaths as you collect your bearings. As hard as it is, you should try to keep your head on straight… there’s still no telling how the night will end, and something tells you that it’s far from over. 

One thing you know for certain, though, is that you cannot do this again. You can’t. No matter what. Something else will have to give. There is no more escape. There is no more saving yourself. How the fuck could you, after this? 

Standing, you brush your hands off on your pants. Hongjoong hadn’t said anything about not moving from the spot. Might as well look at the animals. Animals can be calming, right? Therapeutic? Maybe?

Wishful thinking. 

Your tears keep flowing, but you find your breathing to be coming back to your control. You stumble with your first step, but quickly regain your balance, tottering over to the nearest animal pen— which happens to be the pigs.

This is where you had confronted Jongho about Haneul. How long ago was that, now? That horrible confrontation lingers as you grip the metal fencing keeping the pigs in place. The bar is cooling, demanding your attention. You realize now that the air itself, though warmed by the animals' presence, is getting rather chilly, as well. 

Tugging your sleeves lower over your hands, you peer down at the animals. Some of them are sleeping, but most of them aren’t. Each sow is separated from the next, in neat, orderly rows. Last time you had seen them, there weren’t individual pens. Jongho had been feeding them in one huge, disorderly mess. It had been rather disgusting. 

You had also fought with Mingi, that day. About so many things that just seem stupid, now. What was there to even be mad about? Mingi is just Mingi. You can’t fault him for being a victim.

And the fact that he was just looking out for you, and, in fact, turned out to be absolutely correct. 

As you turn to walk to a different pen, the feeling of the polaroid at your waist recaptures your attention. Stopping in place, you fish it out of your waistline, cupping it in your hands. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to be damaged. You stare down at it once more. It couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes since you had put it in your pants, and, yet, here you are. Completely changed. 

Mingi’s face frowns up at you, but your eyes catch on something outside of the photo. Your own expression melts into a frown as you lower your hands, shoving the picture back into your pants. 

Wiping your tears again, you kneel down to the ground next to the pen. 

What had caught your attention was a scrap of white, so starkly bright against the packed dirt floor of the barn. 

You reach out to grab it, suddenly overcome with an even worse feeling of dread. Your scalp goes cold, a shiver spreading across your body as you touch the… fabric. 

Fabric. 

Blinking your tears away as fast as you can manage, you pull, feeling your stomach drop as the piece grows into a cuff. Buttons and all. A white cuff. 

There’s nothing that you can do to stop yourself from thinking the thoughts that come— attacking you at nearly instantaneous moments. 

It’s Haseul’s. This is from Haseul’s shirt. What did Hongjoong say would happen? About the pigs? The pigs? Haseul? This is Haseul’s shirt? It can’t be. She’s in her room. She’s been in her room this whole time. This could belong to anyone. This could’ve been cut off of anyone’s shirt. It doesn’t have to be hers. It could be anyone’s. Why would it be hers? It isn’t possible. San said she was fine. He failed, but she was fine. Hongjoong said she was fine. Mingi said— what did he say? Did he say something? Anything? It doesn’t matter. San said—

“You shouldn’t be in here,” a familiar voice calls from behind you. 

You fall onto your butt, forgoing your pants. They were ruined, anyway. Clutching the cuff in your hand, you don’t even reply to Jongho’s warning. Your breathing is out of control, again. Each breath you take is tighter, harder, less satisfying, more panic inducing. The fabric in your hand burns with the tightness of your grip. 

Jongho grabs your shoulder. “Can you even hear me?” 

A fully-fledged sob leaves you as you look up at him. 

His eyebrows furrow in some emotion— probably disgust— as he frowns at you. “Get out of here.”

Shaking your head, you try to say even a single word about Hongjoong telling you to stay here, but you can’t get anything out. If anything, you cry harder, shaking your head back and forth and back and forth and back and forth, shutting your eyes as tightly as you can. 

This cannot be real. This can’t be happening. It can’t be Haseul’s shirt. Even if it is, it doesn’t mean that she’s—

No, you won’t even think it. You just keep shaking your head. It can’t be. It cannot be. 

Jongho’s hand leaves your shoulder.

“This is your punishment, (Y/n).” Hongjoong’s voice booms from behind you. It’s so shocking that you open your eyes, spinning around in the dirt to face him. He’s not alone. Seonghwa and San are with him, both of them looking incredibly uncomfortable. 

Seeing San doesn’t relieve you at all. Seonghwa’s face is puffy, his clothing disheveled and dirty. Neither of them look at you, instead looking at the ground in front of them. Jongho remains at your side, seemingly caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

You don’t know what Hongjoong means, though. Or, rather, your mind completely refuses to see what is in front of it until it is irrefutable. There is still hope, now. There is hope. The cuff doesn’t mean anything until Hongjoong says that it does. There is nothing in you that can accept this until… 

“Haseul is dead.” Hongjoong says. “And San killed her.” 

The wind is completely knocked out of your lungs as you fall onto your hands, heaving. 

Though you can’t see San, you can hear him. His protests are immediate, “What? Hongjoong, why would you say that? I didn’t do that. I didn’t even touch her. I swear, (Y/n), why would I lie—”

“Not to mention that he orchestrated your entire escape attempt at my request,” Hongjoong’s voice cuts through San’s pleas to be heard. 

The reminder calls you back into your body. Hongjoong had to say it in front of San, you realize, he had to make sure San knew that you knew of his betrayal. You look up at the three men in front of you as you gasp for air. The cuff lays in the dirt before you, momentarily forgotten. 

San is gaping at Hongjoong, his hands outstretched as if he was in the middle of trying to reach for you. “Are you fucking crazy?” San barely squeezes out in his apparent anger. 

“I am, in fact.” Hongjoong replies, though he doesn’t bother to address San. He smiles down at you instead, watching your facial expression change from one of despair to one of hatred. 

Your eye twitches as you stare at San, who starts to plead for you to hear him out once more. 

“I swear, (Y/n), it wasn’t like that! You heard him! He’s crazy! He only has something to gain if you don’t trust me, right? Why would I ever do that? I love you, you kno—” 

San had been crouching down to your level as he made this speech, which was probably a horrible idea. Using your hands as your leverage, you launch yourself at him, toppling him over into the dirt. 

Pinning him to the ground with your weight, you stare down at his (very surprised) face. 

It takes you all of five seconds to realize what you couldn’t in the past month. 

Hongjoong is right. Again. 

Your tears drip down onto his own face. San tries to speak, but evidently can’t think of anything to say to you. 

Hongjoong laughs at your side. 

You pull your hand back, bringing it back down and slapping San as hard as you can muster across his face. The smack rings through the barn, your hand stinging all the way up your forearm. 

San tries to clutch his cheek, but your knees keep his arms at his sides, and he instead looks up at you, stunned. 

“Say something.” You demand, finding your voice. 

He opens and closes his mouth, grasping for anything to say. “He’s lying to you— I swear it, I had nothing to do with Haseul, and I would never set you up, I would never, you can’t trust him, can’t trust anything that he says, (Y/n), really—” 

You hit him again. This time, he exclaims in pain as you feel your hand go numb. Seonghwa flinches in your peripheral vision and Hongjoong laughs once more.

“Fuck you.” You blink, more tears falling. “Fuck you.” You lean back, freeing his arms, which immediately come up to rest on your waist. “Hit me.” 

San’s face contorts, confused, “why would I hit you?” 

Absurdly, you smile. You smile wide. “Hit me. Do it.” You hit him in the chest, though lighter than you had his face. “What? Are you a coward? You can kill my best friend, but you can’t hit me?” Your voice raises, reaching a shrilling quality. “Come on! Hit me! Do anything!” 

San’s hands remain holding your waist, not moving. 

“Hit me so that I don’t fucking kill you! Hit me to show you at least think your miserable life is worth living! Hit me! Hit me! Hit me! Hi—”

“That’s really enough, (Y/n),” Seonghwa’s voice cuts in as he grabs your arm, keeping you from landing another blow to San’s chest. “You’re being childish.” 

You scoff, but it devolves into a laugh. “Childish? I’m being CHILDISH?” You wrench your hand out of Seonghwa’s grip. “Tell me, Seonghwa, please, how is someone supposed to react in this situation? What is the normal reaction? Enlighten me, please!” 

When Seonghwa doesn’t respond, you stand, turning your full attention to him. San’s hands easily slide off of you, though you remain hovering over him. He finally starts cradling his red cheeks. 

Seonghwa looms over you, his back to Hongjoong as he stares over his shoulder at you. You feel guilty for lashing out at Seonghwa, somehow, but it doesn’t stop you from fanning the flames. There’s nothing that could stop you, not in this moment, from bringing anyone else to your level. 

You make eye contact with Hongjoong, who has his arms crossed nonchalantly, an enormous smile on his face. You imagine that this night is just going peachy for him. Just how he wanted it to. Maybe, just maybe, you can ruin his fun. 

At Seonghwa’s expense. You hardly feel bad about it, though, as your eyes snap back to Seonghwa’s. 

“Without turning around, take a guess. Is Hongjoong watching you, his perfect little whore, or me, the spoiled brat who doesn’t behave?” 

Seonghwa sneers, a small laugh escaping him. Of course, he plays right into your hands. He exhales one shaky breath before grabbing your shoulders, using the grip to shove you as hard as he can, sending you falling back to the floor. You practically land on top of San, your legs resting over his waist, but you can only laugh. 

Seonghwa falls onto his knees in front of you, crawling until he can reach your legs. He grabs you by your calves, pulling you off of San until you’re practically underneath himself. You’re sure that he’s planning on strangling you, there’s a sweet little look in his eyes that tells you everything you need to know.

And you’re excited, you want him to kill you, you realize. Your laughing becomes intermixed with your sobbing as Seonghwa puts his weight on your stomach, the fury in his eyes blazing harder with each sound you make. 

Before you can truly get your way, though, San is grabbing Seonghwa by the back of his shirt, using all of his strength to pull him off of you. You hear the fabric rip as Seonghwa sprawls onto his back in front of you, and San takes the same position that Seonghwa had just had on you. 

You can’t find it in yourself to sit up, so you opt to just turn your head until you can see San. Vaguely, you can hear the sound of him hitting Seonghwa as you had just pleaded with him to do to you, and this only makes you cry harder. 

You turn your head in the opposite direction, and you’re greeted with the image of Hongjoong, still sitting contentedly. He glances down at you, but he doesn’t betray anything.

“Can’t you just kill me?” You whisper to him, hoping the others can’t hear it, “won’t you please just kill me?” 

Hongjoong frowns, then, slowly rising to his feet to come to your side. He holds his hand out, waiting for you to take it. 

You don’t at first, opting to continue looking pathetically up at him. From this angle, with the blurriness of your tears and the extreme perspective, Hongjoong really does look… ethereal. Angelic. Godly. Whatever the word is. You take his hand, allowing him to heave you into a sitting position just in time to see San land the punch that you’re sure breaks Seonghwa’s nose. 

It’s only in this moment that you realize San is screaming at Seonghwa, mostly incomprehensible phrases of anger. Seonghwa is trying to fight back, his hands clenching onto San’s shirt, slapping at his shoulders and face, thrashing underneath him, but San is too pissed to let any of it stop him. 

Hongjoong squats at your side, resting one of his knees on the floor. He doesn’t drop your hand, instead using it to pull you closer to him. He puts his face next to yours, making sure you’re watching the scene unfolding in front of you. 

“Doesn't this make you feel good? Seeing what San would do for you? Even after it’s all over?” He whispers so close that his breath tickles your ear. “It could always be like this. Everyone could love you like this.” 

Love? This is love? Your ploy to upset Hongjoong by including Seonghwa failed. If there isn’t love lost between the two of them, then what on earth about this is love?

Still, your heart skips a beat. 

You had completely forgotten (or, maybe, ignored) Jongho’s presence until Hongjoong turns to give him some sort of look that must tell him to stop whatever is going on. In the next moment, Jongho is resting a hand on San’s shoulder, barely having to pull at him to get him to cease his movements. 

Seonghwa turns his face toward you and Hongjoong, blood pouring from his nose and split lips. 

A sob escapes him, this time, before he turns to face the other direction. 

You really hadn’t meant for Seonghwa to get hurt from this. You just wanted to goad someone into giving you what you wanted, and he was easiest. You avert your eyes from him, wanting to give him the privacy he clearly desires. 

Hongjoong doesn’t care. He drops your hand, standing to go to Seonghwa. 

You look at San and Jongho. San is also sobbing, his knuckles torn to shreds in his lap. 

You don’t feel bad for him. You don’t feel anything for him. You’re sure the upset will come in the next few days. The bomb will drop, the emotions will explode, but now, in this moment, you couldn’t care less if he lived or died. 

Frankly, you couldn’t even care less about your own life. Haseul is dead. She’s dead. And she’s never coming back. You’ll never see her smile again, never text her that you’re bored at work, never hear her complain about her parents arguing again. Her parents. Her own parents. They’ll never see her again, and it’s your fault. Entirely. 

You look back at Seonghwa and Hongjoong just in time to see Seonghwa slap Hongjoong’s hand away from him, groaning as he turns his body to fully face away from his God. 

That can’t be a good sign. 

Hongjoong sighs, crossing his arms over his chest before turning on his heel to come back to you. 

Great. Just what you wanted. 

“Is she really dead?” You can’t help the question, squeezing your eyes shut as they fill with more tears. 

Hongjoong sits beside you, taking both of your hands in his this time. “She is.” 

“For how long?” You don’t open your eyes.

He takes a few seconds to answer, as if contemplating whether you should hear the truth or not. “She died the day she arrived.” 

You’re not sure if this is the best or the worst news that he could’ve given you. You’d believed lies for weeks, but at least she hadn’t been suffering the entire time, like you pictured. 

“Was it really San?” You still had a hard time believing it. Could San kill? Had you really shared a bed with him for over a month, not knowing that he had killed Haseul himself, believing that he hadn’t?

“No,” He admits, letting go of one of your hands, using his newly freed hand to rest on your cheek. You open your eyes, feeling your lips quivering with… every emotion on this goddamn planet. Anger. Fear. Sadness. Whatever. “Jongho killed her, and humanely at that. But San helped with the mess. I didn’t want it to be like this, (Y/n), I warned you.” 

And what could you say. He warned you. Very plainly. And you had disobeyed him. And look at what it cost. 

Hongjoong moves his hand away from your face, using it to wrap around you and pull you back into a hug. 

There's nothing to do anymore. Nothing to say. You cry into his shoulder, finally wrapping your own arms around him in acceptance. 

He rocks you, there, on the ground. “It might be hard to understand now, (Y/n), but everything I do, I do for you.” 

You nod. “Please don't make me see him again.” 

Hongjoong knows who. He strokes your head, smoothing your hair, “Of course, love. Of course.” 

Though you know that this is all because of Hongjoong, you still find his words comforting, his embrace grounding. You squeeze him tighter to you, appreciating the feeling of having at least one person on your side. He’s right, he’s so right, you can’t trust anyone else, not when this is how it turns out. 

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[woncon]

➳ sick duty.

➶ poly!ateez x gn!reader (yungisang focus) ｡˚ °

-ˏ` ✎﹏ Yunho is sick, and you and Yeosang are on sick duty. When the others still haven't arrived with jelly, you decide to go to the nearest shop in the raging storm and buy some, because Yunho really wants them.

➴ genre: slice of life, sickfic, estabilished relationship, polyamory, non-idol!au

: ̗̀➛ warnings: yungisang focus, but everyone gets screen time, poor yunho has a fever, one sexually suggestive offer, petnames, nudity

⌨ :: 3.5K words ♡ ︵ . .

⁀➷ This idea came to me when I saw a double rainbow in early June while listening to Golden Hour Pt1. It was supposed to play in the summer, but I never got to the end. Now autumn came and I decided to write it. But in this rainy, gloomy weather it seemed better to set it in a more autumnal setting. That changed my basic idea a lot, but I'm happy with it as it is.

⁀➷ My lovely @wonsheep, I'm still sorry the rain poured on you so heavily on Wednesday. :( But it was very motivating, as you can see. Many thanks for reading through the story and founding my silly mistakes!

➳ mlist

I'm hot.

I want tea.

I'm cold.

The sickly season of the autumn-winter months spares no one. Yunho, who is hard to dislodge from whatever well-endowed giraffe's legs he has, is now curled up in the middle of the bed, disconsolate because he didn't pull on a thick enough scarf, or was carelessly underdressed in the living room, or simply spent too much time around a co-worker who has been lurking with some virus. Whichever the case, the poor guy is in a terrible mood.

"I want medicine," he whispers his next wish.

You look at your watch.

“One more hour before you can take the next one,” you say, brushing his hair away to touch his sweat beaded forehead. It's still as warm as underfloor heating.

Frustrated, he rolls to the side and buries his head fully into the pillow. You drop your hands back into your lap, helpless. It's simply exasperating to watch him suffer, to listen to his snotty, ragged breathing mix with the rain beating against the window.

“Do you want something to help?” you ask, when he turns to you again and raises his feverish eyes to you. The skin around his nose is flushed from all the blowing.

“Jelly.”

Yunho is convinced that jelly sweets can help him. Or at least when he's sick, he likes to eat sweets. Other times, not so much. Unfortunately, you guys weren't prepared for Yunho being sick in the near future. Plus, there's a storm brewing, the kind you haven't seen in a long time. It's been raining steadily for a week now, sometimes more, sometimes less. The others went to do the shopping with the car, leaving Yunho behind with the promise to bring him some jelly. He responded with a small, grateful smile.

Now, looking at his tortured expression, you would give a lot to see that smile again, the hope in his eyes. You reach out and take his hand. You sigh. Gently, slowly, you caress the back of his hand, knowing how sensitive he is to touch when he has a fever. You don't want to overdo it and hurt him, but at the same time you want to let him know physically that you're there for him.

"It's on the way." You really hope it is. The last time Jongho called, they were already at the checkout. Your youngest friend boasted that they were bringing five full bags of jelly beans. That was about twenty minutes ago. No news since then. It bothers you that you can't offer an immediate solution to Yunho's every wish.

Before Yunho can ask any more questions, the door opens. Yeosang arrives with a tray holding a steaming mug and something wrapped in napkins that you can't identify yet. With cautious steps, he moves to the other side of the bed among some discarded clothes - because Yunho didn't want to shower this morning, just threw everything off the bed he'd chosen as his regular place - and then takes a seat, placing the tray safely on the bedside table, gently moving Seonghwa's half-finished book.

“I've brought the tea," he says to Yunho. "And I found some biscuits to go with it."

Interested, the patient moves up on the pillow, but still looks vulnerable. Yeosang holds the cup in his hand and gives the man small sips. Meanwhile, you get up and gather up the laundry strewn around the bed and take it to the bathroom. On the way, you hear a conversation emanating from the kitchen, from which you hear the word 'jelly bean' clearly spoken at one point. So after throwing the laundry in the hamper, you go to the kitchen instead of the bedroom. The room is filled with the smell of hot water and tea leaves. Mingi is putting away the tea ingredients. The call is already finished, his phone is on the counter.

Originally, Mingi wouldn’t be on sick duty today. Today's subordinates are you and Yeosang, Mingi just didn't want to leave the apartment in this crazy weather and he’s helping you instead. It's not like this sick duty thing is strict in your relationship, and it's set in stone that Mingi can only nurse Yunho on Mondays and Fridays and holidays or anything. That said, there are rules. For example, Mingi usually only needs one nurse when he gets a cold or something more serious, but at such times it is Yunho for most of the time. Then there's Jongho, who, if he falls ill, no matter what the schedule, has all eight of you at his disposal twenty-four hours a day. Or, again, there's Seonghwa, who hides the fact that he's sick until it's too obvious, and you're all freaking out as to why he won't let you take care of him.

Yunho usually hardly gets sick. When he does, even a mild cold will get him down. And when he is ill, he's even fussier than the sick Wooyoung, and only one lover has a hard time coping with his demands. Usually two people are enough to care for him if there are jelly beans nearby. Which, for now, there aren’t.

“Are they on their way home?” you ask Mingi, who's packing honey. 

"It's worse downtown than here," he says. "The traffic's bad. They're just moving towards home inch by inch."

You both look out of the window, and the tapping of the rain remains as unrelenting as the fever that plagues Yunho.

“Is the tea to his liking?”

“I'm sure of it,” you smile at him. Mingi is usually insecure when it comes to Yunho's well-being. You suspect that the boy's illness was a more significant reason for Mingi to stay home than his desire not to get wet. “But you can ask him.”

You return to the bedroom with Mingi at your side. You remind yourself that this room now functions as a ward. The patient is huddled near the edge of the bed, munching on biscuits soaked in tea, so that they don't scratch his throat.

“It's not jelly,” he mutters, then pulls away from Yeosang and lies back on the upholstered cushions.

You look at Yeosang. Your theory is that you're thinking the exact same thing. If jelly beans are the only thing that helps your boyfriend, you'll do anything to get them. You're even willing to go to the convenience store in the pouring rain, because when you are on sick duty, Yunho mustn't lack anything.

"We'll go and get jelly beans," you say. Yeosang nods his head in commitment.

“We'll go?” Mingi looks terrified. “All of us?”

You can't leave Yunho alone in this state. It's a good thing that Mingi is here, in addition to Yeosang and you, ready for action, and not stuck in traffic with the others downtown. 

“No. You stay here with Yunho and look after him.”

Mingi continues to blink. 

“We'll be quick, don't worry, you don't have to multitask. Yuyu will probably fall asleep soon.”

"It's not me I'm worried about," he protests, "You'll get wet and cold."

"The store is not far away. We won't have enough time in the rain to freeze to death."

Yeosang wraps Yunho in a blanket and kisses him on the head.

"Mingi?" The man folded in a burrito addresses the worried individual.

“Yes?”

“Gimme a hug.”

Mingi doesn't resist, but climbs onto the bed, swapping places with Yeosang, who pats his shoulder as he passes. Before you even leave the room, you hear Mingi apologize and ask for Yunho's forgiveness.

Yeosang sticks the umbrella out the door. Just a little to test how much it rains. There's really barely any surface out, but the wind immediately grabs it and tugs it further. He pulls it back in time before the umbrella swings out or the wind wins, and you close the door with a great struggle, which also wants to jump off its hinges from the violent gusts of wind.

“I think this will stay here,” Yeosang says, and then drops the solid black umbrella behind you.

You zip up your raincoat. It occurs to you that maybe Mingi is right, and you're so wet you'll get stuck in a puddle of icy water. Yet the idea doesn't discourage you, doesn't make you stay, because Yunho needs the jellies.

Yeosang adjusts his hood, then holds out his hand. You embrace him tightly. You check your wallet stashed in the waterproof pocket one last time and place your hand on the doorknob. Then you push it down. The door swings open, and you let it drag you along with it. The back of your coat gets soaked immediately. The rain doesn't fall, it instead pours down from behind in a wave with the wind. Clinging on to Yeosang in vain, it's hard to keep up your own pace and not lurch forward like a rag doll. It's a wonder your boyfriend can close the door.

Although the shop is indeed a block away, at this time it feels like you're wandering for eternity. For one thing, the scenery is completely different in the rain, it's harder to navigate, especially in the raging, commanding wind. Around one corner, Yeosang has to pull you in, because out of nowhere a car appears, its wheels gallantly splashing a full puddle onto the pavement.

Somehow, you do reach the store. As soon as the automatic door closes behind you, the storm is out of the way. Inside, the weather is pleasant. Only the clothes clinging to your skin and the small puddles and mud stains on the floor left by other shoppers are reminders of what a doomsday is happening outside.

“Huh,” you sigh in relief. The first game of the war against weather is over. You only have one more to go to succeed in the jelly bean mission.

“We're crazy," Yeosang shakes his head in disbelief. Then he smiles up at you, sweetly and lovingly, because he's proud you're crazy. You return it.

Insanity is part of sick duty to some extent. Last time San must have used up thirty tissues a day, and ran out in the middle of the week. Hongjoong ran so fast to replace the used-up packets that he was almost hit by a truck. And when you were sick and craving nothing but a mug of hot tomato soup when all the shops were closed and there were no tomatoes at home, only ketchup... Well, Jongho tried.

You purposefully seek out sweets. Luckily, you don't have to wander around and scout the place, you'll often find yourself here. You take off two bags of Yunho's favourite flavour, sour apple. You remember again how pitiful your otherwise healthy and cheerful boyfriend looks.

“This will help him,” Yeosang says encouragingly, as if he's reading your mind.

You nod, then head for the cashier. You get in line. From here, you can see the window and the rain pouring down.

For the first time since the jelly bean plan was born, you have time to think about Mingi's excuse when he cuddled up to Yunho. It's my fault. I'm sorry. But how could it be his fault that Yunho caught a cold?

You're rewinding the previous two weeks. Yunho was in home office the whole time. He really enjoyed it, and when he wasn't working, he was playing video games. He didn't put his foot out until one time when he had to pop down to the shop for something. It didn't rain so heavily that day, just a gentle drizzle. Maybe Mingi had taken off Yunho's blanket one night? It couldn't be, either, because they'd been sleeping far apart lately.

It's your turn, so you suspend your musings. When you get back, you'll ask Mingi and hope it's not too embarrassing for him not to tell you. If he feels guilty, you could help him and reassure him that it's not his fault.

You and Yeosang pay. You put the bags in your coat pockets. You pull the hood up, not that it matters. You cling together again, then step out onto the soggy pavement. 

The way back is harder. This time the wind brings the rain from the front. Each blast smacks you in the face. Neither of your hoods can stay up. Your hair gets wet, the rain drips under your coat. You successfully step into a puddle, literally splashing in the muddy water, and the inside of your boots get soaked. You're wet everywhere, from your elbows to your toes. It's really annoying, but you don't falter, clutching Yeosang's arm until you reach the sheltering door of your home to drop in like two wet rags on the threshold and with a combined effort you shut out the cold, ominous wind. Yeosang slides along the door, his hair leaving a wet streak on the wooden panel.

“We did it,” he sighs, and proudly rattles one of the jelly beans he pulls out of his pocket. The bag is intact, of course.

“We did,” you agree, and pull him up off the ground.

Suddenly you're faced with the problem of not knowing what to take off first because everything is equally soaked. It's almost as if your clothes are the cool part of your skin, plus outer layers. Finally, following your boyfriend's example, you throw your coat on the floor first, then your shoes on the doormat, and socks after.

Before you reach for the next layer of clothing, there is the sound of footsteps. You think Mingi is coming, but when he sighs, you realize it's not your tall lover.

“You guys are adorable and dedicated, but silly at the same time," says Hongjoong with crossed arms.

“But at least Yunho’s jellies will hold out until he heals,” answers Yeosang, taking off his shirt.

“When did you arrive?” you ask.

“About a minute ago. But we'll talk later. Now go take a shower before you too end up feverishly next to Yunho,” Hongjoong advises, then retreats and San steps forward. He unconcealedly runs his eyes over Yeosang's naked torso, and yours, which still has your shirt stuck to it, rather tightly, so it might even be useless.

“If you get sick, I'll be on sick duty every day. The thing is, the adorable, dedicated, silly people are just my type” he winks.

“Move over, Sanie," Wooyoung appears and nudges the other one in the side, "You promised to help hyung pack up.”

San hums and walks away, but still smiles in your direction. You all love to oblige Hongjoong and Seonghwa, and that goes for when there's an opportunity to flirt as well.

“You two are sexy, all wet,” Wooyoung admits. “If you need help with the shower, let me know. I'll be within earshot.”

“We'll consider it,” you promise. Wooyoung nods with a grin, and he also retreats to the kitchen.

You pass through the hallway, but before you can go to the bathroom, Jongho stands in front of you with a plate of jelly beans. “Here. I thought you should be the ones to give it to him. You made a greater sacrifice, and most of us stayed dry. Except for Hwa hyung, who opened the door and held the umbrella.”

“Thank you,” you say at the same time. While Yeosang takes the bowl, you press a kiss on Jongho's cheek.

When you retire to the bedroom, the scene is quite cozy. Yunho is in bed, hugging Mingi, craving jelly beans, and you offer him what he craves most, and what you fought Mother Nature for.

“We got it,” you report.

Yunho snaps his head up. The mere hope brings life to his sick features. You stand by the bed, careful not to get rainwater on it.

“Here, hyung," Yeosang hands the bowl to him in a soft whisper.

“I hope you weren’t too desperate, baby. We hurried as much as we could.”

“You're the best," says Yunho, touched, between bites. “I love you.”

“We love you too, giant baby. Very much,” you assure him.

And he smiles up at you. The mission is a complete success. Whether all that time and getting soaked was enough to put you to bed remains to be seen. In the meantime, you bask in success.

Mingi sneezes. Then he reaches under the pillow and takes out a handkerchief. “My throat may be a tiny bit scratchy.”

“Should we set up someone on sick duty for you too?” Yeosang offers readily.

“Our poor boyfriends,” you sigh, watching them. Yunho in the midst of illness, Mingi as he probably slips into a state of flux.

“I deserve it,” murmurs Mingi, looking ruefully at Yunho.

“Why do you think so?” you ask the question that has been nagging at you for a good twenty minutes.

“When we ran out of milk last week, Yunho and I went to the grocery store... I offered to make out with him in the rain. It didn't rain much, and there was no wind. Still, that's how Yunho got cold.”

"Come on," the other protests hoarsely. He sucks on a jelly bean with great enthusiasm. You wouldn't believe he can taste it. “You offered, I agreed, I could have said no, but I didn't. All in all, it was worth it.”

“Worth it?” Yeosang raises his eyebrows. “You were dying before the jelly arrived.”

"If you haven't kissed Mingi in the rain, you won't understand," he declares, then turns to Mingi. “Want a jelly, princess?

Yeosang and you leave them alone, let them romance each other in the infirmary. Barefoot, you stomp off to the bathroom. You open the door, and a thick, fragrant steam rises from the room. A pleasant warm breeze reminds you how cold you are. You hurry inside. Yeosang closes the door to keep the comforting steam from escaping.

Seonghwa is already drying his hair and got dressed. You look at him expectantly, ready to be reprimanded. But he has no such plans. He takes your face with one hand and Yeosang's with the other. “I am proud of you. Take a bath, then we can watch a movie. We made a whole list while we were stuck in traffic.”

Yeosang hums, you nod in response. Good idea. At this time of year, there's no point in doing anything other than curling up on the sofa together.

You bask in Seonghwa's soft touch until the last moment, and the knowledge that he's proud of you. It's really enjoyable to play good cop, bad cop with Hongjoong, and they don’t scold you twice. Regardless, you need to figure out a way to cheer up that boyfriend of yours who called you adorable, dedicated, and silly all at the same time. 

“So he probably caught it while kissing,” you acknowledge what you've heard by tugging your trousers down after Seonghwa has left you alone.

“Interesting.”

“And understandable. Sounds romantic.”

“Do you want to go back?” Yeosang glances up at you as he pulls towels out of the closet. The look in his eyes is willing. It embarrasses you to know that he would take a single word from you and go back with you into the pouring rain to fulfill that desire.

“I wouldn’t do it in this weather. But, for example, standing in a cool summer drizzle, refreshing after the heat. When me and my partner won’t be so likely to have a fever for a week.”

“Last summer Woo did it with someone. I think it was with Sanie, but I'm not sure. Maybe he caught Hongjoong hyung in a moment of weakness.”

“Really? Is it fashionable to kiss in the rain in our relationship?”

“A bit.” Yeosang undresses completely. 

Your hand is over the laundry basket, you've dropped the last of your clothes in it, yet you don't move. You’re looking at Yeosang. At his naked back, how rainwater is dripping from his hair, onto his delicate muscles. The line of his shoulder blades as his back narrows, ending in the lovely hips you'd hold in your hands for days. And of course you can't neglect his ass or his thighs or his whole being, because once you start looking at him, one part of him is not enough, and the whole of him is overwhelmingly wonderful.

He turns back to you. “Are you coming?”

“Sure.” You follow him into the bath. You take his face in the palm of your hand and kiss him on the lips. “Wooyoung was right.” 

“About what?”

"You're sexy when you're wet," you explain, and at the same time you probably reveal that you were just staring at him.

"He didn't just say that to me, love," he replies, pulling you close. Then he opens the water. The warm, soothing drops fall on your head and drip down your chilled skin. Like rain.

“I have an idea. Let's kiss here like it's raining.”

“Oh,” Yeosang smiles sweetly. His thumb caresses your cheek. “Okay.”

And you shower until the hot water runs out.

[jjunberry]

ateez! when you wipe away their kisses

pairing! ateez x reader

genre! fluff, humor

synopsis! you try pranking your boyfriend by wiping away his kisses

wc! 600

hongjoong! is confused. he didn’t remember putting any product on his lips. so why did you wipe his kiss away? frowns and leans over kissing your cheek again. you smiled before wiping it off. “y/nie.” he cried out kissing your cheek again. only for you to wipe it off. “stop wiping my love away.” you giggled and hugged the boy. “i’m sorry.” you cooed before kissing him properly.

seonghwa! is baffled. you’ve never done this before, even when you were upset with him. he decided to see if it was just a mistake. so he placed a kiss to your cheek. you smiled then wiped it off. seonghwa was sick. his eyes wide mouth a gape. “babe?” he asked. you couldn’t hold in your giggles at his face. you kissed his cheek. “i’m sorry baby! it was a joke.” he groaned. “a cruel one.” he grumbled.

yunho! frowns. “baby.” he said before kissing your cheek again. “yeah?” you asked while wiping it off. his eyebrows furrowed. “stop it.” he whined kissing you again. “stop what?” you wiped his kiss away again. “are you trying to break my heart?” he cried out giving you puppy dog eyes. you instantly caved before giving him all the kisses he wanted.

yeosang! scoffs. if you didn’t want his kisses then he simply wouldn’t give them to you. after you wiped his kiss off he refused to kiss you for the rest of the day. successfully ruining your prank. “yeosang.” you pouted before kissing his cheek. “so now you want my kisses?” he smirked. you nodded. “too bad.” he patted your head before taking off with you chasing after him.

san! throws a tantrum. how dare you? he’s pretty sure his heart broke when you wiped away his kiss. “baby.” he said before kissing your cheeks then your lips. you giggled then wiped them away. san stomped his foot and crossed his arms. “do you not love me anymore?” he asked. you couldn’t help the giggles. san sighed. “stop the pranks before i die.” he groaned. you kissed him. “so dramatic.”

mingi! immediately goes in for another kiss, that you of course wipe away. the boy is quite literally heart broken. he loves kissing you and you just wiped it away. “stop it.” he whined grabbing your face and kissing your lips. before you could wipe it away his hands hold yours and he leaves kisses all over you. “okay okay, stop.” you laughed. “it was a prank.” his eyes furrowed. “you’re so mean to me.” he whined.

wooyoung! throws a tantrum part two. screams about how much you don’t love him. all you did was wipe away the kiss he gave you before he was supposed to leave for practice. “i can’t believe you don’t love me anymore.” he cries falling to the floor. you laugh before kissing him. “it was just a prank now go before you’re late.” he laughed kissing you before leaving.

jongho! blinks in confusion. why did you just wipe away his kiss? you’ve never done this before. tries to figure out if he’s upset you. he decided to test the waters and kiss you again. when you wiped it away he gasped. “why?” he whined. you smiled rarely did you see jongho this way. you couldn’t hold in your laughter. his eyebrows furrowed when he realized it was one of your pranks. he scoffed and playfully shoved you but accepted the kisses you left on him.

author’s note! had so much inspiration for ateez lately soooo i’ve been on an ateez kick lmao

tag list! @jjunieworld @304files

love, echo ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪

© jjunberry