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seongwars · 22 days ago

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𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 | 𝐭𝐰𝐨

Pairing: Viscount!Choi San x Countess!Reader AU: non-idol | regency Rating: T/NC-17 Summary: After falling prey to one of Choi San’s cruel games, you vowed yourself to a life of eternal spinsterhood. But when a fire leaves the Choi estate in ruins, the very man you swore you would never forgive re-enters your life. Word Count: 6.2K Warnings: one swear word, minor violence, use of firearms, inaccurate depictions of the era (sorry history buffs 😭)

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a/n: happy new year everyone! 2024 was certainly a tough year for a lot of us but i'm manifesting brighter days for us in the new year!

The late summer air felt stifling to San as the Choi family’s carriage approached the Kang estate. Even with the screens lowered, the faint breeze that slipped through offered little relief from the oppressive heat. He focused on the rhythmic clatter of the wheels, trying to drown out the whirlwind of emotions brewing inside him.

The fire that had left the Choi estate partially burned had started in the kitchen, but its cause remained a mystery. It had spread swiftly, destroying much of the west wing before the servants managed to bring it under control. Though the main manor was spared total ruin, the damage was extensive. Repairs would take months, leaving the family no choice but to seek refuge with anyone willing to take them in.

His parents sat across from him, speaking in hushed tones but he wasn’t listening. He had heard this conversation often enough in the past weeks to know where it would lead.

“Would this not be the perfect opportunity to get close to Y/N?” Viscountess Choi remarked, her voice deceptively light.

San felt a knot tighten in his stomach, realizing where this conversation was headed. The subtle shift in his mother’s demeanor, the way her lips curled into a knowing smile, made it clear that she had plans for him—plans that involved you.

“Do you not find it inappropriate, mother, to discuss alliances when our home was nearly reduced to ash?” he replied, his voice laced with a bitterness he couldn’t entirely suppress.

Viscountess Choi’s smile didn’t waver. “Precisely why this is the perfect time,” she replied smoothly, her words tinged with a maddening confidence.

“The Kangs have graciously opened their home to us. It would be unwise not to show our gratitude.”

Gratitude. That’s what she was calling it now. San clenched his jaw, his gaze returning to the passing scenery outside the carriage window. He knew better than to argue when his mother’s mind was already made up. But the idea of using his family’s misfortune as a stepping stone for her ambitions made his stomach churn.

There had been something between you once, though calling it close now felt like a cruel twist of fate. San had always been someone who commanded attention, whether he sought it or not. His charm, once something he wielded effortlessly in your presence, was now a weapon that had turned against him.

He had spent countless nights over the years replaying that moment in the garden, as if by thinking about it enough, he could somehow undo it. But no matter how many times he revisited it, the outcome was the same. You had trusted him, opened yourself to him in a way no one else had, and he had destroyed it all in a single reckless moment.

No matter how many letters he wrote, how many conversations he rehearsed in his mind, it was as though he had been erased from your world. And perhaps, in a way, he had.

Whenever you were near, it felt as though the air itself had grown colder. You would sweep past him at gatherings, head held high, never sparing him a second glance. You spoke to everyone but him, and when your gaze brushed over him, it was like staring through empty space.

He had done this to himself. He had betrayed your trust in the most humiliating, selfish way possible. And your brother made sure to remind him of that. Yeosang had come storming into the club the very next evening after the ball.

San could still recall the moment vividly, every detail seared into his memory.

“Where the fuck is he!?”

San only had a moment before Yeosang came bearing down on him, his fist connecting with his jaw. The impact was staggering, sending him reeling backward into a table, knocking over bottles and glasses in a chaotic crash.

“Of all the people in this world, you made a wager on my sister?”

San’s eyes darted between Yeosang and the crowd, his shock turning to regret as he slowly began to comprehend the magnitude of his actions.

“I never meant to hurt her.”

The regret in his expression was immediate, but it did nothing to quell the fire in Yeosang’s eyes. He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper that was somehow more terrifying than his entrance.

“Did you think you could just make a fool out of her and walk away unscathed? That you could treat her like some plaything, and there wouldn’t be consequences?”

San swallowed hard, the reality of his actions finally crashing down on him. He had played the game too far, crossed a line he could never uncross.

“I’m sorry,” he managed, his voice barely audible, the words tasting hollow and useless even as he spoke them.

“Sorry?” Yeosang repeated, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Do you really think a simple apology can undo the damage you’ve caused to her reputation?”

Yeosang leaned in, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper that was heard by everyone in the stunned crowd.

“Let me remind you of something,” he continued, his tone darkening with every syllable.

“Contrary to what the rest of your bastards think, my sister is not some wallflower you can toy with and discard. If I’d let her have her way, she’d have set the hounds on you and hunted you through the woods herself.”

Yeosang’s gaze remained fixed on San, his eyes blazing with an intensity that brooked no argument.

“You’re lucky,” he hissed, “lucky that I’m the one standing here tonight and not her. Because if she were here, you’d be running for your life right now, and there wouldn’t be a soul in this room who could save you.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving San alone in the center of the room, the eyes of everyone upon him, the full weight of his actions bearing down on him like an unforgiving storm.

He had turned something precious, a genuine connection, into a game, a fleeting moment of amusement at the behest of his peers. And in doing so, had ruined any chance of earning your trust or your friendship, perhaps even more.

The Kang estate came into view, an impressive silhouette against the sky, and the knots in San’s stomach tightened. He wasn’t sure if it was the looming confrontation with your family or just the fact that you were inside, somewhere, plotting against him.

As the carriage approached the gates, a commotion reached their ears. San squinted, his brows furrowing. The sound of your voice carried through the air, clear and indignant.

San blinked. The footman hadn’t even opened the carriage door yet, but the clamor outside piqued his curiosity. He stepped out on his own, descending the steps cautiously as he tried to make sense of the chaos erupting from the grounds.

“Kang Y/N, stop this nonsense!”

The sharp voice rang out, unmistakably that of Lady Kang, her tone tinged with exasperation and disbelief.

“You are not becoming a nun just because the Choi family is staying with us!”

San’s lips parted, but before he could question what was happening, a blur of movement caught his eye. Down the main path leading to the estate, he saw you, clutching a little sack in one hand and lifting your skirts with the other as you darted away. You whipped around, casting a glance over your shoulder as your mother pursued you, flanked by two bewildered servants.

“You’re asking me to endure the unspeakable horror of living under the same roof as Choi San!”

San felt his breath catch in his throat. Of all the ways to be greeted, this was not one he had anticipated. For a moment, all he could do was watch the spectacle unfold, half wondering if he should intervene or simply retreat back into the carriage and pretend he hadn’t witnessed any of this.

But then your eyes snapped to him, and his breath hitched. You froze mid-step, staring at him as though his mere presence had upended all your carefully laid escape plans. Your hair was slightly mussed, your face flushed, and despite your obvious distress, there was a defiance burning within your eyes.

You had changed. The sharp wit he remembered was still there, but the woman standing before him now was entirely different, a force to be reckoned with. In that moment, everything about you seemed to shine brighter, commanding his attention in a way that left him breathless.

Was it too late? Or was there, against all odds, still a chance? Perhaps this would be the fateful encounter where you’d be reunited after four long years, and begin to rebuild the connection he’d so carelessly destroyed. Or–

“You!” you sputtered, your cheeks burning with equal parts humiliation and indignation.

And just like that, his hopes were shattered.

San straightened instinctively, his heart lurching as he grasped the carriage door for support as he blinked at you, confusion plain on his face.

“Me?” he asked, pointing to himself as if there were any chance you were yelling at someone else.

“Mr. Choi!” Lady Kang’s voice rang out, skirts swishing with enough force to send a servant scuttling out of her path.

“Mr. Choi, stop her!”

San blinked again, his gaze darting between you and your mother. Stop her? He glanced at the sack clutched tightly in your hands, then at the determined set of your jaw, and then back to your mother, who seemed moments away from fainting.

Your movements were sudden and sharp as you darted past the gates and onto the estate’s main road. San’s eyes widened, and without thinking, he took a hesitant step forward.

“M-Ms. Kang! Wait!” he called out, his voice rising in pitch as he tried, and failed, to process what was happening.

You didn’t slow down. If anything, his call only seemed to spur you on, your legs pumping faster as your mother shouted from behind him.

“Is something the matter with Y/N?” Viscount Choi asked, poking his head out the carriage door.

San turned halfway, floundering for words. “Uh, well–”

Lady Kang was practically in hysterics, still clutching at the folds of her skirts as she tried to regain her composure. She spun on her heel, a forced smile plastered on her face as she approached San's parents, who were now fully out of the carriage and observing the unfolding chaos with mild amusement.

"Viscount and Viscountess Choi," your mother greeted, her voice an octave higher than usual.

She spread her arms as if trying to shield them from the scene of servants half-collapsed in exhaustion, Joe bent over with his hands on his knees, and you, a fast-disappearing figure on the horizon.

“Is it always this lively here?” the viscount asked with a hearty chuckle. His footmen were unloading the trunks, seemingly unbothered by the commotion.

Lady Kang’s smile twitched dangerously, but she nodded in agreement, her fingers twisting anxiously in her skirts.

“Oh, yes. Quite lively! It’s never dull here at our humble estate.”

“I can see that,” San’s mother remarked, her tone bordering on bemused as she exchanged a glance with her husband.

“It seems your daughter is rather…spirited this morning.”

“She’s just getting some fresh air! It’s been a long week preparing for your arrival, after all! Come, allow me to show you to your quarters. There’s plenty of room here for everyone!”

San barely registered their exchanges, his mind still reeling from the scene that had just unfolded. Your departure struck him as a sharp reminder of the pain he caused you years ago. Four years had passed since he had recklessly used you in a wager, and yet, here you were, fleeing from him and the mess he created.

He knew he had no right to feel this way, no right to want to make things right when he’d been the one to destroy everything between you. But the thought of you with your unrestrained fury made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t ignore.

This was supposed to be an opportunity for his family, a chance to rebuild after the fire that had brought them to the Kang estate. But for San, it already felt like a return to the very thing he’d been trying to escape—his own mistakes.

⊹

The dining room was suffocating. Servants moved about, arranging dishes with care, the clink of silverware and the soft murmur of polite conversation filling the space. The voices of your mother, the Viscountess, and Yunho wove around you, their cheerful tones grating on your nerves.

After Jason and your mother dragged you back to the manor, you’d barely had time to shake off the humiliation of your failed escape attempt. The skirt of your dress was dusty, littered with debris from the tree you had climbed, and your hair was a windswept disaster, complete with leaves that clung stubbornly despite your frantic attempts to smooth them away. Every inch of you felt like a spectacle, and you trudged up the steps, wishing the earth would swallow you whole before anyone, particularly him could catch sight of your current state.

Not that it mattered. The more displeasing you were to Choi San, the better. He was an intruder in your life, a thorn in your side, and you were determined to make him regret every second he spent on your family’s estate.

That’s it! All you had to do was make yourself so insufferable that San would want to leave of his own accord. As you plotted against him, you mindlessly rounded the corner near the drawing room, only to find yourself face-to-face with none other than the man himself.

San stopped in his tracks. His dark eyes roamed over your disheveled state, taking in every humiliating detail. Yet his expression was uncharacteristically soft and curious, and the subtle rise of his brow suggested he wanted to say something, yet he remained silent, as if he, too, was caught off guard by the moment.

Your face warmed under his attention and you stiffened, determined not to look flustered even as his gaze lingered. This was already humiliating enough without him turning it into an opportunity to tease you further.

With your head held high, you brushed past him, ignoring the dust on your dress and the leaves tangled in your hair. His gaze followed you as if he couldn’t quite believe you were real, like he had been waiting years just to see you again and wasn’t sure if this moment was a dream.

San sat across from you at dinner, his shoulders rigid, his hand hovering with uncertainty over his glass as if caught between drinking and fidgeting. You refused to look at him directly, though occasionally, you felt his gaze land on you. Each time it happened, your grip on the knife tightened, and you deliberately lifted it just enough to send a message.

His gaze flickered away immediately, his ears turning an alarming shade of red.

Beside you, Yeosang sat in silence, his brow furrowed as he cast you a sidelong glance. He had clearly noticed your little game and seemed torn between amusement and disapproval. Thankfully, he said nothing, though his lips twitched once or twice as if he was holding back a laugh.

“Before I forget,” Yunho announced suddenly, breaking through the polite murmur of conversation, “I’ll be hosting a hunt at my family’s estate in a few weeks.”

“Oh, how splendid!” your mother exclaimed, her voice overly bright.

“Y/N, you’ll attend, of course.”

Your knife paused mid-air, hovering over the roast pheasant on your plate. You shot your mother a pointed look, the corner of your mouth twitching in irritation.

Your mother had always adored Yunho, he was your brother’s best friend, after all. Perhaps it was due to his boundless energy and unfaltering cheer, that mamas within the ton fawned over him more than their daughters did.

“Worry not, Your Grace,” you replied, tone dripping with exaggerated sweetness. “I’ll try not to embarrass you.”

“And you, Mr. Choi? Will you be joining us? Or is hunting not your kind of sport?”

San stiffened slightly, his posture straightening as he met Yunho’s gaze. His jaw tensed, and for a heartbeat, he didn’t answer, his fingers tightening around the stem of his wine glass.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” San replied coolly, though the slight grit in his tone betrayed his irritation.

The viscountess chimed in with a lighthearted comment about the joys of hunting, but the tension between Yunho and San was palpable. You could feel it radiating across the table, an unspoken battle of wills that neither man seemed willing to concede.

Men, you scoffed, picking up your glass. Whatever ridiculous posturing or rivalry Yunho and San were engaged in, didn’t concern you.

While your mother would likely fret over your attire and the chance to parade you before eligible bachelors, you had far more practical matters to attend to. Your hounds, loyal and eager, needed to be checked over, their training refreshed. You’d also have to inspect your firearms, ensuring they were polished and in proper working order.

If you were to endure the company of San and the Viscount for the hunt, you might as well have a little fun at their expense. Men were often so boastful about their skill with firearms, yet so easily unnerved when confronted with a woman who wielded them with confidence.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have rifles that need polishing and hounds that need training,” you announced, setting down your silverware. The murmurs of conversation around the dinner table faltered as heads turned your way, but you ignored the curious glances.

“Viscount, if you are so much as interested, you are more than welcome to glance over my late father’s collection. It’s quite impressive, even if I say so myself.”

The Viscount’s eyes lit up, a gleeful grin spreading across his face. "I remember the first time I saw it," he said, gesturing animatedly with his hands.

"I assumed he’d stolen half the royal armory! I’ve been wanting to get my hands on one of his French imports for years!"

"Father did have a fondness for Le Page pistols,” you added in an attempt to prolong the conversation just enough to needle your mother. But before the Viscount could say more, your mother cleared her throat delicately, her eyes narrowing in that way she always did when she sensed you veering off the path of propriety.

“Y/N, it is hardly appropriate to abandon dinner so abruptly,” she chided softly, her tone laced with forced politeness.

You leaned back in your chair with an innocent smile, meeting her gaze with just enough defiance to make your intentions clear.

“Apologies, mother, but preparations for the hunt cannot wait. Besides,” you added with a touch of nonchalance, “Norman hasn’t been let out of the kennels all day.”

“Norman?” she repeated, her voice rising slightly, her composure beginning to slip. Her expression shifted from mild disapproval to thinly veiled horror, and you had to suppress a laugh.

“You cannot possibly mean to bring that dog into the house!”

“He’s my best companion and hunter. Loyal, well behaved, and far less troublesome.” You let the words linger, then turned your eyes deliberately toward San, your glare sharp as you emphasized the last word.

San’s posture stiffened, the pointedness of your words cutting through any pretense of oblivion. He dropped his gaze to his wine glass, swirling the liquid as though it might offer an escape from your scrutiny. Beside him, Viscount Choi let out a nervous chuckle, his jovial demeanor faltering as he glanced between you, San, and your mother.

“Ah, yes, a good hunting dog is worth its weight in gold,” he offered, attempting to steer the conversation into safer territory. “Your father was always fond of terriers.”

Your mother’s sharp intake of breath signaled her growing exasperation, but you ignored it, standing gracefully and excusing yourself with a polite nod. It wasn’t just about the dog, of course.

Bringing Norman inside was your way of asserting a small act of rebellion, a reminder that you weren’t some pawn in your mother’s endless games of social maneuvering. Let her fume.

You were your father’s child, and you’d honor his memory in your own way, even if it meant bringing your rowdy wire fox terrier to disrupt the order of the manor.

San prided himself on many things: his charm and his uncanny ability to talk his way out of, or into, anything he pleased. Navigation, however, was not one of them.

It was meant to be a simple task: find his father, Yeosang, and Yunho to discuss hunting plans over a game of billiards. Yet here he was, standing in an unfamiliar garden, surrounded by an expanse of hedges and flowerbeds that seemed to mock him with every meticulously arranged bloom.

He sighed, placing his hands on his hips, and turned in a slow circle, trying to piece together how he’d managed to stray so far.

"This way?" he muttered under his breath, taking a tentative step toward a stone path before freezing. "No, absolutely not. I recognize that planter, I definitely passed it at least twice now."

San exhaled sharply, brushing a hand through his hair. The maze of hedges had successfully bested him, and he was now grappling with the humiliation of calling for help or wandering aimlessly until staff stumbled upon him.

Just as he was weighing the cost of his pride, a sharp bark rang out across the garden. He froze, his body going rigid.

Norman.

The terrier with boundless energy and an uncanny knack for finding mischief. He was just one of the dozens of hunting dogs your family kept for the sport, but he was unquestionably your favorite. While he wasn’t the fastest or the strongest, he was clever, spirited, and utterly devoted to you.

He rounded the hedge like a bullet, a streak of white and brown hurling straight toward San. His pulse quickened, and his mind raced. Had you trained the dog to attack him? He wouldn’t blame you if you did. He took an instinctive step back, hands darting to his side as if to ward off an incoming assault.

You crouched low by the hedges, furrowing your brow as you watched the scene unfold. Surely, the feisty terrier would bark San off the estate and send him running.

But no.

Norman skidded to a halt in front of him, tail wagging furiously and eyes alight with mischief. The dog let out an eager yip, crouching down with his front paws stretched forward in a playful bow.

You groaned inwardly as San’s lips curved into a soft smile, and he knelt to ruffle the dog’s fur.

“You must be Norman,” he murmured, his tone warm and easy.

Norman, utterly delighted, barked again and darted in circles around him, pausing only to nudge San’s hand with his nose when the petting stopped.

“Traitor,” you muttered under your breath, sinking deeper behind the hedges. With a resigned sigh, you stood and dusted off your dress, forcing yourself to sound as casual as possible.

“Norman!” You called out, as if you hadn’t just been crouched behind the bushes plotting San’s demise.

Norman, ever the opportunist, interpreted your call as the start of a game of chase. His ears perked, and with an enthusiastic bark, he darted out of your line of sight, his legs carrying him toward the fountain at full speed.

“Wait, no, no, no—Norman!” you shrieked, launching into a sprint after him. Your voice only spurred him on, his wagging tail disappearing behind a hedge before you caught sight of him again.

The terrier took a running leap and soared into the fountain, splashing around in its shallow pool. You stood frozen for a moment, watching the dog paddle gleefully in the water.

“Oh, fuck me,” you grumbled, running a hand down your face as Norman paused mid-paddle to taunt you. He splashed again, as if daring you to join him.

With a resigned huff, you approached the fountain, crouching slightly as you leaned over the edge. Carefully, you extended an arm toward the mischievous terrier.

“Kang Norman, come here,” you gritted.

Norman responded with a bark, kicking his little legs to paddle just beyond your reach. You let out a frustrated sigh, adjusting your position as you gathered the skirt of your dress to kneel against the stone ledge. The water brushed against your fingertips as you leaned in farther, your balance growing increasingly precarious.

“Y/N!”

Startled, you turned to face San, wide-eyed, just as your foot slipped on the damp stone edge. He lunged forward, his hand gripping your arm in an attempt to steady you, but your momentum carried you forward.

His grip faltered, and you slipped from his grasp, tumbling into the cold water with a loud, humiliating splash. As you began to fall, he leaped into the fountain after you, arms outstretched in a desperate attempt to catch you before you were fully submerged. Water sloshed over the edges as you flailed for a moment, finally sitting up in the fountain, thoroughly drenched and utterly defeated.

To add insult to injury, Norman waded over to you, barking cheerfully and wagging his soaked tail as though congratulating you for finally joining him.

“Are you alright?” San’s voice was breathless with concern as he knelt in the water, his arms still loosely around you from his attempt to break your fall.

You blinked up at him, stunned. His shirt clung to him, dripping from his hasty attempt to save you. For a heartbeat, you forgot about your own disheveled state, captivated by how breathtakingly handsome he looked just then—his guard down, his focus entirely on you.

How dare he look at you like that? Like you mattered. Like he hadn’t shattered you and left you to piece yourself back together alone.

Then it hit you. You were in his arms.

With a startled flail, you shoved at his chest, splashing water everywhere as you squirmed to get free.

“What are you doing?” you demanded sharply.

“You fell headfirst into the fountain!” San replied, his words spilling out too quickly, flustered and breathless. His brow furrowed, cheeks flushed.

“I noticed!” you snapped, scrambling to stand upright.

“I thought you might have hurt yourself.”

The audacity! Did he think he could fool you again? That a moment of concern could undo everything? You knew better. You knew this was the same man who had used you to repair his broken ego, the same man who had tossed you aside the moment you weren’t convenient for him anymore.

But there was a softness to him that made your resolve waver. It was maddening how in this moment, he left you momentarily spellbound despite every fault you’d sworn to hold against him.

“I’m fine,” you huffed, turning away with as much dignity as you could muster in your sodden state.

San cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly as he looked around, clearly unsure of what to do with himself now that he was standing knee-deep in the fountain with you. There was a beat of silence between you as you sat there, dripping wet and too close for comfort. You moved away slightly, crossing your arms against the water seeping into your clothes.

“I should return to the manor,” you said, clearing your throat in an attempt to sound composed, though the reality was anything but.

You scooped Norman into your arms, the terrier dripping and delightfully oblivious to the chaos he had caused. His tail wagged enthusiastically, sending water droplets flying in every direction.

“Before a scandal breaks,” you added.

“R-Right,” San stammered, nodding quickly.

Water dripped from the hem of your soaked clothes, forming a trail on the garden path, and your sodden shoes let out a loud, humiliating squeak with every step you took.

“My lady!” Anna’s voice rose in a shriek, her hands flying to her mouth. She hurried forward, her eyes darting between your drenched form and the steadily growing puddle beneath your feet.

“Oh, heavens!” she gasped, wringing her hands. “What happened?

Several maids rushed forward, their concerned murmurs filling the air as they scrambled to retrieve towels.

“Someone fetch a blanket!”

“Quickly before she catches a cold!”

“This,” you replied flatly, hoisting Norman slightly higher in your arms. The fox terrier, blissfully unaware of the commotion he had caused, panted happily with his tongue lolling to the side.

The flurry of activity came to an abrupt halt as San stepped through the doorway behind you, his boots squelching comically against the floor. His shirt clung to him, outlining his chest in a way that wasn’t exactly helping his drenched appearance.

The maids froze, their arms full of towels, as they stared wide eyed and speechless.

The scene was entirely innocent—at least, it should have been. Yet, in that moment, with the dripping mess and the lingering tension, it felt anything but. Anna’s breath hitched audibly, and she glanced between you and San, her lips parting as if to speak but unable to form the words.

“He was only assisting in catching Norman. That’s all.”

You cleared your throat, breaking the awkward stillness. The others quickly snapped out of their daze, resuming their efforts to gather towels and muttering apologies as they darted around you.

San’s head shot up, his eyes widening in disbelief. Did you just…defend him? His heart raced but you remained cool and detached as you avoided his gaze. Not that it mattered.

That night, San tossed and turned in bed, unable to shake the day’s events. From the way you fled the estate that morning to your fiery encounter in the fountain, the encounters replayed on an endless loop in his mind.

In your anger, you looked…beautiful. More than beautiful. He groaned, dragging a pillow over his face, as if smothering himself could calm the relentless pounding of his heart. A soft, incredulous laugh escaped him, tinged with disbelief.

“Idiot,” he muttered, staring up at the ceiling. “She hates you.”

Still, his lips curled into a wide, giddy smile as he rolled onto his side, clutching the pillow beneath him. You’d been near him, spoken to him, glared at him, shoved him, and somehow, that was enough to make him feel like the luckiest man alive.

⊹

The Jeong Estate was as magnificent as ever, its manicured lawns rolling in lush waves of green, punctuated by bursts of color from sprawling gardens that seemed to stretch endlessly around the grounds. But today, the beauty was secondary; your focus laid elsewhere as you prepared yourself for the day’s hunt.

You cocked the shotgun with a sharp, mechanical click, testing its weight. You turned, holding the weapon at the ready as your eyes landed squarely on San. For a moment, the world seemed to still. San’s eyes locked on to yours and his mouth went suddenly dry. His eyes flicked nervously between the barrel and your face, unsure whether to laugh it off or raise his hands in surrender, unsure if even the slightest movement would prompt you to pull the trigger.

“Y/N, put that thing down!” your mother chided, her voice pitched high with mortification. She skittered into view, her skirts swishing as she cast a tight, strained smile toward a group of ladies passing by.

You lowered the shotgun a fraction, the barrel dipping just enough to avoid sending San into cardiac arrest. Still, your gaze remained fixed on him, your narrowed eyes making it clear he wasn’t off the hook yet. With a huff, you turned on your heel, striding toward the stables, the shotgun still in hand. Your boots crunched against the gravel, each step a sharp punctuation to your frustration.

"Pointing a gun at other guests is highly inappropriate, Ms. Kang.”

You turned to see Yunho striding toward you, his eyes sparkling with amusement, as if he had just caught you in the middle of some mischief he couldn’t wait to comment on.

"He’s lucky I didn’t pull the trigger.”

Yunho’s brow quirked and his grin widened. “You’ve certainly mastered the art of making a memorable impression within the ton. Though I have to wonder, were you aiming for him or his pride?”

You shot him a sideways glance, feigning exasperation. Yunho had always been this way—playful, quick-witted, and never one to miss an opportunity to tease you. Yet he was observant, capable of reading between the lines. It was part of the reason you found yourself oddly comfortable around him.

“I’m expediting his departure from the estate,” you replied dryly.

Yunho laughed, a rich and infectious sound that drew the attention of a few nearby guests.

"Don’t you think you might be pushing him a little too hard? Poor Mr. Choi looked like he was about to faint."

You scoffed, though your lips twitched in a small smile, betraying the hint of amusement in your eyes.

"He’s not that delicate, and you know it."

San stood a few paces away, watching the casual banter between you and Yunho, his jaw tightening involuntarily. He told himself it shouldn’t matter. Yunho was a close friend of your brother, someone you’d grown up with. Of course, you’d be close. It was all perfectly innocent. Rational, even but still—why did it bother him so much?

"I don’t blame her for fancying him," Wooyoung interrupted with a dreamy sigh. San shot him a pointed glance, his irritation clear, but Wooyoung just grinned, completely unapologetic.

“What? If I were her, I’d rather be a Duchess.”

It’s not like that between them, San told himself firmly, trying to quell the unease rising in his gut. He wasn’t one to let Wooyoung’s jabs get to him, but somehow, this one lingered, leaving him uneasy and more unsettled than he cared to admit.

As you approached the stable yard, the familiar hum of the estate, murmurs, laughter, the soft clink of silver, faded into the distance. You were greeted by Darcy’s familiar silhouette, his ears flicking forward in recognition, as you reached out to scratch the spot just behind his ear. The stallion leaned into your touch, his head bowing in a gesture that felt almost like a hug.

You slipped him a treat, his muzzle brushed your palm with a gentleness that made you smile.

“…A right mess that fire was, but he did what he was paid for.”

You froze in place. Your heart skipped a beat, as the clop of heavy boots and a murmur of voices approached. You edged closer to the shadows of the stable wall, ducking into Darcy’s stable, but before you could catch a breath, a soft snort sounded right by your ear, followed by a damp, insistent nudge against your shoulder.

You tried to brush his nose away with a quick wave, but the horse was undeterred. His large, expressive eyes blinked innocently down at you as he pushed his head into your space once more, this time almost knocking you off balance.

“Thought it’d be small,” one of the voices continued, closer now, “but didn’t expect half the place to blow up like that!”

“Keep it down, would ya? You want the whole bloody place to hear?” a second voice said.

They were talking about the fire. At the Choi’s estate. The stablehands didn’t sound remorseful, only wary, as though they knew they tread dangerous waters.

“Aye, well,” the first man muttered, his voice lowering, “it’s not like he had much choice, did he? Poor sod got backed into a corner. When they’re waving that kind of coin, who’s gonna say no?”

A chill crawled up your spine. Paid for? The fire wasn’t an accident. Someone had set it deliberately—and whoever they were, they’d been bought off.

“Still,” the second voice added nervously, “don’t know if I’d call it clean work. You reckon they’ll figure it out?”

“No one’s gonna find out. Just keep your mouth shut, and it’ll be fine. Heard there’s another job coming for the Parks.”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. Another job. The Parks.

You stayed perfectly still as the voices faded, their owners disappearing around the corner. Once you were sure they were out of sight, you exhaled shakily, leaning against the stable wall for support. Your mind raced, trying to process what you had just overheard.

Paid off. Deliberate. Not clean work. The pieces clicked together, forming a picture more sinister than you’d imagine. The fire at the Choi estate hadn’t been an unfortunate accident—it had been orchestrated.

But why?

Whoever had set it in motion wasn’t some petty criminal. This was calculated, ruthless. This was someone willing to destroy lives to achieve their goals. And if the Chois had been a target, then the Parks were next.

A sick feeling churned in your stomach. What guarantee was there that your family’s home wouldn’t follow? What guarantee was there that anyone in the ton was safe?

The idea was unthinkable, but so was everything you’d just overheard. If there was even the slightest chance that your family could be in danger, you couldn’t let it go unanswered.

One | Three

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#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #choi san #cromernet #ateez san #historical au #choi san x reader #choi san x you #ateez fic #regency era #regency au #san angst

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theonottsbxtch · 2 months ago

Text

COURAGE | OP81

an: i warn you ahead of time this faces the topic of substance abuse, if you or anyone you know needs help, please feel free to talk to me or here are links for who to talk to: united kingdom, united states, canada, europe. these are some of the links i've found, if you need help searching for one, my inbox is always open!

warnings: substance abuse, religous themes, mentions of death & hospitals.

wc: 4.6k

The church bells rang out over the small town of Willow Creek, their low hum rolling through the autumn air like a solemn hymn. Oscar stood at the edge of his front porch, adjusting the cuffs of his Sunday shirt as he waited for her. He always waited for her.

She emerged moments later from her house next door, pulling her shawl tighter against the chill. The hem of her modest dress caught the breeze, brushing against her knees as she approached. She didn’t say much, she never did on Sundays. Her gaze, solemn and steady, flicked toward the church steeple visible from the end of the street.

“Ready?” Oscar asked, though he already knew the answer.

She nodded, her braid catching the sunlight as they started down the gravel path.

The girl was his best friend, his constant, the one person in this quiet town who felt as real to him as the chipped paint on his window frame or the threadbare pews at St. Anne’s.

Their routine was always the same: church in the morning, quiet afternoons spent sitting on his porch or hers, talking about scripture or nothing at all. It was an existence that felt safe and good, built on a foundation as steady as the faith they shared.

But something had shifted in her lately. He couldn’t place it, not exactly. She still walked with him to church. She still bowed her head during the prayers, her lips moving silently along with the hymns. But her eyes were somewhere else, distant and restless, as though her thoughts had wandered too far and couldn’t find their way home.

“I heard Father O’Connell mention the youth retreat next month,” Oscar said, breaking the silence as they neared the church steps. “He said he’s hoping for a big turnout this year. Are you thinking of going?”

She hesitated. The pause was brief, but it was there, and Oscar caught it like a pebble in his shoe.

“Maybe,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. Then she offered him a faint smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’ll see.”

Oscar didn’t press her. He never did. But as they entered the church, he couldn’t help but notice the way her hand lingered at the edge of her shawl, clutching it like a tether.

It started with small things.

Oscar didn’t think much of it when she skipped their afternoon talks one Sunday. Her mum had said she wasn’t feeling well, and that made sense. People got sick; life happened. But then she missed the next Sunday, too. And the one after that.

She stopped coming to the Wednesday youth group meetings at church, which was even stranger. For as long as he could remember, she’d been one of the first to volunteer for scripture readings or help organise bake sales. Now, her name wasn’t even on the signup sheets.

Oscar wanted to ask her about it, but he couldn’t figure out how. It wasn’t like they had a friendship built on confrontation. They’d grown up side by side in the same pews, their lives as intertwined as the ivy creeping up the churchyard walls. But it was a quiet bond, one where words weren’t always necessary.

That’s what made the silence feel so loud.

One Friday afternoon, after work, Oscar saw her for the first time in weeks. She was sitting on the front steps of her house, legs crossed, the heel of her shoe tapping a restless rhythm against the wood.

“Hey,” he called as he approached, hands in his pockets. “Haven’t seen you around.”

She looked up, her expression unreadable. “Yeah, I’ve been busy.”

Busy. The word felt wrong coming from her, like a puzzle piece jammed into the wrong spot.

“Your mum said you were sick,” he said, testing the waters.

Her eyes flickered, just for a moment. “Yeah. That too.”

He leaned against the porch railing, watching her closely. There was something different about her, but he couldn’t pin it down. Her braid was still neat, her dress still modest, but the way she sat—loose, almost careless—was unfamiliar.

“You coming to youth group next week?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

She shrugged. “Probably not.”

“Why not?”

She looked at him then, really looked at him, and he felt like she was seeing through him instead of at him.

“Just not my thing right now,” she said, and there was an edge to her voice he didn’t recognise.

Oscar frowned. “You’ve been going for years.”

“Yeah, well,” she said, standing abruptly. “People change.”

And just like that, she disappeared inside, leaving Oscar alone on the porch with the sound of her footsteps echoing in his ears.

Over the next few weeks, Oscar saw less and less of her. When he did see her, she wasn’t the same.

The first time he noticed the guy, it was at the diner on Main Street. She was sitting in a booth near the window, her back to him, but he recognised her laugh instantly. She wasn’t alone.

The guy was tall, older, with a leather jacket slung over the back of his chair. He leaned in close when he talked to her, his hand brushing her arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. Oscar stood outside the diner for a long time, watching them through the glass.

When she turned her head and laughed again, Oscar caught a glimpse of her face. There was something wild in her expression, something unrestrained and electric. It scared him.

He didn’t tell her he’d seen her. He wasn’t sure why.

But the next Sunday, when her mum stopped him on his way to church, the worry in her eyes told him she’d seen it too.

“Have you talked to her?” her mum asked, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “She’s… I don’t know what’s going on with her. She won’t talk to me.”

Oscar didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sure it’s just a phase,” he offered weakly.

Her mum smiled, but it was the kind of smile people gave at funerals.

“I hope so,” she said.

The next time Oscar saw her, it wasn’t at church or on her front porch. It was behind the convenience store on Elm Street, just after dusk.

He had been walking home, the kind of mindless stroll he often took when his thoughts got too loud. The streets were mostly empty, the only sounds the faint hum of a streetlamp and the crunch of gravel beneath his shoes.

He heard her before he saw her. Laughter—sharp, jagged, and nothing like the laugh he remembered. It came from the alley behind the store, followed by the low murmur of voices.

Oscar turned the corner, and there she was.

She leaned against the brick wall, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. The glow of the lighter in the guy’s hand caught her face just long enough for Oscar to see the hollow beneath her eyes, the strange way her smile curled at the edges, like she wasn’t entirely sure it belonged there.

The guy was the same one from the diner, older and out of place in this small town. He said something to her, and she threw her head back in laughter, her voice ringing out into the quiet night.

Oscar froze. She looked so different. Her braid was gone, her hair loose and tangled, framing a face that seemed sharper, thinner. Her clothes were casual but careless, like she’d grabbed the first things within reach. She didn’t look like the girl he’d grown up with—the girl who bowed her head in prayer and scolded him when he skipped scripture reading. She looked like someone else entirely.

The guy noticed Oscar first. He smirked, nudging her with his elbow. “Friend of yours?”

She turned her head, her smile fading when she saw him. For a moment, something flickered in her expression—guilt, maybe, or shame—but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice sharper than he expected.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, his throat dry.

She rolled her eyes and took a drag from the cigarette, exhaling smoke into the cold air. “It’s none of your business, Oscar.”

“It is my business,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re my friend.”

She laughed, but it was a brittle sound, lacking any real warmth. “Yeah, well, friends don’t follow each other around like lost puppies.”

Oscar felt the words like a slap, but he didn’t back down. “This isn’t you,” he said quietly. “What are you doing with him?”

The guy smirked again, clearly enjoying the tension. “Relax, man. She’s fine.”

“No one asked you,” Oscar snapped, his voice louder than he intended.

The guy raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you two to it.” He handed her the lighter, brushing her fingers with his in a way that made Oscar’s stomach turn, and walked off down the alley.

She didn’t look at Oscar right away. Instead, she stared at the lighter in her hand, turning it over like it was a puzzle she couldn’t solve.

“I’m fine,” she said finally, her voice softer but still distant. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“You’re not fine,” Oscar said, his frustration bubbling over. “You’ve stopped coming to church. You won’t talk to your mum. And now you’re…” He trailed off, gesturing helplessly toward the cigarette still in her hand.

She sighed, tilting her head back against the wall. “I don’t need a lecture, okay? I get enough of that at home.”

“I’m not trying to lecture you,” he said, his voice cracking. “I just… I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?”

Her gaze flicked to his, and for a brief moment, he saw something raw in her eyes—pain, anger, maybe even fear. But then she blinked, and the mask was back.

“Maybe I’m tired of being the perfect little Catholic girl,” she said, her tone light but cutting. “Did you ever think of that?”

Oscar stared at her, searching for the girl he knew beneath the stranger in front of him. “This isn’t you,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

She pushed off the wall, brushing past him. “Maybe you never really knew me.”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving him standing alone in the alley, the faint scent of smoke lingering in the air.

That night, Oscar lay awake, staring at the cracks in his ceiling. He wanted to help her, to pull her out of whatever dark place she’d fallen into, but he didn’t know how. She wouldn’t let him.

For the first time in years, he prayed not for himself, but for her.

“God,” he whispered into the stillness of his room. “Please. Bring her back.”

It became a pattern.

Oscar would see her slipping further away, each time a little less like the girl he had grown up with and a little more like a stranger. Sometimes it was behind the convenience store. Other times he saw her stumbling out of a car that didn’t belong in their quiet town, the headlights cutting through the dark as it sped off, leaving her swaying on the curb.

She wasn’t hiding it anymore.

When their paths crossed now, she barely looked at him. Her words, when she offered any, were short and cold, like she was daring him to stop caring. But he couldn’t stop.

So he prayed.

Every night, he knelt by his bed, his hands clasped tightly together, his eyes shut so hard it hurt. He prayed for her to come back, for her to see what she was doing to herself. He prayed for the strength to find the right words, the right actions, anything to pull her out of this spiral. But every morning, when he saw her again—laughing too loud, her eyes bloodshot and empty—it felt like no one was listening.

One night, well past midnight, there was a knock on his window. He woke with a start, his heart pounding, and stumbled to open it. She was standing there, her hair tangled and wild, her face streaked with something he couldn’t tell if it was makeup or tears.

“You need to stop,” she said, her voice slurred but venomous.

“Stop what?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

“Praying for me,” she snapped. “I know you’re doing it. Just… stop.”

Her words stung, but what hurt more was the way she looked at him—like he was the enemy. Before he could respond, she turned and disappeared into the night, leaving him standing in the cold.

A week later, it was her mum who knocked—not on his window, but on his door.

Oscar opened it to find her standing on the porch, her face pale and drawn, her eyes red from crying. She looked older than he’d ever seen her, like the weight of the world had settled on her shoulders and wouldn’t let go.

“Hi, Ms,” he said, stepping aside to let her in.

She didn’t move. Instead, she stood there, clutching the edge of her sweater like it was the only thing keeping her together. “Oscar,” she began, her voice trembling. “I didn’t know who else to come to.”

He felt his stomach sink. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s her,” she said, her voice cracking. “She’s… I don’t know what’s happening to her. She barely comes home anymore. And when she does…” She broke off, pressing a hand to her mouth.

Oscar didn’t need her to finish. He’d seen it all himself.

“I’ve tried talking to her,” Her mother continued, her words spilling out in a rush. “I’ve begged her to stop, to come back to church, to tell me what’s going on, but she won’t listen. She doesn’t even look at me anymore. And now…” She trailed off again, her shoulders shaking as tears filled her eyes.

Oscar reached out instinctively, placing a hand on her arm. “Ms…”

She shook her head, brushing his hand away. “I don’t know what to do, Oscar. She’s slipping away from me, and I can’t stop it. I thought maybe you could… I don’t know. Talk to her. Get through to her. She listens to you, doesn’t she?”

The desperation in her voice was like a knife in his chest.

“She used to,” he admitted, his throat tight. “But not anymore. She won’t let me help her. I’ve tried. I’ve tried so many times.”

Her face crumpled, and she let out a sob, covering her face with her hands. “She’s all I have,” she choked out. “It’s just me and her. I don’t know how to do this alone.”

Oscar hesitated, his heart breaking at the sight of her. He wanted to promise her that he could fix everything, that he’d bring her daughter back, but the words wouldn’t come. He didn’t know if he could keep that promise.

Instead, he did the only thing he could think of. He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her. She stiffened for a moment, then broke down completely, her sobs muffled against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his own voice shaking. “I’m so sorry.”

They stood like that for what felt like an eternity, the house silent except for her quiet, broken cries.

When she finally pulled away, wiping her eyes, she gave him a look so full of raw hope it made his chest ache. “Please, Oscar,” she said. “Don’t give up on her.”

He nodded, though his heart was heavy with doubt. “I won’t.”

But as he watched her walk back across the front garden to her house, the weight of the promise settled over him like a stone. He didn’t know how to save someone who didn’t want saving.

So that night, like every night before, he knelt by his bed and prayed.

“God,” he whispered into the darkness, his voice trembling. “Please. Show me what to do.”

That night the ringing of his phone jolted Oscar out of a restless sleep. For a moment, he thought it was his alarm, but the screen glowed faintly in the dark: Unknown Number.

He rubbed his eyes and answered, his voice groggy. “Hello?”

The sound on the other end wasn’t words at first. It was crying—deep, heaving sobs that clawed at his chest before he even recognised her voice.

“It’s me,” she managed between gasps.

Oscar sat up so quickly the blankets slid off his lap. “Where are you? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” she choked out. “I’m… I’m at this party, and I—I took something, and now I can’t—” Her voice cracked, and she let out another sob. “I feel so weird, Oscar. I feel like I’m dying.”

His heart dropped. “You’re not dying,” he said quickly, already grabbing his keys from the nightstand. “You’re not. I’m coming to get you. Just tell me where you are.”

She mumbled the address through her tears, barely coherent, but he caught enough to recognise the street. It was across town, the kind of neighborhood he tried to avoid.

“Stay where you are,” he said, his voice shaking. “Don’t move. I’m on my way.”

He hung up and bolted for the door, his chest tight with fear.

The streets were eerily quiet as he sped through town, the glow of his headlights slicing through the darkness. His mind raced faster than the car, flashing through every worst-case scenario he could imagine. He gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, his foot pressing harder on the gas.

When he turned onto the street, he knew he was in the right place. Cars were lined haphazardly along the curb, some with doors still hanging open. Music blared from the house, but the sound was disjointed, chaotic.

And then he saw them.

A wave of people surged out the front door, spilling into the front garden and onto the street. They were shouting, laughing, some tripping over themselves in their haste to leave. Oscar pulled over and jumped out of the car, his heart pounding.

“What’s going on?” he yelled at one of them, grabbing a guy by the arm.

“Cops are coming,” the guy slurred, shaking him off. “Some girl OD’d, man. It’s bad.”

Oscar didn’t wait to hear more. He shoved his way through the crowd, pushing against the flow of bodies until he reached the front door. The smell hit him first—alcohol, smoke, and something sour underneath.

Inside, the scene was chaos. The music was still blaring, but most of the partygoers were gone, leaving behind overturned cups and broken bottles. He stepped over a pile of discarded coats and followed the sound of a frantic voice.

In the living room, he found her.

She was lying on the floor, her face pale, looking like nothing he’d ever seen before. A girl about their age was kneeling beside her, pressing her hands against her chest in a desperate rhythm.

“Come on,” the girl muttered, her voice shaking. “Come on, don’t do this.” She glanced up briefly, her phone pressed to her ear. “Yeah, I’m doing compressions,” she said into the receiver. “Please, hurry.”

Oscar froze for a moment, the sight stealing the air from his lungs. She looked so small, so fragile. Her hair was damp with sweat, her lips tinged blue.

The girl performing CPR looked up again, her eyes wild. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help?”

Her words jolted him into motion. He dropped to his knees beside them, his hands trembling as he reached for her. “What happened?” he asked, his voice cracking.

“I don’t know,” the girl snapped. “She took something—pills, I think. Someone said it was laced, but I don’t know with what.”

Oscar’s hands hovered uselessly over her, his mind racing. He didn’t know what to do. He’d never been trained for this, never thought he’d need to be.

But he knew he needed to do something, looking at the girl in front of him, he watched her hands and pushed them aside, continuing for her.

“She went upstairs to take a phone call, walked back in and collapsed.” The girl sat back on her heels, then leaned forward to blow two breaths into her mouth. “They thought it was a joke at first, but it all got so serious all of a sudden.” Oscar continued the same rhythm on her chest, watching as the girl flexed her hands nervously. Underneath his breath, he was silently praying that someone was listening, because in the last couple of weeks he was beginning to lose faith. No one listened to him when he was desperate, begging for someone to save her.

“Stay with me,” the other girl murmured, her voice cracking as tears streamed down her face. “Don’t you dare give up.”

The distant wail of sirens broke through the chaos, growing louder with every passing second. Relief flooded Oscar’s chest, but it was fleeting. He looked down at her pale, lifeless face and felt the weight of every prayer he’d ever whispered.

“God,” he said under his breath, his voice breaking. “Please. Don’t take her.”

The sirens grew deafening as the paramedics burst through the door. Oscar was pulled back, forced to watch as they took over, their voices calm but urgent as they worked to save her.

He didn’t realise he was crying until he tasted salt on his lips.

As they loaded her onto a stretcher and wheeled her out the door, Oscar followed, his legs unsteady but his resolve firm. He wasn’t leaving her—not now, not ever.

He watched them close the doors of the back of the ambulance and ran back to his car to follow them when he saw the girl weakly walk out of the house. He could have just left her, but she had just saved his best friend’s life. Instead, he walked back up to the house, hugged her and offered her a lift.

When Oscar finally got to the hospital, it was cold and quiet in a way that felt wrong, like it was holding its breath. Oscar sat in the hard plastic chair next to her bed, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped tightly together. He had barely spoken to anyone since they arrived, giving only short, clipped answers to the nurses’ questions.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, staring at her pale face, willing her to wake up. The IV in her arm looked too big, too intrusive, and the steady beeping of the heart monitor was the only thing anchoring him to the moment.

Finally, her eyelids fluttered.

He shot upright, his breath catching as she groaned softly, her head turning toward him. Her eyes opened slowly, unfocused and heavy, but when they landed on him, recognition flickered.

“Oscar?” she croaked, her voice barely audible.

Tears sprang to his eyes, and he let out a shaky laugh that was more relief than joy. “Yeah, it’s me,” he said, his voice thick. He reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He never cursed.

She blinked, her gaze shifting to the IV in her arm, the sterile hospital room around her. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” he asked, his voice breaking.

She shook her head weakly, then winced. “I… I don’t know. I was at the party, and then…” Her voice trailed off, her brows furrowing as if the memory was too painful to touch.

Oscar leaned closer, his face inches from hers. “What were you thinking?” he asked, his voice low but trembling. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you? You could’ve—” He stopped himself, his chest heaving as he swallowed back the lump in his throat.

This wasn’t what she needed to hear.

She looked away, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to,” she whispered. “I didn’t think it would…”

Oscar let out a shuddering breath, running a hand through his hair. “I thought I lost you,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.

They sat in silence, the weight of his words hanging between them.

A nurse came in not long after, checking her vitals and saying she’d be discharged soon. Oscar nodded numbly, his mind already racing.

When they stepped out of the hospital, the chill of the early morning air hit them both. He helped her to the car, her steps unsteady, and buckled her into the passenger seat. She leaned her head against the window, her eyes glassy and distant.

“I’ll call your mum,” he said, turning the key in the ignition.

“No,” she said quickly, her voice hoarse but firm.

Oscar paused, his hand on the wheel. “I need to tell her. I stopped the hospital from calling her.”

“Please, don’t,” she said, her voice breaking. She turned to him, her eyes pleading. “I can’t face her right now.��

He hesitated, the conflict written all over his face. “What do you want me to do?” he asked finally, his voice soft.

“Just drive,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

So he did.

They didn’t talk as the car rumbled down the empty highway. The radio was off, the only sounds the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of her shifting in her seat.

She didn’t cry, but her silence was heavy, and Oscar didn’t push her. He kept his eyes on the road, his hands gripping the wheel tightly.

After a couple of hours, her breathing evened out, and when he glanced over, he saw that she’d fallen asleep, her face turned toward him, her expression soft but exhausted.

He sighed, his chest aching with a mix of relief and sadness. He took the next exit and drove toward her house.

When they arrived, it was still early, the sky a pale gray as dawn broke. He parked in front of her house, then got out and walked around to her side. Carefully, he opened the door and unbuckled her seatbelt, slipping an arm under her knees and another around her back.

She stirred slightly as he lifted her, but she didn’t wake. Her head lolled against his chest, and he carried her up the porch steps and knocked softly on the door.

It swung open almost immediately, and her mum stood there, her face a mixture of worry and exhaustion. When she saw her daughter in his arms, she let out a strangled cry, her hands flying to her mouth.

“She’s okay,” Oscar said quickly, his voice gentle. “She’s just sleeping.”

Her mum nodded, tears streaming down her face. She stepped aside, and he carried her inside, laying her gently on the sofa.

Her mother sank to her knees beside her, sobbing quietly as she brushed the hair from her daughter’s face. “Thank you,” she whispered, looking up at Oscar. “Thank you for bringing her home.”

Oscar knelt beside her, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “She’s going to be okay,” he said softly, though he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.

They sat there for a while, her mum’s quiet cries filling the silence.

Eventually, Oscar cleared his throat. “Do you have a spare set of sheets?” he asked.

She looked at him, confused. “Why?”

“I’m going to stay,” he said. “Just for tonight. I’ll sleep on the floor. I want to make sure she’s okay.”

Her mum nodded, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said again, her voice breaking.

Later, after setting up a makeshift bed on the floor beside the couch, Oscar lay there, staring at the ceiling. The room was quiet now, her mum having gone to bed, but he could hear her breathing softly above him.

He closed his eyes and whispered another prayer, one of gratitude this time.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you for giving her another chance.”

And for the first time in a long time, he felt like someone was listening.

the end.

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